What's Your Warlock's Backstory?

[NecessaryWeevil]

So there have been a lot of Warlock threads recently, particularly the one about whether warlocks need a patron. Now, my personal opinion is that classes are building blocks: sets of balanced mechanics, around which you can weave whatever narrative you like. But I've heard some really cool ideas for Warlocks, their patrons and the relationships between them. I'd enjoy hearing more.

To get things started, here's mine for a recent campaign, in which my warlock definitely had a patron - a demanding and intrusive one at that, with my blessing.

---

An excerpt from Tales from the Road, by Morel the Dreamer, Year of the Incontinent Stoat.

Late one winter I found myself in one of the innumerable small villages at the feet of the mountains. This particular village was called Dead Man's Drift, and it seemed determined to live up to its name. The storm had raged for three days, and several of us were snowed in in what passed for the village public house. The publican, Toban, also functioned as the head man of the village, and he and one of the toothless old timers, a man named Garruk, had just finished reviewing the state of the food stores.

"'A terrible unseasonable storm this," Toban said, shaking his head. "Reckon we might have to send someone to Grandmother."

This set the others to mumbling and nodding among themselves. Stircrazy and bored to death, I snatched at any excuse for a distracting conversation. "Going to dig her out, are you? Bring her some food, sort of thing?"

Someone guffawed in the corner, but Toban silenced him with a look. "Stranger, 'tain't for her good but for ours, what we'd go to Grandmother Winter. And we don't do that 'less we're in powerful need."

"And why's that?"

"She ain't what you'd call nice. Or normal. Or safe. Some of those what seeks her out are found froze to death. Some are ne'er found at all. But those what catches 'er on a good day, or when she happens to come to town, well, they get more than they bargained for. 'Less it's a child. She gots a soft spot fer kids, seems.

"If ya go lookin' for her, it's life 'n death. And if it weren't when you left, you just made it so. 'Specially if you're the Baron's man."

He cast a meaningful look at the dwindling stock of firewood. "And I reckon it'll be life 'n death in about a day."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you hope she'll do for you, if you send someone to her now?"

The room got a little quieter. Toban cleared his throat. "Hem... The storms around here, sometimes they got a hunger, you know? Storms like this, there's something...personal about 'em. Something... unnatural."

"It does seem that way. And this Grandmother?" I prompted.

"Well...yes. Sometimes she can talk 'em down."

Someone spilled their drink at this point, which seemed to break the silence. I'm glad the others found their voice, because I'd almost laughed. "Ay, she took the storm for a lover, an' she -" "Nay, she sacrifices travelers to-" "Yer all fools, it's that devil cat of hers-" the only one who kept silent was Garruk, and he just looked at me, shook his head with a smile, and tapped his nose.

Later on I managed to get him alone in a corner. "You have the look of a man who knows something, my friend."

"Ay, that I do. An' one of the things I know is, you're a man who tells stories for a living. One to who stories are valuable, if you take my meaning."

"I think I do. What would you want in exchange for this valuable story?"

"Let's just say yer not the only one who thinks stories are important."

"A story for a story, then."

"Two stories, 'cause for I'm the only one who will give you the real story of Bryony Winter. I had it from my mother, who had it from her father, who had it from his."

There was something in his voice. "Done."

"Toban's right about the storms. An' one year, the taxes were especially heavy so not much was left in the stores when winter hit. It was a killer. The adults all left to look for food, or to beg the Baron sitting fat, warm and happy in his castle, or to cut more firewood, but they wasn't coming back. Now Bryony, she was just a slip of a girl, maybe twelve, but she was a strange one. Weird, they said. Eldritch. Fey. Mighta been the ears." He look pointedly at my own and winked.

"At any rate, that's why they left her behind. With the kids. In the cold. In the dark. Surrounded by hungry, crying children she couldn't do anything fer.

"So when the youngest stopped crying, she snapped. Ran out of the house in her shirt and pants and shoes. The kids, those that were still awake, heard her screaming. Ranting. Crying. Begging. Begging the storm, offering the nothing she had."

He leaned forward. "An' the storm answered."

"'Yes.'"


(Pact of the Tome, the Unseelie Prince of Frost)

[MikeRoxTheBoat]

I remember reading somewhere that the item connected to Hexblade could be an artifact, rather than simply a weapon, so my Hexblade Bard was flavored as being a normal dude that found a magical instrument through which he was offered a deal to have amazing instrument skills at the cost of his soul after ten years (essentially a D&D take on the Robert Leroy Johnson crossroads deal). His story hook for adventuring is finaggling a way out of the deal.

[Millstone85]

My goolock was born spellscarred, from a mother about to become plaguechanged. Alone with her daughter amidst trees consumed by blue flames, the exact fate she and other druids had been trying to protect the land from, the mother prayed to nature spirits and the gods of the First Circle. The presence that answered felt like a nature spirit, but one that was itself warped by the Spellplague. Or perhaps it was speaking from somewhere far far away, merely using the planar permeability caused by the wild magic. Either way, the desperate mother left her child under the care of this being.

[KorvinStarmast]

I'd enjoy hearing more.
D's Mom was a wood elf, his father human. In this land, elves are not keen on this half breed deal, so at the age of reason (12) the Wood Elf council decided that D was not suited by blood to keep living with them- they were reminded too much of the shame of his mother mating with a human.

One of her parting gifts was a lute that father used to sing with. He'd left it for her as a sign that he was returning. He never did. One of the few friends she had was Shamustuk, D's Fey Father (like godfather). He kept an eye on D as he grew up, beginning on his day of birth. It was he who taught D how to pray to Tariel in deep meditation, and how to listen.

Mother loved music and song. D grew up singing with mom. Her social life was incomplete. She suffered from the "nobody will date me and I'm ostracized" blues. Shamustuk sparked D's fascination with ... everything. He also taught the valuable lesson of how to get along with people even when they don't like you.
His parting gift was an arcane focus - a polished blue stone the size of a turkey's egg.

When D approached the human colony, looking back at his elven armed escort who stayed in the tree line, he was confronted by an armed sentry. As formally as he could, in accented common, D informed the human of his name: D. Mother had told him that a shorter name would make them feel that D was more human and less elven. His proof of belonging to the human people was made by showing his father's lute, which had Father's name - Vran Gultoni - imbedded in blue agate chips int the base of the instrument.
Vran was not in the colony. D was put on a ship to Daeland to be reunited with his father.

Father did not greet him at the pier. In fact, when D got to the family homestead, he wasn't greeted there either. Vran was nowhere to be een.

As a half breed in Daeland, D had to learn some survival skills: how to get along, how to hide who he was, and how to be sly and deceptive when necessary to avoid conflict. Musical talent helped him land odd jobs and make friends, often meeting people in taverns who might listen, teach him something, or get him dinner. Father's family would have nothing to do with this half breed, and Father was off somewhere else if he was anywhere.

D found work at stables and with ostlers. He met a lot of people there as well. He practiced with a disguise kit to see who would recognize him the next day when he brought them their horses.
On a hunch D joined a circus and began traveling the Daeland circuit. He figured that at some point, his circus troop would end up where Father was, and he'd meet with him. It didn't happen. He spent quite a few years with the circus.

Homesickness struck.

The homesickness led to prayer, and contact with the Arch Fey, the being known in the old homeland as Tariel. Tariel spoke to him. The ArchFey chose D as an agent, and opened the door to Eldritch Power. Already close to and familiar with animals, D learned their speech. He joined a posse chasing down brigands who had stolen the circus' strong box. As it worked out, the adventure led to breaking up a substantial crime ring, though D nearly lost his life once or twice. He has spent most of the reward money by sending messages to towns and cities all over Daeland, each with a simple message that D was seeking Vran and wished a meeting.
No responses to date, and money's getting short.

D is on a ship, now, headed back to the homeland. He's grown into manhood. He' determined to see his mother again, and his old mentor. To all appearances, he is a minstrel or a bard, and an animal handler. He keeps his eldritch side hidden, and uses it only when necessary.

==

Half Elf, Warlock, Arch Fey, Pact of the Chain.
Background: Entertainer (Voice, Poetry, and Instrument Routines)
Skill Proficiencies, Warlock: Deception, Investigation;
Skill Proficiencies, Entertainer: Acrobatics, Performance ;
Skill Proficiencies, Half Elf: Stealth, Persuasion
Tool Proficiencies: Disguise Kit; Lute (instrument tool proficiency)
Feature: Back by popular demand "Can sing for supper and lodging, get comfortable lodgings, and get modest local renown"
Evocations: Beast speech, Agonizing Blast
Cantrips: Eldritch Blast, Minor Illusion
Spells: Hex, Cause Fear
Pact: Sprite Familiar

[NecroDancer]

Here are the major events of my warlock’s backstory

1. Beat Graz’zt’s avatar at a game of beer pong while at college.

2. Joined local Graz’zt cult as an unpayed intern.

3. Teamed up with a paladin and rogue to go fight a small Cult of Orcus.

4. Celebrated the victory by having a cookout in the woods

5. Got dragged into Ravenloft while on the way to the cookout.

[Naanomi]

The three warlocks I am/have played to any significant degree:

~a bandit whose Sorcerer Powers were tearing him apart, so turned to devilish magic to ‘stabilize’ his wild magic
~a drow house slave who displeased their master and was thrown into the gladiator pits to die; but another gladiator took pity on her and introduced her to the art of the cursed blade to survive and later escape the pits
~a priestess from a land with a complicated system of ancestor worship, whose job it was to commune with (and learn from) ghosts and other troubled spirits

[Trustypeaches]

My warlock is essentially a shaman haunted by the spirits of her ancestors. Her attacks (read: eldritch blast) is flavored as these spirits taking form and striking out at her opponent.

[BlueMythic]

My Archfey warlock was a jeweler by trade and part of an artisan's guild. While traveling between cities to trade, his caravan was ambushed by bandits. He tried to fight but took a sword slash to the eye. Sitting on the ground, bleeding from his eye, watching his friends and colleagues get cut down, he quietly begs for "anyone" to help, saying he'll do "anything" to stop this. Turns out, someone was listening, and he feels a sudden compulsion to go over to his ruined wares, dig out the giant black diamond he had been planning to auction, and jam it into his ruined eye socket. Next thing he knows, he's firing blasts of eldritch magic out of the gem and laying waste to the bandits, turning the fight around.

And now he works for Queen Mab.

I got to play this guy for two whole sessions before the campaign was cancelled, and my DM even allowed me to use the diamond eye as an arcane focus and cast magic through it. He was gonna have a sprite familiar named Lapis (partially as an assistant, partially so the Queen could keep tabs on him) and take all the sight-based invocations and spells. Maybe some other time...

[danpit2991]

long story short, my sorlock was adopted(kidnapped) from an abusive home as a toddler and raised by a fey queen in the feywild because she owed a debt to an ancestor of mine and i was an orphan and the last of my line . favored soul/fey tomelock

[Derpy]

My warlock began her pact with her patron from being a 'lab rat' in experiments by wizards to better understand and utilize the powers that warlocks have and how to access them. As a result of their meddling my warlock and her patron, a fiend, formed an odd dynamic. She not really caring for the powers, having little interest in them, and not really having much combat skills in most situations but 'channeling' her inner devil when her companions were in combat or in trouble. The patron enjoys 'dropping in' to try to subvert its reluctant disciple, and attempting to guide her certain ways, sometimes using the character to figure out more about how mortals act in certain situations or influence the events of mortals. The group and I liked the dichotomy of that.

[Agent-KI7KO]

Does multiclassing count?

My bard is from a Merchant class family that lives in the plains, pretty close to a Fey Forest. At a young age she was marked by Fey. All manner of them appear to her for either good or ill, but she was mostly the target of bullying.

Fast forward one-halfish decade and she graduates Bard School as a very Scholarly person with some ability to play music and talk (all knowledge skills, investigation and insight), i let JoAT pick up the slack for everything else. Basically she is obsessed with the Fey and wanting to know why they picked her.

This sets the stage for an Archfey Multiclass later on. Apparently it was so obvious that in a time travel quest the GM made me a Fey Baroness (with flight speed) Glamour/Archfey multiclass with nearly the exact build i had in mind (one wrong feat, and wrong invocations).

[Ninjadeadbeard]

A Rogue first, young Ador lived on the streets of the wealthiest metropolis on the continent. He came from nowhere, and from a very young age he understood that Nowhere was where everyone ended up unless they hit it big. While not an...evil half elf, he was certainly the sort of person who lived the life he lived. Only the affection of a dubiously-related relative (his "cousin") kept him from getting deep into the Thieve's Guild life, instead settling on infiltration, burglary and charming the coinpurse off his targets. That is, until one day.

He was stalking the side streets, hoping to get a shot at an aristocrat's loose purse, when he happened upon a blind man begging in an alley. Ador checked to see if the man was alive, and ended up talking to him while waiting for the aristocrat to reach them. It was a pleasant conversation, with Ador asking after the man's health, how much he made in a day of begging, if he had family, etc, etc. Well, the old man was actually a fine conversationalist, someone who had (once) seen the world and traveled far, something that Ador envied a little. If that aristocrat would only get closer, he might have enough saved to head out of this place and really start his life.

The old man jingled his near-empty cup. So Ador, smiling at the old man's bravado and charisma, decided to give him a gold coin. He threw it down just hard enough for the two in the old man's cup to jump up and into his waiting hand. And as Ador turned to leave, he did not notice the old man standing behind him, near twice his own height, ragged as a skeleton, but with a grand, shining mask of gold covering his face. Ador had pleased the Exarch of Greed. Pleased him to no end. Ador was bonded to him, filled with the maddening, eldritch power of Wealth Un-imagined.

Ador travels the world now, with only the singular goal of amassing as much wealth and power as possible. Nothing will get in his way. No one will stop him. Even as his robes and armor collect dust and grow ragged, even as his bones begin to show, the hunger for gold will not be satiated, not until he has his prize.

[kyaldo]

my 7th level fighter played cards with a table full of bearded devils (to cause a distraction so his party could cross the room undetected). he had no idea what bearded devils were and even less idea of the rules to the card game. upon asking what the stakes were, he was told "time". sounded innocent enough.
5 minutes later he was indebted to 27 years service to the archdevil zariel.
he hasnt been the same since.

[The Big Bear]

Beedle had a tough life growing up with his father on the streets. Petty thieves, they would steal from the rich to feed and cloth themselves, and no more, preferring not to draw attention to themselves. The two halflings were quite successful but always on the move.

Years later, Beedle joined a group of adventurers on a quest to find the Lost Mine of Phandelver; his roguish skills providing the party with an angle of stealth and subterfuge that would provide useful on many occasion. The party wizard was able to teach Beedle in the basics of magic and he became quite good with illusions.

Through their journey, the adventurers went to a nearby ruined town to check-in on a local druid. While resting in an abandoned and crumbling building, Beedle heard a voice (and the sounds of tumbling dice and clinking coins) enticing him to go into the forest. Once he sneaked past his companions on watch, Beedle lit his lantern and followed the voice.

He followed the voice and came upon a derelict building. Curiosity overcame Beedle's sense of self-preservation. Exploring this broken shack, the voice and sounds led Beedle to a loose floorboard leading to a hidden cellar. Once inside he spotted the statue of a smiling halfling woman. In her hand was a solitary golden coin, which the voice implored Beedle to take.

Taking the coin released a surge of magical energy from the statue; a hail of gold, silver, and bronze light shot from the statue, throwing Beedle back into the wall and knocking him unconscious. When he opened his eyes, he was in a land of golden clouds and marble pillars, with a golden throne upon which sat the halfling woman depicted by the statue.

And she said unto him "Beedle, embrace the light. Use these gifts to help those in need. Remember that while the scales may be tipped, nothing is impossible with luck, the great equalizer." She flipped him the same golden coin that he had taken back in the derelict shack, which he caught. Looking at the coin in his hand, he saw the smiling visage of the woman in front of him on one side, and a frowning visage on the other. His vision became a haze...

Then his eyes opened. He was back in the hidden cellar, with a fire blazing next to him from his broken lantern. He extended one hand forward, and a gust of wind easily extinguished the flames. This was new to him; he wasn't aware he had this power, but somehow knew what to do to put out the flames. He realized what he had experienced was very real when he saw the smiling face on the coin in his hand. That was the day that Beedle embraced the light, and forged a pact with Tymora, the Goddess of Luck.

Took Arcane Trickster at Rogue Lv3 and wanted more magic and really liked the idea of eventually getting eldritch invocations. Went with Celestial Warlock for the cantrips and healing/support (hated my lantern, will eventually take Devils Sight).

[ThePlanarDM]

Father was the head of a cult to Dispater. Expected his son to become a nice devil warlock. Instead, son was dreamy and nice and stumbled upon Fey God to be Patron. Now pretending to his father that he's still a Warlock of the Fiend.

[dragoeniex]

Professor Quincy Helder is the instructor of introductory classes at an arcane college. He is skilled at tutoring, understanding, theorizing, explaining... but he cannot cast spells himself.

Somehow, he's physically incapable of manipulating the Weave he's obsessively studied. It's his passion and prowess (and a bit of begging and calling in favors) that got him the position, and he uses it to keep his access to vast libraries and resources, hoping to discover a way to enable his own casting. He studies verbal components in different languages, alchemical makeup of potions, ritual ceremonies... but no. Not even a cantrip will work for him.

Year after year, he watches his students come knowing nothing and leave stronger than he can hope to be. He hears the ones who whisper and sneer about how, next term at least, they'll have a real teacher. He grows to resent his students and class. He loses more and more nights of sleep to research that only ever benefits others.

Is it any wonder, then, that the warped book with warped words makes a comforting amount of sense to him? No conditions asked, a pact is made.

A first year student is badly injured next morning when mouthing-off gets them an eldritch blast response. Quincy's first spell.

While students rush to their friend's side, he laughs.

He almost doesn't even mind being discharged.

[Segev]

Mygoh used to be a fairly unusual youth: inquisitive to a fault and seemingly courageous to the point of suicidal stupidity, his intellect and fast planning meant, usually, that he had actually done a lot more looking before he lept than most assumed. He tended to have limited respect for boundaries that weren't able to be explained as something practical, and would make exceptions even for those when he felt he knew how to circumvent them safely, for himself.

Nice, friendly, cheerful, and not inclined to take risks that hurt others, he had little concept for why risking himself should upset others.

Needless to say, he eventually found himself crossing the wrong boundaries and encountering eldrich entities. But he didn't make pacts and bargains with them; he learned from them. He did, in the process, become lost in spaces and places which are far from the realities in which he was born, and eventually, he did want to return. Unfortunately, being lost means you don't know your path back. No matter! The lost boy could explore and learn on his way back!

He did eventually find places which had rules more akin to those from whence he originated. But, oddly, he came to recognize something he should have thought of as he was developing his new skills and talents: he no longer fit in three dimensions. They were too few!

So he squeezed, pushed, prodded, and manipulated the boundaries on this too-small plane, and finally managed to squeeze a portion of himself in. By prodding the world near his inserted avatar, he could interact with it a bit more strongly, but remembering how to work with just the parts a human body has and not all the metaphysical elements he'd been developing was tricky.

Thus, Mygoh was the Great Old One Patron to...himself.

[KorvinStarmast]

Likton Hower was a small time criminal whose bolt hole was in the sewers of a major city, but one day he was left holding the goods ...

The customer never came to pick up that book, so I read it. When you are hiding from a guild slimeball who thinks that you made off with the whole price – even though the sum total you received for that job was zero, zip, nuthin’ -- you find something to do with your time. I had always hated school, which is why I left, but what was there to do? I studied like I’d never studied before. It made my head hurt.

One late night, when I was on a grub run, I ran into Skayliza. Dragonborn are not my favorite kind of people -- I’m not sure they even are people -- but we half-breeds can come half way, if ya know what I mean. She bumped into me in the sewers as I was coming back, covering my tracks. She’d had a run in with a pack of wererats and was limping, supporting herself with that creepy looking staff. The way she looked at me made me feel like dinner.

“Lik, I could make some nice coin turning you in. The word’s out that you walked with more than just your percentage. Tell me why I shouldn’t cash in.” I had one chance to give the right answer.

The book on Skayliza was that crossing her was a good way to end up on a missing persons report, if anyone cared about you. Nobody cared about me enough to file one. She usually minded her own business, and most people left her alone. Well, most people I ran with.

“I’ve got whiskey, and I can fix that wound on your leg, Skay.”

After a long pause she nodded, so I led her back to my bolt hole. Good thing for her I checked that wound. The wererat bite looked septic, with good odds of getting into her blood. She drained off the last of my Redeye – the better stuff. I had some dried belladonna on the shelf. It didn’t make her too sick; she only puked twice. The next day she was looking better. To avoid worry about the full moon, though, it usually takes two weeks. I let her stay, and boy am I glad I did. The next evening, coming back from a grub run, I found her reading that book.

“Do you understand this, Lik? I never figured you for smart, more of a smart-alec.” I tried to say a few words from the lexicon and her eyes went wide.

“No! That's not right. It’s pronounced like this. *Thorgat urn fsugharth ahn feghrro*-”

It rolled off of her draco-tongue like honeyed oil. I tried to say it again. We spent the next day getting me to say words to her satisfaction. And most of the next.

At the end of two weeks, and no infection showing, she was ready to get back to her life. We’d gone through most of that book. It was a draconic lexicon, with an old style manual for swordplay in the appendix. Before she left I asked if she knew who had wanted that book. Who was my customer who’d missed the meet up? Skay knew a lot of scholars and sages. As far as I knew my customer had been a scholar.

She grinned with those teeth of hers, but I’d gotten used to her. It didn’t scare me like it used to.
“I know who it was stolen from. Were you on that job?” My spine crawled with cold hairs.

“I’m just the fence, Skay, you know I don’t go in for second story work. My customer never showed up, though, and I sure hope it wasn’t you.” She cackled. I’d gotten use to that sound too.

“The previous owner is no friend of mine; we don’t see eye-to-eye on much. The customer *was* another story.” I didn’t like the sound of that, and she continued. “I know someone else who’d pay well.” She took a long look at me. “I’ll split your cut with you, on account of you helping me, and I’ll get a better price than you could have. Unlike you, I can move around in respectable circles in this city. Deal?”

Three days later she brought me a nicely weighted bag of coin, and we counted it out. I made a big pile for the guild, added a few more coins for penalty, and put fifteen in my pocket. She kept the rest, but she looked at me funny.

“Lik, that was more than half that I ended up with. You don’t have a rep for charity.”
For once, I was as honest as could be.
“I don’t care to leave debts, Skay. I can’t buy the kind of help you gave me with that book. We both know I’m not smart enough to figure it out by myself. Call it a tutor’s fee.”

She cackled again, and headed off to wherever it is she goes when she’s looking for old secrets and treasures. Before she left, she put a red rock on my table. I haven’t slept well since, but I paid off the guild and I’m still breathing -- so I’ve got that going for me, which is nice.
---------------------------------
Background: Criminal (Fence)
Warlock, GOO, 1/2 elf
Skill Prof: Perception, Medicine, Stealth, Persuasion, Deception, Intimidation.
Tool Prof: Draconic Language (Traded in both tool profs for this, DM call)
Cantrips: Eldritch Blast, Mage Hand
Spells: Hellish Rebuke, Hex
Status: Paranoid, but alive

[Pyramid Pug]

Hundreds of years ago, a fleet of merchant ships set out from Beluir to Waterdeep. The ships had several particularly big groups of halflings seeking out to do and expand business up north, merchants, artisans, servants, small folk from all walks of life. The ambient was joyful and full of life and the nights warm.

Unfortunately such cheerfulness offended Umberlee seeing it as a disrespect to her domain. She summoned a giant storm capsizing and sinking the ships. The halflings on the ships where bellow deck and survived just a bit longer within the small pockets of air, cursing being robbed of their promising future and being unable to see their families again.

The sorrow and despair woke up a forgotten presence in the depths though. Carcinus, an old being from the ages before the gods used to make the cosmic oceans its home, freely traveling between dimensions, until it was chained and imprisoned so as to not challenge the gods domains. Carcinus gathered the dying halflings and offered common cause to them. It would save and bind it's fate to them and in return the halflings would seek to undermine and erode Umberlee's hold on the world so Carcinus would be free once again.

The halflings accepted and Carcinus changed them. No longer were they a scattered group connected only by chance, but were now instead a family of fishers, craftspeople and artisans. Adopting the name Seabreeze they scattered through the Sword Coast and Faerun.

Still, big as a family they might have been then, they were still few in numbers and could easily be found and acted upon by the followers of Umberlee, so they all sworn to secrecy and sought to expand their influence while working in secret against her. The centuries passed and the Family size and influence grew unnoticed, with members being fishers, masons, artisans, sailors, traders, merchants, extensions of the professions the original founders had and that enabled them to quietly gather information on Umberlee's clergy and agents and undermine them in secret when possible. Sometimes by seemingly innocuous activities like establishing orphanages for those lost at sea, other times by more cloak and dagger activities like sowing distrust among the faithful or pointing adventurers in the... right direction..

To the outside world, the Seabreeze family is a cordial if insular halfling family, usually keeping it's distance from most communities (including other halflings), but otherwise not particularly notice worthy, found mostly near bodies of water like the sea, rivers or lakes. In reality, Carcinus became the Lares of the family watching over, guiding and teaching them. Due to the change Carcinus did to the original founders (in order to turn them into a family), Sorcerers occur with some frequency and it's seen as a good omen. Other times, some members dedicate themselves more fully to their Lares becoming Warlocks and acting as a in-family clergy for their secret rituals. Other studies and professions are always welcomed as well as it spreads the influence and power base of the family.

It's not just halflings also. Thanks to the orphanages, some children from other races (who are unable to move past the trauma) have been adopted and fully inducted into the Family's mysteries, having been blessed and changed by Carcinus. That quiet elderly halfling looks like such an easy mark doesn't she.. well.. her adopted daughter is a minotaur and she don't take kindly to anyone messing with her momma..

Okay granted I actually spent more time on my patron and the story of the family rather than my character, but HEY, at least I can make all sorts of characters with this backstory 😁

[manyslayer]

The history for my tiefling Hexblade (pact of the blade) with the sailor (pirate) background. We play that tieflings (and aasimar) are not a separate race but can crop up[ in bloodlines with the blood of fiends (celestials) in their ancestry.

Carter Cooperson was born in the small fishing village of Gillcutter. It had little to offer except hard farming, difficult fishing, and a cove that could support few boats of any real size. Carter was born the third child to Samael and Marta Cooperson. Samael was the village cooper and also worked on boat's hulls. His older brother and sister both worked in his father's shop. As Carter approached the age to begin doing more than fetching for his father and siblings in the shop, his heritage began to show through. After a week of fever, Carter's horns sprouted. His left hand slowly started to change shade and small patches of scales began to grow. The villagers refused to come to the shop when the boy was present.

Carter was relegated to working in the basement or staying at the house. But there, his mother would always keep her distance, often blaming herself for his condition. Her grandmother had been accused of witchcraft before Marta was born and her mother was still an outcast.

When the fishing started bringing in fish that were emaciated and sickly, the villagers looked for someone to blame. Any who had had Samael do work on their boat blamed the boy (the others did too, though they had no connection to the Coopersons). Carter packed a sack with his few things and left the village, travelling along the shore until he found a boat of traders moored offshore for the night.

He convinced the captain to take him on and worked aboard as a ship hand under the captain, Gunter Nightsail. He created a new name for himself in his new life, Mallus. He learned to handle a blade as well as a sail. Although he got along well with most of his shipmates, some resented his easy way of talking to people, especially serving maids and other ladies in ports. While serving under Nightsail, Carter traded in goods, smuggled those that were forbidden or highly taxed, and committed a few acts of piracy.

This changed when Nightsail acquired a map to an island he called the Raven's Beak. Nightsail became obsessed with finding the island, claiming there was a treasure beyond measure there. When they finally came to the dark, shadowed island, Mallus was among the crew to look for the treasure. In a deep cave filled with traps that took the lives of many of his fellow sailors, they came across a shadowy longsword, floating over a sigil of a raven. Gunter turned and struck down those crewmen that were still with him, claiming it would be his alone.

Mallus moved forwards while Gunter killed his own men. When Gunter saw Mallus approaching the sword, he screamed in rage and charged the young man. Mallus ignored his captain's wrath, entranced by the floating weapon, and reached out to grab it. As his hand wrapped around the hilt, it disappeared in waves of light and darkness. In his mind he heard a woman whisper "Become the shadow of my blade," and knew the name of the sword, Shadowfang. At that moment Gunter ran his saber through Mallus. The youth fell into a pool in the cave as his vision went dark.

When next Mallus awoke, he was clinging to a barrel in the waves off a coastline. His wound seemed healed, though a dark scar was visible on his front and back where the sword had pierced him. He made his way to shore and into Starport.




(Starport was the name of the port city the campaign started in)

[Man_Over_Game]

These are pretty intense.

Here's a short one for those with shorter attention spans:

--------------

A mage attempts to receive the power to be a lich from a higher being, and sacrifices his child to do so. Halfway through the ritual, the Harpers show up and take down the attempted lich. The boy is still stuck inside of the ritual, but now there's a conundrum:

Someone is due the reward for immortality, and the only thing available to accept the reward is the sacrifice. So the Patron decides to champion the child as a remote servant, an agent within the Harpers.

The child's name was Phylactery Jones. Phylactery ("Phyl") from the only thing his father ever called him (which stuck in his head), and Jones from the Jones Orphanage, where the child stayed until he was old enough to join the Harpers.

[deljzc]

Rowan Thornbird grew up in a small halfling village on the southeastern borders of the plains of Greyhawk (near and around Storm Run and Long Brook). The town is primarily orchard-keepers and farmers and supplies the coastal towns along Wooly Bay and dwarven strongholds in Cairn Hills with apples, grapes, figs, plums and traditional grains. Because of this proximity to a variety of races, Rowan is very familiar with human and demihuman cultures. Her parents quickly utilized Rowan’s natural gift of charm and guile to negotiate prices and deal with county issues. This exposed her to more than the usual experiences and although she never traveled far from home, she is not unwise to the world.

While Rowan has long enjoyed this travel and responsibility, she has also grown tired of the dirty, crowded cities and towns. Perhaps this is why she first traveled and explored away from civilization when opportunities presented itself. For days or weeks, she would often travel to the foothills of the Abbor-Alz Mountains alone. These escapes from normalcy at first felt adventurous but after a while, almost a necessity to feed some inner desire to explore; not just the external world but internally into her soul as well.

It was on one of these treks that Rowan’s path changed toward the course of the present. She met a magical hermit, Azamundi. It has been through this relationship that her introduction to witchcraft and the Archfey began. What began as curiosity and innocent friendship, evolved into ritual education of lost arts and history. Azamundi eventually revealed to Rowan he is an ancient silver dragon that has lived in central Oerth for a millennium and long before the arrival of humans and many of the younger races and knows of things before time recorded. Azamundi is also a disciple of an even more ancient Archfey of the Feywild plane but has not revealed who the entity is (it is unclear whether he even knows this for sure).

Rowan has shown a natural affinity towards the ways of witchcraft and has eagerly absorbed many of the basic lessons from Azamundi. Her affinity of magic has surprised even herself. She often wonders whether her meeting Azamundi was by chance, the fate of the wheel, or some destiny being directed by the Archfey itself. She’s not even sure whether she has been his first apprentice. “Why me?” is a common theme of self-doubt that creeps in Rowan’s mind. And a question Azamundi has always failed to answer.

What Rowan undoubtedly does believe in is her commitment to the witchcraft of the Archfey. This unspoken relationship felt right and “good” from the beginning. The more she learns the stronger it becomes. Whatever the reason for her selection, she is grateful for it. To her, it is not a religion or belief but a symbiosis. More equal and fair than the common deity/worshipper. She is not meant to convert followers or preach to the masses. Only to serve for the benefit of herself and this “being”. To uncover secret truths and knowledge.

For many years Rowan lived this double life of farmgirl, family supporter, community servant and that of a wild acolyte to an unseen hermit. In many ways only in a trusting and naïve halfling village could something so innocent stay as such (although some in her village did whisper about her absences or question her backyard practice with a staff and dagger). Rowen’s parents also knew more was going on than just wild curiosity and an interest in camping. It was Rowan’s great grandmother that first travelled across the Cairn Hills from Urnst due to a family squabble and more than one aunt and uncle has told her of that resemblance. But like many halflings, to Rowan’s parents the idea of burdening their daughter with obligations, responsibilities or gender stereotypes was not in their nature. If Rowan wanted to spend more time in the woods, so be it. If she wanted to keep some secrets, that’s her choice.

But as age 30 approaches for Rowan, she realizes that it is time to do some real exploring and possibly find out the purpose of her “gift” and why she was chosen. With staff in hand and a wink from Azamundi (who long ago knew this day would come), Rowan is set to embark on her life as witch, warlock and adventurer.

[R.Shackleford]

My all time favorite warlock backstory is that my warlock's parents said something like "I would give up my first born son in order to be rich"... Blamo! My character's soul was sold to an ancient horror, demon, or something else.

So, like, from there on I like to make the Warlock to be an average person until one day the demon, ancient horror, or whatever else shows up and is like "yo, you actually work for me/us/we... Here's the power, go get them tiger".

My favorite, I think, may have been a merchant who was working off the debt of his parents (who came into a lot of money and then squandered it).

[deljzc]

On a side note, are female warlocks "witches"? Or do you still refer to them as warlocks.

[WeaselGuy]

This is the blurb that I have on my character sheet. For context, Soryn Lukyan is a LN Shadar-Kai Warlock, with the Stojanow Convict background, who has The Hexblade as his patron, and follows the Pact of the Blade.
Caught in Phlan during a Shadar-Kai raid, Soryn was mistaken for a Drow and imprisoned at Stojanow Prison for years. During his imprisonment, Soryn was subjected to hundreds upon hundreds of interrogation and torture sessions, with little regard given to any answers that he gave. After his tormentors took his left eye, Soryn went a little insane, and it was during this period that he started hearing the voices in his head. Pledging his soul to the mysterious entity in his head was followed almost immediately by a prison riot, and his subsequent escape. Hitching a ride with a caravan out of Hillsfar as a sellsword, Soryn worked his way west, to the Sword Coast, discovering more about his newfound powers as he made his way, eventually, to Waterdeep.

In his adventures, he has recently reached level 7, and after taking 5 levels of Warlock, he then took 2 levels of Paladin, devoting himself to the Raven Queen. He's currently working with the church of Kelemvor, in Waterdeep, to expand the faith of the Raven Queen, in an attempt to restore her divinity. (What this means, out of game, is that I'm taking a break from Soryn, to play a War Mage).

[LorinSilver]

My very first character was a pre-gen Tiefling Warlock with the Hermit background. When I got him to level 3, I finally got around to writing the following backstory:

The life of a Tiefling can be hard. Eclipse wondered what caused so many folk to be suspicious of him – even hostile at times. It wasn’t the bat-like wings, was it? Or his small horns, cat’s eyes, sharp teeth or red skin? Maybe people just didn’t like the way he walked.
The problem was that Eclipse wanted to make a difference in life. To be like one of those heroic adventurers that the bards always sang about – if they were willing to sing with a Tiefling staring at them. But Eclipse wasn’t cut out to be an adventurer – his fighting skills were mediocre at best, and he had no aptitude for studying the mystical arts. He decided to move far away from people, and ponder his life choices.

While the years of living as a hermit gave Eclipse a sense of acceptance, it didn’t give him the answers he was looking for. One night, as he sat in front of the fire, feeling particularly frustrated, he shouted “By all the Gods above and Demons in the Abyss, what will it take for me to make something of my life?”
“That can be arranged…” came a strange voice from the fire, when suddenly a tiny creature with skin as red as his own jumped out.
“If it is power you seek, my master Gargauth can grant you that.” Eclipse took a step back. He’d heard of these “Imps” making deals with mortals for their fiendish master.
The imp flapped his wings and landed in front of the young Tiefling, continuing “All he wants in return for power beyond belief, is a small favor now and again.” With this a quill and a scroll appeared in its long fingers – a contract, ready to be signed in blood, no doubt.
As Eclipse was about to shoo the horned creature back into the fire, he contemplated the offer.
“I’m tempted, little imp,” he replied, causing the Imp’s eyebrows to rise in anticipation, “but I don’t want to do any evil acts for your master. Or acts that will have evil consequences!” He wanted to have a good impact on the world after all!
The imp pouted and started scribbling on the contract. “…no… acts… evil… That can be arranged, but that will invoke clause 31B subsection h, allowing my master to collect one thing from you at the time of your death.”
Eclipse shrugged. “When I’m dead, I won’t need anything anyway. But little imp…” He blinked, staring at features not unlike his own. “By the way, what is your name? I dislike calling you ‘imp’ all the time.”
The imp was taken aback. “That’s a first… You can call me Chum.”
“Okay then, ‘Chum’. While your master may grant me powers, I don’t know if they will be enough for me to change the world in a meaningful way.”
The imp’s forked tail scratched the top of his bald head. “How about… I tell you a secret that is so important, it could rewrite history!” That sounded like a fair deal. Chum made a few arrangements to the contract and Eclipse signed. Then the imp flew up to perch on the newly formed Warlock’s shoulders, and whispered something in his ear.
Eclipse turned a pale shade of pink. “No!” he shouted. Chum bobbed his head up and down.
The Imp hopped back into the fire and said “Farewell Tiefling. I actually enjoyed meeting you. You’ll probably never see me again until the day you die. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have plenty more souls to collect for my master. Farewell!”
As the red creature disappeared, Eclipse realised what he had foolishly given up. Then again, given the magnitude of what he had just learned, maybe it wasn’t such a high price. He had better return to civilization and start making a name for himself. Still, there HAD to be a way to get out from under this infernal contract…

Chum appeared in front of his master Gargauth, the mysterious infernal power trapped within a magical shield. “Yet another soul for you to collect, master. This one made quite a fuss! Quite nosy too, I had to tell him a secret to get him to sign!”
***A SECRET?***
“Yes, I had to tell him a secret. This guy’s really something, I think he’s going to be a real player in the…”
***EXACTLY WHAT SECRET DID YOU TELL HIM?***
So Chum told Gargauth the secret he had told Eclipse...

When the Imp eventually regained consciousness, he pressed his face to the ground and groveled before his master. “Please, just let me go and get more souls for you.”
***I THINK NOT. NOW THAT THIS MORTAL KNOWS WHAT MUST NOT BE KNOWN, YOU WILL FOLLOW HIM, INVISIBLE, TO MAKE SURE HE DOES NOT DO ANYTHING FOOLISH. WHEN HE HAS SHOWN PROGRESS, YOU WILL SHOW YOURSELF TO HIM, AND OBEY HIS EVERY COMMAND.***
“But I like collecting…”
***HIS EVERY COMMAND!***
With this, Chum disappeared, wailing at his ill fortune.

[Jcp1195]

Name: Ravena Corduta Ilvania

Race: Half-Elf (Shadar-Kai)

Warlock Patron: Raven Queen (Pact of the Blade)

Exposition: (This is something I wrote a while back for a character I'll be playing in an upcoming long-term campaign. I've always enjoyed writing and it may be a bit long but I'm still pretty proud of it)

----

Ravena was born the child of a Human and Shadar-Kai Elf. Her mother, Markella, a Priestess in servitude of the Raven Queen, found her Human father, Ser Roderick, trapped in the Shadowfell and accosted by the horrific Sorrowsworn. Against her better judgement she came to his rescue. Grateful, he returned with her to her village, unable to return home and unwilling to brave the dark landscape brimming with horrid monsters. A cautious curiosity led to a whirlwind romance and soon Markella was pregnant.

The Raven Queen looked on intently as she allowed her servant to wed the intruder of her domain, curious of the potential of the child of her favored priestess and a knight so powerful to survive in her realm.

When Ravena was born, it was a joyous occasion, something unusual in the dark plane of sorrow and despair. She was born happy, healthy, and without complication, but all too quickly a new fear began to hang over the family. Now a mother, Markella began to fear for her child's future. She knew that she was doomed to eternal servitude, and that she would be unable to live the life she deserved if she stayed in the Shadowfell. While it tore her up inside, she used the Raven Queen's trust against her.

It took her until Ravena was four years old, but she found a way to get her to the Marerial plane, and found a family of Elves willing to take her at raise her as their own. As they were readying for the trip to bring Ravenna to her home, the Raven Queen appeared in the village in all her dark majesty, a look of scorn and disdain on her face. She had learned of her most trusted priestess' treachery from the others, all too fearful of her wrath. As punishment she commanded that Markella be clapped in chains and forced to watch as her husband was rent asunder by her mistress' dark magic. Ser Roderick was changed violently, morphed into a being of pure nightmare, a being that the Raven Queen dubbed "The Forsaken" and cursed to roam the shadowfell for eternity.

Markella was reduced to a sobbing pit of despair, unable to help the love of her... un-life, or save her screeching child from the clutches of the others. The Raven Queen pondered how else to hurt the unfaithful Elf before her, and with a nefarious smirk, she decreed that Ravena would be sent to the Material plane, to live under her watchful eyes and one day become her priestess. Markella, screaming curses in defiance, was dragged to the dungeons of the Fortress of Memories.

After erasing the child's memories, the Raven Queen promised to return them to her when she was ready, and after warning the child's new caretakers against defiance, Ravena began her new life as a child of the Material Plane.

----

Ravena grew quick and beautiful, flourishing like a flower in her forest home but on the eve of her 15th year, chaos struck her tiny village. Men on horseback stormed the camp without warning, trampling and slicing through elves as they rode, shouting of their treachery, how they had murdered the king, and that this was their punishment.

Ravena stood rooted to her spot, fear gripping her heart as she watched her friends and friends family fall beneath blade and hoof, her home burned in a blinding blaze. Her eyes raised up as a man in black armor stood before her, outlined by the full moon and sword poised to strike. In that moment she regained her nerve and tried to flee, but as the man brought his sword down it raked across her face, slicing her eyes and blinding her.

She fell to the ground, clutching her face as her shrieking sobs rose above the sound of battle. A sharp kick to her stomach sent her sprawling and slowly, wracked with fear, she slipped into unconsciousness.

----

Ravena awoke to a stinging pain and vile words spoken by a gnarled voice as her captor slapped her again. She couldn't see a thing, but felt a dreadful aura in the air. She felt her toes just barely touching a cold stone floor and her arms were pulled above her, held in place by shackles. She could hear the sounds of screams and cracking whips as well as laughter. Maniacal, sickening laughter.

She was asked question after question for what felt like hours and beaten senseless whenever she gave an unsatisfactory answer. As the hours became days, she stopped crying, she stopped begging for forgiveness. She simply answered when she was addressed and tried to avoid giving them the pleasure of hearing her wail when she was beaten.

Days became weeks, weeks became years, and slowly she regressed into her mind, finding solace in the silence. She adjusted to her blindness, feeling safe in the darkness. One day as the guards were changing, the silence of her mind was broken by the caws of a raven. She let out a soft groan as she awoke, thinking she had been dreaming when the caws continued and she heard the distant sounds of guards yelling about 'flying rats'. All at once the distinct caws became a cacophonous thrum, almost deafeningly loud. She could just make out the screams of guards above the caws. Soon, everything fell silent once again except for a slow, methodical clacking against the stone floor.

----

The clacking grew closer and closer, stopping just outside her cell. She heard a loud creaking as the door opened and the clacking grew even closer, "Oh, you poor thing." Cooed a soothing voice. Ravena raised her head weekly and looked forward confusedly, "Your time has come child, awaken." Came the voice again and Ravena's childhood memories revealed themselves and strangely, she felt... Complete, but a new flame of hatred began to burn inside her.

Her shackles opened and she fell to the floor with a gasp. As she struggled to her feet, something even stranger happened... She began to see. Despite looking at the floor, she seemed to be towering above herself, watching a pale, grey-skinned girl struggle to her feet, her thick matted hair hung at her ankles and a bloodied blindfold was tied tightly around eyes. As she steadied herself, there was another caw and a sudden flapping of wings. Her sight began to shift, spinning lazily around her from above before lowering to the girls' level and settling on an unusually tall woman. She felt a weight land on her shoulder and claws grip her shoulder. She reached up to touch the new arrival and waved her hand in front of its face, slowly realizing... She was seeing through the eyes of a raven.

Together they looked up at the woman, seeing a tall being that she could only assume was half woman and half raven standing before her, "I bring gifts from our Mistress." She whispered and reached out to tap her forehead with a talon-tipped finger.

Ravena clutched her head and fell to her knees as a dark energy filled her being. It felt like her body was being ripped between planes of existence as her head was filled with the echoing cries of ravens. As swiftly as it began, it ended. She felt a new strength, a dark strength, radiating inside her as she rose once again, "Good," whispered the woman, pausing to glance over her shoulder as she heard the sound of approaching guards, "Serve our dark lady well, these gifts come at a great price." She spoke and vanished in a flash of feathers.

Three guards ran into Ravena's open cell, blade in hand. They circled around her, ready to strike, but kept their distance out of fear. They'd already seen their fellow guardsmen's mangled bodies, and the trail of feathers leading to her did not bode well.

Ravena smiled for the first time in a long time and slowly, she began to laugh. She lifted her arm and a scythe made of shadow appeared in her grasp. She clutched it close. This new power, whatever it was, felt right. "Fear me, children of man!" She cried and fell upon them, an unbridled, unstoppable wave of dark fury.

More guards came and they fell all the same. The killing only ceased when she stood once again in her home. A town had been built over the ashes and graves of those who lived there before. She stood, covered in blood not her own, surrounded by the corpses of guards and she gazed at the full moon hanging before her, just like the night this all began. She had learned the name of the Black Knight who took her eyes, but he was gone, having left the kingdom not long after the destruction of her village. She didn't care though. She would chase him through the nine hells and back to get her revenge... And once he was dead, she would set her eyes to the Raven Queen herself. "Don't worry mother... I will come for you, I will come for father, and I will use her gifts to usurp her throne." She swore before vanishing into the night.

[R.Shackleford]

On a side note, are female warlocks "witches"? Or do you still refer to them as warlocks.

Warlocks.

The word "witch" isn't actually gender specific.

[Joe the Rat]

I remember reading somewhere that the item connected to Hexblade could be an artifact, rather than simply a weapon, so my Hexblade Bard was flavored as being a normal dude that found a magical instrument through which he was offered a deal to have amazing instrument skills at the cost of his soul after ten years (essentially a D&D take on the Robert Leroy Johnson crossroads deal). His story hook for adventuring is finaggling a way out of the deal.

You can never go wrong with a Robert Johnson story. It worked for the Cohen Brothers. And the Winchesters.

My current pair:
Randal Redpike, aka Randal the Red, aka Randal the Retired. Human Fiend Warlock. A sergeant of many years in the Neverwinter city watch, he was part of the squad sent in to "back up" a group of adventurers clearing out a cult. It turns out they were summoning someone, and as adventurers typically do, explosions ensued. The experience left him with dead friends, a deep seated dislike of adventurers, and a shard of something stuck in his chest, leaving him with renewed vigor, strange powers, and a whispering voice in his head.

He insists the group he travels with are "freelance peacekeepers."

Hand of Six, Kobold Celestial Warlock.
The kobold who would become known as Hand of Six was your run of the mill Kobold Public Works digger, cutting and maintaining the extensive sewers, tunnels, and catacombs every thriving fantasy city needs. A surprise pocket of gas resulted in a cave-in, where in the gas and oxygen-deprivation, his canary started telling him about the works of Bahamut, and that by serving, he could gain power.
Six's Patron is one of Bahamut's attendant Gold Dragons (the 6th one). Due to his utter lack of knowledge, Six doesn't get the significance, and believes his patron is a canary.

[Astofel]

Cedric was a simple lad from a simple family, not even important enough to have a last name. He grew up in Goldenfields working on his parents' farm, but Cedric was not clever enough to manage things on his own; the only thing he'd ever been good at was following instructions to the letter. That made him a perfect fit for the military. So he signed up, and was a soldier in Triboar's army for many years. He fought in skirmishes against orcs, hobgoblins, and many more, and somehow always survived, even as his allies on the front lines died around him.

Cedric's luck ran out, however, and in a nighttime ambush by drow he was captured and taken to the underdark. He was made to work as a slave and forced to live in a prison, but really, conditions weren't that much worse than what he was already used to. He dutifully carried out the instructions of his new masters, but then something happened that poor Cedric's feeble mind couldn't cope with. Even after doing everything he was told perfectly, the drow still punished him with lashings of the whip. Cedric couldn't understand, why were they angry at him when he'd done everything they asked?

As he slept in his cell that night, wishing for escape, a voice appeared to him promising to fulfill that desire. The voice named itself Zariel, and all it asked in return was service in a "Blood War". Cedric didn't know what that was, but he'd already been a soldier for most of his life, so what was one more war? When he awoke, he found himself blessed with magical power. Believing escape was near, Cedric gathered with his fellow prisoners and prepared to make a break for it.

[InspectorG]

I have a Feylock Pact of Chain.

Backstory is thus:

He was a man of some means who fell to a bandit raid. His wife and child were killed and he was sold as a slave.
His above average intelligence helped get him into more of the house and 'admin' work on a plantation. But he was still a slave.
He hated his situation and mourned for his family.
Every night he would try to dream about them but couldnt.
At the pit of his despair a pixie-type creature visited him. He thought he was going mad, but after several days the pixie proved to him he was sane and told him The Just Lady could offer help.
Having nothing to lose he agreed to meet with this Just Lady.
He was whisked off to some dreamscape which was an honorary feast for The Just Lady who was about to renew her vows with a certain ruler of one of the Hells. The marriage was arranged to maintain a certain elemental plane.
Char got an audience with the Just Lady, and for her favor and powers he had to give her his dreams and could never love another woman other than her.

He agreed.

He then set out to punish his captors and rebuild his life.

[Rebonack]

My GOO Warlock was the result of asking if I could make a PC where the familiar was the actual PC. Went more or less as follows.

The character in question was a relatively 'minor' far realm entity that 'eats' via learning. The entity in question was fractal, all pieces of her are also her in her entirety. As a fractal entity, she was uniquely suited for investigating sub-layer organisms. That eventually put her in contact with the kaorti, from who she discovered that physical worlds were a thing and saw them as an untapped source of knowledge.

Upon finding a physical world sufficiently breached to enter it, she decided to just slip into one of its outermost layers and observe is discretely. She discovered quite quickly that physical worlds do not, in fact, have layers and completely subsumed everything inside of that world's crystal sphere. Whoops. This is, incidentally, is how we explained aberrant stars.

She learned a bit from that experience, but not as much as she would have liked. She needed to find another world and figure out how to interact with it in a fashion that wouldn't cause catastrophic existential deterioration.

It wasn't long (cosmologically speaking) before warlocks began drawing on her star. Now, it was known that things in physical worlds would do that, but among those entities that were sapient there wasn't any agreement on why (prevailing hypothesis was that it had something to do with the reproductive cycle of physical organisms). She saw this as a perfect opportunity. If she followed the tug on her power, she could discover worlds that were inhabited by creatures that would be worth investigating.

She broke off a tiny fragment of herself and sent it through a recently closed (but not sealed) rift that tangentially touched the Far Realm. The fragment found herself in the lair of a necromancer who had been thwarted by a band of heroes. The laws of reality immediately began to erode her, but thankfully this was something she had planned for. Utilizing biomass scattered around the lair, she wove a physical body to anchor her power to in the fashion of the links between her star the mortals forged. That link allowed the fragment to persist without harm provided the body was still biologically intact.

The body was little more than a puppet, but she found that using it to interact with the mortals she encountered tended to have much more favorable results than the alternative. The heroes who defeated the necromancer soon crossed paths with this strangely naive warlock and from there many adventures followed. More than a few laughs were had due to her tentative grasp of how physical universes work.

[Miz_Liz]

Hand of Six, Kobold Celestial Warlock.
The kobold who would become known as Hand of Six was your run of the mill Kobold Public Works digger, cutting and maintaining the extensive sewers, tunnels, and catacombs every thriving fantasy city needs. A surprise pocket of gas resulted in a cave-in, where in the gas and oxygen-deprivation, his canary started telling him about the works of Bahamut, and that by serving, he could gain power.
Six's Patron is one of Bahamut's attendant Gold Dragons (the 6th one). Due to his utter lack of knowledge, Six doesn't get the significance, and believes his patron is a canary.
I may have to swipe some inspiration for my next character from this. This is amazing.


I've run two warlocks. The first way a feylock who group up in a forest village that was on an unstable rift, leading the whole place to be plane shifted back and forth from the feywild every once in a while. The village shifted one day while she was out hunting, and it never came back. She was taken in by a treant who became almost a father figure to her, and eventually her patron. turns out the treant was just a shapeshifted lawful evil demon and he was planning to use her to free one of his friends from an enchanted prison. Nevermind that this should have meant my lock had feind pact powers instead of fey, it was also a **** move because I specifically requested having a neutral or good patron. I had some major beef with this DM.

My second lock was a homebrew pact of the Wild Hunt, and her patron was Artemis. She used a magical bow as her spellcasting focus, and was granted Artemis's patronage by successfully hunting the great white stag. This was probably one of the funnest character I ever played, and I'm sad the campaign ended early.

[PrismaRiyo]

The first Warlock I played (infact the first 5e character I played) was a human. He was a simple carpenter from a simple family who lead a simple life. Until one day his village was attacked by a terrible beast, he didn't have any training but still he couldn't just sit by, he took some hammers he had and headed out to fight the beast, he managed to fight it off long enough to allow the villagers to escape, but sadly died in this battle.
Or almost died, at his last moment he heard a voice that offered him a second chance, if he agreed to return a small favor, that is when he unknowingly agreed to make a pact with a devil and became a warlock. He used his new powers to kill the beast. The devil wanted him because hs wanted him to get to a scroll that contained another devil's name but was inside a cave that was protected by magic that only allowed good people to get in (so not a devil or someone who would willingly sign a pact with a devil).

The second warlock I played was basically an homage to the first one, he was an aasimar who didn't know he was an aasimar and spend his life as a thief and a drunk. He agreed to take part in a sketchy robbery but everything went wrong, his partners bailed on him and the guards beat him up and left him to die on the side of a road, that is when an angel agreed to bring him back, if he spends his life spreading good in the world, and so he became a warlock (celestial patron this time)
Later on the game we discovered that his ancestor angel was weeping (basically its when an angel gets depressed with how sucky humans are) and that was why he was so lost. His patron was a friend/related to his ancestor and when he found out that my character existed he decided to take "me" under his wings, the only way he could.

Both of these characters were really fun to play, and writing this actually made me want to play a warlock again.

[Clistenes]

For a plot-driving patron, I think a Warlock could easily fit a Jonah style character... a prophet who doesn't want to be it...

"You are my prophet now!"
"I don't wanna!"
"I'm your god! You don't get to say no!"
"I'm not religious! I don't even pray! Aren't faith and prayer requirements to be a Cleric?!"
"Well... do you remember your initiation during your coming of age ceremony? The one you didn't want to do, but you were guilt-tripped into by your grandma..? Turns out it counts as a Warlock pact!"
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!"
"Yeah, you are a Celestial Warlock now! Now go to Nineveh or I'll get you eaten by a whale, biatch!"

If you want a less intrusive patron, an Archfey would be fine. Like, they are so whimsical one of them could make you a Warlock in exchange for a bag of candies and forget about you later...

Star Warlocks can be really flavorful... You get hints of an expanded universe and what dwells beyond...

[Sigreid]

The plot I envision for a hexblade would be you get your warlock powers and patronage and when you are dead for x amount of time (to give a chance for resurrection) your soul becomes the intelligence for an intelligent weapon. Hexblade wants you to become powerful as possible so he won't screw you. Your soul being bound to an enchanted blade makes you free from the consequences of your evil life. Well, you won't descend into hell anyway.

[Finback]

Gerhart Ostermeier was a very, very angry man. His need for vengeance against Strahd and the rich nobles who profitted from war was so great, that Hoar, God of Vengeance looked down and said, "Whoa, this guy is doing my work, and didn't even need to be asked. Gonna give him some bonus powers for Ultimate Vengeance!"

and that's how a vengeance paladin started shooting lasers out his eyes and igniting things around him.

[KorvinStarmast]

Star Warlocks can be really flavorful... You get hints of an expanded universe and what dwells beyond... I see what you did there and I approve. :smallcool:

[Velaryon]

Here's the short background that I wrote up for my halfling warlock that I played a couple years ago:

Grady Sweetwater is a lightfoot halfling, fairly typical in appearance for his race, though he may look a little unkempt, as if he didn't quite get enough sleep and has forgotten to shave or comb his hair this morning. There's also something vaguely weird about him, in that he seems to blink less often than a normal person, and maybe he has a slight tendency to stare at people with an inscrutable expression.

Grady used to be a chef at a roadside inn in a small halfling town. Going out on adventures was the very last thing on his mind - he was more than content to hear other people's wild stories while he cooked them up a fine steak or stew.

However, one day a mysterious hooded stranger entered his inn. He never saw this person's face, but he could overhear the stranger speaking to himself in a low voice, in a language Grady had never heard before. When Grady brought the evening special to the stranger's table, they vanished, leaving behind only their cloak (which fluttered to the ground) and a mysterious, leather-bound book in the chair. When the cloak hit the floor, worms scattered out from it and escaped through cracks in the floor.

Grady tried to read the book, but it didn't make any sense. It seemed to drift freely between various languages, some he understood and others he did not. And what he could understand didn't make any sense. It seemed to be mostly mad ranting, but he would occasionally find nonsensical phrases such as "sleeps forgotten in time" or "waits dreaming for his return." Grady put the book away in a drawer and forgot about it.

A few weeks later, a violent fight broke out in his inn between some angry adventurer types. Two people were killed, and the victors tried to rob the inn and intimidate the staff into silence. Hiding under a table, Grady prayed to anyone who would listen to deliver him from this possible death. Almost without realizing it, he included in his pleas some of the names from the strange book: Hastur, Azathoth, and others.

Suddenly, something seemed to flow into Grady's mind. Knowledge, power, and more. He stood up, looked the robbers in the eyes, and spoke a strange word. The robbers grasped their heads as if in agony, then turned without a word and walked out of the inn, never to return.

Grady's friends and fellows thanked him at first, but over the next week or so they noticed a change in him. He seemed to stare off into the distance, at things only he could see. He would seem to talk to himself, or laugh for no apparent reason. Sometimes they could swear they heard his voice when he had not even spoken. Grady began to creep people out, and after awhile they found a pretense to gently but firmly fire him from his job and discourage him from coming back.

Ever since, Grady has begun to take up a wandering life, vaguely weirding people out but sometimes doing good deeds as well.

[Max_Killjoy]

These are pretty intense.

Here's a short one for those with shorter attention spans:

--------------

A mage attempts to receive the power to be a lich from a higher being, and sacrifices his child to do so. Halfway through the ritual, the Harpers show up and take down the attempted lich. The boy is still stuck inside of the ritual, but now there's a conundrum:

Someone is due the reward for immortality, and the only thing available to accept the reward is the sacrifice. So the Patron decides to champion the child as a remote servant, an agent within the Harpers.

The child's name was Phylactery Jones. Phylactery ("Phyl") from the only thing his father ever called him (which stuck in his head), and Jones from the Jones Orphanage, where the child stayed until he was old enough to join the Harpers.


Reminds me of an idea I had that I've never had a chance to use.

Short version, maybe something went wrong during the binding ritual, maybe maybe a dying person cried out for help but the patron was too late, whatever went wrong, the soul of the person who would have been the warlock is gone... and what's inside their physical body now IS the patron.

[Xeko]

There is a Hexblade Warlock in my group, where both the warlock and the Patron were unaware of one another's existence. Hexblade Warlocks have sentient weapons (or the extra-planar spirits that inhabit and/or create them) as their patrons, but the player wasn't familiar with what sort of sentient weapons existed in the forgotten realms, nor did he think it a good idea for a level 1 character to have a magical weapon. He did, however, play the video game Baldur's Gate, which heavily references the Time of Troubles, as a major plot point. So, the player researched the Time of Troubles and used that as a jumping off point for the backstory.

For those unaware, the Time of Troubles is an event in the history of the Forgotten Realms where all of the gods lost their god status and were made mortal for a year or two. Many gods saw this event coming ahead of time, and made preparations for it. The plot of the Baldur's Gate video game series deals heavily with Bhaal, god of murder, and the specific preparations that he made to ensure his survival through the Time of Troubles (or more accurately, his revival after the fact). But he was not the only god to take action in light of their newfound mortality. Mask, god of thievery and intrigue, for instance, disguised himself as a magical sword. The idea was that no one would dream of destroying a powerful magical weapon, most people would want to keep it safe, as their prized possession, and thus Mask was not likely to die. The weapon was given the name Godsbane, as its wielder used it to kill a few different gods during the Time of Troubles. Godsbane itself, however, survived until after the gods had regained their divinity, and Mask no longer need keep himself hidden as the blade.

All of that is actual lore, canonical or semi-canonical to the Forgotten Realms' history, and should be true in all games, unless the DM of that game specifically decides otherwise. Fast forward to present day, to my game group. The warlock, prior to becoming a warlock, discovered an empty scabbard. Now, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see where this is going. The scabbard once contained the magical weapon, Godsbane. The same weapon Mask disguised himself as, for a time. But, Mask is no longer in weapon form. In fact, some time after the events of the Time of Troubles, Mask was killed, and then later reborn, so in a sense, the Mask that currently exists was never Godsbane to begin with.

So, that was how the player justified becoming a Hexblade warlock, without having any relationship whatsoever with his patron. Neither the Warlock, nor Mask, know that the other exists. It has actually been a major mystery for the character throughout the game thus far. The character isn't an idiot, he knows what a warlock is, and recognizes his powers as being warlock powers. He also knows the scabbard is his spell focus, the source of his power. But he knows absolutely nothing about the scabbard itself. And, seeing as Mask is a god, who by all rights should create clerics, not warlocks, there's no real way that the warlock would ever be able to guess who his patron really is, without a lot of work and character development put towards that revelation.

More recently, he actually multiclassed into rogue. In character, his thinking is that he doesn't know where these powers come from, and thus he can't fully trust them, he needs to learn how to rely on his own fast feet and quick wit. He becomes a rogue, thinking he is distancing himself from his unknown patron, totally unaware that his patron is, you know, Mask, god of thievery. It's pretty poetic, and I'm interested to see how the DM handles the interaction going forward, if Mask ever learns of the character's existence, or vise-versa, that is. I think there is a distinct possibility of a forced patron-shift, from Hexblade Warlock to Celestial Warlock, if Mask decides to exert more direct influence over the character. It should be fun to watch, either way.

[MThurston]

Kahlnor was born to a famous General and to a gental lady. He was given his mother's looks and get wisdom. From his father he received his fortitude minus the strength.

As a squire Kahlnor could out work and outlast all acquires. He however wasn't fast or strong like his father. Kahlnor could lead but be could not fight like his father.

One day after a brutal training session Kahlnor went to the catacombs to think about what he was going to do with his life. He knew that he would be knighted for his name and not his prowess in the field of battle.

Kahlnor stumbled into a rarely travelled selection of the tomb and found himself in a dusty room with a huge statue. The name on the plaque has his surname on it. The Knight must be a great relative of his.

As he looked at the statue a glow started to fill the room from a flail in the statues hand. Kahlnor took a step back. The flow got brighter as the weapon started to talk to him.

Kahlnor you are worried that you will not be able to make your father proud. Take me up and you will be a warrior that few have ever seen.

Kahlnor took a step closer and touched the glowing flail. The flail fell from the statue into his hand. Kahlnor could feel the power if the flail run through him.

Kahlnor finished his training as a squire and never lost a fight. Now he and the flail are one and his soul may be lost forever.

*********

Notes from the GM.

1. The flail is a great weapon that will level with my character.

2. It grants me a focus and gives me the feat warcaster.

3. It acts like a magical weapon for doing damage and will gain a +1 to attack and damage at 6th, 12th and 18th level.

4. EB is used by spinning the flail and a copy of the head if the flail flies at the target.

5. Arms of Hadar is done by slamming the head into the ground where chains come up and pull targets to pieces.

6. Vampiric touch makes my flail look like a whip where it grabs them as I get their God.

7. I am going to take minor illusion next that will make my character look dark. For RP reasons. People will look at him and see a dark face and when they notice it's an illusion it will be his normal face.

As some point the party will notice a change in my characters personality. We will see how that goes.

[Xetheral]

In a light-hearted campaign I played a witch-themed character who sold her prize-winning brownie recipe to the Queen of the Fae in exchange for eldritch power.

That's the entirety of her Pact, although the character did have the Gourmand feat to back up her cooking prowess, and travelled with an ill-tempered donkey laden with high-quality ingredients. OOC I would occasionally bake brownies and bring them to game sessions as a fun tie-in.

[BMF]

The write-up for a warlock I created for a Weird West game set in an alternate 1870 New Mexico:

Lucius Townsend
Human male, Late 20s (mechanically, a half-elf without darkvision)
Background: Sage
Patron: Hexblade. Lucius didn't sell his soul to the devil or find a message in the stars from Cthulhu. Lucius' family has, for generations, been the keepers of a very old artifact, which one of Lucius' ancestors received through some bargain with a devil. It is not clear, at this point, whether the artifact was given, purchased or stolen, but each male heir of the family eventually gets it. The artifact has taken different forms over the years, but for Lucius' whole life, it has been an antique revolver. Lucius would never let anyone else hold it, but if he did, they would discover that the gun doesn't have any bullets in it, and frankly the firing pin looks like it wouldn't work anyway. The true name of the artifact is a closely-held family secret, and is in a nearly unpronounceable devilish tongue. Lucius calls the gun The Devil's Right Hand, a secret he might tell people if he liked them enough and they understood magic.
Pact: Pact of the Tome. Along with the pistol, the Townsend family keeps an ancient book that contains information regarding the pistol and its origins. The book also contains certain rituals that Lucius can perform.
Invocations: Improved Tome, Agonizing Blast

History: The Townsend family is a wealthy and distinguished family from Maine. Lucius grew up the eldest son in a relatively unhappy house. Lucius' parents were distant. Lucius' father was a scholar who detested violence and 'low' behavior, and was interested in the artifact in a solely academic manner. Lucius was permitted to see the gun, and he heard the stories, but he was never allowed to handle or touch it. After a series of private schools and tutors, Lucius was sent to Oxford to study. However, Lucius was more interested in research in the darker magical arts (and women) than he was in his studies, and after two years, Lucius was expelled after he was caught en flagrante with the chancellor's daughter in a candle-filled room covered in pentagrams. Returning to Maine in disgrace, Lucius was promptly disowned by his furious father. Lucius set out west to make his own way, but not before he stole the gun and the book.

Lucius spent several years travelling through the west (where he would be unlikely to be found by his family), finally settling down in Valencia, which for the area is relatively large, and contains a number of learned persons that Lucius can talk to. The San Felipe de Neri Church in Valencia is actually pretty nice, and has a comparatively good collection of antique books. Lucius took a decent amount of cash with him, and has been basically living off that, although his reserves are starting to run low. Lucius has made connections with a number of knowledgeable people in the area, and among people who know about the weirder side of the west, he is considered a bit of an expert - he has performed several exorcisms, etc. in his life.

Personality: Lucius is arrogant and can be condescending, but despite the dark source of his magics and his interest in demonology, Lucius is a basically good person (Chaotic Good in D&D terms). He can be a bit of a whiner and is slightly vain (he would use Prestidigitation immediately if his clothes got dirty), but ultimately he is a generous person with the poor. He resents wealthy people (although he is one himself, an irony that annoys him if pointed out) and is fairly class-conscious. He has seen some action, and knows how to use his pistol, but generally is not interested in violence except as a means to acquire knowledge or to protect people. He is absolutely fascinated by demonology and the occult.

Appearance: Tall and very thin. Brown hair, a little shaggy but slicked back. Thin goatee. Lucius wears a black duster over some leather armor with metal woven in it (currently a chain shirt, medium armor). He carries a long thin knife (statted as a rapier) in addition to his antique pistol. On his left hand, Lucius has a slightly bulky glove, which mechanically functions as a shield (+2AC) - note that this will preclude him from using his off hand freely in combat. The pistol, in addition to being the source of his power, can be fired (only by Lucius). When he does so, the spell 'Eldritch Blast' fires. Lucius cannot cast the spell without the pistol.

[Mind's Eye]

Adalram was 23, and happily married after moving to the country to live with his husband, and on their 3rd anniversary, after the celebration, they went to bed, and snuggled each other to sleep. When Adalram woke, his husband was gone, and the bed was red with blood. He raced out the door, and saw priests of what he would later come to know as the Scarlet Order. Heartbroken and half-mad, he devoted the next two years of his life to tracking them down, until finally, he found the high priests performing a ritual to commune with Great Cthulu himself, a task they were woefully unprepared for. Adalram raced in, dagger in hand, only to find himself staring at the glaring eye of Cthulu. Through the link created by the spell, Adalram recieved a burst of power, although temporary. He used thes power to destroy the Scarlet Order and all of its members, then to establish a link of his own to Cthulu, one where, in exchange for his sanity, he would recieve great power. The power to speak once more to his husband.

[jintoya]

Mine was a changeling who grew up poor and often on the streets, he dreamt of a life of plenty, but didn't want to be a criminal, like others of his kind to accomplish it.
One night as he dreams, he is treated to visions of an idol, lost in the caved in celler of the church. after wandering the sewers for a few days, he found the bricked up wall he had seen in the dreams, after pulling enough bricks free to wriggle in, and locating the cave in, he ended up running from a mysterious creature and hiding in a room of boxes.
Looking for something to defend himself with, he found the idol and could hear the creature closing in, in his desperation he formed the pact and blew the creature apart, the idol turned to dust and inside there was a symbol of his patron

Felix the warlock...I made him as strong as I could, eventually he went mad and created magic items that were just as mad as he was, they now litter our campaigns, because Felix can go from one reality to another... creating a reiteration of him for a new setting, going to go warlock/druid this time

In a side note, what is a GOOlock and where can I find info on them?

[Mind's Eye]

jintoya, a GOOlock is a warlock that takes the Great Old One as a patron. Info can be found on them in the PHB or on the 5e wiki.

[Whit]

my warlock was from the future Who was forced into a portal by a demon to the ancient past FR.

[Toric]

Vincent Dellamano was... chaotic. One day he'd take small criminal jobs to pay the bills, another he'd spend entirely crusading against horrors most foul. And he'd do it all with a (usually controlled) spell on his lips, a twinkle in his eye, and an arrest warrant for murder hanging over his head.

One day an old debt led to a criminal family holding his companion's girlfriend's family hostage in exchange for Dellamano. The family survived, but nobody saw the mastermind of the attack escape... except for Vincent. He was at a crossroads: he could let the mastermind walk free with no one the wiser and a debt to cash in later, or he could try to bring this dastard to justice. He started to devise a way to hold the mastermind in his debt while at the same time playing hero.

That's when things became weird. Everything stopped. A unicorn appeared to him, and told him in no uncertain terms to grow up. Her job was to protect the harmony of the world, and his antics were making her job impossible: she gave him the ultimatum to be either completely criminal or completely just, and the latter meant turning himself in along with the mastermind. It was a nice long conversation, it lasted about half a second, and the time stop collapsed into a Hold Person on the mastermind while Vincent left to alert the proper authorities.

When we played out this scenario, I let the guy go. I then felt so much guilt and remorse the DM agreed to a do-over. In the retcon, my Hold Person wild surged and summoned a unicorn that I started roleplaying as an ill-tempered Jiminy Cricket.

Sadly, shortly after his imprisonment Vincent was transferred to a sanitarium because he believed a unicorn named Strangle was appearing in his jail cell and holding conversations with him about helping her do her job. His mental state is improving, but he cannot be ruled fit to stand trial until he can be broken of this delusion.

...And that's the story of how my Sorcerer multiclassed into a Celestial-Pact Warlock. He's still an NPC in the sanitarium, but once he's out he'll be slinging spiral-horn eldritch blasts like it's going out of style.

[RedMage125]

A Different Kind of Infernal Pact

Solis was a sailor on a merchant ship. He wasn't particularly physical or imposing, but he was friendly, likable, and hard-working. Until the storm. The storm changed everything.

The ship that Solis was aboard was caught in a terrible storm that seemed almost unnatural in origin. The ship was beached on a small island, and while foraging for supplies and spare lumber, the crew discovered it was not uninhabited. Devils were infesting the island, and the sailors fought back as best they could, but praised the gods when they were saved. A group of aventurers, affiliated with the Order of the Chalice (fiend hunters), were on the island, tracking down a diabolist cult intent on opening a path for a powerful archdevil. The group had taken some losses, however, and was worried that they did not have enough members to complete the ritual to bind the archdevil should the cult be successful. Solis and several of his fellow crew members volunteered to help the Order.

They eventually confronted the cultists. Too late to stop the archdevil from entering the world, they did bind it in a magic circle. Then the remaining sailors and members of the Order took their places as the Order Magus directed, and they performed the binding ritual. Each person present at the ritual (13 in all) had a portion of the archdevil's power bound into them. Essentially each of them became a lock (:smallwink:) on the archdevil's prison. After they bound the archdevil, the Order helped the sailors repair their boat, and they all returned to land. But there could be little peace and camaraderie for those that participated in the ritual. For they carried a piece of the archdevil's power within them. This power was their to use, to control, for good or ill. And the more they learned to master it, the more of the archdevil's power they would be siphoning from it into themselves. They needed to separate, however. For the archdevil was powerful and had many loyal servants and minions. And should any of them die, whatever portion of power that they had siphoned would be returned to the archdevil. They needed to stay away from that island and each other forever, to make it more difficult for any of them to be located. Should enough power return to the archdevil, it might even be able to break free of its prison. But it would need to kill ALL of them to return to full power.

Mechanics and how they tie in
Solis is a Half-Elf Fiend-Pact Warlock with the Sailor background. He is Neutral Good. He wields a fiend's power, but is not beholden to it. As he gains levels in Warlock, he is stealing more power from that archdevil.

Hooks
The most obvious potential hook is that the party Solis is travelling with could stumble across a place where devils have killed some people, and Solis could recognize one of his fellow Warlocks from the island. The archdevil's minions could be hunting them down. Eventually, enough of them could fall to free the archdevil from its prison and Solis and his new party could have to face it down.

[Klorox]

Dwarf GOO warlock: interested in the skies above the mountain, he’d sneak out sometimes and peer into the stars. One day, something looked back.

GOO warlock: falls off a ship (sailor background b/c everybody loves perception), and is saved by some reason by a sea monster. He returns, but is changed.

Fiend warlock (soldier or folk hero): village (town, city, camp) is attacked by barbarians/bandits/orcs/whatever. Many are killed and others ran. Except you. In your anguish you make a deal with whatever devil or demon will hear you to strike down these attackers. Something answers you, you mow them down but now deal with the pain of trying to fight this frowning power within. The deal came at a cost, a cost you struggle with every day.

[Goldlizard]

Hexblade from the last big bang. he was inside a dimension of negative energy and nothingness, and he was freed and resurrected by blackrazor in exchange for reaping souls for him

[Mechalobster]

I’ve always wanted to try playing a Fey Warlock whose big quest is basically an engagement challenge. His powers come from the princess he’s promised to marry, a gift that will allow him to survive the coming trials.

So, essentially, a Warlock whose magic comes from the power of love.