Need a character background written up?

[Tawmis]

Lars Wikstrom, male Aasimar, Bard lvl8
For his appearance I have an image, but unfortunately I am not yet able to share the link. If you want, I can send it over via DM.
Lars comes from Everlund, Silver Marches, where he serves the community as an ambassador. His duty is to preserve the frail alliances in the Silver Marches to keep the drows at bay, who have recently started to extend their raids. As you can imagine, the alliance is vital for the economic prosperity of the region, but Lars has the well-being of the inhabitants at heart. This is the reason why he joins a group of adventurers to put an end on drows' raids. Within their adventure they land on another plane, only comprised of desert and whispered secrets.
The cultural inspiration I got for Lars is Scandinavian, Swedish in particular. I liked the Nordic flavor, which suits good with the Silver Marches.

Pin I was sent: https://www.pinterest.it/pin/657455245614031039/
Since your character is already level 8 I wasn't sure what they've done so I focused on the origin that leads your character to adventure.
The member of the Council I set up at the end is a potential NPC the DM may use, to try and get in Lars' way (hire people to stop him/rough him up?)
Let me know what you think by replying to this thread - what you like, or dislike, whatever - and then I will do your second request.
Replies to this thread keep it bumped and alive!
As always, enjoy!
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“This is outrageous!” Karven Nightmane blurted out loud. “You have to do something other than just sit on your elegant chairs of marble, while the rest of us, outside of the city limits, struggle to survive on the farms, facing the ever increasing threats from the Drow. I know – I know! – that it’s the Drow who have poisoned my well – and now my animals grow sick. Healers struggle to counteract the poison that’s been traced to the well. It’s a poison like they’ve never seen before! Probably from some mushroom from the land below!”

Lars Wikstrom stepped forward, his hands behind his back. His towering presence with his long blond hair that bled into a shadow of a beard across his face; a light emanated from him, as if the sun were always behind him. “Rest assured, Karven Nightmane, the council has taken these reports of the Drow quite seriously.”

“You say that,” Karven pointed his blistered finger towards Lars, “weaving your pretty words. You’re good with the words. And I get you have this weird holy like presence about you – but the people you speak for do little to help the people beyond their sight.”

“I hear your words, sir, and I will take it to the council,” Lars assured him. “That will be all for tonight.” He’d been listening to people for the last three hours; and they all shared similar stories – the Drow were becoming ever bolder. It was difficult to distinguish truth from fabrication or imagination, without a thorough investigation – but truth to be told, there were so many reports and not nearly enough soldiers to send out to investigate these insurrections against the Silver Marshes by the Drow.

Perhaps this had been the plan of the Drow all along; two fold. From one side, they poison the farmers surrounding the Silver Marsh, from every side of the city, forcing the guards to be split up – easier to attack. Or force it to be so far spread apart, that there wouldn’t be enough guards to distribute, the current problem – and thus, continue to poison the farmers and their animals, and poison them from trusting the Council from doing anything.

The city was ruled by a Council of Elders, the first being Kayl Moorwalker, who was appointed as the First Elder in 1372 DR – and was the one who appointed other members of the Council of Elders. Lars stepped into the backroom, where the Council had been discussing their next festivities. Lars grimaced.

“How did it go?” Jortun Everfall, a tall human, and one of the Elder Council members, asked standing up.

“The reports of the Drow attacks is a common theme among the farmers outside the city walls,” Lars explained. “They continue to poison the animals or the water supplies. People and livestock are dying and the people are growing restless.”

“Do you believe this threat of Drow is real or just the commoners seeking financial aid from the Council?” Laurak Greystone, another human, sat back, puffing on his pipe asked, sitting looking disbelieving of the threat.

“One of them brought an arrow they found in their horse,” Lars explained. “They’d heard their horses and rushed outside – and it seems the Drow was not able to recover their arrow like they normally do when slaughtering the animals.”

“So a commoner scared off the Drow?” Laurak laughed. “They hardly seem a threat then. Cursed elves of the shadows. Cowards, the lot of them. Living in the dark, like they do. No better than roaches, I say.”

“Have you ever tried to kill a roach,” Lars asked. “Simply crushing it beneath your heel rarely does the trick. They’re extremely durable and persistent. The Drow are no different.”

“If you believe this threat is so real, Lars, weaver of song and story, ambassador to the Council of Elders, perhaps you should take up arms, and find these Drow and use those magic words of yours, to convince them of their ill-conceived ideas,” Laurak smiled.

Laurak had long disliked – no, hated – Lars since they’d first met. Laurak wanted nothing more than to sit on the Council and take advantage of his position; whereas Lars often pushed for action, frequently clashing with Laurak’s opinions and orders.

Lars bowed, “That is an excellent idea, Laurak that I will gladly follow. And rest assured,” he said as he began to leave the room, then spun on his heel to stare directly at Laurak, “when I return, and prove that the Drow are a threat, I will also make every effort to remove every person who sits on the Council with no care beyond their own desires.” As he turned around and marched out of the room, as he turned to close the doors, he smiled, “By any means necessary.”