This was interesting – and a challenge – to write because in Dragonlance, there has not been any form of Aasimar or Tieflings. So trying to conceive the idea of an Aasimar in Dragonlance took some headspinning to how to make it all tie together. Because Aasimar come from “angelic-like” bloodlines, and there are really no angels in the Kyrnn setting! But I think I found a way around it (and you and your DM can choose to ignore my explanation and just go with it was angelic in nature!) Once I had that idea down, everything else just rolled...Originally Posted by Wacky89
Hope you enjoy! As I said, you can take what I use as the Aasimar "cause" or go with what's explained, as being just a vision and interpreted that way...
I'd love feedback in this thread, as it keeps it bumped and alive!
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It’s difficult – growing up, knowing you’re different than everyone else. No matter how much you struggle to be like everyone else, the effort only makes you stand out further. That has been my entire life – growing up, knowing I was different than everyone else; and everyone around me could sense it. Something inside of me flowed differently – I don’t mean my blood, but something else – something in my blood perhaps.
Growing up in Solamnia made life even worse; my father was Jaridus Greyrose, and a member of the Knights of the Crown, with the title of Warden of the Crown. My father was well respected, well known for his courage, so when eyes were cast upon me, expecting the same behavior – something in me pulled me away from it. I feel like I didn’t fit.
The night I was to be inducted into the Knighthood, during the Festival of Knights, I answered a call that yearned within me – and that had meant running away. I knew this would bring shame to my family, because I would be marked courage, and so to, would my father be marked as having a cowardice son. But I did not feel like I belonged in the Knights.
I wandered for days… which then turned into weeks… that then turned into months. I was aimlessly wandering – and it was not until I noticed the temperature had dropped drastically that I stopped and pulled my cloak close. I had reached The Icewall Glacier. It was at that moment I realized I was not alone and drew my sword.
Six men, led by a woman with striking black hair that seemed to absorb the light, and eyes so blue they almost seemed colorless and devoid of light as well. “What is a Knight of Solamnia doing so far south?” the woman asked, her voice was soothing, as if she were a serpent luring me into ease.
“I am no Knight of Solamnia,” I corrected, tilting my sword, “this is my father’s blade.”
“Have you come so far south, because you are running away from something or running to something,” the woman asked.
“Both,” I replied. “I am no Knight. So I have gone on my own to seek my own path.”
“Then perhaps it is not coincidence that you’ve come here,” the woman said, gesturing behind her. “Those who follow me call me Nathaira. Like you, each of us was running from something to find something… Perhaps we are just what you were looking for.” A smile spread across Nathaira’s soft, red, lips, and though she was a strikingly beautiful woman; there was something about her that continued to remind me of how she was like a serpent. I sheathed my sword and said, “If you will have me for a day, at least, I would like to learn more about you and your people, Nathaira.”
She extended her hand to me, which I took – and immediately seemed to feel something drain from me, but that somehow compelled me to her. The day I asked for was spent in her small cabin, having my every need and whim fulfilled. She was a beautiful woman, who – each time she stepped away from me – I craved her more than the last. One night, as she lay next to me, the warmth of her ample bosom pressed against my arm, her hand tracing symbols on my chest, she whispered, “There is so much light inside of you.”
At the time, I had not known what she meant – now, I believe I do.
Nathaira led men who were ferocious fighters and loyal to her; they called themselves barbarians; my father would have called them savages. Similar to the other men who were fiercely loyal to Nathaira, I too became loyal to her – and her lover. In order to survive the harsh conditions, we all learned to live in the cold with minimal things, including food and water; and when things were desperate, we raiding some of the traders traveling near the borders of Icewall.
It’d been during one of those raids, where there’d been several guards, well-armed and far better trained than the others who had come through; our reputation for raiding the wagons had grown, so people hired better protection. I heard Nathaira call out to me to unleash the shadows within me. I knew not what she said – until she ran down and put herself in harm’s way – then I felt the shadows and darkness in me, as soft and velvety as Nathaira’s hair, coiled around my soul like a snake waiting to strike – suddenly my eyes turned into pulls of blackness, and two skeletal, ghostly, flightless wings sprung out from my back – and these hardened warriors suddenly gazed up at me in fear and trembled, most of them fleeing, screaming into the nearby woods.
I collapsed to the ground, but the other barbarians were able to defeat the guards and rob the wagons, dragging me along with them. Back at Nathaira’s hut, I laid on the bed, still trying to understand what had happened. I propped myself on one arm and looked to Nathaira. “What happened to me down there?”
“The power,” she smiled. “I sensed it the moment I saw you. I could feel it, as you approached. Light that swirled in a storm of grey. It took only giving you your desires, and whispering my words to shape the grey into black and spread it through you until it devoured the light.”
“Have I been… made evil?” I asked.
“What is evil? Those, such as the Knights of Solamnia, see Takhisis as evil; while those, who worship Takhisis see the Knights of Solamnia evil,” Nathaira smirked, her black hair swirling in such a way, that it was hypnotizing, like gazing into a starless sky, that you could somehow tell was still moving.
I suddenly blinked my eyes and quickly backed away. “Are you an agent of Takhisis, Nathaira?”
“At one time, I was,” she openly admitted. “But I grew tired of seeking to please her every need. So I left, ran away – searching for who I was to be. Sound familiar? I came here, found these savages, and quickly convinced them to follow me. I became their Takhisis, if you will.” She smiled. “You should rest,” and as I gazed into her blue, somehow colorless eyes, I was compelled to obey, and suddenly against my own will, my eyes closed.
My dream began with her blue colorless eyes, swirling in the darkness that was her hair. One eye changed, ever so slightly – turning into Solinari, the Moon of White; the other eye, filled with blood, and turned into Lunitari, the Red Moon – and somewhere in the hidden darkness, I knew another eye watched – Nuitari, the Shadow Moon.
The moons set, and the sun rose; and there, in the blazing sun stood a man with silver eyes, wearing long, blue-grey robes – similar to the priests who followed Habbakuk. He approached me, a sad look in his eyes. “I did not mean to abandon you,” the man said. In the sunlight, I could swear his skin glistened like steel. “I know you sensed how you had felt different inside. It’s true. As the woman said, you were full of blessed light. Habbakuk blessed many of the Knights who took part in the War of the Lance, and as such – these powerful blessings often manifested themselves generations later in unexpected ways. You bloodline comes from one of the Knights from the War against the dragons, the age that Huma led the Knights of Solamnia.”
“Who are you? Are you Habbakuk?” I asked, hearing my own voice echo, as if speaking into a chamber.
“Me?” the man seemed to flush. “You flatter me. No, my name is Manainn Airgid, but I am one of Habbakuk’s most loyal. I sensed the darkness you released. The woman, though no longer an agent of Takhisis herself, she is an agent of evil. Those who server who were all seduced, just as you were, placed under the charms of not her words or beauty, but her magic, for she is much more than what she appears to be.”
The man with the silvery skin paused, “May the Light of the Truth, lighten your burden, and help you reclaim the light.”
I suddenly sat up and looked around. Nathaira smiled at me – but the smile faded. She knew something had changed in me. Quickly I grabbed my shirt and my father’s sword and strapped it to my waist. “You said you would never pick up that sword again, unless you planned to go home. You don’t plan to go home, do you?”
I could feel her claws, slithering at the base of my skull, and I shook her words away. “I am going home.”
“They will never accept you, and what you’ve done, who you’ve become,” she warned.
“Then I will face my fate,” I said, realizing in that moment, how much I had sounded like my father.
She didn’t try to stop me – nor did she send her men to stop me. She watched me ride away on one of the many horses that we’d stolen from the various raids. I rode back home, hardly stopping, and rushed to my father’s home, kneeling before him – awaiting my punishment as I offered up my sword to him.
He did not yell or scold me. Instead he stood and placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Rise, son. You are in your own home and do not need to kneel before me, I am your father, not your king.” He paused to look at what I was wearing, “Though, I might ask you to shower – and change out of these savage’s clothes.”
“I have brought shame and disgrace to the family, father,” I said, my voice trembling.
“Some shame, some disgrace,” he admitted as he tugged at his mustache. “But perhaps, I as your father have done the same? I failed to see how you were struggling; thought that if you became a knight you would set yourself right.”
“I have committed crimes, father,” I cried.
I saw my father stiffen. “Murder?”
“No, I killed no innocents, but I robbed many,” I confessed.
“Speak to me what you remember,” he said, resuming his pace. “I will send compensations, even if it costs my entire estate. These crimes, son, will prevent you from ever becoming a Knight. But,” he placed his hand on my shoulder, “I see you’ve keep yourself busy. You look strong as an ox.”
“I’ve learned to fight like the savages,” I whispered. “I came back because someone named Manainn Airgid visited me in a dream.”
My father stiffened again and turned his head ever so slightly, “Manainn Airgid, you said?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Do you know him father?”
My father looked away – and seemed to pause for a long moment before saying, “Let us just say I know of him.”
“I know I can never be the son you wanted,” I confessed, “a Knight of Solamnia, but perhaps I can fight alongside them?”
My father smiled, “Perhaps.”
Two weeks later, I waited outside as my father plead my case to the Circle of the Knights. They seemed vehemently against the idea of me ever sharing a battlefield with the Knights, until my father mention Manainn Airgid’s name. Then the Knights hushed, and the arguing turned to whispers. My father came out several hours later, explaining the Knights would be honored for me to fight alongside of them.
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Side Notes:
When I wrote this - I envisioned Nathaira as a female dragon, who has polymorphed herself into human form to hide from Takhisis' eyes; primarily a red dragon (the fire = the passion).
And if it's not clear, Manainn Airgid is envisioned as a Silver Dragon - and a rather old one at that, who was perhaps around when Human was around.
Fun Notes - "Nathair" is Serpent in Irish (just added an "a" at the end to feminize it for a name)
"Manainn Airgid" stands for "Silver Mane" in Irish.
For your background, based on the idea that the primary city you come from is primarily known for their creation of weapons and city siege weapons – I wanted to look at D&D and see what would fit best – and I found that Clan Crafter seemed to fit best; it would seem logical that you would come from a family that’s involved in the creation of these weapons/city siege weapons.
From there I glanced at some of the suggested traits, ideals, bonds, and flaws to get an idea for a personality.
PERSONALITY TRAITS - I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.
IDEALS - Community. It is the duty of all civilized people to strengthen the bonds of community and the security of civilization. (Lawful)
BONDS - I created a great work for someone, and then found them unworthy to receive it. I’m still looking for someone worthy.
FLAWS - I’ll do anything to get my hands on something rare or priceless.
Then going back to the idea of the Echo Knight – and then the Imaginary Friend being the Echo… Looking at the Echo Knight it’s traditionally an Echo of yourself… and then an idea came along. This may be a little darker than normal, and if it is – I can definitely rewrite something a little more light hearted if you’d like.
At any rate, comment in the thread – and let me know (good, bad, whatever!)
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My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…
Sixteen years ago…
The first time I saw him, I was roughly five years old. I’d been playing with several wooden toys that one of my father’s friends had forged from some of the spare wood from the latest siege weapon that they’d been working on when I glanced up and looked in the full length mirror. A light, shimmering figure was behind me – but when I turned, there was nothing there.
This continued to happen for weeks, and when I finally told my parents, and my father explained that it was probably my imaginary friend – and many young children have such imaginary friends. So, while I was in a room alone, I would call out to this mysterious figure which I named “Mac” and ask if it would like to play with me. Sometimes, I would roll the ball across the room – and to my surprise, the ball would roll back. My father dismissed such things as the houses were not exactly built on stable ground and many of the houses were slanted; or that a breeze had caught the ball and rolled it back. But I had a feeling it was my imaginary friend, Mac, somehow playing with me.
Three years later, when I was eight years old, I stopped playing with Mac, but I could somehow always feel he was around me. I also became more observant of my surroundings and noticed that my mother, Tragoi’deach BlodOsken always had a distant gaze. I had seen it too, when I was younger, but my father always dismissed it that she was tired and that she’d worked hard; but now, being eight, she rarely did much around the house; she did not work the yard on weapons and city siege weapons like everyone else had. She’d mostly simply stayed home, and the times she took part of the hunt, she had always looked as if she were some walking dead, shambling along.
“Is she sick father? Should we get the priests here to look at her?” I asked.
“The priests have already come and done all they could,” my father said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.
Ten years later, mother’s condition never improved or got worse. Sometimes, when I spoke to her she would smile and speak directly to me; other times, she would run her hand down my check, but her gaze was somewhere behind me, as if she were talking to an imaginary friend. By this age, I was now recruited into working with the siege weapons. It was grueling work that relentless taxed my body’s endurance each and every day. I grew stronger with the passing weeks, but the work seemed to become increasingly more difficult to match that strength. Despite the daily grind, the effort, the dirt, the cuts, this was where I established a community – a sense of not just how things connect in the siege engine, but the connections I had made with others. This was my sense of normalcy, this community. Going back home, seeing my mother how she was – so, unraveled, and disconnected, disjointed – took me away from the sense of ease I felt when I worked the siege yard. My father saw it in me, so during our downtime, he showed me how to forge weapons, the division he’d been working on. Over the months, I learned my father’s craft, using my strength to pound the steel. It had taken a few attempts, but I finally forged a sword I was proud of – one that Dorcha Trodaire came and purchased from my father, far beneath the value of the blade – but our family had been suffering, since my mother was not working any of the fields, like other mothers were; and her declining health made matters worse. Dorcha was someone who was foul mouthed and showed little honor; she pushed her way through the rakes in the King’s army by her loud mouth, more than her skill; and her brandishing a weapon that had my signature engraved on it, sickened me.
Present day, age of twenty one, my mother had passed away three weeks ago, but I felt no grief; only relief, for her pain had finally come to an end. Some nights, I had felt guilty that I felt no grief, but I’d watched her – she had been dead to me, as far as I was concerned, for most of my life. I had no memories of my mother where she laughed.
I had just gotten back from the siege yard, cut, bruised and bleeding, but proud of the latest siege weapon we’d finished. I stared at myself in the full length mirror and laughed. There was no mark anywhere that was not covered in dirt, grime or blood. Quickly I washed off, and the steam built up in the room so that the mirror had fogged up. After washing off, I wiped the mirror away – and to my surprise saw my reflection staring back at me – but it did not move as I did. I moved my hand, my reflection did not. I seemed to place its hand on the mirror as if trapped on the other side. In wide eyed wonder, I whispered, “Mac?” And the reflection on the other side noded.
I stumbled backwards out of the room, falling through the door – my single, terrifying thought, that I was going mad, and that perhaps whatever sickness and madness that claimed my mother, had been passed down to me. My father, despite his age, rushed to my side and helped me up.
“What is it? What has you so pale?” he asked, looking around to see if there was a venomous serpent or something that had slithered into the house.
“I saw my reflection in the mirror,” I stammered.
My father laughed. “Boy, you gave me a fright! I’d be scared of your ugly mug too,” he joked.
“No father,” I added, quickly. “My reflection wasn’t mine… I mean… it was me, but it didn’t move as I did… father, I asked if it was Mac… and it nodded it’s head… but this is the first time I saw it… and it looked just like me.”
My father’s face paled. “Son, I need you to sit down for what I am about to tell you.”
He entered the kitchen and filled a stein of ale for me and handed it to me - but I was too shaken to drink.
I stammered backwards, nearly falling over my bed before sitting down.
He took a deep breath. “When you were born, there were complications.”
“What kind of complications?” I asked.
“You were not alone,” he said.
“I wasn’t – what?” I asked.
“Son, you had a twin brother,” he explained.
“That’s a lie, I had no twin, I had no siblings! I was the only child between you and mother,” I screamed.
“No, son,” my father said, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. “There was a twin; however, only you survived the birth. I believe this ‘Mac’ that you see is an echo of your twin – a manifestation that is bonded to you, created by your time in the womb. As if you absorbed his soul into yourself in order to save him…”
My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…
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2022-09-24, 06:22 PM (ISO 8601)Bugbear in the Playground
- Join Date
- Mar 2004
Re: Need a character background written up?
Last edited by Tawmis; 2022-09-24 at 08:22 PM.
Need a character origin written? Enjoyed what I wrote? How can you help me? Not required, but appreciated! <3
Check out my 5e The Secret of Havenfall Manor or my character back stories over at DMsGuild.com! (If you check it out - please rate, comment, and tell others!)
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