Need a character background written up?

[Tawmis]

Dude, that was amazing! Thank you so much! I can't even say how awesome and useful this will be to inform the character at the table. Now I just want to go roll some dice!

I love me some Dragonlance. So if you ever (and this goes for anyone, really!) want to come in this thread and just tell me how it's going with the character and their adventures - I'd love to hear it. I get connected to these characters I write for.

Man you outdid yourself with this one. You took it in a couple directions I hadn't considered and definitely provided a lot of inspiration for my next campaign. I liked the subtle elements such as powering him through an internal telescope pointed at the cosmos and also why the druids would be drawn to him. Thank you!

Thank you! I always enjoy these writing challenges! And even more so when those who request them enjoy them! :)
As always thank ye for replying too! Sometimes people request stuff - and I write it - and I never hear back from them... so I have no idea if they liked it or not.

Hi!
Just found this forum and I love this thread! Made an account specifically for this thread
My character just died (RIP) and I got a session coming up real soon and I just lost my inspiration after creating it.
What I got so far is some kind of Occult Investigator in the form of a High-Elf Oathbreaker (former Oath of Crown I think. Level 5), Miran. How she broke her Oath I haven't figured out. The setting starts at a recently discovered continent of the world (homebrew setting except the deities) and she have traveled there by ship. Not sure why she left yet either. She'll be Lawful Evil and would be cool if a maybe Night/Winter deity could be involved somehow. I've picked up Arcana, Religion and Ritual Caster Wizard, since I found that fitting. Oh yea and she plays the violin.
Background: Marine
Personality Trait:
I live for the thrill of the hunt.
I’m used to the very best in life, and that’s a hard habit to break.
Ideals:
Family. Blood runs thicker than water.
Bonds:
I keep my thoughts and discoveries in a journal. My journal is my legacy.
Flaws:
Once I pick a goal, I become obsessed with it to the detriment of everything else in my life.
<3

This one is kind of long... I always feel like those ones where someone "falls from grace" end up a little bit on the longer side...
You need to show how their life was before the fall...
Give them a good sense of how good they were... or how good their life was...
And then the fall... and why they've turned against everything they once held true and valuable.
A lot of symbolism here too... when her heart grows cold... I specifically mention the goddess of winter since you wanted that infused...
And continue that cold theme with her...
And then the symbol on her platemail... also symbolic.
I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Enjoy!
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“Perhaps one day, you can be as good as your father’s brother at this violin,” Miran’s mother, Alleena smiled.

“Please,” Miran’s father, Auzengard laughed. “Do not encourage her so. You’ve heard the stories my brother, Kallius has told us all!”

Kallius, who like the others, was a High Elf – though he behaved, Auzengard teased, “much more like a half-elf” because of his nature. Kallius had sat in a chair, leaned back, his feet pressed against the wall while he strummed at the violin. “Have I told you about the one where I encountered some adventurers who had camped out in the woods? There I was tired,” he began to play the violin, pulling the bow across the violin’s strings to emphasize the dramatic effect of his story, “having just fled – bravely, I might add! – from an infestation of giant spiders when I saw a flickering light in the forest.” Miran leaned close, her elbows resting on the floor, her palms prompting up her head.

“If this is one of those stories where you meet ‘a lady of exquisite skills’,” Miran’s mother warned, “can you please spare us?” as she gestured towards Miran, who was still very young.

“By Sune’s fiery hair, you think I have no tact?” Kallius laughed. He kneeled down and handed his violin to Miran as he’d done every time he happened to be “in the area.” He looked at her as she gazed up at him in wide eyed wonder. The sound the violin had made when it was played sounded amazing to her – and each time her uncle offered it to her to play – she did not hesitate beyond the initial shock. She took it into her hands and began to try and mimic the same notes her uncle had played, bringing the bow across the strings. Kallius immediately recognized what she was doing and gently touched her hands and said, “Place your hand here, fingers here and here. Now pull the bow across these two strings. Now slide your fingers down here, and pull across this string.” She’d done so and it had sounded very close to what he had played.

“What is that song called?” Miran asked.

“Why,” Kallius said, leaning back, placing his hands behind his head, “that’s a Kallius original. I call it the Ballad of Blood.”

“Really,” Miran’s mother flinched. “That’s a dreaded name.”

Kallius shrugged. “When I meet others on the road, and I play it faster than what I showed a moment ago, it really does seem to inspire my companions if we find ourselves in trouble. Also seems to unnerve the enemy.”

Kallius came by frequently during his travels around the world – and Miran looked forward to it each time. He’d brought her a number of trinkets and bobbles that he’d acquired through his travels, which she truly appreciated, but there was no gift better than when she could play the violin for him and his reaction as she improved each year.

Her father, Auzengard was worried that Miran was bound to follow in the steps of his brother and become a bard that traveled the lands, sang poetry and told incredible stories, but to his surprise, she followed in her father’s footsteps becoming a faithful follower of Eldath and becoming one of her most devote Paladins in the Order of the Crown. Like her father, her efforts to keep peace around the High Elf lands had forced her to combat the likes of goblins, orcs and brigands of all kinds and while she felt content, she looked forward to Kallius’ visits so she could try to impress him with her violin skills. With her mother’s approval, when Miran was not off protecting the land, she was allowed to take violin classes by a devote follower of Milil, god of poetry and song, named Amhran Silversong. Amhran was a beautiful, older high elf – her once golden locks were now streaked with grey. Her skin however, showed some age – but her eyes were as bright and youthful as the morning skies. She’d always said that it was important to keep love and song in the heart, and the body, though it may age – the heart and mind will forever be young.

She was fluent in several different instruments and taught many how to play them. Miran was in a class, full of about sixteen others, who were all there to learn the violin. One of the students paused, and looked around. Amhran looked, “Is there something wrong Branstar?”

Branstar looked around himself. “Do you not hear that? It sounds like screaming.”

Liriac, who was often quite the jokester, replied, “Listen, I know we’re not as good as Amhran, but I don’t think any of us sound like our playing is mimicking screaming.”

But in that moment – they had each heard it. Screams.

Amhran looked at her students, “Remain here.” She rushed to the door and swung it open and saw several people running towards the west. Amhran’s eyes widened as she saw a fire spreading to the west. “Stay here,” she repeated and slammed the door behind her as she left. It wasn’t long before there was the sound of metal clashing and the students opened the door and saw what appeared to be a nightmare. The entire western region of the town was ablaze and people in black armor were cutting through people regardless of gender or age.

Some students fled, some hid, Miran had fought before – she had no weapon, but she did not need any. She would defeat one of the enemies who dared attacked their city and rip the weapon from the dead body and proceed to cut down these attackers. She quickly rushed into combat, without armor on, and was able to quickly move around those in heavy armor. The attackers were brutes – slow and sluggish – more trained to do damage than be skilled with a weapon. She quickly slammed into one of them and detached their dagger from the hilt at their side and plunged the dagger between a gap in the armor allowing the blade to bite deep into their neck. They grabbed their neck in a vain attempt to stop the blood pouring from the wound before death took them. She grabbed their sword and began fighting these men, though she had no armor to protect herself. She was cut and gashed badly throughout the fight – when she noticed her own home was burning. Foregoing all else, she dashed towards her home and kicked down the door. She was immediately greeted by her mother who had, perhaps, mercifully been slain – her throat slit. She moved through the house and found her father’s corpse next – he’d put up a fight trying to defend Miran’s mother. But that’s when to her surprise, she’d found her uncle buried under a part of the wall – she’d not heard he was coming. He moaned and she quickly dropped her weapon and kneeled down to him. Immediately, she could see the life fading from his eyes. He would not be alive much longer. “Please,” she whispered, “don’t speak. Rest. Everything will be fine.”

He smiled, blood leaked from the corner of his lips. “Cult … members of… Myrkul… god of… death,” he coughed blood and the life drained from his eyes ever so quickly with each cough. “Want to… resurrect… an… ancient…” he coughed once again and the life drained from his eyes for the final time.

Despite the raging inferno around her, Miran felt the cold, wretched touch of winter, clench her heart and squeeze it with such force, she was certain that Auri, the goddess of winter herself, had chilled her. Miran picked up her uncle’s violin, whose wood had been warped by the fire. Ignoring the flames all around her, she entered her room and donned her armor, and clasped her weapon to her body. By the time she’d gone outside, most of the attackers had fled or been slain. Many asked her if she was all right as she stormed past them. The people around her struggled to gather the dead and dying all the while trying to put the inferno around them out.

Miran did not care. Each step away from home her heart grew ever colder.

By the time she’d reached the library, she could almost see the chill mist of her breath. She stormed through the door and walked through the rows and rows of books until she reached an area about the deities – and she began pouring through one of the volumes that dealt with Myrkul and his cult of fanatics. She learned that they’d had a small temple not far from the very place she called home. She slammed the book shut, walked to the stables and without asking stole a horse and rode towards the temple with little regard for her own life. As she rode through the woods, the very branches of nature tried to stop her from the path she’d set herself on – that by the time she’d breached the edge of the woods and began riding into the plains, the symbol of Eldath had been scratched so badly it was no longer recognizable.

She arrived at the temple, set against several larger hills, within two days. She dismounted and began to walk towards the temple. As she spotted two guards casually talking, she removed her violin from her shoulder and pulled the bow across the strings – her hand there, fingers there – then move – then across the other string.

The two guards, startled by the odd sound the violin had produced due to the warped wood, peered into the dark – just as lightning flashed behind Marin, creating a silhouette. “Who goes there?” they called out – but as their eyes tried to adjust to the new found darkness when the bolt of lightning vanished, they did not see or hear Miran’s footsteps rushing towards them in unison with the rolling thunder, her sword decapitating one of the men, and spraying blood onto the face of the other who stumbled back in surprise.

She leapt on the second one and demanded to know what the cult was after. Despite serving the death god, the man feared for his life – the look of frost and winter in her eyes was a coldness he could not explain. He confessed that one of the elves in her town had uncovered a map to a distant land – and supposedly there, some great power sought to be awakened.

Miran thanked him by shoving her sword through his throat. She made her back to the horse, rode to the nearest port village, and booked passage for this supposed new land…