Need a character background written up?

[Rakoa]

Thank you for taking my suggestion! The new format is excellent, and the stories that I've read through even better.

Now I have a request of my own. I hope you will accept it and work your magic.

Name: Bruzzan Audesti
Race: Human
Class: Fighter 1/Rogue x
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background: Modified Guilt Artisan (member of the "Locksmith's Guild" - The Thieve's Guild)

Personality Trait: Anger - I explode if I receive even a minor sleight.
Bond: Gratitude - I owe a great deal to the "Locksmith's Guild".
Ideal: Honor - I don't steal from other thieves.
Flaw: Greed - I value money more than common sense.

He's a big guy, scarred, scary looking. He wears heavy armor, carries around a battle mallet, and does Enforcer work for the Thieve's Guild. He feels greatly indebted to them and intends to work his way up the ranks. His strength, constitution, and charisma are great, everything else average. He is not a friendly man.

I was wracking my brain trying to come up with a story that explained why he joined the guild, why he feels indebted to them, why he chose that path in life, and I couldn't come up with anything that wasn't done-to-death, cliche, seen it a million times before. So I have turned to the expert.

[Tawmis]

@ Tawmis: Here's one to ponder, when you get around to it.

Spoiler: For a Friend

Show

5e FR, and Skullport in DotMM start for Introduction to Campaign.
Before that - have fun!
Name: Vippi Padkookkra Gender: Female (serves Silverstream Ancient Silver Dragon)
Race Kobold. +2 Dex and -2 Str
Ht 3'4" * Wt 26 * Eyes: Topaz * Scales: Emerald.
Str 06 Dex 20 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 12
ASIs (4) Dungeon Delver (8) Crossbow Expert (10) Skulker
Background: Survivor: Insight and Survival
Trait: Gossip-monger
Ideal: Spread Love and Joy!
Bond: Will never betray a true friend.
Flaw: Loves to prove themselves superior to everyone.
Class: Arcane Trickster Rogue level 11
Skills: Perception, Investigation (Ex), Stealth (Ex), and Persuasion( Ex)
Tools: Thieves Tools (Ex), Poison Kit. Tinker Tools
Languages: Draconic, Undercommon; Common (250 gp), Elvis (250 gp) Drow Sign (250 gp).
Dwarven (250 gp), and Duergar (250 gp) Gnomish (250 gp)

and

Well, since you ask, why not do one of my old oneshot characters?
Name: Shidiri (Female)
Race: Tiefling
Class: Thief
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Background: Criminal -or- Charlatan
Since she was created for a short campaign, she never had her own solid backstory. She's a spitfire archetype, and prefers intimidation rolls over persuasion. She's loyal to herself, but will assist other downtrodden tieflings. She also despises the aristocrats.
[I did use her again in another short campaign where a friend played a tiefling warlock (male). We made them siblings, abandoned at the church orphanage run by a friendly old priest. The priest tried to turn them toward religion, but failed to protect them from the local denizens, so instead they turned to the dark arts and a life of crime.]
You can use that snippet as a cornerstone, or create something completely new and different! (I encourage you to make something new and exciting!)

and

Thank you for taking my suggestion! The new format is excellent, and the stories that I've read through even better.
Now I have a request of my own. I hope you will accept it and work your magic.
Name: Bruzzan Audesti
Race: Human
Class: Fighter 1/Rogue x
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background: Modified Guilt Artisan (member of the "Locksmith's Guild" - The Thieve's Guild)
Personality Trait: Anger - I explode if I receive even a minor sleight.
Bond: Gratitude - I owe a great deal to the "Locksmith's Guild".
Ideal: Honor - I don't steal from other thieves.
Flaw: Greed - I value money more than common sense.
He's a big guy, scarred, scary looking. He wears heavy armor, carries around a battle mallet, and does Enforcer work for the Thieve's Guild. He feels greatly indebted to them and intends to work his way up the ranks. His strength, constitution, and charisma are great, everything else average. He is not a friendly man.
I was wracking my brain trying to come up with a story that explained why he joined the guild, why he feels indebted to them, why he chose that path in life, and I couldn't come up with anything that wasn't done-to-death, cliche, seen it a million times before. So I have turned to the expert.

Added to the list!

I may break tradition and do some of the new people submissions before some of the others who have submitted before to give them a fair chance at seeing what I can try to do for them!

So there's a few new people to the thread I may try to write first, then go back - in order - and do those who have requested characters before and had them done!

[Avista]

and
Added to the list!

I may break tradition and do some of the new people submissions before some of the others who have submitted before to give them a fair chance at seeing what I can try to do for them!

So there's a few new people to the thread I may try to write first, then go back - in order - and do those who have requested characters before and had them done!

No problem! You do you!

[Tawmis]

What an excellent idea and exercise to write backstories for random people :D Just to see what you would get out of my one-shot character I registered here (even though, I have been a long-time lurker).
Wollhelm Woolfgangson
Race: Minotaurus except he isn’t. He is not half-man, half-bull but rather half-man, half-ram.
Class: Warlock – Hexblade – Pact of the Chain
Characteristics and rough outline: with 7’ and a massiv build, Wollhelm looks impressive, almost intimidating with his wool covered shoulders, the massive horns (one is covered in rings, spikes and chains) and the scar-rich skin. Nevertheless, his calm, thoughtful and protective manner kind of gives the impression like he had too much weed (being a sheep and all). His protection of the weak and his friends is a strong behaviour and might result in unhealthy decisions.
I have not yet had a full image of the Hexblade’s origin but it would look like a shepherd’s crook with a massive steel head. Furthermore, his Pact familiar is a dog with wings. The improved, but smaller German Shepherd. You probably get the picture of my twisted Shephard-Idea.
I kinda perceived him as a failed(?) wizard experiment to explain his non-bull-ishness as a Minotaurus. But feel free to think of something else :)
Looking forward to your story.

This was a lot of fun to write...
The idea of a failed experiment idea is what I worked with...
And just spun it up a little...
You left it open as to which Pact of the Chain...
So I went with "The Great Old One" on Page 109 of PHB.
I mixed in how the Sheppard's Crook is yours... and why you'd have a flying dog...!
This was very fun, and very easy to write.
I even slid in a Kenny Rogers reference (a nod to my late father who loved Kenny Rogers!)
As always, please give feedback - what you liked, loved, hated, what works, what doesn't!
I love to hear it all!
Enjoy!
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I have lived all of my life as a simple farmer. I woke up before the sun and would plough the fields with a tool that barely scratched the dirt. Then, I’d spend the next three hours, just as the sun was beginning to rise in the horizon, raking the fields to prepare them to have seeds dropped. Once that was done, I would grab my sickle and go to the fields and cut down what I could before the overbearing heat of the rising sun forced me to take shelter in the shed for several hours, parched beyond belief.

I frequently helped neighboring farms with ploughing and hay making, so that they would in turn assist me when possible; especially when it came to using livestock manure to help fertilize our fields. It was a community that helped one another and stayed close to one another. When a stranger came into our town, they were questioned, often repeatedly, by several people, to see what their intentions of visiting Torehaven were. My best friend, my dog, Nightmane, would growl at anyone he did not find trustworthy (and he was usually right!)

One year, the sun was so uncharacteristically hot, that we called the three months of relentless sun, The Searing Summer. The sun had been so hot that many of the rivers were much lower than they traditionally were since there had not been much snowfall in the nearby mountains. The dried rivers led to dry wells, which led to no water for home or fields, which in turned led to dying farming fields.

It was as if I had been cursed, because during the Searing Summer, my wife Luseal also decided to leave me and our four children. By the end of the Searing Summer, myself and the others of Tornhaven were worn down, thirsty and hungry, so when a mysterious figure in long, velvet black robes, that covered everything but his hands; and only his nose and mouth were visible from his face, slowly walked through Tornhaven, not a single one of us had the strength or desire to question his intentions.

At the Rabbit’s Hole Tavern, he slowly walked in, speaking to no one, and made his way across the room and sat near the fireplace, which was not lit because of the heat emanating throughout the town already. The way he turned and faced the fireplace he seemed to see a fire burning that was not there; he even extended his hands as if warming them against some invisible flame.

I took a sip of my drink; a small glass of water costing three gold because of the rarity of any water to be found and made my way to the mysterious figure. I sat down next to him. “Hello stranger,” my voice rasped, “you’ve come to Tornhaven at a bad time, I’m afraid. We have little in the way of food, due to no water and the animals seeking food elsewhere. The few livestock most of have we’ve only eaten if they perished from dehydration. We don’t have much for you. But I’ve spoken Vertan and he said he can get you a room for twenty gold. He understands that seems outrageously expensive, but with our,” I was cut off as the man reached into a pouch and handed me a bag of gold that weighed as much as two hundred gold.

“I’ll take it,” his voice hissed like a serpent. His lifted his cowl slightly as I caught my breath. Not only did he hiss like a serpent when he spoke, his eyes had slits like a serpent that glowed beneath his cowl. “You look like you’re strong.”

I tried to break away from his gaze; but there was something hypnotic about how he spoke and the way his pupils seemed to vibrate back and forth so quickly. “I work in the fields every day,” I replied; and though I spoke the words I was not in control of myself and I could tell I wasn’t. I wanted to scream but no words emerged.

He pulled his cowl over his eyes once more and hissed, “Come, let us go for a walk, and tell me about Torehaven.”

Though I could not see his eyes I could still not break from his hold. I rose to my feet as he did and gestured politely for him to walk in front of me. We walked out of the Rabbit Hole and I waved to Vertan as if nothing were wrong though my soul were screaming desperately for someone to help me. Uncontrollably, I told him how Torehaven had been formed by a band of runaway slaves who had escaped the clutches of the Dark Elves – better known as The Drow. We had all grown up as slaves to the Drow and used to being slaves, forced to farm and often be sacrificed to their dark goddess, Lolth.

The stranger seemed to snicker at the notion that Lolth was a goddess. “Calling herself a goddess these days is she?” he hissed between chuckles. “She’s always been such an arrogant one, that one.”

I directed him to my home and explained how the drought had killed the fields that were once lush with life. I opened the barn doors and showed him my emaciated livestock. As I turned to leave, he hissed the word, “Stop” and I froze in my tracks cursing that I could not control my own body.

He touched my face as he pulled back his cowl, revealing a humanoid look, with eyes of a serpent, a smile lined with two large fangs, and golden skin with scales.

“What are you,” I managed to utter.

“What I am won’t matter to you soon,” he laughed. “You see, I travel from town to town, collecting one soul along the way, as to not draw too much attention to myself. I am rebuilding myself, collecting the purity of soul energy into myself so I can return to the Heavens and dethrone these ‘new gods’ who claim to rule the heavens; each and every single one of them.”

He began drawing a circle on the barn floor around me. The sheep and rams in the barn, here to protect them from the desperate predators circling the farms, looking for anything to eat, spoke in volumes their concern of what they felt.

His talon raked down my chest, ripping my shirt open. “Tala-mon,” he snapped his fingers and suddenly I was floating in the center of the circle.

“This, I fear,” he began to hiss, “will be extremely painful.” He looked up at me, “For you.”

“Bela-ros tuh-mere aba-den,” he began to chant.

And pain would never be accurate for what I felt. Imagine a thousand hooks beneath the layer of flesh, suddenly, slowly, and deliberately painfully being pulled in every direction. Now imagine that, doused in alcohol, with a thousand cuts upon your flesh. Now imagine a searing fire beneath you, melting your skin like warm wax. That might begin to describe a fraction of the pain.

My eyes fluttered to the back of my head as I felt numbness from my toes work their way up my body, finally reaching my heart, and then I saw it.

My soul. My actual soul was drifting above my body.

Suddenly a being in white robes, angelic, fiery wings, of pure white light appeared. “Bezarar, I’ve found you! Stop this madness!”

Bezarar, the serpent being, laughed, “You are already too late Thyordin! A few more souls and I will ascend and tear this world apart.”

The being of white energy looked at me, “Do you trust me?”

I stared at my hands which were fading away. “Do I have much choice?”

“I can restore you,” Thyordin shouted quickly, “to break Bezarar’s spell on you! But … he has already pulled your soul from your body. I cannot promise that you will return as you were.”

All I could think of was my four children; their mother had left them, if I died, all they would have is Nightmane and the community.

“I accept, no matter the cost!”

Thyordin pulled out a gleaming two handed sword made of pure light and severed the tie between me and Bezarar and suddenly my being shattered into a thousand pieces. I felt myself torn into a million pieces, thrown together, ripped apart again, thrown together, then ripped apart, and then blackness.

My eyes fluttered open and the first thing I could see was my hands.

“What happened to me?” I was shocked at my own voice which was considerably deeper. I looked around and there’d been no sign of Bezarar or Thyordin.

Had it all been a dream? I tried to stand but felt like my body was still broken. I leaned heavily on the Sheppard’s Crook that had been leaning against the pen. It burst with energy sending searing pain through my body that once again dropped me to my knees. I pulled myself on the Sheppard’s Crook again and began to hobble towards my home. As I opened the door, my four daughters screamed and ran away.

I chased after them until I passed by a mirror.

“No,” I whispered.

I was a foot taller than I was before; but more strangely, I appeared to be a cross between a human and a ram; similar to what Minotaurs looked like, but I had curved horns of a ram.

“My soul,” I whispered, “has been thrust into a ram’s body!”

I quickly ran back to the barn and grabbed a tattered blanket and threw it over my head and hunched over. As I walked out of the barn, Nightmane ran up to me and I immediately noticed how his eyes glowed.

I heard a voice in my head which belonged to Thyordin. “I apologize for the state in which you have been left. I could not let you walk this world alone so I have bestowed your best friend with a gift,” and just then Nightmane sprung out wings from his side. “I believe there is a way to undo what’s been done, but both Bezarar and I are from an ancient time long ago; ancient magic was used, long forgotten by the people of the world… but one day, you may find what is needed to restore you to who you once were.”

With Nightmane at my side, I returned to the Rabbit’s Hole and waited outside, hunched over so I wasn’t my new towering self, and waited for Vertan to leave. As he closed up I kept my distance and said, “My friend, I will need you to watch my daughters.”

Vertan turned, startled. “What are you doing hiding in that cloth? And did you know the stranger never came back to sleep in his room? Free two hundred gold for you and I, I say.”

“Use it to watch over my daughters,” I said, trying to prevent my voice from being so deep.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you hiding under that? And what’s wrong with your voice?” Vertan asked, stepping closer.

“Stay there,” I snapped. “Listen the stranger inflicted me with a sickness. I am off to the main city to find a cure. But I need to know my daughters will be safe.”

“Of course, of course,” Vertan nodded. “I will pray to the gods that a cure can be found. I will go gather your daughters now. Treat them as my own, I will.”

“Thank you, Vertan.”

That was almost two years ago; my youngest is now eight seasons old, while my oldest is now eighteen. I have wandered the world seeking this “cure” that Thyordin said may exist… One perk of this new form seems to be that my entire body radiates magic…

My name is Wollhelm Woolfgangson, and I am more beast than man.

[Tawmis]

Thank you for taking my suggestion! The new format is excellent, and the stories that I've read through even better.
Now I have a request of my own. I hope you will accept it and work your magic.

Name: Bruzzan Audesti
Race: Human
Class: Fighter 1/Rogue x
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Background: Modified Guilt Artisan (member of the "Locksmith's Guild" - The Thieve's Guild)
Personality Trait: Anger - I explode if I receive even a minor sleight.
Bond: Gratitude - I owe a great deal to the "Locksmith's Guild".
Ideal: Honor - I don't steal from other thieves.
Flaw: Greed - I value money more than common sense.

He's a big guy, scarred, scary looking. He wears heavy armor, carries around a battle mallet, and does Enforcer work for the Thieve's Guild. He feels greatly indebted to them and intends to work his way up the ranks. His strength, constitution, and charisma are great, everything else average. He is not a friendly man.
I was wracking my brain trying to come up with a story that explained why he joined the guild, why he feels indebted to them, why he chose that path in life, and I couldn't come up with anything that wasn't done-to-death, cliche, seen it a million times before. So I have turned to the expert.

I tried to touch on all the traits you presented...
Came up with a reason why he's big, muscular, and carries a battle mallet and does Enforcer work.
Also explain why he's indebted to the Locksmith's Guild... and why, and how he ended up on the path that he's on...
And I've given him a reason to "adventure" forward to...
And also explain his alignment (I've not really written any evil origins; for myself for my own characters; or anyone else, save for a few times...)
So it was fun to step into the mind of someone and see what makes them evil...
As always, I welcome feedback! Good or bad! Tell me what you liked, loved and hated!
What worked and what didn't!
Enjoy!
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My father, Baron Trijin Barnaressi is a filthy rich politician in service to the local King. You would think that would mean I had money as well, would you not?

Such is not the case. As it would turn out, my father Trijin, met my mother in her home town of Westspring when he and his posse had been riding through. My mother, Ahna Audesti, was a very beautiful woman. Red locks of hair that seemed to be forged of the Eternal Fires of the Setting Sun, a thin waist, with wide hips, she looked as if she would be a beautiful bride and be able to bare children. My father approached my mother’s father, Ahneer and asked for her hand in marriage. My father immediately agreed; after all, Westspring was a small town with a population of sixty people. The notion that his daughter would be wedding into a home of wealth appealed to him. My mother did not resist; while she was not wholly attracted to Trijin, he was not ugly by any stretch of the imagination. On the ride back to Castle Barnaressi, my father and mother consummated their relationship, several times.

My mother revealed she had gotten pregnant after living in the castle for several months and Trijin had his minions take her and drag her away to the bustling city of Highstone. Once there, they revealed that Trijin had called off the wedding. With no money and no means to return home, my mother learned to survive on the streets, even while she was pregnant. I was born in an unmarked alleyway, where my mother died during childbirth; but not before a stranger had found her.

The woman, a thief named Ellastar, took me and brought me down to the Thieves Guild of the Locksmith’s Guild. Ellastar took my mother’s hand and smiled warmly, looking down at me, “Your baby is born, love,” she said soothingly.

“Please take care of the baby,” my mother choked.

“It’s a baby boy,” Ellastar smiled, giving my mother’s hand a gentle squeeze. “What’s your name, love?”

“Ahna,” my mother had told her, “Ahna Audestri.”

And with that, my mother passed away.

The woman who found me, Ellastar, was one of the members of the Locksmith’s Guild a prominent thieves guild in Highstone. She looked down at me, a new born, barely born less than ten minutes ago she guessed with the umbilical cord still uncut, lying in a pool of my mother’s blood.

Bythorn, a half-orc who ran the Locksmith’s Guild was furious. “What do you think you’re doing Ellastar? A crying infant like that is bound to reveal our location to the city guards if they search these sewers again.”

“I can always take the child, and my skills, elsewhere,” she threatened.

As it turned out, Ellastar happened to be one of the best at what she did; and that was fight her way out of a situation if she couldn’t sneak out of it. Ellastar began targeting pregnant or new mothers, and following them to mark their house and sneak in to steal milk that they had stored for their infants. In her mind, they had more milk in their breasts to feed the children; the child she found had none. She’d done research about my mother and discovered who she was and how she had come to Highstone. When I was five, she named me “Bruzzan” which was Orc for “Born In Blood.” Though she was not Orc in anyway; she was actually a beautiful female elf, she knew naming me an Orcish name would appease Bythorn’s ego and set aside any frustration he had with me.

By the age of twelve, Ellastar was not holding back when she taught me to fight. She would hit, cut, and bruise me. The compassion and generosity she’d shown me for years was gone. When I cried and asked why she was being so mean and hitting so hard, she simply replied, with no emotion in her voice, “Because that’s what the world is outside. It’s cruel. It’s relentless. It does not care about you. It will walk all over you. You will be the cobblestone and step to every person who walks on you as they ascend to greatness. Your tears won’t matter to them or to the world.”

It took three years but I was beginning to defend myself successfully against Ellastar’s attacks. That’s when she said, “Now to teach you how to steal.”

We spent countless nights sneaking around, breaking into homes, mugging the foolish. There were times after we mugged someone, she would scream for help as she dashed away, forcing me to find my own route of escape. This I didn’t need to ask why. I knew from the fighting lesson that the day might come that someone might betray me and I had best better be ready to fight or stealth away when that day comes.

Each successful run, Ellastar only gave me five percent of the take, taking sixty for her, and lying to Bythorn about the total, which she would give him the rest.

By the age of eighteen, she told me my mother’s name, her story and what she’d found out about her. I was furious with my father, who may or may not be dead by now. I had wanted to find him and crush his skull beneath the battle mallet I had grown accustomed to using. It was around this time, Bythorn had propositioned me to be the Locksmith Guild’s personal “retrieval expert.”

This meant going after specific targets that borrowed from the guild and neglected to pay back in time. These jobs included smashing the knees, hands, and sometimes heads, of those that refused to pay me when I came to collect on behalf of the Locksmith’s Guild.

Perhaps it was the mixture of knowing the truth of my father; knowing how my mother died; and the love that Ellastar never showed me again after I reached the age of twelve; and how the world outside was simply cruel; but all I cared about was earning money – enough one day to perhaps buy my freedom from the guild and go after my father to extract my revenge. I was easily angered and any slight against me would set me off, that typically was resolved through violence.

That short fuse has gotten me into more fights than I can count; and typically within the Locksmith’s Guild. You’d think Bythorn would be against such violence; but the Orcish half side of him believed that only the strong should remain; and those I fought, and sometimes killed, were being weeded out as being weak. Bythorn even believed that one day; someone would rise up and challenge him for the title of Guild Leader.

His eyes were always on Ellastar.

And that was foolish. Because the notion of running the guild myself certain bounced in my own head from time to time…

[Jaryn]

I may break tradition and do some of the new people submissions before some of the others who have submitted before to give them a fair chance at seeing what I can try to do for them!

Please do! You have showered much attention on us already 😀

[Tawmis]

Two more as usual good sir. I hope work becomes less busy, not because of your writing schedule of course. Because life usually isn't awesome when work is extremely busy.

1st
Name: Dandir Truesword
Race: Half-Orc
Gender: Male
Class: Fighter - Cavalier
Background: Knight of the Order
Personality: I will honor my house and my country. I understand that most people distrust me because of my appearance, but I will prove them wrong. My heritage brings destruction, but I am above that and a man of honor.
Ideals: Life is only worth living through honor and living a life worth respecting. Never judge a book by its cover, appearances are always deceiving. The weak deserve to be protected as long as they are good folk. It's the responsibility of the Noble class to protect those less fortunate.
Bonds: I owe my life to my adoptive mother and family. My siblings accepted me when they didn't have to.
Flaws: He is blind to racial prejudice, and is willing to trust anyone
Notes: He is adventuring on behalf of his family. He was raised in a Noble house of Cormyr, and wishes to join the Purple Dragon Knights, but he still faces the prejudice associated with half of his blood. He doesn’t know his parents and doesn’t care, owing a stronger bond to his adoptive family.

This was fun to write...
Someone who appears one way but whose heart is another...
Similar to Nightcrawler, of the X-Men.
I really enjoyed writing how he was found and how he came to be into the world...
And how being raised the way he was... made him blind to hatred and prejudice. If only all the world could be that way, for real...
As always, I look forward to feedback! What you liked, hated, loved, whatever! I'd love to hear it!
Enjoy!
==============================================
“Over here!” one of the Purple Dragon Knights shouted, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes as he gave chase. One of the Red Eye Orcs whom the Purple Dragon Knights had been actively hunting in the region cut through the Ashbenford Forest.

Garen Havenshield nearly had his head severed when another Red Eye Orc jumped out from the bushes. “Ambush!” he shouted as he raised his shield and deflected the next blow that came towards him. “I could use a little help, Toramar Trueblade,” he laughed as he stepped back and avoided the next swing.

Toramar rushed forward and slammed one of the Red Eye Orcs from the side, “Pardon my less than favorable attack,” he smiled, “but I doubt you would have given me the courtesy of an honorable fight either, as it would seem you tried to ambush my dear friend, Garen.” With that, Toramar ran his longsword through the orc as he struggled to get up.

The other orc, whom Garen had been chasing, would not go down so easily. Just as they’d seen before, something in the Orc’s eyes suddenly appeared as if he was spiritually no longer there as he entered an aggressive form of rage, swinging wildly, all the wounds already inflicted upon him seemed to do little to slow him down.

The Orc had managed to deliver a lucky strike against Garen, cutting into the joints of his armor at the shoulder and drawing blood. This only seemed to fuel the enraged Orc. As Garen fell backwards the Orc leaped from a log, sword in hand ready to bring it down into Garen’s unprotected face. However, in the Orc’s rage and focus on Garen, it had lost sight of Toramar who had been standing to the side and severed the Orc’s head as it leapt through the air.

Toramar kneeled down. “Why am I always saving your life?”

“I believe,” Garen winced, “the score currently stands at five to three, in my favor. Even after this,” he looked at his shoulder as he removed the arm piece to examine the wound. “These Red Eye Orcs and that rage they get into… worse than any barbarian from the North. It’s almost like they leave their body and have no regard what happens to it.”

“If we could ever capture one alive,” Toramar smiled, “we might be able to learn something. But even the few we manage to subdue, they all have a poison they keep in their mouth to bite down on in the event they’re captured; only adding to the mystery of their recent rise.”

At that moment, Toramar heard a sound. He placed his hand on his friend who looked at him knowingly. Toramar drew his blade and quietly made his way through the woods, moving as quietly as his heavy armor would permit him. The sound came again; crying. Toramar moved more quickly and burst into the clearing near the Ashaba River.

A human woman, beaten so badly that her eyes were swollen shut, her teeth knocked out, and tied to a tree. Toramar dropped his sword and rushed to her side and let out a gasp. She had not been the one who was crying; it was the infant that lay between her legs, freshly birthed, and by the looks of it, by the sheer force of the mother, who was now dead.

Toramar wiped the blood off the infant and used his belt dagger to cut the umbilical cord and rushed the crying baby to the river where he washed off the blood and fluid from the birthing process and saw immediately, that the child was not human like the woman tied against the tree. It was a half-orc. Toramar did not even hesitate; he immediately tore off his cloak and wrapped the infant and rushed back to his friend’s side after picking up his sword.

“We need to get this infant back to the Church,” he urged his friend to stand.

“It looks like an orc,” Garen raised an eye brow as he sheathed his own sword after putting the armor pieces back onto his arm.

“Half-orc,” Toramar corrected.

“The mother?” Garen asked.

“She did not survive,” Toramar led his friend back to the woman. “This must be Jana Springstorm,” he concluded; she’d been a part of a caravan that had been attacked almost a year ago and vanished in this very area. Due to the severe beating and torture she suffered at the hands of the orcs, identifying her would be extremely difficult. Garen began cutting her free and placed her body over his shoulder. She was easy to carry as she was emaciated from lack of being fed.

“We will pray for her,” Toramar nodded, “and ensure she is given a proper burial at the Hall of Heroes.”

“What about the child?” Garen asked as they made their way back to their horses at the edge of the forest.

Toramar looked down at the child then back at his friend, “I will ask the Church to bless the child and cleanse him of the evil of the orc blood and I will raise him.”

“You?” Garen paused, shocked.

“It’s the least I could do for her,” Toramar nodded to the woman slung over Garen’s shoulder. “She may not have wanted this child, but it is a part of her. We were not able to save her in this life, but if we can save this child, we might just be able to find our own redemption for failing her.”


The Church blessed the child; but echoed the same concern Garen had shared, but it did nothing to sway Toramar’s decision. Toramar named the child, Dandir, who had been an old folklore hero with a monstrous appearance and fought against the odds to earn the trust of the people, despite how he looked outwardly.

Toramar taught Dandir to fight and defend himself starting at the age of ten. Toramar’s wife, though uneasy when Dandir was first brought to their house, soon embraced the infant. With a heart of pure gold and full of nothing but love, Neena, was someone who might fight against an idea, but nearly a minute later would be in love. It’d been one of the Neena’s strongest traits that initially drew Toramar to her. She had taken in homeless children, dogs, and cats and tended to them. Dandir was just another homeless soul in need of a home and love.

Toramar taught Dandir to temper his inner fury that boiled in his orcish bloodline and find his center and peace when overcome by the rage. He learned to respect and love those that deserved it and always extended his hand to those in need, giving up his own food and clothing at times, to a homeless woman or child in the streets. Toramar’s other children simply embraced him because in their family they were never taught hate; and that carried over into Dandir who looked at everyone the same; whether they were rich or poor, healthy or handicapped, each of them deserved his respect, his love, and his honor.

And now at the age of eighteen, his dream was nearly at hand.

Like his father before him, he sought to enter the ranks of the Purple Dragon Knights; but despite the lack of hatred in his eyes, others still judged him and he knew this.

That meant he had to work twice as hard to earn their trust and respect.

A challenge he wholeheartedly embraced.

Born in hatred, raised in love, Dandir Trueblade would be a Purple Dragon Knight, if it was the last thing he did in this world.

[Tawmis]

Two more as usual good sir. I hope work becomes less busy, not because of your writing schedule of course. Because life usually isn't awesome when work is extremely busy.
2nd
Name: Aithe Darante
Race: Human (Variant)
Gender: Female
Class: Cleric
Background: Port Noble
Personality: I wish to understand the Arcane, it is such a huge part of my nation’s life. I am utterly serene, even in the face of disaster. I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals: Mystra holds the weave together, and the weave holds the world together so both are equally as important as the Toril. Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bonds: Mystra's will is my life, she chose me to not Master the Art, but blessed my soul with the Art and the Power. Mystra’s calling has made me leave my nation since it came back to Toril, I don’t know where my destiny will take me.
Flaws: Shy in public and doe
Notes: Feat: Magic Initiate (Druid). She is adventuring away from her home nation because of what she thinks is a vision from Mystra, not sure if it’s a real vision or not.
I hope you have some fun with them. I assume you've enjoyed writing the histories for the characters I've presented.

I enjoyed writing this...
Did something a little different...
Left plenty of mysteries to this one...
Is the Tabaxi just a Tabaxi?
Is there a ploy to the Tabaxi's game?
Had the Tabaxi made noise on purpose in hopes of waking the daughter?
Or is the Tabaxi some celestial being who senses greatness in Aithe?
The island mentioned is not on Forgotten Realms proper; but could easily be explained as being a very small island, and thus not charted properly.
Or it can be changed to an existing island!
As always, would love ANY feedback you have!
Enjoy!
====================================
Ideals: Mystra holds the weave together, and the weave holds the world together so both are equally as important as the Toril. Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bonds: Mystra's will is my life, she chose me to not Master the Art, but blessed my soul with the Art and the Power. Mystra’s calling has made me leave my nation since it came back to Toril, I don’t know where my destiny will take me.
Flaws: Shy in public and doe
Notes: Feat: Magic Initiate (Druid). She is adventuring away from her home nation because of what she thinks is a vision from Mystra, not sure if it’s a real vision or not.


Aithe Darante had spent her nights sitting on the ledge of the patio that over looked the ocean. She wondered if somewhere out there the dark seas of the ocean touched the dimly lit star filled skies. She would ask her father who commanded a fleet of explorers what the men would report to him. Typically he entertained her questions and curiosity; but from time to time, her father Fenryn Darante would fabricate stories of mysterious islands and fantastic beasts.

Aithe Darante spent her days and nights praying to Mystra, goddess of all the magic that flowed through the world. Aithe hoped that she would one day sail to a mysterious island and find the exotic creatures that her father had told her about.

One night, while her father had been up late, discussing political agendas, Aithe crept down the stairs after hearing an unusual sounding voice. Much to her surprise she saw what appeared to be a tall, slender, humanoid cat, with orange fur. She couldn’t withhold her gasp and caught the attention of the unusual looking humanoid feline, who was clearly a female. “It would seem our discussions have awakened your daughter.”

Fenryn flushed with embarrassment. “My apologies, Freyathye. It is my daughter. And she is a rather inquisitive child. Allow me a moment to put her to bed.”

Aithe could not take her eyes off the feline creature. Freyathye smiled, “She seems rather enamored.”

“She’s never seen a Tabaxi,” Aithe’s father smiled.

“Well, we cannot send her off to bed without meeting one then,” Freyathye smiled. The Tabaxi approached Aithe, who while initially enchanted by the sight of the Tabaxi, was now gripped with fear when she saw the Tabaxi’s rippling leg muscles and long claws. Freyathye retracted her claws, “My apologies, when I heard a sound I extended my claws. My name is Freyathye.”

Aithe extended her hand, “Mine is Aithe. Aithe Darante.”

“The honor,” the Tabaxi bowed, “is all mine. Perhaps one day we will meet again, little one?”

Fenryn rushed Aithe up the stairs and into her room. He looked at her and wanted to say something about interrupting a sensitive meeting; but he realized her interruption had sundered the rapidly building tension and reset everyone’s mood, so he was, in truth, thankful for the interruption.

Fenryn was able to return to his meeting and discuss the trades with the Tabaxi for the refined ore found exclusively on their island and reach a mutual agreement.

As soon as her father had left her room she quickly crawled out of bed and peered out her window, which over looked the dock. After an hour, the Tabaxi could be seen leaving and as if knowing she were being watched she turned and smiled directly at Aithe who was stunned and quickly dove to the floor, leaving her father who had been happily escorting Freyathye back to her ship, looking over his shoulder and wondering why the Tabaxi had been smiling.

Aithe opened her hand and stared at the note that the Tabaxi had passed her in their brief handshake.

“Watch the Heavens; see the stars;
The gods with their all seeing eyes;
We shall meet again; for I am never far;
The truth to who I am, you will realize.”

It’d been an odd note to be sure. How had the Tabaxi known that she would meet her? Or was there some other meaning? Aithe folded the note and kept it in her pocket. As the days followed, she continued to try and analyze the note and determine its meaning, all the while keeping her eyes gazing at the stars every night.

By the age of twelve, during one of her classes, one of her friends had been pushed down by a bully and smacked her head against the wall. When Aithe rushed to her friend’s side, inexplicably, Aithe’s hands began to glow and the wound on her friend’s head seemed to mend itself. It was that moment something else changed in her. She found an inner peace that she’d never felt before. This kept her calm in the face of danger; for example when her father’s docks caught fire; she had walked out there, calmly as if guided by some holy presence, and directed the people who needed help how to get away, while issuing commands in an effective manner when it came to putting out the fires.

The birth of this new inner peace made her slightly detached from her family as she began to reach out to strangers to help them. The sick, the homeless, she wanted to help them all. Despite her inner desire to help everyone she came in contact with, the peace she felt and how she felt cut off from others had made me shy, and sometimes awkward in public. One night while sitting in the garden by herself, arms at her side, legs crisscrossed, she closed her eyes and sought answers as to why she had felt so changed. When she opened her eyes there’d been a small rose that had grown in front of her. She thought for a moment the rose had symbolized something; but soon realized there was a rabbit lying peacefully next to her. Somehow her peace had made a small connection to the balance of nature as well.

She returned to her room and began to pack some of her belongings away.

Her father, now older, entered the room to ask where she was going.

Aithe turned and faced her father, “Truth be told I do not know. Something in me has changed. I can do things I never thought possible. I had always wanted to shape and use magic like the wizards I’d seen; but my power,” she looked at her hands, “does not require a spell book.” She smiled at her father, “Mystra has heard my endless prayers; but rather than make me a wizard she has turned me into one of her priests. Perhaps someone in a major city can help me.”

“Just tell me where you want to go,” her father pleaded, “and you can use one of my ships to have you taken there. I have connections everywhere.”

Aithe shook her head, “That’s just it, I don’t know where I am going. I will let fate decide,” she smiled, and at that moment opened her old dresser and saw a crumpled, aged, yellow note. She opened it and read the poem that the Tabaxi had given her so many years ago.

“Where does Freythe live?” Aithe suddenly perked up.

“On the jungle island of Festhwill,” her father replied. “But I can’t let you go there. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Mystra guides me.”

[Ghghj2]

I have a rough idea for a lizard folk scout rogue and any suggestions on his character, backstory, motivations for adventuring, connections, etc. would be appreciated.

Sludge is a black, green spotted lizardfolk. His egg was stolen from his tribe and sold to a noble who thought it was at least a pseudodragon, and filled whit rage, tried to vent it out on him, only to get half of his hand bitten off. When the guards rushed in, sludge scurried to an exit, ending up in the city sewers. While time passed, he grew up watching the manners of the people up there, learning about their ways. While still being hunted by the noble, sludge managed to survive in the underground, and eventually found out about the thieves that also lurked bellow, managing to live among them. One thing that really picked his interest was coin. Not its value or significance, but its shape and glimmer and the sound a bunch of them make together.

[Tawmis]

I have a rough idea for a lizard folk scout rogue and any suggestions on his character, backstory, motivations for adventuring, connections, etc. would be appreciated.

Sludge is a black, green spotted lizardfolk. His egg was stolen from his tribe and sold to a noble who thought it was at least a pseudodragon, and filled whit rage, tried to vent it out on him, only to get half of his hand bitten off. When the guards rushed in, sludge scurried to an exit, ending up in the city sewers. While time passed, he grew up watching the manners of the people up there, learning about their ways. While still being hunted by the noble, sludge managed to survive in the underground, and eventually found out about the thieves that also lurked bellow, managing to live among them. One thing that really picked his interest was coin. Not its value or significance, but its shape and glimmer and the sound a bunch of them make together.

Sure! I am doing those I've never done background stories for first, over others who I've done and returned to the thread (which is flattering! Means I am doing something right - or in this case is that "doing something 'write'")...!

I will see if I can get to it tonight (I think I've done all the other new-new requests!) If I don't get to it tonight, should be able to get to it Monday (this weekend I will be at a convention).

[Tawmis]

I have a rough idea for a lizard folk scout rogue and any suggestions on his character, backstory, motivations for adventuring, connections, etc. would be appreciated.
Sludge is a black, green spotted lizardfolk. His egg was stolen from his tribe and sold to a noble who thought it was at least a pseudodragon, and filled whit rage, tried to vent it out on him, only to get half of his hand bitten off. When the guards rushed in, sludge scurried to an exit, ending up in the city sewers. While time passed, he grew up watching the manners of the people up there, learning about their ways. While still being hunted by the noble, sludge managed to survive in the underground, and eventually found out about the thieves that also lurked bellow, managing to live among them. One thing that really picked his interest was coin. Not its value or significance, but its shape and glimmer and the sound a bunch of them make together.

Phew! I may have gotten too into writing this one! I would have probably kept going had my one hour timer I set as a max for writing these hadn't gone off, so I had to wrap it up!
I really enjoyed writing this...
The "poachers" I wrote were fun and came alive in my head...
The Nobleman also was easy to write...!
And then I left a lot of room (for years between his escape from the noble to what he does for the Thieves Guild) open, but explain how he comes to find them.
I'd - as always - love to hear feedback from you (or anyone reading these, really!) - what you liked, hated, loved, whatever! Let me know!
I thrive on the feedback, it helps keep this thread alive, and it bumps it up so that others can see the thread!
Enjoy!
===================================
Deep into the High Moor, a swamp notoriously infested with trolls, two poachers moved as quietly as they possibly could. Each step in the thick mud seemed to be an attempt at the land itself to try and pry their boots from their feet.

The human, whose hair was plastered to his face due to the humidity turned towards his Tiefling companion. “Are you trying to draw the trolls our way?”

The Tiefling muttered about the mud and muck, “This isn’t what I signed up for.” The Tiefling had ram like horns that were covered in moss with flies and mosquitos buzzing all around. “I don’t understand how anything would want to live in a mud hole like this damn swamp.”

“Because it’s full of water,” the human replied, “and the humidity in the air keeps things moist. Fun little fact about trolls, fire is one of the few things they fear because it’s about the only thing on this world that can harm them.”

“And that’s why you brought me? In case we run into trolls?” the Tiefling name Arus Ramsky asked.

The human named Yourn Blightfall shrugged, “You’re a Tiefling. Can’t your people shoot hellfire from your eyes?”

Arus rolled his lavender colored eyes, “Do you know anything about Tieflings?”

“That you shoot Hellfire from your eyes?” The human replied questionably.

“No,” Arus sighed, “no. We do not shoot ‘hellfire from our eyes.’”

“Well if we get into trouble with trolls, I suppose we improvise then,” he sighed, muttering under his breath that he wasn’t certain why something would look like a demon from the pit of Hell without being able to shoot fire from their eyes.

Hearing a commotion both men moved to investigate what had been happening. What they saw were Lizard People – humanoid looking lizards of various scale tones fighting with a small group of trolls.

Yourn tugged on Arus’ sleeve and pointed emphatically to something on the ground. The Tiefling looked and saw an egg in a nest. “Pseudodragon egg!”

Arus arched an eyebrow. “I am not so certain. I am pretty sure that’s a lizard –“

But Yourn cut him off. “Trust me! I’ve seen and sold plenty of pseudodragon eggs! That’s one! I know what they look like!”

“Similar to how you ‘knew’ Tieflings ‘shot hellfire from their eyes’,” Arus sighed.

“Just grab the egg!” Yourn uttered through clenched teeth.

“Me? Why don’t you grab the egg?” Arus snapped back in a hushed whisper.

“Because you have all of that unholy strength,” Yourn continued to emphatically point at the egg.

“Unholy strength? Where do you get these pieces of Tiefling knowledge,” Arus growled. “I am not grabbing that egg.”

Yourn shook his head and reached over and grabbed the egg. “Now come on! Let’s get out of here! We can sell this pseudodragon egg to a noble for thousands of gold! We will be set!”

“I’m sure your bar tab at The Last Chance Inn is probably close to a thousand gold,” Arus sighed as Yourn stuffed the egg – rather carelessly – into his bag. The two quickly made their escape – both of them losing a boot each to the mud’s siphoning powers, opting to leave them behind.


Back at Waterdeep, Yourn had arranged to meet with Untar Jorankhan, a noble who had recently taken up residence and known for his exotic tastes.

“What is it you bring me today, hunter?” Untar asked, his accent thick.

“A pseudodragon egg,” Yourn smiled; pulling the egg out of his backpack.

“It looks like an ostrich egg,” Untar replied, unimpressed.

Arus shook his head rolled his eyes.

After explaining how he had climbed some unnamed mountain, up high, above the clouds and plucking this extraordinarily looking plain egg from the nest of a mother pseudodragon (all of which was met with constant sighs from Arus for each additional lie Yourn stacked on to his “magnificent story”), Untar finally agreed to purchase it for the agreed deal of one thousand gold.

After being paid, Arus approached Yourn as they left Untar’s home and said, “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but it’s not been. At all. Since I’ve known you, actually. With this,” he jiggled the pouch of gold in his hand, “I am going to cut my losses and go my own way from here on out.”

Yourn laughed. “Good luck! You’ll be crawling back to me, friend!”

“Please don’t call me friend,” Arus assured him.

“But we are friends!” Yourn cheered and pat Arus on the back.

“Touch me again and I swear to the darkest gods I will shoot hellfire from my eyes and burn you alive where you stand!” Arus growled, his eyes flaring.

“I thought you said you couldn’t…” But Yourn knew better than to press it any further and quickly excused himself and headed for The Last Chance Inn.”

Arus looked at Untar’s home and shook his head, whispering, “Damn fool.”


It’d been two weeks before the egg had hatched; and when it did Untar was disappointed. “This pseudodragon doesn’t have wings! My daughter will be furious!” He reached out to touch the creature to see if the wings were simply tightly pressed against its body, only to have it lunge at him and take a bite at his finger.

He pulled his hand back and looked at the blood it had somehow drawn. “I do believe I have been tricked. Guintin, take this foul thing out back and kill it.”

“How about,” a voice said from behind him, “I pay you five hundred gold to take it off your hands.”

Untar turned, startled to see the Tiefling from several weeks ago. “You and your friend swindled me! Told me this thing was a pseudodragon!”

“Two things,” Arus growled. “First, that human was not my friend. Second, he is the one who lied and swindled you. Not me. If you’d been listening closely to me, I was sighing the entire time that human trash was weaving his fantastic tale. But you were too caught up in his tale to want to hear anything else.” Arus threw the bag of five hundred gold on the table. “Now that you know you’ve been swindled, I am willing to give you my half of what was paid to take the creature off of your hands.”

“Wait!” Untar eyed Arus. “What are you not telling me? Why are you willing to pay five hundred gold for this beast?”

“Because I know where it came from and I can take it back home,” Arus explained. “You were just going to kill it. Now you can let it live and get five hundred gold back. Seems like a winning situation for you.”

“You don’t strike me as the compassionate type,” Untar eyed Arus. “There’s something you’re not telling me, demon.”

“I’m not a demon,” Arus growled.

“I’m afraid I can’t take your gold,” Untar smiled, believing there was something more to this recently hatched creature. “Get the other five hundred of my gold and the beast is yours.”

“Rest assured that the other five hundred gold you gave that human wastebasket is already gone,” Arus retorted. “All you’re getting is that five hundred gold there.”

“I think not,” Untar whistled and the room filled with the guards. “Try anything and these men will run you through. Now run along, find your friend, and get the other five hundred gold and I will consider selling this beast back to you.”

Arus growled and left the estate furious. He found Yourn at the Last Chance Inn, passed out in the northern corner. Arus searched him and as he had suspected, not even a copper coin to his name. Arus shook his head and punched Yourn who barely made a sound of acknowledgement.

Arus spent the next few weeks scouting Untar’s estate; but Untar must have suspected Arus might try to steal the beast as the security nearly tripled from the last time Arus had snuck into the mansion. It had been nearly six months that Arus agreed to an assortment of odd jobs – some of them landing him working with Yourn again, much to his dismay – to earn the other five hundred gold. When he approached the estate he was escorted by heavily armed guards to Untar.

“I bring the other five hundred,” Arus said, throwing the gold on the table.

“You’re too late!” howled Untar thrusting his hand forward, revealing that two of his fingers had been severed. “The damn beast bit two of my fingers and escaped down a ventilation shaft before my guards could kill it!”

“Where is it now?” Arus asked.

“If I knew I wouldn’t be so furious! Turns out the blasted thing has eluded my guards who are scouring the city day in and day out in search of any information leading to the capture. And don’t think for a moment I was going to capture it to hand it over to you! No! I want it captured so I can cut the beast’s fingers off before I kill it. I will keep this five hundred gold to pay for the medical bills that your lies brought upon me!”

Arus once again found himself broke – and with Yourn’s constant lies to blame, yet again.

The “beast” was in fact, as Arus had believed a lizard person. With velvet black scales, with green spots dotting his entire body, the young lizardman learned to live on the streets, sticking to dark alleyways that most guards he noticed, avoided, and typically came out at night where his dark skin complimented his ability to move in the shadows and steal whatever he needed. He adopted the name “Sludge” – a word that he’d heard the humans call mud and muck, in which he lived in.

By the age of sixteen, Sludge’s courage continued to grow and he grew braver about going out during the day, and traveling deeper and deeper into the sewers. He had seen signs of life and other humanoid tracks in the mud of the sewers and wondered if it had been the guards or someone else.

He discovered a Thieves Guild that went by the name of “The Blackstone Brigade” who were interested in Sludge’s ability to remain nearly undetectable in pure darkness; even against those who could see in low light, Sludge’s coldblooded reptilian nature made him difficult to spot.

The leader of the guild, a Half-Orc named Burg’graw Kattle’dorn recruited Sludge for some of the lower end jobs to see how good he was before promoting him to some more… lucrative tasks.

All the while, just thirty feet above him, Arus continued to look, even to this day for signs of the young beast…

[Jaryn]

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Mystra guides me.”

I really like this one!

[AH0098]

This was fun to write...
Someone who appears one way but whose heart is another...
Similar to Nightcrawler, of the X-Men.
I really enjoyed writing how he was found and how he came to be into the world...
And how being raised the way he was... made him blind to hatred and prejudice. If only all the world could be that way, for real...
As always, I look forward to feedback! What you liked, hated, loved, whatever! I'd love to hear it!
Enjoy!
==============================================

Spoiler

Show

“Over here!” one of the Purple Dragon Knights shouted, his blond hair falling in front of his eyes as he gave chase. One of the Red Eye Orcs whom the Purple Dragon Knights had been actively hunting in the region cut through the Ashbenford Forest.

Garen Havenshield nearly had his head severed when another Red Eye Orc jumped out from the bushes. “Ambush!” he shouted as he raised his shield and deflected the next blow that came towards him. “I could use a little help, Toramar Trueblade,” he laughed as he stepped back and avoided the next swing.

Toramar rushed forward and slammed one of the Red Eye Orcs from the side, “Pardon my less than favorable attack,” he smiled, “but I doubt you would have given me the courtesy of an honorable fight either, as it would seem you tried to ambush my dear friend, Garen.” With that, Toramar ran his longsword through the orc as he struggled to get up.

The other orc, whom Garen had been chasing, would not go down so easily. Just as they’d seen before, something in the Orc’s eyes suddenly appeared as if he was spiritually no longer there as he entered an aggressive form of rage, swinging wildly, all the wounds already inflicted upon him seemed to do little to slow him down.

The Orc had managed to deliver a lucky strike against Garen, cutting into the joints of his armor at the shoulder and drawing blood. This only seemed to fuel the enraged Orc. As Garen fell backwards the Orc leaped from a log, sword in hand ready to bring it down into Garen’s unprotected face. However, in the Orc’s rage and focus on Garen, it had lost sight of Toramar who had been standing to the side and severed the Orc’s head as it leapt through the air.

Toramar kneeled down. “Why am I always saving your life?”

“I believe,” Garen winced, “the score currently stands at five to three, in my favor. Even after this,” he looked at his shoulder as he removed the arm piece to examine the wound. “These Red Eye Orcs and that rage they get into… worse than any barbarian from the North. It’s almost like they leave their body and have no regard what happens to it.”

“If we could ever capture one alive,” Toramar smiled, “we might be able to learn something. But even the few we manage to subdue, they all have a poison they keep in their mouth to bite down on in the event they’re captured; only adding to the mystery of their recent rise.”

At that moment, Toramar heard a sound. He placed his hand on his friend who looked at him knowingly. Toramar drew his blade and quietly made his way through the woods, moving as quietly as his heavy armor would permit him. The sound came again; crying. Toramar moved more quickly and burst into the clearing near the Ashaba River.

A human woman, beaten so badly that her eyes were swollen shut, her teeth knocked out, and tied to a tree. Toramar dropped his sword and rushed to her side and let out a gasp. She had not been the one who was crying; it was the infant that lay between her legs, freshly birthed, and by the looks of it, by the sheer force of the mother, who was now dead.

Toramar wiped the blood off the infant and used his belt dagger to cut the umbilical cord and rushed the crying baby to the river where he washed off the blood and fluid from the birthing process and saw immediately, that the child was not human like the woman tied against the tree. It was a half-orc. Toramar did not even hesitate; he immediately tore off his cloak and wrapped the infant and rushed back to his friend’s side after picking up his sword.

“We need to get this infant back to the Church,” he urged his friend to stand.

“It looks like an orc,” Garen raised an eye brow as he sheathed his own sword after putting the armor pieces back onto his arm.

“Half-orc,” Toramar corrected.

“The mother?” Garen asked.

“She did not survive,” Toramar led his friend back to the woman. “This must be Jana Springstorm,” he concluded; she’d been a part of a caravan that had been attacked almost a year ago and vanished in this very area. Due to the severe beating and torture she suffered at the hands of the orcs, identifying her would be extremely difficult. Garen began cutting her free and placed her body over his shoulder. She was easy to carry as she was emaciated from lack of being fed.

“We will pray for her,” Toramar nodded, “and ensure she is given a proper burial at the Hall of Heroes.”

“What about the child?” Garen asked as they made their way back to their horses at the edge of the forest.

Toramar looked down at the child then back at his friend, “I will ask the Church to bless the child and cleanse him of the evil of the orc blood and I will raise him.”

“You?” Garen paused, shocked.

“It’s the least I could do for her,” Toramar nodded to the woman slung over Garen’s shoulder. “She may not have wanted this child, but it is a part of her. We were not able to save her in this life, but if we can save this child, we might just be able to find our own redemption for failing her.”


The Church blessed the child; but echoed the same concern Garen had shared, but it did nothing to sway Toramar’s decision. Toramar named the child, Dandir, who had been an old folklore hero with a monstrous appearance and fought against the odds to earn the trust of the people, despite how he looked outwardly.

Toramar taught Dandir to fight and defend himself starting at the age of ten. Toramar’s wife, though uneasy when Dandir was first brought to their house, soon embraced the infant. With a heart of pure gold and full of nothing but love, Neena, was someone who might fight against an idea, but nearly a minute later would be in love. It’d been one of the Neena’s strongest traits that initially drew Toramar to her. She had taken in homeless children, dogs, and cats and tended to them. Dandir was just another homeless soul in need of a home and love.

Toramar taught Dandir to temper his inner fury that boiled in his orcish bloodline and find his center and peace when overcome by the rage. He learned to respect and love those that deserved it and always extended his hand to those in need, giving up his own food and clothing at times, to a homeless woman or child in the streets. Toramar’s other children simply embraced him because in their family they were never taught hate; and that carried over into Dandir who looked at everyone the same; whether they were rich or poor, healthy or handicapped, each of them deserved his respect, his love, and his honor.

And now at the age of eighteen, his dream was nearly at hand.

Like his father before him, he sought to enter the ranks of the Purple Dragon Knights; but despite the lack of hatred in his eyes, others still judged him and he knew this.

That meant he had to work twice as hard to earn their trust and respect.

A challenge he wholeheartedly embraced.

Born in hatred, raised in love, Dandir Trueblade would be a Purple Dragon Knight, if it was the last thing he did in this world.

Awesome! You definitely brought out the personality of Dandir that I had in my head when the concept came to me.

[AH0098]

I enjoyed writing this...
Did something a little different...
Left plenty of mysteries to this one...
Is the Tabaxi just a Tabaxi?
Is there a ploy to the Tabaxi's game?
Had the Tabaxi made noise on purpose in hopes of waking the daughter?
Or is the Tabaxi some celestial being who senses greatness in Aithe?
The island mentioned is not on Forgotten Realms proper; but could easily be explained as being a very small island, and thus not charted properly.
Or it can be changed to an existing island!
As always, would love ANY feedback you have!
Enjoy!
====================================
Ideals: Mystra holds the weave together, and the weave holds the world together so both are equally as important as the Toril. Destiny. Nothing and no one can steer me away from my higher calling. Greater Good. My gifts are meant to be shared with all, not used for my own benefit.
Bonds: Mystra's will is my life, she chose me to not Master the Art, but blessed my soul with the Art and the Power. Mystra’s calling has made me leave my nation since it came back to Toril, I don’t know where my destiny will take me.
Flaws: Shy in public and doe
Notes: Feat: Magic Initiate (Druid). She is adventuring away from her home nation because of what she thinks is a vision from Mystra, not sure if it’s a real vision or not.

Spoiler

Show

Aithe Darante had spent her nights sitting on the ledge of the patio that over looked the ocean. She wondered if somewhere out there the dark seas of the ocean touched the dimly lit star filled skies. She would ask her father who commanded a fleet of explorers what the men would report to him. Typically he entertained her questions and curiosity; but from time to time, her father Fenryn Darante would fabricate stories of mysterious islands and fantastic beasts.

Aithe Darante spent her days and nights praying to Mystra, goddess of all the magic that flowed through the world. Aithe hoped that she would one day sail to a mysterious island and find the exotic creatures that her father had told her about.

One night, while her father had been up late, discussing political agendas, Aithe crept down the stairs after hearing an unusual sounding voice. Much to her surprise she saw what appeared to be a tall, slender, humanoid cat, with orange fur. She couldn’t withhold her gasp and caught the attention of the unusual looking humanoid feline, who was clearly a female. “It would seem our discussions have awakened your daughter.”

Fenryn flushed with embarrassment. “My apologies, Freyathye. It is my daughter. And she is a rather inquisitive child. Allow me a moment to put her to bed.”

Aithe could not take her eyes off the feline creature. Freyathye smiled, “She seems rather enamored.”

“She’s never seen a Tabaxi,” Aithe’s father smiled.

“Well, we cannot send her off to bed without meeting one then,” Freyathye smiled. The Tabaxi approached Aithe, who while initially enchanted by the sight of the Tabaxi, was now gripped with fear when she saw the Tabaxi’s rippling leg muscles and long claws. Freyathye retracted her claws, “My apologies, when I heard a sound I extended my claws. My name is Freyathye.”

Aithe extended her hand, “Mine is Aithe. Aithe Darante.”

“The honor,” the Tabaxi bowed, “is all mine. Perhaps one day we will meet again, little one?”

Fenryn rushed Aithe up the stairs and into her room. He looked at her and wanted to say something about interrupting a sensitive meeting; but he realized her interruption had sundered the rapidly building tension and reset everyone’s mood, so he was, in truth, thankful for the interruption.

Fenryn was able to return to his meeting and discuss the trades with the Tabaxi for the refined ore found exclusively on their island and reach a mutual agreement.

As soon as her father had left her room she quickly crawled out of bed and peered out her window, which over looked the dock. After an hour, the Tabaxi could be seen leaving and as if knowing she were being watched she turned and smiled directly at Aithe who was stunned and quickly dove to the floor, leaving her father who had been happily escorting Freyathye back to her ship, looking over his shoulder and wondering why the Tabaxi had been smiling.

Aithe opened her hand and stared at the note that the Tabaxi had passed her in their brief handshake.

“Watch the Heavens; see the stars;
The gods with their all seeing eyes;
We shall meet again; for I am never far;
The truth to who I am, you will realize.”

It’d been an odd note to be sure. How had the Tabaxi known that she would meet her? Or was there some other meaning? Aithe folded the note and kept it in her pocket. As the days followed, she continued to try and analyze the note and determine its meaning, all the while keeping her eyes gazing at the stars every night.

By the age of twelve, during one of her classes, one of her friends had been pushed down by a bully and smacked her head against the wall. When Aithe rushed to her friend’s side, inexplicably, Aithe’s hands began to glow and the wound on her friend’s head seemed to mend itself. It was that moment something else changed in her. She found an inner peace that she’d never felt before. This kept her calm in the face of danger; for example when her father’s docks caught fire; she had walked out there, calmly as if guided by some holy presence, and directed the people who needed help how to get away, while issuing commands in an effective manner when it came to putting out the fires.

The birth of this new inner peace made her slightly detached from her family as she began to reach out to strangers to help them. The sick, the homeless, she wanted to help them all. Despite her inner desire to help everyone she came in contact with, the peace she felt and how she felt cut off from others had made me shy, and sometimes awkward in public. One night while sitting in the garden by herself, arms at her side, legs crisscrossed, she closed her eyes and sought answers as to why she had felt so changed. When she opened her eyes there’d been a small rose that had grown in front of her. She thought for a moment the rose had symbolized something; but soon realized there was a rabbit lying peacefully next to her. Somehow her peace had made a small connection to the balance of nature as well.

She returned to her room and began to pack some of her belongings away.

Her father, now older, entered the room to ask where she was going.

Aithe turned and faced her father, “Truth be told I do not know. Something in me has changed. I can do things I never thought possible. I had always wanted to shape and use magic like the wizards I’d seen; but my power,” she looked at her hands, “does not require a spell book.” She smiled at her father, “Mystra has heard my endless prayers; but rather than make me a wizard she has turned me into one of her priests. Perhaps someone in a major city can help me.”

“Just tell me where you want to go,” her father pleaded, “and you can use one of my ships to have you taken there. I have connections everywhere.”

Aithe shook her head, “That’s just it, I don’t know where I am going. I will let fate decide,” she smiled, and at that moment opened her old dresser and saw a crumpled, aged, yellow note. She opened it and read the poem that the Tabaxi had given her so many years ago.

“Where does Freythe live?” Aithe suddenly perked up.

“On the jungle island of Festhwill,” her father replied. “But I can’t let you go there. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll be fine,” she smiled. “Mystra guides me.”

Aithe's story is definitely my favorite one. Just amazing.

I really like this one!

The last line was super powerful and definitely encompasses all of her personality.

[AH0098]

I will happily return to the back of the que, I look forward to reading all of the histories you've written.
Just one this time.

Spoiler

Show

Name: Rincain Loyalar
Race: Human (Variant)
Gender: Male
Class: Ranger - Hunter
Background: Folk Hero
Personality: I am calm, quiet and reserved except when it involves orcs. I study everyone, as if I was on the hunt.
Ideals: Protect the land before the people, those that intend harm on nature aren't worth her respect. Most people are good, just usually ignorant of what they do.
Bonds: I will protect the people of my valley from the monstrous races, they aren't part of the natural order of things. I will protect the land from harm.
Flaws: I hate orcs, they destroyed my Hamlet and my family. They are creatures of chaos and destruction.
Notes: His hamlet was overwhelmed by Orcs and was rescued by his uncle who taught him the ways of hunting Orcs. His hamlet is now a set of ruins in the North Western part of the Dessarin Valley. He has the Alert feat. His uncle taught him how to follow

[Tawmis]

@ Tawmis: Here's one to ponder, when you get around to it.
5e FR, and Skullport in DotMM start for Introduction to Campaign.
Before that - have fun!
Name: Vippi Padkookkra Gender: Female (serves Silverstream Ancient Silver Dragon)
Race Kobold. +2 Dex and -2 Str
Ht 3'4" * Wt 26 * Eyes: Topaz * Scales: Emerald.
Str 06 Dex 20 Con 16 Int 10 Wis 14 Cha 12
ASIs (4) Dungeon Delver (8) Crossbow Expert (10) Skulker
Background: Survivor: Insight and Survival
Trait: Gossip-monger
Ideal: Spread Love and Joy!
Bond: Will never betray a true friend.
Flaw: Loves to prove themselves superior to everyone.
Class: Arcane Trickster Rogue level 11
Skills: Perception, Investigation (Ex), Stealth (Ex), and Persuasion( Ex)
Tools: Thieves Tools (Ex), Poison Kit. Tinker Tools
Languages: Draconic, Undercommon; Common (250 gp), Elvis (250 gp) Drow Sign (250 gp).
Dwarven (250 gp), and Duergar (250 gp) Gnomish (250 gp)[/spoiler]

I tied her to your own character's origin to explain who she was better than.
There's also references to this kobold and this kobold.
This one is kind of short and sweet; but because it's tying to a module, I didn't want to take too many liberties with it.
I leave the mystery at the end open to tie to the module, or just be something else entirely!
I will also post this in your thread too!
Enjoy!
================================================== =====
“Have you heard the news?” Vippi looked around to ensure others were not listening. Her emerald scales glistened like precious stones as several Kobolds leaned closer to see what she had to say. “Turn out,” she wiggled her finger, her high pitch voice drawing even more (perhaps intended?) attention towards her. “Ol’ Blezzel’top knows Naknak and Sindear!”

“Isn’t Sindear the one that got herself captured by Drow, or something?” Joo’kar, one of the Kobolds who had not originally been intended to hear the news, spoke up as he couldn’t help over hearing Vippi’s squeaky voice.

Vippi turned to face Joo’kar, an old friend of hers who had taken up guarding Silverstream’s treasure trove. Silverstream was an ancient Silver Dragon who had taking a liking to the Kobolds who swore loyalty to her after her arrival; her true name was Sruthairgid, but it was nearly impossible to pronounce with the way true Dragons used inflections.

“I hear that Drekekno is going to go after the Drow and try to rescue Sindear,” Vippi added, taking a seat on a jagged piece of stone, seeing a crowd gather around her. Drekekno was one of the few and exceptionally rare Dragonwrought; a Kobold, whose bloodline somehow directly ties into that of the Dragonkin – or so that’s how Kobolds explain it.

“I don’t see why Drekekno would risk his life for someone from a different tribe,” Puuntar jumped into the conversation. He had one eye (the other lost to a Displacer Beast) and that one eye always seemed to be unfocused on anything in particular.

“Because they came to us seeking help,” Vippi replied. “Apparently a war between Drow and Mind Flayers broke out in their home and spilled into their area of the cavern so they were forced to flee. Sindear was apparently captured by trying to do something heroic and save her ex-partner, who had managed to permanently turn himself invisible. So Drekekno, being the hero that he is, thought that her heroic deeds deem her as someone worth saving!”

“Didn’t you have a thing for Drekekno?” Crune, a golden scaled Kobold asked, popping up from around the corner to see this odd crowd that had gathered. “Does it bother you he’s going to rescue a female? What if they fall in love?”

Vippi laughed. “Me? Have feelings for Drekekno? The only feelings I have for him is admiration! You know me! I love everyone! If Drekekno ever needed me, he is a dear friend, nothing more – and I would always be there for him if he called on me.”

She pulled out a dagger and juggled it in the air. “That said, despite the fact that he’s a Dragonwrought, I am pretty sure I am better at everything he does!” She spun her dagger in the air, caught it by the hilt and threw it across the cavern so it stuck to a small piece of wood. “And what I can’t beat him in melee with,” her hands began to glow, “I was also born with magic!”

At this, everyone – having heard the same story about how she was better than Drekekno for the fiftieth time – quickly began to disperse.

“Wait! Come back! I still haven’t told you what else Ol’ Bleezel’top told me! About the passage in the mountain that he found! Come back!” But no one came back. Vippi did indeed love everyone; her genuine passion for her people allowed her to be close to everyone; and this allowed her to gather information that she shared with her guild; but sometimes couldn’t keep the secrets to herself and told anyone who would listen. She loved a good crowd. She would have made for an excellent bard in a another life.

“Fine,” she muttered to herself, sliding off the rock. She looked at her dagger and used the arcane magic that burned in her veins to call the dagger back to her. “I will go check out what’s in the cavern below by myself…”

[Bundin]

I've really enjoyed reading through this topic, pretty much every background made me think "I want to play that character". However, the one I'll be playing has the following characteristics:

Race: Warforged Envoy, integrated thieves' tools, and a pistol embedded into one arm.
Class: Artificer - Battle Smith (UA v3)
Setting: FR, all over the place
Level: 8
No feats, all ASIs into Int, 12 Wis, 8 Cha

He/she/it (don't know if it identifies as malenor female, anything goes) is just joining the party, as my previous character (100% self-centered Yuan-ti lore bard) ran off because he no longer felt the party was an adequate meatshield. The slate is completely clean. The only magic item he currently has is a Cape of the Mountebank, which acts like a personal transporter once/day (refluffed as some sort of backpack-like techno magical contraption, but where did he get it?!). All other fancy stuff is the result of artificer infused items (repeating shot pistol, repulsion shield, goggles of night). He can have one more major uncommon item, which I'd like to mesh with the background. Utility > combat power for that item.

Edit: additions

I've given that some more thought, and while I would like to avoid the "doesn't understand emotions" thing, I do feel that this warforged hasn't interacted with many different people on a personal level, even though it might have seen different parts of the world during service. It has served as an aide to a high ranking magic user, think general's aide / batman (the British soldier-servant version, not the nocturnal wingy flappy one). A mix of bodyguard, butler, fixer and messenger, but also a repository of knowledge. Knowledge about magic, tech, tactics and strategy, all was to be absorbed by this aide, to be analysed and reproduced when asked. It loved that and took to it with gusto, reading and studying when time allowed. Background: Sage. The subclass with the artificial mind was a bit too esoteric for me though, after all, soldier/bodyguard first, walking database second.

Ideal: Logic would probably be something that the character would adhere to, with Int 20. Maybe not Spock level logic, but I can see it being no-nonsense, often to the point of flaw: being unnecessarily blunt. After all, it's used to having the authority of a high ranking officer backing him up, social niceties aren't a big thing in such a case, and it just doesn't really care about all that.

Loyalty is also a big thing though, once trust is earned. It might be blunt and stand-offish to strangers, but when push comes to shove, it will stand in harm's way to protect his companions. Alignment wise, lawful neutral, with the code that is to be adhered to being a result of logic, military experience and former job experience.

The one regret that keeps eating at him, and never leaves the back of his mind: killing an enemy soldier after he surrendered, and covering that up. That soldier might have been a conscript with little choice in the matter. He wants to make up to the soldier's family, but does not know the first thing about that soldie, except what he looked like.

As for why thieves' tools are integrated, that doesn't really make sense now, I just picked that as 'might come in handy'. I might change that to tinker's tools or something similar, to fit the repair part of the job and stress the multifunctionality of the previous job.

[Great Dragon]

(Vippi) is kind of short and sweet; but because it's tying to a module, I didn't want to take too many liberties with it.

I leave the mystery at the end open to tie to the module, or just be something else entirely!

Looks great. I'll show my friend and let you know what they think, as well.
I know your buried in requests, so just drop me a PM whenever you get back to doing stuff for already done Characters. Thanks !!

Spoiler: More?

Show

If you got more for Vippi, feel free to add that!

Note: There's no direct connection of Vippy to the DotMM (AKA Undermountain) module. So, your free to use most anything that you like for this story.
Also, There's a good chance that Vippy will join the Hunting Xanathar Game, but has not been totally decided yet.

How she gets from the "Silverstream Warren" to Skullport.

Shenanigans while in Skullport.
(In my game, while Xanathar is 'in charge' here, there are a lot of "shadowy" activity going on. I'll see of I can get some more information on who else is Active, and add those when I have time. Sorry)

Vippi traveling from Skullport, through Undermountain; from the Third Level, through the Second level, and finally out of the First level and into the Sewers of Waterdeep. Her main goal here was to find and get into a Drow Vault (successful) not just to get the goodies, but also to both show the Drow that they aren't as special as they think they are, as well as get some items to bring back to her Home to prove just how Awesome she is!!

@Bundin

Tawmis, our great storyteller, usually doesn't focus on the Game Mechanics of a Character (except maybe for available options the chosen Race and Class/Level features give to enhance the Story); but uses the PC's Personality and how they interact with other Characters, instead. (Edited)

And he is light-years beyond anything I can come up with.

I don't think you need any assistance with Mechanics, but I still make the offer to you, and can give it a shot Here for anyone interested.

Spoiler: Queries

Show

1) Abilities should already be determined.
With an eight in Cha, it looks like you chose Standard Array?
Or Did you (A) Roll or (B) use Point Buy?

1a) If Standard Array or Point Buy (three options available), then 15 is the highest possible for Int.
4th level ASI = 17. 8th level ASI = 19.

2) Which Background have you chosen for this Warforged?
You have (integrated) Thieves Tools listed, so three options come to mind:
(A) Criminal/Spy (B) Urchin and (C) Custom.
Did you already have one picked?

2a) To better aid Tawmis, have you chosen the Trait/s, Ideal/s (loyalty?), Bond/s, and Flaw/s for your Character?

Hopefully I don't offend, just trying to offer Assistance.

[Bundin]

@Great Dragon: no offence taken of course, I'm grateful for any comments and suggestions. I used point buy (15 + race (pick 2x +1 for envoy) + 2x ASI makes 20). I've added some more info to my previous post, as it was rather devoid of info, as you pointed out correctly. Hope it helps :)

[Tawmis]

Aithe's story is definitely my favorite one. Just amazing.
The last line was super powerful and definitely encompasses all of her personality.

and

I really like this one!

Thank you! Sometimes the characters really speak to me, and rather than telling their tale, I am simply chronicling what they're telling me.

Awesome! You definitely brought out the personality of Dandir that I had in my head when the concept came to me.

These are the flattering comments I love to hear - when I can take the information provided - and expand on it and still get close to the mark!

@Bundin
Tawmis, our great storyteller, usually doesn't focus on the Game Mechanics of a Character (except maybe for available options the chosen Race and Class/Level features give to enhance the Story); but uses the PC's Personality and how they interact with other Characters, instead. (Edited)
And he is light-years beyond anything I can come up with.

Hah! To be fair, I never know what nuggets of information I will use based off of what's provided. I typically focus on Race, Class, and Traits (Personality, Flaws, etc., if those are provided) - but sometimes I look at everything, and if it speaks to me to fit it in the story, I will! (Sometimes having more information is better than less! Sometimes I don't know what color a Kobold is a Dragonwrought for!)

[Great Dragon]

(Sometimes having more information is better than less! Sometimes I don't know what color a Kobold is a Dragonwrought for!)

Which was my mess up, for forgetting to include a link to the information on that Character! And doesn't change the fact that what you came up with was awesome.

And that only very minor changes was all that was needed to fit what I had, even without that info; and that the "Original" story was something that I felt could still be used by you in your games, were it not for the fact that you don't usually do such.

And while I haven't been able to go back and read the Thread yet, lots of people have posted saying that they love the way you weave the various Characters together, which causes the "feeling" of a World, instead of just a bunch of seperate Stories.

So, yeah. Light-years beyond me.

(Remember, it's not boasting when you're able to actually do what you are talking about! 😁)

I look forward to reading the stories that you come up with.

I'll return to Lurking, now.

[Tawmis]

Which was my mess up, for forgetting to include a link to the information on that Character!

First, that wasn't a mess up! Welcome to being human! You forgot to put in a link! We're all human. Well, except that guy over there. With the pointed ears. I think he's an Elf. Or one of Spock's people.

And doesn't change the fact that what you came up with was awesome.

Thank you!

And while I haven't been able to go back and read the Thread yet, lots of people have posted saying that they love the way you weave the various Characters together, which causes the "feeling" of a World, instead of just a bunch of seperate Stories.
So, yeah. Light-years beyond me.
(Remember, it's not boasting when you're able to actually do what you are talking about! 😁)
I look forward to reading the stories that you come up with.
I'll return to Lurking, now.

Never lurk! Be vocal! And as for being "light years ahead" - well, there's a good chance, I've been writing longer than you are in age (40 years almost, off and on)! So I have a metric ton of writing under my belt, but I can always improve! I have read what other "fanfiction" writers out there dish out and I am blown away by these "unpublished authors." There's always room to grow. And I hope that this little trip down this road writing these helps me grow stronger! The tying in of various people's origins was just another piece of me trying to push myself to make these more than just stand alone backgrounds; but try to make some of them tie in to one another (but still stand alone)! And thus began the birth of the "Tawmis-Verse" as it's been coined here! (I can't remember who coined it first, but I love it!)

[Tawmis]

Race: Warforged Envoy, integrated thieves' tools, and a pistol embedded into one arm.
Class: Artificer - Battle Smith (UA v3)
Setting: FR, all over the place
Level: 8
No feats, all ASIs into Int, 12 Wis, 8 Cha

He/she/it (don't know if it identifies as malenor female, anything goes) is just joining the party, as my previous character (100% self-centered Yuan-ti lore bard) ran off because he no longer felt the party was an adequate meatshield. The slate is completely clean. The only magic item he currently has is a Cape of the Mountebank, which acts like a personal transporter once/day (refluffed as some sort of backpack-like techno magical contraption, but where did he get it?!). All other fancy stuff is the result of artificer infused items (repeating shot pistol, repulsion shield, goggles of night). He can have one more major uncommon item, which I'd like to mesh with the background. Utility > combat power for that item.

I've given that some more thought, and while I would like to avoid the "doesn't understand emotions" thing, I do feel that this warforged hasn't interacted with many different people on a personal level, even though it might have seen different parts of the world during service. It has served as an aide to a high ranking magic user, think general's aide / batman (the British soldier-servant version, not the nocturnal wingy flappy one). A mix of bodyguard, butler, fixer and messenger, but also a repository of knowledge. Knowledge about magic, tech, tactics and strategy, all was to be absorbed by this aide, to be analysed and reproduced when asked. It loved that and took to it with gusto, reading and studying when time allowed. Background: Sage. The subclass with the artificial mind was a bit too esoteric for me though, after all, soldier/bodyguard first, walking database second.

Ideal: Logic would probably be something that the character would adhere to, with Int 20. Maybe not Spock level logic, but I can see it being no-nonsense, often to the point of flaw: being unnecessarily blunt. After all, it's used to having the authority of a high ranking officer backing him up, social niceties aren't a big thing in such a case, and it just doesn't really care about all that.

Loyalty is also a big thing though, once trust is earned. It might be blunt and stand-offish to strangers, but when push comes to shove, it will stand in harm's way to protect his companions. Alignment wise, lawful neutral, with the code that is to be adhered to being a result of logic, military experience and former job experience.

The one regret that keeps eating at him, and never leaves the back of his mind: killing an enemy soldier after he surrendered, and covering that up. That soldier might have been a conscript with little choice in the matter. He wants to make up to the soldier's family, but does not know the first thing about that soldie, except what he looked like.

As for why thieves' tools are integrated, that doesn't really make sense now, I just picked that as 'might come in handy'. I might change that to tinker's tools or something similar, to fit the repair part of the job and stress the multifunctionality of the previous job.

I took a little of everything you said and tried to explain everything (though I did forget to explain the Cloak! I just realized that now! But that could be a gift from the Wizard memory that's mentioned; which might explain why you have been around so much, by teleporting). I've never DM'ed for or play a Warforged (was never a fan of Ebberon - sp? - so I never got into it). But someone in this thread also had a Warforged character... so I did some research... and dug the concept. Then someone else came along with a Warforged, so that one was easier to write, because I now had an understanding of the character. Both of those pretty much knew where they came from and why they were made...

So I wanted to take your character on a different ride!
Please give me feedback - whether you like it, love it, hate it!
What works! What doesn't! Let me know!
Enjoy!
=========================================

Shattered; torn asunder is what has been called “my memories.”

Pieces of my past reveal themselves to me like small fragments in a broken mirror. Not knowing who – or why – I was created; I have walked the face of the world in search of the missing pieces of who I am and why I am.

I am neither alive; nor dead. I am what they call Warforged.

As a part of being a Warforged, a part of my core is defending the land and the people who built me. Only, I am unsure of who that is. My fractured memory has revealed to me haunting clues and pieces of my life before what I have called “The Sundering.” The order in which these pieces appear are not in any form of timeline. Sometimes it’s a vision of several dwarves and fighting Duergar, but the next piece is aiding a wizard, another piece is a battlefield on the surface, with the next being collecting the dead in the first vision of the Duergar.

The pieces I recall –

The Wizard: Power and Master of the Magical Realm. Perhaps he was the one who forged me. Proficient in magic, he is the logical choice who may have created me to defend him from those who would seek out his secrets. He was an older Elf, strangely with white hair and golden colored eyes. He worked tirelessly and uncovering and understanding how magic worked. Perhaps it is he who has also imbued within me this understanding and ability to find magic in all things. I remember a group of Magic Using Zealots by the name of the Hand of the Shadow Council coming after him; and that I stood in there way and fought them. Is that when I lost my memory? If so, why is everything else also fractured?

The Dwarves: Powerful smiths and expert weapon makers. I look at my right hand and see a pistol embedded into my arm. I remember this.

“You know what he needs, do ye?” one of the dwarves with fiery red hair asked.

“Don’t tell me ye wanna go with cannons for arms again? Do ye remember how that went last time? He figured his cannons and ripped his arms off, he did!” another dwarf, this one younger than the fiery haired one said shaking his head. “We can’t be affordin’ to be doin’ that again, ye know! Especially with them blasted Duergar and the vicious beasts of the dark they be haulin’ up here to attack us!”

There are fragments here; but I recall leading a charge with Dwarves behind me and attack these creatures called Duergar that bare a strong resemblance to their Dwarven cousins. Leading the Dwarves through the Duergar’s frontlines we confronted something that looked to be a humanoid with a squid like head on its shoulders; and behind it a massive, floating brain, with tendrils connecting into a pit of blood. And this is where that memory ends.

Humans: The War against Orcs. Another fractured memory is me standing amidst a cavalry of Knights, Paladins and Cavaliers. We had chased an portion of the Red Eye Orcs back to their mountain cave where they had retreated and undoubtedly set up a trap for those of us about to follow them in.

“He’s alive,” one of the Paladins pointed to me, “perhaps not born like you and I – but he’s capable of emotion. I’ve personally seen it in him.” This was a Paladin of Helm and his name was Arith Moontide. There is a look of pain and regret in Arith’s eyes when he says that.

“He’s our best chance,” the Cavalier of some Kingdom whose emblem appeared to be a rising sun replied. “He may be ‘alive’ as you say, but he’s a construct. If they’ve laid out traps, and you know they have, he’s the best one to survive it. And should he get damaged we may be able to find a wizard who can piece him back together. If one of us perishes we visit our gods as a consequence.”

The Knight winced and placed his hand on Arith’s shoulder. “I hate to admit it,” he added, stroking his long mustache, “but Tornar is right.”

“I can’t in good conscious allow this,” Arith replied, folding his arms in front of his chest. “The view of the world has changed greatly for me; after all I’ve lived through. He’s more than just a construct in my eyes.”

I turned my head and smiled – or what passed as a smile for a Warforged – and said, “There is no need to discuss this further. I will do it.”

Readying my pistol arm I charged forward into the cave. I remember seeing a large Red Eye Orc, covered in fur, almost like grizzly bear, and then the memory there ends.

The Thieves – Masters of the Tool. I have another memory where a number of Halflings found me floating in the river, all of my functions turned off. They kept me in the river and pulled me into the city sewers not too far in the cover of night where one of their mages who worked closely with the thieves guild (usually trading services of magic for items the thieves stole for him) and reignited me. When I awoke the thieves had customized me and I had Thieves Tools at the end of my hand.

“What have you done?” I asked, regaining self-awareness.

“We’re about to gain entrance to the palace and you’re going to be our frontrunner,” one of them smiled. “Sure, you’re not all that stealthy, but someone your size is going to send most of the guards running. And if there’s traps – well, you’re big and strong – I am sure you will survive them.”

That night I went with these halflings thieves who had numerous tunnels to gain entrance to the inside of the castle. As we made our way, the halflings were able to knock out most of the guards with non-lethal poisons. We reached a balcony where suddenly there was a shout and a piercing pain in my back. I spun aggressively to see who had attacked me and my hand with the gun slammed into a young man who lost his balance and toppled over the edge of the keep to his death below.

I heard one of the halflings gasp, “He just killed the prince…”

“Shut him down! Shut him down! We need to wipe him so he can’t tell who we are and we need to get out of here now!”

Darkness.

The Field Of Dreams. There was a field, endless flowers in every direction. It seemed to be much like this thing called “Heaven” that the Elven Wizard’s books spoke of.

I stood and looked around and could see I was near a farm. I approached the farmland and found that the farmers had been slain. Brutally killed by what appeared to be Red Eye Orcs, by the sheer brutality of their deaths and the painted symbol of blood on the wall.

I have wandered the world looking for who I am.

I am looking to find my purpose.

And make amends to a King I do not know for the accidental death of his son.

One day, I will find out who I am. Why I was made. And I will pray to the gods, if they even care about the Warforged, and beg them and the King for forgiveness.

One day, I will be complete again.

[Great Dragon]

Never lurk! Be vocal!

I don't have any PCs in desperate need of your skills at this time, and I don't like making posts about random things in a dedicated Thread.

I'm mostly Lurking because I'm not getting very many responses to my Threads or posts in other Threads.

I will, of course, respond to anyone directly addressing me.

And as for being "light years ahead" - well, there's a good chance, I've been writing longer than you are in age (40 years almost, off and on)!

Nope. I'm over 50.
But, you've been writing longer than I've been Gaming: about 35 years.

*Activates Cloaking Device*

[Bundin]

I took a little of everything you said and tried to explain everything (though I did forget to explain the Cloak! I just realized that now! But that could be a gift from the Wizard memory that's mentioned; which might explain why you have been around so much, by teleporting). I've never DM'ed for or play a Warforged (was never a fan of Ebberon - sp? - so I never got into it). But someone in this thread also had a Warforged character... so I did some research... and dug the concept. Then someone else came along with a Warforged, so that one was easier to write, because I now had an understanding of the character. Both of those pretty much knew where they came from and why they were made...

So I wanted to take your character on a different ride!
Please give me feedback - whether you like it, love it, hate it!
What works! What doesn't! Let me know!
Enjoy!

This is excellent material. I really like the fragments, allowing the DM and me to fill in some blanks if it adds to the campaign and character. I'm sure I'll thoroughly enjoy playing a wanderer, that will hopefully find solace in a party that isn't just out to use him for their schemes. Not naive, not weary, but ever searching for his lost past. He might no longer be a studious sage, but knowledge is what drives him forever forward. Did you have a certain time span in mind when writing the fragments?

[OfficialGott]

This was a lot of fun to write...
The idea of a failed experiment idea is what I worked with...
And just spun it up a little...
You left it open as to which Pact of the Chain...
So I went with "The Great Old One" on Page 109 of PHB.
I mixed in how the Sheppard's Crook is yours... and why you'd have a flying dog...!
This was very fun, and very easy to write.
I even slid in a Kenny Rogers reference (a nod to my late father who loved Kenny Rogers!)
As always, please give feedback - what you liked, loved, hated, what works, what doesn't!
I love to hear it all!
Enjoy!
================================================== ==================


I have lived all of my life as a simple farmer. I woke up before the sun and would plough the fields with a tool that barely scratched the dirt. Then, I’d spend the next three hours, just as the sun was beginning to rise in the horizon, raking the fields to prepare them to have seeds dropped. Once that was done, I would grab my sickle and go to the fields and cut down what I could before the overbearing heat of the rising sun forced me to take shelter in the shed for several hours, parched beyond belief.

I frequently helped neighboring farms with ploughing and hay making, so that they would in turn assist me when possible; especially when it came to using livestock manure to help fertilize our fields. It was a community that helped one another and stayed close to one another. When a stranger came into our town, they were questioned, often repeatedly, by several people, to see what their intentions of visiting Torehaven were. My best friend, my dog, Nightmane, would growl at anyone he did not find trustworthy (and he was usually right!)

One year, the sun was so uncharacteristically hot, that we called the three months of relentless sun, The Searing Summer. The sun had been so hot that many of the rivers were much lower than they traditionally were since there had not been much snowfall in the nearby mountains. The dried rivers led to dry wells, which led to no water for home or fields, which in turned led to dying farming fields.

It was as if I had been cursed, because during the Searing Summer, my wife Luseal also decided to leave me and our four children. By the end of the Searing Summer, myself and the others of Tornhaven were worn down, thirsty and hungry, so when a mysterious figure in long, velvet black robes, that covered everything but his hands; and only his nose and mouth were visible from his face, slowly walked through Tornhaven, not a single one of us had the strength or desire to question his intentions.

At the Rabbit’s Hole Tavern, he slowly walked in, speaking to no one, and made his way across the room and sat near the fireplace, which was not lit because of the heat emanating throughout the town already. The way he turned and faced the fireplace he seemed to see a fire burning that was not there; he even extended his hands as if warming them against some invisible flame.

I took a sip of my drink; a small glass of water costing three gold because of the rarity of any water to be found and made my way to the mysterious figure. I sat down next to him. “Hello stranger,” my voice rasped, “you’ve come to Tornhaven at a bad time, I’m afraid. We have little in the way of food, due to no water and the animals seeking food elsewhere. The few livestock most of have we’ve only eaten if they perished from dehydration. We don’t have much for you. But I’ve spoken Vertan and he said he can get you a room for twenty gold. He understands that seems outrageously expensive, but with our,” I was cut off as the man reached into a pouch and handed me a bag of gold that weighed as much as two hundred gold.

“I’ll take it,” his voice hissed like a serpent. His lifted his cowl slightly as I caught my breath. Not only did he hiss like a serpent when he spoke, his eyes had slits like a serpent that glowed beneath his cowl. “You look like you’re strong.”

I tried to break away from his gaze; but there was something hypnotic about how he spoke and the way his pupils seemed to vibrate back and forth so quickly. “I work in the fields every day,” I replied; and though I spoke the words I was not in control of myself and I could tell I wasn’t. I wanted to scream but no words emerged.

He pulled his cowl over his eyes once more and hissed, “Come, let us go for a walk, and tell me about Torehaven.”

Though I could not see his eyes I could still not break from his hold. I rose to my feet as he did and gestured politely for him to walk in front of me. We walked out of the Rabbit Hole and I waved to Vertan as if nothing were wrong though my soul were screaming desperately for someone to help me. Uncontrollably, I told him how Torehaven had been formed by a band of runaway slaves who had escaped the clutches of the Dark Elves – better known as The Drow. We had all grown up as slaves to the Drow and used to being slaves, forced to farm and often be sacrificed to their dark goddess, Lolth.

The stranger seemed to snicker at the notion that Lolth was a goddess. “Calling herself a goddess these days is she?” he hissed between chuckles. “She’s always been such an arrogant one, that one.”

I directed him to my home and explained how the drought had killed the fields that were once lush with life. I opened the barn doors and showed him my emaciated livestock. As I turned to leave, he hissed the word, “Stop” and I froze in my tracks cursing that I could not control my own body.

He touched my face as he pulled back his cowl, revealing a humanoid look, with eyes of a serpent, a smile lined with two large fangs, and golden skin with scales.

“What are you,” I managed to utter.

“What I am won’t matter to you soon,” he laughed. “You see, I travel from town to town, collecting one soul along the way, as to not draw too much attention to myself. I am rebuilding myself, collecting the purity of soul energy into myself so I can return to the Heavens and dethrone these ‘new gods’ who claim to rule the heavens; each and every single one of them.”

He began drawing a circle on the barn floor around me. The sheep and rams in the barn, here to protect them from the desperate predators circling the farms, looking for anything to eat, spoke in volumes their concern of what they felt.

His talon raked down my chest, ripping my shirt open. “Tala-mon,” he snapped his fingers and suddenly I was floating in the center of the circle.

“This, I fear,” he began to hiss, “will be extremely painful.” He looked up at me, “For you.”

“Bela-ros tuh-mere aba-den,” he began to chant.

And pain would never be accurate for what I felt. Imagine a thousand hooks beneath the layer of flesh, suddenly, slowly, and deliberately painfully being pulled in every direction. Now imagine that, doused in alcohol, with a thousand cuts upon your flesh. Now imagine a searing fire beneath you, melting your skin like warm wax. That might begin to describe a fraction of the pain.

My eyes fluttered to the back of my head as I felt numbness from my toes work their way up my body, finally reaching my heart, and then I saw it.

My soul. My actual soul was drifting above my body.

Suddenly a being in white robes, angelic, fiery wings, of pure white light appeared. “Bezarar, I’ve found you! Stop this madness!”

Bezarar, the serpent being, laughed, “You are already too late Thyordin! A few more souls and I will ascend and tear this world apart.”

The being of white energy looked at me, “Do you trust me?”

I stared at my hands which were fading away. “Do I have much choice?”

“I can restore you,” Thyordin shouted quickly, “to break Bezarar’s spell on you! But … he has already pulled your soul from your body. I cannot promise that you will return as you were.”

All I could think of was my four children; their mother had left them, if I died, all they would have is Nightmane and the community.

“I accept, no matter the cost!”

Thyordin pulled out a gleaming two handed sword made of pure light and severed the tie between me and Bezarar and suddenly my being shattered into a thousand pieces. I felt myself torn into a million pieces, thrown together, ripped apart again, thrown together, then ripped apart, and then blackness.

My eyes fluttered open and the first thing I could see was my hands.

“What happened to me?” I was shocked at my own voice which was considerably deeper. I looked around and there’d been no sign of Bezarar or Thyordin.

Had it all been a dream? I tried to stand but felt like my body was still broken. I leaned heavily on the Sheppard’s Crook that had been leaning against the pen. It burst with energy sending searing pain through my body that once again dropped me to my knees. I pulled myself on the Sheppard’s Crook again and began to hobble towards my home. As I opened the door, my four daughters screamed and ran away.

I chased after them until I passed by a mirror.

“No,” I whispered.

I was a foot taller than I was before; but more strangely, I appeared to be a cross between a human and a ram; similar to what Minotaurs looked like, but I had curved horns of a ram.

“My soul,” I whispered, “has been thrust into a ram’s body!”

I quickly ran back to the barn and grabbed a tattered blanket and threw it over my head and hunched over. As I walked out of the barn, Nightmane ran up to me and I immediately noticed how his eyes glowed.

I heard a voice in my head which belonged to Thyordin. “I apologize for the state in which you have been left. I could not let you walk this world alone so I have bestowed your best friend with a gift,” and just then Nightmane sprung out wings from his side. “I believe there is a way to undo what’s been done, but both Bezarar and I are from an ancient time long ago; ancient magic was used, long forgotten by the people of the world… but one day, you may find what is needed to restore you to who you once were.”

With Nightmane at my side, I returned to the Rabbit’s Hole and waited outside, hunched over so I wasn’t my new towering self, and waited for Vertan to leave. As he closed up I kept my distance and said, “My friend, I will need you to watch my daughters.”

Vertan turned, startled. “What are you doing hiding in that cloth? And did you know the stranger never came back to sleep in his room? Free two hundred gold for you and I, I say.”

“Use it to watch over my daughters,” I said, trying to prevent my voice from being so deep.

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you hiding under that? And what’s wrong with your voice?” Vertan asked, stepping closer.

“Stay there,” I snapped. “Listen the stranger inflicted me with a sickness. I am off to the main city to find a cure. But I need to know my daughters will be safe.”

“Of course, of course,” Vertan nodded. “I will pray to the gods that a cure can be found. I will go gather your daughters now. Treat them as my own, I will.”

“Thank you, Vertan.”

That was almost two years ago; my youngest is now eight seasons old, while my oldest is now eighteen. I have wandered the world seeking this “cure” that Thyordin said may exist… One perk of this new form seems to be that my entire body radiates magic…

My name is Wollhelm Woolfgangson, and I am more beast than man.

Thank you. Glad to see that you enjoyed it. I had fun with my character, too.
Although, the personality of your farmer was totally different from my character, I still enjoyed reading and how everything fit. Especially the environmental/climate element as the reason for trouble - being an environmental scientist, that really hit the mark :)
Just one small detail: the warlock patron would be the Hexblade one. Although, that could easily be explained by Thyordin's involvement, too.

[Tawmis]

I don't have any PCs in desperate need of your skills at this time, and I don't like making posts about random things in a dedicated Thread.
I'm mostly Lurking because I'm not getting very many responses to my Threads or posts in other Threads.
I will, of course, respond to anyone directly addressing me.

You should make a "Build A Character" thread where you help people with that stuff. Or title it that so it's more clear. And having it in the Roleplaying thread may have people miss it (rather than the 5e, where people might be looking to have character help).

This is excellent material. I really like the fragments, allowing the DM and me to fill in some blanks if it adds to the campaign and character. I'm sure I'll thoroughly enjoy playing a wanderer, that will hopefully find solace in a party that isn't just out to use him for their schemes. Not naive, not weary, but ever searching for his lost past. He might no longer be a studious sage, but knowledge is what drives him forever forward. Did you have a certain time span in mind when writing the fragments?

I forgot to say - I loved the idea of your Warforged has an INT of 20, but has a shattered memory. So that odd twist of being exceptionally smart, but not having a consistent memory.
As for the time spans of the memory gaps; I figure Warforge don't really "age" so I left it wide open for you and your DM to have fun with it.

Thank you. Glad to see that you enjoyed it. I had fun with my character, too.
Although, the personality of your farmer was totally different from my character, I still enjoyed reading and how everything fit. Especially the environmental/climate element as the reason for trouble - being an environmental scientist, that really hit the mark :)
Just one small detail: the warlock patron would be the Hexblade one. Although, that could easily be explained by Thyordin's involvement, too.

Yes! Sorry, I should have been more clear that Thyordin's involvement was the hand of what allows your character to be a hexblade!

[Bundin]

I forgot to say - I loved the idea of your Warforged has an INT of 20, but has a shattered memory. So that odd twist of being exceptionally smart, but not having a consistent memory.
As for the time spans of the memory gaps; I figure Warforge don't really "age" so I left it wide open for you and your DM to have fun with it.

Indeed, I'll have a chat with the DM to decide on the time span, whatever meshes best with his plans for us. Now onwards to finding himself! And to think up where the Iron Defender comes from... If you have a final fragment that explains that, I'm all ears! The shape it takes is still up for grabs, anything four-legged medium goes :) If you're busy writing up for others, also great though!

But really, I love it. Especially the fact that it's all snippets makes it so much different from anything I've played before.

[Great Dragon]

You should make a "Build A Character" thread where you help people with that stuff. Or title it that so it's more clear. And having it in the Roleplaying thread may have people miss it (rather than the 5e, where people might be looking to have character help).

Well, I did create Character Development for that purpose.
Edit - new attempt. Build A Character

I placed it in Roleplaying because I was offering more then just D&D.

I did get one customer, who seems happy with my suggestions.
But, it seems that you are correct that the thread may be getting overlooked.
Thanks for posting Vippy !!!

From what I can tell from those posting requests for your skills at backstories, they aren't really needing any aid in actually making their PCs (and I only put in a friendly reminder to include some more details)

Do you really think I should put in a related Thread in here (5e)?
And maybe let the the above one die?

(Reposting for being in Line.)

.

Spoiler: 5e D&D Noble NPC

Show

Name: Emza Fiendreaper.

Female. Variant Human Alert Feat.
Ht 5'9" Wt 176 Eyes Blue Hair Black. Age 56.
Str 20 Dex 10 Con 20 Int 16 Wis 18 Cha 14

Race Bonus Language: Celestial

Background: Noble. History (5 + 3 = 8) and Perception (5+ 4 = 10). Language: Sylvan.

Trait: While tolerant of most Fey, will hunt down any Evil creature.
Family Creed: "If I cannot rid the World of Evil, I will at least expunge of it what I can."

Ideals: Noble Obligation. It is my duty to protect and care for the people beneath me. (Good)
Responsibility. Rule with wisdom. Defend those in my care. (Lawful)

Bond: The common folk must see me as a hero o f the people.

Flaw: In fact, the world does revolve around me.

(Backstory Idea: From a long line of Heroic individuals dedicated to keeping the World safe from Fiends.)

Skills: Insight (5 + 4 = 9), Persuasion (5 + 2 = 7).
Languages: Common; Undercommon, Abyssal, and Infernal.

ASIs +2 Str +2 Con.
Feats Great Weapon Master, Shield Master, Mage Slayer.

Class: Ancients Paladin 16th
Saving Throws: Wisdom 5 + 4 = 9 * Charisma 5 + 2 = 7
HP 225 (15d10 + 75)
AC 24 (18 + 2 magic + 4 shield)
Melee 6 +5 + 3 = 14 to hit times two * Damage: 1d10 (6) +5 str +3 magic

01 Divine Sense, Lay on Hands (75 hp)
02 Fighting Style: Protection
03 Divine Health; Nature’s Wrath. Turn the Faithless.
05 Extra Attack
06 Aura of Protection
07 Aura of Warding
10 Aura of Courage
11 Improved Divine Smite
14 Cleansing Touch
15 Undying Sentinel

Spells

First (4 slots) Compelled Duel, Shield of Faith, Wrathful Smite

Second (3 slots) Branding Smite, Find Steed, Locate Object.

Third (3 slots) Aura of Vitality, Crusader's Mantle, Revivify.

Fourth (2 slots) Aura of Life, Death Ward.

Equipment: +2 Adamantine Plate (calling), +2 shield (calling), +3 Longsword (calling), Portable Hole, Decanter of Endless Water, Boots of Spider Climbing, Neckless of Adaptation, Amulet of Proof from Detection and Location, Backpack, 10 days rations, Everlit Hooded Lantern.

[Tawmis]

Well, I did create Character Development for that purpose.
I placed it in Roleplaying because I was offering more then just D&D.
I did get one customer, who seems happy with my suggestions.
But, it seems that you are correct that the thread may be getting overlooked.
Thanks for posting Vippy !!!
From what I can tell from those posting requests for your skills at backstories, they aren't really needing any aid in actually making their PCs (and I only put in a friendly reminder to include some more details)
Do you really think I should put in a related Thread in here (5e)?
And maybe let the the above one die?

I think it may be being overlooked, because the popularity of 5e - and when I think of the Roleplaying forum; I think about people looking for help how to roleplay a specific character, rather than character builds. (That's how my brain thinks of it, anyway!)

And I will add your character to the list!

Indeed, I'll have a chat with the DM to decide on the time span, whatever meshes best with his plans for us. Now onwards to finding himself! And to think up where the Iron Defender comes from... If you have a final fragment that explains that, I'm all ears! The shape it takes is still up for grabs, anything four-legged medium goes :) If you're busy writing up for others, also great though! But really, I love it. Especially the fact that it's all snippets makes it so much different from anything I've played before.

When I was writing it - my first thought was Bear. Because being a Battle Master having something like a Bear seemed most logical.
I was think (when I was writing it) that it would have come along during your time with the Dwarves (to help against said animals I mentioned the Duergar were using).
But I didn't want to assume what animal you might want. :)