Need a character background written up?

[Tawmis]

Tawmis, I hope you and your wife are well.

I want to play a bear. A walking, talking bear (with opposable thumbs) in a world where walking, talking bears don't exist. In truth, it's not likely that I'll play this character, but it could end up as an NPC. On the other hand, if it's a good enough story... ;-) I've been enjoying your stories a lot, and thought it would be fun to see what you came up with for this concept.

Other details... male, brown. Low INT, higher WIS, fightery type. That's all I've got! I hope you enjoy the wide-open ones.

Ask and you shall recieve!

Galithar, I’ve not forgotten yours. But I just did a Warforged with a forgotten memory (https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=835) so I wanted to give a crack at a few other things, make sure that yours isn’t too similar to that one.

Tawmis, I hope you and your wife are well.
I want to play a bear. A walking, talking bear (with opposable thumbs) in a world where walking, talking bears don't exist. In truth, it's not likely that I'll play this character, but it could end up as an NPC. On the other hand, if it's a good enough story... ;-) I've been enjoying your stories a lot, and thought it would be fun to see what you came up with for this concept.
Other details... male, brown. Low INT, higher WIS, fightery type. That's all I've got! I hope you enjoy the wide-open ones.

As I sit here, the waves crashing on the beach before me, their rhythmic sound soothing my troubled mind, I listen to the seagulls that remain perched on the lava stones in the water, because landing on the Isle of Serpent Crown are a dangerous one.

No one is quite sure how it happened.

The most common theory is that several druids washed ashore from a shipwreck and quickly saw that the wildlife here was abundant and lethal. On the far northern side of the small island, a cannibalistic tribe of humans viciously protect and kill anyone who tries to come in contact with them. They’re known to eat anything that has meat on its body – human, orc, elf, snakes, whales – there is nothing they won’t eat. The island is also home to some of the most venomous snakes known – and in abundance; this is how the island was named, because of the snake population and the two stones in the middle of the island that come out like large serpent fangs made of grey stone.

The eastern side of the island is marshy lands, populated by a bountiful population of large, salt water crocodiles. As if that were not already enough, the ocean seems to be a beacon and breeding ground for large tiger shark populations.

As if that had not been enough, the island was located so that it suffered the worse winds, and was constantly hammered during hurricane season; which caused floods, that allowed the salt water crocodiles larger areas to roam and devour anything it could.

So the idea, that several shipwrecked druids washed ashore and realized that perhaps the only way to survive was forgo their human forms, and take on animal forms – one of the strongest being the bear form. The tale says that for generations, druids remained in these bear forms that they soon forgot as the generations passed on, that they were human to begin with. However, in these bear forms, they had opposable thumbs, and learned to continue to speak in Common amongst each other. The Druids were said to even have adapted bear habits they knew, housing themselves in the caves, up in the Serpent Crown stone area that kept them above the often flooding waters.

I stare at my furry paws extend my claws that glisten in the sun’s setting rays, that cast orange lights across the heavens.

I have been with my sleuth since I was born – that was eighteen years ago. I’ve listened to the stories, I’ve heard the legends. I’ve hunted, I’ve survived – I have enjoyed my time on this island being a part of something.

But I can’t help but wonder – is there something out there? The Druids must have come from somewhere. None of the legends, none of the stories speak of it. The Druids simply washed ashore. No one knows from where. No one knows why.

I want to know why. I want to know from where.

In the caves we call home, in the Serpent Crown, there are ancient drawings that were drawn by those Druids before they forgot their human form – and it shows many great things none of us have bothered to know more about.

I want to know.

[Samayu]

... I want to know.

That was quick! Thanks so much!

Funny, last night I thought about it some more, and was thinking I'd give the bear a couple of levels of druid. :-)

[Tawmis]

That was quick! Thanks so much!
Funny, last night I thought about it some more, and was thinking I'd give the bear a couple of levels of druid. :-)

Well, you mentioned "Fightery" - so I focused on showing the claws on the beach.

The idea of the Druids who shipwrecked on the island, would have been hundreds of years ago (or longer) - but it'd make sense that the idealism of the Druids was passed down through the generations.

I just liked the idea that they were human, who took animal shape, and essentially just never switched back to human in order to survive - and magic just changed their DNA over time so that their children adopted animal forms, with human elements.

[BookWyrm]

Name: Theranial (could use surname or house-name)
Race: Elf (Moon)
Class: Cleric (Twilight domain)
Diety: Selune
Background: Inn's Child (Homebrew on DnD Beyond)
Swapped racial weapon proficiencies for:

• Shawm
• Playing Cards
• Tinker's Tools
• Herbalism kit

Personality Traits
Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.
I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals
Respect. People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. (Good)
Bonds
My family's inn is the most important place in the world to me.
Flaws
I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

[Tawmis]

Name: Theranial (could use surname or house-name)
Race: Elf (Moon)
Class: Cleric (Twilight domain)
Diety: Selune
Background: Inn's Child (Homebrew on DnD Beyond) - https://www.dndbeyond.com/backgrounds/51620-inns-child
Swapped racial weapon proficiencies for:

• Shawm
• Playing Cards
• Tinker's Tools
• Herbalism kit

Personality Traits
Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.
I am always calm, no matter what the situation. I never raise my voice or let my emotions control me.
Ideals
Respect. People deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. (Good)
Bonds
My family's inn is the most important place in the world to me.
Flaws
I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

Not sure how much you’ve read of previous stories I’d done; but early on, I frequently connected people’s origins or had reoccurring characters appear and created what folks in this thread playfully called “The Tawmis Verse.” This is no different. The bard I use in yours has been used quite a few times!
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=530
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=534
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=761
https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=815
Used him quite a few times – he’s a reference to my father.
https://forums.giantitp.com/search.php?searchid=336941

As always, I hope you enjoy and this fits what you were looking for! I’d love to hear a comment in this thread as it helps keep it alive and bumped!

Enjoy!
====================================


Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

My name is Theranial Crescentmoon and I have spent my entire life in this Inn. It’s owned by my loving parents, Airdor and Hallia Crescentmoon. Some might imagine that I spent my entire life cleaning up grime and spit from those who came here; but truth be told, serving as both a local inn, as well as a tavern, The Shining Star Inn was well known as generally being for the locals. Sure, from time to time, adventurers would stumble into the Inn, cut, bruised, bleeding, in need of a room for the night.

Those nights were a tradeoff. While I enjoyed hearing some of their tales of orcs, goblins, even dragons that they’d fought – cleaning up their rooms after their stay was done was never easy. Oftentimes, the sheets would be stained with blood – and other stains, I’d rather not think about. Despite this, my parents had always instilled in me to treat everyone with dignity and respect.

By the age of sixteen, I had spent five years, watching those around me gamble. I would watch as each hand was dealt, observing each of their cards, as I pretended to clean around them. I learned their tells, from when they had a good hand or when they had a bad hand. Doing so, by the time my father allowed me to sit in for a few games when I was on my breaks, I was easily able to typically read everyone at the table as if they were the books my mother gave me to read.

But not all adventurers who came in were dirty and bleeding or boasting of treasures and conquest. When I was sixteen years old, a human had come to the Shining Star Inn and taken a seat next to the crackling fireplace. I remember the human clearly – as well as that night.

I remember when he came in – I was sitting at a table, and he walked right up to me, paused, smiled, before making his way to his seat near the fireplace. I excused myself and approached the man, clearly a bard by the way he was dressed (fancy clothing) and the musical instruments he had slung over his shoulder. He looked at me as I reached his table and said, “I did not mean to interrupt your game. I only wanted to know if it would be OK if I played my Shawm.”

“Shawm?” I had asked, never having heard of such an instrument. The mysterious stranger seemed to read my thoughts.

He shook his head, “My apologies. Where are my manners. My name is Tyrell. Tyrell Stormshadow.” He pulled out a long, wooden instrument which resembled a flute but produced uniquely different sounds as Tyrell began to gently play. Strangely enough, patrons stood, moved their tables and danced slowly with one another – something I’d never seen in my eleven years here.

By Midnight, most of the local patrons returned home, and many of the adventurers had returned to their rooms for the night, gathering sleep to get up by dawn’s early light. A few adventurers still remained, drinking and sharing information and stories. That’s when I realized Tyrell was still here and he had never requested a room. Just as I approached him to ask if he needed a room, he stood and said, “I will see you tomorrow night.”

This happened for the next three months. I have no idea where he stayed. I’d asked around; others claimed to have seen him, but none knew where he was staying. In those three months, he would talk to me – and seemed to know quite a bit about me. He knew my mother fed not only my stomach with food, but my mind with Knowledge and that by the age of seven, I’d already sworn my allegiance to the goddess Selune. He’d also begun showing me how to play the shawm. Just before the last night he disappeared, I remember he said, “I have but one more lesson to teach you.”

I had thought that I was quite good at the shawm – but as it would turn out, it had nothing to do with that. The following night, a blond maiden, no more than eighteen years old, golden hair, ice blue eyes; a human woman, with an amazing figure had come into the Inn. She approached me and asked if there were rooms available. I have no idea why I said it, but I replied to her, “Yes, mine is.”

The slap across my face was sure to sting for days to come, and I felt like it glowed like a bright red apple. It was within minutes of being slapped that I saw Tyrell come into the tavern, a broad smile on his face as he sat down next to me. He shook his head and laughed a little, “Listen. I could tell that you were a sucker for a beautiful face – and if you’re not careful,” he turned my face slightly so he could see the welt from the slap, and I watched as he winced. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.” That’s when it became clear what his final lesson to me was – it was not about the musical instrument – but the ability to speak in such a way that bards were renowned for – a way to weave and shape your words, in a specific way, with a specific tone that helped diffuse situations; and a proper way to address a lady.

I’ve missed those visits from Tyrell, and frequently wondered where he might be now.

I picked up the shawm he’d given me and put it to my lips and blew.

Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

[J.C.]

Hello. I am new here. I am a member of the bear clan.

[Tawmis]

Hello. I am new here. I am a member of the bear clan.

Hello J.C. - do you mean The Bearclan I just wrote?

Or you needing a background written for yourself?

If so, I'd need:

Your character's Name, Race, Class (gender too, if the name isn't too obvious about the gender) - and if you already have a rough outline for a backstory... or if you selected Flaws, Traits, etc. (standard in 5e characters)... or if you have nothing, but have a rough idea - or just NO idea - let me know. Just reply to this thread... I will whip something up when I see it - and then PM you the link to the post in here. :)

[J.C.]

Hello J.C. - do you mean

Or you needing a background written for yourself?

If so, I'd need:

Your character's Name, Race, Class (gender too, if the name isn't too obvious about the gender) - and if you already have a rough outline for a backstory... or if you selected Flaws, Traits, etc. (standard in 5e characters)... or if you have nothing, but have a rough idea - or just NO idea - let me know. Just reply to this thread... I will whip something up when I see it - and then PM you the link to the post in here. :)

I am myself in real life a member of Bear Clan. I am just introducing myself. I am an anthropologist of sorts.

[BookWyrm]

Not sure how much you’ve read of previous stories I’d done; but early on, I frequently connected people’s origins or had reoccurring characters appear and created what folks in this thread playfully called “The Tawmis Verse.” This is no different. The bard I use in yours has been used quite a few times!

As always, I hope you enjoy and this fits what you were looking for! I’d love to hear a comment in this thread as it helps keep it alive and bumped!

Enjoy!
====================================

Spoiler: Original below

Show

Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

My name is Theranial Crescentmoon and I have spent my entire life in this Inn. It’s owned by my loving parents, Airdor and Hallia Crescentmoon. Some might imagine that I spent my entire life cleaning up grime and spit from those who came here; but truth be told, serving as both a local inn, as well as a tavern, The Shining Star Inn was well known as generally being for the locals. Sure, from time to time, adventurers would stumble into the Inn, cut, bruised, bleeding, in need of a room for the night.

Those nights were a tradeoff. While I enjoyed hearing some of their tales of orcs, goblins, even dragons that they’d fought – cleaning up their rooms after their stay was done was never easy. Oftentimes, the sheets would be stained with blood – and other stains, I’d rather not think about. Despite this, my parents had always instilled in me to treat everyone with dignity and respect.

By the age of sixteen, I had spent five years, watching those around me gamble. I would watch as each hand was dealt, observing each of their cards, as I pretended to clean around them. I learned their tells, from when they had a good hand or when they had a bad hand. Doing so, by the time my father allowed me to sit in for a few games when I was on my breaks, I was easily able to typically read everyone at the table as if they were the books my mother gave me to read.

But not all adventurers who came in were dirty and bleeding or boasting of treasures and conquest. When I was sixteen years old, a human had come to the Shining Star Inn and taken a seat next to the crackling fireplace. I remember the human clearly – as well as that night.

I remember when he came in – I was sitting at a table, and he walked right up to me, paused, smiled, before making his way to his seat near the fireplace. I excused myself and approached the man, clearly a bard by the way he was dressed (fancy clothing) and the musical instruments he had slung over his shoulder. He looked at me as I reached his table and said, “I did not mean to interrupt your game. I only wanted to know if it would be OK if I played my Shawm.”

“Shawm?” I had asked, never having heard of such an instrument. The mysterious stranger seemed to read my thoughts.

He shook his head, “My apologies. Where are my manners. My name is Tyrell. Tyrell Stormshadow.” He pulled out a long, wooden instrument which resembled a flute but produced uniquely different sounds as Tyrell began to gently play. Strangely enough, patrons stood, moved their tables and danced slowly with one another – something I’d never seen in my eleven years here.

By Midnight, most of the local patrons returned home, and many of the adventurers had returned to their rooms for the night, gathering sleep to get up by dawn’s early light. A few adventurers still remained, drinking and sharing information and stories. That’s when I realized Tyrell was still here and he had never requested a room. Just as I approached him to ask if he needed a room, he stood and said, “I will see you tomorrow night.”

This happened for the next three months. I have no idea where he stayed. I’d asked around; others claimed to have seen him, but none knew where he was staying. In those three months, he would talk to me – and seemed to know quite a bit about me. He knew my mother fed not only my stomach with food, but my mind with Knowledge and that by the age of seven, I’d already sworn my allegiance to the goddess Selune. He’d also begun showing me how to play the shawm. Just before the last night he disappeared, I remember he said, “I have but one more lesson to teach you.”

I had thought that I was quite good at the shawm – but as it would turn out, it had nothing to do with that. The following night, a blond maiden, no more than eighteen years old, golden hair, ice blue eyes; a human woman, with an amazing figure had come into the Inn. She approached me and asked if there were rooms available. I have no idea why I said it, but I replied to her, “Yes, mine is.”

The slap across my face was sure to sting for days to come, and I felt like it glowed like a bright red apple. It was within minutes of being slapped that I saw Tyrell come into the tavern, a broad smile on his face as he sat down next to me. He shook his head and laughed a little, “Listen. I could tell that you were a sucker for a beautiful face – and if you’re not careful,” he turned my face slightly so he could see the welt from the slap, and I watched as he winced. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.” That’s when it became clear what his final lesson to me was – it was not about the musical instrument – but the ability to speak in such a way that bards were renowned for – a way to weave and shape your words, in a specific way, with a specific tone that helped diffuse situations; and a proper way to address a lady.

I’ve missed those visits from Tyrell, and frequently wondered where he might be now.

I picked up the shawm he’d given me and put it to my lips and blew.

Gentle, soothing music drifted out from the old, tan, wooden walls and opened windows of the Shining Star Inn. As the sun set in the distance, shops closed for the night, and familiar faces gathered to share familiar stories about their day.

Spoiler: Original below

Show

Well done, although it's always odd to remember the longer "youth" range of elves. :)
Unfortunately, it doesn't "feel" right for what I had in my head, which was a bit too nebulous to share. I had a chance to think things over more to solidify which hopefully is useful:

Modified the traits/ideals/flaw list (toss-up between the flaws though):

Spoiler: Traits/Ideal/Bond/Flaw(s)

Show

Personality Trait
- I know a story relevant to almost every situation.
- Nobody stays angry at me or around me for long, since I can defuse any amount of tension.

Ideal
- Independence. I must prove that I can handle myself without the coddling of my family. (Chaotic)

Bond
- I idolize a hero of the old tales and measure my deeds against that person’s.

Flaw
1 I'm never satisfied with what I have― I always want more.
2 I’m quick to assume that someone is trying to cheat me.
3 I’m a sucker for a pretty face.

Theranial grew up in an inn/tavern owned by his parents and run by them, their children (Theranial and his younger sister) and his uncle. The inn had enough traffic and visitors to keep the family at least comfortable, and usually at least a bit more. Theranial's uncle had previously had a brief career as an adventurer, but a bit of bad luck resulting in a lingering injury sidelined him. He often shared stories of his companions and adventures with their visitors (especially any adventuring types) as well as his niece and nephew.
The children learned at relatively young ages ways to help around; fetching & carrying, collecting herbs for the kitchen, etc. As they grew older their skills expanded, learning to cook (with varying skills), simple herb lore (particularly popular was his uncle's hangover "cure"). Music wasn't unusual for the family, both for their own pleasure and joy, as well as sometimes for their visitors.
The stories from his uncle and some of their visitors fascinated Theranial; his uncle taught him to use a sword and other useful adventuring skills (some of which were less than approved by parents). Some of the visitors helped him learn to read people and to help soothe and manage the more problematic ones, as well as more than a few card games of varying respectability.
While his desire to strike out and adventure was strong, he couldn't leave his family in the lurch and short handed. His sister getting older and more able and interested in helping around the inn helped, but it wasn't until his uncle married that there were enough spare hands to overwhelm the lingering concerns he had.

[georger0171]

My Female Tiefling Evoker needs a backstory, please.
Her name is Lolikiano. It was her lifelong dream to learn magic. She grew up on the streets, pickpocketing until she had enough money to pay for tuition at a school of magic. Her flaw is that she is as stubborn as a mule.

[Katzekerl]

I’m really enjoying your work and would love you to flesh out my next character. I really am not settled on anything including names.

My level 3 high elf archer battle master Haldir is a refugee soldier of a conquered city state Gildar (not sure about the details of the conqueror). The final attack happened when he was a young elf of around 50 and was ordered to help guard the civilian retreat. He has served as a watcher for the human city Thurin that gave them refuge under King Vinya. Vinya’s son and successor Maug was less patient with them, and some elves hate depending on humans, so he was one of about 20 young elves who want to retake their home, and have gone to various cities to seek experience, resources, and allies. He will meet up with the party in one city and be convinced that adventuring is a way to meet his goals.

Personality: I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success; I can stare down a hell hound without flinching
Ideal:Greater good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others
Bond: My city, nation, or people are all that matter
Flaw: I'd rather eat my armor than admit when I'm wrong
Stat order is dexterity, intelligence, constitution, wisdom, strength, charisma

[Tawmis]

Hey Tawmis! Been awhile, but I got some characters that I'd love help with fleshing out and getting on paper.

I won't flood you with all the requests at once, but here's what I have for the first one.

Name: Seeker (Previously Sentry, details below)
Race: Warforged (Previously Human, details below)
Class: Armorer Artificer
Age: ~5 years since woke up as Warforged, between 40 and 50 years old as a Human prior to that.
Sentry Age: ~ 4 year old Warforged.

So the basics of this are it’s actually me fleshing out one of my players characters. The character Seeker woke up with no previous memories. Thus they assume they are what they have always been. The thing is they left everything BEFORE waking up to me.

Seeker escaped from another plane that was/is under assault by an extraplanar force. (Think StarCraft zerg, they come in destroy/consume and move on) There he was a human that was trying to find help. Either a place to escape to or a world to get assistance from. He remembers none of this, but will get hints about it throughout the campaign. He managed to get his SOUL out of that world. When it got to this world it was lost, confused, and looking for its body. It instead found a damaged Warforged. Its soul melded with the broken body of the Warforged and that's when he woke up. He doesn't remember any of it.

I need/want help with two things for this character. Who he was as a Human before the ritual that propelled his Soul through the Void (my Astral space between planes/worlds). And also who the Warforged (Sentry) who's body he is in was before his/her death.

All I have for the Warforged is that he/she is missing an arm and was serving in the Cyre Military during The Last War (Eberron campaign setting, heavily modified so don't worry about sticking to lore here if you don't want to/know it) and was called Sentry.

I really enjoyed working with you on my previous character and look forward to it once again :)

Edit: Not that I think it will matter, but the world he came from is populated solely by Humans and the monstrous races, and the world he went to I have removed Humans completely but all the other races are present. Elves are the most populous race, but all other fantasy races, dwarves, gnomes, Goliath, etc, are all present.

Urmph! Finally got around to doing this one for you - I'd just done a Warforged before this and didn't want them to seem too similar.
Tonight I was listening to some soundtracks - and I realized I'd not gotten back to doing yours.
So I threw on some music - and got to writing.
Apologies about the delay - not even sure if you need this anymore, considering how long it's been.
Regardless - hope you enjoy!
=========================================

The prophets foretold of this day – they called it The Jarrigun – meaning “the final day of judgement.” They foretold that the day would come when the “Ancestors of the Skies” would return to “free the souls from the chains of the flesh.” They foretold a world of rapture and peace.

They were right – the day did come – and they came from the stars.

But peace? Rapture? None of that is to be found.

Once beautiful buildings now lie toppled, concrete coffins for those who could not escape from their towering homes when the Zenfree came. The air – though once tainted with pollution – now reeks of searing flesh, smoldering and bubbling. The skies, once filled with clouds and stars are littered with ships from the Zenfree reigning death from above.

I have watched family, friends and strangers murdered before my eyes as small pockets of resisters try to fight the Zenfree – all for naught. The Zenfree are more powerful physically and have weapons like we’ve never seen before.

My name is Sentry – and I was once a proud guard of Commissioner Gorehaun of Everlight. Now, Gorehaun was cut into a thousand pieces and broadcast for all to see – in our minds, our dreams, our nightmares. Everlight, named for the beautiful lights on the top of the three towers, shining their light proudly towards the heavens waiting for the “Ancestors from the Skies” to return – is now a dark, torn, desolate ruin. But during my time as a personal guard to Commissioner Gorehaun – I was privy to his hidden chambers – and one such place he kept – a place his most trusted scientists worked. Scientists whose deaths were faked so that they could work here gave up any semblance of life – because they believed in something special. They’d developed a portal that could “touch” the stars, they claimed. Commissioner Gorehaun believed that it was a portal to the “Ancestors of the Skies.”

It’s never been tested.

And here I am now – standing before it. The portal shimmers a faint blue – it looks as if it’s composed of water – with my distorted reflection staring back at me. This goes one of two ways – I step through it and if it truly does connect to the “Ancestors of the Skies” – as in the Zenfree – I am as good as dead. It could also just drop me off in the middle of space to suffocate. Or it could just drop me off on some distant land devoid of life. Truth is – any of those sound better than what’s happening outside. But what I hope happens is that when I step through – I can find someone – an army of some kind – to come back and reclaim my world from the Zenfree.

My name is Sentry – and right now – I am about to risk it all. One step for mankind…

“Seeker!” a voice calls out.

I look, staring – I feel – weird.

“Snap out of it, Seeker,” the voice repeats. I turn and see someone – tall, elegant looking. Thin. Beautiful eyes and hair. Pointed… ears? She approaches me. “Seeker, has something happened to your wiring? You’ve been off today.”

“Apologies, Ellisha,” I say – wait – how do I know her name? “I feel … different today.”

“You’ve been acting strangely since we checked out that small burst of light,” Ellisha, a beautiful female elf says. “All we found was the weird clothing and the husk of what looked to be something of a humanoid of some kind – one I’ve never seen before.”

“It looked as if it might have been human,” I reply. Might have been? But I am human. It was me… wasn’t it? I raise my hand and am horrified to see they’re mechanical. Large. What’s happened? Who am I? What are these feelings I feel?

“Human?” Ellisha seems to laugh. “There’s not been ‘humans’ here for a very, very, very long time, Seeker. I doubt that was a human. My ancestors don’t even remember humans.”

Ancestors? Why does that word mean something?

“Now stop being silly, take in the warm sun, and enjoy the beautiful sunset,” Ellisha smiles, sitting down on a tree stump.

My eyes go upward – the sky. I can see the sky. It’s blue again.

It’s always been blue.

What’s wrong with me?

Why do I feel like… two people?

After an hour, Ellisha stands up, looks at me and says, “We better get going. The others are expecting you. I won’t tell them about how you’ve been acting today. We will keep that between you and I.” She shook her head again and muttered, “Humans. You’re funny, Seeker.”

My Female Tiefling Evoker needs a backstory, please.
Her name is Lolikiano. It was her lifelong dream to learn magic. She grew up on the streets, pickpocketing until she had enough money to pay for tuition at a school of magic. Her flaw is that she is as stubborn as a mule.

You left the playing field pretty open for me - so here's what I came up with!
I had some fun with it - like "Sirteks School of Wizardry" - this is a reference to the company "Sir-Tech" who developed the old CRPG "Wizardry" - and the Evoker teacher "Wurdnuh" is a reference to Werdna in Wizardry (the main bad guy for the first few games).

I'd love to hear your feedback!
Enjoy!
=====================================

My name is Lolikiano – which, I’d grown up most of my life believing to mean “Dark Beauty.” That’s what my mother told me the name meant – just before she disappeared on me one day. My mother was poor, and my father – if my mother is to be believed – died bravely in some battle. She’d sent me out to fetch some bread – which to hear meant, begging for it – or stealing it – whichever opportunity arose first. Being a young girl, begging came easy – and most men and women – took pity on me and gave me bread and drink. That was until I turned ten years old, and my body began to change. I developed horns, my skin color slowly changed over time – and the truth of my bloodline was revealed. I was a Tiefling – something that looked part human and part demon.

Two things happened when this started – my mother had sent me to ‘fetch some bread’ – and I learned that begging wasn’t working anymore. People gasped when they saw me or turned their gaze away from me – now I was being forced to steal. The second thing – when I came home that day – my mother was gone. She’d left everything behind. But she was gone. At first I’d thought she’d gone out to get food or water also – but when the days turned into weeks – I knew she wasn’t coming back. She’d run away because of what I’d become.

My stealing caught the attention of a local gang run by another Tiefling named Hauren. He told me that he could take me under his wing – and make me a part of his organization – and he would provide me with shelter and food. When I accepted and introduced myself, he smiled and said, “Fitting name.” I’d thought he was flirting – but I would come to learn that my name truly meant “Power of Darkness” in the Abyssal tongue.

Rummaging through my mother’s possessions – what little they were in the slums we lived in – I found an assortment of spellbooks – but I couldn’t read any of the text. Hauren said he couldn’t either – that he never bothered with learning anything, other than stealing. He had a place in the slums – and old, abandoned warehouse – which he used as shelter for his ‘guild’ and ran his ‘business’ out of. I told Hauren that I would work with him and earn my percentage of what I stole, to one day pay for a teacher to teach me the ways of magic – like my mother. So I can find out if she is the reason I am the way that I am – and if she is – I can find her, track her down – and have my revenge.

I worked for Hauren for quite a few years – and eventually, I went from stealing for him – to showcasing for him. He’d often acquired unique paintings of great value and had ‘bidding wars’ in the warehouse. He’d used me to display the paintings and speak of them. He claimed I had a special kind of appeal and intelligence when I spoke. The bidding of such paintings earned Hauren a considerable amount of money – far more than sending his guild members to pickpocket those walking through the streets. He attributed that increase of sales from these ‘acquired’ paintings to my ability to speak of them – which earned me a larger percentage.

It was two years of working with Hauren, auctioning these ‘acquired’ paintings that I had finally accrued enough money to pay for my entrance exam into Sirteks School of Wizardry. In the class, my interest was solely in Evocation. This got me assigned to a teacher by the name of Wurdnuh.

I remember how he looked at me, arms folded behind his back, his hands clenching one another, his gaze peering down at me. “It does not surprise me you seek to learn Evocation, Lolikiano. I see the Tiefling blood coursing through your veins. Those who specialize in Evocation are typically of the supernatural bloodline, seeking to master powerful, aggressive, and destructive spells. Evokers, like yourself,” he paced around me, slowly, like an eagle staring down at a wounded rodent, “are born – not made. Often times, the fire that burns their soul is the fire of demonic hereditary,” his smile beamed at me. I can teach you the ways of the Evoker. I will gladly teach you the ways…”

For three years, I studied with Wurdnuh – then a note came to me.

“I know when your mother is. – Hauren.”

[Galithar]

Urmph! Finally got around to doing this one for you - ...snip...

I'll add my comments later, and send you a message when I do. I do still need this character as real life has prevented me from starting my campaign. I'm currently working and going back to school full time. So my free time is a little limited! Haha

Edit: I have lots of things I'll be changing but, as always, very well written. The changes are more because this is helping me create the back-backstory for one of my players and I didn't communicate enough of the story that he already had and the pieces of my world. I changed some references to "future" things. Like replacing concrete with stone and such. Very helpful for me though and I appreciate you taking the time to do this for me!


The prophets foretold of this day – they called it The Jarrigun – meaning “the final [removed day of for personal taste] judgement.” They foretold that the day would come when the “Ancestors of the Skies” would return to “free the souls from the chains of the flesh.” They foretold a world of rapture and peace.
Perfect set-up for a multiverse tie in I had in mind already

They were right – the day did come – and they came from the stars.

But peace? Rapture? None of that is to be found.

Once beautiful buildings now lie toppled, stone coffins for those who could not escape from their towering homes when the Zenfree came. The air – once tainted with pollution – now reeks of searing flesh, smoldering and bubbling. The skies, once filled with clouds and stars are littered with portals from the Zenfree reigning death from above. Flying creatures swarming down, smaller creatures spawning from them as they land.

I watched family, friends and strangers murdered before my eyes as small pockets of resistance try to fight the Zenfree – all for naught. The Zenfree are more powerful physically and their numbers seem beyond counting.

My name is need a filler name. Sentinel (previously Sentry) is the name of the Warforged body, before the player's character takes its body over in the transfer.– and I was once a proud guard of Commissioner Gorehaun of Everlight. Now, Gorehaun was cut into a thousand pieces and broadcast for all to see – in our minds, our dreams, our nightmares. Everlight, named for the beautiful lights on the top of the three towers, shining their light proudly towards the heavens waiting for the “Ancestors from the Skies” to return – is now a dark, torn, desolate ruin. But during my time as a personal guard to Commissioner Gorehaun – I was privy to his hidden chambers – and one such place he kept – a place his most trusted scientists worked. Scientists whose deaths were faked so that they could work here gave up any semblance of life – because they believed in something special. They’d developed a device that could “touch the stars", they claimed. Commissioner Gorehaun believed that it was a portal to the “Ancestors of the Skies.”

It’s never been tested.

And here I am now – standing before it. The portal shimmers a faint blue – it looks as if it’s composed of water – with my distorted reflection staring back at me. This goes one of two ways – I step through it and if it truly does connect to the “Ancestors of the Skies” – the Zenfree – and I am as good as dead. It could also just drop me off in the middle of space to suffocate. Or it could just drop me off on some distant land devoid of life. Truth is – any of those sound better than what’s happening outside. But what I hope happens is that when I step through – I can find someone – an army of some kind – to come back and reclaim my world from the Zenfree.

My name is filler name – and right now – I am about to risk it all. One step for mankind…

This is the point where I really think I wasn't clear on the already established story. The Warforged body that was Sentinel was inactive. Something happened to it prior to the inhabitation of the soul of a human. I've recently come up with the idea that a shady organization in my world was trying to reactivate it and that's what drew the soul to it. They thought they were successful, but didn't realize the Warforged had a new soul (they likely are not of the belief that Warforged have souls in the first place). The human soul freaks out, not understanding what happened, possibly thinking the creatures are are some form of Zenfree (they would be elves, dwarves, Goliath, Orcs, Loxodon, etc. No humans which were the only race in their previous world) and fight to escape. In the escape they would lose an arm to one of their captors (or possibly some Indiana Jones esque try to grab their hat as the door slams shut, except unlike Indiana Jones they fail) After the escape is when the shock of the transfer, the lost arm, and the fact that Sentinel's soul still exists within the body to a small degree (basically a permanent, but currently dormant Docent from ERftLW), causes all previous memory to be lost. They take up the name Seeker as their name once they are found and assumed to just be a Warcorged with memory loss.

So to try to give clarity, the Human has no decided name, but is the actual character. I think I will leave it blank for now, if and when I get to the reveal in campaign I would get input from the player to name. You of course can use any filler name if you do a revised backstory.
Sentinel is the name of a Warforged that has gone dormant. Basically the body is dead, but it's soul and mind remain trapped in the physical form of the body. This name is known because it is branded i to the Warforged body. Human soul also knows this was the bodies name, but doesn't feel a connection with it so chose a new name and hides the branding.
Seeker is the name the character takes when the Human soul wakes up and doesn't remember their past.

Adding a bit more lore. The creatures that are attacking are a recurring theme in my campaigns. They were going to be the BBEG of the last campaign, but it was forced to end early. I wrote the ending on my own as a partial success. The world was destroyed but my players characters managed to escape with a portion of their population to a new world. The new campaign world. The players don't know this, but a few players had set their characters on paths to immortality and are still in my world. They may or may not be revealed later. My point being that the world you created with this experimental portal acted like a beacon. When those creatures were looking for a new world to devour they could sense it through the Astral void between planes because of this portal. So the thing that doomed them was also the thing that saved them, one of them at least. They never expected it to leave the body behind.

[J.C.]

I'll add my comments later, and send you a message when I do. I do still need this character as real life has prevented me from starting my campaign. I'm currently working and going back to school full time. So my free time is a little limited! Haha

Two Spirit.

[Tawmis]

I’m really enjoying your work and would love you to flesh out my next character. I really am not settled on anything including names.

My level 3 high elf archer battle master Haldir is a refugee soldier of a conquered city state Gildar (not sure about the details of the conqueror). The final attack happened when he was a young elf of around 50 and was ordered to help guard the civilian retreat. He has served as a watcher for the human city Thurin that gave them refuge under King Vinya. Vinya’s son and successor Maug was less patient with them, and some elves hate depending on humans, so he was one of about 20 young elves who want to retake their home, and have gone to various cities to seek experience, resources, and allies. He will meet up with the party in one city and be convinced that adventuring is a way to meet his goals.

Personality: I face problems head-on. A simple, direct solution is the best path to success; I can stare down a hell hound without flinching
Ideal: Greater good. Our lot is to lay down our lives in defense of others
Bond: My city, nation, or people are all that matter
Flaw: I'd rather eat my armor than admit when I'm wrong
Stat order is dexterity, intelligence, constitution, wisdom, strength, charisma

Since you weren't sure about the conqueror - I wasn't sure if you meant the DM hadn't told you - or if it was open.
I assumed 'open' - so I created a history and conqueror for you - perhaps, if your DM likes the idea, they can infuse it into their game.
Change around whatever they - or you - want to change.
Regardless - would love to hear your thoughts on this!
Enjoy!
=================================

All of my life, I’ve been trained to fight. The persistent threat of orcs from the Gazaaren Steppes has made for my entire bloodline to be trained to defend our lands. My name is Haldir – and I’ve become a battle master, specializing in archery. It’s not to say I can’t – or won’t – fight an enemy up close and personal. I’ve had to – more than once. The story goes that during the time of the gods – Kazalaan, god of the orcs – spread his people across the land to claim it in his name. Furious, Lanna, goddess of the elves – unleashed a flurry of arrows into the world, striking the land, killing millions of orcs – and Lanna’s arrows are what gave birth to the first trees – that we now call our home.

This story – whether it’s true or not – has created a blood feud between Elves and Orcs that has spanned on for centuries.

For the most part, it seemed as if it would continue to span for centuries – when one side seemed to gain the advantage, the tide would turn, and swing the pendulum the other way. Both sides seemed too evenly matched – the orcs were far more aggressive and ferocious in their attacks; while my people were more skilled and patient, and could drive them back.

I was fifty years old – young for one such as myself – when all of that changed. A charismatic orc leader by the name of Kall’esh Shall (which translated to ‘born of the one eye’) was different. He gathered the orcs from his tribe – as well as neighboring tribes – and brought them under his rule. Not through strength and killing – but by wisdom. He led the orcs against my people and used tactics, rather than just sheer aggression – and for the first time in history – my people were forced to flee from our homes.

We retreated back to Thurin – a human city, whom we had established a trading relationship with – providing them with lumber, food and skins – while they provided us with steel weapons and armor. Now, forced to retreat into Thurin – my people crowded their streets, and overflowed the city’s population. Where once, we’d provided them lumber and food – now we were taking up space and giving nothing in return.

King Vinya was a kind king, however. He assigned many of us to the city walls, to help defend against the orcs who were now seeking to complete their tasks of murdering and wiping every elf from existence. Through our mutual understanding we were able to help the humans and earn our place in Thurin – but when King Vinya passed, and his eldest son and heir to the throne, Maug took the throne – he was not as understanding as his father.

He accused my people – perhaps rightfully so – for bringing the danger of the orcs to their walls. All of my life, I was trained to fight – to stand and ensure what I believed in was what prevailed. It has always bothered me that I was forced to flee from my home – and the words of Maug are like searing alcohol on an open wound.

My simple, direct, facing problems head on – often made me less “charismatic” to those around me – but rarely could someone argue with the results. It was past time letting the orcs sit in our homes, spoil our lands. In the slums of Thurin – I called for a meeting – that a small band of us should attempt to sneak back into our homes and reclaim our land. When others demanded that they wanted to go – I explained that our presence needed to remain here – despite Maug’s words – we were a part of the city’s defense until the orcs could be driven back. Also, a lack of presence here would alert the orcs that something was going on.

There’d been several cities between our home and Thurin – the orcs left most of them alone – deciding to track us down. They’d go after the other cities after “the filth of the elves was erased from the world” – and perhaps, in that – somewhere out there – I could find companions – explain to them that the orcs would be turning their attention to them soon enough.

And that banding together, perhaps we can find and put a stop to Kall’esh Shall and his marching orcs.

[george moshingt]

This seems super cool, and very helpful. My new character could definitely use some fleshing out if you get the chance.

Name: Locke
Race: Human
Age: 29
Class: Cleric (Twilight) Level 3
Background: Criminal
Setting: Eberron

Stats in order: Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, Strength, Charisma, Intelligence

Personality Trait: I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds
Bond: I'm guilty of a terrible crime. I hope I can redeem myself for it.
Ideals: I don't steal from others in the trade.
Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I'm okay with that.

Regret: Murdered a rival. Actions may have been justified, but their face still haunts you.

The basic idea is a cleric devoted to the dark six, specifically the Keeper. A member of a priesthood (the shadowsworn), which in actuality is closer to mercenaries, thieves, and assassins. Essentially as they are devout to the death god, taking a life or even loosing your own is seen as a boon rather than something bad.

[georger0171]

Damn, dude. I'm so thankful for this! I can't wait to show it to my club!
Also, go write a book or something, geez. You're that good.

[Tawmis]

Damn, dude. I'm so thankful for this! I can't wait to show it to my club!
Also, go write a book or something, geez. You're that good.

Flattery gets you everywhere!
Kidding aside - I've been working on a book for YEARS now - but it's more of a younger audience book. It's a mix of Harry Potter, with Lion the Witch & The Wardrobe, mixed together - with an influence of Norse mythology. But that's been in the works for quite some time.

I do love stories - and writing them. It's one of the main reasons I homebrew'ed a world to create my own content, lore, gods, etc.
And when I play D&D - I love creating the character backgrounds - it helps me get into my character's mind - and also makes me feel more attached - because I know he/she has a story. They're not just stats that I roll. So coming in here and offering to write backgrounds for folks helps them (I hope!) - but it also helps me, because it tames the creative storm swirling in my head. :)

Edit: I have lots of things I'll be changing but, as always, very well written. The changes are more because this is helping me create the back-backstory for one of my players and I didn't communicate enough of the story that he already had and the pieces of my world. I changed some references to "future" things. Like replacing concrete with stone and such. Very helpful for me though and I appreciate you taking the time to do this for me!

First and foremost - thank you for the donation, Galithar!

As for the story - I had an absolute blast writing it. I did try to write it from a futurist point of view (for the character's initial state, before the portal). Then when they leap through the portal - shove them into a "fantasy future" (Ebberon, which I've never played in) type setting. :)

Adding a bit more lore. The creatures that are attacking are a recurring theme in my campaigns. They were going to be the BBEG of the last campaign, but it was forced to end early. I wrote the ending on my own as a partial success. The world was destroyed but my players characters managed to escape with a portion of their population to a new world. The new campaign world. The players don't know this, but a few players had set their characters on paths to immortality and are still in my world. They may or may not be revealed later. My point being that the world you created with this experimental portal acted like a beacon. When those creatures were looking for a new world to devour they could sense it through the Astral void between planes because of this portal. So the thing that doomed them was also the thing that saved them, one of them at least. They never expected it to leave the body behind.

I dig the edit! And I love the idea!

This seems super cool, and very helpful. My new character could definitely use some fleshing out if you get the chance.

Name: Locke
Race: Human
Age: 29
Class: Cleric (Twilight) Level 3
Background: Criminal
Setting: Eberron

Stats in order: Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, Strength, Charisma, Intelligence

Personality Trait: I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds
Bond: I'm guilty of a terrible crime. I hope I can redeem myself for it.
Ideals: I don't steal from others in the trade.
Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I'm okay with that.

Regret: Murdered a rival. Actions may have been justified, but their face still haunts you.

The basic idea is a cleric devoted to the dark six, specifically the Keeper. A member of a priesthood (the shadowsworn), which in actuality is closer to mercenaries, thieves, and assassins. Essentially as they are devout to the death god, taking a life or even loosing your own is seen as a boon rather than something bad.

It's been added - there's no others in front of you - so I will try to knock this out soon. :)

Quick question - do you already have a name or lore for your Death God? (Never played in Ebberon - but it's not stopped me from writing in there - so I wasn't sure if it's an Ebberon Death God or a custom - or open for me to explore) :D

[george moshingt]

The gods name is the keeper it's part of the dark six, they are pre established ebberon gods. (Basically the counter the sovereign host the nine "good" gods). Essentially the idea of death in ebberon is when you die rather than a God claiming you, your soul travels to a sort of limbo where you linger eternally. The keeper is a greedy God who claims those souls before they can reach limbo, to some this is a blessing, to others an eternal torment (the keeper does not have good intentions).

I may have some things wrong, this is my forat time in ebberon, so this is just my basic understanding from reading a few sources.

[AvvyR]

Are you still doing these? I have disparate elements of a character that I'm trying to hammer into something cool and cohesive. Wanted to explore and outsider's perspective.

[Tawmis]

Are you still doing these? I have disparate elements of a character that I'm trying to hammer into something cool and cohesive. Wanted to explore and outsider's perspective.

Indeed I am! There's only one (https://forums.giantitp.com/showsing...&postcount=856) in front of you (once you submit yours)! I've been wrapped up with quite a few D&D Sessions I DM, and wrapping up my own webseries, Neverending Nights.

But I will be getting back to these here!

[AvvyR]

Ok, cool. Like I said, I have disparate elements that are currently in need of structure to make them go together.

1. The character has the outlander background. She's lived at least most of her life in the woods and respects living the natural way, hunting and foraging her own food and living an ascetic life off the land. Views herself as an apex predator. Nature is ruthless, but dispassionate and fair.

2. She's also a wizard, with a very nature and hunter-based flavor to her spells. Scorching ray will be drawn from a spectral bow that fires three flaming arrows, Evard's Black Tentacles will be mighty vines growing out of the ground. Stuff like that. Not entirely sure how to reconcile wizardly studiousness with the character's wild theme.

3. So, why not just be a druid, right? The character is cut off from natural forces, and thus has turned to arcane study to obtain a facsimile of druid-like abilities. She may or may not have been at least partially raised by druids and wanted to replicate their powers.

4. I'm not totally committed to exactly why she can't access primal magic. My working rationale is that she's viewed by primal forces as some sort of aberration, something outside of the natural order.

5. To that end, the loose explanation I'm working on is that maybe in her last life, she was a Spirit Naga that had its reincarnation cycle broken (By a wish spell from one who chose to break the chain, but not destroy the creature?) and came back as a humanoid with the soul of the Naga, but none of the memories or personality. I'm not set on this either.

6. Her overarching goal and reason to adventure, go into cities, etc. is because she can "no longer hear the spirit of the forest" and wants to find out why/fix it. For some reason, things have changed in the forest, and she no longer feels at home there. Unsure whether the problem is with the forest itself, or within her.

7. Character study is: Make the life you want with the tools you have.

As you can see, I need a lot of help getting these ideas strung together, so I really appreciate your help and creativity, because I'm having a block.

[Nerdguy88]

This is a really cool threat. Its been so much fun to read through everything you have done!

Here is a character concept I have been working on if you are able to help.

Name: Barnaby Oswald Boyd (Bob)
Setting: Faerun
Class: Wizard 1/Sorcerer(Abberant) 1/Cleric(Arcane) 1
Race: VHuman
Gender: Male
Background: Cloistered Scholar
Diety: Mystra
Str 8, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16
Feat: Spell Sniper (Eldritch Blast)

Personality: There's nothing I like more than a good mystery.
Ideals: Self-Improvement. The goal of a life of study is the betterment of oneself.
Bonds: I sold my soul for knowledge. I hope to do great deeds and win it back.
Flaws: I am easily distracted by the promise of information.

Character concept: Bob loves magic in all its forms. He is especially enamoured with cantrip magic and will do just about anything to get more of it. He originally joined a wizard college but did not do very well after learning the basics. Bob is easily distracted and loses focus regularly. The plan is to take as many spell casting classes as possible to get all the cantrips if he can. The thought of why cantrip magic is unlimited while everything else isn't seemed interesting. Learning everything he can about cantrips is one of his main goals.

Spells:
Eldritch Blast - Spellsniper
Aberrant Sorcerer - Mind Sliver, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Firebolt, Mending, Gift of Alacrity, Dissonant Whispers, Shield, Chaos Bolt
Arcane Cleric - Guidance, Thamaturgy, Spare the dying, blade ward, dancing lights, Cure Wounds, Sanctuary, Healing Word -
Wizard - Shape Water, mold earth, gust, Absorb Elements, Alarm, Comprehend languages, Feather Fall, Find Familiar, Witch Bolt

[Bjarkmundur]

Holy shiiii Tawmis!

I'm going around the forums and checking up on projects that were active when I was actively playing.

You are still going strong 2 years later!

Mad props, and hope you've been safe <3

[Tawmis]

This seems super cool, and very helpful. My new character could definitely use some fleshing out if you get the chance.

Name: Locke
Race: Human
Age: 29
Class: Cleric (Twilight) Level 3
Background: Criminal
Setting: Eberron
Stats in order: Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, Strength, Charisma, Intelligence

Personality Trait: I don't pay attention to the risks in a situation. Never tell me the odds
Bond: I'm guilty of a terrible crime. I hope I can redeem myself for it.
Ideals: I don't steal from others in the trade.
Flaw: An innocent person is in prison for a crime that I committed. I'm okay with that.
Regret: Murdered a rival. Actions may have been justified, but their face still haunts you.

The basic idea is a cleric devoted to the dark six, specifically the Keeper. A member of a priesthood (the shadowsworn), which in actuality is closer to mercenaries, thieves, and assassins. Essentially as they are devout to the death god, taking a life or even losing your own is seen as a boon rather than something bad.

The gods name is the keeper it's part of the dark six, they are pre-established Ebberon gods. (Basically the counter the sovereign hosts the nine "good" gods). Essentially the idea of death in Ebberon is when you die rather than a God claiming you, your soul travels to a sort of limbo where you linger eternally. The keeper is a greedy God who claims those souls before they can reach limbo, to some this is a blessing, to others an eternal torment (the keeper does not have good intentions).

I may have some things wrong, this is my first time in Ebberon, so this is just my basic understanding from reading a few sources.

I am not at all familiar with Eberron other than the D&D MMO, which I play every blue moon - if that.
So I had to do some research - which is always fun.
I think I came up with a very, very, very tragic background for the character.
Sorry it took so long - I am DMing a bunch of games (COVID makes people want to D&D remotely, just to connect with people - who would have thought!)
Also, my senior dog has been having issues - so it's been difficult to sit and write much.
But here it is at long last!
Enjoy!
========================================

The campfire flickers as shadows dance in the fading light around me. I am lost in thought, thinking of the things I’ve done. Most of which, I have learned to live with. As a Cleric of the Keeper, the God of Death and Decay, I’ve seen my fair share of horrible things in this world and it’s hardened my soul, wrapped my consciousness in impregnable barbed wire. But there, deep in my mind, screaming and echoing, never silent is my best friend Harrik Longstem.

Harrik Longstem was my best friend – a human, kind and gracious. He came from a well-to-do family with more gold than they knew what to do with. Harrik had met me while I had been living on the streets of Korth. He’d been with his family and their guards when he saw me and took pity on me. I am not sure what it was about me that he saw – but he stopped and gave me enough coin to survive for months. I’d thought that would be the first and last time I’d see him – that this was just some act of pity he felt for me. But he ended up coming back week after week, looking for me. He wanted to know more about me, the things I’d seen, the things I’d done – what life was like on the streets of Korth. I would learn that his parents had never let him out of the house, for fear someone might abduct him and ransom him – because, as he said, the gods forgive them if they had to part with a single coin if it wasn’t for something that was mandatory or to purchase something elaborate. He told me how he’d snuck out of his home once he saw me because he felt some kind of kinship with me – almost an opposite. Where he’d wanted to see the real world; in me, he’d seen someone who was tired of living on the streets.

Harrik used some of his money to dress me in clothing that felt like the most expensive silk I’d ever seen and brought me to his house, one day – introduced me as Locke, the son of Arreis, land owner of Sarisvell. I’d never heard of Sarisvell – and was pretty sure he’d made up the name, to ensure his parents would not know the barons of the land. His parents treated me with respect, invited me to their dinner table – a table that stretched over forty feet, for a family of six. Everyone sat so far apart, but I realized the table was this big to allow for room on the table to display priceless tokens that the family had amassed over the years.

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and I simply became known as Locke, son of Arreis to the Longstem family. I’d stay for a few days, every few weeks – but then have to return to the streets, until I could return with Harrik to continue the ruse. I was getting accustomed to the rich life Harrik and his family led, and despite our friendship – I grew tired of life on the streets. If I could just take one of the many priceless items in the Longstem home, I could sell it and leave Korth behind and start a new life.

Sypheros, the moon of shade, had peered its eye through the window that fateful night. I had excused myself from the dining room table and headed for the restroom. However, once I turned the corner, I quickly dashed up the spiral staircase, lined with paintings valued more than I would ever hope to earn in my life time – but that would be too big, too difficult to hide. In Harrik’s room, there’d been a crystal sphere that traced the cycles of the moon. He’d told me it possessed great magic. That I could fit in my pocket, and after dinner, take and sell – and with that money, leave and make a new life for myself, build a home, and be rich. As I placed the item in my pocket, I heard Harrik’s voice behind me, “What are you doing?”

I turned and in Harrik’s eyes I saw a pain of betrayal that took my youthful heart and shattered it. He’d trusted me, befriended me, and now had caught me stealing. I am not sure if it was the look on his face, the guilt that exploded in my chest for my betrayal – but what came next did not feel like it was me. Some unseen force made me draw my elaborate dagger I’d kept at my side, and plunged it into Harrik’s neck. He quickly grabbed his neck, blood pouring out of the wound, gurgling. One of the guards entered the room and I had to think quickly. I plunged the dagger into my stomach and threw it at the guard, then collapsed to the floor screaming for help.

More guards rushed into the room and I pointed to the first guard and gasped, “He… killed Harrik… I tried to stop him.” The guards saw that he’d been holding a bloody dagger with a blank expression on his face and quickly tackled him and subdued him.

They’d taken me and Harrik to the closest temple – but I knew it was too late for Harrik. He laid next to me, his lifeless eyes peering at me, accusatorily. I was approached by a priest that night – he looked different than the others who tended to us.

He whispered in my ear, “The Keeper has guided your hand. Welcome to the Order.”

And that night, I was taken off the streets and taught the ways of the Keeper, the god of death and decay. The years that followed, I saw things that would break the soul of any man or woman, but that was a part of who I was, who I’d become.

But I could never release the voice of Harrik’s voice, gurgling, drowning in his own blood. The look of his death-filled eyes peering at me, piercing my soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

1. Got the city name from this helpful Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Eberron/com...aps_of_cities/

2. Got the name(s) of the moons here:
http://eberronunlimited.wikidot.com/...ons-of-eberron
And came across this as well, which is amazing: http://marksworld.zeemer.com/files/c.../calendar.html

[george moshingt]

I am not at all familiar with Eberron other than the D&D MMO, which I play every blue moon - if that.
So I had to do some research - which is always fun.
I think I came up with a very, very, very tragic background for the character.
Sorry it took so long - I am DMing a bunch of games (COVID makes people want to D&D remotely, just to connect with people - who would have thought!)
Also, my senior dog has been having issues - so it's been difficult to sit and write much.
But here it is at long last!
Enjoy!
========================================

The campfire flickers as shadows dance in the fading light around me. I am lost in thought, thinking of the things I’ve done. Most of which, I have learned to live with. As a Cleric of the Keeper, the God of Death and Decay, I’ve seen my fair share of horrible things in this world and it’s hardened my soul, wrapped my consciousness in impregnable barbed wire. But there, deep in my mind, screaming and echoing, never silent is my best friend Harrik Longstem.

Harrik Longstem was my best friend – a human, kind and gracious. He came from a well-to-do family with more gold than they knew what to do with. Harrik had met me while I had been living on the streets of Korth. He’d been with his family and their guards when he saw me and took pity on me. I am not sure what it was about me that he saw – but he stopped and gave me enough coin to survive for months. I’d thought that would be the first and last time I’d see him – that this was just some act of pity he felt for me. But he ended up coming back week after week, looking for me. He wanted to know more about me, the things I’d seen, the things I’d done – what life was like on the streets of Korth. I would learn that his parents had never let him out of the house, for fear someone might abduct him and ransom him – because, as he said, the gods forgive them if they had to part with a single coin if it wasn’t for something that was mandatory or to purchase something elaborate. He told me how he’d snuck out of his home once he saw me because he felt some kind of kinship with me – almost an opposite. Where he’d wanted to see the real world; in me, he’d seen someone who was tired of living on the streets.

Harrik used some of his money to dress me in clothing that felt like the most expensive silk I’d ever seen and brought me to his house, one day – introduced me as Locke, the son of Arreis, land owner of Sarisvell. I’d never heard of Sarisvell – and was pretty sure he’d made up the name, to ensure his parents would not know the barons of the land. His parents treated me with respect, invited me to their dinner table – a table that stretched over forty feet, for a family of six. Everyone sat so far apart, but I realized the table was this big to allow for room on the table to display priceless tokens that the family had amassed over the years.

Weeks turned to months, months turned to years, and I simply became known as Locke, son of Arreis to the Longstem family. I’d stay for a few days, every few weeks – but then have to return to the streets, until I could return with Harrik to continue the ruse. I was getting accustomed to the rich life Harrik and his family led, and despite our friendship – I grew tired of life on the streets. If I could just take one of the many priceless items in the Longstem home, I could sell it and leave Korth behind and start a new life.

Sypheros, the moon of shade, had peered its eye through the window that fateful night. I had excused myself from the dining room table and headed for the restroom. However, once I turned the corner, I quickly dashed up the spiral staircase, lined with paintings valued more than I would ever hope to earn in my life time – but that would be too big, too difficult to hide. In Harrik’s room, there’d been a crystal sphere that traced the cycles of the moon. He’d told me it possessed great magic. That I could fit in my pocket, and after dinner, take and sell – and with that money, leave and make a new life for myself, build a home, and be rich. As I placed the item in my pocket, I heard Harrik’s voice behind me, “What are you doing?”

I turned and in Harrik’s eyes I saw a pain of betrayal that took my youthful heart and shattered it. He’d trusted me, befriended me, and now had caught me stealing. I am not sure if it was the look on his face, the guilt that exploded in my chest for my betrayal – but what came next did not feel like it was me. Some unseen force made me draw my elaborate dagger I’d kept at my side, and plunged it into Harrik’s neck. He quickly grabbed his neck, blood pouring out of the wound, gurgling. One of the guards entered the room and I had to think quickly. I plunged the dagger into my stomach and threw it at the guard, then collapsed to the floor screaming for help.

More guards rushed into the room and I pointed to the first guard and gasped, “He… killed Harrik… I tried to stop him.” The guards saw that he’d been holding a bloody dagger with a blank expression on his face and quickly tackled him and subdued him.

They’d taken me and Harrik to the closest temple – but I knew it was too late for Harrik. He laid next to me, his lifeless eyes peering at me, accusatorily. I was approached by a priest that night – he looked different than the others who tended to us.

He whispered in my ear, “The Keeper has guided your hand. Welcome to the Order.”

And that night, I was taken off the streets and taught the ways of the Keeper, the god of death and decay. The years that followed, I saw things that would break the soul of any man or woman, but that was a part of who I was, who I’d become.

But I could never release the voice of Harrik’s voice, gurgling, drowning in his own blood. The look of his death-filled eyes peering at me, piercing my soul deeper than any weapon ever could.

1. Got the city name from this helpful Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Eberron/com...aps_of_cities/

2. Got the name(s) of the moons here:
http://eberronunlimited.wikidot.com/...ons-of-eberron
And came across this as well, which is amazing: http://marksworld.zeemer.com/files/c.../calendar.html

Tawmis,

Thanks for all of your effort. This all came together nicely and I liked the touches of research that you put into it. I'm impressed with your research because I normally wouldn't have gone through and found actual sources from Ebberon, but it really made it feel like the character wasn't just lifted from another world and randomly dropped into Ebberon. While there was a definite edge to parts of the story, it makes the character feel more interesting and was ultimately forced on you because of the dice rolls I had. The friend being brought in and built up only to have me strike him down was pretty brutal but I liked it. I haven't played in Ebberon so this should be interesting.
This gives me a huge step up on this campaign. I appreciate your hard work and will definitely swing by again if I make another character.

Thank you for your time and keep up the good work.

Respectfully,

George Moshington (the ending got cut off)

[Tawmis]

This is a really cool threat. Its been so much fun to read through everything you have done!
Here is a character concept I have been working on if you are able to help.
Name: Barnaby Oswald Boyd (Bob)
Setting: Faerun
Class: Wizard 1/Sorcerer(Abberant) 1/Cleric(Arcane) 1
Race: VHuman
Gender: Male
Background: Cloistered Scholar
Diety: Mystra
Str 8, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16
Feat: Spell Sniper (Eldritch Blast)

Personality: There's nothing I like more than a good mystery.
Ideals: Self-Improvement. The goal of a life of study is the betterment of oneself.
Bonds: I sold my soul for knowledge. I hope to do great deeds and win it back.
Flaws: I am easily distracted by the promise of information.

Character concept: Bob loves magic in all its forms. He is especially enamoured with cantrip magic and will do just about anything to get more of it. He originally joined a wizard college but did not do very well after learning the basics. Bob is easily distracted and loses focus regularly. The plan is to take as many spell casting classes as possible to get all the cantrips if he can. The thought of why cantrip magic is unlimited while everything else isn't seemed interesting. Learning everything he can about cantrips is one of his main goals.

Spells:
Eldritch Blast - Spellsniper
Aberrant Sorcerer - Mind Sliver, Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Firebolt, Mending, Gift of Alacrity, Dissonant Whispers, Shield, Chaos Bolt
Arcane Cleric - Guidance, Thamaturgy, Spare the dying, blade ward, dancing lights, Cure Wounds, Sanctuary, Healing Word -
Wizard - Shape Water, mold earth, gust, Absorb Elements, Alarm, Comprehend languages, Feather Fall, Find Familiar, Witch Bolt

Consider it added - it's next in line!

Holy shiiii Tawmis!
I'm going around the forums and checking up on projects that were active when I was actively playing.
You are still going strong 2 years later!
Mad props, and hope you've been safe <3

Indeed. It helps quell the creative screams in my head. I am so impressed that this has continued for as long as it has. When I started this idea - I wasn't sure if I'd get any hits on the offer. Now here we are 29 pages deep and 2 years later. I feel very blessed and honored to have people trust me with the idea of further developing their characters!

Tawmis,
Thanks for all of your effort. This all came together nicely and I liked the touches of research that you put into it. I'm impressed with your research because I normally wouldn't have gone through and found actual sources from Ebberon, but it really made it feel like the character wasn't just lifted from another world and randomly dropped into Ebberon. While there was a definite edge to parts of the story, it makes the character feel more interesting and was ultimately forced on you because of the dice rolls I had. The friend being brought in and built up only to have me strike him down was pretty brutal but I liked it. I haven't played in Ebberon so this should be interesting.
This gives me a huge step up on this campaign. I appreciate your hard work and will definitely swing by again if I make another character.
Thank you for your time and keep up the good work.
Respectfully,
George Moshington (the ending got cut off)

In my head, the only reason Locke considered him a "best friend" was that Locke had no one else. No one else ever showed him kindness.
So when he was caught stealing - he was so ashamed - he couldn't really live with that shame - so he did what just randomly came to him - get rid of the one who would make him feel ashamed seeing every morning.
And then at the end, alluded that the Death God (The Keeper) had played a hand in it all - and that all Locke had wanted was to get off the streets - and by killing his best friend, the Keeper honored that and took him off the streets and into the Keeper's "church."
Hopefully all of that helps really build on the character and your DM is cool with it.
And thank you - I assume it was you who just donated to my cause! Thank you!

Ok, cool. Like I said, I have disparate elements that are currently in need of structure to make them go together.
1. The character has the outlander background. She's lived at least most of her life in the woods and respects living the natural way, hunting and foraging her own food and living an ascetic life off the land. Views herself as an apex predator. Nature is ruthless, but dispassionate and fair.
2. She's also a wizard, with a very nature and hunter-based flavor to her spells. Scorching ray will be drawn from a spectral bow that fires three flaming arrows, Evard's Black Tentacles will be mighty vines growing out of the ground. Stuff like that. Not entirely sure how to reconcile wizardly studiousness with the character's wild theme.
3. So, why not just be a druid, right? The character is cut off from natural forces, and thus has turned to arcane study to obtain a facsimile of druid-like abilities. She may or may not have been at least partially raised by druids and wanted to replicate their powers.
4. I'm not totally committed to exactly why she can't access primal magic. My working rationale is that she's viewed by primal forces as some sort of aberration, something outside of the natural order.
5. To that end, the loose explanation I'm working on is that maybe in her last life, she was a Spirit Naga that had its reincarnation cycle broken (By a wish spell from one who chose to break the chain, but not destroy the creature?) and came back as a humanoid with the soul of the Naga, but none of the memories or personality. I'm not set on this either.
6. Her overarching goal and reason to adventure, go into cities, etc. is because she can "no longer hear the spirit of the forest" and wants to find out why/fix it. For some reason, things have changed in the forest, and she no longer feels at home there. Unsure whether the problem is with the forest itself, or within her.
7. Character study is: Make the life you want with the tools you have.
As you can see, I need a lot of help getting these ideas strung together, so I really appreciate your help and creativity, because I'm having a block.

FIRST AND FOREMOST - Thanks for the donation! <3
This was a lot of fun... I wanted to do what you had asked with the Spirit Naga and the Wish spell...
And I wanted to make it dramatic ... so I ended up building some lore behind it...
With the idea of the Great Wheel... the Spirit Guardians... the previous souls... and how it all ties into your character.
I left (at the end) the character's name blank (with memory loss, as you requested) that makes it easy ... because I wasn't sure what you wanted to name her... and so the names I used could then be forgotten if you go with another name... or if she recovers her memory... or parts, she could go with the Allania name I used...
Hopefully this works for what you wanted! I had a lot of fun writing it!
Enjoy!
=====================================

There is a legend of a Great Wheel in the Heavens. The legend states that those who perish, return to the Great Wheel and are judged by the Guardian Spirits – who then assign a new host for the spirit to return to the world. For this reason, Necromancy in the world where the dead are raised and brought back to life, the Spirit Guardians demand justice against those who would attempt to thwart the ways of the Great Wheel.

There are beasts that thwart the ways of the Great Wheel; and the Spirit Guardians will place souls into new hosts, with ‘suggestions’ to hunt down such beasts – one such beast is the Spirit Naga, whose evil and seething hatred and magic have allowed it to avoid the judgement of the Spirit Guardians at the Great Wheel and reincarnate themselves as they were.

Souls who come to the Great Wheel are returned to the mortal plane to continue their journey in new bodies, creating new memories, until they’ve achieved Great Understanding – a lesson that their first soul never learned, and spent cycles returning to the mortal plane, born anew – until that lesson is learned.

Thorvall Ironstone, a great warrior of the frozen north was a straight forward thinker. He charged into battle without thought or consequence, bathing in the blood and corpses of the enemies that fell before his great axe. However, something he’d never encountered was magic – and when one of his adventurers took him into the depths of a jungle where an ancient temple to some forgotten deity had been discovered, he and his companions came across a Spirit Naga name Cha’neela who protected her ancient treasure viciously.

Thorvall Ironstone may have been a great warrior of the frozen north, but something he’d always been susceptible to was magic that took over the mind, and Cha’neela immediately saw the great warrior as an easy target, using her Dominate Person to seize control of the warrior’s mind. She then commanded Thorvall to attack and murder his own companions, even as it cast Blight on them all – including Thorvall Ironstone – followed by lightning bolt. Despite being dominated mentally – Thorvall could not stop himself and watched as he murdered his companions and friends and Cha’neela laughed in his ear, enjoying the anguish of this warrior murdering his friends at her bidding. She then wrapped her slithering body around the stunned warrior when she released her hold then sank her fangs deep into his neck, injecting her lethal poison into his veins. Thorvall shuddered for a moment then fell forward, dead. Cra’neela looked through the items and took the magical items and added it to her growing collection, pleased with herself.

When Thorvall’s spirit returned to the Great Wheel, the Spirit Guardians took notice to his needs on the Threads of Fate and looked amongst one another and silently nodded. Thorvall’s spirit was put into the body of newborn Grey Elf, who was born Allania Silvercrown.

As the years passed, it was clear Allania would be much like her mother. She seemed to be a mirror image of her mother in her youth – and took a great interest in magic, like her mother before her. Her parents sent her to Allanford – a massive human settlement known for their specialty at magic when Allania was still young. There she rapidly rose through the ranks mastering her spellcraft weeks ahead of students who should have been her superiors.

Allania felt an unusual compulsion that she could not explain while in Allanford to go to the Great Library and read about ancient cultures. Perhaps subconsciously she’d hoped to learn more about some long forgotten ancient magic that she could bring back into the world. She could not stop reading tome after tome, until one day she could not keep her eyes open and her head collapsed onto the book. When she awoke and stared down at the page, she saw a drawing of what appeared to be a large cobra in front of a temple with a sun behind it.

Allania took the tome to her teacher, Garith Stronghorn. “Master Stronghorn,” she whispered. “Where is this?”

Master Stronghorn took the tome from her and examined it, then looked at Allania. “You should not be reading these tomes. These are of the Isle of Kallark – an island said to have been home to an ancient, forgotten god that demanded human sacrifices. It’s been overrun by jungles and nearly impossible to gain access to – the very jungles and the beasts – seem determined to continue the ways of the old god and bleed the lands in sacrificial blood.” Master Stronghorn closed the tome and put it under his shoulder. “Now get back to reading normal magic books.”

“Of course,” Allania smiled, and quickly spun on her heel and returned to her desk where she thoughtlessly thumbed through another spellbook. That night, Allania dreamt of the tomb – the sun shining bright behind the temple – and the giant serpent that emerged from the dark doorway. The next morning when Master Stronghorn came for her, her room was empty.

Master Stronghorn already knew where she had gone as he shook his head, “Foolish child.”

Allania had booked a passage to Argenti – a large port city not too far from Allanford, that was ripe with would be adventurers and heroes. From there, Allania booked passage aboard the ship The Covenant. Aboard the ship, she’d befriended several others, also seeking out the rumored treasures buried deep in the jungles of Kallark.

Allania and her companions cut their way through the jungle, encountering cannibals, displacer beasts, ophidians, grung and rivers full of vicious quipper fish; but they finally reached the temple, led by the visions and dreams that had plagued Allania’s mind. Just as she’d dreamed – a giant serpent emerged from the dark temple – but it wasn’t just any serpent – it was, Allania now realized – a Spirit Naga. Somehow she’d known of the beast, and found herself muttering, “Cra’neela.”

This caught the Spirit Naga’s attention as to how anyone alive would know her name. Immediately a fight broke out and Cra’neela, as she’d done before, devastated those that stood before her. This time, however – the fight would go differently. Though critically wounded, Allania was a powerful wizard and had managed to hurt Cra’neela who was casting her Dimension Door to escape – forced to retreat for the first time ever. However, something in Allania pushed her to rush forward – with no regard for herself or anything, as if she possessed the spirit of some great warrior – she lunged at Allania, her magical dagger drawn and plunged it deep into Cra’neela’s neck just as she stepped through the Dimension Door – trapping them both into a spell that was now out of control. Allania knew that the Spirit Naga would rise again – and quickly used her Wish spell to break the Spirit Naga’s connection – and now both tumbled through the Dimension Door that sealed behind them – but never opened again.

Several years later – a shimmering portal opened and a female grey elf fell from the heavens and into a forest, her bones were broken from the fall, but she pulled herself up when she regained consciousness and tended to her wounds.

She had no memory of who she was – but something felt different. Something inside her was not right – that much she knew. She gazed around her and could see nor hear any sign of civilization of any kind. She set up a camp high in the trees and overtime built a small wooden home above. She didn’t know who she was – or how and why she’d come here, but she knew she needed to be strong in order to survive. These woods did not cater to the weak. There were creatures here who fed upon the weak so she trained herself to hunt using the magic she’d found herself able to wield and quickly rose as an apex predator in these woods; manipulating her magic to ensnare her food and arrows magic of magical energy to kill anything that dared challenge her position in the order of things.

As the weeks went by, whether it was something inside of her – the thing that felt… off or something else – she suddenly could not hear the song of the woods. Something she’d been in tune with upon her mysterious arrival into the woods. Perhaps – somewhere – out there beyond these woods she’d called home for several years – was the answer… was it the woods… or the thing inside her that felt so very wrong?

In the heavens, at the Great Wheel, the Spirit Guardians looked amongst one another… none of them could explain how the spirit of the Naga had been trapped inside the woman… the woman that the Spirit Guardians had sent to kill Cra’neela…

[jqavins]

Wow, I gotta get in on this. I have to upload some material that I don't have to hand right now. So why am I posting right now? Because I'm excited.

I have a character backstory, and would love to have you extend it further back. (I've never had a chance to play this character, but hope to.) I have his backstory starting when he is middle to high level (he'd start in a high level game) and would love to have you write about when he was young and/or when he was low level. So I actually know a lot about him that your work would have to tie into. You say you like a challenge; I hope you like the sound of this one.

(I just found this thread after several years of being mostly absent from the forum, so I obviously haven't read the hundreds of posts prior to mine.)
----------------------
Later that day...

OK, in a nutshell, he is a human paladin who's been declared a sinner and heretic by his church but not by his god, so still has his powers. And the powerful church leaders are not happy about that. His "sin" is being gay. The church did not know this until he was already middling high level, in my part of the story. Here it is:

- * - * - * - * -

A Half Dozen Years Ago...

Gerald Singer! thought Isabel as she filled the second mug of ale from the barrel. I can’t believe Gerald Singer wants me to come to his room. The most famous Defender of the Faith in the whole kingdom, and he wants me!

She tugged down the front of her bodice to show off all the cleavage she could manage, and rolled up her skirt at the waist to raise the hem above her knees. “Bring ale to my room,” he said, as if a drink was all he wanted. I could see he had more on his mind than his thirst; he has a hunger! Isabel laughed inwardly at her own little joke as she started up the stairs to the Defender’s room. “And bring two mugs,” he said. Oh, yes, he wants me alright. What else could it have meant?

Isabel called out in a playful sing-song “I’m here with the ale!” as she pushed open the door to Gerald Singer’s room and walked in. And there she stopped, one foot in the room, frozen solid by what she saw. Gerald was in the arms of the handsome bard who had played at the inn that night. The very male, very handsome bard. And Gerald was kissing the man. With a hunger. Isabel dropped the two mugs of ale and ran from the room crying “How could you?! How could you?!”

Two Months Later...

“Gerald Singer,” called the episcopal herald. “Come forth and be judged.” Gerald stood before the Great Throne of the Church, with the assembled bishops behind it, and looked directly at the head of the church in Tanesland, Arch-bishop John Danson.

Gerald was a tall man, well over six feet, trim and muscular. His face conspired to be both as hard as granite and as clean and open as a boy’s; the somber expression he wore today was much less at home on his tan features than the joyful smile he more often wore. His hair was thick and black, tousled. He wore the dress uniform of the Defenders of the Faith: red leather boots, gray breeches, and a long white tunic embroidered with the red crest of the Order of the Defenders of the Faith both front and back.

“Gerald Singer,” intoned the arch-bishop, “you stand convicted of abominations before your god. You have consorted with your fellow man in an unnatural manner. Furthermore, you did this, knowingly flouting His divine will while you wore the uniform of a Defender of the Faith, bringing shame not only on yourself, but on your brother Defenders, and on the whole of the church.”

The arch-bishop paused, then continued in a tone that was the merest fraction softer. “Gerald, you were among the best of the Defenders. It was said you would one day be made a bishop. That is why it pains us so that you have disgraced yourself before our lord. Have you anything to say before the sentence of the College of Bishops is pronounced?”

Danson looked at Gerald as an old friend, which he was. The two men had known each other for over fifteen years. But obviously not so well as I thought, the arch-bishop mused. Still, if he repents...

“What I have done is no sin.” Gerald stood, tall and proud, and looked squarely at the Arch-bishop. “The Lord Tantus has never...”

“Silence!” the arch-bishop yelled. “Do not compound your crime with heresy!”

“Is it heresy, now, to know the law? Tantus has never forbade the love between a man and his fellow man. The Given Word, the prophets, the sages of antiquity, none of these has ever told us that this love is a sin!”

The bishops all buzzed angrily. Bishop Albertus, the kingdom’s chief theologian, yelled “How dare you lecture us on what is or is not sin? We are the heads of the church and we will decide what is a sin!”

Arch-bishop Danson’s face was bright red with rage. With great effort, he calmed himself, then spoke more quietly. “All may yet be forgiven, my old friend, if you would only repent. Please, for the sake of your order and for the sake of the church, as well as for your own soul, please, repent your sin.”

Gerald spoke quietly, for Danson’s ears only: “I can’t do that, John. I can’t, and I won’t, ask forgiveness for being who I am. And, it… is… no… sin.”

“Then I have no choice but to sentence you.” Danson rose from his throne to his full height. He made an imposing sight, garbed as he was in long white robes, chased with gold, heavily embroidered with threads of green and gold on the sleeves; his hair, which Gerald knew to be blond and softly graying, was hidden by the large arch-bishop’s crown, an ornate gold ring encrusted with jewels, with a rich purple velvet cap covering the top of the head.

Gerald looked at his friend who was ready to sentence him, quite probably to death, for his so-called sin, then at the other nine bishops behind John. Finally, he looked around at the fifteen church soldiers and Defenders of the Faith who were present. The nearest is barely more than a boy; I could easily take his sword and fight my way out. Then he looked again, at the boy, at some of these men who were his friends, and knew he would not do it. They don’t deserve to die for the arrogance of the bishops. Danson held up the princely arch-bishop’s staff and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Because we still have hope that you will repent your sins and recant your heresy, Gerald Singer, we have decided to spare your life.” There was a ripple of surprise among the bishops; some of them sounded angry. “You are hereby expelled from the Order of the Defenders of the Faith and cut off from the Church. You will leave this place dressed in robes of shame, and bearing the Mark of the Outcast. Your steed, Fidel, will be confined in our stables for the rest of his days.” Inwardly, Gerald groaned.

No, not Fidel. Why must he suffer for what these men hold against me? He spoke quietly to the arch-bishop, pleading with his eyes. “No, John, I beg you. Punish me if you must, but Fidel has done nothing!”

“Be silent!” was Danson’s only answer. He raised his staff. Green fire flew from its head and struck Gerald on the forehead; it burned with a horrible cold, but Gerald stood steady on his feet. A soft groan escaped him as he held back a scream of pain. Then the fire, the cold, and the pain were gone. The fire had left an intricate pattern burned into Gerald’s flesh, showing an iconic image of Tantus with his back turned to a figure kneeling in supplication.

Two of the guards moved up to either side of Gerald and started cutting at his clothes, then tearing them off of him. Before long he stood naked before the bishops and the guards, even his boots and leggings having been cut and removed. Another guard came forward and placed a tunic over Gerald’s head. It was made from burlap, dyed black. It reached Gerald’s ankles and was altogether shapeless. “Now go,” said Danson. “Leave this place and live in shame until the hoped-for day when you return to us repentant.”

Gerald turned and exited the hall, never to return.

That evening, nearby...

“Molly’s still after me to ‘Better Meself.’ I ask ya, Frank, wha’s wrong with a steady job muckin’ out stables an’ takin’ care o’ the beasts fer the church?”

“Tsgoodnuferme,” said Frank, while he chewed the bite of meat pie he had just taken. He swallowed then tried to look wise. “Ed, I been married fer thirty two years an’ my Sarah don’t give me no lip, an’ I’ll tell ya why. The secret ta wives is ya gotta let’m know who’s boss like everybody says, but that ain’t ’nough. Sure, ya keep’m in their place most o’ the time, but ya also gotta keep’m happy in bed. Make sure she get’s ’er jollies while yer gettin’ yers and she’ll never give ya any trouble. Soon as my old da tol’ me tha’, I married Sarah right away, ’cause a wife’s a lot easier ta handle than a girl.”

The two men sat in silence for a moment while Ed thought about what Frank had told him. His thoughts were interrupted by a clattering of chains from one of the stalls. “Damn shame, lockin’ up a fine horse like tha’,” Frank opined.

“Yeah, guess so,” Ed answered. “I ’eard ’e belonged ta one o’ those Defenders o’ the Faith; turned ou’ ta be queer.”

“Yeah, but tha’ aint the horse’s fault, is it? Chainin’ up the poor beast like tha’, shackles on all four o’ ’is pasterns; ’e can’t hardly move. It ain’t right, I tell ya.” The chains clattered again.

“Guess not,” said Ed. Another silent moment passed. The sound of a kick came from the stall with the chained up horse. “Thought ya said they chained all o’ ’is feet?”

“They did. Held the poor thing still myself while they staked the chains down.” With another kick, the door of the stall crashed open and the horse, sleek, black, and swift, ran out of the stall, past the two men, out the door into the yard, then onto the street. It wore shackles like bracelets on all four of it’s pasterns, two links of chain dangling from each one.

The two men walked into the stall to find four chains lying on the ground, each one secured to a heavy stake. The ends of the chains weren’t broken; the links at the ends were severed, showing smooth, bright metal, as if they had been cut with a single stroke of a knife. The two men looked at the shiny metal in wonder, then at each other.

“Frank?” said Ed.

“Yeah, Ed?” said Frank.

“Wasn’ that horse white when ’e came in?”

“Yeah, Ed.”

Ed paused a moment. “Maybe Molly’s right. I think this is a good time ta look fer a better job.”

“Yeah, Ed. Right behin’ ya.”

Last Year...

Father Spencer sprang from the chair in his study and went to see what the commotion was all about. He reached the door and beheld the most horrible sight of his 51 years. It was at least ten feet tall, and stood on two scaly legs with great claws at the ends. It had a whip-like tail, and four long arms. At the ends of three of its arms was a different weapon, not held in a hand but actually growing from the arm itself. One was a sword that would have taken two hands for a strong man to lift; one was a huge, nastily spiked club; the third was a six foot long chain with a heavy, barbed hook at the end; the fourth arm ended in a claw like “hand.” The thing exuded an aura that chilled the priest to his bones; he could not look at its face, but knew that it would be a horrid site indeed. It stank of death and rotting flesh.

Spencer dropped to his knees. A demon, he thought. I never thought I’d have to face one, not here, not in this little town. Just as he started to pray for help, the demon reached out with its claw and picked up a passerby. Amanda Smith. She has a husband and three children. She never did an evil act or had a mean word to say about anyone. He thought he should try to save her, but also knew that he could do nothing.

The demon put the point of its sword “hand” to her chest, then called out “Come and get me, Defender.” Its voice was like a landslide, tons of gravel falling and rolling down a hillside. “I’ll consume your soul just like I will this frail woman’s!”

Spencer watched in horror as the demon ran her through. Spencer’s insides rose into his throat and tears burned his eyes. What had it meant calling out to this “defender?” Could a Defender of the Faith be coming after this demon? Would he arrive in time to save these innocent people?

The demon seized another person. Barry Jameson. Now tears fell from Spencer’s eyes. Barry was also a husband and a father. He doesn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.

As the demon prepared to run his second victim through, a horse could be heard thundering up the road, coming into the center of town. The demon held Barry, who quivered and began to cry. Its landslide voice boomed “I knew you’d come rather than watch these people die. Of course, I’ll kill them anyway after I’ve killed you.”

Spencer could see the rider now. He wore a fine black cloak over heavy, blackened armor. He dismounted and faced the demon as he drew a greatsword from its scabbard. He looked directly at the demon and said “It ends here, Gorgamex. I’m sending you back to the abyss from which you came so you can tell your master how you failed.”

The demon dropped Barry, who scrambled away as quickly as he could, getting to his feet on the way and then running. The demon surged toward the rider (the Defender? Didn’t Defenders wear red and white?) with all four of its arms ready for the attack. But before it could strike, the Defender slashed at the demon, sinking his sword into its left leg and drawing it along the wound, cutting deep; thick black ichor ran in a trickle from the gash. The demon struck with his own sword, but the Defender dodged the blow. The demon struck again, this time catching the Defender around the middle with that horrible barbed chain; the defender was rocked, but stood his ground. He struck again, a glancing blow to the demon’s hip that had no effect. The next swing of his sword struck true, and drew more ichor from the demon’s meaty, scale covered thigh. The Demon’s club caught the Defender’s shoulder, drawing blood. Again and again the two combatants struck. The demon’s “hands” would land blows, or the Defender would dodge or parry them. The Defender swung, jabbed, feinted, and parried with his sword, sometimes cutting into the demon’s flesh, sometimes dodged or deflected. The demon used terrible magic powers against the Defender. The Defender’s horse kicked at the demon’s legs and was lashed away by demon’s tail. Time seemed to slow for Spencer as he watched the two fight on; mere moments passed, but they felt to Spencer like hours.

Finally, with blood and ichor turning the ground muddy, the Defender made another cut in the demon’s left leg, cutting it to the bone near an earlier wound. The demon’s leg buckled and it went to its knee. As the demon’s tail came around and cut into the Defender, he cut one of the demon’s arms from its body, creating an opening in its guard. He gathered himself, then in a great mighty strike, sank his sword deep into the Demon’s chest. When he withdrew it, the demon fell to the ground and then seemed to evaporate, leaving nothing behind but the ichor that it had bled. And Amanda’s body.

The Defender looked like he could hardly stand. He stumbled to Amanda’s side then sank to his knees. He removed his gauntlets and placed his bare hands on Amanda’s body, moving them over and around her wounds. As Spencer watched, Amanda’s wounds closed. Incredibly, miraculously, she stirred, then moaned and opened her eyes.

Father Spencer noticed that others were watching as well. No one moved for a few seconds as the Defender helped Amanda to sit up. Then, Spencer came back to the moment as if a spell had been broken. “Help them!” he said to the others. The spell was lifted from everyone else, and they started toward the Defender and Amanda. “Take Amanda to the inn, and take the other one to my rectory. And someone see to his horse.”

Spencer followed the two young men who were helping the Defender to the rectory. From behind, he could see that the back of the man’s black cloak was embroidered, in black, with the emblem of the Defenders of the Faith. “Place him here,” he told the two men, indicating a couch, “then leave us.”

The Defender thanked the men before they left, then he started to rise from the couch. “Lie down,” Spencer told him. “You’re hurt.” Brilliant conversationalist, I am. As if he doesn’t know he’s hurt.

“I have to leave here,” said the defender, still struggling to rise. “I’m placing you in danger.”

“No, you have to rest. We’re very grateful to you for defeating the demon, and for healing Amanda.”

"Don’t be. I brought it here. Not on purpose, of course, but I’ve been chasing it for weeks, and it chose to confront me here.” As he spoke, he seemed to be recovering his strength, but his wounds were still severe.

“All the same, you did defeat it, and you did heal Amanda. So let us help you in return. Now lie down.” Spencer pushed down on the man’s shoulder, and he gave in, lying down. Then the priest took a pendant from inside his shirt and, holding the symbol of Tantus in one hand, cast a spell over the wounded man. Some of the wounds closed and shrank a little. “It isn’t much, I know, but it’s the best I can do. Now, you’re going to rest. Later, we’ll give you a good meal and, after a full night’s sleep, you can be on your way if you want to.”

The man didn’t protest. After another moment, the priest said “I’m Father Spencer Cooper. You’re Gerald Singer, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Gerald. “And that’s why I can’t stay. If the church authorities find you harboring me it will go very hard for you. They're always after me; they could be here any time.”

“The Church says you’re disgraced, that Tantus has turned his back on you. Based on what I saw out there, I’d have to say that isn’t true. They also say you’ve lain with other men; is that untrue also?”

“No, it’s true. What’s not true is that it’s either ‘unnatural’ or against Tantus’s will. It’s only against the Church’s will; that’s why they cast me out.”

“I guess I wouldn't know about that, but you still enjoy Tantus’s favor, that’s obvious. How can they deny that?”

“The heads of the Church are too fond of their own power. When they cast me out, but Tantus still favored me with these powers, I became an embarrassment to them and a threat to their power. That’s why their hunting me.”

“Two Church soldiers came here about a month ago asking if I’d seen you. Now that I have, I’ll go to the Bishop in Kingsport and tell him that you still have Tantus’s favor.”

“No. You can’t tell them anything about me that they don’t already know. If you speak on my behalf you’ll only bring their ire down on yourself.

“They’ll probably come again within days; don’t deny I was here, because they’d know you’re lying. You shouldn’t even deny that you tended my wounds and fed me, because you would do the same for any hurt man. But then you must tell them that you forbade me to stay and tried to persuade me to turn myself in to them. Finally, tell them that you have no idea where I’ve gone; that part will be true.”

“But isn’t there anything more I can do for you?”

“I’ll leave here with one more friend than I had yesterday, and knowing one more priest who values the truth above dogma. You’re not the only one, you know. So I’ll go with renewed hope for reform at the top. That means more than you think; it’s all I could ask.

“Now, I think I’ll have a little nap. Thank you for your kindness.” Gerald closed his eyes and slept.

- * - * - * - * -

So, what do you say, can you write me a prequel about Gerald's younger (relatively) care free days?

[Tawmis]

Wow, I gotta get in on this. I have to upload some material that I don't have to hand right now. So why am I posting right now? Because I'm excited.

I have a character backstory, and would love to have you extend it further back. (I've never had a chance to play this character, but hope to.) I have his backstory starting when he is middle to high level (he'd start in a high level game) and would love to have you write about when he was young and/or when he was low level. So I actually know a lot about him that your work would have to tie into. You say you like a challenge; I hope you like the sound of this one.

(I just found this thread after several years of being mostly absent from the forum, so I obviously haven't read the hundreds of posts prior to mine.)

Later that day...

OK, in a nutshell, he is a human paladin who's been declared a sinner and heretic by his church but not by his god, so still has his powers. And the powerful church leaders are not happy about that. His "sin" is being gay. The church did not know this until he was already middling high level, in my part of the story.
So, what do you say, can you write me a prequel about Gerald's younger (relatively) care free days?

I would be honored at writing a gay character. I've not done that yet here. So this will be interesting!

[javianhalt]

Hello!

I'm new to this forum but I have been reading your character backstories and loved them!

I will run a new character in an upcoming campaign in Faerun and maybe you could help me with some bits of backstory to complement my character personality.

Name: Oleg Blackbones
Race: Mountain Dwarf
Class: Twilight Cleric
Background: Clan Crafter

I don't have the characteristics set in stone yet.
The most thinking I've done so far involves the base picture for the character (https://imgur.com/jxmwnFm)
I'm initially thinking about a stereotypical "russian hard skinned guy" that deep down has a good and warming heart.

I don't know a lot about the continent (he is probably from the north somewhere around Neverwinter, I guess?) or the deities he could be serving as a twilight cleric for example.

EDIT: I've decided on a few more details, if that's alright

He is proficient in Smith's and Tinker's tools and plays a Balalaika (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OvWWVub9cc4)