Need a character background written up?

[Tawmis]

Character's name is Sebastian Thorn. He is a male Human (Variant). Dresses well, open and friendly. He is a Fighter but does not look like a fighter or introduce himself as one. He is a traveling Gambler that hooks up with adventurers for fun and protection (Uses darts re-flavored as Playing cards and a Shield re-flavored as a heavy cloak like you see fencers use). He makes sure that person he is gambling with can afford to loose his coin without getting in trouble (wife sent him to shop/pay rest) or upset ("I want my money back") so willing to play for winner buys a round of drinks for the players.
He plays for the interaction and fun. Winning is just a bonus to him.
Thank you/

So I envisioned a very ... western like theme.
So first, I started with listening to the "Hell On Wheels" theme (incredible show) to get my brain thinking that way. Get some visuals in my head.
Then, once I had some ideas - I threw on "The Mandalorian" theme (from Season One) - and let my mind and hands tell the story.
This was the result.
Would love to hear your thoughts or feedback - good or bad.
===========================

As the sand blew through the hot, arid, air – my eyes could make out a sign hanging over the town’s entrance – and it seemed to be appropriately named - “Dunespring.”

As my horse, Starfall – named for her black hair, with white streaks that looked like falling stars captured on her body, forever frozen in time – trotted ever so gently through the sandy street, I noticed several people met my gaze, and quickly turned away, scuttling quickly away.

I slid off Starfall and tied her to the post outside a small establishment called The Horned Owl. “Wait here,” I said, rubbing the muzzle of her nose. Truth be told, I didn’t even have to tie Starfall up – but I did so, so no one thought she had broken loose and tried to capture her.

As I approached this establishment’s double doors, a man sat outside, on a chair that looked as if it’d been worn down by the harsh, arid winds and sand. “What’s wrong with you, old man?” I asked, just as I placed my hand on the door.

He shook his head. He seemed as if he didn’t want to talk, so I shrugged and began to enter when he suddenly said, “Ethenia sent me out to purchase some feed for our cattle… but we’re so low on money, I thought I could take it… maybe gamble some of it, and earn more… I was up for a few hands, and I was feeling lucky, so I went all in… and that’s when I lost it all.”

“So there are card players in here?” I asked my curiosity piqued. Truth of the matter, it was no coincidence that I came here to Dunespring. In the previous town I was in, I had been gambling with several people – because, well, if I had to say I had one love – I’d say it was Starfall – but gambling, gambling was definitely a very, very, very close second. Not that I’d ever confess that to Starfall. In that town – a small town, similar to this one called Everglade – they mentioned some great gamblers in Dunespring. So I came here to test my skill.

The man had said there was – a small group at the round table in the back. I thanked him for the knowledge and went inside, approached the bar that was being tended to a stout female dwarf with fiery red hair and a personality that the establishment could barely contain. I watched the table, and saw who looked to be the best of the best. I smiled, paid for my drink and approached the table.

“What’s the buy in?” I asked, as I pulled up a seat.

They exchanged glances, before the one who looked to be the leader of this motley crew, looked at me and said, “One hundred gold.”

I put five hundred down. “Does that cover it?”

They looked at the coin then up to me. “Aye, that will cover it.”

“Good,” I smiled. “I’d heard some great things about you guys, from some folks in Everglade.”

It took two hands to see – which is what I normally do – lose a few hands, look for some tells – but after two hands, the human – the leader of this bunch – with his black hair and green eyes. He wasn’t a skilled player. Not by any stretch of the imagination. What he was, however, was a skilled cheater. I saw him reach under the table, and very deftly pull another card, and swap it for one he’d been dealt. I took my set of cards from the hand, and with a quick flick of my wrist, threw my card so that it had barely nicked the human’s neck – drawing blood. He scooched his chair back, “What the Hades was that?”

I stood and kicked over the table, revealing the mechanical device he’d used to swap cards that he attached to the bottom of the table. As he held his bleeding neck, he growled something. I smiled and said, “That first card was a warning, trust me, you don’t want to fight me. How about we keep playing – and we play fair and square?” I had my other cards still in my hands and one of his men went for his dagger – but with a flick of my wrist, another card flew striking the man’s hand – and the card cut deep into his hand so that he was forced to drop the dagger.

“I wasn’t kidding. I have three more cards in my hand. I can kill all four of you with just these three cards, if you want to keep testing me because I always have an ace up my sleeve. Or,” I said, “we put these cards back – deal a fresh hand, and start this game clean. You can even keep all the money you had at the start of the new game.”

The human leader nodded his head, and the table was flipped back over and the card shuffler beneath the table removed. We played another sixty two hands – and by then, I’d wiped all four of them clean of their money.

I didn’t cheat to win. I never have to. As I said, I love to gamble. It’s never been about winning.

As I collected the gold and walked out, the old man had still been there – afraid to return home to his wife, Ethenia. I placed the pouch containing all of my winnings in his old, wrinkled, and blistered hands, keeping none of it to myself and said, “Never gamble what you can’t afford, old man. Now go on, get what you need, go home – and take care of your wife, your kids, your farm.”

I untied Starfall and slid onto the saddle. The four humans came out of the Horned Owl and watched me as I tipped my hat to them and smiled, “Thanks for everything.” And I threw one final card that stuck into the door between them.

It was the Ace of Spades.

[sonicthegoody]

Roscoe Tosscobble, Ghostwise Halfling Druid, Male, Lawful Good, Faithless
Traits:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Ideals:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Bonds:
I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent.
Flaws:
I talk to spirits that no one else can see.


Thank you

[Mad Puppy]

Django Romani, Human Feytouched, Archfey Warlock (Zebilna) Male
Witchlight carnival hand
Personality Traits

• Like a nomad, I can’t settle down in one place for very long.
• Wanderlust. I prefer to take the less traveled path. (Chaotic)

Bonds

• I find magic in all its forms to be compelling. The more magical a place, the more I am drawn to it.
• I’m drawn to the Feywild and long to return there, if only for a short while.
• My freedom is my most precious possession. I’ll never let anyone take it from me again.

Flaws

• I have many vices and tend to indulge them.
• I never give away anything for free and always expect something in return.

This is for a tWbtW campaign, Basically I envision a Human who was a slave in the feywild brought there by someone from Feywild. He was rescued by his now friend an young Eladrin Elf by the name of Link....Who really was looking to save his Love from the slaver, Django was a lucky "extra". Would like for the Slaver to be an enemy who might pop up during the campaign as an antagonist, perhaps looking for his property? I wonder if a Djinni slaver is a interesting idea? not married to that thought. Link is also working in the Witchlight Carnival with Django for the past 5 years. I see a Kind of Gypsey type of character who values his freedom most. I'm struggling to write a good opening scene and explanation. Just know he is feytouched from the years as a slave in the feywild.

Thanks in advance

[Tawmis]

Roscoe Tosscobble
Ghostwise Halfling
Druid, Male, Lawful Good, Faithless
Traits:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Ideals:
I refuse to become a victim, and I will not allow others to be victimized.
Bonds:
I would sacrifice my life and my soul to protect the innocent.
Flaws:
I talk to spirits that no one else can see.
Thank you

The Roscoe name made me think of Dukes of Hazzard, so there's quite a bit of humor...
I focused mostly on the faithless portion, because I thought that'd be a fun aspect...
The spirit ties in near the end, hopefully the name I've given is a reference (spelling is different) that you get...
Would love to hear feedback in this thread if you liked it, hated it, whatever - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive!
As always, enjoy!
=============================

“This has got to be the worse idea you’ve ever dragged me into, Roscoe!” His name is Barackus – he, like me, is a Ghostwise Halfling – I tend to simply call him “Ruckus” because all he really seems to do is complain. At the moment, we’re both running for our lives – and admittedly, maybe this time he was right – maybe this was a bad idea.

I’d heard about this cult – The Cult of Amron Sha – believers of some ancient demon who attained “godhood” who were doing some worship not far from the hills we call home. I thought that I could go over there – explain to them that “dedicating their lives to a spiritual being” was a waste of time – and that the gods, they’re really nothing more than perhaps giants in the heavens with inflated egos.

They did not appreciate my feedback about this Amron Sha, and actually took great offense to my words of wisdom and warning. Barackus and I had managed to get a good lead on the cult members – mostly human (why are humans so gullible?) and were now hiding up in the trees. I could see Barackus about twenty feet away in a different tree and reached out telepathically to say, “Everything’s going to be just fine. They won’t even think to look in the trees. They’ll search for a little while and they will depart. If this mighty Amron Sha was so great he would ‘grant them vision’ to be smart enough to look up.” I chuckled to myself, as if on que, one of the cult members was just below, near my tree. I snickered to myself, and covered my mouth with my hands – but that quickly changed, when suddenly – I heard a loud “Crack!” – and the branch I had so proudly perched myself on – gave way and I tumbled thirty feet to the ground and managed to get the wind knocked out of my lungs.

I assure you, it’s a rather horrible sensation. In a valiant attempt Barackus leapt out of the tree he was in, dagger in hand – but fell about three feet short – and got the wind knocked out of him as well. We were both dragged back to the cult who claimed that Amron Sha had delivered us to them to be the next great sacrifice. (From my own studies, that didn’t tend to go well for souls who were sacrificed – not that I believe in any form of purgatory – but rather, self-preservation was the bigger picture here). I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still recovering from the wind being pounded out of my lungs or if I was going crazy – but standing among the cultists was a translucent blueish looking man who said, “Tell them that Amon Sha demands a larger sacrifice – that the small people are not a worthy challenge – a bear, not far from here – has made a den. Just north. That would be a worthy challenge.”

I’m clearly going crazy. These cultists have spiked something in me to make me hallucinate. The leader began to chant, “Amron Sha, drinker of souls, renderer of the heavens, greatest of all the beasts – we give you these two sacrifices!”

“I’d do it pretty quick, these guys don’t have a long ritual,” the translucent man said.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Do you think Amon Sha would be pleased with sacrificing myself and my friend? No! I’ve heard great and powerful things about Amron Sha – he would want something bigger. You, yes – you who are the leader – to skin a bear and wear it on your head as a trophy of your power – and Amron Sha’s protection! To the north, a bear has made a den – a large bear, larger than any that I’ve seen!”

“The small one speaks true,” one of the cultists nodded.

“Should we kill these two just for fun?” another asked.

“Tell them they should not because you are gifted with the knowledge of Amron Sha’s powers. You can spread the word,” the translucent man explained.

“Would you kill a messenger of Amron Sha?” I shouted. “I who know his powers, and came here to deliver this new message? I have seen the error of my ways,” I lied.

“We shall let them go and hunt this bear to the north! Go, small messenger of Amron Sha and spread the word of his terror!” the leader cut us loose.

As we left, I noticed the translucent man followed. “Can you see him?” I asked.

“Him?” Barackus looked around. “Him who?”

“The ghostly figure following us,” I replied.

Barackus spun around prepared to fight but saw nothing. “Why do you always kid around like that?”

“My name is Obbe,” the human, ghostly figured replied. “Only you can see or hear me.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”

[Mad Puppy]

Django Romani, Human Feytouched, Archfey Warlock (Zebilna) Male
Witchlight carnival hand
Personality Traits

• Like a nomad, I can’t settle down in one place for very long.
• Wanderlust. I prefer to take the less traveled path. (Chaotic)

Bonds

• I find magic in all its forms to be compelling. The more magical a place, the more I am drawn to it.
• I’m drawn to the Feywild and long to return there, if only for a short while.
• My freedom is my most precious possession. I’ll never let anyone take it from me again.

Flaws

• I have many vices and tend to indulge them.
• I never give away anything for free and always expect something in return.

This is for a tWbtW campaign, Basically I envision a Human who was a slave in the feywild brought there by someone from Feywild. He was rescued by his now friend an young Eladrin Elf by the name of Link....Who really was looking to save his Love from the slaver, Django was a lucky "extra". Would like for the Slaver to be an enemy who might pop up during the campaign as an antagonist, perhaps looking for his property? I wonder if a Djinni slaver is a interesting idea? not married to that thought. Link is also working in the Witchlight Carnival with Django for the past 5 years. I see a Kind of Gypsey type of character who values his freedom most. I'm struggling to write a good opening scene and explanation. Just know he is feytouched from the years as a slave in the feywild.

Thanks in advance

I realize I might be too limiting with the Former slave bit.....not a necessity, just where I was thinking for reasons to be the way he is and a starting point. Really all I need is a reason to be in the Carnival, and why I'm a Warlock, and what I might have lost?

[Tawmis]

Django Romani, Human Feytouched, Archfey Warlock (Zebilna) Male
Witchlight carnival hand
Personality Traits

• Like a nomad, I can’t settle down in one place for very long.
• Wanderlust. I prefer to take the less traveled path. (Chaotic)

Bonds

• I find magic in all its forms to be compelling. The more magical a place, the more I am drawn to it.
• I’m drawn to the Feywild and long to return there, if only for a short while.
• My freedom is my most precious possession. I’ll never let anyone take it from me again.

Flaws

• I have many vices and tend to indulge them.
• I never give away anything for free and always expect something in return.

This is for a tWbtW campaign, Basically I envision a Human who was a slave in the feywild brought there by someone from Feywild. He was rescued by his now friend an young Eladrin Elf by the name of Link....Who really was looking to save his Love from the slaver, Django was a lucky "extra". Would like for the Slaver to be an enemy who might pop up during the campaign as an antagonist, perhaps looking for his property? I wonder if a Djinni slaver is a interesting idea? not married to that thought. Link is also working in the Witchlight Carnival with Django for the past 5 years. I see a Kind of Gypsey type of character who values his freedom most. I'm struggling to write a good opening scene and explanation. Just know he is feytouched from the years as a slave in the feywild.
Thanks in advance

With the whole thing about being Fey Touched and human – made me think of another back story I had written in this thread (the story of Alek - https://forums.giantitp.com/showthre...9#post24446899 and thought it would be a fun way to make it feel that this entire universe was all connected – so that’s the reference in the first paragraph you see and allows me to lay down some foreshadowing).

This turned out to be a pretty dark story (but really, when is child abduction by hags not a dark story).
Hopefully the reference to Link's girlfriend is an obvious one (a little role reversal).
I made the Sea Hag (though technically the weakest of the hags) the most terrifying and most evil in this story.
Focusing in on her as your character's enemy.
So your DM, if they wanted (and with the theme of WbtW) could easily inject her as a villain.
I'd recommend, depending on the level, upping some of her powers and stats (to make her more powerful if she's encountered later in the game).
And for your mother's name (Nadia), it means "Hope" - because she had so much hope, and once it was taken from her, it destroyed her (you will see in the story).
The locket (the item to recover) is what protected the character until he put it in his pocket (which is why the hag could suddenly smell the fear, if that's not clear).
Hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear feedback in this thread as it keeps it bumped, alive, and going.
Enjoy!
=========================================


Nadia Romani gripped her son’s hand tightly as they passed a weeping mother putting up a “Missing” poster for her own son, Alek, who had gone missing three nights ago. “This is why,” she gave a stern tug, pulling Django along, “you listen to your mother! Do not take off the locket I’ve given you! It protects us from the eyes of the sisters in shadows.”

Django wasn’t sure why his mother was so upset, but his hand went listlessly to the locket he wore around his neck that his mother gave him longer than he could remember. He had not seen the sign that the woman had been posting, he’d only heard her weeping. Alek’s home was only a farm or two down from the home that Nadia called home – and Alek’s disappearance shook her to the core. His disappearance hadn’t been the first and most likely would not be the last. She stared down at her son, fearful that whatever it was that had been taking the children might one day find a way to pry her son’s hands from her own and steal him away.

Django was only five years old at the time. He and his mother finished their business of doing trades for various needed things and quickly made their way back home as the sun began to settle and the ever creeping darkness crawled eerily across the sky. Django’s parents were stern – his mother, more so than his father, and the disappearance of Alek had only intensified as a result.

Django finished dinner and asked to be excused to his room. His mother had not wanted to excuse him – she’d even gone as far as making him sleep in the room with her and his father, just so she could keep an eye on him – but his father came to his defense and explained that she’d been smothering the boy – and Django used their bickering to escape from the table and go to his room.

Though they had a small farm, his father’s primary skill was wood work and he’d been teaching Django the fine art of wood working. Django had managed to carve a number of things, some of which his parents were even able to use as trade for food and other supplies. Everyone had been impressed with Django’s skill at such a young age. He drew his carving blade and began to whittle away at a small piece of wood which he’d hoped to turn into a wolf. As he leaned over to whittle the finer details of the wolf’s ears, the locket swayed back and forth in front of him.

Kavi’lana stepped just beyond the edge of the forest; her purple eyes scanned the landscape in front of her – and all too familiar town. Her white hair, devoid of any color blew gently in the cold wind. Her large nose tilted upward and she took in a deep breath. She could smell fear drifting gently on the wind.

Inside, Django removed the locket and placed it inside of his pocket to prevent it from getting in the way.

At the same time, outside at the edge of town, Kavi’lana could suddenly smell it - Fear. It was so intense it was almost overwhelming. She smiled and began to slowly making her way through the shadows. She arrived at the home of Nadia Romani and moved through their farm – her stern glance silencing the family dog outside who was suddenly struck with a fear so intense – it was paralyzed in its tracks. Kavi’lana followed the scent and peered through the kitchen window, her purple eyes settling on the woman who was shouting at the man. Her concern was for their child.

A child?

Kavi’lana slowly lowered herself and continued along the outside of the farm, stepping ever so lightly as to make no sounds – until she came to another room that had been lit by a flickering lantern. She peered inside and saw a young boy whittling away at a piece of wood. Her long, disgusting nail tapped on the window which briefly startled Django. He looked at the window and saw an elderly woman peering inside. “Yes,” he said, setting down the small wooden carving.

“My boy,” the old woman whispered. “I seem to have lost my cat. I am not sure where he has gone. I last saw him running this way and your dog barked at him and frightened him. I think he ran into your shed, but I am frightened. Do you think you could help me find my cat? I can’t bare the thought of him being out here alone and frightened.”

“Let me get my father,” Django began to say.

But the old woman shook her head. “No, please. I’ve dealt with your father before. He is kind, but he has never cared for my cat. I fear he would say that the cat would be fine, but truly hope that one of the coyotes or wolves gets a hold of him.”

“I can, but I have no way to get outside,” Django shrugged, feeling that was the safe answer. “My mother would never let me out of her sight. I am surprised she’s not already in my room watching me whittle the wooden wolf I am making for my friend. If she wasn’t arguing with my father, that is.”

The old woman pressed against the very window she’d been talking to him through, and it swung open. Django was shocked – the window never opened before like that – his mother had seen to it. “Come,” the old woman extended her hand. “I will help you outside. It should only be a moment. Just to check the shed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nadia Romani entered her son’s room, saw the open window and let out a scream that bled her throat.

The moment Django had touched the old woman’s hand – he had seen her for what she really was. Her illusion vanished, and her horrid green skin appearance became obvious as she delighted in forcibly pulling him from the window and quickly escaping. But she did not run anywhere; instead she wove her hand in some wild fashion, whispered some spidery language and they vanished into what Django would learn was the “Feywild.”

It was there, that Django became a servant to a Coven of Hags. The leader was a green hag – the one who had abducted him. Her true name was Kavi’lana – and she wore tattered leathers that looked as if they’d never been washed and the skulls of small animals such as squirrels and rabbits lined the twisted braids in her hair.

A second hag – one with deep, purple skin and small horns on her forehead, like a demon with sickly green eyes was named Va’lana – and she was a night hag and spent her time tormenting Django night after night for the sheer pleasure of injecting horrible nightmares for him to live through repeatedly. Her robes were decorated with larger skulls – humanoid skulls. Presumably the victims whom she tormented so much that they took their own lives rather than live through another nightmare.

The third was a sickly looking hag – she was far skinnier, her nails nearly a foot long, and dead black. She only wore a dressed composed of decaying seaweed and no top, her sagging breasts pale blue and the color of a corpse. She would laugh and ask Django if he wanted to drink from “mother’s breast.” She was the one who, despite from what he heard of the other two, was the weakest – but she, she was the one who frightened him the most and her name was Nela’lana and she was a Sea Hag. It was she who also discovered the locket that Django had put in his pocket and yanked it away – placing it around her own neck, so each time Django looked at it, her saw her disfigured topless body, and she would smile and once again, ask if he wanted to drink from “mother’s milk.”

Django was both relieved and sad to see he was not alone. There were several children imprisoned by these hags – ranging anywhere from his age to young teenagers. Most of them were for manual labor to be done around the hag’s coven; some where there for the hags to simply torment; some were there to fetch and mix ingredients; and some, tragically were meant to be food for the hags to devour. Django found protection in one of the elves by the name of Zeldana. Whenever the hags had come for Django, she stepped between them and bravely stood her ground.

One of the sleepless nights, she lay near Django and explained that she had a boyfriend, on “the other side” who knew what happened for her and that one day he would come for her. That day came, but it took ten years for her boyfriend named Link – who had finally managed to track down the Coven’s home and waited until all three hags had departed. Link then rushed in and grabbed Zeldana – who then grabbed Django. Several of the other children who were present also followed and escaped through a portal that Link had paid a wizard by the name of Mordak to open between the realm and the feywild.

Finally free, Link, Zeldana and Django traveled together and made their way towards his home which was months travel away. By the time they’d gotten there, he learned that his parents had left a year after his disappearance, unable to live with the memory. No one knows where they departed to, and it was in that moment, Django realized that Nela’lana still had the locket his mother had given him. With nowhere to go, Django traveled with Zeldana and Link, who then eventually found a traveling circus known as The Witchlight and became members.

Years as a slave to the Coven of hags had changed him. He yearned to return to the Feywild and find Nela’lana and recover his locket. The traveling circus provided a means to constantly be on the move, so that the hags could not find him until he was ready for them; and deep down he hoped the circus might stop in a town where he might rediscover his parents. He knew if he had any hope of defeating the Coven, he would need magic so he turned to that – as a quick means of releasing the potential. One of the tomes that the Coven has was a book on demonology by Zybilna – an archfey – and so he turned to her for power. When she asked for his reason – he explained what had happened – and how he had no time to follow the path that Marduk had recommended – becoming a wizard. He needed power faster and he could not, on his own, afford what it would cost to become a true wizard. Zybilna was amused by Django’s story and thus entered a pact with him.

[Mad Puppy]

With the whole thing about being Fey Touched and human – made me think of another back story I had written in this thread (the story of Alek - https://forums.giantitp.com/showthre...9#post24446899 and thought it would be a fun way to make it feel that this entire universe was all connected – so that’s the reference in the first paragraph you see and allows me to lay down some foreshadowing).

This turned out to be a pretty dark story (but really, when is child abduction by hags not a dark story).
Hopefully the reference to Link's girlfriend is an obvious one (a little role reversal).
I made the Sea Hag (though technically the weakest of the hags) the most terrifying and most evil in this story.
Focusing in on her as your character's enemy.
So your DM, if they wanted (and with the theme of WbtW) could easily inject her as a villain.
I'd recommend, depending on the level, upping some of her powers and stats (to make her more powerful if she's encountered later in the game).
And for your mother's name (Nadia), it means "Hope" - because she had so much hope, and once it was taken from her, it destroyed her (you will see in the story).
The locket (the item to recover) is what protected the character until he put it in his pocket (which is why the hag could suddenly smell the fear, if that's not clear).
Hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear feedback in this thread as it keeps it bumped, alive, and going.
Enjoy!
=========================================


Nadia Romani gripped her son’s hand tightly as they passed a weeping mother putting up a “Missing” poster for her own son, Alek, who had gone missing three nights ago. “This is why,” she gave a stern tug, pulling Django along, “you listen to your mother! Do not take off the locket I’ve given you! It protects us from the eyes of the sisters in shadows.”

Django wasn’t sure why his mother was so upset, but his hand went listlessly to the locket he wore around his neck that his mother gave him longer than he could remember. He had not seen the sign that the woman had been posting, he’d only heard her weeping. Alek’s home was only a farm or two down from the home that Nadia called home – and Alek’s disappearance shook her to the core. His disappearance hadn’t been the first and most likely would not be the last. She stared down at her son, fearful that whatever it was that had been taking the children might one day find a way to pry her son’s hands from her own and steal him away.

Django was only five years old at the time. He and his mother finished their business of doing trades for various needed things and quickly made their way back home as the sun began to settle and the ever creeping darkness crawled eerily across the sky. Django’s parents were stern – his mother, more so than his father, and the disappearance of Alek had only intensified as a result.

Django finished dinner and asked to be excused to his room. His mother had not wanted to excuse him – she’d even gone as far as making him sleep in the room with her and his father, just so she could keep an eye on him – but his father came to his defense and explained that she’d been smothering the boy – and Django used their bickering to escape from the table and go to his room.

Though they had a small farm, his father’s primary skill was wood work and he’d been teaching Django the fine art of wood working. Django had managed to carve a number of things, some of which his parents were even able to use as trade for food and other supplies. Everyone had been impressed with Django’s skill at such a young age. He drew his carving blade and began to whittle away at a small piece of wood which he’d hoped to turn into a wolf. As he leaned over to whittle the finer details of the wolf’s ears, the locket swayed back and forth in front of him.

Kavi’lana stepped just beyond the edge of the forest; her purple eyes scanned the landscape in front of her – and all too familiar town. Her white hair, devoid of any color blew gently in the cold wind. Her large nose tilted upward and she took in a deep breath. She could smell fear drifting gently on the wind.

Inside, Django removed the locket and placed it inside of his pocket to prevent it from getting in the way.

At the same time, outside at the edge of town, Kavi’lana could suddenly smell it - Fear. It was so intense it was almost overwhelming. She smiled and began to slowly making her way through the shadows. She arrived at the home of Nadia Romani and moved through their farm – her stern glance silencing the family dog outside who was suddenly struck with a fear so intense – it was paralyzed in its tracks. Kavi’lana followed the scent and peered through the kitchen window, her purple eyes settling on the woman who was shouting at the man. Her concern was for their child.

A child?

Kavi’lana slowly lowered herself and continued along the outside of the farm, stepping ever so lightly as to make no sounds – until she came to another room that had been lit by a flickering lantern. She peered inside and saw a young boy whittling away at a piece of wood. Her long, disgusting nail tapped on the window which briefly startled Django. He looked at the window and saw an elderly woman peering inside. “Yes,” he said, setting down the small wooden carving.

“My boy,” the old woman whispered. “I seem to have lost my cat. I am not sure where he has gone. I last saw him running this way and your dog barked at him and frightened him. I think he ran into your shed, but I am frightened. Do you think you could help me find my cat? I can’t bare the thought of him being out here alone and frightened.”

“Let me get my father,” Django began to say.

But the old woman shook her head. “No, please. I’ve dealt with your father before. He is kind, but he has never cared for my cat. I fear he would say that the cat would be fine, but truly hope that one of the coyotes or wolves gets a hold of him.”

“I can, but I have no way to get outside,” Django shrugged, feeling that was the safe answer. “My mother would never let me out of her sight. I am surprised she’s not already in my room watching me whittle the wooden wolf I am making for my friend. If she wasn’t arguing with my father, that is.”

The old woman pressed against the very window she’d been talking to him through, and it swung open. Django was shocked – the window never opened before like that – his mother had seen to it. “Come,” the old woman extended her hand. “I will help you outside. It should only be a moment. Just to check the shed.”

Fifteen minutes later, Nadia Romani entered her son’s room, saw the open window and let out a scream that bled her throat.

The moment Django had touched the old woman’s hand – he had seen her for what she really was. Her illusion vanished, and her horrid green skin appearance became obvious as she delighted in forcibly pulling him from the window and quickly escaping. But she did not run anywhere; instead she wove her hand in some wild fashion, whispered some spidery language and they vanished into what Django would learn was the “Feywild.”

It was there, that Django became a servant to a Coven of Hags. The leader was a green hag – the one who had abducted him. Her true name was Kavi’lana – and she wore tattered leathers that looked as if they’d never been washed and the skulls of small animals such as squirrels and rabbits lined the twisted braids in her hair.

A second hag – one with deep, purple skin and small horns on her forehead, like a demon with sickly green eyes was named Va’lana – and she was a night hag and spent her time tormenting Django night after night for the sheer pleasure of injecting horrible nightmares for him to live through repeatedly. Her robes were decorated with larger skulls – humanoid skulls. Presumably the victims whom she tormented so much that they took their own lives rather than live through another nightmare.

The third was a sickly looking hag – she was far skinnier, her nails nearly a foot long, and dead black. She only wore a dressed composed of decaying seaweed and no top, her sagging breasts pale blue and the color of a corpse. She would laugh and ask Django if he wanted to drink from “mother’s breast.” She was the one who, despite from what he heard of the other two, was the weakest – but she, she was the one who frightened him the most and her name was Nela’lana and she was a Sea Hag. It was she who also discovered the locket that Django had put in his pocket and yanked it away – placing it around her own neck, so each time Django looked at it, her saw her disfigured topless body, and she would smile and once again, ask if he wanted to drink from “mother’s milk.”

Django was both relieved and sad to see he was not alone. There were several children imprisoned by these hags – ranging anywhere from his age to young teenagers. Most of them were for manual labor to be done around the hag’s coven; some where there for the hags to simply torment; some were there to fetch and mix ingredients; and some, tragically were meant to be food for the hags to devour. Django found protection in one of the elves by the name of Zeldana. Whenever the hags had come for Django, she stepped between them and bravely stood her ground.

One of the sleepless nights, she lay near Django and explained that she had a boyfriend, on “the other side” who knew what happened for her and that one day he would come for her. That day came, but it took ten years for her boyfriend named Link – who had finally managed to track down the Coven’s home and waited until all three hags had departed. Link then rushed in and grabbed Zeldana – who then grabbed Django. Several of the other children who were present also followed and escaped through a portal that Link had paid a wizard by the name of Mordak to open between the realm and the feywild.

Finally free, Link, Zeldana and Django traveled together and made their way towards his home which was months travel away. By the time they’d gotten there, he learned that his parents had left a year after his disappearance, unable to live with the memory. No one knows where they departed to, and it was in that moment, Django realized that Nela’lana still had the locket his mother had given him. With nowhere to go, Django traveled with Zeldana and Link, who then eventually found a traveling circus known as The Witchlight and became members.

Years as a slave to the Coven of hags had changed him. He yearned to return to the Feywild and find Nela’lana and recover his locket. The traveling circus provided a means to constantly be on the move, so that the hags could not find him until he was ready for them; and deep down he hoped the circus might stop in a town where he might rediscover his parents. He knew if he had any hope of defeating the Coven, he would need magic so he turned to that – as a quick means of releasing the potential. One of the tomes that the Coven has was a book on demonology by Zybilna – an archfey – and so he turned to her for power. When she asked for his reason – he explained what had happened – and how he had no time to follow the path that Marduk had recommended – becoming a wizard. He needed power faster and he could not, on his own, afford what it would cost to become a true wizard. Zybilna was amused by Django’s story and thus entered a pact with him.

YES! You nailed it!
I like it a lot! (adding woodcarving now) and a missing family lockett very good sir thank you!
Perfect use of a coven of hags as antagonist. I wonder if my character might be thinking Alek was working too close to the coven maybe helping them, thus perhaps Django might misunderstand Alek and if he crosses paths might be angry towards him? Good stuff all around.

[Tawmis]

YES! You nailed it!
I like it a lot! (adding woodcarving now) and a missing family lockett very good sir thank you!
Perfect use of a coven of hags as antagonist. I wonder if my character might be thinking Alek was working too close to the coven maybe helping them, thus perhaps Django might misunderstand Alek and if he crosses paths might be angry towards him? Good stuff all around.

Hah! So glad you liked it. In my own game, I have a Coven of Hags antagonizing our heroes - so it was easy to step into the Hag story idea.
And to me, though the weakest of the Hags, the Sea Hag reminds me so much of "The Ring" (horror movie) that I enjoy giving them some flare.
And hags would definitely fit in the Witchlight module if your DM wanted to squeeze them in somewhere or have your character find a clue about them to go get the locket back.
As for blaming Alek, I'd think - having been a prisoner of the hags - it'd be clear the hags abducted children for the various things I mentioned, and that Alek was probably a victim like he was.
But it stands to reason, that some children loyal (brain washed/Stockholm syndrome) may be out to get your character.
Just depends on how much fun your DM wants to have with the background. :)

[Maxiboy]

Tawmis! Long time no see!

It has been a couple of years since you came up with the amazing backstory of my character Maxi the foxfolk... we concluded our campaign at 20th level earlier this year, where he finally proved himself to the librarians of Candlekeep and was granted access to the knowledge he sought of his father Laren's legacy as a Paladin, and while Maxi had been hesitant up until that point, he ultimately got to learn how well he followed his father's footsteps after all. I'm not the best writer, but if you're curious, you can check out more here if you'd like. Either way, it was such a fantastic journey, I truly thank you again.

I also wanted to post to you again because the inspiration for new character ideas has totally run dry over the past few months for me, and I finally built up the courage to ask for your help once more, if you would be up to it! You may have heard about the announcement of One D&D, where playtest material is going to be published over time in preparation for the next generation of D&D... one of the newest additions that has been unveiled is the new Ardling race, the new celestial equivalent to Tieflings which have the heads of different animals.

As I mentioned, I am dry of ideas that I genuinely feel excited about, but this new race is calling my name... so I request for you to surprise me with a story that I can once again build upon. I can say that because of Maxi, I really have grown attached to naive characters that have the potential to grow... and I find myself doing a lot of research on the many deities and lore of the Faerun, so I think having this character tied to the setting in some way would be really fun! Other than those suggestions, all I ask is for you to go for another class that isn't a cleric, just to shake things up! Let me know if you'd need more than this, I'd just love to hear what you come up with on your own this time around. Thanks again!

[Tawmis]

Tawmis! Long time no see!
It has been a couple of years since you came up with the amazing backstory of my character Maxi the foxfolk... we concluded our campaign at 20th level earlier this year, where he finally proved himself to the librarians of Candlekeep and was granted access to the knowledge he sought of his father Laren's legacy as a Paladin, and while Maxi had been hesitant up until that point, he ultimately got to learn how well he followed his father's footsteps after all. I'm not the best writer, but if you're curious, you can check out more here if you'd like. Either way, it was such a fantastic journey, I truly thank you again.
I also wanted to post to you again because the inspiration for new character ideas has totally run dry over the past few months for me, and I finally built up the courage to ask for your help once more, if you would be up to it! You may have heard about the announcement of One D&D, where playtest material is going to be published over time in preparation for the next generation of D&D... one of the newest additions that has been unveiled is the new Ardling race, the new celestial equivalent to Tieflings which have the heads of different animals.
As I mentioned, I am dry of ideas that I genuinely feel excited about, but this new race is calling my name... so I request for you to surprise me with a story that I can once again build upon. I can say that because of Maxi, I really have grown attached to naive characters that have the potential to grow... and I find myself doing a lot of research on the many deities and lore of the Faerun, so I think having this character tied to the setting in some way would be really fun! Other than those suggestions, all I ask is for you to go for another class that isn't a cleric, just to shake things up! Let me know if you'd need more than this, I'd just love to hear what you come up with on your own this time around. Thanks again!

I will definitely give it a read. I feel invested having been a part of your character's journey.
As for the D&D One character - no cleric... But are you still looking for a spell casting type? Or want to go melee type?
And I feel like the Ardling is more of an Aasimar with animal heads then Tieflings... aren't they described as "celestial"?

[Maxiboy]

Awesome! Hope you enjoy it and the little bits of art thrown in along the way.

As for the Ardling, with them seemingly being such a sudden addition you wouldn't think they'd be common like the Tiefling, but to me it seems like they're trying to make a sorta "good" version of the Tiefling who similarily are known having ancestors from the Outer Planes yet don't usually originate from them, unlike the Aasimar who I've always presumed to be actual outsiders... but who knows, it may turn out to be the other way around. I encourage you to stick with your depiction or instead write an Aasimar if you'd be more comfortable having more material to work with.
If you'd like me to pick between a spellcaster or a more martial class, I'd prefer the former, but I love any character who knows a thing or two about casting spells. Thanks for asking.

[Tawmis]

Awesome! Hope you enjoy it and the little bits of art thrown in along the way.
As for the Ardling, with them seemingly being such a sudden addition you wouldn't think they'd be common like the Tiefling, but to me it seems like they're trying to make a sorta "good" version of the Tiefling who similarily are known having ancestors from the Outer Planes yet don't usually originate from them, unlike the Aasimar who I've always presumed to be actual outsiders... but who knows, it may turn out to be the other way around. I encourage you to stick with your depiction or instead write an Aasimar if you'd be more comfortable having more material to work with.
If you'd like me to pick between a spellcaster or a more martial class, I'd prefer the former, but I love any character who knows a thing or two about casting spells. Thanks for asking.

Hah! No, I'll write you an Ardling. I was merely saying - when I read of it, I think of them Aasimar with animal (heads/body types), rather than Tiefling. Because I thought (I need to go back and read it), they were called Celestial. So I was thinking more angelic looking with animal type heads/bodies, rather than Tiefling (which I always envision to look more demonic looking). Writing up an Ardling is going to be easy - because it's pretty much an open book with the information provided in D&D One.

So more spell caster type, excellent.

Another question - do you have an animal specifically in mind?
If not, give me like your top three or five animals you enjoy in the real world, and I will spin something up with the information....!

And let me also say, never be worried about asking for origin writings in this thread! It's why it's here! This stuff helps ME. It silences the creative storm in my brain.

So if there's something you need/want - post away in this thread. Even if I had just written you one. I do not mind.

[Maxiboy]

Haha I getcha now reading back over Aasimar as I wrote my last post I began to wonder how they will differentiate the two down the line, we will just have to wait and see. I appreciate your assuring words too, from one artist to another I'm just really shy when it comes to asking for things, but I'll be sure to keep that in mind!

As for the animal... I actually have all my d&d characters associated with one, so that admittedly may be a tough call on my part. I haven't gotten around to playing a dog, bird, or sheep character, all of which I know have their importance in the Upper Planes... maybe you'd find inspiration in using one of those? I'm sure I'd have fun creating a character design around whichever you choose.

[Tawmis]

Tawmis! Long time no see!
It has been a couple of years since you came up with the amazing backstory of my character Maxi the foxfolk... we concluded our campaign at 20th level earlier this year, where he finally proved himself to the librarians of Candlekeep and was granted access to the knowledge he sought of his father Laren's legacy as a Paladin, and while Maxi had been hesitant up until that point, he ultimately got to learn how well he followed his father's footsteps after all. I'm not the best writer, but if you're curious, you can check out more here if you'd like. Either way, it was such a fantastic journey, I truly thank you again.
I also wanted to post to you again because the inspiration for new character ideas has totally run dry over the past few months for me, and I finally built up the courage to ask for your help once more, if you would be up to it! You may have heard about the announcement of One D&D, where playtest material is going to be published over time in preparation for the next generation of D&D... one of the newest additions that has been unveiled is the new Ardling race, the new celestial equivalent to Tieflings which have the heads of different animals.
As I mentioned, I am dry of ideas that I genuinely feel excited about, but this new race is calling my name... so I request for you to surprise me with a story that I can once again build upon. I can say that because of Maxi, I really have grown attached to naive characters that have the potential to grow... and I find myself doing a lot of research on the many deities and lore of the Faerun, so I think having this character tied to the setting in some way would be really fun! Other than those suggestions, all I ask is for you to go for another class that isn't a cleric, just to shake things up! Let me know if you'd need more than this, I'd just love to hear what you come up with on your own this time around. Thanks again!

Awesome! Hope you enjoy it and the little bits of art thrown in along the way.
As for the Ardling, with them seemingly being such a sudden addition you wouldn't think they'd be common like the Tiefling, but to me it seems like they're trying to make a sorta "good" version of the Tiefling who similarily are known having ancestors from the Outer Planes yet don't usually originate from them, unlike the Aasimar who I've always presumed to be actual outsiders... but who knows, it may turn out to be the other way around. I encourage you to stick with your depiction or instead write an Aasimar if you'd be more comfortable having more material to work with.
If you'd like me to pick between a spellcaster or a more martial class, I'd prefer the former, but I love any character who knows a thing or two about casting spells. Thanks for asking.

Haha I getcha now reading back over Aasimar as I wrote my last post I began to wonder how they will differentiate the two down the line, we will just have to wait and see. I appreciate your assuring words too, from one artist to another I'm just really shy when it comes to asking for things, but I'll be sure to keep that in mind!
As for the animal... I actually have all my d&d characters associated with one, so that admittedly may be a tough call on my part. I haven't gotten around to playing a dog, bird, or sheep character, all of which I know have their importance in the Upper Planes... maybe you'd find inspiration in using one of those? I'm sure I'd have fun creating a character design around whichever you choose.

Because my own world of D&D is 101% homebrewed, I had to double back and look up Faerûn deities...
And ironically, it would be the first one in the Swordcoast Book that spoke to me...
Akadi - goddess of air
You'd mentioned perhaps a bird could be one...
And so I went with, in my eyes, the most fierce of the birds...
An Eagle.
But, you wanted someone timid, who could grow...
So I liked the idea of this fierce eagle headed person, starting off in this world as timid...
But I needed a reason...
And then it clicked.
I hope you enjoy what I've given...
As always, I'd love feedback in this thread, because it keeps it bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
===================================

Akkaris remembered little of how he’d come to be here on Faerûn – only that his first memory was finding himself in a vortex of swirling purple mist – disoriented before crashing hard near Lake Weng – the impact had rendered him unconscious. Several hours later, when he awoke – he could scarcely recall even his own name and his memories seemed to be rapidly fading from his mind. He tried to cling to them, but it had been like trying grasp the morning mist – only small fragments remained.

He could barely recall a home – a beautiful palace with beings of stunning beauty. Had he done something wrong? Had he been banished? Or was he sent here with a purpose?

The gentle lapping of Lake Weng’s waters lulled him to sleep just a moment longer. After several hours of rest, Akkaris stood up – gathered some of his belongings that had been scattered about – his pouch, some of the contents of the pouch, and a dagger. He then went to Lake Weng’s waters and ran his hands through the water, viewing his eagle headed reflection in the rippling water; he wondered again how he’d come to be here… was it banishment… or a mission? Had something gone wrong to tamper with his memories?

Akkaris traveled south from the lake and came to a road where he’d encountered several travelers, one of them – a human name Korfinian offered Akkaris a ride to Crimmor, a walled city not too far away. Akkaris accepted the ride from the rugged human, and along the ride, Korfinian asked, “I’ve personally never seen your kind before – but I know that the aarakocra do live in the Cloud Peak Mountains just north of Crimmor.”

“You’ve heard of my kind then?” Akkaris asked.

“Heard of them, sure,” Korfinian nodded. “Plenty of stories about the aarakocra of Cloud Peak. ‘The Eagle people.’”

That would make sense, Akkaris told himself. If Cloud Peak mountain wasn’t so far away, then perhaps something had happened – and he just needed to return there – discover what had happened.

After a few, short hours, the wagon pulled up to the walled city of Crimmor and Korfinian provided his credentials and the duo were able to enter the wall city. Inside the city, at their first stop where Korfinian delivered furs, the shop keeper said, “Who is your Kenku friend?”

Korfinian turned back to see Akkaris looking at the various items in the shop, impressed by what he’d seen – and yet, also horrified to see so many skinned animals.

Korfinian shook his head, “Does it he look like a crow to you?”

The shopkeeper’s wife piped up, “I think the Kenku are actually raven?”

The shopkeeper turned to his wife, “What’s the difference?”

Korfinian shook his head, “Regardless, he doesn’t look crow or raven – clearly eagle. And Kenku – whether raven or crow – their entire body looks like the bird – him, he says his name is Akkaris – it’s just his head that’s an eagle. I think he’s one of the eagle people – the aarakocra – from Cloud Peak just north of here. Says his memories have been scrambled. Going to give him a ride to the base of Cloud Peak – and hope he can find his tribe.”

“His convocation, you mean,” the shop keeper’s wife muttered.

“His conviction?” Korfinian asked.

“Convocation,” she repeated. “That’s what a group of eagles is called. Like a pride of lions.; a murder of crows; a conspiracy of ravens.”

“Sure, whatever,” Korfinian replied as he took his payment and he and Akkaris left.

After a few more deliveries in Crimmor, they traveled north together to the base of the Cloud Peak. Korfinian pointed at the tall mountains, whose peaks were – similar to the name sake – somewhere above the clouds. “Supposedly, that’s where the eagle people dwell. I wanted to wish you good luck as this wagon cannot make it up such a perilous path.” After a heartfelt farewell, Akkaris used his own magic to summon up goodberries that Korfinian could use to ensure he does not go hungry for a while, and with that make the trek up the mountain.

It’d been difficult, strenuous, and exhausting, but after three days of going up the mountain, Akkaris crested over the thick cloud cover and gazed down from where he stood. Below, the clouds blocked out the very land he’d just climbed up from – and this did indeed remind him of home. He remembered soft clouds, like pillows, all around. Had he finally found home?

It had taken nearly three more days of climbing around the peak – when he had seen a flying humanoid – that indeed bore the resemblance to an eagle – but unlike Akkaris, it had wings. For several hours, he tried to follow where his humanoid eagle had gone – off and on spotting it in the sky. He had eventually been able to track it down and discovered, as Korinian had said – there was an entire community of these eagle people – and when they’d spotted Akkaris they flew down to him to ask him his business. When Akkaris explained what had happened, the two took him to their High Priest, Eshlin’sha.

Eshlin’sha was a female aarakocra priestess, and the “Speaker of the Sky.” She was said to be the oldest aarakocra living here on Cloud Peak, having lived well beyond her years – and though by appearance, her age showed – she somehow still reflected a youthful energy about her in how she spoke and moved. “Hello,” she said, her voice as soft and gentle as the very clouds Akkaris had just climbed through. “What has brought you here to us, child?”

Akkaris felt flushed – not because of the climb, but something about being in Eshlin’sha’s presence – he suddenly couldn’t find his words – everything he had wanted to ask, suddenly seemed foolish. He cleared his throat, “Priestess Eshlin’sha, my name is Akkaris – and I have little memory of my own past. I recall a vortex and then awakening near a lake. I could not recall if I had been sent here or cast out, and had heard of the aarakocra from a human and had hoped this was my home – and though, it resembles my home, atop of clouds, I can see I am not like you.”

Eshlin’sha smiled, “Indeed, you are different. But, I may have some of what you seek. You, as you have surmised, are not an aarakocra – but rather, what is known as an Ardling of Akadi, Mother of the Skies, Goddess of Air. That’s why the clouds looks familiar. And I sense no evil in you, young Akkaris, so you were not cast out from Akadi’s domain – as a matter of fact, I sense a strong connection to nature within you – a druid perhaps?”

Akkaris felt his body grow warm again. “I am indeed tied to the world of nature, Priestess. That is one of the few things I have retained in my memory.”

“Then, perhaps Akadi has sent you here with great purpose,” Eshlin’sha indicated, “and you must find that great purpose. But know, the world of Faerûn is rife with danger. Beware of who you trust, but if Akadi has sent you here for some purpose – you will need allies. Seek those who you can trust, and perhaps the pieces to your time here will become clearer. Far to the north are a number of settlements, such as Candlekeep, Baldur’s Gate, Waterdeep, Neverwinter, and to the furthest north, near the Spine of the World is Luskan. Perhaps more information on your purpose, or potential allies, can be found there. I wish you great luck on the path before you, young Akkaris. Akadi has placed great faith in you.”

[Maxiboy]

AWESOME! So awesome!!

I love the almost mysterious quality of the tone so much... Akadi is known for being quite uncaring yet unpredictable, so her special connection to Akkaris and its purpose is going to be super exciting to explore! I also love how you've used the many locations of Amn... I never had the opportunity to explore or have connections to the region before, so I can't wait to talk to my DM about it.

It's really refreshing to hear Akkaris has been accompanied along the journey by others who acknowledge his unusual appearance yet still see potential in him, even compared to and mistaken for the actual avian races found in the region... My other outcast characters usually are loners because of their appearance and have to find hope within themselves or the rest of their party, so the beginning of this story feels very lively and refreshing to me... I'd love if I could have him cross paths with Korfinian on his travels, or even go back to Cloud Peak to catch up with Eshlin’sha and her tribe some time, we will just have to wait and see!

I have always wanted to try druid with a solid concept and I'm glad I'll have the chance now... I wonder what druid circle Akkaris would be? Perhaps Circle of the Land with the mountain circle spells? or maybe a Circle of Air homebrew is in order...

Thank you so very much, it sounds like there's a lot in store for Akkaris's story. Do you by chance have another way to donate? I believe the link no longer works.

[Tawmis]

AWESOME! So awesome!!
I love the almost mysterious quality of the tone so much... Akadi is known for being quite uncaring yet unpredictable, so her special connection to Akkaris and its purpose is going to be super exciting to explore! I also love how you've used the many locations of Amn... I never had the opportunity to explore or have connections to the region before, so I can't wait to talk to my DM about it.
It's really refreshing to hear Akkaris has been accompanied along the journey by others who acknowledge his unusual appearance yet still see potential in him, even compared to and mistaken for the actual avian races found in the region... My other outcast characters usually are loners because of their appearance and have to find hope within themselves or the rest of their party, so the beginning of this story feels very lively and refreshing to me... I'd love if I could have him cross paths with Korfinian on his travels, or even go back to Cloud Peak to catch up with Eshlin’sha and her tribe some time, we will just have to wait and see!
I have always wanted to try druid with a solid concept and I'm glad I'll have the chance now... I wonder what druid circle Akkaris would be? Perhaps Circle of the Land with the mountain circle spells? or maybe a Circle of Air homebrew is in order...
Thank you so very much, it sounds like there's a lot in store for Akkaris's story. Do you by chance have another way to donate? I believe the link no longer works.

I wanted to leave the mystery with Akkaris for the beginning, because I wasn't sure how your DM wants to introduce Ardlings... So I figured, leave that open a little...
I enjoyed writing others who assumed he was one of the other bird-humanoid races known in the Forgotten Realms, and writing the shop keeper's wife as someone who knows everything about animals (adding some humor there)...
And I definitely tried to make Korfinian an interesting character in the story, someone for your DM to potentially use again; as well as the priestess, Eshlin’sha who the DM could use as a wealth of information.

And good call on the donate; forgot I changed my address. It should work now (take you directly to the donation page now, one less click!)

[Maxiboy]

My favorite part is just how open-minded you were about his race being new and unusual while writing, I'm super happy with how it turned out. I'll be sure to return to show you some drawings and catch you up on his upcoming ventures on the material plane! The donation link does indeed work, I was able to use it earlier and I hope to again soon enough. Cheers!!

[Tawmis]

My favorite part is just how open-minded you were about his race being new and unusual while writing, I'm super happy with how it turned out. I'll be sure to return to show you some drawings and catch you up on his upcoming ventures on the material plane! The donation link does indeed work, I was able to use it earlier and I hope to again soon enough. Cheers!!

Honestly, with what you donated, you don't need to donate again (I can't thank you enough!)
So if you ever need anything character wise written - please let me know! More than happy to do so!
And I look forward to these drawings and updates about the adventure! I still need to finish reading the previous character's adventure!
I am honored to be a part of what shapes your character's personality and adventure, and hope your DM enjoys it, and the NPCs I create that may swing back around into the story if they're so inclined.

[Chradis]

Hello there,
I just came across this thread and just love it! I think you are very talented and the stories you write are brilliant :)

I have 2 characters I want to show you, one I am currently playing in a campaign (the bard) and one is still a concept, but am really interested in developing and playing as soon as I can. I am playing (or be playing) both in 5e if that matters.

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

The second is ony a concept. Reading Tasha, I really enjoyed the rune knight, so I wanted to create something.
Considering the feature "Giant Might", which is crucial for the archtype, I imagined a small character becoming large in combat. I find it both funny and interesting to see a large gnome, in plate armor charging the enemies.
Keeping in mind a small race and somebody "tinkering" to write runes I thought of course of a gnome.
Even the rune knight has a very nordic/viking flavour (which you ave guessed I am really into ), but that is all I have for now.
Just a gnome rune knight that for some reason has started to carve runes and is very much inspired by Giant magic.

[Tawmis]

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

Pin I was sent: https://www.pinterest.it/pin/657455245614031039/
Since your character is already level 8 I wasn't sure what they've done so I focused on the origin that leads your character to adventure.
The member of the Council I set up at the end is a potential NPC the DM may use, to try and get in Lars' way (hire people to stop him/rough him up?)
Let me know what you think by replying to this thread - what you like, or dislike, whatever - and then I will do your second request.
Replies to this thread keep it bumped and alive!
As always, enjoy!
==========================

“This is outrageous!” Karven Nightmane blurted out loud. “You have to do something other than just sit on your elegant chairs of marble, while the rest of us, outside of the city limits, struggle to survive on the farms, facing the ever increasing threats from the Drow. I know – I know! – that it’s the Drow who have poisoned my well – and now my animals grow sick. Healers struggle to counteract the poison that’s been traced to the well. It’s a poison like they’ve never seen before! Probably from some mushroom from the land below!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Chradis]

I love it!
It adds extra flavour to both Lars and the world he moves in. The addition of Laurak is very clever, it give my DM the opportunity to create hostile NPCs within Lars' own walls. And I really like the "aggressive benevolence" you added to Lars

“By any means necessary.”

This is pure gold!
I always struggled to give Lars a different connotation of the bard, this is why I did not make him a musician, but a politician. Nonethless he always felt kinda flat. But this adds so much depth!
Thank you again, you are very talented

[Tawmis]

I love it!
It adds extra flavour to both Lars and the world he moves in. The addition of Laurak is very clever, it give my DM the opportunity to create hostile NPCs within Lars' own walls. And I really like the "aggressive benevolence" you added to Lars
This is pure gold!
I always struggled to give Lars a different connotation of the bard, this is why I did not make him a musician, but a politician. Nonethless he always felt kinda flat. But this adds so much depth!
Thank you again, you are very talented

Thank you! I enjoyed writing it!

Reading Tasha, I really enjoyed the rune knight, so I wanted to create something.
Considering the feature "Giant Might", which is crucial for the archtype, I imagined a small character becoming large in combat. I find it both funny and interesting to see a large gnome, in plate armor charging the enemies.
Keeping in mind a small race and somebody "tinkering" to write runes I thought of course of a gnome.
Even the rune knight has a very nordic/viking flavour (which you ave guessed I am really into ), but that is all I have for now. Just a gnome rune knight that for some reason has started to carve runes and is very much inspired by Giant magic.

This one was very fun to write. I had to read up on Rune Knights, as I have never played one...
Nor have any of my players, so I had only skimmed knowledge.
But upon reading it - and you saying you wanted a gnome for that fun flavor of going to Large size...
The background literally wrote itself...
This time, no hostile NPC, but a friendly one, your DM could use if you ever head back to the (unnamed) mountains of your homeland as a Rock Gnome...
I'd love to hear feedback!
As always, enjoy!
====================================

“Are ye out of yer mind, Kasgin Squiggletoes? Ye’ve hit yer head one too many times, or been close to one too many explosions,” Thurakor Greystone grumbled beneath his dwarven, bristling beard. He’d met Kasgin a long time ago – much to his own chagrin he’d tell you, if you gave Thurakor half a moment to bend your ear. “This far down we’re gonna run into them blasted duergar, Drow, or even worse, the blasted Mind Flayers.”

“It’s just a little further down,” Kasgin assured him.

“A little further down?” Thurakor spat. “That’s what ye said about two hundred feet back! ‘Just right around this bend here,’ ye said! Well, we passed that bend and about six other bends. Are ye sure you know where yer goin’? This far down the gases can play tricks on the mind.”

“I am telling you, I saw runes, they’re –“ and at that moment, Kasgin halted so quickly that Thurakor who was still complaining bumped into him nearly sending Kasgin perilously over the edge into the searing lava river far below. “Look. Look at these runes.”

Thurakor looked at them. “Fine, fine. It’s runes. And sure, they look like Fire Giant runes.”

“But they’re not in a language that the Fire Giants use,” Kasgin pointed out. “There’s similarities – see how, right here – this has an extra curl. And this, this over here, lowers down and cross across here – and creates that odd ‘v’ shape. This is something very similar to the writing of Fire Giants,” Kasgin began to explain.

Thurakor cut him off, “All the more reason we shouldn’t be this far down. Listen, I am a good fighter’n’all – one of the best, if I might say so myself, but Fire Giants, they’re a tough lot. If one of them comes aroun’ ‘ere and sees us we’re goin’ to have a fight on our hands.” Kasgin, Thurakor knew, was unlike most gnomes – his interest in tinkering was there, it was just minimal. Kasgin, Thurakor used to joke, had Dwarf blood somewhere in his bloodline, because Kasgin enjoyed a good fight more than he did tinkering.

Kasgin unrolled a parchment, that already began to burn at the edges because of the intense heat in the area, and traced the runes. “What are ye doin’?” Thurakor asked.

“Tracing the runes,” Kasgin explained, as if it were obvious.

“I can see that with me own bloody eyes,” Thurakor sighed. “I mean why are ye tracin’em?”

“I want to see if I can find out more about them,” Kasgin said, finishing the three runes he could see, the rest had been damaged.

“Since when have ye been interested in literature,” Thurakor asked, “unless it was trying to read the ingredients of the last drink ye had.”

Even as Kasgin had traced the letters, he could feel energy from his ink dotted feather, channeling into his body. He wrapped up the parchment and looked at his dwarven friend, “There’s something about these runes, old friend. Something different. They’re older, it feels like than when the giants first moved in here. I want to see if I can find out more information about them. Could be an omen of some kind.”

“Omen!” Thurakor spat. “Omen! Who believes in that nonsense? There’s no predestined thing awaiting me!”

“Ever the skeptic,” Kasgin smiled. Kasgin could feel the parchment tingling, his body felt energized. His own father had been a well-known and well respected mage among the gnomes – some, beyond the mountain, even knew his name. His father, Hazagin, had hoped his twelfth son, like the eleven other siblings before him, would follow in the same path – but Kasgin was different from the moment he was born. He was insanely curious, which many gnomes are, but to the point of often forgoing his own safety, which meant learning to fight to defend himself when he got himself in awkward situations.

To Kasgin’s surprise, he could find no information in the Great Dwarven Library (which was not much of a surprise – since most of what was contained there was the infinite lineage of each and every dwarf – and all the battles the dwarves had engaged in – little to do with anything else!), but when he couldn’t find anything at the Thirty Second Tower of Documented Historical Findings of the World Inside And Out (TSToDHFotWIaO as it’s often abbreviated), that had surprised him – the gnomish historian were ever curious about everything – mostly in hopes of gleaming knowledge that could help them in their endeavors in improving some of their tinkering – or creating something that seemed like it could be historically beneficial (thus getting their names documented in one of the many tomes of history).

When Thurakor saw his friend next, Kasgin had a backpack on, several daggers, a sword strapped to his back and a look of determination like he’d never seen before. “Don’t tell me yer headin’ back down to them blasted rocks with the runes,” Thurakor grumbled as he took a deep drink from his stein.

“No, I am venturing to the outside world,” Kasgin smiled.

Kasgin, in the next moment was wearing all of what Thurakor had taken a deep drink of. “What do ye mean yer goin’ to the outside world?”

“Our libraries don’t have anything about these runes,” Kisgin shrugged.

“And ye think some humans, or maybe them hoity-toity pointed ears might?” Thurakor spat.

“I won’t know until I go,” Kisgin shrugged.

“They’re probably the writings of some illiterate fire giant,” Thurakor shouted.

“Maybe,” Kisgin nodded, although he believed differently. Even now he could still feel the runes he’d copied energizing his body. “And if that’s the case, that means I will be home in no time and I’ll buy you enough drinks until you pass out and stop saying ‘I told ye so’,” Kisgin mocked his friend’s voice.

“I don’t soun’ like that,” Thurakor muttered beneath his beard. “I could go with ya but me duty to the guard…”

“It’s probably nothing,” Kisgin placed a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder, “just like you said. So no reason to come with me.”

“Well, hurry back, and watch out for them tall ones, and pointed ears,” Thurakor grumbled. “And them furry footed ones, even though they’re our height – thieves, the lot of them. Don’t trust them much either.”

Kisgin smiled. “I appreciate the warnings, my friend.”

It’d been two weeks, and Kisgin had already gone through several towns; which to his surprise, many didn’t even have libraries… how did these people know their history? But he’d gotten a tip of a major city, with a massive library, and that’s where he was headed. That night, he unrolled the parchment, and they seemed to glow – but they gave off no visible light. He traced one, thoughtlessly drawing it with his hand, unaware that he was doing so on the corner of his shield, which he’d laid on the ground next to him…

To his surprise, his shield began to emit a glow and he sense magic.

“The runes,” he muttered, “they’re magical… they enchant… weapons?”

He quickly packed his belongings and pushed himself ever harder to find this major city to see if he could find out more…

[Chradis]

YES! Thurakor was so fun to read! I like the fact that Kasgin has no idea what the runes do. Having a giant mentor was a bit too obvious, this path is way more interesting. And of course family clash for being a fighter
This is really good! thank you so much!

[Tawmis]

YES! Thurakor was so fun to read! I like the fact that Kasgin has no idea what the runes do. Having a giant mentor was a bit too obvious, this path is way more interesting. And of course family clash for being a fighter
This is really good! thank you so much!

You could technically, still have a giant as a mentor.
I wrote it the way I did - to have your character leave the mountain, and make it easy to set up with the rest of the party.
But who is to say he got some info, went back, met the giant, who was a mentor to him.
And told him then to venture out again.

[sonicthegoody]

need a back story for a Goliath Barbarian that goes by the name of Mordechi, i have some story points i would like included.
Location of Origin:
Nation of Stone
Known as the Kingdom of Sloth. The Nation of Stone’s residents live almost solely underground. It has deep networks for its mining industry. The Nation of Stone procures the finest Gems, minerals, and ores for the rest of the Lands Above to use. As such, they have very close ties with the Nation of Fire. Other than that, they mostly stay hidden in their caves and do not venture out.
Capitol: Akurkam
Rumored to be located deep under the largest mountain in the Nation of Earth. These rumors say it is a city of gold and gems. It is also known as the Lost City, as no outsider has ever seen it.
Ruler: Samonian Sont
The King of stone is a silent old man. He stays mostly to his quarters and leaves the day-to-day politics to his eldest son.

Weapon: Longsword of Stone
A weapon of legendary status, that is capable of rending the winds and even sever the grip of death. The wielder of this weapon is said to be able to take on an army by themselves and come away unscathed.

also would like some life events that caused me to go out on a quest of revenge/justice for fallen loved one.

Dm would like like some characters from past that has had life effects please

[sonicthegoody]

The Roscoe name made me think of Dukes of Hazzard, so there's quite a bit of humor...
I focused mostly on the faithless portion, because I thought that'd be a fun aspect...
The spirit ties in near the end, hopefully the name I've given is a reference (spelling is different) that you get...
Would love to hear feedback in this thread if you liked it, hated it, whatever - it helps keep the thread bumped and alive!
As always, enjoy!
=============================

“This has got to be the worse idea you’ve ever dragged me into, Roscoe!” His name is Barackus – he, like me, is a Ghostwise Halfling – I tend to simply call him “Ruckus” because all he really seems to do is complain. At the moment, we’re both running for our lives – and admittedly, maybe this time he was right – maybe this was a bad idea.

I’d heard about this cult – The Cult of Amron Sha – believers of some ancient demon who attained “godhood” who were doing some worship not far from the hills we call home. I thought that I could go over there – explain to them that “dedicating their lives to a spiritual being” was a waste of time – and that the gods, they’re really nothing more than perhaps giants in the heavens with inflated egos.

They did not appreciate my feedback about this Amron Sha, and actually took great offense to my words of wisdom and warning. Barackus and I had managed to get a good lead on the cult members – mostly human (why are humans so gullible?) and were now hiding up in the trees. I could see Barackus about twenty feet away in a different tree and reached out telepathically to say, “Everything’s going to be just fine. They won’t even think to look in the trees. They’ll search for a little while and they will depart. If this mighty Amron Sha was so great he would ‘grant them vision’ to be smart enough to look up.” I chuckled to myself, as if on que, one of the cult members was just below, near my tree. I snickered to myself, and covered my mouth with my hands – but that quickly changed, when suddenly – I heard a loud “Crack!” – and the branch I had so proudly perched myself on – gave way and I tumbled thirty feet to the ground and managed to get the wind knocked out of my lungs.

I assure you, it’s a rather horrible sensation. In a valiant attempt Barackus leapt out of the tree he was in, dagger in hand – but fell about three feet short – and got the wind knocked out of him as well. We were both dragged back to the cult who claimed that Amron Sha had delivered us to them to be the next great sacrifice. (From my own studies, that didn’t tend to go well for souls who were sacrificed – not that I believe in any form of purgatory – but rather, self-preservation was the bigger picture here). I wasn’t sure if it was because I was still recovering from the wind being pounded out of my lungs or if I was going crazy – but standing among the cultists was a translucent blueish looking man who said, “Tell them that Amon Sha demands a larger sacrifice – that the small people are not a worthy challenge – a bear, not far from here – has made a den. Just north. That would be a worthy challenge.”

I’m clearly going crazy. These cultists have spiked something in me to make me hallucinate. The leader began to chant, “Amron Sha, drinker of souls, renderer of the heavens, greatest of all the beasts – we give you these two sacrifices!”

“I’d do it pretty quick, these guys don’t have a long ritual,” the translucent man said.

“Wait!” I shouted. “Do you think Amon Sha would be pleased with sacrificing myself and my friend? No! I’ve heard great and powerful things about Amron Sha – he would want something bigger. You, yes – you who are the leader – to skin a bear and wear it on your head as a trophy of your power – and Amron Sha’s protection! To the north, a bear has made a den – a large bear, larger than any that I’ve seen!”

“The small one speaks true,” one of the cultists nodded.

“Should we kill these two just for fun?” another asked.

“Tell them they should not because you are gifted with the knowledge of Amron Sha’s powers. You can spread the word,” the translucent man explained.

“Would you kill a messenger of Amron Sha?” I shouted. “I who know his powers, and came here to deliver this new message? I have seen the error of my ways,” I lied.

“We shall let them go and hunt this bear to the north! Go, small messenger of Amron Sha and spread the word of his terror!” the leader cut us loose.

As we left, I noticed the translucent man followed. “Can you see him?” I asked.

“Him?” Barackus looked around. “Him who?”

“The ghostly figure following us,” I replied.

Barackus spun around prepared to fight but saw nothing. “Why do you always kid around like that?”

“My name is Obbe,” the human, ghostly figured replied. “Only you can see or hear me.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”

Absolutely fantastic, i and the dm both loved it

[Tawmis]

Need a back story for a Goliath Barbarian that goes by the name of Mordechi, i have some story points i would like included.
Location of Origin: Nation of Stone, Known as the Kingdom of Sloth.
Capitol: Akurkam
Ruler: Samonian Sont - The King of stone is a silent old man. He stays mostly to his quarters and leaves the day-to-day politics to his eldest son.
The Nation of Stone’s residents live almost solely underground. It has deep networks for its mining industry. The Nation of Stone procures the finest Gems, minerals, and ores for the rest of the Lands Above to use. As such, they have very close ties with the Nation of Fire. Other than that, they mostly stay hidden in their caves and do not venture out.
Rumor – said to be located deep under the largest mountain in the Nation of Earth. These rumors say it is a city of gold and gems. It is also known as the Lost City, as no outsider has ever seen it.
Weapon: Longsword of Stone - a weapon of legendary status that is capable of rending the winds and even severs the grip of death. The wielder of this weapon is said to be able to take on an army by themselves and come away unscathed.
Also would like some life events that caused me to go out on a quest of revenge/justice for fallen loved one. DM would like some characters from past that has had life effects please

Since I was writing for a homebrew world, I tried to keep things somewhat vague, and use the information you provided...
I covered all the bases you wanted as well, except for the Sloth part of the name.
I introduced the Prince (and gave him a name) as well as another character who has a title called "Saoi" which is essentially "The King's Hand" or their "Sage" (the one who gives the King advice on matters).
Now when you get to the end, it seems like the Saoi is the one who is responsible for the tragic event...
Or was it the Prince who set up the tragic event?
Does the Prince give the character this quest at the end for a specific reason?
Is he even telling the truth about the quest?
I left this open for interpretation for you and your DM to explore.
As always, I'd love to hear feedback in this thread as it keeps it bumped and alive!
Enjoy!
================================================== ====

The rhythmic sound of the pounding of chisel to stone reverberated throughout the long stretch of twisting and turning chambers; it’d been a sound that Mordechi had grown accustomed to; as most of the Goliaths who have made the Nation of Stone their home. Deep beneath the ground, the Nation of Stone stretched for miles in every direction as the primary source of exclusive gems, minerals and ores that were sold and traded to merchants on the surface world.

Because of the beauty of some of the gems and quality of the ore and minerals, the entrance to the Nation of Stone was a carefully guarded secret – few surface dwellers ever laid eyes on it; and the few that did were trusted and respected merchants that the son of the King, Areithan Sont, had come to trust and respect. Areithan’s father, Samonian Sont, was old and rarely left his chambers – and if he did, it was simply to make a quick presence, to assure the people he still lived; otherwise the King left the political duties to his son Areithan.

Areithan, who may whispered ever so softly as the “Spirit King” (knowing he truly made all the rulings and not his father, for many years – but to speak so loudly was treasonous) has gathered a number of his closest friends to celebrate another successful mining expedition that went further than any of the others had in previous years. Areithan placed his hand on Mordechi’s shoulder – the two had been friends for a long time. King Samonian had tapped Mordechi to train his son how to fight and defend himself. Areithan raised a tankard, “With thanks to this man; his strength and his courage! Not only did Mordechi lead the expedition deeper and helped discover new metals that will surely bring the kingdom far more resources; he has been a vital part of my own survival. My very own father tapped him to help teach me how to defend myself, so how could I not, in turn tap him to lead this expedition? If my father trusted Mordechi with my life, then I could not deny the wisdom of my father and ask Mordechi to lead the expedition.”

The people cheered, calling out Mordechi’s name. Mordechi felt uncomfortable; in the presence of the prince, and heir to the throne, who had been dressed in regal attire compared to Mordechi’s tattered leathers. Mordechi smiled and made his way around, greeting various goliaths who had reached out to meet him and ask him of the expedition – gaining the details of what Mordechi fought in the depths of the darkness; all the while as Mordechi spoke, his eyes were on the exit, slowly easing his way out of the party, heaving a deep sigh of relief as he managed to finally squeeze out the door. Though Mordechi, like those who called the Nation of Stone their home; being used to enclosed spaces, despite the goliath’s size, was something they adapted to. It was not that there’d been so many people clustered around Mordechi that bothered him; it was just that the people who lived in the Capital city, Akurkam, were far more elegantly dressed and better spoken than Mordechi. He’d always felt out of place when he needed to travel into the capital.

Inside the capital of Akurkam, a goliath named Nathair Bréagadóir, approached the prince and whispered, “You are foolish to give so much praise to the simpleton.”

Areithan turned to face Nathair and sneered, “And you are foolish to call your prince, foolish, Nathair. My father selected you as his Saoi, and I respect my father’s choice – but know, when I sit on the throne, you will no longer be the voice that whispers advice to me. I will select a new Saoi to represent the voice and knowledge.”

Nathair seemed as if he was about to say something, then smiled, like a snake who has just seen an unaware mouse and bowed deeply, “I meant no offense, my prince. Only that, the glory should go to you, as well. You are the one who selected the expedition team. By giving glory and honor to others, the perception is that they are great – or perhaps, and incorrectly so, I might add – greater than the king. People tonight will remember Mordechi’s name because of how you celebrated him. Tonight will not be about the achievement you helped be a success.”

“Your words are poison, Nathair,” Areithan growled. “Now be gone from my sight before I forget how I honor my father.”

It’d taken Mordechi nearly an hour to get home. Mordechi lived outside of the capital in a region known as Fíor Chloch – often times called ‘The Outer Stone.’ As he approached his home, there was an unusual stillness to the home. He heard no sounds as he approached his home; nor was there any smoke from the furnace and chimney, which was also unusual. “Grá Fíor,” he called out, expected his beautiful, red headed wife, who was nearly as strong and tall as he was, to come bursting from the home. When she did not – nor did she answer, Mordechi dropped his equipment, as well as the mushrooms and vegetables he’d picked up on the market before leaving Akurkam and rushed inside and was greeted by a sight that stole his breath. He could not even cry out – he slide next to his wife’s lifeless body – her vacant eyes stared upward, her blue lips locked in a sign of fear. The dry blood that had pooled around her body had come from a single stab wound to her abdomen. He held her close and wept – and he tried to make sense of it.

She was strong. She could not have been over taken. And the stab to the front of her abdomen with no signs of a struggle indicated she knew her attacked. They had entered the home as the guise of a friend and betrayed her in her own home. This was not a robbery, this was murder.

The distance Mordechi covered running, nonstop back to Akurkam where he plowed through the people in the streets until he reached the Courtyard, and he kicked down the doors – where the party celebrating the expedition was still going on. Areithan saw what looked to be dried blood on Mordechi’s leathers and stood, “Mordechi, were you attacked outside the capital?”

Mordechi growled, “My wife has been murdered.”

Areithan cast Nathair an accusatory look and Nathair who seemed to slink further back into the shadows, disappeared. Areithan turned his attention back towards Mordechi. “Come, we must speak.”

Together Mordechi and Areithan walked, though Mordechi could barely contain the rage that swelled in his body. Areithan cast nervous glances towards the barbarian as they walked. “I know you’re upset and rightfully so, friend, but perhaps there is something to be done.” He escorted Mordechi into the Great Library – and walked down several rows of neatly organized books before making a hard right and pulling out a dusty tome and taking it to the large table. He placed the fragile book on the table and carefully opened the leather bound cover, turning the crumbling pages gently, until he reached a section that spoke of a legendary weapon – The Longsword of Stone.

“This,” Areithan explained, “is why so few outsiders are permitted in the Nation of Stone. Long ago, the first smith of the Nation of Stone, found a unique metal and forged the Longsword of Stone – this legendary weapon was used to battle the Illithid that dwell this far down – and according to the first warrior who wielded it, could sever the grip of death – and allow the one using it to march into the oncoming army of the enemy and emerge victorious, barely scathed! This weapon – could bring her back. However, this weapon was stolen by a surface dweller over two hundred years ago and has been lost to us. But a weapon of such power and magnitude, and even weight, can’t stay hidden for long. We’ve just never sent anyone after it because the common people do not know it was stolen from us. If you ventured out, found it – it could bring back your wife – or at the very least, perhaps reveal the one who is responsible.”

Mordechi looked at the drawing of the weapon, then without saying a word, marched out of the room, leaving Areithan in the library alone, or so he thought… in the darkness, Nathair watched.

[Wacky89]

Name: Orwan Dromlu
Gender: Male
Race: Fallen Aasimar
Class: Zealot Barbarian
Background: Knight of Solamnia

Trait: My comrades-in-arms are my family. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.
Influenced by dark powers in his youth, caused him to fall.
Found salvation with the knights of Solamnia
Devoted to the ideals of the nature god Habbakuk

[BCoole26]

Name Kronk BlodOsken
Race Half Orc
Class - Fighter level 1 (will be Echo Knight). Will dip 2 levels into Barbarian at 7/8
Gender - Male

I have this idea that my echo Knight is a childhood imaginary friend (called Mac). Then level 3 it begins to manifest into an echo I can control.
Lowest stat is Charisma, and I have very high starting str and dex.

Dm made homebrew campign and I picked this area to grow up

Town name: Bespin
Population: 18,000
Majority Race: Half Orcs
Government: Autocracy – Single rule given to one Hereditary
Key Personnel: King Zludmir
Known for: Creation of weapons and city siege weapons


Also, been asked for this info from my dm. Any suggestions are welcome!

3 character motives, what strives them to act the way they do
3 personal relationships from your characters past
1 short term goal
1 long term goal

Many thanks in advance!

[Tawmis]

Name: Orwan Dromlu
Gender: Male
Race: Fallen Aasimar
Class: Zealot Barbarian
Background: Knight of Solamnia
Trait: My comrades-in-arms are my family. I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe.
Influenced by dark powers in his youth, caused him to fall.
Found salvation with the knights of Solamnia
Devoted to the ideals of the nature god Habbakuk

This was interesting – and a challenge – to write because in Dragonlance, there has not been any form of Aasimar or Tieflings. So trying to conceive the idea of an Aasimar in Dragonlance took some headspinning to how to make it all tie together. Because Aasimar come from “angelic-like” bloodlines, and there are really no angels in the Kyrnn setting! But I think I found a way around it (and you and your DM can choose to ignore my explanation and just go with it was angelic in nature!) Once I had that idea down, everything else just rolled...
Hope you enjoy! As I said, you can take what I use as the Aasimar "cause" or go with what's explained, as being just a vision and interpreted that way...
I'd love feedback in this thread, as it keeps it bumped and alive!
================================================== =======

It’s difficult – growing up, knowing you’re different than everyone else. No matter how much you struggle to be like everyone else, the effort only makes you stand out further. That has been my entire life – growing up, knowing I was different than everyone else; and everyone around me could sense it. Something inside of me flowed differently – I don’t mean my blood, but something else – something in my blood perhaps.

Growing up in Solamnia made life even worse; my father was Jaridus Greyrose, and a member of the Knights of the Crown, with the title of Warden of the Crown. My father was well respected, well known for his courage, so when eyes were cast upon me, expecting the same behavior – something in me pulled me away from it. I feel like I didn’t fit.

The night I was to be inducted into the Knighthood, during the Festival of Knights, I answered a call that yearned within me – and that had meant running away. I knew this would bring shame to my family, because I would be marked courage, and so to, would my father be marked as having a cowardice son. But I did not feel like I belonged in the Knights.

I wandered for days… which then turned into weeks… that then turned into months. I was aimlessly wandering – and it was not until I noticed the temperature had dropped drastically that I stopped and pulled my cloak close. I had reached The Icewall Glacier. It was at that moment I realized I was not alone and drew my sword.

Six men, led by a woman with striking black hair that seemed to absorb the light, and eyes so blue they almost seemed colorless and devoid of light as well. “What is a Knight of Solamnia doing so far south?” the woman asked, her voice was soothing, as if she were a serpent luring me into ease.

“I am no Knight of Solamnia,” I corrected, tilting my sword, “this is my father’s blade.”

“Have you come so far south, because you are running away from something or running to something,” the woman asked.

“Both,” I replied. “I am no Knight. So I have gone on my own to seek my own path.”

“Then perhaps it is not coincidence that you’ve come here,” the woman said, gesturing behind her. “Those who follow me call me Nathaira. Like you, each of us was running from something to find something… Perhaps we are just what you were looking for.” A smile spread across Nathaira’s soft, red, lips, and though she was a strikingly beautiful woman; there was something about her that continued to remind me of how she was like a serpent. I sheathed my sword and said, “If you will have me for a day, at least, I would like to learn more about you and your people, Nathaira.”

She extended her hand to me, which I took – and immediately seemed to feel something drain from me, but that somehow compelled me to her. The day I asked for was spent in her small cabin, having my every need and whim fulfilled. She was a beautiful woman, who – each time she stepped away from me – I craved her more than the last. One night, as she lay next to me, the warmth of her ample bosom pressed against my arm, her hand tracing symbols on my chest, she whispered, “There is so much light inside of you.”

At the time, I had not known what she meant – now, I believe I do.

Nathaira led men who were ferocious fighters and loyal to her; they called themselves barbarians; my father would have called them savages. Similar to the other men who were fiercely loyal to Nathaira, I too became loyal to her – and her lover. In order to survive the harsh conditions, we all learned to live in the cold with minimal things, including food and water; and when things were desperate, we raiding some of the traders traveling near the borders of Icewall.

It’d been during one of those raids, where there’d been several guards, well-armed and far better trained than the others who had come through; our reputation for raiding the wagons had grown, so people hired better protection. I heard Nathaira call out to me to unleash the shadows within me. I knew not what she said – until she ran down and put herself in harm’s way – then I felt the shadows and darkness in me, as soft and velvety as Nathaira’s hair, coiled around my soul like a snake waiting to strike – suddenly my eyes turned into pulls of blackness, and two skeletal, ghostly, flightless wings sprung out from my back – and these hardened warriors suddenly gazed up at me in fear and trembled, most of them fleeing, screaming into the nearby woods.

I collapsed to the ground, but the other barbarians were able to defeat the guards and rob the wagons, dragging me along with them. Back at Nathaira’s hut, I laid on the bed, still trying to understand what had happened. I propped myself on one arm and looked to Nathaira. “What happened to me down there?”

“The power,” she smiled. “I sensed it the moment I saw you. I could feel it, as you approached. Light that swirled in a storm of grey. It took only giving you your desires, and whispering my words to shape the grey into black and spread it through you until it devoured the light.”

“Have I been… made evil?” I asked.

“What is evil? Those, such as the Knights of Solamnia, see Takhisis as evil; while those, who worship Takhisis see the Knights of Solamnia evil,” Nathaira smirked, her black hair swirling in such a way, that it was hypnotizing, like gazing into a starless sky, that you could somehow tell was still moving.

I suddenly blinked my eyes and quickly backed away. “Are you an agent of Takhisis, Nathaira?”

“At one time, I was,” she openly admitted. “But I grew tired of seeking to please her every need. So I left, ran away – searching for who I was to be. Sound familiar? I came here, found these savages, and quickly convinced them to follow me. I became their Takhisis, if you will.” She smiled. “You should rest,” and as I gazed into her blue, somehow colorless eyes, I was compelled to obey, and suddenly against my own will, my eyes closed.

My dream began with her blue colorless eyes, swirling in the darkness that was her hair. One eye changed, ever so slightly – turning into Solinari, the Moon of White; the other eye, filled with blood, and turned into Lunitari, the Red Moon – and somewhere in the hidden darkness, I knew another eye watched – Nuitari, the Shadow Moon.

The moons set, and the sun rose; and there, in the blazing sun stood a man with silver eyes, wearing long, blue-grey robes – similar to the priests who followed Habbakuk. He approached me, a sad look in his eyes. “I did not mean to abandon you,” the man said. In the sunlight, I could swear his skin glistened like steel. “I know you sensed how you had felt different inside. It’s true. As the woman said, you were full of blessed light. Habbakuk blessed many of the Knights who took part in the War of the Lance, and as such – these powerful blessings often manifested themselves generations later in unexpected ways. You bloodline comes from one of the Knights from the War against the dragons, the age that Huma led the Knights of Solamnia.”

“Who are you? Are you Habbakuk?” I asked, hearing my own voice echo, as if speaking into a chamber.

“Me?” the man seemed to flush. “You flatter me. No, my name is Manainn Airgid, but I am one of Habbakuk’s most loyal. I sensed the darkness you released. The woman, though no longer an agent of Takhisis herself, she is an agent of evil. Those who server who were all seduced, just as you were, placed under the charms of not her words or beauty, but her magic, for she is much more than what she appears to be.”

The man with the silvery skin paused, “May the Light of the Truth, lighten your burden, and help you reclaim the light.”

I suddenly sat up and looked around. Nathaira smiled at me – but the smile faded. She knew something had changed in me. Quickly I grabbed my shirt and my father’s sword and strapped it to my waist. “You said you would never pick up that sword again, unless you planned to go home. You don’t plan to go home, do you?”

I could feel her claws, slithering at the base of my skull, and I shook her words away. “I am going home.”

“They will never accept you, and what you’ve done, who you’ve become,” she warned.

“Then I will face my fate,” I said, realizing in that moment, how much I had sounded like my father.

She didn’t try to stop me – nor did she send her men to stop me. She watched me ride away on one of the many horses that we’d stolen from the various raids. I rode back home, hardly stopping, and rushed to my father’s home, kneeling before him – awaiting my punishment as I offered up my sword to him.

He did not yell or scold me. Instead he stood and placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “Rise, son. You are in your own home and do not need to kneel before me, I am your father, not your king.” He paused to look at what I was wearing, “Though, I might ask you to shower – and change out of these savage’s clothes.”

“I have brought shame and disgrace to the family, father,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Some shame, some disgrace,” he admitted as he tugged at his mustache. “But perhaps, I as your father have done the same? I failed to see how you were struggling; thought that if you became a knight you would set yourself right.”

“I have committed crimes, father,” I cried.

I saw my father stiffen. “Murder?”

“No, I killed no innocents, but I robbed many,” I confessed.

“Speak to me what you remember,” he said, resuming his pace. “I will send compensations, even if it costs my entire estate. These crimes, son, will prevent you from ever becoming a Knight. But,” he placed his hand on my shoulder, “I see you’ve keep yourself busy. You look strong as an ox.”

“I’ve learned to fight like the savages,” I whispered. “I came back because someone named Manainn Airgid visited me in a dream.”

My father stiffened again and turned his head ever so slightly, “Manainn Airgid, you said?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “Do you know him father?”

My father looked away – and seemed to pause for a long moment before saying, “Let us just say I know of him.”

“I know I can never be the son you wanted,” I confessed, “a Knight of Solamnia, but perhaps I can fight alongside them?”

My father smiled, “Perhaps.”

Two weeks later, I waited outside as my father plead my case to the Circle of the Knights. They seemed vehemently against the idea of me ever sharing a battlefield with the Knights, until my father mention Manainn Airgid’s name. Then the Knights hushed, and the arguing turned to whispers. My father came out several hours later, explaining the Knights would be honored for me to fight alongside of them.


========================
Side Notes:

When I wrote this - I envisioned Nathaira as a female dragon, who has polymorphed herself into human form to hide from Takhisis' eyes; primarily a red dragon (the fire = the passion).
And if it's not clear, Manainn Airgid is envisioned as a Silver Dragon - and a rather old one at that, who was perhaps around when Human was around.
Fun Notes - "Nathair" is Serpent in Irish (just added an "a" at the end to feminize it for a name)
"Manainn Airgid" stands for "Silver Mane" in Irish.

Name Kronk BlodOsken
Race Half Orc
Class - Fighter level 1 (will be Echo Knight). Will dip 2 levels into Barbarian at 7/8
Gender - Male
I have this idea that my echo Knight is a childhood imaginary friend (called Mac). Then level 3 it begins to manifest into an echo I can control.
Lowest stat is Charisma, and I have very high starting str and dex.
Dm made homebrew campaign and I picked this area to grow up
Town name: Bespin
Population: 18,000
Majority Race: Half Orcs
Government: Autocracy – Single rule given to one Hereditary
Key Personnel: King Zludmir
Known for: Creation of weapons and city siege weapons
Also, been asked for this info from my dm. Any suggestions are welcome!
3 character motives, what strives them to act the way they do
3 personal relationships from your characters past
1 short term goal
1 long term goal
Many thanks in advance!

For your background, based on the idea that the primary city you come from is primarily known for their creation of weapons and city siege weapons – I wanted to look at D&D and see what would fit best – and I found that Clan Crafter seemed to fit best; it would seem logical that you would come from a family that’s involved in the creation of these weapons/city siege weapons.

From there I glanced at some of the suggested traits, ideals, bonds, and flaws to get an idea for a personality.

PERSONALITY TRAITS - I always want to know how things work and what makes people tick.
IDEALS - Community. It is the duty of all civilized people to strengthen the bonds of community and the security of civilization. (Lawful)
BONDS - I created a great work for someone, and then found them unworthy to receive it. I’m still looking for someone worthy.
FLAWS - I’ll do anything to get my hands on something rare or priceless.

Then going back to the idea of the Echo Knight – and then the Imaginary Friend being the Echo… Looking at the Echo Knight it’s traditionally an Echo of yourself… and then an idea came along. This may be a little darker than normal, and if it is – I can definitely rewrite something a little more light hearted if you’d like.

At any rate, comment in the thread – and let me know (good, bad, whatever!)
==========================

My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…

Sixteen years ago…

The first time I saw him, I was roughly five years old. I’d been playing with several wooden toys that one of my father’s friends had forged from some of the spare wood from the latest siege weapon that they’d been working on when I glanced up and looked in the full length mirror. A light, shimmering figure was behind me – but when I turned, there was nothing there.

This continued to happen for weeks, and when I finally told my parents, and my father explained that it was probably my imaginary friend – and many young children have such imaginary friends. So, while I was in a room alone, I would call out to this mysterious figure which I named “Mac” and ask if it would like to play with me. Sometimes, I would roll the ball across the room – and to my surprise, the ball would roll back. My father dismissed such things as the houses were not exactly built on stable ground and many of the houses were slanted; or that a breeze had caught the ball and rolled it back. But I had a feeling it was my imaginary friend, Mac, somehow playing with me.

Three years later, when I was eight years old, I stopped playing with Mac, but I could somehow always feel he was around me. I also became more observant of my surroundings and noticed that my mother, Tragoi’deach BlodOsken always had a distant gaze. I had seen it too, when I was younger, but my father always dismissed it that she was tired and that she’d worked hard; but now, being eight, she rarely did much around the house; she did not work the yard on weapons and city siege weapons like everyone else had. She’d mostly simply stayed home, and the times she took part of the hunt, she had always looked as if she were some walking dead, shambling along.

“Is she sick father? Should we get the priests here to look at her?” I asked.

“The priests have already come and done all they could,” my father said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

Ten years later, mother’s condition never improved or got worse. Sometimes, when I spoke to her she would smile and speak directly to me; other times, she would run her hand down my check, but her gaze was somewhere behind me, as if she were talking to an imaginary friend. By this age, I was now recruited into working with the siege weapons. It was grueling work that relentless taxed my body’s endurance each and every day. I grew stronger with the passing weeks, but the work seemed to become increasingly more difficult to match that strength. Despite the daily grind, the effort, the dirt, the cuts, this was where I established a community – a sense of not just how things connect in the siege engine, but the connections I had made with others. This was my sense of normalcy, this community. Going back home, seeing my mother how she was – so, unraveled, and disconnected, disjointed – took me away from the sense of ease I felt when I worked the siege yard. My father saw it in me, so during our downtime, he showed me how to forge weapons, the division he’d been working on. Over the months, I learned my father’s craft, using my strength to pound the steel. It had taken a few attempts, but I finally forged a sword I was proud of – one that Dorcha Trodaire came and purchased from my father, far beneath the value of the blade – but our family had been suffering, since my mother was not working any of the fields, like other mothers were; and her declining health made matters worse. Dorcha was someone who was foul mouthed and showed little honor; she pushed her way through the rakes in the King’s army by her loud mouth, more than her skill; and her brandishing a weapon that had my signature engraved on it, sickened me.

Present day, age of twenty one, my mother had passed away three weeks ago, but I felt no grief; only relief, for her pain had finally come to an end. Some nights, I had felt guilty that I felt no grief, but I’d watched her – she had been dead to me, as far as I was concerned, for most of my life. I had no memories of my mother where she laughed.

I had just gotten back from the siege yard, cut, bruised and bleeding, but proud of the latest siege weapon we’d finished. I stared at myself in the full length mirror and laughed. There was no mark anywhere that was not covered in dirt, grime or blood. Quickly I washed off, and the steam built up in the room so that the mirror had fogged up. After washing off, I wiped the mirror away – and to my surprise saw my reflection staring back at me – but it did not move as I did. I moved my hand, my reflection did not. I seemed to place its hand on the mirror as if trapped on the other side. In wide eyed wonder, I whispered, “Mac?” And the reflection on the other side noded.

I stumbled backwards out of the room, falling through the door – my single, terrifying thought, that I was going mad, and that perhaps whatever sickness and madness that claimed my mother, had been passed down to me. My father, despite his age, rushed to my side and helped me up.

“What is it? What has you so pale?” he asked, looking around to see if there was a venomous serpent or something that had slithered into the house.

“I saw my reflection in the mirror,” I stammered.

My father laughed. “Boy, you gave me a fright! I’d be scared of your ugly mug too,” he joked.

“No father,” I added, quickly. “My reflection wasn’t mine… I mean… it was me, but it didn’t move as I did… father, I asked if it was Mac… and it nodded it’s head… but this is the first time I saw it… and it looked just like me.”

My father’s face paled. “Son, I need you to sit down for what I am about to tell you.”

He entered the kitchen and filled a stein of ale for me and handed it to me - but I was too shaken to drink.

I stammered backwards, nearly falling over my bed before sitting down.

He took a deep breath. “When you were born, there were complications.”

“What kind of complications?” I asked.

“You were not alone,” he said.

“I wasn’t – what?” I asked.

“Son, you had a twin brother,” he explained.

“That’s a lie, I had no twin, I had no siblings! I was the only child between you and mother,” I screamed.

“No, son,” my father said, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. “There was a twin; however, only you survived the birth. I believe this ‘Mac’ that you see is an echo of your twin – a manifestation that is bonded to you, created by your time in the womb. As if you absorbed his soul into yourself in order to save him…”

My stein fell from my hands, for what seemed to be eternity, before I heard it crash on the floor; the sound of metal clanking against the wooden floor, ale spilling across my boot. I stared at my father, my mouth agape…