Need a character background written up?

[Fable Wright]

A lot of times, I will begin writing - read what I wrote - pause - think what should be next - and write - which, sadly, can lead to a change of perception of the story telling.

Yep. Over-rewriting a section is really common. If it came out perfect the first time, why would we have proofreaders?

I rarely (if ever) go back and edit these.

Nor was I suggesting it! I just meant to say that it's a good rough; it's fine if it never goes beyond that. There's just different standards for each level of revision a piece has gone through, and I wouldn't want to compare a quick one-hour draft to a multiply-redrafted publication-worthy work. That's all.

[Tawmis]

I've got a concept I've been working on. His name is Thaddeus Hale. He is a human wild shape druid. The idea I had was he was some kind of Teddy Roosevelt/Ernest Hemingway type "gentleman hunter" who stalks powerful creatures, learns their shape, and then defeats them while shaped as the creature.

I am not sure if this is what you wanted, but damn, if I didn't have fun writing it.
Let me know if this works for you!

================================================== ================

People.

They’re the filthiest of all the animals in the animal kingdom.

It’s all evidenced by my very own eyes, as I walk through the cobbled streets of Baldur’s Gate; the way they waste good food, just because someone decided not to finish their meal. The fires we burn needlessly, that send ash and soot into the skies. The oceans that we pollute that send fish to the surface, in hopes of breath, only to die of suffocation.

My name is Thaddeus Hale, and I am one of those humans.

I am not proud of the people I was born from.

Noise from the local tavern - The Wolf’s Head.

I cast my gaze sideways and several adventurers stumble out, clanking their steel mugs together in some form of celebration.

They see me looking at the job board, just outside the tavern. One of them – a fighter by the look of his appalling chainmail armor looked at me, “How do you plan to kill the wolves?” seeing no visible weapons.

“With my hands.”

They roared in laughter.

Despicable lot those adventurers. Not just them in particular, but adventurers in general. They wear the same armor, day in, day out, sweat, cut, bleed in it – and rarely, if ever, stop to clean it. Sure, they may shower themselves – but the armor will still reek of goblin blood.

Myself? I prefer one of my tweed jackets, a tie, and a pair of breeks, and leather, high hard boots of the highest caliber; from skins made from my own hunting expeditions.

The way adventurers blunder around, kicking down doors, storming into caves… it’s… atrocious. There’s a lack of finesse to everything they do. And they rely on their numbers to get the job done.

My name is Thaddeus Hale, and there’s reports of a girl that’s gone missing. They fear for the worse. Local activity around the town tends to believe that a pack of aggressive wolves have residence in the wilds, southwest of Baldur’s Gate near The Cloakwood.

If I am to be honest, I am pretty sure the girl is as good as dead. I wait for the drunken adventurers to pass me by and pray they don’t tarnish any evidence. None of them appear to be a Ranger, which I would at least, somewhat respect.

I pick up on the girl’s tracks – and I admit I am a little confused. Not only do I spot her tracks, but there are wolf tracks – very large wolf tracks. I place my hand in the paw print left in the damp soil. If what I am seeing is to be believed, this is one of the biggest wolves I’ve ever hunted. But why are the girl’s prints next to it – as if they’re running side by side?

And why are there no other wolf tracks? Just the big one?

It was time to go beyond my human self. I tilt my head back and take in a deep breath. First I feel my throat change – it gets hard to breathe for a moment – then the tingling sensation, for lack of a better word, dances up my spine and my eyes flare open – and I see the world in a brand new way. I take in a deep breath, and I can smell things from miles away.

I have become one with my wild shape – a wolf in this case – to pick up on any scents, and perhaps blend in with this Dire Wolf that seems to have somehow abducted a girl, in her twenties, without so much as a struggle. She should have seen the wolf coming – especially one so huge – under the watch of the full moon that seemed to keep an eye from the heavens.

After one day of tracking the wolf and girl, I lose track of the wolf – but manage to keep up with the girl’s track. She’s not hiding her tracks – she seems to be running. Broken branches and twigs snapped in half. On the second day, her tracks meet up with what appears to be a man’s footprints. This just keeps getting stranger and stranger. When she was free of the dire wolf – why didn’t she turn around? Run back home?

On the third day, deep inside The Cloakwood, I found evidence of a wolf’s den. I could hear voices coming from inside. I shifted into my human form and gazed inside. A woman was lying in a man’s arms – and by the looks of it, it was the woman I was out to find. I admit, I was surprised to find that she wasn’t dead – especially when I found evidence of the wolf den.

I tugged on my tweed jacket and straightened it out, before clearing my throat to make my presence known. “Excuse me, Lady Seilna, your father is deathly worried about your well-being.”

The man with Lady Seilna jumped to his feet and grabbed a dagger. “Who are you?” he barked at me.

“Me? My name is Thaddeus Hale,” I said with a smile. “And I have the pleasure of speaking with…”

“Thaddeus Hale,” I heard him whisper.

“Well, boy, I doubt that’s your name, because as I said, that’s my name,” I said with a smile. “Now why don’t you tell me your name, and put that dagger down, son, before you hurt yourself.”

“Thaddeus Hale,” he repeated. “You’re that hunter.”

“Well, yes, boy, I am a hunter,” I nodded in acknowledgement. “But you still haven’t told me your name.”

“Baron Tymar Von Steel,” the young man replied.

“Von Steel,” I repeated, familiar with the name.

I looked over at Lady Seilna, “Ma’am are you in any trouble?”

“No!” she cried out. “Tymar and I are in love… But… because of his sickness…”

Von Steel. They had been a family known for Lycanthropy.

“And you’re telling me you’re in love with this man,” I asked Seilna again.

“Yes! We have been in love for years, and kept it a secret, until his family was hunted down and killed. Now we are planning to run away together,” she answered.

I looked over at Tymar, as he still held his dagger.

I could hear them somewhere in the distance, behind me.

“Seilna, come to me.”

“Why?” she plead suspecting a trap.

“Just do it, girl.”

She approached me, and I tore off a piece of her dress. “Let me see your hand.” She extended her hand and I cut it slightly with a dagger and smeared blood on the torn dress. She pulled away, scowling at me.

“Listen. You’re not safe here. There’s a group of adventurers looking for you, Lady Seilna. And if they see Tymar, and recognize him, they won’t hesitate to kill him. If the two of you have any hope of surviving, you will leave now. Go west, to the coast. Run along the beach. The water will hide your tracks and your scent. Get to Orlumbor and book passage far from here. I will return to your father and present this torn dress and blood as proof of your death. Now, go.”

The adventurers would be able to track them.

Unless I did something about it.

I tucked the torn, bloody dress fragment beneath my belt and smiled. I took the form of a wolf, and ran towards the adventurers – and for three days, kept them spinning in circles in the woods, until they were no longer certain which way was North or South.

Then I returned to Baldur’s Gate, presented the torn, bloody dress to Seilna’s father, and explained I found evidence of her death.

Her father wept.

My name is Thaddeus Hale, and I am one of the greatest hunters of the land – because I am human, but I embrace the animal in me.

[Tawmis]

These have been great so far! I hope you have time and inspiration to help me.

I've got a chaotic good human conquest paladin named Jesse Wolfwood who I've envisioned to be a bit of a drinking gambling cowboy driven by dispensing "justice" on his own terms. I'm refluffing the tenants of his oath to be "Oath of the Vigilante." I haven't come up with a reason for why yet, but somehow he's decided that while the law and authorities often mean well, they're prone to corruption and inaction. As such, while he isn't actively working against the legal authorities, he doesn't feel bound by them at all. This may have resulted in him having some run ins with the law.

Also, I haven't written the specifics of the tenants yet, so feel free to include any that you feel fit into the backstory. I know they're still going to be focused on using strength and fear to accomplish his goals similar to conquest paladins, but also more positive like inspiring/protecting the helpless while striking fear into the hearts of his enemies. I'm overly lawful myself, so I'm trying to write tenants that force me to get in character and act in ways I wouldn't normally. All that said, you didn't offer to write tenants, so feel free to skip this part.

Lastly, if you're familiar with LMoP from the starter set, some connection to the adventure would be great. My current plan was to have Jesse on a path of vigilante justice involving the Redbrands, but I don't really know anything about them yet, which makes it difficult to come up with details. Thanks!

Done!
So I came up with some Tenants... based off the "vow" I use near the end of the story... Naturally, this is yours to use, edit, change up as needed.
But I liked the idea of Vigilante - so two of the three tenants come from the Oath of Vengeance, with one tenant to keep them on the "light" side since a vigilante operates outside of the law, and by any means necessary kind of feel...

As always, I welcome ALL feed back - good and bad!

Anyway -
=====================================
“Jesse Wolfwood, we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

I looked up from the bottle in front of me and heaved a heavy sigh; local authorities.

“What can I do for you fine gentlemen, this wonderful evening?” I looked back at the bottle as if it had called my name.

“Serek is claiming you roughed him up. He’s got cuts and bruises all over his face.”

“Serek?” I looked back at the two local authorities. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Owns Silverstone Leathers,” one of the authorities explained.

“Such a bad name for a leather place,” I muttered. “Why would you have stone and leather go hand in hand in a name? Why not Silverblade Leathers? Now that,” I raised my index finger, “that would certainly make way more sense.” I rolled my eyes, “Especially since most blades are already silver, anyway…”

“Are you denying the charges presented by Serek?” one of them asked.

“No,” I shrugged. “Now that you told me who he was – I know him. The vendor at the Silverstone Leather. Same gentleman I saw beating his wife in the shop when it was closed, when I happened to go by and see if it was open. That gentleman?”

The authority figures glanced at each other. “Treena has made no such charges against Serek,” one of them finally said softly.

“She hasn’t, has she,” I asked. “But you know it happens. And has probably been happening for years. Have you ever arrested and charged Serek for his crimes?”

“Well,” one of them coughed uncomfortably, “no, because no charges have ever been brought up…”

“I would like to press charges against Serek, for the abuse he’s inflicted upon his wife,” I shrugged.

“Well, you can’t – because… you’re not the victim,” one of them replied.

“So only victims are allowed to press charges?” I asked, sliding my glass away from me and giving both men my unwavering attention, which seemed to make both of them ever more nervous.

“Well, yes,” the first one said, clearing his throat and swallowing hard.

“So if Treena is murdered one night,” I asked, “who will press charges? It certainly cannot be the victim, because she would already be dead.”

“Well, that is, Serek could press charges, to find out who murdered his wife,” the second answered, glancing nervously at his partner. “In the event such a horrible crime might happen.”

“But what if it’s Serek who killed her… in this example,” I asked, standing up. Both men took a step back. “He wouldn’t want charges pressed to find out who killed her. At least not until he’s cleaned up all the evidence that might indicate it was him.”

I began walking and both quickly shuffled after me.

“Where are you going?” one asked, looking at the other, wondering if they should try to stop me.

“Let’s go see Serek about this ‘abuse’,” I answered matter-of-factly.

“Which abuse?” the first asked.

“The one you inflicted on him?” the second chimed in.

“Or the abuse he inflicted on his wife,” the first seemed nervous to even say the words.

“Allegedly,” the second one coughed loudly.

“Yes! Allegedly,” the first one amended his question.

I stopped in the dusty street and spun on my heel and looked at them. “What about ‘both.’”

“Well! We can’t do both – let’s just go to our room and discuss this as reasonable people!” the first one pleaded.

When I passed the officer’s station, they looked at each other than over to me. “Wait! You’ve passed it! Where are you going?”

“As I said, to go see Berek,” I answered. Up ahead was his shop.

“Well, it’s already closed for the night it is,” the first officer said. “It’s late and all. He’s probably home with the wife.”

“The one he beats?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Allegedly,” the first one added under his breath.

“If he’s home for the night, can you tell me why a lamp burns in the back room? Can you not see the flickering?” I approached the door and turned to the two authority figures. “If he has indeed gone home, then there’s a risk his place may burn down. We’d better get inside and save his shop.”

I drew my blade, and both authority figures eyes seemed as if they might explode in their sockets, as I brought the hilt of my blade smashing through the window pane on the door, and reached in and unlocked it.

“Shall we?” I asked as I stepped inside the leather shop.

As I walked in, I heard someone say, “You told me this was secure. Get those shipments to Phandalin!”

I turned the corner of the shop, and saw a figure – human, jet black hair, and shadows for eye sockets, by the looks of it – wearing a red scarf, who quickly dashed through the door. I looked to the left and saw Serek.

“Who was your friend?” I asked, my weapon still in my hand.

“My friend?” he stammered nervously, backing up and knocking several books about leatherworking off of the barrels in the back. “What friend?”

I raised an eye brow. “What friend? Really? The one who made the quick exit.”

“Oh!” Serek swallowed. “Him. Yes. Him. He is… a friend of mine. Family friend. In town. Visiting. Only for the day. Headed back to Waterdeep.”

“Waterdeep? Really? I had thought I heard him mention Phandalin.”

Just then the two local authorities rounded the corner.

Serek saw them and jumped. “Finally!” he screamed. “You’re here! See how he harasses me! He was probably going to run me through had the two of you not arrived when you did.”

“My blade is the hand of Tyr,” I began to chant, “that brings Justice – swift and with mercy, upon the land. I am the Light that pierces the darkness, and never shall there be mercy for the wicked – and I will fight the wicked, by any means necessary, and at any cost necessary – even if it is my own life that must pay, for I am the blade of Tyr, and I bring swift justice to the wicked. Serek, confess your sins, for which I have witnessed, and be cleansed as you stand before Tyr.” I raised my blade, and Serek collapsed to the ground, holding up his hands defensively.

“It’s true! It’s true!” he cried out. “I have beat Treena. I have hurt her. And for unjust reasons. Sometimes, simply because I am angry! Gods, have mercy on my soul – please don’t kill me.”

I lowered my blade and looked at the two officers. “I’d like to press charges against Serek, for the crimes of abuse against his wife, now that he has confessed his sins.”

The two officers stared at each other.

“What are you waiting for?” I asked, impatiently. This seemed to jump start them as they kneeled down and quickly subdued Serek.

My name is Jesse Wolfwood, and I am a Paladin of Tyr – I am here to bring Justice to this world. Even if it means doing what the Law cannot, and sometimes, even forbids. I follow the path of my God, which may bring me in conflict with the Laws of Mortals.

But this is the life I have been blessed to lead.

Now, to find out who that man with the red sash was… and what’s going on in Phandalin…



Be the Light. Be a glorious beacon for all who live in despair. Let the light of your joy and courage shine forth in all your deeds.
Fight the Greater Evil. Faced with a choice of fighting my sworn foes or combating a lesser evil, I choose the greater evil.
By Any Means Necessary. My qualms can't get in the way of exterminating my foes.

[Tawmis]

I could actually use a hand. I have the bones of a backstory, but I'm missing the middle part, I'm not sure how this character got from where she started to where she is.
Ilya (eastern European surname)
Tiefling Wizard (Divination)
Background: Entertainer
Born human in a diabolic cult, profane rituals performed near-constantly during infancy have resulted in a fiendish aspect. Whatever the cultists were trying to turn her into was thwarted when she was abducted from the cult by her older siblings around age 4.
They lived on the run from the cult, which doggedly pursued the trio in the early years.
At some point, Ilya fell in with a troupe of traveling performers and learned to act as a fortune teller.
At another point, before or after joining the traveling performers, Ilya was separated from her siblings.
She's currently still with the troupe as they arrive in the port town of Saltmarsh, but is intensely concerned with finding her lost siblings.
A key aspect of this character is despite being a wizard, she has no formal arcane training. Only a elderly guide who taught her about (performance level) fortune telling, and a mysterious feeling that the cards "speak to her" when she holds them. (Mechanically, my tarot deck functions as both my spellbook and arcane focus. This character casts spells by channeling them through specific cards.)
I greatly appreciate any assistance with hammering these disparate ideas into a cohesive story.

Done!

By all means, please feel free to give feedback - I love it all - good and bad! I know I keep saying this in the other posts - but it's true. :)
Because the Saltmarsh was originally Greyhawk's setting - I used the Page 39 reference of the 5e "Ghosts of Saltmarsh" that states placing it between Waterdeep and Neverwinter.
And for reference - when I mention it down below as to what or who the Bedine are (if you're not familiar)...
https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Bedine
And for the areas on the map that I mentioned (other than Taris'zen, which I made up), check out -
https://www.aidedd.org/atlas/index.php?map=R&l=1

================================================== ==========

There are those who have said that their life was a living Hell.

They have no idea what that even truly means.

My name is Ilya Slivkin, and from the moment of my birth – my life was a true living Hell – that literally involved demons, devils and the occult.

At the age of four, I was rescued by my half-sisters. Children my mother had borne into this world; but did not have the “seed of power” she was looking for.

I had no true memory of my life, at the hands of my mother. Only visions and dreams – nightmares really – that would come to me. My half-siblings explained to me that our mother – none of us ever even knew her true name – only that they called her “The Widow of Night” – had made a deal with a Devil by the name of Bar'garius.

Her name – rather, her title - “Widow of the Night” came from her ritual of taking a mate, mating with them for the night and killing him in the name of Bar’garius – to ensure she would become pregnant with her mate’s seed.

My half-siblings had heard my mother explaining that she had believed that I was “the one who had the seed of power” inside of me, and that’s why I had been subjected to so much torture and tests by the age of four. My half-siblings couldn’t bear to see what I was being put through – and had also grown fearful that if I was indeed “the seed of power” – what might happen if my mother unlocked that power from inside of me.

Originally from a small village called Taris’zen (Without Hope) located in the Tortured Lands, far to the East – we soon found ourselves being pursued by my mother’s loyal followers. We traveled southwest for days upon days, and still they pursued us. With little hope of losing them, we veered west into Anauroch – better known as The Great Sand Sea.

We were beyond exhausted, and I believe my half-siblings honestly thought that we might get lost and die of thirst in the Great Sand Sea, which would have been a much better fate, than returning to our mother, facing her unholy wrath, and whatever torture might have befallen me.

During a sandstorm, it seemed as if we might have lost our pursuers – and thought we were all exhausted and dying of thirst, we were thankful for that one small blessing. When the light entered the cave the following morning, a beautiful woman, whose features had been covered by a veil, stood at the mouth of the cave. “Tieflings, young ones,” she said to no one in particular. The woman removed her veil and introduced herself as Maleeka al-Talar. She extended her hand, “Come with me. I can help you, and get milk for the little one.”

Maleeka al-Talar was a Bedine – or she was, at one time.

Now, she led a caravan of mostly women – most of them former Bedine, also – that traveled the land. Despite the otherworldly appearance of my half-siblings and me, looking like demons, Maleeka al-Talar and her caravan of “gypsies” they called themselves – took us in like family. All of them did – not just Maleeka al-Talar.

By the age of ten, Maleeka al-Talar had pulled me aside.

“There is innate magic in you,” she said, tapping my heart gently. “While we do not have wizards among us, perhaps we can hone your magic in a different manner.”

Maleeka al-Talar held out a deck of cards, like nothing I’d seen before.

She laid one card in front of me, “The Judgement Card Reversed – that symbolizes doubt and self-loathing.” She laid down another card, “The Tower, Upright – This means sudden upheaval or disaster.” She laid the next card over the first, “Ace of Wands, Upright – this means Creation, Willpower, and Desire.” She laid the third card beneath that, “Eight of Wands, Upright – rapid action, movement, quick decisions. This is a reflection of someone in your life doing this for you.” She laid the next card, across the second, “Seven of Cups, Upright – Searching for purpose.”

Maleeka al-Talar then spread all the cards across the table. “These are tarot cards. They say someone who is in sync with them can reveal a person’s past, present, future – and even how others interact with them. Would you like to learn?”

Admittedly, I was curious about these tarot cards – and if it was true that they could peer into the past, present and future. For the next few years, I learned to become one with the tarot cards, and read the aurora from people who sat across from me. By the age of sixteen, Maleeka al-Talar was having me doing readings for customers, as our caravan traveled around the continent.

At the age of twenty one, we had just arrived in Waterdeep. The plan was we would be traveling north with another caravan to Saltmarsh. While Maleeka al-Talar, myself and my sisters were walking through Waterdeep, I got an unusual feeling – my skin felt cold. As I looked around, that’s when I saw the woman from my visions – it was my mother. I screamed, and my sisters turned and saw her too. They yelled at Maleeka al-Talar to take me and run, and that they would keep my mother busy. Maleeka al-Talar and I ran back to the caravan and urged Maleeka al-Talar’s caravan to begin the journey north, at a quickened pace, up the Sword Mountains, and to Saltmarsh…

Each and every night, I waited for them – I refused to sleep – waiting for my sisters to catch up with us. But each and every night, I was never greeted by their smiling face, and I couldn’t help but wonder, had my mother captured them… or had they gotten away?

[Malkavia]

Done!
snip

This is great! I love that it's so dialogue heavy, as it gives me the opportunity to practice his voice before we our first session. The only part that surprised me at the end was Tyr, which I don't actually think is a bad idea. I hadn't considered Tyr since Jesse operates outside the constraints of the law. However, Tyr is actually the God of Justice, and justice is exactly what drives Jesse. Thanks a ton.

[yellowrocket]

These are awesome. I wont br playing in a game anytime soon, but i kmow where to come if I or my players are stuck. These are fantastic.

[HeartlessBow]

I am not sure if this is what you wanted, but damn, if I didn't have fun writing it.
Let me know if this works for you!

This is perfect! Thank you so much for doing this.

[KorvinStarmast]

=====================================
“Jesse Wolfwood, we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”

This one was quite good. *tips cap*

[Tawmis]

This is great! I love that it's so dialogue heavy, as it gives me the opportunity to practice his voice before we our first session. The only part that surprised me at the end was Tyr, which I don't actually think is a bad idea. I hadn't considered Tyr since Jesse operates outside the constraints of the law. However, Tyr is actually the God of Justice, and justice is exactly what drives Jesse. Thanks a ton.

This one screamed at me to focus on dialogue... something about revenge and vigilantes will always appeal to me.
In this world we live in - there's so much more I wish I could do to fix it.

The Crow (the movie with Brandon Lee) soundtrack is what I had playing when I wrote this. To put my head in that space of someone who out for proper justice.

And in the writing, I went with Tyr (God of Justice), because he seemed the most... fitting for it. (But naturally would leave it up to you to change it if you wanted). I just figured, with Tyr... he's the one god, who always wants justice... and mortals are fallible... so calling on his Chosen and "placing them in right place at the right time" to see and lay out Justice seemed the most fitting. I figure with your character, this is the type of stuff he sees all the time. Where local authorities know something is happening, but have turned a blind eye, because it's never been reported, or it seems like it might be too dangerous... and that's when Tyr places his chosen in the path to get things done.

This one was quite good. *tips cap*

Thank you! I really enjoyed writing this one because it was indeed, heavy with dialogue. And it's not overly dark (most of my character backgrounds involve a tragic death or something, that sends my character on the road of adventuring). This one was just simply about... ensuring Justice is executed in the world, one way or another.

This is perfect! Thank you so much for doing this.

Thank you for coming to this thread, and giving me the opportunity to explore your character. :)

These are awesome. I wont br playing in a game anytime soon, but i kmow where to come if I or my players are stuck. These are fantastic.

I would absolutely be honored. :) And if it seems like I've not been on the forum a lot when (or if?) that day comes - please PM me. I have it set so that it emails me that I've got a message (and I am also subscribed to this thread, so it emails me if I get replies). Sometimes I drift away from the forum for short bursts of time, thanks to life - but will gladly rush back to do some creative writing!

[TGMohle]

All of these are freaking amazing dude!


This request of mine will be a little different I think, because I've actually been playing this character in a campaign for over a year now.

Name: Noah Lockhart
Race: Half-Elf (Wood-Elf heritage)
Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler)


However, we are getting to a point in the campaign where I need a little backstory with one of his mentors since we're about to meet her in the next few sessions, and I can't write it out for the life of me! The basic gist of the "lesson" that he would be learning is how to stealth in the woods as opposed to stealthing in a city environment...but he just can't get it down! HOWEVER if you get inspiration for some other kind of lesson that a rogue might have to learn, go for it.

To give the most basic of basic backstories for context (and to keep it brief): His elven father had accumulated a massive debt with the the Zhentarim and left Noah (9 years old at the time) and his mother to fend for themselves. The debt was left to Noah, and he was forced to join the Zhentarim (since they saw he had great potential) to help pay it off.


Around this time Noah would probably be about 12-13. His personality is like that of Starlord in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies: cocky, immature, talks WAY TOO MUCH, hasn't been traditionally educated, and is emotionally driven instead of logically driven. He hates being a pawn of the Zhentarim, but respects his mentor and DOES want to meet her expectations.

His mentor's name is Yvonne Blackbriar (human). She is a master of stealth and is one of the best infiltrators / information gatherers that the Zhentarim has. She is very quiet, logical, serious, and intense. She is very much a perfectionist and is hard on him, but also has a soft spot for him deep down. Noah sees her as a "tyrant."

I know this is different from asking to write out a backstory, but I figured I would ask anyway!

[Tawmis]

All of these are freaking amazing dude!
This request of mine will be a little different I think, because I've actually been playing this character in a campaign for over a year now.
I know this is different from asking to write out a backstory, but I figured I would ask anyway!

This is pretty much a fleshed out backstory idea for me! Consider me working on it now!
(And thank you for the compliment!) :)

[Mongobear]

Conquest Paladin 8/Hexblade Warlock 1, Fallen Aasimar, Lawful Neutral

Hails from a city that is entirely anti-theists. Public worship of God's, even using their name as a figure of speech can get you beaten around the wrong crowd. Keep the religion out of his life.

[Tawmis]

Name: Noah Lockhart
Race: Half-Elf (Wood-Elf heritage)
Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler)

I am going to warn you - this one is coming out to be pretty long. I got into the head space of your character - and did a little... something... based on what you said. So it's taking me a tad bit longer. But I hope it will be worth the wait. :)

Conquest Paladin 8/Hexblade Warlock 1, Fallen Aasimar, Lawful Neutral
Hails from a city that is entirely anti-theists. Public worship of God's, even using their name as a figure of speech can get you beaten around the wrong crowd. Keep the religion out of his life.

A godless Paladin! Up for the challenge! Will work on it when I finish the one before you. :)

[Hobbo Jim]

I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive. If you still feel like doing more and expanding on mine-

Human Wizard, level 1. Limited magic campaign - all casters are limited to 1 major school and two minor schools of magic, so I'm working with Conjuration (main), Illusion, and Transmutation
Setting is a bunch of floating islands, ran by two groups: a trader's guild and the order of the sun (religious, anti-necro).

My story so far: Father was a wizard, was a very peaceful man, abhorred violence. Raised me as a single father until my early-mid teen years, when the Order of the Sun came looking for necromancy and killed him. As far as I knew, he didn't have anything to do with necromancy, and the man who executed him certainly had no evidence but killed him "just in case." Horrified, I ran (they hadn't discovered that I existed yet), and kept to rural islands, helping with odd jobs using the magic that I had learned. I now wish to find the guy that killed my father. I also wish to learn necromancy, wearily, to figure out why it is so feared/hated.

[Tawmis]

All of these are freaking amazing dude!
Name: Noah Lockhart
Race: Half-Elf (Wood-Elf heritage)
Class: Rogue (Swashbuckler)


However, we are getting to a point in the campaign where I need a little backstory with one of his mentors since we're about to meet her in the next few sessions, and I can't write it out for the life of me! The basic gist of the "lesson" that he would be learning is how to stealth in the woods as opposed to stealthing in a city environment...but he just can't get it down! HOWEVER if you get inspiration for some other kind of lesson that a rogue might have to learn, go for it.
To give the most basic of basic backstories for context (and to keep it brief): His elven father had accumulated a massive debt with the the Zhentarim and left Noah (9 years old at the time) and his mother to fend for themselves. The debt was left to Noah, and he was forced to join the Zhentarim (since they saw he had great potential) to help pay it off.
Around this time Noah would probably be about 12-13. His personality is like that of Starlord in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies: cocky, immature, talks WAY TOO MUCH, hasn't been traditionally educated, and is emotionally driven instead of logically driven. He hates being a pawn of the Zhentarim, but respects his mentor and DOES want to meet her expectations.
His mentor's name is Yvonne Blackbriar (human). She is a master of stealth and is one of the best infiltrators / information gatherers that the Zhentarim has. She is very quiet, logical, serious, and intense. She is very much a perfectionist and is hard on him, but also has a soft spot for him deep down. Noah sees her as a "tyrant."
I know this is different from asking to write out a backstory, but I figured I would ask anyway!

OK - I had way too much fun writing this and getting into your character's personality.
There's a scene in this backstory that should be familiar, based on the above information you gave me. If you don't pick it up, let me know (to me, it's obvious and intentionally so! But having written it, maybe it's obvious to me but not the reader... but I swear, it should be!)
And naturally - he lies to the guards about his name (you will see down below) - it's not a typo - he just doesn't want to get caught.
I enjoyed fleshing out your character and his ties to the Zhentarim - and fleshing out Yvonne - and her relationship with your character.
That said, please provide feedback - whether you liked it, loved it, hated it, have questions, suggestions - anything! It all helps me grow!
============================================
My father was a short-sighted human named Tourn Lockhart. I say he was short-sighted because he never considered the consequences of anything. When he first met my mother, a beautiful Elf maiden by the name of Zouralyn Moonshadow, despite what my mother tells me, I doubt he was ever truly in love – he was just a challenge. My mother’s father naturally did not care for my father, because he was a human – and they would have “impure” children.

My father courted my mother for weeks, despite the wrath and fury of my mother’s father, and eventually won her heart over – and they married – without the blessing of my mother’s side of the family. I was born a short time after that.

When my father’s business began failing, he got himself tied up with The Zhentarim. Brigands had been raiding business caravans that led to a loss of finances that lacked protection. I’m older now, and I know all about The Zhentarim, and I am pretty sure they were the “brigands” raiding the unprotected caravans so that those who did not employ The Zhentarim would have no choice.

Of course, The Zhentarim seem like a legitimate business from the outside. But at a very young age, I saw how they roughed up my father almost every night – and they told him, that they had illicit “items” that needed to be moved “discreetly” – and that they’d use shipments from my father’s store to get some of these things past the city guards.

For weeks, this agreement seemed to work out – until one night, the shipment was caught at the gates, and the City Guards raided out home, demanding to know about the items in the wagons. My father claimed that someone else took over the shipments once it left his store – and that he wasn’t sure who it was. The City Guards were less than pleased that my father employed someone else to move the shipments.

The shipment that had been found and confiscated was an unholy relic of some kind – and The Zhentarim came to my father’s house, demanding payment for it. Even though he was no directly responsible for its discovery by the City Guards - The Zhentarim’s policy was to make whoever shipped it to pay for their failure.

To complicate matters, the longer one did not pay their debt to The Zhentarim, the higher the interest rate became, until – more often than not - The Zhentarim took over the shop entirely. This still makes me wonder if they tipped off the City Guards in hopes of getting ownership of my father’s shop…

I was only nine years old when my father decided to run away. Though, some nights, I wonder if it was The Zhentarim who had made him “disappear.” The Zhentarim took over my father’s store, and since my mother could not pay them, I became a part of the payment.

It wasn’t unusual for The Zhentarim to recruit children – guards rarely, if ever, stopped them. So getting children to move smaller objects throughout the city was much easier to do. They also used us to squeeze into vents and get into areas and adult could not easily get into without trigger alarms or guards.

Then paying a child more money than they’d ever seen, often kept them locked in with The Zhentarim, even though they knew what they were doing was wrong – every child, and I include myself in this lump of idiotic souls – thinks that they can save enough money, get out of the business, have a normal life, with some gold to live comfortable.

I was twelve years old when a woman who worked for The Zhentarim, came to me and introduced herself as Yvonne Blackbriar. She was a very beautiful woman; slender, a nicely shaped body; long black hair, and ice blue eyes. She walked like a cat – and what I mean is – her feet didn’t seem to ever completely go flat on the ground – as if she were walking on her toes – like a ballerina, I suppose. As she walked by me, her hand brushed my cheek. “You’re Tourn’s boy?” She smiled and didn’t wait for me to answer. “I remember when you were just an infant. You’ve grown to be quite the mouse.”

Mouse was the name The Zhentarim gave the children they used to climb through vents. It felt odd at the time, that I had just thought how she looked like a cat – and she was calling me a mouse at the time – and the way she touched my cheek. It was like a cat playing with its food.

“I need you to get something for me, Noah,” she said, her voice purring. Definitely like a cat. “Something very important to me,” she added. “It will be your last job as a mouse.”

“What am I going after this time?” I sighed. Last job as a mouse – that meant they were either promoting me or… this was a suicide mission.

“The Sphere of Truth,” Yvonne smiled coyly. “It would seem a local wizard has come across it. However,” she walked behind me, circling me, “I would not recommend touching the Sphere of Truth. Supposedly it has a powerful enchantment on it. If you don’t speak the words before placing it in your palm, it simply incinerates your mind.”

“It kills you?” I asked.

“Not really,” she replied. “You’ll still be alive. Your mind will simply cease to function.”

“That sounds fascinating,” I muttered beneath my breath.

“It does, does it not?” she whispered directly into my ear. I hadn’t realized she heard me. Definitely has cat-like hearing.

“So if I can’t touch it, how am I supposed to steal it?” I asked, as she slowly walked away from me.

She turned and threw a small wand at me. “Touch it with that.”

“Will it remove the enchantment?” I asked, staring at the plain looking stick. Didn’t even look like a wizard’s wand. It literally looked like a branch that might have fallen off a small twig.

“To be honest,” Yvonne smiled at me as she left the room, “we’re not entirely sure what it will do. The wizard we took it from stopped talking… after he lost his tongue.”

I get it. Cat got your tongue kind of thing.


She didn’t tell me this “local wizard” who had this Sphere of Truth was Faistyr Marrenhammer – notoriously thought of to be doing Necromancy of the darkest kind – that not even the City Guards approach his tower. Yvonne would probably explain that she didn’t lie to me, she simply left out some of the finer details.

Moving through Faistyr’s home was nerve wracking – each of the photos – it felt like their eyes moved and watched as I snuck through the hallway. I eventually found the room that she had pointed out in the blueprints she had acquired (The Zhentarim’s reach goes far) – and sure enough, in a glass case was a floating sphere. Rather than glass doors I could see energy guarding it. Was I just supposed to stick this… twig through this energy field to touch the Sphere? Why did this seem like the worse idea possible? And it wasn’t like I could go back – they’d kill me then kill my mother.

“It will be your last job as a mouse.” I heard Yvonne’s voice echo in my head.

“Well, here goes everything,” I muttered to myself and shoved the twig through the energy field. I waited for it - I really did - For that surge of energy to bolt through the twig, through my body, and reduce me to ash. I waited for about thirty seconds, before I opened my eyes. The hum of the energy field was gone, and the sphere was now stuck to the end of the stick. I looked at it closely and couldn’t believe my eyes.

I began sliding and singing (quietly) to myself as I headed back to the vent I had entered, feeling extremely cocky that I had pulled this off – only to see two guards that Faistyr employed, standing in front of the vent.

“Drop it,” one of them growled as he held up his crossbow.

Stunned I looked around for other exits – and naturally there were none. None I could get to before a crossbow bolt was lodged in my back.

“Drop it now,” the second guard warned.

Well, this was going to make my life a lot more complicated. One of them shoved their crossbow into my side, and I could feel the tip of the bolt pierce my leather armor. “I said drop it.”

I dropped the twig with the sphere attached – honestly unsure if it would shatter or explode on the ground – I was admittedly disappointed. I expected a big flash. Had closed my eyes and everything, hoping it might blind the guards.

The first guard picked up the twig and looked at me, “How do you even know that Faistyr came to own this?”

“Hey, listen,” I said, “I don’t even know what that is. It was raining outside – I saw a bent ventilation system. Climbed inside. Got a little too curious.”

“You carry a magic twig with you?” the second guard asked, looking at it.

“Oh? That thing? It’s like one of those watering sticks you use in a desert to detect water,” I lied. “I poked the weird ball and the thing got stuck. I didn’t know what to do.”

“What is your name, boy?” the first guard asked.

“Belar,” I replied. “Belar Frostmane.” I looked at the guard square in the eye. “People call me… Frostmane.” I tried to sound sinister.

The guard simply looked at me. “Who?”

“Frostmane,” I repeated. “Come on! That sounds like a tough name right? Kind of edgy?”

“Get a move on, Faistyr is going to have questions for you,” the second guard shook his head.

“Oh, forget this,” I muttered, and reached into my pouch. “Either of you ever play marbles?” I unleashed a number of marbles across the floor and quickly dove into the room to the right. I heard the guards give chase and immediately begin to fall – and the sound of their crossbows misfiring as they fell. Perfect. It’d take a minute to reload their bolts. I peeked around the corner, smiled at the two guards and said, “Looks like you all fell for it – get it? Fell for it? Anyway, I won – so I will take this.” I quickly grabbed the twig with the sphere and made for the room again – I threw a small lamp through the glass paned window, and climbed out onto the ledge. I looked around quickly and found a line running between the tower and another building. I quickly unfastened my belt and threw it over and gripped each side of the belt and slid down the line – just as crossbow bolts whizzed by me. I tumbled into the alleyway and quickly jumped down into the sewer line.

The guards would never come down here – first of all, because it’s filthy and smells horrible – and also because they believe strange creatures dwell down here. Both are technically true, but the creatures are thanks to The Zhentarim – and if you know how to read the “chicken scratch” on the wall that they call Thieves Cant, you will know which ways is safe to go. The Zhentarim keep the tunnels populated with things like gelatinous cubes and the like so that City Guards don’t come down here – and The Zhentarim can use it to move shipments beneath the city.

When I put the trinket in front of Yvonne, sliding it across her desk, she pinched her nose. “You smell horrible, mouse. Did you not think to wash off before you came into my office?”

“Well, the two guards I ran into made it so I didn’t want to come home and clean myself off, before I dropped off your little toy,” I remarked.

“Well, you did good,” she smiled, “and as I said, that is your last job as a mouse. Despite your lack of finesse, and apparently cleanliness,” she added, “I think you have great skill.”

I spent years learning with Yvonne. She taught me how to check for traps, climb vertical walls, pick pockets, and become an all-around better agent for The Zhentarim.

When she claimed I had mastered the ability to move throughout a city – it was time to expand my skill set. As someone with Elf in my blood – she claimed I should be able to move in the woods perfectly, especially since my mother was a Wood Elf.

She explained that Elves often horde magic – being naturally born with it as “the first children of the gods” as some proclaimed – and that if The Zhentarim could get their hands on some of these hoarded objects – then it would greatly benefit The Zhentarim.

She touched my scruffy cheeks and smiled, “We clean you up,” she pulled my hair back to reveal my elfin ears, “you might even be able to pass as an elf, which would make things easier.”

The first lesson was in the Fall. She brought me out to a large field, where dry leaves littered the ground. “Cross this.”

I began to walk across it normally.

“Quietly,” she snapped.

“Well, you should have said that!” I retorted and hunched over and tried to stealthily cross.

“What are you doing? What is that pose you’re in?” she hissed. There were those cat features. I could almost imagine feline ears being bent back on the top of her head.

It was weeks of this. Her hissing at me, me stepping on what seemed to be the loudest, crunchiest leaf possible.

“A deaf rhino could hear you coming from a mile away!” she yelled.

“They’re dry leaves! What do you expect? They’re crunchy! They make sounds when you step on them!”

“Then don’t step on them!” she snapped back.

“Reality check,” I yelled back, “I am not some Aasimar that has wings!”

Without even looking at me, she crossed the field, and for a moment I thought I might be deaf, if it wasn’t for the birds chirping – but not once did I hear a leaf crumple beneath her heels – and her heels were like tiny daggers.

“Well I have bigger feet,” I used as an excuse.

“Really?” She then did a duck and roll across the leaves. And not one sound.

“You’re using magic!” I yelled.

“No. I am using skill,” she retorted.

This had gone on for weeks. Same thing. Recycled.

“How is it possible you can’t be quiet in the woods? You’re part Wood Elf! This should be natural to you!”

“I grew up in the city,” I replied.

“Sometimes,” she signed, “I wish I did know magic – so I could cast silence on your mouth and on your feet.”

[Tawmis]

I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive. If you still feel like doing more and expanding on mine-

Human Wizard, level 1. Limited magic campaign - all casters are limited to 1 major school and two minor schools of magic, so I'm working with Conjuration (main), Illusion, and Transmutation
Setting is a bunch of floating islands, ran by two groups: a trader's guild and the order of the sun (religious, anti-necro).

My story so far: Father was a wizard, was a very peaceful man, abhorred violence. Raised me as a single father until my early-mid teen years, when the Order of the Sun came looking for necromancy and killed him. As far as I knew, he didn't have anything to do with necromancy, and the man who executed him certainly had no evidence but killed him "just in case." Horrified, I ran (they hadn't discovered that I existed yet), and kept to rural islands, helping with odd jobs using the magic that I had learned. I now wish to find the guy that killed my father. I also wish to learn necromancy, wearily, to figure out why it is so feared/hated.

Yes! I will start working on it after the previous person's! :)

Going to take a small break from the computer - and watch some TV! But will probably have both done by midnight tonight. :)

[TGMohle]

OK - I had way too much fun writing this and getting into your character's personality.
There's a scene in this backstory that should be familiar, based on the above information you gave me. If you don't pick it up, let me know (to me, it's obvious and intentionally so! But having written it, maybe it's obvious to me but not the reader... but I swear, it should be!)
And naturally - he lies to the guards about his name (you will see down below) - it's not a typo - he just doesn't want to get caught.
I enjoyed fleshing out your character and his ties to the Zhentarim - and fleshing out Yvonne - and her relationship with your character.
That said, please provide feedback - whether you liked it, loved it, hated it, have questions, suggestions - anything! It all helps me grow!

This is awesome dude! Noah's personality in this write up was spot on, and I really appreciate you fleshing out how and why his father disappeared. That's something that I hadn't really come up with, and damn does it sound like something the Zhentarim would do! Yvonne was also great, especially her frustration with him later on (I was hoping you would use the fact that he was half wood elf to make fun of him and you did xD).

Also, I definitely caught the reference and was laughing my ass off! Thank you so much!!!

[Tawmis]

This is awesome dude! Noah's personality in this write up was spot on, and I really appreciate you fleshing out how and why his father disappeared. That's something that I hadn't really come up with, and damn does it sound like something the Zhentarim would do! Yvonne was also great, especially her frustration with him later on (I was hoping you would use the fact that he was half wood elf to make fun of him and you did xD).
Also, I definitely caught the reference and was laughing my ass off! Thank you so much!!!

I really enjoyed writing this one for you - the whole scene from stealing the Sphere of Truth (which is actually an item in my own homebrew game; that allows you to look through it and see illusions, including those who shape shift, like Dopplegangers) being the "sphere" Starlord goes to original take - and the arrival of the two guards and the "Drop it!" and "How do you know about this?" are from the movie - and where Starlord kicks the one sphere thingie - I had your character throw marbles. And the "They call me Frostname..." "Who?"... all references to the movie. :) As I said, had a lot of fun with this one... and developing Yvonne, I envisioned her in tight black leather, black hair, ice blue eyes - I imagined her very feline in how she acted and how she moved (which seemed fitting for a Rogue type... perhaps very Black Cat [Marvel]/Cat Woman [DC] in that regard...)

[Tawmis]

Conquest Paladin 8/Hexblade Warlock 1, Fallen Aasimar, Lawful Neutral
Hails from a city that is entirely anti-theists. Public worship of God's, even using their name as a figure of speech can get you beaten around the wrong crowd. Keep the religion out of his life.

This one started off a challenge - keeping religion away from a Paladin... and a Hexblade...
But as I started writing how he grew up... the pieces began falling into place.
I left the opening mysterious (with the dreams of a great war... is it his past? Is it his future? Is it nothing at all? Entirely up to you, and the DM, if you end up using this, to do what you will).
As always, feel free to change whatever if you want to use it ... But I'd love to hear what you change and why!
Not that I think, "How dare you!" But more, perhaps I missed the mark on something - and could use some advice how to better wrap that around my brain!
I welcome all feedback you have - whether good or bad - as it helps me grow!
Enjoy!

EDIT: In the event you're unaware of the properties of Darkstone: Darkstone seems to drink in light. In tunnels cut through this material, light sources dim, shedding a glow only half as strong as usual. Thus, a bullseye lantern illuminates a cone only 30 feet long and 10 feet wide, while a torch lights only a 10-foot radius. A daylight spell in a darkstone area radiates daylight in only a 30-foot radius.

================================================== ========
Shattered.

Take a glass of water and drop it – watch it hit the floor and shatter into a thousand pieces. Watch the water, once contained inside, spill out onto the floor.

“Are you all right?” I feel a hand shake me. I look and see the glass I heard had been my own, slipped through my hands, when I slipped into that damn trance again.

“My apologies, I am fine,” I tell the gentleman and kneel down and begin to pick up the fragments of glass. Some shards are larger than other, easier to identify, easier to pick up. Others bleed in with the water, making them nearly impossible to see until…

A child, without shoes walks by, screams and clutches his foot. Crimson liquid merges with the spilled water. A protective mother pulls him aside and scowls at me, as if I had purposely cut her boy’s foot. Maybe he should be wearing shoes.

But those small pieces – those are hard to see – when it’s just water. But you add blood, and suddenly, like the icebergs of the Sea of Moving Ice, they’re more visible. Easier to pick up.

But no matter how hard you try, there will always be small shards, so small that they’re invisible to the naked eye. Those will need to be swept away. Put in the trash. Discarded.

And the glass that fell? I look at the pieces in my hand. It will never be whole again. And the water… the water will dry. Evaporate.

There are nights, I feel like the glass. A shattered vessel whose insides have spilled out.

In my room, I stare at the mirror – furious at what I see staring back at me. You see, I was born an Aasimar – an “angelic being.” Some of my past is lost to me – and I wonder if the visions I’ve had – where I see myself in a great war – if that was a part of who I was. A part of the glass. The water inside.

But at a young age, I grew up in a small town between Triboar and Griffon’s Nest called Greenvale, with a portion of my memory completely gone. I was looked at with great distrust – almost hatred – because of my appearance.

In Greenvale, the people here have turned their backs upon the gods. They’ve become completely self-reliant and don’t believe the gods do anything to make the world a better place. To them, I was a reminder that the gods were real. Some hated me, because they thought that I was sent there, because one of the gods had felt their precious ego had been hurt by these people who turned their back on them – and that I was an “omen” to remind them that the gods were real – and that they were listening.

That made my life, as an Aasimar, a living Hell.

So few people in Greenvale trusted me – and to be honest, I am not sure what kept me there – other than the fighting. I was always in fights because of my appearance – and maybe I didn’t want to be driven away, shown as weak. Or maybe I was just too stubborn to leave. But the longer I stayed, the more furious the people got – believing that I was the omen that wouldn’t go away because of some god’s ego. Each time I stood up to fight another round, I saw it in their eyes – fear.

This fighting fueled a fire in me – that made me believe it wasn’t enough to defeat an enemy. My unbreakable will to leave, would show them that – a blade can end a life, but fear can tear down an empire. Strength above all, for each who dared challenge me – I rose to it, and I won. Fear. It wasn’t long before I walked the streets, and they stepped out of my way – I ruled the streets with an iron fist, and tolerated none who thought they could best me. Even the rumors, I dealt with them – with pure force.

“You’ve made quite the name for yourself,” I heard a voice whisper, while I was visiting the Broken Vale Tavern.

I slowly turned, “And you’ve made quite a mistake coming here, stranger.”

“Perhaps I have,” the stranger replied. “Or perhaps you should give me a moment to explain.”

“A moment is all you have stranger,” I replied. “If I do not like what I hear, you will not like what I will do to you.”

“Fair enough,” the hooded stranger replied. “My… queen has something for you.” From a bag, he pulled out a gleaming blade that had an extremely jagged edge. A tinge of crimson red reflected on the blade, as the flames of the oil lamps danced.

My hand went to the hilt of my weapon.

“Stay your hand,” the stranger smiled, his eyes seemed to sparkle beneath the hood. “This,” he presented it to me hilt first, “is a gift for you.”

I took the weapon, and it seemed to be forged of crystal. While the hilt was smooth, the blade itself was – as it appeared – jagged, making for unusual workmanship. “What is this made from?”

“Darkstone,” the stranger replied. “Shattered Darkstone.”

At the base of the hilt, something seemed to be missing. I looked at the stranger.

He smiled oddly from beneath the hood, “No matter how hard you try, there will always be small shards, so small that they’re invisible to the naked eye.”

The crimson inside the darkstone – it’s blood. As I move the blade, it moves inside the glass.

I look up at the stranger – and he’s gone, but the Darkstone Sword is still in my hands.

[Tawmis]

I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive. If you still feel like doing more and expanding on mine-

Human Wizard, level 1. Limited magic campaign - all casters are limited to 1 major school and two minor schools of magic, so I'm working with Conjuration (main), Illusion, and Transmutation
Setting is a bunch of floating islands, ran by two groups: a trader's guild and the order of the sun (religious, anti-necro).

My story so far: Father was a wizard, was a very peaceful man, abhorred violence. Raised me as a single father until my early-mid teen years, when the Order of the Sun came looking for necromancy and killed him. As far as I knew, he didn't have anything to do with necromancy, and the man who executed him certainly had no evidence but killed him "just in case." Horrified, I ran (they hadn't discovered that I existed yet), and kept to rural islands, helping with odd jobs using the magic that I had learned. I now wish to find the guy that killed my father. I also wish to learn necromancy, wearily, to figure out why it is so feared/hated.

I dig what you have already! Working on expanding this now. :)

[Tawmis]

I usually am happy to create my own, but these are pretty damn impressive. If you still feel like doing more and expanding on mine-
Human Wizard, level 1. Limited magic campaign - all casters are limited to 1 major school and two minor schools of magic, so I'm working with Conjuration (main), Illusion, and Transmutation
Setting is a bunch of floating islands, ran by two groups: a trader's guild and the order of the sun (religious, anti-necro).
My story so far: Father was a wizard, was a very peaceful man, abhorred violence. Raised me as a single father until my early-mid teen years, when the Order of the Sun came looking for necromancy and killed him. As far as I knew, he didn't have anything to do with necromancy, and the man who executed him certainly had no evidence but killed him "just in case." Horrified, I ran (they hadn't discovered that I existed yet), and kept to rural islands, helping with odd jobs using the magic that I had learned. I now wish to find the guy that killed my father. I also wish to learn necromancy, wearily, to figure out why it is so feared/hated.

Oh, I went kind of dark with yours... Necromancy kind of lends to that...
But I had a lot of fun writing it - and doing the reveal of a secret (which I am curious to see how you like it)...
Did some foreshadowing of stuff that becomes clear at the end...
As always, would love to hear what you liked, didn't like, or any advice, tips, anything! I welcome all feedback!
Enjoy!
================================================== =======

“Casting magic is not as simple as just knowing the words,” my father cautioned. “The way you move your hands, even your fingers – and the exact pronunciation is all a part of casting a spell.” He looked at me, and sighed, sitting me down. “I understand you want to be like me, son. But magic is dangerous. If you ever hear someone say, ‘This is how you control magic’ the best thing to do is run from them, because there is no way to control magic. Imagine magic as a wild Pegasus,” he pointed to the sky as a flock of Pegasus flew by. “It may allow you to ride it, if you are blessed, but you will never control it. And someone who thinks magic can be controlled is ignorant of the truth.”

“I understand,” I sighed. “So what should I be then, if I can’t be a wizard like you?”

“What should you be?” My father stood and ran his fingers through my hair. “You can be whatever you set your mind to, son. I just prefer it not to be magic. Now, I am going to go prepare dinner for you and I, before the roaring of our stomachs scares away the Pegasus that fly by, fearing that a manticore has taken up residence in our home!”

“Father,” I called out.

My father halted in his tracks and turned, “Yes, son?”

“How did mother die?” I asked.

My mother had passed when I was just an infant. I have no memory of my mother, nor are there any paintings of her than hang in the house. I could see the pain that etched across my father’s face. “You mother had an accident, son. That’s all you need to know.”

“You never speak of her,” I said, wondering why.

“Because it hurts, son. It hurts remembering… losing her…” My father turned, but I saw tears run down his cheek as he coughed to clear his throat, his voice sounding broken as he said, “Listen, I am going to work on dinner now. Can you clean up the yard a little? I will call you when dinner is ready…”

I slowly moved around the yard, cleaning up what little there was to clean. There was only one spot in the garden that was ever “dirty” – and that was near the back window. But it wasn’t dirty. It was as if it had been scorched. When I had asked my father about it, he claimed that a dragon had done it. This ploy of “cleaning the garden” was clearly to keep me out of the house, as my father had magical servants that tended to the yards and bushes. I returned to the house quietly and watched as my father moved aside a painting of him and I and revealed a safe in the wall that I had been unaware of. He touched the safe and it sprung open. He pulled out a steel box, and from there, pulled out a crystal ball. He waved his hands over it and I had to bite my tongue as I watched the crystal ball.

There was a woman – beautiful, blond, blue eyed – full of life, there with my father in the very yard he had me cleaning up. She looked glowing – she was holding an infant – it was me. My mother and father had been kissing me, giving me attention – and then I saw it. Another person – a young girl. I… had a sister? How did I not know this? I watched in horror as my parents had given me attention, and my sister climbed up to the second story trellises, and while calling out to mother and father and waving – she lost her grip and fell – striking one of the garden stones.

Her death was instantaneous. My mother screamed, and nearly dropped me from her arms, as the horror settled in. She rushed to my sister’s side. “We can’t lose her,” she pleaded to my father.

My father, holding me in his arms, touched my sister’s throat, “It’s already too late. It was quick. Painless.”

“We can undo this,” my mother had said.

“No!” my father stood. “No. Get that notion out of your mind.”

“I can not!” my mother screamed. “She is our daughter! She’s only five years old! She has her entire life in front of her!”

“No! You know this is forbidden! They will come for you. “

“For my daughter, I must risk it!”

“No! I refuse it!”

“You do not control me!” And then and there – she began whispering words. Words like I had never heard before. I wanted to run away. Hide. I was afraid. But I could not tear myself away from the truth that was being played out before me.

Suddenly, my sister sat up, crying.

She was… alive? How?

Then they came, just as quickly as my sister had sat up. I recognized them by the symbols they wore on their chest: The Order of the Sun.

“Necromancy!” one of them shouted. “Melyna, you are charged with the act of Necromancy! You know the price!”

My father stood between them, “Please, no! Listen! My daughter – she fell – died and…”

“There is no excuse for Necromancy,” the man snarled. “Melyna, you will be executed. Your name, evidence of your existence shall be erased from the world.”

Men from the Order of the Light rushed in and began taking photos where both my mother and sister had been in them, and began burning them. The man grabbed my mother, “Melyna, you have been found guilty of necromancy, and the punishment is death.”

My father screamed, as the Order of the Sun, slit her throat and threw her body in the fire. Then they grabbed my sister, and did the same thing, claiming she was an abomination. In one night, my father watched his daughter die – his wife get killed – and then watch his same daughter get killed again. When the fire had become nothing more than ashes, he had taken a handful – crushed it in his hand – whispered magic and slowly extended his hand apart – and the ashes turned into the crystal ball he was looking at. He had created a Memory Sphere – done typically with something from the person’s being, to capture moments of their life.

For my father, that moment was watching the day his wife and daughter died on repeat.

I watched as the images in the crystal ball swirled to mist and finally looked normal inside. He stood – his stance – it was rigid. His hands glowed with fire, as he began burning the house. Was he furious?

Then I heard them – “By the Order of the Sun, the act of Necromancy has been committed.”

Wait. Had using the crystal ball been necromancy? Why was my father burning the house before the Order of the Sun arrived?

Then I heard my father’s voice in my head. “Run, boy. Run.”

My father had used the Message spell to plant those words in my head.

He was erasing any evidence I had existed so that the Order of the Sun would not know I existed. I spent my years living on the rural floating islands of the lands. I took odd jobs here and there.

Despite my father’s request – I began to learn magic.

And not only did I begin to learn magic, I took an interest in Necromancy.

Why were the Order of the Sun so fearful of it?

I needed to know because it cost me my father, my mother, and my sister.

And damn it to Hell if I wasn’t going to get my revenge.

[Ironheart]

I have a Paladin who’s desperate to worship an elven god even though she herself is not an elf. This has meant that any communication she could have gotten while trancing, she hasn’t.

Name: Navani Siannodel
Race: Yuan-ti Pureblood, formerly a Wood Elf (she was cursed/reincarnated by a green dragon to be this way- she’s currently adventuring to find some way to reverse this.)
Class: Paladin 2/Sorcerer 5 (She’s a Draconic Sorcerer with a green dragon bloodline. Her powers may be the reason why she was cursed.)

Traits:
-Navani harbors dark thoughts, especially since her exile from home. These dark thoughts manifest as tendencies to lie and seek conflict.

-Navani’s combination of being Draconic and a Yuan-ti leaves her looking hideous, in her own mind, and so she constantly disguises herself.

-Despite her newfound interest in religion, she herself is not that knowledgeable in the gods, outside of what she’s gleaned taking refuge in forgotten shrines to unknown gods.

Some important events:
Navani was using her innate magic to defend the elven city of Len Thalore, and she had a romantic rivalry with another spell user named Gallindrann. After a hard fought battle, Navani was killed, and her body was taken.

When she next woke up, she was at a grove, and remembered some interaction with the green dragon, but many of her memories were murky.

Returning to Len Thalore led to have many believe that she was an imposter, a mockery of the Navani they knew. Gallindrann in particular swore to capture this creature and make her reveal where Navani’s corpse was, so that he could give it a proper burial. Navani escaped with her life, but felt utterly betrayed.

I’m mostly struggling to write up what events would have her believe that she could return to being an elf, and why she believes that worship of Sehaine Moonbow could do this. It could be inspired, it could be desperation. I plan to have her take the Oath of Ancients, but I’m looking more for why she decides to be a paladin in the first place while she’s in exile, despite her perceived incompatibility.

I also am working on feedback; your writing deserves the best.

[Tawmis]

I have a Paladin who’s desperate to worship an elven god even though she herself is not an elf. This has meant that any communication she could have gotten while trancing, she hasn’t.
Name: Navani Siannodel
Race: Yuan-ti Pureblood, formerly a Wood Elf (she was cursed/reincarnated by a green dragon to be this way- she’s currently adventuring to find some way to reverse this.)
Class: Paladin/Sorcerer (She’s a Draconic Sorcerer with a green dragon bloodline. Her powers may be the reason why she was cursed.)
Traits:
-Navani harbors dark thoughts, especially since her exile from home. These dark thoughts manifest as tendencies to lie and seek conflict.
-Navani’s combination of being Draconic and a Yuan-ti leaves her looking hideous, in her own mind, and so she constantly disguises herself.
-Despite her newfound interest in religion, she herself is not that knowledgeable in the gods, outside of what she’s gleaned taking refuge in forgotten shrines to unknown gods.
Some important events:
Navani was using her innate magic to defend the elven city of Len Thalore, and she had a romantic rivalry with another spell user named Gallindrann. After a hard fought battle, Navani was killed, and her body was taken.
When she next woke up, she was at a grove, and remembered some interaction with the green dragon, but many of her memories were murky.
Returning to Len Thalore led to have many believe that she was an imposter, a mockery of the Navani they knew. Gallindrann in particular swore to capture this creature and make her reveal where Navani’s corpse was, so that he could give it a proper burial. Navani escaped with her life, but felt utterly betrayed.
I’m mostly struggling to write up what events would have her believe that she could return to being an elf, and why she believes that worship of Sehaine Moonbow could do this. It could be inspired, it could be desperation. I plan to have her take the Oath of Ancients, but I’m looking more for why she decides to be a paladin in the first place while she’s in exile, despite her perceived incompatibility.
I also am working on feedback; your writing deserves the best.

Navani has had an effed up life...
It'd be uh... my ... pleasure?... to expand on it based on the above information. :D

[DevilMcam]

This is awesome.

If you ar still accepting submissions, here is mine.

Name : Lucy Feelfreetocomeupwithacoollastname
Class : Probably some bard or paladin, maybe both.
Race : Aasimar, Fallen more likely due to "bloodline interference" rather than properly falling from grace.

Backstory outline : Lucy Was a self ignoring aasimar. Lived a simple life working at the family luthery shop.
Until she got abducted by local vampire. Due to her divine blood though the vampire got very messed up. So much noone has seen it or heard of it ever since. Everyone in the town now believe she is the greates hero of all time.
She takes on adventuring to avoid her people and beeing asked to go slay the dragon around.

[Tawmis]

I have a Paladin who’s desperate to worship an elven god even though she herself is not an elf. This has meant that any communication she could have gotten while trancing, she hasn’t.
Name: Navani Siannodel
Race: Yuan-ti Pureblood, formerly a Wood Elf (she was cursed/reincarnated by a green dragon to be this way- she’s currently adventuring to find some way to reverse this.)
Class: Paladin 2/Sorcerer 5 (She’s a Draconic Sorcerer with a green dragon bloodline. Her powers may be the reason why she was cursed.)
Traits:
-Navani harbors dark thoughts, especially since her exile from home. These dark thoughts manifest as tendencies to lie and seek conflict.
-Navani’s combination of being Draconic and a Yuan-ti leaves her looking hideous, in her own mind, and so she constantly disguises herself.
-Despite her newfound interest in religion, she herself is not that knowledgeable in the gods, outside of what she’s gleaned taking refuge in forgotten shrines to unknown gods.

Some important events:
Navani was using her innate magic to defend the elven city of Len Thalore, and she had a romantic rivalry with another spell user named Gallindrann. After a hard fought battle, Navani was killed, and her body was taken.

When she next woke up, she was at a grove, and remembered some interaction with the green dragon, but many of her memories were murky.
Returning to Len Thalore led to have many believe that she was an imposter, a mockery of the Navani they knew. Gallindrann in particular swore to capture this creature and make her reveal where Navani’s corpse was, so that he could give it a proper burial. Navani escaped with her life, but felt utterly betrayed.
I’m mostly struggling to write up what events would have her believe that she could return to being an elf, and why she believes that worship of Sehaine Moonbow could do this. It could be inspired, it could be desperation. I plan to have her take the Oath of Ancients, but I’m looking more for why she decides to be a paladin in the first place while she’s in exile, despite her perceived incompatibility.
I also am working on feedback; your writing deserves the best.

Done!

I had a fantastic time developing the romantic rivalry between her and Gallindrann... and think I landed a pretty good story of how that comes to be.
The Green Dragon I mention is named Emereth - this is a Green Dragon that I _always_ use for my games and character backgrounds (even seen on these forums when I used her for a character background where I was a player, rather than the DM). You don't have to use the name, but it tickled my fancy at the notion that my Ancient Green Dragon creation might be traveling the multi-verse (she is after all an Ancient Dragon, and may have unlocked such an ability) and wreaking havoc!)
I enjoyed the idea of how I made her come to the side of wanting to be a Paladin also... lots of symbolism in here. :)
Also if you're familiar with "Stranger Things" - I squeezed a reference in there (since Season 3 just came out - and it's amazing!)
I hope you enjoy reading it - even if you don't use it - by all means, any feedback you have (did you hate it? Like it? Hate some of it? Like some of it? Love it? Suggestions?) - feel free to tell me - I take ZERO offense - and use it to grow. :)
================================================== ==========



My name is Navani Siannodel, and at one time, I was what many would have called beautiful.

Funny, if that’s even the right word, how life can be so utterly unpredictable and strip away from you the things in your life, you take for granted.

But, I am getting ahead of myself…

As I said, my name is Navani Siannodel, and I am a Wood Elf that has called Len Thalore home for a very long time. It was here I had also met Genthal Wolfstone, a Wood Elf like myself. We had grown up as childhood friends, and always flirted with the idea of developing our friendship into something more, but something always held us back from expressing our feelings. Our families were aware of one another, and frequently invited one another to each other’s homes for dinner, which perhaps made it more difficult to imagine what we could be as more than just friend – in the event anything ever went wrong with the relationship – how awkward it might become for our family. And so we buried those feelings – but each time we looked at each other – or our hands brushed against each other – magic surged from our veins – and not because I was a sorcerer – this was something deeper.

Len Thalore wasn’t a large town; but when Vash Vareen was attacked – a small village not too far – by a band of orcs from a tribe called The Red Eye – the families of the Vash Vareen town were forced to flee – and a great many of them took refuge in our town of Len Thalore.

My family took in one of those displaced families – and I got to know Gallindrann Lightbringer. She was beautiful – but she was also one who didn’t take much from anyone. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and her mother had repeatedly told the story about how – while the orcs had been attacking, Gallindrann was standing with her brother (who, we learned during the first telling of the story, had perished in the fight against the Red Eye Orcs), using her magic to help allow others to escape, while they had kept the orcs occupied.

I definitely admired – even respected Gallindrann – for her courage in a fight and to speak her mind. Gallindrann, myself and Genthal all grew very close. We did everything together.

But one day, I saw it – the way Genthal looked at Gallindrann. It was the same way he had used to look at me. Was he attracted to her? She certainly spoke openly about her attraction to him, and frequently complimented him, when the three of us were together. To be fair, I had never told Gallindrann about the attraction Genthal and I had – have? – for one another.

Now, it was too late to say something – now to say something would make me look selfish. Like a child taking her toys away from her friend and storming home.

One night, when I was alone with Genthal, we watched the stars streak against the moonless sky. I turned to him and simply said, “You know I’m attracted to you right? I think I have been since we were kids. I’ve always felt you… felt the same way about me.”

Before he could respond, Gallindrann had climbed the tree we had been sitting at and sat down between us. “What are you two doing?”

“Staring at the stars,” Genthal had smiled at her.

“It’s a beautiful night for that, especially with the moon out of the sky,” Gallindrann replied. Then her eyes went wide. “No!” she suddenly whispered. “We must warn the others! We must warn the others now!” She had suddenly sprung to her feet.

“Warn them of what?” Both Genthal and I were standing now.

“The Red Eye Orcs, they come,” Gallindrann explained. “It was on a night like this that they came.”

“But how do you know,” I began to ask. But she cut me off.

“Listen,” she whispered.

I listened. I heard no sound of marching orcs or war drums. “I don’t hear anything,” I replied.

“Exactly,” she said. “No birds.”

She was right. There were no bird sounds. No owls screeching through the night. No animals moving in the brush below.

As we rushed back to Len Thalore, we could already see smoke rising above the tree tops.

“No,” I whispered.

But it was true – the Red Eye Orcs had come – and they were attacking Len Thalore and its people. Gallindrann, who was a practiced mage shouted to me, “We must defend the gates! Genthal, get to the barracks and gather everyone who can wield a weapon – whether it be a sword or pitch fork – because the Red Eye Orcs will kill everyone regardless – man, woman, child – in their eyes, the more death they cause, the more they honor their one eyed god.”

Len Thalore looked like Hades had erupted on the land – fires burned, people screamed – the smell of flesh burning assaulted our senses – the Red Eye Orcs were ruthless as they ran through the city streets, cutting down anyone and everyone in their path. They’d burn the doors first, then the buildings, so people could not escape the infernos. They were sheer savages who killed in the name of their god, just as Gallindrann had said.

And that was the first part where my life took a drastic change. The Red Eye Orcs used some kind of sorcery to be able to move so quietly – their leaders were Shamans – using ancient magics. Somehow, one of them had got the drop on me – and I felt what seemed to be an electrified rope around my neck that had pulled me down to the ground. The last thing I saw that night was six orcs standing over me, each of them with an eye gouged out, before they all began thrusting their swords into me, well over sixty times, before I blacked out...

… and died.

There was quick flashes.

Blurs. Visions.

Then everything felt… upside down.

The skies were black, and green lightning pieced the skies. A large, shadowy figure suddenly stood before me, her voice deep, sinister, cruel. “You have some of my blood in you,” she said. “It’s faint, but it’s there. In many ways, you are a granddaughter of mine, by many generations. I’ve made a deal… with some old friends… using magic, ancient magic… long forgotten by most… You won’t die just yet… I have need of you… And so, I bestow upon you, life once more, grand-child of mine…”

Green lightning split the skies, and for that brief moment, I could see her clearly.

She was a Green Dragon – enormous in size – and undoubtedly ancient.

Then I felt something, as if there were a fishing hook inside of my heart – and it violently pulled at me – with so much force that my hands touched my feet as I was yanked through a green, swirling mist.

I can only describe the sensation of having been held underwater for five minutes, and then finally being allowed to come up for air. I was choking, taking in deep breaths, and my lungs burned, my head screamed, my stomach revolted against me, and my very body seemed to be at war with itself.

When I finally regained control – and I could look around – I was in a grove with memories I could scarcely believe.

It took a moment to remember what had happened – and where I was – before I could gather my sense of direction and return to Len Thalore. The first person I saw was the first person I had hoped to run into – Gallindrann Lightbringer.

But her reaction was not what I had expected. She launched a series of spells at me, calling me a demon. When I tried to convince her it was me – even sharing details that only she and I would have known – she continued her furious attack upon me. I was forced to run away from my own home, uncertain why – until I had tripped near the small lake outside of Len Thalore called Silverlake, because of how it looked like a mirror.

And now I saw why Gallindrann had attacked me.

What had I become? My eyes – the iris looked like snakes. My skin was not my own. Scales decorated my skin in small patches. I looked at my hands and saw long, black nails. “What’s happened to me?” I cried out – and took notice, my tongue – forked like a snake.

What had I done to deserve this?

The vision I had – with the green dragon – I remember her name – Emereth – I heard it as I was pulled back. Did she have something to do with this? Was she even real? She had said I was her grand-daughter by many generations… was she saying… I had Draconic Bloodlines? And from a Green Dragon, notoriously known for their evil?

I took to disguising myself, because I looked, in my eyes, frightful. I began to study about Draconic Bloodlines, and found several volumes that mentioned Emereth the Green, and how she was a vile, evil dragon, who killed and tortured for the pleasure of it.

I looked at my hands. Is this what I was destined to become?

I took up sanctuary in the charred remains of Gallindrann’s old home, Vash Vareen – and fell asleep in the first building I found.

In the daylight, I saw I had fallen asleep in a Church – and that despite the damage, the statue that honored Sehaine Moonbow was undamaged.

It was a sign. She would be my redemption. The fact that the entire village had been burned down and she, despite the outside appearance, inside this temple, was still clean and pure – she was a symbol of what I was. I was burned on the outside – but inside, I was still pure.

I needed to dedicate my life to Sehaine Moonbow – spread her holy word – and pray that she would cast her gaze upon me and restore me – so that I could return to my life – and restore my life again.

[Tawmis]

This is awesome.

If you ar still accepting submissions, here is mine.

Name : Lucy Feelfreetocomeupwithacoollastname
Class : Probably some bard or paladin, maybe both.
Race : Aasimar, Fallen more likely due to "bloodline interference" rather than properly falling from grace.

Backstory outline : Lucy Was a self ignoring aasimar. Lived a simple life working at the family luthery shop.
Until she got abducted by local vampire. Due to her divine blood though the vampire got very messed up. So much noone has seen it or heard of it ever since. Everyone in the town now believe she is the greates hero of all time.
She takes on adventuring to avoid her people and beeing asked to go slay the dragon around.

Definitely will write one up for this! But it will probably be tomorrow. It's now 1:41am where I am - and work beckons all too early! So I hope to have something for you (probably written while I am at work - shhhh - don't tell the boss!)

[Man_Over_Game]

I apologize for not responding back, my weekend was pretty busy.

Your writing on the Moon Druid who doesn't want to be is pretty damn stellar. The hook at the end, where it's something forced by a god, got me pretty damn good. I envision this guy being completely spiteful, wearing a bunch of piercings and metal into combat like a medieval biker, with some of the alterations appearing during his Wild Shapes.

On the writing itself, I feel that the weakest parts are probably the conversation with the woman in the woods, as well as showing his disdain for his lineage early on. The conversation feels a bit clunky, although that can be fixed by simply saying that Barius feels odd and compelled to be forthcoming, or it could be cleaned up a bit so it's less clunky and more mysterious. The disdain in the early part of the story could be fixed with a little more explanation, maybe a little more angst, as it currently feels like "I don't like my father or being a Druid, because I don't like being told what to do", which is a bit empty.

Your storyboarding is on point. You definitely managed a damn good twist in a couple paragraphs, I just think that taking perspective of the emotional aspects from the audience's point of view might help clean up some more of the specific events. Amazing job, man.

[Tawmis]

I apologize for not responding back, my weekend was pretty busy.

What? You have a life and are not just sitting here writing responses to submissions?! How dare you!

Naturally, I kid. While I do love when people share their thoughts on what I've written for them - that way I know if they've enjoyed what I created - it's not mandatory! :)

I am doing this - not just to create backgrounds for folks - but also, I do it as a writing challenge (I try to knock these out in less than an hour, so I am not overthinking them). So it benefits those who ask me to write these (ideally), and it allows me to challenge myself creatively!

Your writing on the Moon Druid who doesn't want to be is pretty damn stellar. The hook at the end, where it's something forced by a god, got me pretty damn good. I envision this guy being completely spiteful, wearing a bunch of piercings and metal into combat like a medieval biker, with some of the alterations appearing during his Wild Shapes.
Your storyboarding is on point. You definitely managed a damn good twist in a couple paragraphs, I just think that taking perspective of the emotional aspects from the audience's point of view might help clean up some more of the specific events. Amazing job, man.

Thank you so much! I didn't want to make it super obvious that the woman was a god - kind of left it open, if the woman in the woods was indeed the goddess - or if she just happened to be a normal person, who was truly fleeing from brigands (and not forcibly manipulating the character's fate). ;)

On the writing itself, I feel that the weakest parts are probably the conversation with the woman in the woods, as well as showing his disdain for his lineage early on. The conversation feels a bit clunky, although that can be fixed by simply saying that Barius feels odd and compelled to be forthcoming, or it could be cleaned up a bit so it's less clunky and more mysterious. The disdain in the early part of the story could be fixed with a little more explanation, maybe a little more angst, as it currently feels like "I don't like my father or being a Druid, because I don't like being told what to do", which is a bit empty.

I think I may have missed the mark with the disdain, then! I was trying to paint a picture that the Druids were reclusive (mentioning at times, they wouldn't see another druid for weeks or months), and this wasn't the life style he wanted (not only that he didn't want to be a druid, but he didn't want to be some reclusive hermit who ran around the woods, spending his time speaking with animals, rather than actual people).

And I intended the conversation to be awkward (not so much clunky, drat!), because of his lack of interaction with people (outside of his family), so I was trying to paint him socially awkward - but that he did want to talk to this woman, just because she was someone who wasn't in his family. But her probing questions make him feel even more socially awkward.

Next time I will focus on those smaller details a little more to bring that more to the forefront!

Thank you SO much for taking the time to comment and give feedback! I devour it, feed on it, and use it to grow. :)

[Man_Over_Game]

Looking back on it, you're absolutely right on the "disdain" aspect. You did a pretty good job, I guess I must have missed something from when I last read it.

I do see where you're going with the conversation with the woman, and how awkward he is. I'd say that, to avoid it feeling awkward in the literary sense, just include more mentions about how he feels about things. Maybe he's getting the creeps, or maybe he's feeling some sort of compulsion to act differently, or maybe he's just feeling very uncomfortable with how forward she's being.

There's one particular moment where he reveals he belongs to the Circle of the Moon tribe, but it felt kind of empty, considering he had just lied about it.

[Tawmis]

Looking back on it, you're absolutely right on the "disdain" aspect. You did a pretty good job, I guess I must have missed something from when I last read it.
I do see where you're going with the conversation with the woman, and how awkward he is. I'd say that, to avoid it feeling awkward in the literary sense, just include more mentions about how he feels about things. Maybe he's getting the creeps, or maybe he's feeling some sort of compulsion to act differently, or maybe he's just feeling very uncomfortable with how forward she's being.
There's one particular moment where he reveals he belongs to the Circle of the Moon tribe, but it felt kind of empty, considering he had just lied about it.

No, I think you're right the first time (with the disdain and such) - there was definitely opportunity to have flesh out further and the awkwardness of speaking to the woman. I think in my head, I had the visual of him feeling awkward, but didn't get those words down.