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101 DnD Character Ideas

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  • Bluecho
    started a topic 101 DnD Character Ideas

    101 DnD Character Ideas

    Talk about Dungeon & Dragons character ideas here. Use whatever edition you like, though kindly specify which. (Pathfinder also okay, if it pleases you).


    1) Hunters Moon Skyseeker (Tabaxi Warlock; 5e):
    Basically a cat-man version of Javert from Les Miserables. Everyone assumes he's a Paladin, because he upholds the law (Alignment: Lawful Neutral or Lawful Good) and heals people. In point of fact, however, he's a Celestial Warlock, having made a pact with the heavenly personification of a Zodiac sign. (Because Stars). Used to be a criminal ("I am from the gutter too!"), who made an active choice to pledge himself to the law as a means of escaping the dregs of society. Made a Pact with an Astrological sign as a means of overcoming the class barriers, because even a lawfully minded Tabaxi from the lower classes can't easily get Paladin training. The star sign he serves is a DnD version of either Sagittarius ("The Archer") or Libra ("The Scales"), marking him either as a hunter of criminals or a bastion of the law. Chooses either the Pact of the Blade (Sagittarius) or the Pact of the Tome (Libra).

    Like Javert, may be a bit of a hypocrite, as he detests anyone who ever committed a crime, despite having himself crawled from the lawless gutter. Character development would come from learning to reconcile this paradox, and forgive the criminal. As a Tabaxi, his Obsession usually involves specific criminal scum, or particular crimes. His quirk, a marked habit of standing on elevated perches and pacing back and forth, staring at the sky if it is visible. Doubly so if the stars are out, both because the stars are his master, and out of a deep-seated fixation on the heavens that developed during childhood. A desire to ascend from the gutter, and a fascination with everything that is "UP".
    Last edited by Bluecho; 02-01-2018, 01:43 AM.

  • Bluecho
    replied
    139) Sarnai the Scarlet Hope, Caretaker of Dragons [Human, Draconic Sorcerer]:
    In Sarnai's world, most folk scavenge the ruins and machines of fallen empires, taking refuge where they can between vast wastelands. In Sarnai's world, True Dragons have not been seen in living memory, and are thought to be extinct. The Wyrm Restoration Project was founded to reverse this process.

    Sarnai the Sorcerer was taken in at a young age, abandoned by a community that hated and feared those born with magical power (for was it not the Magicians and Artificers that left the world in such a sorry state?). The WRP saw in her an ancient draconic legacy - the blood of red dragons flowed through her veins - making her invaluable for remaking these venerable wyrms. They called her the Scarlet Hope, and sent her to be raised on a mountaintop monastery that served as one of the Project's labs. From that high perch, magician-scientists worked to remake dragons. Sarnai's blood was sampled, and she spent many years tending to the fruits of this research. By the time she entered her 35th year, the mountain perch was home to many red wyverns, drakes, and pseudodragons. She came to see these creatures as her children, after a fashion. She raised many from eggs herself.

    True Red Dragons, however, were elusive. Even with the infusion of sorceress's blood, they needed more. More samples from which to derive red dragon lineage. Or perhaps a purer strain.

    Reports began filtering in from sister monasteries in other lands, where other colors of dragon were being made. Reports of a great red wyrm, ancient and terrible, prowled the skies. It was not one of their's. They never DID discover from whence Sarnai's draconic blood came. Whether these reports were true or merely rumor, it became clear to the sorceress that she needed to find out for herself. So, despite having lived most of her life in the sheltered climbs of the monastery, Sarnai the Scarlet Hope garbed herself in simple traveling clothes, and flew off into the wider world on the back of a wyvern.

    (No, she wouldn't be able to keep the wyvern during play. Either it would get shot down or captured, or she'd be obliged to leave it at one of the sister monasteries, while she performed her investigations.)

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    138) Endurance the Ashen, Knight of the Breach [Tiefling (Zariel), Oath of the Watchers Paladin]:
    In a certain land, in a bygone age, a magical calamity tore open a breach, connecting the material world to other planes. From this tear - what the common folk call the Breach - monsters of every shape, size, and kind leak through. It is here that the hero of great renown - Bartoat the Banisher - stood beside other great heroes of yore, resolute against the tide of aberrations, elementals, and fiends. Bartoat and his ilk are gone, now, but the Breach remains, as do the countless brave folk who take up that baleful vigil.

    The Tiefling called Endurance is the latest of a long line of defenders. A line that spent so long standing knee deep in the blood of planar creatures, the taint of Fiends seeped into their bones and marked their family forever. Nothing unusual, for the Knights of the Breach include many Tieflings, Genasi, and those touched by Fae, Far Realm, and chaotic Limbo. All the same, the people of their land are wary of the defenders who bear the marks of planar magic, forming a pecking order between them and those of purely native blood.

    Just such a rivalry exists between Endurance and a human Knight named Albrecht, called "The Beautiful", descendant of storied heroes. Albrecht always looked down on Endurance, calling him hellspawn; "little better than the fiends from the Breach". When the occasion came that Endurance volunteered to seek the lost magic sword of the hero Bartoat - called Explusion, the Banishing Blade - Albrecht became incensed to the point of conniptions. How dare the hellspawn seek such a hold blade of legend?

    The two Paladins race across the world and even across the planes, trying to find any trace of Bartoat's sword. Will they survive to lay eyes on it? Will they have the strength and fortitude to claim it, without losing their honor in the process?

    These questions weigh heavy on Endurance, for whom the taint of the lower planes is a constant source of self-doubt. Can he be trusted to resist temptation? Is his will strong enough? Endurance the Ashen is a melancholy soul, prone to hiding his gray skin and horns beneath a hood, so tired he is of the gaze of normal folk. To him, the root source of his motives and actions is of great importance.

    The same, unfortunately, cannot be said of Albrecht the Beautiful, who has never doubted, questioned, or self-reflected. He would do anything to get what he wants. Even stab his fellow knights in the back. After all, what's one more devil added to the pile?

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    It's worth pointing out that the above character concept could also work for a Paladin of Vengeance or Monster Slayer Ranger. I chose Battle Master Fighter because none of its maneuvers require the character be able to SEE the enemy, whereas spellcasting often mandates it. I'm unsure as to whether a character with the Blind Fighting style counts as being able to "see" an opponent, for purposes of targeting them, so I went with the sure bet.


    As an aside, this character could also make use of a number of Feats. Defensive Duelist and Duel Wielder (the polished shield trick has never worked for the family, anyway) are solid picks, and Battle Masters can always do with more Maneuvers. But I'm also partial to Alert, since it would prevent a monster - including the Medusa - from hiding, which is a major weak point for characters that use Blind Fighting.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 01-14-2020, 12:04 PM.

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  • Bluecho
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    137) Benita Vicario, Night Fighter [Human, Battle Master Fighter]:
    Benita grew up in the ancestral home of House Vicario. A villa flanked by rolling hills, extensive vineyards, and the familial cemetery. A cemetery filled not just with gravestones, but with the petrified sons of Vicario going back many generations, locked forever in expressions of pain and horror.

    For hundreds of years, House Vicario has harbored a blood feud against a monster. A Medusa that dwells in the hills beyond Villa Vicario, at the mouth of a river that passes through the ancestral estate. What started this quarrel, none remember. But no Vicario can forget what she took from them; row after row of their forefathers, uncles, and brothers stand vigil over the grounds, their wounded bodies and contorted faces, preserved in stone, an eternal reminder. Of their loss, and of their duty.

    Generation after generation, House Vicario has produced sons that are trained in the art of combat. Generation after generation marches or paddles to the hills, dead set on ending the monster. And generation after generation, each son of Vicario is sent back, their petrified bodies drifting slowly on the boats they sailed up in or on crude wooden rafts. The Medusa has never attacked the villa, and always returns the warriors of Vicario to the family. Is it some twisted sense of honor on the monster's part? Some ancient debt? A cruel taunting gesture? Or is the Medusa a creature of habit, going through the motions just like House Vicario? It matters little, for the result is always the same: another statue added to the cemetery, and another vow of revenge.

    Such is the world that Benita Vicario was born to. Every day of her childhood, she walked the grounds of the estate, always looking up at the ancestors frozen at the moment of greatest duress. She watched her father and brothers train in the courtyard, with bow and rapier and polished shield. Then, one by one, they each traveled into the hills, and returned in stone. First her father, then each of her older brothers. The last was a statue when she turned fourteen, and she could bear the sorrow no longer. Against the wishes of her female relatives - who long ago resigned themselves to the tragedy - Benita began her own training. She had only a scant few younger siblings, and she would not subject them or any other future Vicario to the endless cycle. She'd become a great warrior, and kill the Medusa herself. And she'd do it HER way.

    Hiring trainers from abroad, Benita was instructed in the art of Blind Fighting (as described in the UA Class Feature Variants). Sight always betrayed the Vicarios, so she would not rely on it. Unfortunately, her grandmother - the matriarch who controlled the Vicario estate and finances - was finished funding Benita's foolish crusade. "It is not the place of Vicario women to pursue Vendetta". In response, Benita departed from the villa, aiming to increase her skills out in the world. Even if it meant doing battle with monsters far worse that the Vicario family nemesis.

    One day, the Night Fighter will return.

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    [This one could be divisive. It just sort of...developed into what it became. I've done my best to keep things in perspective. Not all characters described in this thread need to be positive role-models.]


    136) Flaaig Rothenel [Drow Elf, War Domain Cleric]:
    Once a guard in the service of a Drow priestess, Flaaig never questioned the order of dark elf society. Where he, as a male, was at best a second class citizen to female Drow, never to advance very far in his station. That was, until he was put on duty guarding slaves, and met Perotius.

    Taken in a night raid on the surface, Perotius was an officer in the imperial army. Owing to his strong back and handsome (and exotic) features, he was set to work carrying the mistress's litter. But while he (begrudgingly) endured his slavery like a soldier endures service, he continued to practice his faith when he could, as well as he could. Perotius was a member of a military cult dedicated to his culture's hero-god of strength. Flaaig, curious about the slave's penchant for prayer and ritual exercise at the beginning and end of his shifts, began conversing with the human. Perotius saw in this heathen potential, and taught him the stories and prayers of his warrior god.

    The all-male cult Perotius was devoted to valued strength and "masculine virtue". The idea that a man (for a certain definition of "man") appealed to Flaaig, who had never known masculinity as anything but a mark of weakness. He absorbed the human's lessons greedily, and before long began to chafe under the yoke of Drow convention. When his attempts to assert himself were met by punishment and ridicule - Drow matrons preferred to keep male Drow in their place - he seethed with frustration. Doubling down on his prayers, he eventually developed Cleric powers, and through this secretly gathered followers among slaves and male Drow alike (the latter have little more power than the former). With Perotius's help, Flaaig staged a rebellion in their community, culminating in the looting and killing and ravashing of the mistress and her retainers.

    It's worth understanding that Flaaig is not a Good person. Even if he was originally a victim.

    Having destabilized his native Drow house, Flaaig followed Perotius to the surface. There, he has achieved a position in the surface empire's military by leading forces - including male Drow cultists dedicated to the warrior god - in campaigns in the Underdark. True, most citizens of the empire are wary of this ebon-skinned elf "foreigner", though he is also a citizen by the empire's laws. However, he is making waves within the military cult, and certain members of the state appreciate such a zealous force, capable of achieving territorial gains that no surface-dweller in the empire considered an option in the first place. Of course, this also means Flaaig is a threat to some other forces within the imperial hierarchy.

    Not to mention he's gained no love among women - surface-dweller or Drow - because of his toxic masculinity and violence against them. In the Underdark, his actions have already sparked both propaganda and a tightening of the reins over male Drow and slaves alike. Still, word of this figure spreads among dark elf men...

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    135) Nurm, the Restless [Githzerai, Way of the Astral Self Monk]:
    A roiling maelstrom of chaos, Limbo is a realm few creatures can exist in, let alone thrive. The Githzerai are among those few beings able to make Limbo their home, using their focused minds to impose order upon that realm's inherent disorder. But to do so requires great mental discipline.

    For this reason, the Gith named Nurm - known as the Restless - could not long remain among his people. While possessed of a potent spirit, that training could cultivate into a useful weapon, he was since birth burdened with a singular disquiet of the mind. A restless energy that no amount of meditation could wholly alleviate or control. His very presence in Limbo was a destabilizing element, neither his mind nor body able to stay still for long.

    Sent to a Githzerai outpost on the Prime Material Plane, his superiors set him to work seeking out signs of Illithid or Githyanki presence. They hope to at least channel his restless energy for the good of their cause. Nurm hopes that if he pursues adventure, it might "get it out of his system". Perhaps in such quests, he might learn methods of achieving the inner peace he craves.

    When Nurm's Astral Self is manifest, it takes the form of a twisting tangle of fluid in the contorted suggestion of a humanoid, tendrils swept back from its head like thick hair, and a single hole where its face ought to be. The hole is a whirlpool, at the black center of which is a shining star. Nurm is self-conscious of his Astral Self, as it reveals what he sees as his fundamental failing as a Githzerai. He prefers not to display it, save when necessary.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 01-01-2020, 06:44 PM.

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  • Bluecho
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    134) Jingfei Jin [Wood Elf, Way of the Four Elements Monk]:
    Spoiled daughter of a ranking bureaucrat in the imperial government, Jingfei was a beautiful, cruel youth. Using her wealth and social station, she lorded over and tormented the peasants in her province. Taking for granted that she was untouchable.

    Until the day the one-eyed peasant girl, Chou Du, crossed her path. The peasant girl who was, unbeknownst to Jingfei, a student of the Open Palm at a monastery.

    Jingfei's mocking and barbed words rolled off Chou's back. The cruelty Jingfei showed to other impoverished people, though, was more than the Monk could tolerate. The noble daughter's guards were no match, nor did her haughty protestations of higher station stop the pummeling that ensued. She begged for mercy, and Chou Du departed without a word, to tend to the poor.

    The best healers in the region could repair her broken nose perfectly well, but nothing could salve the humiliation...or stop the fear. In that moment of violence, Jingfei came to a realization: coin, rank, and noble lineage were illusions, insubstantial as a paper screen in the face of a storm. They could not be trusted to protect her, nor to give her satisfaction. With a single word, Jingfei's father would send all manner of officers, thugs, and assassins to snuff out the one-eyed Monk, Chou Du. But it would only prove Chou right: that Jingfei was weak, a pretty face unable to stand on her own.

    So instead, Jingfei Jin departed her father's house, and took to training in martial arts with a rival school to that of Chou Du. If she was to best Chou Du, it would be at her own game. In the end, only one's own skills could be trusted.

    Having learned as much as she could, Jingfei Jin is on the road, only a small complement of servants by her side. Her father thinks her mad, training in violence and giving away her dowry, for reasons she refuses to tell him. The servants are there as much to keep an eye on her as actually do her bidding. Jingfei intends to make her own way in the world, getting personally down in the mud, down into the forgotten cracks of the world. Fighting monsters, dispersing bandits, toppling corrupt officials (even when they are her "peers" in terms of social class), and always trying to track down the elusive Chou Du.

    Eagerly awaiting the day when she can challenge the peasant and win. No matter how many times she needs to be knocked down. She WILL surpass the girl with one eye.

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    133) Qistina, Heart's Blade Initiate [Human, Soulknife Rogue]:
    A war orphan, Qistina was raised by the temples of her homeland's gods. Out of gratitude for saving her life and giving her a home, Qistina dedicated her life to the organization. Her shrewd mind and great skill caught the attention of the temple guard, who inducted her into the ranks of the prestigious Heart's Blades.

    Shedding blood on holy ground was forbidden to their religion, and so the Heart's Blades were formed to guard the temples and priestly VIPs. They accomplish this using secret methods developed in centuries past by the temple's mystics, to create blades that would harm the spirit but leave the body whole. Allowing these holy guardians to protect the faith without soiling the ground with the customary mixture of steel and blood.

    Having reached a sufficient stage in her training, Qistina has been assigned as the entourage of a holy child blessed from birth by the divine (read: a favored soul sorcerer). The trick, of course, being that the high priests of the faith consider this holy child more trouble than they're worth - indeed, as a potential threat to the temple hierarchy - and so send them on ecclesiastical errands supported by a handful of mercenaries, an aging cleric, and a junior Heart's Blade. In the hopes that the myriad dangers of the world will remove the holy child from the equation before they have a chance to upset the status quo.

    Not realizing her role as a pawn in establishment games, Qistina takes her duty quite seriously. She sees in this sheltered youth the hope for the future, and will do anything to protect them. Even if she must stoop to low methods. It is, after all, the duty of the Heart's Blades to dispose of problems. Her hands cannot be dirtied by such work, so surely her cause is just.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 11-28-2019, 01:01 AM.

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    132) Nana Toadstool [Goblin, Circle of Spores Druid]:
    As a child, the goblin who would become Nana Toadstool endured hunger during the lean times, when the droughts deprived gobs and men alike of rain. Many of her male kinfolk turned to raiding, risking their hides for a few precious heads of cabbage or a single malnourished hen. As a young adult, she traveled to the deep woods, to learn the old ways from ancient, intelligent mushrooms that nested there. Fungi whose memories were long, and whose knowledge was deep. The goblin came to understand the secrets of mycelium and mushroom caps. Of life, death, decay, and parasitism.

    She's an old gob now, but she's used her knowledge of nature to keep her tribe fed. She abhors seeing someone too skinny, always trying to feed them. She remembers the lean times well, and would not wish starvation on anyone.

    But now, new conflict is brewing. Not the tribal raids common to their people, but War. The able-bodied of her kinfolk - and many more less able bodied, besides - have been pressganged into service to the Hobgoblin clans. Goblinoids are on the march, once again, and aim for plunder, land, glory, and slaves.

    Nana Toadstool knows how war breeds deprivation. For the soldiers, ever short on rations. For the common folk, forced to depart their farms and abandon their stores. She won't stand idly by and let it happen. So while the young march, she follows after. There to help feed the living and...repurpose the dead. "Never let anything go to waste", as she always says.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 11-24-2019, 01:07 AM.

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    131) Lt. Giles Forest, Army Druid Dragoon [Human, Wildfire Druid]:
    Drafted from an uneventful life into the military, Giles Forest's unusual affinity for the natural world (read: a Wisdom score in excess of 13) caught the attention of his superiors. Always in need of magical expertise, Forest was fast-tracked for basic training in their country's natural Druidism. The necessity to take him away from more involved infantry training, coupled with the need to spread the army's magical resources around, landed him as part of a company of Dragoons (essentially, supplemental mounted infantry). Giles didn't much care for the service, but adapted to the situation well enough. Most of his duties involved patching up the wounded, starting campfires, reading the weather, and molding soil into improvised fortifications during nightly camps. He didn't see a great deal of actual combat action for much of his military career.

    That is, until his platoon was brought in to relieve a beleaguered force, and he was caught in the middle of both an enormous battle and a raging wildfare. He never did learn what caused it, not that it mattered.

    Shuffling alone among the burned remains of the battlefield, bearing minor burns on his cheek and arms, Giles lingered, exhausted, on the immolated remains of a military camp. (Whose camp it was, he neither knew nor cared). The pain, the exhaustion, and the horror was too much. He sank to his knees and, in an attempt to restore some semblance of life to the parched and soot-covered earth, employed his druidcraft to make a single flower bloom.

    There, weeping over that fresh blossom, was where the fire spirit found him. Touched by the soldier's capacity to foster life, even in death, it bonded with him. He didn't want it - tried to make it go away and trouble him no more with its fire - but the bond was forged regardless. Giles Forest had been touched by wildfire, and now carried it with him ever after.

    For a time he wandered the land, using alcohol to blot out the visions of the war. The traumas, and the flame. When sober, though, he heard tales of a land gone wrong. Monsters that preyed on the innocent. Men who refused to die when it was ordained, and continued on in malice. A sickness infecting the wilderness, in ways too awful to be described. Something about mummies. Other such stories. Giles Forest would rather his days of fighting be over. But his druid training - drilled into him by his mentor, a sour old elf who always complained about never having enough time - nagged at him. As did the wildfire spirit, who whispered in his dreams to burn away the rot in the world, so new life could grow in its place. Isn't that what Giles had wanted?

    If nothing else, trudging out to adventure would 1) keep him in booze money, 2) silence his nagging spirit (or was that his conscience?), 3) get him some fresh air, and 4) possibly kill him in something resembling a noble cause (and thereby end his suffering). He hates to use the flame - drowns it out with drink as much as he can - but he'll need it for what's to come.

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    130) Al Yarog the Younger, Clan Black Boar [Half-Orc, Champion Fighter]:
    Since his youth, Al Yarog was compared to another Half-Orc who shared his name: Al Yarog the Elder, a warrior of great renown. When two great nations went to war, and his own called upon the strength of all the clans in the region who swore fealty to the king, Al Yarog of Clan Black Boar was quick to answer. Hoping his valor in battle would not only give glory to Clan Black Boar, but elevate his own name beyond merely as a sound-alike to a greater name. That when they spoke of the great warriors of that age, they would speak of "Al Yarog, Elder and Younger".

    For a time, the Younger got a taste of what he desired. He survived multiple hard fights over the course of the multi-year long campaign. When soldiers would speak of Al Yarog, it came to pass that they DID need to specify which. The Half-Orc swelled with pride. Pride enough that he grew careless. At a critical juncture, he dove into combat, heedless of troops that were falling back in terror. It was only when he wove into the strange forest of stones, until he was lost amid them, that he realized they were statues. Not just statues, though, but the petrified forms of allies.

    It occurred to him too late that he should turn back, and he raised his eyes just in time to meet the gaze of a Medusa clad in plate and riding a gorgon.

    When next he stirred, it was centuries later, a freak storm of magic unweaving the enchantment that turned himself and many others to stone. Though at that point, few of his fellow petrified warriors were intact enough to survive returning to flesh. The battlefield was long abandoned; the war long behind them.

    Al Yarog the Younger returned to a changed homeland. Nations had risen and fallen; the people considered that war a distant legend. Only the learned could recognize the name Al Yarog the Younger, and the stories painted him as a footnote. Worse still, Al Yarog's identity as a member of Clan Black Boar was met with disdain. In his absence, his sons and grandsons had brought no end of shame to the Clan, until the lot of them were cast into disgrace. Their lands seized by stronger clans, their descendants scattered to the four winds. Everything that Al Yarog the Younger had tried to build was reduced to ash.

    Now he marches across a world new and bizarre, a stranger in a strange land. Trying to find the remnants of Clan Black Boar, and whip them into shape. Finding new battles to fight, to rehabilitate his shameful lineage and give currency back to his name. Transcend his Elder in prominence. And, of course, find that warrior Medusa - if she yet lives - and take her head, just as she took his life and his clan's future.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 09-24-2019, 08:31 PM.

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  • Nyrufa
    replied
    129) Fergeg (Hobgoblin, Sorcerer): Magic was not something that Fergeg ever wanted to be present in his life, but the treacherous ways of the elves are well known among his people. Shortly after coming of age to enter military service to the hobgoblin army, Fergeg would be exposed to an abnormally high concentration of magical residue when his company encountered a circle of elven druids. The battlefield, as it turned out, was the focusing site of a powerful glade, and the hobgoblins had stepped right into it!

    During the ensuing chaos of battle, the primal forces of nature seeped into Fergeg's very being, and he began to spontaneously manifest strange abilities from that point on. A lesser race would have been awe inspired by such a phenomenon, but Fergeg was a proud and true member of the hobgoblin army. His newfound abilities disgusted him, and he did his best to keep them hidden whenever possible. But being so inexperienced, this trick couldn't last forever, and eventually his secret got out. Shunned and chastised by his own people, Fergeg went awol during his next patrol, and has been traveling the realms of Golarion ever since, trying to find some way to live with the 'curse' he's been afflicted with.

    Bloodline: Fey

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  • Bluecho
    replied
    128) Rolen Ostoroth, "Traitor" [Drow Elf, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer]:
    Formerly of the Drow House Ostoroth, Rolen served as the scribe, personal assistant, and occasional consort of a Drow noblewoman and military captain. His mistress led a coalition of Drow warriors from many houses, in their military campaign against a force of rival Underdark races. The Drow assumed their enemies were merely mundane races - Duergar, Miconids, the occasional subterranean vampire lord, etc. However, this rival alliance had backers more shadowy and sinister than even the usual Underdark natives: Mind Flayers. A fact Rolen and his mistress discovered, to their horror, when they fell into an ambush, and their whole company captured. Rolen knows some Drow soldiers were turned into food or mind-shattered thralls. Of his mistress, he knew not. For a terrible fate indeed befell him: he was taken to the Illithids' foul laboratory and experimented on.

    They took him apart. Physically. They disassembled his body, and plucked his brain out. Their eldritch science keeping his body and brain alive, so they could subject them to untold tests and processes. It is to his good fortune that his brain could feel no pain; he only felt the maddening torment of sensory deprivation, and the occasional whirlwind of hallucinations when they prodded and stimulated his cortex.

    Rolen lost five years in that hell, though in truth he lost track of time very quickly. Before he knew it, the experiments ended. They put him back together - his body a quilt of stitch scars, his blood and tissues inundated with untold alchemical concoctions - and set him loose. He hardly waited to wonder why, he was so quick to put as many miles between himself and where they deposited him.

    The Drow male did not receive a warm welcome when he returned to House Ostoroth. In the time he was gone, Drow forces had been put on the defensive, their armies routed and outmaneuvered at every turn. They were furious, and looked for who to blame. To their thinking, Rolen not only failed his mistress (who disappeared along with him and her warriors), he must obviously have betrayed her and the rest of the Drow. How else to explain his continued survival? That Rolen couldn't give a reason as to why he got away only damned him further in the eyes of his people; the powerful headaches he felt did him no favors arguing his case. In the end, they would have executed him on the spot, had his psionic sorcery not manifested itself due to stress.

    Fleeing and leaving several bodies behind - including that of a Drow inquisitor, and a woman no less(!) - Rolen was branded a traitor and anathema. Assassins dogging him every step of the way, he fled to the surface, finding a place to hide. Now he's adrift, mind and body wracked by lingering ache and persistent trauma. Disheveled, tired, covered in a network of scars, and paranoid of both Drow and Illithid stalkers, Rolen, formerly of House Ostoroth, cuts a pitiable and unsettling figure.

    Only two things motivate him these days: fear of being killed (or, worse, of being dragged back to the Mind Flayer pits) and hate. Hate for the Illithid. Hate for the Drow houses. He is possessed not just by trauma, but by the stubborn refusal to fall. He'll live to spite them all, and hone his new powers. Until the day comes when he can tear their worlds down, stone by stone.

    And maybe, along the way, he'll find out what happened to his mistress.

    First, obviously, the Mind Flayers learned what they did about the Drow forces by extracting what they wanted from the minds of their captives, including Rolen and his mistress. The Drow, accustomed to duplicity and betrayal, refused to believe they were undone by anything else. Least of all stories of tentacle-faced horrors that could read minds. Perhaps, after Rolen's display of mental power, they may look into his claims further. As for now, though, they are blind to the aberrations arrayed against them, to their detriment.

    Second, rolen's mistress still lives, but for a certain value of living. The experiments done on her were far more extensive, horrific, and permanent. Her brain inhabits a monstrous body now, serving as little more than a guard beast for the Illithid. She longs for death, or revenge. It depends on how she feels on a given day.

    Third, the Illithid have their own reasons for letting Rolen go. These reasons are as cryptic as they are sinister.
    Last edited by Bluecho; 09-14-2019, 01:16 AM.

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  • Bluecho
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    127) Nyx Turen [Forest Gnome, Alchemist Artificer]:
    A baker by trade, Nyx already lived a fairly full life before becoming an adventurer. At least, she thinks so. Over the course of two hundred years, she outlived a husband, bore several children, became an accomplished baker and cook, and collected a broad stock of herblore. Between feeding her children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren, Nyx kept quite busy. But what truly excited her was collecting recipes. Recipes for delicious and interesting food. In two centuries, she'd practically exhausted the recipes available to her local area, and knuckled down to make her own.

    When a gaggle of adventurers showed up in her small gnomish community, Nyx paid them little mind at first. But they didn't just come bearing weapons, gold, and fancy stories. They carried the carcass of an Owlbear on the back of their Goliath barbarian. While the tanner had plenty to work with, processing the hide, the adventurers wanted to know who would be best to see about cooking the meat. And no one made a better meat pie than Nyx Turen.

    Cooking the wild beast proved a challenge, but Nyx found the task stimulating in a way she'd not had in quite some time. The results were delicious, and everyone came away from the table satisfied.

    Everyone except Nyx. She wanted MORE. It dawned on her that the world was larger than her corner of the countryside. Filled with beasts and plants and foods the gnome had never even heard of, much less cooked with. After some thought, Nyx decided to leave her home behind, and become an adventurer herself. Seeking new monsters to kill (and cook). New recipes to collect. New stories to tell to her family when she came home again.

    Assuming she didn't perish first. In truth, Nyx set out on her adventure perhaps slightly naive of the dangers she might face. Here's hoping her optimism doesn't get her killed.

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