The Road Once Traveled

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fathom123
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This is the thread for your character's back story. The more information you provide, the more I can try to customize the storyline to fit you as individuals and as a group as a whole. If you mention your character had an old best friend or your father lost his magical sword, maybe they will turn up later.

Here we learn about who your character is, was, and hopes to be.

This is a good place to hint at the type of character you would like to have in the future.

Example:
Gorehct is on a quest to redeem himself. The blood on his hands calls to him day and night for him to repay the debt in the lives he took.

When peace finally comes, when his debt is repaid, Gorehcht hopes that he will arise through his holy order and attain the deepest connection with his god. His hopes are to be the embodiment of all his faith represents.

That is a distant dream, but perhaps he will know such a desire.

With that little blip of information, I can tell that your character hopes to redeem himself from a past sin and after that redemption he wants to go deeper in his faith. The more you expound on what was done or the order he belongs to will help me shape your personal encounters.
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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CrimsonBlade was forced to grow up quickly since her upbringing was pretty unstable. She's self sufficient and determined to make a name for herself. Bounty hunting is fun, well..it's more fun when the target is intelligent enough to be difficult to find. The better the challenge, the bigger the bounty. It's not necessarily the violence CrimsonBlade is looking for, though she can hold her own there too, it's the mental challenge and the thrill of the hunt (and gold) that she's after. What is all the gold for? Retirement isn't in the near future but who knows what the future holds. CrimsonBlade is very determined and whatever she sets her mind to, she achieves, luckily no guy has kindled a romantic interest for her yet. If this were to happen and the love was one-way, that would be one miserable bloke.
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Deepfreeze32
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Minather is an Elf with a mission. His ultimate quest is the city of lost knowledge, Archmekal ((In case you're wondering, this is made-up. :P )).

Little is known about his childhood, as he refuses to ever discuss the matter. What is known is that his homeland was destroyed in an accident involving arcane power. His only known relative is a priest in the far-away city of Algernon.

Archmekal contains archives stretching across caverns that run for miles. It is here that Minather hopes to find the largest repository of knowledge known to the universe.

His demeanor is silent and shadowed; he prefers to slink in the darkness than talk. The two most valued possessions of his are a scroll and a locket. Only he knows what purpose they serve ((Hint hint, newbies. This means you might be able to find out by observing/talking to me)).

He acts as he sees fit, and is not confined by petty delusions of "right" or "wrong". If he wants to do something, he will. He is about as likely to side with the hero as he is with the villain. Whoever offers the highest reward is his side. If that reward is information on Archmekal, then his devotion is doubly strong.


He harbors a strong dislike for Devas and a distaste for Halflings. His favored company, when he feels sociable, is Elven or Dwarven. The reason for this is a mystery.
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Kratimos is standing in the center of a large, ornate marble chamber, a young lad dressed in pupils clothing. It is torn, dirtied and bloody. Some of the blood is his and some of its not. Surrounding him are the great paladins of the age, sitting high in their austere thrones of stone, each with his or her own weapon mounted beside them. There gaze is judgmental and it burns to his soul.
"Kratimos, the Order of the Light has come to a judgment." The center and oldest paladin spoke forth, and all the paladins stood together and the hall echoed with terrible thunder. "For your misconduct of action, your disrespect of our laws, and your convening with darkness," -- the last part he practically spit out -- "we hereby banish you from the order and your name stricken from our tomes."
The words echoed in Kratimos' head. His heart pounded. His head was throbbing. He look up to see his father standing among the council, staring at him coldly, without a spark of mercy.
His hands started shaking and the world began closing in on him. The council all brandished their weapons, and --

Kratimos opened his eyes and threw off his blanket and sat up. He was back in the tavern room he rented out for the night, and he was covered in cold sweat. He clutched at the right side of his chest; the scar burned. It was the last scar he ever received. The scar from a werewolf. He could feel the beast beat in him and he within the beast.
Nobody but another lycan will ever understand what this meant, and Kratimos smiled at the thought. He looked out and it was nearly dawn. Might as well get up, as he had no more desire for sleep. Sleep is never fully restful anymore.

It wasn't long before Kratimos was fully dressed. His boots and armor all on, and his swords strapped to his back and in their sheathes. The last piece of armor, his helm, lay on the small desk. It was a helmet of Thesian design ((similar to a Greek style helmet)). Not many have seen it's like, and most respond with fear. It's a savage looking thing and very few are educated to know of it's origins. The Thesian Empire was far away and in ruins now. It's people scattered long ago, but what they do remember they hold on to proudly. Their courage and strength have kept their identity and heritage alive throughout the centuries and he will see that it carries on further still. He grabbed the helm and placed it upon his head.

No longer was he just Kratimos, the exiled boy, the werewolf, the Thesian warrior, and the sword for hire. He was death incarnate and there was work to be done.
Pew Pew Pew. Science.

RoA: Kratimos/Lycan
UnHuman: Tim
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ArcticFox
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"It is with great pride, my son, that I will watch you ride out of the gates of Lyonesse. You have been an excellent pupil, an excellent son, and the time has now come to prove your excellence as a knight, a holy warrior, and as the bearer of our family name. I look forward to the accolades you will no doubt earn before your return to us.

-your father"

Guy read between the lines clearly enough. "Don't come home until you've proven yourself." For the hudredth time he made as if to crumple the parchment letter and toss it into the hearth, and for the hundredth time he simply folded it back up instead and tucked it into his copy of the Holy Scriptures. He had quite a name to live up to. Lord Guy DeLyonesse, Battle Lord of Bretonnia, Commander of the King's Hammer, Seeker of the Nemesis Crown, Grail Knight of the Lady, and probably a dozen other titles besides. Even now, Lord Guy was away on campaign, leading his armies on a quest to secure some sort of magical flying fortress... or fastness... whatever.

That was the name he had to live up to. Somehow, he had to meet all the expectations of the eldest son of a famous general, a man who could lead armies to victory, who had been known to slay mighty beasts with a single thrust from his lance, who had personally overseen more victories that could easily be conted. That was the expectation. How many times had he heard "You will be no doubt even greater than your father." or "The son of the Battle Lord will surely follow his father into legend." He had been tutored by the wisest Prophetesses, taught the sword and the lance by such famous holy warriors as Lord Jean de Couronne, Avenger Torm Silverhammer, Sir Michael St.Samuel and now... he had to go out into the world and put on display all the training, skill and family courage.

He hefted his new shield, gifted to him as he left his family's manor. Emblazoned on it was his own heraldry, combining his father's lion with his mother's colors. It would be the future of the family, the heir to the family name and legend.

The shield felt heavy indeed on his arm.
"He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool."
—Brigham Young

"Don't take refuge in the false security of consensus."
—Christopher Hitchens
ironwizard
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No backstory as of yet. As it becomes revealed (i.e. as I come up with it) I'll update this post with new information, so it;s all in one place.
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fathom123
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This goes for everyone, if you feel like you want to elaborate on your back story, feel free to edit your post. Please highlight (with a different color) the changes you make and let me know you've added to it. Your backstory is not set in stone. If I any changes are a problem (as in I've already started using what you've posted before) then I'll let you know or I will see if there can be a compromise.
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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Brokan is from an island called Bronthos that is off the coast from the mainland of Agronon. Bronthos is a rocky, storm-swept land that has little agriculture but was important for trading and fishing. Brokan was a member of the island's nobility, the son of a local lord. From a young age, Brokan seemed disinterested in the material comforts members of his class enjoyed. He preferred standing near the cliffs, watching the tide crash in and out. Before he learned to read and write, he learned the patterns of the tides and observed a regularity to them, as if nature itself was governed by immutable laws. Throughout his life, his connection with nature seemed uncanny. Animals acted as his friends and servants, he never got lost, and his tracking ability was unparalleled.

Upon becoming an adult, Brokan entered the local academy to become a scholar of the natural world. While he studied diligently and performed passably, he never excelled. He found that his connection to nature was more intuitive and less academic or cerebral. One holiday, he returned home and informed his father that he did not wish to continue his studies. His father became agitated, and eventually admitted that he had incurred a debt to bribe the academy into accepting Brokan in the first place. Although Brokan's natural instincts were unmatched, it was clear to the academy that he did not have the intellectual rigor to truly fit in there unless his family made an extra "donation." This was devastating to news to Brokan. Not only did he not get as far as he did on his own merit, but his own father, a lord, had violated his ethics and a sense of justice. As the conversation continued, Brokan learned that Brokan's father had been corrupt for a long time, and this debt was only the last straw. Brokan's father had to sell the families lands in order to satisfy his debts.

Not long afterwards, Brokan, his father, his mother, and his sister resorted to begging on the streets. His mother died of sickness within a year. His sister married a fugitive and disappeared. Brokan could not tolerate being in the presence of his father so he left to live alone on the coast. His anger and bitterness stewed and grew over the course of years. Eventually, it seemed as his rage was pushing nature itself away. His connection was becoming lost.

He realized he could no longer rely on his mysterious connection with nature to survive, yet he could not return home, either. He bought passage to the mainland and tried to make his way as a hunter and a fur trader. He was mildly successful but always frustrated. The trade was no more his forte than academia. Also, killing animals for gold seemed crass to him. He began to hate himself as much as he hated the rest of the world.

On a hunt one day, Brokan encountered something he had never seen before. It was an animated dead body roaming through the woods. This set off Brokan's anger like nothing ever had. When he learned of his father's bribery, he lost faith in the laws of man, but at least he knew he could count on the laws of nature. The tides always followed the same pattern, the season always came in the same order, and the dead never rose. This knowledge was the only source of security Brokan had in knowing a fundamental order existed, and this undead creature was an affront to it. Brokan attacked the creature and destroyed it. As he did so he felt his connection to nature rushing back to him, fueling the fire inside of him. During the battle, however, Brokan became seriously wounded. He passed out, knowing for a fact that he was going to die.

He woke up with the feeling of a stranger's hands on his chest. A cloaked figure was working some magic on him, restoring Brokan's vitality. Brokan asked the stranger who he was. The stranger was a druid who had observed Brokan fighting the undead creature. The druid said that he sensed the same thing that Brokan had, that nature itself was somehow supplying Brokan with anger and strength. This was extraordinarily rare. The druid took Brokan before his leaders and explained what had happened. After deliberations, it was stated that Brokan was a rare entity, one who had been invested with the rage of nature itself. If the druids did not trait him, he had the potential to become an uncontrollable threat.

Brokan submitted himself to the druids' tutelage and became an initiate. Even among the druids, however, he could not fit in. His anger was alienating both to his fellow druids and to nature itself. He lacked empathy with animals, for example. Only when he channeled his anger could he feel at one with nature. He became deeply aware of a fact that other druids could not comprehend: nature was angry too. Chaos was threatening its everlasting laws and Brokan had become a manifestation of its need to strike back and reclaim order through force.

Brokan was among the first to sense a wrongness in the air when the darkness came. He was one of the few who escaped its sway. At a basic level, he knew that this was the affront to the natural order that he had been preparing for. He dedicated himself to learning the cause and restoring the world to what it once was, what the laws of nature demand it to be.
Brokan Mok

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek . . . to be understood, as to understand.
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ArchAngel
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Nice, I like it. Way better than the normal boring druids.
Looking forward to when he can join the adventure.
Pew Pew Pew. Science.

RoA: Kratimos/Lycan
UnHuman: Tim
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Sstavix
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Winthrop Gando

Winthrop - or "Trip," as he likes to be called - is trying to piece together his memories. His earliest ones are those as a young man, growing up with a loving family of humans who had a different last name - Yevis. The father was a priest of Olidammara, and was the one who taught him how to play the fiddle.

Yet he knew it wasn't always that way. He remembered people - a tall man who shared his own flyaway, untameable, brown hair and lopsided grin... a slender elven woman, her blonde hair blowing in the wind... a younger half-elven girl, just as blonde as her mother....

And then there were the nightmares. Filled with blood and screams and hideous, monstrous faces... and always ending in giggling. When Trip awoke from these, he found he was the one giggling. The thoughts disturbed him.

After living with the Yevis family for nearly 10 years, it was time for Trip to make his way out into the world. Before he departed, his fiddle in his pack and eager to learn more stories, his father, Danel, took him aside and spoke to him alone.

"Trip," he said. "You likely already know that you are adopted."

Trip chuckled. "Mom isn't an elf, so I figured that one out already."

Danel nodded. "You're very observant, as usual. But I knew your real parents, Trip."

Trip felt a chill. "My real parents?"

"The Gando family. They were good people. Your real father was a good friend of mine. Reginald. He went by 'Reggie,' most of the time. He was a very skilled entertainer, too. In fact, he taught me how to use the fiddle." He tapped Trip's backpack. "You carry his fiddle with you. Use it wisely."

Trip nodded. "What happened to them? My parents?"

Danel shook his head. "I know what happened to your father. He was murdered. I don't know why he was killed, but it seemed to be an assassination. The assassin - a bugbear thug - broke into your house and killed your father. The battle was messy, from the looks of it. But the assassin succeeded... and then somehow had an accident. There's only speculation about what exactly happened, but when the guards got to your home, they found your father, dead. They found the bugbear, his pants down around his ankles, also lying dead, his head cracked open. And you. Giggling like a maniac, and covered head to toe in blood.

"They brought you to me. Not only because I was one of your father's closest friends, but because of my healing skills. Your body was intact, but your brain had broken from what you witnessed that day. I managed to nurse you back to health, but I knew that some of your scars - the ones you keep in here," he said, touching Trip's head, "those I could not heal completely."

Trip suppressed a giggle. Those came up on occasion, and unbidden. He found they often happened when he was stressed, or when he tried to think about his past. "What... what about my mother?"

Danel sighed. "There was no sign of her. No one knows what happened to her." He stared out the window for a moment, seemingly hesitant. "No one knows what happened to your sister, either."

"My sister?"

His father nodded. "Your little sister. Greta. She was the one who gave you your nickname, since she couldn't pronounce 'Winthrop' when she was younger." The cleric smiled at him. "Be watching for them on your travels. Your mother, Kalyndia, and your sister, Greta. They're out there, somewhere. I know it."

Trip nodded. "I know what they look like. I can remember them." The young man rose and brushed the hair out of his eyes. "I'll write to you. I'll let you know about my travels."

Danel smiled. "I'm sure you'll gather lots of stories."

Trip smiled. "I think I have a new goal now." He looked out the window. "I have something more to do than look to the past now. I need to find my family."

~ ~ ~

Since that day, two years ago, Trip had seen many things and met many people. He has seen the darkness spreading across the land. He remembers when life was fun, and he strives to bring back those memories to people. Not focused solely on entertaining people any more, he seeks to heal their minds and hearts as well.

And always, always, he seeks out rumors about a blonde elven woman traveling with her half-elven daughter.
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ArchAngel
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Nice! I'm excited to see more!
Pew Pew Pew. Science.

RoA: Kratimos/Lycan
UnHuman: Tim
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ccgr
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nice back story!
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fathom123
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Great back story!

I'll look over your character sheet and set you up with a back story. If you have a preference on how you would like to start please shoot me a message and I will set it up.


Thanks!
Jeremiah 20:9-But if I say, "I will not mention him or speak any more in his name," his word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones. I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot.
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Sstavix
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Thank you! I like it when my players throw me plot hooks, so I thought I'd try to do the same. :)

No preferences here - just let me know what's going on, and I'll try to act accordingly.
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DollFaceKilla
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I can't remember how to roll the dice! HELP!
ROA: Livia

"A man who won't die for something is not fit to live." ~Martin Luther King Jr.
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