Had a lot of fun with this one - I feel like the "mother" your character lands with - may steal a bit of the show at the end...Originally Posted by MrSol View Post
Bookmarked the thread for later reading. Absolutely love your writing style!
I'm rather new to the rpg scene and D&D in general and have pretty much zero Imagination when it comes to stuff like this. I'd be super grateful if you could come up with something if you find the time.
Class: Forge Cleric of Gond
Background: Clan Crafter (Smith) Was trained by a dwarven master smith
Alignment: Neutral Good
Age: late twenties
Personality traits: I work hard to be the best there is at my craft. I believe that anything worth doing is worth doing right. I can’t help it—I’m a perfectionist.
Bonds: I owe my guild a great debt for forging me into the person I am today.
• Doesn't shy away from a good fight and can take quite a punch but doesn't like unnecessary violence.
• Loves his work and aspires to be the best in the craft.
And since you put no surname with your character... I actually stuck with it and explained it...
As always, please share ANY feedback - what you like, hated, enjoyed immensely, what worked, what could be re-worked... Things I miss the mark on, I can loop back and try to fix!
Nestled between the Thunder Peaks, the town of Winterhaven often found itself under attack by Kobolds and Goblins. My parents – Mason and Lauren – tried their best to survive. My father had a small farm while my mother worked on leather.
The day came when a goblin by the name of Daruk Split-eye had united the goblins and kobolds of Thunder Peaks and launched a unified attack against Winterhaven. The guards of Winterhaven consisted of farmers who had taken up arms only when necessary or if there were adventurers passing through. On this night, with no moon or stars in the skies, Daruk led his minions into Winterhaven quietly, rather than screaming and charging down the mountain side as they had traditionally done in the past, which normally provided ample warning to be ready for the attack.
The goblins and kobolds had killed several people before the screams began alarming people that something was wrong. My father awakened my mother, who had been cuddling with me – as I was only just born seven days ago. The same day a quake had sent several rocks tumbling against Winterhaven’s side wall.
“We must go,” he whispered as he pulled her to her feet. He peered out the window cautiously and saw several goblins and kobolds moving in the darkness. He quickly pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding in his chest.
“What’s going on?” she whispered fearfully.
“Goblins and kobolds,” my father had replied.
“Together?” she asked surprised.
He simply nodded in silence. They crouched beneath the window and made their way for the door. Just then, the door had been kicked down and two goblins peered inside – their short swords seemingly made of shadows on this starless night. My father quickly shoved the door closed, stunning both goblins as it slammed into them.
Pulling on my mother’s hand, they fled out of the home, with my mother clinging to me.
“Get them!” Daruk Split-eye had yelled, standing on a stone, commanding his forces from above.
“Don’t look back,” my father yelled as they tried to run for the town’s gated entrance to escape. The entrance, however, was littered with goblins and kobolds looting the dead that they had slain near the gate.
“The back gate will likely be blocked as well,” my mother cried.
“The side,” my father suddenly said.
“The side? There’s a wall all the way around,” my mother replied, fearful as they began running for the northern wall.
“The day our son was born,” my father was wheezing. “The quake.”
“The hole in the wall! They’ve not fixed it!” my mother shouted excitedly.
Just as he had remembered – the large stone that had tumbled through the northern wall was still there, as they had not figured out how to move the large rock. He helped my mother climb up but could not climb up himself. She kneeled down, “Give me your hand!”
“No,” he said, smiling at her knowingly. “My journey ends here. You must go. Take our son. He must live.” He reached down and picked up a large branch that had fallen from one of the sundered trees from the rockslide.
“I will not leave you,” she could not contain her tears as she saw goblins and kobolds rushing to them from her advantage.
“Do not condemn out son to death,” he smiled. “If I am to die tonight, let it be defending you and our son, so that you both might live another day.”
“I can’t!” she cried.
“You must!” He turned and faced the slowly approaching goblins. “Now go!” he shouted as he swung the thick branch. She waited, watched for a moment, as the goblins continued to lunge at him and he kept them at bay – having the length of the branch that exceeded the length of the goblin’s blade.
“Move!” a goblin’s voice shouted in guttural Common. The sound had caught her attention – and she saw Daruk Split-eye walking through the gathered goblins and kobolds who parted the way. My father gripped the branch nervously as Daruk Split-eye walked towards him fearlessly. My father swung the branch and Daruk Split-eye ducked under the clumsy swing, plunging his short sword deep into my father’s chest. My father collapsed, wordlessly.
Daruk Split-eye looked up at my mother and smiled. He commanded the other goblins and kobolds the climb one another until they had formed a pile that Daruk Split-eye could easily climb. My mother frantically continued to climb the mountain, sobbing out of fear of my fate, and having witnessed the death of the man she’d loved for thirty years at the hands of the very goblin that was eagerly pursuing her up the northern mountain side of the Thunder Peaks. She cried loudly as Daruk Split-eye gained on her, since she had to avoiding crushing my skull as she climbed against the jagged stones.
She whispered, “I am so sorry,” as she came to a stop, stroking my infant hairs on my head. “I am so very sorry.” She removed a necklace she had made by a Dwarven merchant in Winterhaven two days after I’d been born that simply had the name of my father, my mother, and myself.
Suddenly a rock moved and a dwarf stand with his hand extended. “Come with me,” he barked. Just as my mother moved to stand, Daruk Split-eye grabbed her ankle. Her eyes opened wide in terror. “Take my son!” she screamed and threw me into the arms of the Dwarf, who suddenly stepped forward to catch me. She continued to kick and push at Daruk Split-eye, to delay him – but the goblin eventually bested my mother, bringing his short sword to her throat. Daruk Split-eye stared at the Dwarf holding the child and growled, “Not yet. But the day will come where I will lead my army against you and your people.” And with that, Daruk Split-eye turned away and began descending down towards Winterhaven again.
That’s the story Hougrain Bloodmaul told me. I touched the necklace I wore around my neck – the only thing I had from my parents – and the sole reason I knew their first name but not their surname – or even my own for that matter.
My name is Morgan and I have spent twenty years being raised by Dwarves who felt it was their place to raise me – the request of a dying mother was undeniable. Hougrain had become my father for all intents and purposes and his wife, a lovely Dwarven woman named Ellastar was my mother. Hougrain seemed to run the house if you looked at it from the inside out; but having grown up with them, when Ellastar put her foot down, Hougrain knew the fight was over, and typically mumbled into his beard something about he was trying to explain it how she had said, but just hadn’t said it correctly.
Hougrain was a devote follower of Grond and as such, he showed me the Church and how they gave their Dwarven God praise. He had never expected me to accept it as my own since I was human; but not only had I accepted Grond as my god, but I also took an interest in working the forge – something Hougrain was very well known for in the Dwarven Community of Thunder Peaks.
Perhaps because I was human and among the Dwarves – though they all loved me and accepted me and appreciated me – I had always felt I had to push myself a little longer, a little harder, than anyone else. When Hougrain stopped for the night in the forge, drenched in sweat, arms screaming in pain, I would push myself for another two hours – or until my mother, Ellastar came into the forge to yell at me that my dinner was getting cold.
I asked about Daruk Split-eye from time to time, but the Dwarves of the Thunder Peaks rarely ventured outside – and thus had little in the ways of encountering goblins or kobolds. Only the occasional Goblin or Kobold that might be taking shelter from a storm and accidently find an access panel did the Dwarves deal with them.
I began to wonder what the world outside was like. Not that I was eternally thankful for the love, time and skills the Dwarves had shown me – but sitting at dinner and being the tallest person was beginning to feel awkward (despite their protests that they actually enjoyed seeing me!). I began to wonder how other humans lived… and Hougrain had told me about Elves (“Magic folk!” Ellastar would add. “Can’t trust them!”), Tieflings (“Demon Blood!” she would shake her head, “Can’t trust them!”), Aasimir (“Touched by angels?” she’d scoff, “More like touched in the head if you know what I mean!”) and other such people that walked the world.
I wanted to take what I heard learned – from the forge to the love I’d been shown – and take it to the world outside.