Well, I don't know about 'need' but I certainly like to read them when I meet new characters. So I thought I would start a post and see if anyone else was interested in placing them here for general perusal. As I am so very nice (for a mac-user) I have also appended my latest character below for starters. I haven't given the race or build as this is a background to justify the build, not the build itself [img]smile.gif[/img] :


My name is Ted Turnstone Buckbelly; ex-Luiren Marchwarden, Pledged Son of Arvoreen, Assassinsbane, Honorary Furchin, Occasional Thief, Annoyer of Valraxaxath the Black. You name it, I've done it.

Unfortunately, due to a small incident involving, variously, a small kerfuffle in the Theocrat's hall, a missing magical pendant of inestimable value, and no solid alibi for the episode when a certain High Priestess lost her virginity and blamed it upon me, I have had to take a short absence from my land of birth. In fact, strictly speaking, I've been banned under threat of death from setting foot in Beluir or its environs, talking to any of its ambassadors in any known city in Faerun or looking the wrong way at any priestesses of Cyrrollalee (who would have thought that our good and wise deity of friendship and trust could be quite so vindictive?). My name is banned by law from being mentioned in any citizen's conversation, idle or otherwise, in any public place within Luiren. Now, I admit I may have skipped a few minor points within the tale of just exactly what I did to upset my fellow citizens to the extent to which I did, but I figured they would be of little interest to the casual listener. Looking on the bright side, I was told by the Theocrat himself - just prior to being forcibly ejected from his sight - that I would be allowed back when I was dead and not before...I'm working on it. Honestly, I really am.

In the meantime I figured that the Sword Coast would be a reasonable distance at which to place myself. Waterdeep looks like a positive place to look for new companions and, whilst I was drinking, the innkeeper Durnan spoke highly of Undermountain as a place to get a little bit of ready cash.I know he wasn't talking to me, I may even have been eavesdropping just a teensie bit, and I perhaps may have missed some pertinent points to the story but nevertheless, what can possibly go wrong - a little bit of loose cash and equipment just lying around for the taking. In and out, easy.

(I'll try and remember to save copies to post; back stories are fun to read. [img]smile.gif[/img] )

My best backstory is on it's way to being a novel, or it was...I can't find any copies of it since the old PC crashed on me that last time.

I'll try to post a few of my characters' backstories in here in the near future...


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Character: Ehrgeiz Etergein

Wherever you travel, it matters not who tries to throw you out of the bar. After all, your gold is as good as any human's. Furthermore, you know they water down their precious liquors in order to lengthen their profits.

It matters not to you how people react, as you know in the end your skills and special "talents" will save you. Some times, you can even use them for things other than smiting the disbelieving masses. Other times, smiting is just the thing you need to do.

Those around you - the orcs, ogres, and rakshasha you have encountered - either shun you (for your lack of evil intentions) or drive you away (from their ignorance of your need to convert them to a better way of life). Because of your orc blood within you, you often feel the cry of battle singing in your veins. In the Undermountain, you know that cry shall be answered with song from your lips... and the blood of your foes.

Hoping to gain some respect, you have set off in search of high adventure. Instead, you have found yourself looking down the darkest pit you have ever seen... at least on this side of the world.

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Character: Iurma'fey, "daughter" of virGeryon of the Silver Skirts
(Planescape concept)


You may be short, but you're quick and full of spirit. Okay, maybe that might not be all you are full of, but that's about as far as you'll let THESE berks get before you show them a bit of the sharp. Like any of these Clueless have an idea of what a bullete's bladder could do to their faces if you cut one open and let'em see the dark of it.

Get's better when they don't even know what's a title mean. Probably don't even know what's a Faction, let alone who those bleeder Athar are. You were born during the kriegstanz, but how you managed to literally jump through time and space while remaining within Sigil's fine streets is a mystery you've never bothered to look too far into. After all, if the Lady Herself is behind you managing to shift through history, then that's all on the low you need not kick up. Only Dustmen and those know-it-all Fraternity Of Order candleblowers know that kind of jink - or would really want to.

You jnow that one little run-in with those Fated types wasn't a twist of time you'd like to remember, but crashing that portal party was the only chance you had to get out of the Cage that you saw. Now you are in a realm of Clueless thumpers with nothing more than a bit of shine and some flash in your pouch. If you are smart, you'll make it grow like a demon's stench in the Mortuary. If you aren't, well they say that halfling tastes just like chicken. Then again, they say chicken cooks as well as gith - and you've no want to become the roast on the table for some fraggin' shadowreaver.

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[ 05-11-2007, 10:16 AM: Message edited by: Mozenwrathe ]

Character: Horeak Graian Rivenlore

Chult, deep in Faerûn: steaming jungle, hot and wet. Trunks and boughs of blood-red and purple, vines looped everywhere, sucking mud, shrieking beasts - and everywhere, stinging insects. Bites to drive one mad as the snakes slither and the lizards scurry and death comes from a hundred directions. You're too intent on what you must swing an axe or hammer at to know what disease is stealing into you to bring you down. Bats as big as horses, caves where they lair in many a ridge and dangerous cliffs hidden under jungle - whilst there are more gems down those caves than shine in Amn and Calimshan put together.

A great place to leave, a better place to return to. Maybe. Just not yet, not until I've experienced a little more of the other people's lives; a young dwarf has to learn to make his way in the world if he's going to make his way in the tribe. And in my tribe we are all dedicated to Marthammor Duin, the dwarven deity of Travel and Protection, so there's no option really.

More about me? My family emigrated into the wilds after my birth, returning to my father's father's tribe. And how did the tribe react to my family? Well, truthfully, we've always been viewed with suspicion, as outsiders, not belonging there, not truly. Nevertheless one of the most influential people in my life has been our Loremaster, Bruenor. He took me under his wing, he taught me the meaning and use of lore and discipline. However, as I learned more from him, I realized that Bruenor has no compassion for others who can't hold up under this strict teachings, yet from him I learned the value of laws and those who enforce them. Because of this I find it hard to break the local laws and I still try to have respect for the local authorities despite their occasional efforts to deprive me of this view. Despite this I understand that everyone is different and can't necessarily follow the beat of the same drummer that I do, the ethics that have been beaten into me, ofttimes literally.

In addition I had friends amongst my peers, who seemed to respect me. I learned the hard way that they all had their own ambitions, and generally self-centered attitudes. I was betrayed by one, Drizzt, at a critical moment whilst fighting against a marauding, possessed giant of Kostchtchie the Demon Lord, leaving me with only the one eye - mind you, it's a bloody good eye, just my depth perception is a little skewed; if we get in a fight, really, really don't get on my wrong side - and I don't mean of my temper. Just stay where I can see you, okay.

Aside from giving me a disfiguring scar and persistent headaches, I now have a deep suspicion of those who have not proven themselves trustworthy i.e. everyone that I meet, which probably includes you. You may notice that I am often openly suspicious of others, and quiet around them; I have recurring nightmares, a lack of curiosity, and a secretive attitude. And I get grumpy. Definitely grumpy.

Oh, I forgot to mention my particular enemy, after all we each have at least one. The only problem is that everyone else I've met believes this to be a delusion born of my supposedly disturbed mind. When he attacks I can never convince my companions that I am in any, never mind real, danger. They never see anything. Never anything but me. Sooner or later they all start to doubt my sanity, my sincerity, as they claim never to find any evidence to support my assertions that I have been menaced. So, as for companions, I've had some in my travels but none stay for long, they don't say anything when they decide to go, they just...leave. But he is there, in the shadows, and he is coming for me, I know he is coming for me. You won't catch me in the shadows, shadows are wrong, very bad, very wrong...

This is a story I'm working on, based on a role playing character I made in Neverwinter Nights:

The Tale of Mebrinde Kelven
As told to Robert the Bard


The raiding party was thorough, as is the norm for Drow raiding parties. No guard survived to give any warning to the small caravan they guarded, and the prisoners were soon rounded up, and prepared for their journey into Hell.

Although Hell was not their true destination, it was the equivalent. For they were bound for the one place in the Realms that no one wanted to see, under these conditions, for they were bound for the Underdark, home of the Drow, and other, more terrifying, to behold, at any rate, creatures.

It was home to all the mythical beasts of nightmares. Creatures that you told yourself could not exist, and yet do, in abundance. The list includes such things as Beholders, the Illithid, or mind flayers, and of course, the Drow. Also known as Dark Elves, the Drow follow the Spider Queen, Lloth. They are a matriarchal community, and are ruthless in battle. They didn’t often raid the surface world, as the vigilance of the Elves prevented it, but when they did, the raiders did not dare to return empty handed.

So it was that Mebina, and Keven were taken, whilst on their marriage journey, and enslaved. They had the sense to hide their relationship from the Drow, knowing their nature, and so, had themselves for comfort in the ‘Dark. Though small comfort that was, and their future held nothing but darkness, and labor, with little or none of the common comforts of home. Their love was strong, and it enabled them to survive the darkness they were doomed to live in.

So it was that our heroine was born, deep within the slave pits, of the Drow, far from the light of day, and the hope of the world above. If she were to come out with some of their evil nature, then who could blame her? Dark places breed dark things, no matter the intent of the bearer.

The child remained secret for 50 years, finding solace, and a small amount of power from her music. Her parents strove to keep her bardic magic a secret, but it was to prove an impossible task. Not all of the evil in the pits was brought on by the Drow, and there are those that think only of themselves, even amongst one’s friends.

One day, while she was working, she began to sing. One of the slaves nearby noticed her power, and, seeking to perhaps gain favor with his masters, he reported her to the guards. They wasted no time in removing her, to a place that was more suited to holding her, right into the home of the Matron Mother.

Soon after, Mebrinde found herself performing for the Matron Mother, who found her singing delightful, if a little dark, for Surfacers, as the Drow refer to those that live upon the surface of the world. The Matron took no chances, however, and kept the girl enclosed in a magical sphere, to keep the evident power of her songs from swaying her followers. There were, however, exceptions. Sometimes, her power was used to sway the guests of the Matron around to her opinion, and such was the power of Mebrinde’s songs, that the house of the Matron began to rise in power in the ranks of their city.

Mebrinde was well rewarded for this, and by the time she was 75 years old, she had come to enjoy serving the Matron Mother. In turn she found herself with some small freedoms, and she was allowed to wander the House confines unattended, but always on call. During her time with the Matron, she also displayed great talent for the bow, and on a hunt, she made a kill, with a single shot, on an elder orb Beholder. The Matron soon found other uses for her talents.

The Matron began to teach Mebrinde the ways of Lloth, but not as a priestess. Her talents as a bard and as a spy/assassin had become too valuable to the Matron. Her skill with the bow was unmatched, and some of the shots she made were nothing less than legendary. But still she was a slave, and the Matron went to great lengths to impress this upon her, when she would forget her place. There was nothing kind about her treatment then.

In order to show Mebrinde the power she possessed over her, the Matron arranged for a ceremony/ritual to indoctrinate her into the fold of Lloth, the ceremony called for a ritual sacrifice, by the one to be indoctrinated, and the Matron arranged the sacrifice to be Mebrinde’s parents.

On her 100th birthday, Mebrinde was brought to the House Temple, and the ritual began, the sacrifice was explained to her, that it showed loyalty to both the House, and to Lloth, and she was given the sacrificial dagger, and sent in. She didn’t even blink when she saw who she was to kill. She said the prayer, as it had been taught to her, and performed the sacrifices, with a blood lust that even Lloth felt.

After the ceremony, while she was strolling through the House gardens, she was attacked by another slave. She killed the attacker, but was punished anyway, again, to remind her that she was a slave, and that while she was to kill for the benefit of the House, it was not something that she would get away with, if not ordered to do so. The punishment left her near death, and while she recovered, she began to resent the power of the Matron Mother, and to lust after it.

She dared not act on the plans she formulated, but she made them anyway, coming up with many ways to kill her, where she might not be blamed. But it was to be a moot point, for the fates had other plans for her, and the Gods were taking notice, or one was at any rate, and made plans to convert her to her control.

With this in mind, Shar sent a messenger to Mebrinde, with the message that she could be free, completely, from the control of the Matron, if she but went with the messenger. She calmly listened to what he had to say, and when the male, for she had come to think like the Drow, finished his speech, she killed him. There was to be no mercy this time, for the male was a favored male, of a more powerful House, and the rival Matron demanded custody of Mebrinde, to compensate for the loss of her favored male.

So it was that her life of relative luxury was ended, and she wound up worse than she had started. She was tortured daily, at the behest of the Matron’s eldest daughter, who had had designs on that particular male, and they attended the sessions daily, to see that it was done correctly. The Matron went as far as to perform the acts of atrocity to her herself, if she was not satisfied with the screams. The Matron often entered the girl’s cell, and taunted her about the things that would happen next, and for 50 years, she lived in a total Hell of pain and torment.

The Matron’s gloating proved to be her undoing; however, as Mebrinde, desperate to end the tortures, found a small sliver of bone on the torture rack, and secreted it away. The next morning, when the Matron arrived for the usual taunting session, Mebrinde acted cowed, and when the Matron approached, she slit her throat, took her clothes and dagger, took to the shadows, and fled into the endless night of the Underdark. And so her tale begins.

She was a favorite char of mine for more than 2 years, both in RP, and in hack/slash sessions, and I wouldn't be at all surprised to see her make a resurgence soon...

Ah, the bard recounts; and with style too. I'm just waiting until he goes into full bardic flow with epic verse and metre in his filíocht...

Methinks this may be more what I had in mind when I started this thread. I sit impressed.

At the very least, it's a novella, based around the character, most of it "written" on lvl 11 during an intense RP session. Way back during the Local Vault days, she had a custom book with that in it, and I would pass the book to other chars to read and emote that she was telling the story.

At most, it's a full fledged novel, if I ever finish it. I'm kinda stuck on the "how" part of escaping from first the city, and then the Underdark, alone, and armed with only the stuff she has accumalated.

ooh, gets more exciting all the time - if you need proof-reading and constructive comments then let me know and I'll see what I can do.