Sixth Son: Backstory

[Sage]

So yeah, pretty simple. Write up a backstory to your characters. Here's mine:

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Eviryri?s original name was Eviryri Silentread, a simple Moon Elf born into a small elven village just north of Amundova, far to the northeastern reaches of Thay. As a child, the young elf quickly became known to the townsfolk as somewhat of a child prodigy, learning to read and write years before the other elven young ones.

The young Eviryri quickly discovered his love for the written word, and began reading nearly everything he could get his hands on, even learning foreign and sometimes obscure languages in order to further his insatiable need to read, be it fiction or legitimate research.

Years passed, and the elf became an adult, and, having by then become a master of several tongues, he took a job as a translator. Most often he spent his time transcribing legal documents and the like from his native elven to common, in order to more quickly disperse them across surrounding lands, though, occasionally, he was commissioned to translate from draconic to common or elven, which was a far more exhilarating expenditure of his abilities.

Content in his simple existence, Eviryri moved into a small home, in order to establish himself as an established member of his small society. He eventually found love with a beautiful half-elven girl named Luthien, who was two years his senior, and the two were betrothed within two years.

Up late again one night, several years ago, Eviryri worked to decipher the poor penmanship of a dwarven landowner who lived several days to the north, whilst his lover slept in the next room. A terrible crash broke his conversation, and in moments, the invasion had begun.

A legion of drow elves had raided his idyllic homeland, and savagely tore their way through town, slaughtering the few who were able to stand in their way. Setting fire to all the buildings they passed, the fearsome, subterranean warriors quickly made their way to Eviryri?s home.

Four drow confronted the moon elf, who desperately tried to protect Luthien from the fiendish trespassers. After a great deal of desperate pleas, the drow agreed to let Luthien live if he would willingly return to the Underdark as their prisoner. Eviryri complied, and was securely shackled, before being forced to watch as the drow stormed Luthien?s room and brutally ran her through with a pair of long swords. He was then beaten over the head and rendered unconscious.

When Eviryri awoke, he awoke to the most feverish nightmares of any surface-dwelling elf. He was trapped in a cage, inside a city beneath the surface. He was in a drow city. And he would not remain alone. Within hours, a drow handmaiden approached his prison with a twisted grin.

For years, Eviryri was tortured, beaten, and used for various horrid experiments. Several of his bones were broken, merely to see how much damage a new weapon design could do. Other times, he was burned or electrocuted.

Scars and bruises marked the elf?s entire body, and at one point, a drow torturer actually carved the word ?useless? on his back in large, hideous capital letters, which scarred his flesh permanently. A deep, consistently painful scar was cut from the bottom of his left eye down to his cheek, where it curled out away from his face, to end near his jaw line.

In the years that passed, Eviryri eventually befriended a human woman who had been apprehended by the drow some fifty years after he had first been captured. The girl, simply named Rebecca, shared her fears with Eviryri, who was unable to reciprocate out of a paranoid notion that she would betray him to his captors. He did, however, share secrets with her that he had learned over time, little ways one could train themselves to better brace themselves against the cruel pain she would surely be put through.

Having been used as a living test dummy for five decades, Eviryri?s perception of reality had become somewhat skewed. No longer did he believe in the concept of hope or goodness. He found himself unable to believe in such concepts, since he only experienced agony and despair.

So it was, two months later, when a band of soldiers fought their way through the drow horde. Several men in gleaming armor battered open Rebecca?s cage, citing that her father, apparently a Duke, had been working day and night to find and free the girl.

Eviryri would have cried if he could remember how, at the injustice. He had been a prisoner of a race of creatures who despised him solely because of his heritage for fifty years, and some human girl who was treated far less indignantly, and for only two months, would be released. The elf seethed with fury, oblivious to the sounds of battle, which were getting louder as time progressed.

Then, something bizarre happened. Rebecca pointed to his cage, and a large human man, armed with a mighty sword, made his way to Eviryri?s prison. The elf knew this would be it. Rebecca was having him killed. It was for the best, really, as his life was one wrought with pain and woe.

But, in an even more surprising move, the warrior broke off his lock and opened the door, motioning for him to get out. Though his confusion cost the rescue party several crucial minutes, he was eventually ushered out onto the surface, along with Rebecca, who had him taken with her to her homeland in the Vast, far away from his desecrated village in Thay.

He was given a modest home by Rebecca?s father, where he spent several weeks in recovery. Finally, when he was healthy enough, Eviryri set off on the pretense of acquiring a job as a scribe or translator once more. He bid his benefactors farewell, and left into the city, whose name he had never caught.

Eventually, he performed a small handful of tasks, before acquiring a job to copy a series of notes for a prominent wizard of the city. Eviryri worked fervently to far exceed his commission?s expectations, and then came to the wizard with a proposal.

He requested to be trained as an apprentice, in exchange for his services as a scribe, free of charge. Though the wizard, Horroar, scoffed at the offer, Eviryri was able to convince the mage to take him in as a student, and spent the next few years training beneath him.

Though he spent most of his time performing fairly simple-minded affairs, Horroar eventually found favor in the elf?s abilities, and assisted him in specializing in a school of his choosing. Soon, Eviryri became an accomplished necromancer.

An unfortunate series of circumstances the following year required Horroar travel across the word, to a place called Amn, leaving Eviryri without a master. Before he left, however, Horroar claimed that Eviryri, as his ward, had accomplished his duties and was a full-fledged wizard. With nothing else to say, he departed.

Eviryri, alone once again, was at a crossroads. He had become a wizard in hopes of feeling empowered, if not able to take revenge upon the drow, then at least to be able to defend himself from them.

Instead, he felt nothing. Those around him were nothing more than obstacles. Annoyances. And he treated them as such. His cold, distant and haughty demeanor found him ejected from pubs and other public places.

Finally, Eviryri found work with a caravan master, desperate to hire guards and a handful of aids to travel with him across the Vast. Though the man saw Eviryri as somewhat weak for a guard, he was hired nonetheless, on the agreement that he would help unload the cargo when the arrived, though Eviryri had no intention of doing any such thing; he merely needed money.

The caravan departed, and they were eventually waylaid by a band of hobgoblin raiders several days into their trip. The entirety of the caravan fought back, and a bloody war was run across the area, destroying most, if not all, of the goods they had been caring for.

In the end, all were slaughtered, caravan worker and hobgoblin alike. There were no survivors, save Eviryri and a solitary half-orc named Whompt, who approached the elf, fascinated by the arcane light that shone from his hands as a result to his casting spells.

Though immediately aloof, Eviryri found Whompt undaunted by his cold reception. Finally, the moon elf introduced himself as ?Eviryri Scarcarver?, deciding the new identity was far more appropriate to his new life.

Seeing the advantage in a traveling companion, the elf agreed to let the half-orc travel with him. His ability to speak orc left the two able to converse, and, though he would be loathe to admit it, Eviryri quickly took a fondness to the young half-blood. It was as though Whompt offered the elf the chance to care about something - anything - for the first time in decades.

The two became a rather effective duo. Eviryri was the ?face? of the group, so to speak, the one able to hammer out agreements and talk his way through things, while Whompt was undeniably the muscle, the one who made sure things worked the way they were supposed to. Together, they partook in a series of small adventures, which wound their way further into the heart of the Vast.

Eviryri is fiercely protective of Whompt, though he does not show it.

[Sullivan]

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Kiro's last name was one lost to him long ago. As a boy, he was born in the city of Tantros, abandoned at an early age. He learned to live off street smarts, and more importantly, straight forward fighting skills. Thieving to survive, he dwelled only in the shadows of the city.

As he grew older, Kiro fell into the profession of unlawful brawls for a living. In Tantros' background, an unlawful organization held semi-secret unofficial fights, in which the human fighter participated in for spare change. This, combined with his experience on the streets, helped Kiro grow into a hardened fighter; adept at using any basic type of weapon.

Despite his background, the boy grew to be a young man with moral standards, for the most part. He values the lives of those he knows, though he's never been known to hesitate in starting a fight with people he's never met.

His personality is neutral for the most part. Sometimes Kiro can have a bit of a short fuse, but he can always keep his cool when the situation calls for it. More than anything, he thinks clearly, even if he is a little shortsighted at times.

One night, late in Tantros, Kiro came into the company of a young mage by the name of 'Hexx'. The two got to mischief making despite it being their first time meeting, and were soon thrown into jail, in seperate holdings. When Kiro broke free of his cell and took out the guards holding him, and made his way downstairs, he found himself in the presence of a smattering of bodies, as well as a group of living people.

Standing among them was a half-orc, a moon elf, two dwarves, another human, and Hexx. Adjecent to the group, a much more forceful presence stood. Joining the large group, Kiro listened to what the man had to say.

Upon hearing the figure's explanation of his powers, and seeing a small dose of them for himself when the man conjured up a ring for the half-orc, Kiro was all for partaking in the man's task and going on a quest.

That's where his journey began.

[Rem-13]

Bra gets 500 xp.

Celipa gets 200.

[Blue]

In the wild lands of Damara, bordering the Great Glacier, the barbaric tribes of Orcs and the ever-expanding humans waged almost a constant war for land and slaves. During the seldom times of peace, it?s not unknown for unions between the two races to occur. Though typically as short-lived as the peace-times they?re made during, they leave lasting legacies in the half-breed spawn they produce.

Unlike other orcs, Gorthic was a good-hearted warrior and loved his human wife Samantha. This obviously brought him into conflict with the other members of his tribe who believed humans to be slaves at best. This ultimately resulted in the deaths of himself and his wife, after he refused to allow a drunken warrior to lay with her. And so, their infant child was left alone in the world.

Passed around like an unwanted disease, the nameless child was raised by the clan as a whole until it was decided he was old enough to fend for himself. From that point, life became tough for the unnamed boy. He ate whatever scraps he could find, and went hungry more often than not. The other children ridiculed him for his mixed heritage, and the elders considered him a burden on the tribe.

Eventually the teasing took a violent turn, forcing the young boy to flee the village to save his life. The toughness that had been bred into him during his brief stay with the Orcs helped him survive in the wild. He hunted for his meat, foraged when he couldn?t catch anything, and basically survived as best he could. Soon, these talents became ingrained within him, turning him into more animal than man.

The nameless warrior grew older and wiser; his body becoming stronger due to both his heritage and his time spent fending for himself. Learning the ways of the wild, his heart became a powerful tool to use in defending himself. A timely burst of anger could draw forth strength and stamina when most needed, as the half-orc lad soon discovered. During one of his many foraging outings, he stumbled upon a cave laden with food and treasures. Instinct told him it was dangerous, but his curiosity got the best of him.

While gathering some food, and admiring the objects lying around, the young half-orc was caught by the cave?s owner. A hulking giant, even larger than the nameless one, it was an ogre. An angry ogre. The brute rushed forward to kill the intruder, and the boy hurriedly searched his surroundings for a weapon. He found one, the ogre?s greataxe, and brought the mighty weapon to bear against its owner.

Merely wounding the giant was enough to allow the wild half-orc an escape and he took it, fleeing with the weapon in hand. Knowing the area would no longer be safe with that villain looking for him, the newly outfitted barbarian headed south to greener pastures. The more civilized lands held new opportunities for the young half-orc, and he soon found that his strength would feed and shelter him easily. Talking to people was a bit tough though, as most couldn?t understand his rudimentary grasp of even his native language. A few hand gestures and a gold piece or two usually closed the language gap though.

Naming himself Whompt, after someone mentioned that most people have a name, the barbarian began hiring himself out to caravans as a guard. Years passed as he continued this line of work, and he became fairly renowned for his reliability, as well as his signature weapon. His last mission would mark a change of fate for Whompt.

During this particular trip, the caravan master had hired on a mage to help. Most of the time Whompt gave the other members of the team no mind, and this time was no exception. Hell if anything, his racial hatred of elves made him standoffish towards the outwardly weak creature. That changed though when the caravan was overrun by brigands. Of all those who?d come along, only himself and the elf had survived.

Whompt was forced to admit that the mage was strong with his spells and a grudging respect was born. It seemed like a perfect match; the half-orc provided the muscle while Eviryri, the mage, brought his social skills and his formidable magic. After a while, the barbarian and mage became the closest of friends and the two seemed as though they could never be separated.

Eviryri is Whompt?s only family, as far as the brute is concerned and he?ll defend him to death. Those who hurt the mage are destroyed in a flash of fury. Even those who merely insult the elf die by the half-orc?s axe. The mage need merely say the word and people would die.

[Rem-13]

Whompt +400 xp

[Drake]

Daverick was born in Sarshel to an extended family of shoemakers, though his name was originally Alexander Shoecrafter- a name that was proudly held by the family because of their lineage as shoemakers within the city. He, like his three brothers and four sisters, would all be taught the great art of cobbling; that is if everything had gone according to the life plan his parents had set out for him- unfortunately it would not turn out that way.

At the age of 5, while playing in the street like most kids do, Alexander was hit in the head by a plummeting flower pot of unknown origin- but one would guess it came from someone living on the 2nd floor of one of the many buildings in their area. Regardless of where it came from, the result was an unconscious child who was clinging to life; surprisingly he turned out to be quite resilient and after a week of being in an unconscious state he awoke perfectly healthy except for an incredible migraine and the inability to talk in a language anything could understand.

The language he had begun to speak was called Draconic, he would learn later that it was the language of dragons and is probably why the people of his town mistook it for some kind of demonic possession. Unfortunately for the youth, the town and his own family turned against him thinking him a vessel for some corrupt demon and stoned him until he left the village, bruised and beaten; mainly because he couldn?t communicate with them and because draconic sounded like something inhuman.
Being weak, feeble, and confused at the way his kin had treated him he walked and walked until he found himself on the field of battle.

Tired, hungry, and on the verge of a mental breakdown the child found the corpse of a dead knight. Without thinking he picked away at the corpse using it for sustenance. It turned out that this would be his way of survival for the next eight years since he lacked the ability and strength to hunt on his own, plus he was able to find funds and clothing on a battlefield littered with bodies.

After a time he began to learn common again, and since he always hung around warzones he began to learn fighting from watching others fight and from being attacked out of disgust when he was found devouring the corpses of the dead. Eventually though he was able to move away from that by enlisting as a mercenary for hire, making money and actually being fed by those he once used to feed upon- it was a much more enjoyable situation then the one he?d been living for the past few years of his life.

Of course there was a detrimental effect to only being able to speak draconic for a long period of time, as well as seclusion. That being without the social interaction of his peers and adults, Daverick was left in a childlike state of naivety and innocence; this was obviously his most apparent and annoying shortcoming as he would often say what was on his mind and had a poor sense of logic in some instances- though it made him more open to ideas and plans; as well as people.

Interestingly enough, it was also the reason for choosing his name as it was the name of a horse in Hlammach- and if it was good enough for a horse it would be good enough for him since he couldn?t remember his original name.

[Rem-13]

+300 xp pour Daverick

[OldNoriAccount]

The Wild Elf Firiel Lorienthalas was a declared a gift of nature when she was born to a elven maiden and a human fighter. Hours of labor were required for her delivery and even more horrible, the elf maiden who had the child died shortly after birth from her struggles; the fighter leaving the town in disgust for both the woman?s death and the bastard child. Unable to simply throw the girl into the wilderness the people of the town decided to raise her as one of their own; despite the severe racism of the entirely human society. Given to the wealthiest family in the quant village the half elf was taught of matters in society, of common; how to read and write. Later she would pick up the Elven language from the few elven travelers that stopped shortly in the village.

On her 7th year however a wandering brigand of orcs stumbled upon the village and decimated in entirely, slaving those who they did not kill. Firiel however was away in the nearby forest by Raven?s Bluff enjoying the wild life that always held her in thrall. Seeing smoke on the horizon however the girl had ran back to the village, finding nothing but slaughtered townsfolk and burning buildings. Sinking to her knees in tears and shock the child had not saw the Orc that lumbered towards her with his wicked sword. By the time she had realized it had been far too late for her to attempt to stop the vile creature; and she solemnly accepted her fate.

As the blade came wushing towards the half elf however a motion of silver caught her eye; a wolf bounding at the chest of the Orc. Tearing at his throat the wolf had made short work of the once potent threat, licking his bloody muzzle as he turned to face the child who cowered before him. Much to her surprise however the wolf simply ignored her; placing his head up high and howling into the wind. For moments the two remained quite, Firiel far to afraid to even attempt a escape. Something by the forest finally caught her attention however, and so with much fear the half elf turned to face it.

At least a dozen wolves walked proudly out of the forest, fanning out to cover the area as if protecting something; or someone. A few sniffed the corpses of the slain members of the village and much to her releif they simply turned away; apparently disgusted. A breeze suddenly appeared in the town, and before Firiel could pull her clothing together to protect herself from the swift gale another wolf appeared out of the forest; one of much, much, broader origins. The wolf had fur of the purest white, resembling new fallen snow. A giant in size it was easily twelve feet tall; quite a feat for a wolf. Strange enough Firiel could feel the wolf probing at her thoughts, even beginning to hear it?s light female voice whispering into her mind.

With teary eyes the girl stood and walked towards the wolf; none of the normal wolves attempting to stop her. Reaching the celestial being Firiel hugged it across the chest, snuggling against its warm fur as the wolf bent her head down, licking the girl?s hair gently with her tongue; cleaning her off. Still hanging close to the giant wolf the pack and Firiel headed into the forest solemnly, leaving the burning village behind. Years later it would be overtaken by the forest itself, becoming part of the grove that Firiel would protect.

Growing up with the wolves was no easy task for the woman. While she was protected by the pack and treated as another pup by the members of her clan she still had to struggle to survive as they did, fighting for food on a daily basis with the members of the pack. She found herself always eating last, finding it hard to keep up with the rest.

On her thirty second year however a war between the her pack and the other pack in the grove commenced, her pack literally slaughtering the other clan. Defeating the other celestial dire wolf with the help of her pack Firiel removed one of its teeth with a metal knife she had found in the forest some time back; carving a razor sharp knife out of the tooth. With that knife she removed the fur of the creature, creating herself the silvery white cloak that she wears to this day. Unable to eat any part of the Celestial being because of its beautiful nature Firiel left it?s remaining body to be claimed by the forest.

In the next few years Firiel began to understand the language of the forest, even learning how to control lesser creatures with her will. From this she quickly rose to one of the more center beings of the pack, staying by her adopted mothers at all times.

On her 43rd year Firiel was teleported from her land into the clutches of a Wizard, who experimented on her with goals of learning all about Druids. However, he was killed and a band of adventures came to his house to find out what had happened to him. In the confusion Firiel had slipped out of the house, meeting the group later in the Tavern.

Joining them in their quest to go to Raven?s Bluff Firiel could only wait to get home..

[Rem-13]

+350 EXP