RPoTM Bio entries for April

[Doubtful]

1.
Thuld Grimhammer
Duergar
Deity: Laduguer

Description: Thuld stands 4 ½ feet tall and nearly as wide. He is very muscular with an exceptionally large neck even for a Dwarf. He is bald with light brown skin, which contrasts nicely with his coal black beard decorated with bone white beads. His arms, chest and back are covered in tattoos and assorted scars. It is clear with even the most cursory inspection most were given without his consent. If any shame is intended it is lost on the casual observer as all of his tattoos are easily hidden whilst wearing armor.

Personality and Dogma: Thuld is cold and calculating like most of his kind. He views life as a harsh existence and expects nothing to come easy. For Thuld, a harsh existence is a proper and honorable way to live, as reward without effort is sin. He worships Laduguer and it defines him. Accordingly, he believes it is his calling to suffer stoically and shun anyone who is lazy or weak, for the weak are undeserving in all things. He is untrusting towards others; even his most immediate kin, for all he has ever known is deceit and lies. He lives under constant threat and knows no peace except when he drives his body to exhaustion in the mines. Physical exhaustion is his control and suffering is his reward.

Call to Action:
From an early age Thuld was trained in the art of mining. There were always sufficient numbers of thralls to do the physical labor. But, the art of mining was passed down from generation to generation. Thuld knew well how to read the stone. He could spot a rich seam or vein long before any of his peers. His devotion to the stone made him very proficient, which drew praise from the elders for whom he had strict and prompt obedience. His skill also earned him criticism from those his age.

Thuld was dedicated to his craft and worked tirelessly to achieve wealth for the elders, security for his clan and power for his race. His mines bore riches, which in turn lined deep elder pockets and other masters of the dark. Inevitably, this praise caused his peers to plot against him. And so, in his thirteen year of apprenticeship Thuld’s work appeared to slip. Soon the elders began questioning his judgment. So it came to pass that for eight long years each mine Thuld worked collapsed in ruin. Hundreds, nay, thousands of thralls were lost to his carelessness. With each failure his clan forcibly submitted Thuld to the stone needle so his brown skin could bear a permanent story of his ineptness. At first, he suffered stoically. But over time he began to realize it was the weak and lazy amongst them that were the cause of his ruin. So, he began to fight each failure’s brand only to suffer long and deep scars. Over the course of eight years they covered him with their lies. His hatred grew with tattoo and scar. These also rendered him no longer fit to be a mate. Thus he came close to being cast out of his clan and forced to walk the deep dark tunnels of the Underdark till death took him.

Merely days after his last branding he swung his hammer with a miner’s control, but a berserker’s rage. Each swing made him stronger. Each swing made him more determined to seek his revenge against the weak and lazy of his kind. It was after a particularly long and exhausting session deep in his mines that he sunk to the floor dripping in sweat, and drinking deeply from his water skin, spotted two Dwarves approaching quietly. They stopped to review the thralls. Thuld was about to call out when the two looked at and ignored him. Something told him to remain quiet. And so, he sat there with his thralls dripping in sweat and covered in loose stone and did nothing. After the two Dwarves began walking back the way they came, Thuld slowly stood and began to follow.

Within one hundred meters of where he sat, the two Dwarves stopped and began scrutinizing a section of stone reinforced with timber brought from the surface. Whispering and drawing with excitement reserved for a child, the two began to verbalize a plan. Thuld could hardly believe what he was hearing. For the first time in many years he stumbled upon what his skin already knew; the true source of another failure about to become his. It was at this moment that calmness overcame Thuld at the same time a blank expression formed on his face. He knew what to do. Squeezing the hammer in his right hand, Thuld bent forward at the waist and let forth a blood curdling scream that he held until his back was arched and his hammer held high above his head. This Call to Arms was heard throughout the tunnel for hundreds of meters. The two Dwarves turned to see Thuld transforming himself with a berserker’s rage. They started running.

No manner of beast could have stopped Thuld from exacting his revenge. Running with emotion and rage, Thuld flung his heavy hammer at the faster of the two Dwarves and felled him with a blow to his unprotected skull. Without breaking stride, Thuld continued after the slower of the two. But with no weapon to throw and too great a distance to make up by speed alone, a single cowardly Dwarf run to his freedom. Returning to the fallen, Thuld could see from three strides away that his skull was split in two by his hammer. A soft and warm matter lay on the hard and worn tunnel floor. Thuld looked to the tunnel walls and saw more remnants of the weak and lazy staining the stone. A smile creped across Thuld’s face revealing just how satisfied he was with his aim. Rolling the Dwarf over Thuld to see the face of one of his tormentors, his smile quickly vanished as he learned his identify. Stumbling backwards down the tunnel towards his thralls, Thuld was shocked to see the swollen and broken face of his own younger brother staring back at him. At that moment he knew his brother was one of the many who plotted to topple his mine and bring further ruin his name, to their name.

A Point of No Return:
Resolute in his fate, Thuld dropped the hammer next to his brother’s body and began to run back up the tunnel of his mine whence it came. His mind was racing a mile a step for he knew there was no longer any chance of him remaining in the safety of the Underdark. His lungs cried out for him to stop, but even the taste of blood, his own blood, did not slow his ascent to the surface. His strides become labored but still he ran. It wasn’t long before cold and moist air assaulted his senses. Finally he stopped. From the safety of his dark fortress he could see a piercing light emanating from a crack in the rock ahead. He knew without thinking these were created by a cave-in. A once proud tunnel to the surface was closed to all but the most resolute and determined. He stopped to look back into the dark tunnel. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath filling his lungs with warm, stale air that was his life. Turning, he lifted his right hand to shield his eyes from the assaulting day light breaking through the fractured stones. His exit was long overdue even if his arrival was not fully planned. Not knowing what to expect, Thuld pushed upon the stones blocking his path, which gave way with practice allowing him to step out into deep, wet and cold snow that hid the mine’s entrance from prying eyes. Although the Sun sat behind a heavy layer of clouds, its brightness assaulted Thuld’s senses and caused him to recoil from its touch. The brightness also showed his light brown skin and assorted scars and tattoos with a clarity heretofore not seen by his eyes. This sight pushed him forward with renewed determination.

Standing to his full height, Thuld began walking deeper into the snow and away from the mountain. Each step took him farther from his past and closer to his future and new life. With each step Thuld vowed to complete his revenge and bring all of those responsible to their knees. But first, he needed to survive in an unfamiliar land. As he walked along in an even voice he said, “Give me strength Grey Protector, for I will not rest until I see it done. I will bring forth suffering and see you honored above all.”

Arriving in Sundren:
Thuld kept his head down and did not stare directly into anyone’s eyes. Forced to take a caravan was risky enough, but it was better than the being assaulted continuously by daylight. Soon he would adapt to its scorn. He stole simple garb along the way. It was sufficient to cover his brands and allow him to move amongst the surface folk without raising too many suspicions. It wasn’t long before he stood outside the heavy gates of Sundren. Caution and patience held him in the tree line for nearly two days watching the coming and goings. He felt confident he could make it past the gate guards without a fight. So, raising to his full height but still not meeting anyone’s gaze, Thuld passed through the large gates and into Sundren. Here he will write his own story.

[Doubtful]

2.
Name: Vryklakaas
Race: Tiefling
Alignment: LE
Diety: Asmodeus
Origin: Silver marches
Class: Warlock
Great Grandmother: Elf
Ancestor: Pit-fiend


*On the caravan ride to The Gates of Sunderer, Vryklakaas reads a collection of notes*

Great grandmother was a small child during the fall of Ascalhorn (Hellgate keep). After it's fall, the demons had attacked Eaerlann, combined with orc attacks, it eventually fell in the year 882 DR. Because of this, she despised the orcs and demons, and their chaotic nature. She devoted her life to slaying them, hoping to erase the horrible visions of all that was lost. She trained mostly as a fighter, though she also had some magic capabilities. The intensity of her hatred for the demons became so strong it became more of an obsession. She spent years researching the fall of Ascalhorn, the demons, and the devils that were summoned to counteract. As she hated the chaotic nature of the demons, she began to adore the raw power, and lawfulness of their enemy the devils. Many said she had begun to go mad. While hunting some of the demons, some that she captured she would interrogate before ending their existence on Toril, in search of information on how to reach the Abyss. She started to actively seek out devils, trying to enlist their aid.

On one adventure, herself and 2 infernal-tiefling companions were hunting down a group of abyssal-tieflings, lead by a succubus. They slowly made their way through the hideout. Eventually they reached the succubus, who to their surprise, had an injured pit-fiend held captive in a cage, inside a ward, surrounded by what appeared to be wizards, making sure the ward stayed strong. Her party felled the enemies. One of her companions being disintegrated, another losing an arm, but surviving. She was also heavily injured. Upon freeing the pit-fiend, he asked "Why would one such as yourself travel with these thin-bloods, and free one of my kind?" She replied, "Though you are not native to this plane, it was not the devils that have caused me so much pain." She then told him of her story. Realizing the potential of an ally that could freely enter cities to get supplies and gather information, he offered to aid her in return for freeing him. The three traveled together.

They learned of a small abyssal army, and decided to travel to the hells to gain support. Given her hate for the demons, she didn't think clearly, not considering the possibility of another Ascalhorn. She had also begun to have strong feelings for the pit-fiend. She was attracted to his strength, way with words, and lawful nature.

Eventually finding a way into the Nine-hells and speaking to Asmodeus, who was intrigued by the elf, and her desire/obsession with the destruction of the demons. Also, he could sense the life that was stirring within the womb of the elf. She had not yet told the pit-fiend that she was bearing child. During their travels they had grown intimate, and fallen in-love. Asmodeus told them it would be some time before he could send the forces needed to destroy the small army on Toril, and maintain itself without being destroyed by the native races. Asmodeus knew the potential the child would have.

Great grandmother did not survive the birth of her son, Asvin. Once he was old enough, he began to train under his father. He focused on fighting with what he had, claw, fist, and fang. Strong, agile, cunning, he was like a living weapon. He worshiped Asmodeus like a god, and his father knew that in time, Asmodeus would wish to use this weapon. However, he was not bothered by this. His child would serve Asmodeus, as he himself did.

Before being sent to Toril, his father offered him a pact, so that he might bring some of the power of the hells with him. The pact was as follows. "You are to slay any demon you come across. You shall always worship Asmodeus as you have been. You will carry yourself as the fiendish blood that runs through your veins. If you fail, your soul is mine, and those of your blood will be drawn to our cause" Seeming confident, perhaps too confident, Asvin replied "I do not know defeat, nor shall I ever. I will bring the hells themselves to Toril." Asmodeus created a portal, and Asvin stepped through.
Asvin adventured for quite a few years, and read of the fall of Ascalhorn and Eaerlinn. He was well known among abyssal-tieflings and full bloods. They called him Kinslayer. Eventually he met a young female elf, named Lissaleigh. Eventually they had child. The first of the line to be a tiefling. Her name was Levra.

His adventuring days had ceased for many years. He wished to stay with his family, and yet he yearned to fulfill his pact. He was a half-fiend after all. It was only a matter of time before he could no longer hold back his infernal nature. He had to go on one more adventure. He had heard rumors of an abyssal dragon. He had wrote “A dragon of the abysse! This will be the perfect opponent to quench the flame of desire in these infernal veins. One final battle, is all I need.” That was his final journal entry.

Levra was about 15 when her father died… The offspring of the half-fiend known as Kinslayer. Those are big shoes to fill. Shoes she would not attempt to fill. She started taking care of her mother. Lissaleigh, had become sick. Depression lowering her immune system. She would remain bed-ridden for the remainder of her life. Keeping Them both in the cottage where Levra was born, between Nesme, and Griffons Nest.

There were few interesting entries in Levra’s diary. One of which speaking of a lesser demon that attacked, seeking revenge. She spoke of a burning with, and a power she had never felt before. The demon had lunged at her, as she placed her hands in front her trying to protect herself from his attack, they became wreathed in a purple-black flame, that shot forth hitting the demon. It had bought her enough time to run into the cottage, and shut the door. She plopped down on the floor, her back against the door. Her body wracked with fear, unable to catch her breath. Then there was a knock. She swore her heart stopped, fearing it was the demon. Then she heard a voice. “Excuse me ma’am, are you ok?”. She could not help herself, she had to look. She cracked the door just enough to peek through, only to see a quite handsome infernal-tiefling, though his eyes were the only sign of his heritage. As she opened the door further, she saw in one hand a bloody long sword, and the other the head of the demon. She offered him a place to rest for the night, and a hot meal as thanks for saving her life. They talked for hours. They spoke of their past, and their lineage. Of course the man already knew that she was the daughter of “Kinslayer”. He had mentioned he was from a place called Sundren, where he had served The Lord of the Nessus. He was away on special assignment. Levra was overcome with carnal desires. This mans looks, his bravery, their shared heritage and his charm. Vryklakaas was conceived that night. When she awoke he was gone.

During pregnancy as the baby grew, as did the feeling of a power. The power she felt the night he was conceived. After he was born, his powers seemed to develop quickly. He used them whenever he got the chance. Vrykalaas spent many nights excitedly listening to his bed-ridden grandmother, Lissaleigh tell him stories of his grandfathers adventures, and the strength he had within him. Levra disapproved of this, as she felt she know what the future had in store for him. There were many nights she would wake, to find him outside staring to the west. This wouldn’t seem so odd, if he had been told his father came from there. That, however, is information he did not learn until he was older.

*Vryklakaas pauses for a moment thinking back to a month before*

Levra: “Laka, why is it you always gaze to the west?”

Vryklakaas: “I have to mother. It calls to me from the west. It pulls at my consciousness. I am not sure what it is, but I feel it”

Levra: A lone tear falls from her eye, as she knew this day would come. She did not understand the pull as he did. She did not feel it until after Avrin had died. Her son however, had lived with it his whole life. “Laka, I have something for you. They are meant for you, as you the are the first born, just as I was to your grandfather.”

Levra: She reaches onto a shelf, pulling down numerous diaries and journals. She then goes to her room, returning with her own diary. "These may help you understand”

(It was shortly after he had finished reading them all, and making notes into the tome he now carries, that he decided to head to Sundren. Before he leaves his mother writes one final entry into her diary, and hands it to him.)

Levra’s final diary entry: I will always love you. Remember where you came from, and that there is someone who cares about you. Never let your power consume you. I know you will make me proud Vryklakaas, Blood of Kinslayer.

*Vryklakas closes her diary just as the caravan stops*

Vryklakaas: Looks at the tome. "This is what has shaped me”. Looks towards the Gates of Sunderer. “Now it’s time for me to shape the world”

[Doubtful]

3.
Character Name: Frayn
Race: Human
Base Class: Druid
RPOTM Class: Master of Many Forms
Alignment: Neutral
Deity: Chauntea
Age: 18

For ten years, Fiero and Violet Merr attempted to conceive a child to carry on their family name. Despite their best efforts, the advice of their family and friends, and even the superstitious workings of a local hedge mage, failure met the couple at every turn. Ten years turned their hopes sour and dulled their faith. Each secretly suspected the other of being infertile, though neither were willing to speak their mind. Instead, they allowed bitterness and regret to consume their thoughts, until even the casual conversation was too much to maintain between them. Only silence remained.

Until, that is, a gift found its way to their doorstep by way of a frightened young woman, weak from the exertions of labor. She left her child with the Merrs, knowing they would care for the newborn, and stole away in the dead of night.

An abandoned child, wailing into Avanthyr’s night sky, shook Fiero and Violet from their awkward slumber. The babe was newborn, still stained with the fluids of childbirth and naked save for a thin layer of cloth. Their recent troubles all but forgotten, both Fiero and Violet rushed to take the child into their warm embrace. They named him Frayn, and thanked Chauntea for her generous bounty.

For a time after, Fiero and Violet seemed to have returned to an idyllic love of ten-years past. Frayn rooted them together, washing away their past grievances and restoring hope to their lives. The boy was lively and courageous, eager to explore the wilderness and enjoy nature, just like his adoptive father. Frayn even seemed to take on aspects of his father’s appearance: dark hair and gray eyes replaced what once was blonde and blue.

Fortune set upon fortune and suddenly – despite a decade’s worth of history - Violet became pregnant. Fiero’s seed nestled deep within her womb, and the family grew joyous with celebration. Even Frayn, though still too young to understand what was happening, seemed to share in his adopted parents’ revelry. The family made preparations to welcome its newest member.

Paradise would not last. The woman who had left Frayn upon the Merr’s doorstep returned, but this time she came not with a blessing, but a curse. She accused Fiero of being unfaithful, of sharing an indiscretion with her while Violet’s eyes were diverted. Fiero could not deny the claim. Frayn was his son by his mistress.

Violet’s heart broke. The two things she treasured above all others in her life – her husband and her son – had been tainted with betrayal. She did not want to blame Frayn for his father’s mistakes, but neither could she bring herself to love her son as she once did. The boy was now a permanent reminder of the trust Fiero had destroyed, a sword through the heart at every glance. Frayn did not understand why his mother suddenly turned so distant. He only knew that she could no longer look him in the eyes.

The baby came, a girl. Violet named her Vera and gave to her all the love and affection she could no longer muster for her husband or son. She poured her heart and soul into raising her new baby. In time, she grew to accept her husband and his infidelity, but she would never be able to accept her son again. She had a new child to care for now, one who was not marred by tragedy. Fiero saw how Violet turned their son away again and again, wishing he could say something, but unwilling to broach a subject so sensitive. He would not risk losing his wife.

Years passed. Frayn, in the absence of his mother’s affection and his father’s support, turned to the wildlands for comfort. Nature was simple, free of judgment and condemnation. He wished beyond all things that he could turn to a simpler life, one enjoyed by the animals he so often envied.

Once he set his mind to it, it did not take him long to turn wish into reality.

The wolf was his favorite form. Agile and quick, cunning and yet strong, Frayn spent hours running through the neighboring countryside in its feral form. The happiest moments of his life were those wandering the lands outside the city, stalking prey, following interesting scents to their source.

At home, things had gotten worse. Though Fiero and Violet had come to an uneasy truce, the tension between them remained strong. Violet only paid Vera any attention, preferring to keep her husband and son as far from her mind as possible. Fiero, unable to fully reconcile with his wife, had turned to spirits and ale to drown his guilt. As the months dragged on, the aging man would return from home delirious from over-drinking more and more often. In his drunken state, he would turn on Frayn as well, laying the blame for their family’s ruin at the young man’s feet. Though the boy would shrug these accusations off, he could not help but feel responsible. Only Vera treated her brother with any modicum of respect. Growing up together, they had learned to take care of one another. To Frayn, his sister was his only true family left.

Fiero lost his work at the port. With nowhere left to go and no business willing to hire him, Fiero spent his days drinking and seething at home. Bitterness turned to anger. Anger turned to hatred. He had to take action. He would purge his family of the stain he had left upon it all those years ago.

Frayn returned home to find Fiero waiting for him. The old man wasted no time, lunging forward with a heavy axe the minute his son returned home. Frayn barely dodged the attack, adrenaline and fear gripping his every muscle. His father pressed the assault, slamming metal into wood and leather and glass, while his mother stood silently by. Unmoving. Uncaring.

The sounds of the scuffle roused Vera from her slumber. She ran from her quarters to the living room, saw what was happening, and raced forward to try and save her brother. Just then, her father launched into another wide and reckless swing of his weapon. The blade of the axe slammed firmly into Vera’s back, embedding itself into her flesh. Frayn watched - stunned - as the lights went out of his sister’s eyes.

Violet screamed. Vera’s body collapsed and Fiero - torn from his drunken stupor by the gravity of what he had just done - raced forward to catch her, but Frayn had already done so. He wrapped his arms around his sister and sobbed.

Frayn had no one left.

Against all rational reasoning, Violet blamed Frayn for his sister’s death. Frayn’s return home each night was now no longer met with indifference; apathy had been replaced by hate. Every night, Violet spoke to her son, telling him she wished she had let him die as a baby, that he had stolen Vera from their lives. She told him how she wished with all her heart that it had been Frayn who had perished that night.

Finally, Frayn could withstand her vitriol no longer. No longer would he accept her injustice against him quietly. While Fiero had made his way to the Menacing Mariner to get his fill of drink, Frayn launched into a tirade against his mother. Their argument turned heated and hateful on both sides, their voices rising ever higher and louder, until …

Suddenly, Frayn realized it was not his voice that fought against his mother. It was Vera’s.

Violet stared at her son, eyes wide with shock and disbelief, stricken quiet as if by a spell. Frayn tore himself away to find a mirror. What reflected in the dim candlelight was not his frail form, but that of Vera

He had become his sister.

His mother hung herself the next day. Frayn found her body hanging from the rafters in the ceiling. It was the first time she seemed at peace to him since that fateful night all those years ago. A note left behind read only the words: “I no longer know the truth.”

Frayn cut his mother down and held her against his breast. It would be a final shadow of affection he could cherish.

Fiero found him like that, hours later. His son, crouched over the corpse of his beloved wife. There was nothing left for him now. Nothing left but for him to finish what he had started. He approached his son, motioning as if he wanted to hold his wife. As Frayn looked away, Fiero’s hands wrapped themselves around his son’s throat.

Frayn struggled, his body contorting into various bestial forms, but the air was being squeezed out of his lungs too rapidly. He was powerless to fight his father off. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight. He wrapped his own hands around his father’s neck, hoping he could wring the man free of oxygen. Even as Frayn’s hands found purchase against his father’s unshaven throat, he could see spots begin to form all around. His arms felt like lead; he was so tired. He felt his hands fall away …

He woke, in Avanthyr’s cemetary. Two freshly dug graves stood by a third, all of them covered in a sheet of snow. All of them bore the name “Merr.” A shovel leaned against a gravestone with an inscription that read: “Beloved Daughter. You were proof that we loved each other.”

Frayn could not bring himself to read the others. He ran, first as a human, then as a wolf, until his legs gave out from underneath him.

As he lay in a field of wet grass, breath heavy from his exertions, a realization dawned on him. He truly had nothing left. Nothing, except for his life. Whoever had saved him, he owed his life to them. Whoever had saved him, that would be his new family. They had to be.

It was his only hope.

Back at the cemetary, a raven settled down onto one of the Merr gravestones. A clap of thunder in the distance sent it flying away, but not before it dislodged a pile of snow from the stone tablet, unveiling the inscription. It read:

"Beloved Son. You were proof I still loved her."

[Poltergeist]

I approved Thuld, mechanically at least. His character has 4 charisma. I explained that charisma is more than being fugly, it's force of personality and I'm expecting him to act the part of a 4 charisma character, citing the stereotypically shy nerdy girl in every romatic comedy minus the sudden change near the middle-end where she takes off her glasses, lets down her hair and gets rid of the braces and turtleneck.

[Doubtful]

CHA 4?

That makes me sad.

Still. A shy, nerdy, introverted, socially crippled dark dwarf with the charm and grace of a wet tissue might make funny viewing.

[ManUtd4Ever]

I referred back to Thuld's bio... "So, he began to fight each failure’s brand only to suffer long and deep scars. Over the course of eight years they covered him with their lies. His hatred grew with tattoo and scar. These also rendered him no longer fit to be a mate. Thus he came close to being cast out of his clan and forced to walk the deep dark tunnels of the Underdark till death took him."

A Gray Dwarf's CHA starts at 4. I could not bring myself to improve upon his "normal" stat given he suffered more than most of his kind.