Hi everybody!
I have a question regarding my character background and I hope this is the right place for this.
A colleague and his friends started a D&D 5E round and gave me the opportunity to join them. I already tried pen&paper once or twice ("The Dark Eye" and "GURPS") but - compared to this colleague of mine - it wasn't that "serious".
Now I thought of a background for my character and wanted to ask you guys what you think. Is this ok for a bg? is it too detailed? are there any flaws in there you might correct? any input is welcome.
I plan on playing a Dragonborn-Sorcerer (with wild magic). he'll get the entertainer-background (kind of a weird combo, but it kind of just came together this way) I'm still not sure about the bonds/flaws/ideals (so if you have any input there, it would be much appreciated.
Thanks in advance for your help/input
Without furhter ado, here it goes. The Story of Brod Freyclan:
Although I always was different, I never felt like I didn't belong - until now.
My first memories go all the way back when I was a little hatchling. I was hiding in the autumn foliage, trying to jump-scare my father. Of course he wasn’t my father by blood, but I loved him nonetheless.
I always realized I was different and when I asked my parents why, they told me this:
It was a commercial travel like all the others before. Father always travelled the surrounding villages for all kinds of odds and ends to sell in his store in the city. He steered his wagon out of the woods, onto a clearing, in the direction of a Dragonborn-settlement where he used to trade drapery and metals for exotic oils and condiments.
At first, the lack of action in the village didn’t strike him as odd at all. The Dragonborn are a mainly self-sufficient community, and at times the majority of the clan goes hunting for food or gathering wood. But somehow he had a feeling that something was wrong. His suspicion was confirmed by a gruesome sight. Once he entered Zorzavurs hut – he was his main trading-partner in the commune – this ordinary trip took an unpleasant turn.
Inside the hut, laid Zorzavur. My father would have sworn he was just sleeping, if it weren’t for those onion-sprout-like things shooting out of his deep-blue dragonhide. Zorzavur had awakened to the eternal life. When my father sift through the rest of the village, many more were to be found. A mysterious illness wiped the whole Dragonborn-Clan out – or so it seemed.
With every body he found he got more concerned. What should he do? Should he get help? What if it’s contagious?
He decided to leave as fast as he can and never look back. But as he turned to leave, something caught his attention. An egg. An unhatched Dragonborn-egg. He didn’t know if the spark of life was still burning inside but he wasn’t taking any chances. He snatched the egg and made off as fast as he could. And a few days later, I was born.
And although I was somewhat of a foundling, they treated me like one of their own.
Since my father traded with the Dragonborn-Clan over many years he even learned a few chunks of draconic. So they named me Brod – which means “family”.
I grew up in a rural village near Waterdeep, playing with my three sisters and the neighbors children. When I was playing with them I forgot how different we were. Not even the nickname they gave me – they called me “Odd” – could disrupt this illusion of equality.
But it all came to an end way to soon. It wasn’t long until I towered up above my siblings and had to help more around the house. I learned to read and calculate and helped father with his shop in the city.
Oh, how I loved the city. The noise, the crowds, the smells. It was breathtaking. But as beautiful the city was, as unpleasant could it get there. More often than not, people openly displayed their disgust against me. People I never met.
It didn’t take much to aggravate someone. A drink too much, a glare at the wrong moment, some even seemed to look for a reason to openly attack my father and me.
But as harsh at it could get sometimes, I still enjoyed the city. Once you got past those narrow-minded buffoons, the city had a lot to offer.
One crisp evening in autumn, just as father was about to get some firewood in for the night, screams flooded our peaceful village. In a blink of an eye, a horde of raiders appeared and slaughtered every man on sight, raped all the women they could find and either took the kids with them, gaged and bound or toyed with them until the eventually got bored and let the hounds tear them apart.
I saw through the window how a massive half-orc raider, run father through with a sword as big as half a man.
As fast as the screams started, they fell silent.
My mother, my sisters and me – we stayed inside. Hid and tried to make no sound. We waited. Hoped. Prayed.
It felt like hours, although it might not even have been minutes.
And then they started searching the houses. For survivors. For valuables.
It didn’t took them long to find my mother – hidden in a closet. Two of them took her into the bedroom while she screamed, pledged for mercy. This was the last I saw of her.
And it wasn’t long unti they found me – hiding behind a stack of firewood piled up in the kitchen.
As their scarred faces, grinning and revealing their half-rotted teeth, turned towards me I knew they would try to enjoy me as long as they could – in whatever ways, I did not dare to think of.
But as they gained on me, I felt a scorching heat burning intestines. Next thing I know is, that the pile of firewood, burst into flaming shrapnels, setting the whole house on fire whilst raining down on the raiders. It was a matter of moments until the fire spread inside the entire house and extended onto the nearby houses. I fled as fast as I could, ignoring the cries for help, and screams of agony that came out of the house I once lived in. Those of the bandits,… as well, as those of my beloved sisters.
I ran. And I never looked back. All I knew was that I wanted to get away as fast and far as I could.
I didn’t get very far though. Turns out, no one takes you anywhere if you got no money. And this is how I ended up on the streets of Waterdeep.
But my carrier as an urchin was not very fruitful. Since I lacked inconspicuousness as well as the light-fingeredness of a thief I got caught stealing food quite fast. In fact, it was my fourth day on the streets.
I tried to steal a small wheel of cheese from a group of showmen. I figured that if I could behind the stage during their show, it would be easy to nick a little food of their exuberantly filled plates.
Of course I got caught. And it was the best that could have happened to me.
Okira was a Dragonborn with radiant green scales and a few purple specks on her face.
She was the loremaster of the group. She provided the actors with stories to perform on stage and advised them in matters of continuity and authenticity. She urged the others to let me come with them. And so my travels began.
Okira taught me a lot. I learned of the Dragonborns – my people. Their clans, their codex, their language. She told me stories about faraway lands full of mystic creatures, brave heroes – and magic.
Magic! A force so subtle, still so powerful. When I told Okira about the attack on my village she taught me everything she knew about different kinds of magic and how to control it.
She told me about something called “wild magic” and how it churns within some gifted few.
She learned about magic while she hat a liaison with a wealthy sorcerer in a faraway city, but she wouldn’t tell me more. She never revealed a lot about herself.
And so the years passed. A simple errand-boy in the beginning, I worked hard and even got some time on stage.
My job was it to get the peoples attention. I used to tell them stories about long forgotten realms, and long lost treasures. I even learnt to accompany myself on the violin. And due to my imposing and rather exotic posture, I was quite successful. And so I spend my years, telling of feats done by heroes such as Jozan the Cleric or Mialee the Wizard.
Until last week. We got into town, set up camp at a nice inn and prepared for the show. Business as usual, one might say. Until Okira passed away in her sleep. The other members of our group never truly accepted me. They just kept me around out of respect for Okira. And once she was gone, I had to go to.
So I packed my few belongings and left.
And so the story of Brod Freyclan begins.
I have a question regarding my character background and I hope this is the right place for this.
A colleague and his friends started a D&D 5E round and gave me the opportunity to join them. I already tried pen&paper once or twice ("The Dark Eye" and "GURPS") but - compared to this colleague of mine - it wasn't that "serious".
Now I thought of a background for my character and wanted to ask you guys what you think. Is this ok for a bg? is it too detailed? are there any flaws in there you might correct? any input is welcome.
I plan on playing a Dragonborn-Sorcerer (with wild magic). he'll get the entertainer-background (kind of a weird combo, but it kind of just came together this way) I'm still not sure about the bonds/flaws/ideals (so if you have any input there, it would be much appreciated.
Thanks in advance for your help/input
Without furhter ado, here it goes. The Story of Brod Freyclan:
Although I always was different, I never felt like I didn't belong - until now.
My first memories go all the way back when I was a little hatchling. I was hiding in the autumn foliage, trying to jump-scare my father. Of course he wasn’t my father by blood, but I loved him nonetheless.
I always realized I was different and when I asked my parents why, they told me this:
It was a commercial travel like all the others before. Father always travelled the surrounding villages for all kinds of odds and ends to sell in his store in the city. He steered his wagon out of the woods, onto a clearing, in the direction of a Dragonborn-settlement where he used to trade drapery and metals for exotic oils and condiments.
At first, the lack of action in the village didn’t strike him as odd at all. The Dragonborn are a mainly self-sufficient community, and at times the majority of the clan goes hunting for food or gathering wood. But somehow he had a feeling that something was wrong. His suspicion was confirmed by a gruesome sight. Once he entered Zorzavurs hut – he was his main trading-partner in the commune – this ordinary trip took an unpleasant turn.
Inside the hut, laid Zorzavur. My father would have sworn he was just sleeping, if it weren’t for those onion-sprout-like things shooting out of his deep-blue dragonhide. Zorzavur had awakened to the eternal life. When my father sift through the rest of the village, many more were to be found. A mysterious illness wiped the whole Dragonborn-Clan out – or so it seemed.
With every body he found he got more concerned. What should he do? Should he get help? What if it’s contagious?
He decided to leave as fast as he can and never look back. But as he turned to leave, something caught his attention. An egg. An unhatched Dragonborn-egg. He didn’t know if the spark of life was still burning inside but he wasn’t taking any chances. He snatched the egg and made off as fast as he could. And a few days later, I was born.
And although I was somewhat of a foundling, they treated me like one of their own.
Since my father traded with the Dragonborn-Clan over many years he even learned a few chunks of draconic. So they named me Brod – which means “family”.
I grew up in a rural village near Waterdeep, playing with my three sisters and the neighbors children. When I was playing with them I forgot how different we were. Not even the nickname they gave me – they called me “Odd” – could disrupt this illusion of equality.
But it all came to an end way to soon. It wasn’t long until I towered up above my siblings and had to help more around the house. I learned to read and calculate and helped father with his shop in the city.
Oh, how I loved the city. The noise, the crowds, the smells. It was breathtaking. But as beautiful the city was, as unpleasant could it get there. More often than not, people openly displayed their disgust against me. People I never met.
It didn’t take much to aggravate someone. A drink too much, a glare at the wrong moment, some even seemed to look for a reason to openly attack my father and me.
But as harsh at it could get sometimes, I still enjoyed the city. Once you got past those narrow-minded buffoons, the city had a lot to offer.
One crisp evening in autumn, just as father was about to get some firewood in for the night, screams flooded our peaceful village. In a blink of an eye, a horde of raiders appeared and slaughtered every man on sight, raped all the women they could find and either took the kids with them, gaged and bound or toyed with them until the eventually got bored and let the hounds tear them apart.
I saw through the window how a massive half-orc raider, run father through with a sword as big as half a man.
As fast as the screams started, they fell silent.
My mother, my sisters and me – we stayed inside. Hid and tried to make no sound. We waited. Hoped. Prayed.
It felt like hours, although it might not even have been minutes.
And then they started searching the houses. For survivors. For valuables.
It didn’t took them long to find my mother – hidden in a closet. Two of them took her into the bedroom while she screamed, pledged for mercy. This was the last I saw of her.
And it wasn’t long unti they found me – hiding behind a stack of firewood piled up in the kitchen.
As their scarred faces, grinning and revealing their half-rotted teeth, turned towards me I knew they would try to enjoy me as long as they could – in whatever ways, I did not dare to think of.
But as they gained on me, I felt a scorching heat burning intestines. Next thing I know is, that the pile of firewood, burst into flaming shrapnels, setting the whole house on fire whilst raining down on the raiders. It was a matter of moments until the fire spread inside the entire house and extended onto the nearby houses. I fled as fast as I could, ignoring the cries for help, and screams of agony that came out of the house I once lived in. Those of the bandits,… as well, as those of my beloved sisters.
I ran. And I never looked back. All I knew was that I wanted to get away as fast and far as I could.
I didn’t get very far though. Turns out, no one takes you anywhere if you got no money. And this is how I ended up on the streets of Waterdeep.
But my carrier as an urchin was not very fruitful. Since I lacked inconspicuousness as well as the light-fingeredness of a thief I got caught stealing food quite fast. In fact, it was my fourth day on the streets.
I tried to steal a small wheel of cheese from a group of showmen. I figured that if I could behind the stage during their show, it would be easy to nick a little food of their exuberantly filled plates.
Of course I got caught. And it was the best that could have happened to me.
Okira was a Dragonborn with radiant green scales and a few purple specks on her face.
She was the loremaster of the group. She provided the actors with stories to perform on stage and advised them in matters of continuity and authenticity. She urged the others to let me come with them. And so my travels began.
Okira taught me a lot. I learned of the Dragonborns – my people. Their clans, their codex, their language. She told me stories about faraway lands full of mystic creatures, brave heroes – and magic.
Magic! A force so subtle, still so powerful. When I told Okira about the attack on my village she taught me everything she knew about different kinds of magic and how to control it.
She told me about something called “wild magic” and how it churns within some gifted few.
She learned about magic while she hat a liaison with a wealthy sorcerer in a faraway city, but she wouldn’t tell me more. She never revealed a lot about herself.
And so the years passed. A simple errand-boy in the beginning, I worked hard and even got some time on stage.
My job was it to get the peoples attention. I used to tell them stories about long forgotten realms, and long lost treasures. I even learnt to accompany myself on the violin. And due to my imposing and rather exotic posture, I was quite successful. And so I spend my years, telling of feats done by heroes such as Jozan the Cleric or Mialee the Wizard.
Until last week. We got into town, set up camp at a nice inn and prepared for the show. Business as usual, one might say. Until Okira passed away in her sleep. The other members of our group never truly accepted me. They just kept me around out of respect for Okira. And once she was gone, I had to go to.
So I packed my few belongings and left.
And so the story of Brod Freyclan begins.
