This one is pretty long. It's the backstory of Jack Frostbrand, a hexblade warlock I'm currently playing in a non-AL game so the DM gave me free reign to reskin the fluff while keeping the mechanics the same.
I may have gone overboard - a three page family history, plus 5 pages of his personal journal recounting how he became a warlock and made his pact at level 3. (The DM liked the family history, so I did the journal as well.)
[sblock="Jack Frostbrand - A family history"]
Jack Frostbrand - A family history
Family tradition holds that the progenitor of their bloodline was a legendary barbarian said to be descended from Cromar himself. (Whether this is true or an exaggeration is lost to the mists of time.)
Fenris Fellblade took his name from the god-forged blade what he carried into battle. Legend has it that the Fellblade was created for a god who was slain in the God War and whose name is now lost to mortal history. It is believed that some fragment of the gods essence had been imbued into the blade upon their death. Somehow this blade found its way into the hands of Fenris and he used it to carve his legend out of the blood and bones of his enemies.
Fenris left his homeland on a raiding expedition into the warmer climates north of them, and eventually decided to make his home there (he was getting on in years and grew less enthusiastic about enduring the harsh winters of his homeland after tasting the milder winters to the north). With the power of his legendary weapon he carved out a kingdom for himself - and with it a reputation for brutality and savagery. Then he did what few conquerors managed - he stopped. He fortified his borders and protected what he had taken. While he lived, no one was able to stand against him and the Fellblade he wielded. Despite being born from the blade of a conqueror, the kingdom knew peace for the remainder of Fenris’s reign.
Fenris sired three sons and several bastards before he passed away, against all odds dying of natural causes in his own bed. They were strong, loyal sons - while their father lived. Fenris bequeathed the throne and the Fellblade to the eldest son, believing that he was strong enough to wield the blade without being corrupted by it.
Upon his death the middle son turned a greedy eye towards the Fellblade. Whoever wielded it would be the unquestioned ruler of the kingdom - and would have the power to conquer more lands. It is said that the Fellblade itself sent him dreams of blood and conquest, inspiring greed and breeding treachery in his heart. For without the will of Fenris to dominate it, the blade wanted to decide who would wield it - and it wanted someone it could control. The Fellblade had grown hungry in the years of peace after the kingdom was founded, and it wanted to taste the blood of men once again.
The eldest son claimed the throne, but almost immediately died to the blade of the youngest, who had been convinced by the middle son that he was going to be killed as a traitor to the crown...which he was, by the middle son after he was crowned as the new king to replace his brother. Almost immediately he started increasing the size of the army, and soon embarked on a campaign of conquest against the neighboring kingdoms.
It was a bloody war, for the surrounding kingdoms had been preparing as well. Despite wielding a legendary weapon, the new king was not the warrior or battle commander that Fenris had been. It didn’t matter to the Fellblade - it was finally feeding again. The end came when a band of adventurers snuck through the sewers and into the royal castle, bracing the king in his own throne room. After a ferocious battle, the king was slain. As he died, the Fellblade feasted on his soul, sated at last. Then a paladin among the adventurers attempted to claim the blade. The Fellblade resisted, but the paladin’s will was stronger. Rather than allow itself to be controlled by mortal hands again, the blade shattered. The kingdom itself was divided up between the surrounding kingdoms, and its name struck from the history books.
The story might have ended there, but two of Fenris’s bastard children secretly gathered shards of the blade and fled with with them. They could sense the power that still remained in the fragments and they each used a shard in the forging of new weapons. Following the tradition of their father, they took their names from the new weapons they created. Jadzea Flametongue and Randall Frostbrand. There are rumored to be other bastard children who also made off with shards of the Fellblade and created new weapons of their own, but these are the only two confirmed by the Frostbrand family histories.
The Flametongues and the Frostbrands formed rival mercenary companies and eventually each became ennobled - by different kingdoms. The families maintained a friendly rivalry with each other, often having a son or daughter marry into the other family. Both families produced warriors...but they also produced warlocks and sorcerers. And they both had a streak of madness that cropped up every generation or so, usually in the form of megalomania and a desire for bloody conquest. Both the magic and the madness are attributed to the influence of the Fellblade tainting the family bloodline. Some blame the ancestral weapons created from the shards of the Fellblade, while others claim it is just an old tale, exaggerated beyond recognition as it was passed down to each new generation.
Then came the Great War - and the Flametongues joined the side of the Dark Lord, while the Frostbrands opposed him. The friendly rivalry between the families grew heated and bitter as cousin was pitted against cousin. Both families were decimated, and the last remaining members of the Flametongue family lost their lands and titles when the Dark Lord’s forces were finally vanquished.
The Frostbrands didn’t fare much better, having been reduced to a single manor house and the plot of land upon which it sits. All their men and women of fighting age died during the war, leaving only four members of the family alive. Jaxon and Emilia Frostrand (the grandparents, both in their 70’s), and Elana Frostbrand (the mother, age 42). Elana is a widower, as her husband (Jordan Frostbrand) died during the Great War, when Jack was still an infant. (Jordan was the youngest son of Jaxon and Emilia, he and his six brothers and sisters all died during the war). Which brings us to the current scion of the Frostbrand family - Jack (age: 18).
The first half of Jack’s life took place against the backdrop of war. Too young to really understand what was going on, he only knew that his mother was desperately sad, and they never had enough food in the house. Not allowed to go outside unaccompanied for fear of raiders from the Dark Lord’s army or brigands and deserters from both armies, he explored the somewhat dilapidated manor house. Parts had been damaged during the war, decades before he was born, and had been sealed off rather than repaired due to the families waning fortunes. It was while exploring the crawlspace underneath the abandoned wing of the manor that he found a small chest in the rubble (he was six years old at the time). Prying it open, he found a few books he couldn’t read and a shard of metal that was curiously cold to the touch, even in the heat of summer. He kept these “treasures” secret, telling no one what he’d found and carrying the shard with him as a good luck charm.
A few years later the war ended, and the Frostbrands learned that their ancestral lands had been reclaimed by the crown and redistributed to other members nobility for their services during the war. They only retained the manor house that the family had been forced to move to during the war when their lands had been overrun by the Dark Lord’s forces. For better or for worse, it was now their permanent home. Jack grew up, raised by his mother, his grandparents, and the family servants.
The Pennyworths were the family servants - Gerard the stoic butler, his wife Rachel the cheerful cook, and their daughter, Marian the industrious maid. The Pennyworths were devoted to the Frostbrands, having served the family for generations.
His grandfather regaled him with tales of his aunts and uncles, their bravery and exploits during the war, and their deaths. He also learned the family legends - of Fenris Fellblade, the lost kingdom, and founding of the Flametongues and the Frostbrands.
Being the last child and only heir of a formerly large family, Jack was coddled and protected, much to his chagrin. Jack chafed at the overprotectiveness of his mother and the Pennyworths. He decided that he wanted to become a warrior like his ancestors, and return the family to its former glory and prominence in the kingdom. He trained hard...and began hearing whispers in his sleep. He can’t quite make out what the whispers are saying, but he has been dreaming of his ancestors - of their glory and their madness He has told no one of the whispers, but they are becoming louder all the time.
He can almost understand them... [/sblock]
[sblock="Jack's Journal"]
Jack’s Journal
Day 1
Morning Thoughts:
Today marks my first day as an official “Adventurer”. Not a profession my mother approves of, but with the Great War over and our family in reduced circumstances, there are few honorable paths open to me. If I want to accomplish my goal of repairing the family name and reputation, I must be willing to take a few risks. Playing it safe and accepting whatever political position my mother can arrange for me will only lead to stagnation. The Frostbrands are descended from warriors and heroes, not bureaucrats and politicians. I am the last of my line and it falls to me to return us to our former glory.
The mundane tasks the so called “Adventurer’s Guild” have given me are but the first steps on my journey. I can hear the whispers of my ancestors in my dreams, calling me to adventure. I will heed the call. I must.
Evening Reflections:
The jobs have been completed, but they were anything but mundane! Simple vermin control turned into a fight for my life! Giant hairless rats, bats to massive to fly, giant elk walking the streets. The mind boggles. Something strange is going on, and I fear that these creatures may only be the harbingers of a greater threat - a threat we are woefully unprepared for.
The mayor doesn’t seem to take the threat seriously, being more concerned with bandits who appear to have taken up residence in the old fort outside of town. I believe this may be an opportunity too good to pass up - the writ of seizure the mayor granted us for clearing the bandits out could be read to mean that we can claim the fort itself as well as the bandits possessions. If it holds up under legal scrutiny that means I would have a base of operations with which to prepare for the phantom menace that the recent troubles hint at.
But to claim the fort, we must first clear out the bandits.
Fortunately the companions I acquired in the Adventurer’s Guild seem to be up to the task, as we proved victorious despite the unexpected difficulty of our tasks. It is good to have reliable compatriots in these uncertain times. The way forward is perilous and uncertain, but it must be taken.
Day 2
Morning Thoughts:
For weeks now I have been hearing whispers whenever I study the family histories, and lately whenever I practice my swordwork. I can never quite make them out, but somehow I know they offer power. I know that many of my ancestors have mysteriously gained increased martial or magical abilities. And just as many have gone mad and abused their new powers, either fleeing or being put down by other members of the family. It is a family secret - one that my mother and grandparents kept from me after my father and his brothers and sisters all died in the war. If their intent was to protect me, then it has failed.
Last night I dreamed. Or had a vision...or made contact with the power that has cursed my family since its inception. Even now I am not sure if it was a true vision or if I am going mad. When I was a child I found a shard of metal in the ruined wing of the manor. This shard is always cold to the touch, no matter how long I hold it in my hand. I have always secretly believed it was a fragment of the Frostbrand - the blade that my family line takes its name from. I wear it on a chain around my neck, superstitiously believing it brings me luck.
Last night I realized that the whispers I’d been hearing are coming from the shard. I gripped it tightly in my hand, until it cut my palm. Once my blood covered the shard the whispers became a roar...and I fell asleep. Or had a vision. Or had a fit of madness. One of those.
I was standing in a graveyard, surrounded by crosses and cloaked in darkness. Snow was falling, but there was no wind. No sound at all but the beating of my heart. I walked down the row of crosses, then realized they weren’t grave markers but massive swords, planted in the ground blade first. As I looked beyond them I realized that I was surrounded by swords of all shapes and sizes. And beyond the swords were other weapons. Despite the darkness, I could see farther than ever before, the weapons becoming visible as I focused on them: polearms, hammers, maces, daggers, spears...and beyond that books with pages of beaten metal and chained to the ground, and further still small creatures that seemed to be formed of blades melted together. Beyond even that walls of dark stone rose skyward.
I wasn’t in a graveyard. I was in a valley of blades. I turned my gaze to the black sky above and nearly fainted as two massive eyes opened and stared at me. They glowed like a blade fresh from the forge. My breath was harsh in my ears as my heart hammered against my ribcage. I could sense the eyes measuring me, searching for something. I felt a pressure inside my skull as a will not my own pressed against my mind.
“Don’t show weakness or you will be lost before we even begin.” The voice came from behind me, and the mental pressure eased. Whirling around I saw a massive white wolf, easily seven feet at the shoulder. It gazed at me calmly.
“You are in the realm of the Fell Blade, brought here by your blood and the shard of the blade that you bear.” The wolf spoke again, answering my unspoken question.
“If you wish to leave sound of mind and body, you will need to keep your wits about you. It wishes to offer you a bargain. It is probably for the best if you refuse. You don’t look like you can handle it.” The wolf rested its head on its front paws, its tongue lolling out as its mouth opened in a wide grin that showed far too many teeth.
I steel myself and look skyward again, meeting the gaze of the glowing eyes in the sky. I felt the pressure against my mind again, and the blades around me began to vibrate. Suddenly I heard the whispers again, coming from all around me. A chorus coming from the blades themselves.
“Join with me. I offer power. I offer wealth. I offer glory. I offer freedom. Whatever it is you desire in the world of man, I can give you.”
“W..What is it you want in return?” I force myself to speak, fighting to keep my voice steady.
“Blood. Death. Chaos. A trail of bodies as you carve your destiny in the flesh of those would oppose you.”
I look at the wolf, wondering why it is here. Again, it speaks without me having to ask the question.
“I am here to make sure you make the bargain of your own free will, and to ensure you are able to leave if you choose not to make the bargain. The Fell Blade does not take refusal lightly.”
“CHOOSE!” No longer a whisper, the multitude of voices become a wall of sound that slams into me, forcing me to my knees. I feel a trickle of blood from my nose.
“You should refuse and leave this place. You can achieve everything it promises on your own.”
I consider the words of the wolf, then shake my head. He is wrong. My own abilities are not enough. I need more. I can’t be merely competent, not if I want to achieve my goals. I must be legendary.
I look skyward again. “I accept the bargain!”
The glowing eyes flare, becoming blindingly intense. Everything goes white and I can see nothing.
I hear the voice of the wolf again. “So be it. You made the same bargain I did, long ago. You will return here one more time, when you have proven yourself. You will finalize your pact then. A final word of advice.
Master the blade, or the blade will master you.”
After that, silence. Slowly my vision returns. I am in my room, on my knees, the shard clasped in my hands. On the back of my right hand is a symbol.
A snowflake made from swords. It seems the Fell Blade has a sense of humor.
I shake my head and don my armor and weapons. It is time to go kill some bandits.
Day 6:
Morning Thoughts:
The last few days have been very eventful. We were able to defeat the bandits, clearing them from Fort Pike. In the process we convinced two of them to join with us rather than be dealt with like the rest of the bandits. We also captured three bandits and turned them over to the Sheriff. The rest we killed, although they seem to have been in the employ of a wizard who was not present. We disabled the teleportation circle he used, and fought a strange creature that had the ability to mimic inanimate objects until it chose to ambush us.
Between the abilities granted to me by my bond with the Fell Blade and the skills of my companions, we persevered. One of the bandits who joined us turned out to be a bounty hunter who had infiltrated them in pursuit of the bounty on head of the bandit leader, a bounty he did eventually collect.
As for the the fort itself, the Mayor did indeed make his writ of seizure too broad - it technically granted us possession of the fort once we cleared the bandits. Unfortunately, ownership of the fort was not something he actually had the power to grant, as it belongs to the crown and not the town or the mayor. The King’s Justicar was visiting when we reported to the Mayor and informed us of the legal quagmire we would enter into if we tried to press our case. Tural did convince the mayor to grant us mounts from his own stable in return for dropping the matter, and the Justicar offered me an opportunity earn the position of Warden, which would legally allow me to take up residence in the fort as a representative of the king.
The opportunity seemed to good to pass up, so I accepted. If successful I would both improve my family’s position and reputation and I would also be in a position to better protect the local populace. It comes at significant risk, but it is a risk I eagerly accept. Fortune favors the bold.
The Justicar bade us to hunt down and kill 10 of the giant animals that have been plaguing the caravan routes. We journeyed to the forest and killed a giant stag, a pair of giant wolves, and a giant animated tree without too much difficulty. Then a rather ferocious giant wolverine attacked us in the middle of the night and I had to fight it in my sleeping clothes. It was our hardest battle yet, with Tural keeping me alive while the beast mauled me and Hamish and Briel finished the creature off with arrows and magic.
I survived, but the encounter left me feeling inadequate. I was on the defensive the entire time, little more than a chew toy in the jaws of the beast, while my companions did the actual fighting. The power I have gained from the Fell Blade is not enough. I need more. Much more.
I fell asleep with the shard of the Fell Blade clasped in my hand, feeling the unnatural chill seep into my body. That night I did not dream - instead I found myself once again in the Vale of Swords, with the Fell Blade’s suffocating presence closing in on me from all sides.
“Back so soon? Did your first taste of power merely whet your appetite for more?”
The voice comes from directly behind me, the great white wolf’s fetid breath warming the back of my neck. My heart attempts to break through my ribcage as my adrenaline spikes. I grit my teeth and fight to regain my composure as I turn around.
“While I am grateful for the abilities I have gained...they are not enough. I need more power to face what is coming. I can feel it.”
“What you ask is possible. You can enter into a Pact with the Fell Blade, and you gain more power if you do. But I warn you - if all you seek is power, you will never be satisfied. Power never fills the void, it only makes you hunger for more. Don’t limit yourself.” The wolf seems disinterested, almost bored as it offers this advice. As if it already knows how I will respond. Perhaps it does. I am not the first of my bloodline to stand here and offer myself to the Fell Blade.
I shake my head. “There may be more to life than power, but right now I need more power or I won’t have a life left to live.”
The swords around me vibrate and I hear the voice of the Fell Blade again, emerging from the chorus of singing blades.
“CHOOSE YOUR POWER.”
Once again, I feel the voice in my bones as much as my ears, as my body resonated with the sound passing over and through me.
“What do you mean?”
The wolf answers me.
“What sphere of power do you favor? Knowledge, Domination, or Combat?”
“I don’t understand.”
“If you choose Knowledge, you will be granted the Book of Swords, and the ability to learn magic that would otherwise lie beyond your grasp. Add rituals you find to the book and you will have unparalleled versatility.
If you choose Domination, you will be given a Blade Spirit as your familiar. You can choose its form and it will obey your every command. It will grant you new ways to exert your control as your power increases.
If you choose Combat you will be granted the ability to summon a weapon of your choosing and channel your magic through it. You will eventually be able to imbue a mortal weapon with the power of the Fell Blade, making it your own.”
I consider the possibilities as I walk through the forest of blades, realizing that the books bound in metal and the creatures made of blades in my previous vision were things I could gain via a Pact with the Fell Blade. But I knew those were not for me. A legendary hero doesn’t carry a book or a pet into battle.
“I fear I am too impatient to wait for the seeds of Knowledge to grow, and I have little taste for Domination. I want people to follow me because they believe in me and my cause, not because I force them. I will choose Combat. A power that relies on and enhances my own skills. Also rather fitting, considering my family.”
The blades around us vibrated and sang, and the voices of the Fell Blade once again passed through my body.
“SO BE IT. THE PACT OF THE BLADE WILL BE FORGED IN BLOOD!”
“Wait, what?”
Before I could choke out more than a single startled cry, I saw a massive blade erupt from the ground in front of me and spear me through the chest, impaling me. My life’s blood flowed down the blade, forming glowing red runes on the icy blue metal of the sword. I felt a coldness spreading from the center of my chest throughout my body. My vision dimmed, and the last thing I heard before it all went black was the voice of the wolf.
“Master the blade, or the blade will master you...”
Evening Reflections:
Well, that sucked.
[/sblock]
