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Character Backstories: Care to share?
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<blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 7004302" data-attributes="member: 6777052"><p>I once made a backstory for a whole party of five characters, introducing them one at a time, illustrating how they related to each other and to the world around them. It ran to 70,000 words and that was just Volume One <img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/ponder.png" class="smilie" loading="lazy" alt=":hmm:" title="Hmmm :hmm:" data-shortname=":hmm:" /></p><p></p><p>As you have been such good children, I will read you some extracts from the first chapter. You must imagine the parts in-between ...</p><p></p><p>[sblock="Ganhard Healshrine, Cleric/Acolyte"]It was early evening and the light was beginning to fade. The town seemed as far away as ever as Ganhard trudged painfully on. His boots were hurting and nothing seemed to help. He wasn't used to all this walking. Why did towns have to be so far apart?</p><p></p><p>'Go to the town of Redcott', the High Priestess Anelia had said to him yesterday, 'and you will meet friends there who will help you.' He wasn't quite sure how that was supposed to work but you didn't ask High Priestesses for explanations. Not unless you wanted to look like a fool. He assumed it meant that someone would greet him at the town gate. If not, he would ask the way to the Temple of Gyri and make himself known there. It couldn't be that difficult. Or perhaps it was. He really didn’t know.</p><p></p><p>Ganhard was a priest, in the sense that he had passed all the academic tests and could recite the scriptures from memory, but in truth, he wasn’t a very impressive priest. He was short, for a man, and skinny as a rake. He wore his hair in a top-knot to try to give himself a bit of extra height, and a thick woollen habit under the regulation linen one to give himself extra bulk, but it didn’t really make any difference. He was the sort of disregarded young man who was always last to be picked when the best positions were being handed out. Except that, according to Anelia, he had been personally chosen by the Goddess Gyri herself for this important task. He ought to feel proud but he didn’t. He assumed that, as usual, he had been given a task that no-one else wanted. Still, it was something to be chosen for anything and he thanked Blesséd Gyri for noticing him.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Poliva Pursetaker, Rogue/Folk Hero"]Poli had been watching her mark carefully. You didn't see many clergymen in this street in the daytime. Not in this street. This one was lost. You could tell. It was the way he kept looking left and right and stopping to gaze up at the sky. Small man, shorter than her, and skinny as a rake. Town-dweller, doesn't eat enough. Farm lads are better built. And limping slightly. New boots. Belt pouch on the left, about 20 coins by the weight of it. Pack on his back looks new and it's overfilled, so he's come from another town and isn't a seasoned traveller; hasn't learnt what to leave out.</p><p></p><p>She made a slight motion with her hand – <em>this one is mine</em> – and further down the street the three men who had been unobtrusively following her mark faded back into the afternoon shadows. She adjusted her body language subtly to 'you can talk to me' and moved across his path.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Poli and Ganhard"]This girl seemed disturbingly ready to talk to him. He hoped she wasn't a fallen woman. He wasn't sure how to tell, really, but you heard stories. She was a bit taller than him, quite solidly-built, in a plain brown woollen dress like a peasant girl and with her hair done up in braids. And she had eyes. Deep brown eyes. Her eyes seemed to be talking to him in a way that eyes usually didn't. He tried to drop his gaze slightly and found himself staring at her nose.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Aromin Rainshield, Elf Fighter/Criminal"]Aromin was in a foul temper. He was safe enough here, in these cheap lodgings, and there were good sight-lines for crossbow fire from the windows and doorway in case of trouble. But he was on his own, an elf in a human town, and though he tried not to admit it to himself, he missed his old comrades. He missed his dead wife most of all and the dreams of her untimely death were bad every time he tranced. The bitterness he felt did not lessen.</p><p></p><p>There was a caravan leaving in a few day's time and there should have been work. He needed work, to occupy his mind. But the caravan master had been very off-hand and said he had enough guards, and to come back next week – meaning, of course, don't come back at all.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Aromin, Ganhard and Poli"]There were voices downstairs. A man, a woman and Mrs. Maggins. Then footsteps coming up the stairs. A floorboard squeaked; that was the one on the turn of the staircase. Three people. He sat on the bed with his sword close to hand but covered by a pillow. There was a knock on the door. Mrs Maggins. 'Mr. Aromin, sir? There's a priest here asking to see you, and young Poli Pursetaker is with him?' There was a disapproving sniff to her voice. That was normal. He relaxed marginally and stood up, but poised on the balls of his feet, alert. 'Enter !' he called.</p><p></p><p>The door opened and Ganhard came in, followed by Poli and Mrs. Maggins. He quickly sized up Ganhard as small, weak and harmless. The girl might have had a knife about her and looked able to handle herself but was keeping behind the priest and not posing immediate threat. 'Yes?' he said, non-committally. If these people wanted something, striking a deal might be profitable.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Aromin and Poli"]The arrangements made, Poli and Aromin returned to the square to wait for Ganhard. Poli noticed the elf glancing at a pie-seller and guessed he hadn't eaten lately. She nodded imperceptibly to a street-sweeper, who moved over and began busily plying his broom around the pie-man's feet, loudly complaining about the pie crumbs that his customers had dropped, just as Poli and Aromin strolled past, arm in arm, chatting amiably. A few moments later, across the square and out of sight behind a market stall, Poli handed Aromin a hot pie. 'Nifely dum,' said Aromin, his mouth full of pie.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Valerise Pengazer, Wizard/Soldier"]Val strode along the street, staff in hand, her cloak flapping behind her. People made way for her. She expected them to, and didn't even think about it. There was a caravan leaving tomorrow and she would be joining it. Merely a matter of finding the caravan master and telling him so. Job done.</p><p></p><p>That looked like the right man. 'You there! Are you the caravan master?'</p><p></p><p>'Yes, madam?' He was aware of a cloak, a wizard’s staff and a lithe young woman with long fair hair and a purposeful air. He turned away from the underlings he had been admonishing and gave her his full attention. He suppressed an urge to salute. You didn't see wizards every day and even when you did, they were normally bearded old men with a air of absent-mindedness, which this one certainly wasn't, on at least four counts. Nor did they normally have that thousand-yard stare that marked out professional soldiers who had seen serious action in the field. This woman was ... <em>unusual</em>.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Val, Ganhard, Poli and Aromin"]Exactly five minutes later, Val was crossing the square with two guards in tow when she spied Ganhard coming towards her with Poli and Aromin. Excellent, she thought. From a distance, she assessed Aromin as an irregular infantryman, just from the way he held himself and his general alertness. Poli had the makings of an archer and there was a certain strength of character there, that belied her generally demur demeanour. They were slightly behind Ganhard to either side. But they weren't following him, they were propelling him. A healing cleric was supposed to be worth two soldiers and most clerics had some combat training, but it was generally minimal and this one didn't look experienced. He was walking too softly and not looking where he was going.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Grimfund of Black Keep, Dwarf Fighter/Noble"]The Very Important Dwarf called Grimfund was covered head to toe in the finest dwarven mail, over which he wore an oxhide travelling cloak and iron-shod Grodzh boots. Strapped to his back was his shield – one of those round wooden ones that dwarves favour – and his prized battle axe, a gift from his grandfather.</p><p></p><p>He stood calmly while people busied themselves around him. The wizard-woman seemed to have things organised. To establish his authority over her, he had ordered some fur rugs for his bench in the wagon and she had gone off to find some. People liked being given little jobs to do – it gave them a sense of worth. Now, three other people seemed to be approaching; a cleric of some sort, a soldier and a woman. The woman was well-built but too tall for a dwarf. The cleric was impossibly thin. The soldier was an elf. None of them was in any way aristocratic. He ignored them briefly. If they waited respectfully for a minute or two, he would allow them to speak.</p><p></p><p>He stroked his beard. He did that, sometimes, to give an air of thoughtfulness and it kept people waiting because they naturally assumed he was about to say something momentous. He was quite young, for a dwarf, still in his forties, but he was always conscious of being his grandfather’s grandson and his grandfather, being the Warden of Black Keep, was very important indeed.[/sblock]</p><p>[sblock="Grimfund, Ganhard, Poli and Aromin"]'Do you wish to address me?' he said to Ganhard after a suitable interval. He chose Ganhard as the most insignificant-looking of the three, so that the other two wouldn’t feel as important. To keep them in their places.</p><p></p><p>'The spell-captain has assigned us to your wagon as extra guards. We were instructed to make ourselves known to you,' said Ganhard, unsure of just how important this dwarf actually was. He was certainly acting like someone who was accustomed to being treated as someone important, but that could all be put on.</p><p></p><p>'I see. Yes, quite correct,' said the dwarf. 'These are my bags. You may stow them on the wagon. Be careful with the two chests. You will guard them at all times.'</p><p></p><p>Ganhard and Aromin exchanged glances. 'I'll fetch one of the porters,' said Poli, and made some complicated hand-signals to a group of men loitering nearby. One came forward and lifted the bags and chests expertly onto the wagon. Poli watched how he placed his hands. Fingers held just so. That meant that the chests were locked but the locks were of the simplex type that would be no great trouble to pick, that the contents were evenly distributed but no heavier than a full chest of clothes would normally be, and that there was no sound of any metal objects such as weapons or coinage inside. The man resumed his loitering, unnoticed by the dwarf.[/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="BoldItalic, post: 7004302, member: 6777052"] I once made a backstory for a whole party of five characters, introducing them one at a time, illustrating how they related to each other and to the world around them. It ran to 70,000 words and that was just Volume One :hmm: As you have been such good children, I will read you some extracts from the first chapter. You must imagine the parts in-between ... [sblock="Ganhard Healshrine, Cleric/Acolyte"]It was early evening and the light was beginning to fade. The town seemed as far away as ever as Ganhard trudged painfully on. His boots were hurting and nothing seemed to help. He wasn't used to all this walking. Why did towns have to be so far apart? 'Go to the town of Redcott', the High Priestess Anelia had said to him yesterday, 'and you will meet friends there who will help you.' He wasn't quite sure how that was supposed to work but you didn't ask High Priestesses for explanations. Not unless you wanted to look like a fool. He assumed it meant that someone would greet him at the town gate. If not, he would ask the way to the Temple of Gyri and make himself known there. It couldn't be that difficult. Or perhaps it was. He really didn’t know. Ganhard was a priest, in the sense that he had passed all the academic tests and could recite the scriptures from memory, but in truth, he wasn’t a very impressive priest. He was short, for a man, and skinny as a rake. He wore his hair in a top-knot to try to give himself a bit of extra height, and a thick woollen habit under the regulation linen one to give himself extra bulk, but it didn’t really make any difference. He was the sort of disregarded young man who was always last to be picked when the best positions were being handed out. Except that, according to Anelia, he had been personally chosen by the Goddess Gyri herself for this important task. He ought to feel proud but he didn’t. He assumed that, as usual, he had been given a task that no-one else wanted. Still, it was something to be chosen for anything and he thanked Blesséd Gyri for noticing him.[/sblock] [sblock="Poliva Pursetaker, Rogue/Folk Hero"]Poli had been watching her mark carefully. You didn't see many clergymen in this street in the daytime. Not in this street. This one was lost. You could tell. It was the way he kept looking left and right and stopping to gaze up at the sky. Small man, shorter than her, and skinny as a rake. Town-dweller, doesn't eat enough. Farm lads are better built. And limping slightly. New boots. Belt pouch on the left, about 20 coins by the weight of it. Pack on his back looks new and it's overfilled, so he's come from another town and isn't a seasoned traveller; hasn't learnt what to leave out. She made a slight motion with her hand – [I]this one is mine[/I] – and further down the street the three men who had been unobtrusively following her mark faded back into the afternoon shadows. She adjusted her body language subtly to 'you can talk to me' and moved across his path.[/sblock] [sblock="Poli and Ganhard"]This girl seemed disturbingly ready to talk to him. He hoped she wasn't a fallen woman. He wasn't sure how to tell, really, but you heard stories. She was a bit taller than him, quite solidly-built, in a plain brown woollen dress like a peasant girl and with her hair done up in braids. And she had eyes. Deep brown eyes. Her eyes seemed to be talking to him in a way that eyes usually didn't. He tried to drop his gaze slightly and found himself staring at her nose.[/sblock] [sblock="Aromin Rainshield, Elf Fighter/Criminal"]Aromin was in a foul temper. He was safe enough here, in these cheap lodgings, and there were good sight-lines for crossbow fire from the windows and doorway in case of trouble. But he was on his own, an elf in a human town, and though he tried not to admit it to himself, he missed his old comrades. He missed his dead wife most of all and the dreams of her untimely death were bad every time he tranced. The bitterness he felt did not lessen. There was a caravan leaving in a few day's time and there should have been work. He needed work, to occupy his mind. But the caravan master had been very off-hand and said he had enough guards, and to come back next week – meaning, of course, don't come back at all.[/sblock] [sblock="Aromin, Ganhard and Poli"]There were voices downstairs. A man, a woman and Mrs. Maggins. Then footsteps coming up the stairs. A floorboard squeaked; that was the one on the turn of the staircase. Three people. He sat on the bed with his sword close to hand but covered by a pillow. There was a knock on the door. Mrs Maggins. 'Mr. Aromin, sir? There's a priest here asking to see you, and young Poli Pursetaker is with him?' There was a disapproving sniff to her voice. That was normal. He relaxed marginally and stood up, but poised on the balls of his feet, alert. 'Enter !' he called. The door opened and Ganhard came in, followed by Poli and Mrs. Maggins. He quickly sized up Ganhard as small, weak and harmless. The girl might have had a knife about her and looked able to handle herself but was keeping behind the priest and not posing immediate threat. 'Yes?' he said, non-committally. If these people wanted something, striking a deal might be profitable.[/sblock] [sblock="Aromin and Poli"]The arrangements made, Poli and Aromin returned to the square to wait for Ganhard. Poli noticed the elf glancing at a pie-seller and guessed he hadn't eaten lately. She nodded imperceptibly to a street-sweeper, who moved over and began busily plying his broom around the pie-man's feet, loudly complaining about the pie crumbs that his customers had dropped, just as Poli and Aromin strolled past, arm in arm, chatting amiably. A few moments later, across the square and out of sight behind a market stall, Poli handed Aromin a hot pie. 'Nifely dum,' said Aromin, his mouth full of pie.[/sblock] [sblock="Valerise Pengazer, Wizard/Soldier"]Val strode along the street, staff in hand, her cloak flapping behind her. People made way for her. She expected them to, and didn't even think about it. There was a caravan leaving tomorrow and she would be joining it. Merely a matter of finding the caravan master and telling him so. Job done. That looked like the right man. 'You there! Are you the caravan master?' 'Yes, madam?' He was aware of a cloak, a wizard’s staff and a lithe young woman with long fair hair and a purposeful air. He turned away from the underlings he had been admonishing and gave her his full attention. He suppressed an urge to salute. You didn't see wizards every day and even when you did, they were normally bearded old men with a air of absent-mindedness, which this one certainly wasn't, on at least four counts. Nor did they normally have that thousand-yard stare that marked out professional soldiers who had seen serious action in the field. This woman was ... [I]unusual[/I].[/sblock] [sblock="Val, Ganhard, Poli and Aromin"]Exactly five minutes later, Val was crossing the square with two guards in tow when she spied Ganhard coming towards her with Poli and Aromin. Excellent, she thought. From a distance, she assessed Aromin as an irregular infantryman, just from the way he held himself and his general alertness. Poli had the makings of an archer and there was a certain strength of character there, that belied her generally demur demeanour. They were slightly behind Ganhard to either side. But they weren't following him, they were propelling him. A healing cleric was supposed to be worth two soldiers and most clerics had some combat training, but it was generally minimal and this one didn't look experienced. He was walking too softly and not looking where he was going.[/sblock] [sblock="Grimfund of Black Keep, Dwarf Fighter/Noble"]The Very Important Dwarf called Grimfund was covered head to toe in the finest dwarven mail, over which he wore an oxhide travelling cloak and iron-shod Grodzh boots. Strapped to his back was his shield – one of those round wooden ones that dwarves favour – and his prized battle axe, a gift from his grandfather. He stood calmly while people busied themselves around him. The wizard-woman seemed to have things organised. To establish his authority over her, he had ordered some fur rugs for his bench in the wagon and she had gone off to find some. People liked being given little jobs to do – it gave them a sense of worth. Now, three other people seemed to be approaching; a cleric of some sort, a soldier and a woman. The woman was well-built but too tall for a dwarf. The cleric was impossibly thin. The soldier was an elf. None of them was in any way aristocratic. He ignored them briefly. If they waited respectfully for a minute or two, he would allow them to speak. He stroked his beard. He did that, sometimes, to give an air of thoughtfulness and it kept people waiting because they naturally assumed he was about to say something momentous. He was quite young, for a dwarf, still in his forties, but he was always conscious of being his grandfather’s grandson and his grandfather, being the Warden of Black Keep, was very important indeed.[/sblock] [sblock="Grimfund, Ganhard, Poli and Aromin"]'Do you wish to address me?' he said to Ganhard after a suitable interval. He chose Ganhard as the most insignificant-looking of the three, so that the other two wouldn’t feel as important. To keep them in their places. 'The spell-captain has assigned us to your wagon as extra guards. We were instructed to make ourselves known to you,' said Ganhard, unsure of just how important this dwarf actually was. He was certainly acting like someone who was accustomed to being treated as someone important, but that could all be put on. 'I see. Yes, quite correct,' said the dwarf. 'These are my bags. You may stow them on the wagon. Be careful with the two chests. You will guard them at all times.' Ganhard and Aromin exchanged glances. 'I'll fetch one of the porters,' said Poli, and made some complicated hand-signals to a group of men loitering nearby. One came forward and lifted the bags and chests expertly onto the wagon. Poli watched how he placed his hands. Fingers held just so. That meant that the chests were locked but the locks were of the simplex type that would be no great trouble to pick, that the contents were evenly distributed but no heavier than a full chest of clothes would normally be, and that there was no sound of any metal objects such as weapons or coinage inside. The man resumed his loitering, unnoticed by the dwarf.[/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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