So I'm still studying the mechanics of 5e and un-learning a lot of my presumptions in regards to his development. But this nasty winter weather and a little wine inspired me to at least flex my creative side last night and write the origin story for my MC Paladin Half-Orc. It's written in the flowery, bombastic style of an Orc Bard reading Margaret Hunt's Grimm Fairy Tales translation. On the MC choices that you all have offered me, I gotta say it's a tough choice - you all give such compelling reasons for the other CHA based classes that I'm almost tempted to potpurri them all just to see if/how that would work. But in the meantime, enjoy my little ditty of a tale.
K'rad Bearclaw, the Early Years.
K’rad Bearclaw is a half-orc paladin who had the unique existence of an idyllic childhood, until he didn’t. His parents were both half-orcs themselves, both strong and handsome, and the only other person he ever knew was his Gramps, an old and scarred and scrabbly (and ugly) full blooded orc with one leg missing about the knee.
They lived in two warm and dry caves, one with his parents, and one for the animals (and usually Gramps), in a high alpine valley formed by three mountains that was essentially cut off from the rest of the world by terrain, ice and weather. The four of them had a peaceful life of farming, herding, and hunting (K’rad’s favorite thing to do) and Gramps was, well, grampy, most of the time. Unless he talked about his bride, which he wouldn’t do for long before he got quiet and misty, and then most of the time fell asleep soon after. Unless he farted. Then he’d roar and scream for another mead and goat leg..
K’rad’s parents sparred with each other in the field with axe and claw and shield, and Gramps would watch and tell K’rad just how bad each of them was at fighting. Gramps always said these things just loud enough so that K’rad’s folks could always hear him (if they ever actually paid attention to him), and he’d get louder when he spun the tales of legends of his own conquests and battles, and how much better he was than either one of them, before he lost his leg somewhere.. K’rad’s entire family trained him to both proud and humble, and noble and scrappy. And to fart.
And then it was all shattered one late summer. A very mild winter and a drought in spring suddenly opened the passes that were previously locked by ice and stone and forests, and the Elves and the Humans and the Orcs had a new battlefield to claim, an advantage to gain and enemy (or two) on the other side..
Without warning, all three sides invaded the valley and attacked each other, and the Bearclaw’s peaceful vale was in the crosshairs. He saw his Ma, his Pa and his Gramps all slain by the Elves, Orcs and Humans, before he was able to retreat to the Secret Cave that his parents said he must guard with his own life, if he was the last to stand. He veiled it with the curses his mother taught him, armed himself with Gramp’s Hand Axes and his father’s Great Axe, and he stood his silent vigil for months, living off the stores and creatures, guarding their weapons and treasures, until the battles receded and the valley was locked again in stone and ice and quiet.
When he emerged, his idyllic valley was gone and dead, replaced with bones and ashes and mud, all covered in the hoarfrost and blackfrost that signaled that winter was there. He screamed his vow that he would create the valley again, not just for himself, but for all the half-orcs and half-breeds and orphans who owed not only their lives to the Three Sided War, but their misery as well. For the remaining weeks of winter, he finished his training himself in the Secret Cave, recalling their epic clashes, hearing his parent’s words (and his gramps gramping), until the first thaw arrived.
He packed everything of need and value from the Secret Cave onto the Great Sledge (as Gramps called it when he rode it, when he made K’rad strap it on and then drag him everywhere around the valley, calling him “Ox! the Great Ox!! the Great Lumm Ox!!!”)
Then he veiled the Secret Cave, strapped on the Great Sledge, hefted his father’s Great Axe, and stood one last time at the mouth of the cave, gazing at his Secret Vale ruined and frozen in tears. Then a voice (or many) filled the cave, screaming his name, daring him to fulfill his vow, cursing his chances, deriding his dream of another Peaceful Vale as impossible in a land torn by hate and eternal victim of Secrets always Told, Envy always Flared, and Vengeance always Eternal.
K’rad Bearclaw screamed back “That valley will not be Victim, for it shall be Strong! That valley will not be Secret, for it shall be Shining! That valley will not be Envied, for it shall be for All, and the Vengeance shall be mine alone by its Creation!”
K’rad again stood vigil against the peals of laughter and growls of challenge. And when they ceased, the echoes said “Well, then you shall need a little help with that, I would think.” and then his father’s Great Axe glowed and K’rad felt power.
“Go K’rad Bear Claw, Lumm Ox, Vale Dreamer. Go with not a Geas, not a Quest, but a Dare. You shall not succeed, but die from hubris, and if you succeed, a Great Boon shall you have, but never Love because dreams always end with waking.”
The sounds died and finally, truly alone, K’rad went forth from the Cave, farted, and left the Vale.
