How much fluff is too much?
Here's a sample Ghodon (new race in Scarrport) adventurer I'm writing up.
The problem is, I'm getting long-winded. I'm not finished writing him yet, and I'm wondering if I should just give the cliff's notes of this character background or not.
So, my question to everyone is, would you like to see sample characters written with this much detail, or would you just prefer to see a distilled version?
Gringarúk Shouts at the Sky
Gringarúk Shouts at the Sky is a mog-bashai paladin who seeks redemption for past sins. Once the most respected of all the bodrokhan (an order of paladins who worship the god Khall, Bringer of Storms), Gringarúk was a terror on the battlefield, joyously rending flesh and bone in faithful service of his god. He had many wives who bore him strong sons and beautiful daughters. His enemies trembled at the sight of snarlfang, his adamantine axe. Indeed, Gringarúk’s exploits are legendary among the ghodon tribes, as is the tale of his greatest sin, known among bards far and wide as “Gringarúk’s Fall.”
The paladin failed to warn his village of an impending attack by stonebreaker ogres. Gringarúk was supposed to be on watch when the ogres attacked, but, drunk from the previous night’s excesses, the ghodon had passed out. Consequently, the ogres came upon the village in the early dawn uncontested, razing his village to the ground, killing nearly everyone in the process, including his family. Survivors found Gringarúk still sleeping in the watchtower, oblivious to what had happened. Gringarúk was banished from his tribe, told never to return to the lands of the mog-bashai upon pain of death.
Unable to bear his grief and shame, Gringarúk journeyed far to the north, seeking redemption through glorious death in the waiting maw of the great white dragon Sarthaxxas: The Life Ender. Down into the cold deep earth he went, battling the wyrm’s whelps and other minions, until at last, weary and bleeding from many wounds, Gringarúk came to stand before the mighty dragon herself.
Hefting snarlfang, Gringarúk charged across the rocky cavern, but Sarthaxxas moved with a speed that belied her massive size, a gleaming white claw arcing out to pin the ghodon against a rotting chest filled with gold coins and glittering gems. Sarthaxxas’ massive head snaked in, her gaping, slavering maw a few perilous inches from Gringarúk’s face. The mere presence of the mighty wyrm wracked his body with biting cold. Gringarúk could do nothing. It appeared that Gringarúk would die just as he had failed his people; on his back.
So much for glorious death.
“Do it then, dragon. Kill me and be done with it, “the ghodon spat through chattering teeth. But Sarthaxxas just laughed, her acrid breath making Gringarúk's stomach roil.
“I know you, mighty Gringarúk of the mog-bashai tribe,” she hissed.
“I know of your deeds, of your failure to protect your people,” her mocking tone enraged the ghodon. Gringarúk thrashed under the weight of her claw, shouting curses, but Sarthaxxas just laughed.
“You would have me end your pain? Release you from your shame, is that it?” A talon inched closer to the paladin’s throat.
Gringarúk nodded slowly, unable to meet Sarthaxxas’s pale grey eyes. The claw retracted just then and Sarthaxxas reared her massive head with a snarl. The cavern thundered as she beat her wings, sending gold and silver flying in all directions.
“I’ll not be your tool, Gringarúk of the mog-bashai. If it is death you seek, find an end more befitting your cowardice,” Sarthaxxas turned then and Gringarúk, enraged, scrambled to his feet, charging the dragon once again. However, before he could get close, Sarthaxxas flicked her massive tail, catching Gringarúk full on the chest, the impact hurling the ghodon against the cavern wall. He slouched to the floor, breath coming in ragged gasps, pain exploding across his back and head. The last thing the paladin saw was Sarthaxxas closing in on him. He feebly lifted snarlfang, but the bloodstained axe slipped from his grasp as darkness washed over him.
Gringarúk awoke to the feel of snow on his face. His body aching in protest as the ghodon struggled to sit up and look around. Blinding snow roared across the frozen tundra, however, and Gringarúk couldn’t see more than a few yards in any direction. Cursing Sarthaxxas for dropping him into a raging blizzard, the ghodon reached for snarlfang so that he might prop himself up to his feet, but it was gone. Gone too, was his armor and other equipment; all gone, save for the meager clothes on his back and a long knife in his boots. Maybe the blasted dragon had granted his wish after all. Gringarúk laughed mirthlessly as he struggled to his feet and set out into the storm.
How long he wandered, lost in the pale white blanket of ice and snow, Gringarúk couldn’t guess. Pale day wore on into night, and back to day again, yet still he plodded on through the violent storm. Finally, the last of his strength draining from his body, Gringarúk shouted to the sky, cursing the storm god Khall for letting him die without redemption, then darkness took him again. Still, he did not die.
--------------
Again, I'm still writing him. At this rate, I could go on for awhile.
I'm also considering giving each sample adventurer suggestions for class and level, so if you like what you read, you can possibly play him (if the GM approves, of course).
Feedback is appreciated.
thanks for your time.
Here's a sample Ghodon (new race in Scarrport) adventurer I'm writing up.
The problem is, I'm getting long-winded. I'm not finished writing him yet, and I'm wondering if I should just give the cliff's notes of this character background or not.
So, my question to everyone is, would you like to see sample characters written with this much detail, or would you just prefer to see a distilled version?
Gringarúk Shouts at the Sky
Gringarúk Shouts at the Sky is a mog-bashai paladin who seeks redemption for past sins. Once the most respected of all the bodrokhan (an order of paladins who worship the god Khall, Bringer of Storms), Gringarúk was a terror on the battlefield, joyously rending flesh and bone in faithful service of his god. He had many wives who bore him strong sons and beautiful daughters. His enemies trembled at the sight of snarlfang, his adamantine axe. Indeed, Gringarúk’s exploits are legendary among the ghodon tribes, as is the tale of his greatest sin, known among bards far and wide as “Gringarúk’s Fall.”
The paladin failed to warn his village of an impending attack by stonebreaker ogres. Gringarúk was supposed to be on watch when the ogres attacked, but, drunk from the previous night’s excesses, the ghodon had passed out. Consequently, the ogres came upon the village in the early dawn uncontested, razing his village to the ground, killing nearly everyone in the process, including his family. Survivors found Gringarúk still sleeping in the watchtower, oblivious to what had happened. Gringarúk was banished from his tribe, told never to return to the lands of the mog-bashai upon pain of death.
Unable to bear his grief and shame, Gringarúk journeyed far to the north, seeking redemption through glorious death in the waiting maw of the great white dragon Sarthaxxas: The Life Ender. Down into the cold deep earth he went, battling the wyrm’s whelps and other minions, until at last, weary and bleeding from many wounds, Gringarúk came to stand before the mighty dragon herself.
Hefting snarlfang, Gringarúk charged across the rocky cavern, but Sarthaxxas moved with a speed that belied her massive size, a gleaming white claw arcing out to pin the ghodon against a rotting chest filled with gold coins and glittering gems. Sarthaxxas’ massive head snaked in, her gaping, slavering maw a few perilous inches from Gringarúk’s face. The mere presence of the mighty wyrm wracked his body with biting cold. Gringarúk could do nothing. It appeared that Gringarúk would die just as he had failed his people; on his back.
So much for glorious death.
“Do it then, dragon. Kill me and be done with it, “the ghodon spat through chattering teeth. But Sarthaxxas just laughed, her acrid breath making Gringarúk's stomach roil.
“I know you, mighty Gringarúk of the mog-bashai tribe,” she hissed.
“I know of your deeds, of your failure to protect your people,” her mocking tone enraged the ghodon. Gringarúk thrashed under the weight of her claw, shouting curses, but Sarthaxxas just laughed.
“You would have me end your pain? Release you from your shame, is that it?” A talon inched closer to the paladin’s throat.
Gringarúk nodded slowly, unable to meet Sarthaxxas’s pale grey eyes. The claw retracted just then and Sarthaxxas reared her massive head with a snarl. The cavern thundered as she beat her wings, sending gold and silver flying in all directions.
“I’ll not be your tool, Gringarúk of the mog-bashai. If it is death you seek, find an end more befitting your cowardice,” Sarthaxxas turned then and Gringarúk, enraged, scrambled to his feet, charging the dragon once again. However, before he could get close, Sarthaxxas flicked her massive tail, catching Gringarúk full on the chest, the impact hurling the ghodon against the cavern wall. He slouched to the floor, breath coming in ragged gasps, pain exploding across his back and head. The last thing the paladin saw was Sarthaxxas closing in on him. He feebly lifted snarlfang, but the bloodstained axe slipped from his grasp as darkness washed over him.
Gringarúk awoke to the feel of snow on his face. His body aching in protest as the ghodon struggled to sit up and look around. Blinding snow roared across the frozen tundra, however, and Gringarúk couldn’t see more than a few yards in any direction. Cursing Sarthaxxas for dropping him into a raging blizzard, the ghodon reached for snarlfang so that he might prop himself up to his feet, but it was gone. Gone too, was his armor and other equipment; all gone, save for the meager clothes on his back and a long knife in his boots. Maybe the blasted dragon had granted his wish after all. Gringarúk laughed mirthlessly as he struggled to his feet and set out into the storm.
How long he wandered, lost in the pale white blanket of ice and snow, Gringarúk couldn’t guess. Pale day wore on into night, and back to day again, yet still he plodded on through the violent storm. Finally, the last of his strength draining from his body, Gringarúk shouted to the sky, cursing the storm god Khall for letting him die without redemption, then darkness took him again. Still, he did not die.
--------------
Again, I'm still writing him. At this rate, I could go on for awhile.
I'm also considering giving each sample adventurer suggestions for class and level, so if you like what you read, you can possibly play him (if the GM approves, of course).
Feedback is appreciated.
thanks for your time.
