Re: You and Vaiden
1. where are you from? Describe the town, village, tribe, etc. where the character was born and raised.
Thamkis Slybones was raised Thamkis Ambermaker among the gully dwarves of Ambervale. Though a halfling and a spritely one at that, her adoptive parents took her in and taught her the important things, craft and pride in your work, and always solving a conflict with words and thought. The Ambervale was a place of artisans and magicweavers who nurtured young Thamkis' gift until she was a quarter century old, a wink in a dwarf's live, and she set out on her own, over the golden-orange hills of Ambervale and down into the fields and farms of Behlar, to be among the halflings, her people.
Behlar, and the town of Behl's Hook, needed a woodswitch, and Thamkis had been born to that power and her daemon spirit Graham, now given form as her familiar. She settled down, and her power only grew as she nurtured and tended it like a garden. She married and had two strong children, the little river trading post of Behl's Hook the perfect point between her two worlds, helping guide shipments of Ambervale goods down the river and onto the big lands.
2. what deities does the character worship? Are you going to explode if your 'book' deity is adapted to this world? How strong is the character's faith?
Thamkis offers prayers, when she thinks to, to both the dwarven and halfling gods, though their taste for peace and sweet words is no longer in line with her thirst for revenge.
3. what motivates the character to exist? what are their dreams, goals, ambitions, hatred, rivalries, etc. that drive them to get up everyday and take risks?
A covey of hags and a court of sprites fought ancient war since the vales and rivers first were settled. At the edge of humanoid settlement the fae made mocking caprice as they battled their shadow wars, the creatures without none the wiser. In time not even a century ago, a child was born to a hag-mother, the progeny of a halfling bard's night with a beautiful witch. And this hagspawn was left to be raised by mortals, as is hag custom, though she fell into the hands of dwarven craftsmen, their own pacts with ancient powers running counter to fae magicks. She learned hermit magic, runic dwarven, and went on her way never once returning to the bogs, as hagspawn must 'tween the nights of their first moontime, to complete their transformation into a hag.
Lost to them, the hags abandoned their child Slybones, but the sprites did not consider that when they learned of her origins. Nixies' pacts are dark indeed, and her father had spurned a water sprite, a deed used as justification to kill Thamkis' son, drowned in the swimming pond, a message to the hags. They responded by stealing away Thamkis' daughter at her first moontime, to make a hag of the daughter where the mother wasn't.
In time, the halflings of Behl's Hook died in this shadow war, or fled for other parts. Now the former wise woman is childless, friendless, loveless. She wanders here and there, hunting sprites, thwarting hags. Her power diminished as her hag's blood failed, warped by her hate and her refusal to serve it.
4. we will be using the various 'book' races, are there any which are hated by the character? why does the character hate this race?
Well the monsters sprites and hags are the main thrust of her hate, especially green hags and nixies. As for core races the fey-blooded gnomes and elves earn a sharp tut from Slybones with their antics and use of the ancient fae magics. Too often are the playthings of the elder powers the truly mortal, while long-lived races such as they continue to enjoy their time in long ages. The average young gnome just starting on her grand adventure was born and raised in the years following Thamkis' son's death, and all that came after, all her age and brokenness, was a blink in those long-lived creatures' eyes.
5. what was the region the character grew up in like? green and comfy? farm lands? war torn and plundered? a desert? this will help flesh out the world.
The Ambervale and Behl's Hook are pastoral and idyllic, or at least they were. Now boats pass broken rotted timbers of the buildings and underhouses which once dotted the shoreline, the whole place choked with a foul green weed which won't relent. Ambervale vessels pass in the middle of the river, slowly between the shore's reeds. A single lantern burns in the inlet where the swimming pond once was, a frayed and rotted rope cut and frayed into a web of threads which hold a misshapen skull aloft. The skull is too wide by a tenth and fitted with sharp weasel-like teeth, a river stone within burning with a heatless green flame. Any brave enough to venture within find dead chitinous things, small men with the hindquarters of crickets and bone fiddles fit for dolls, a withered hand nailed to a church door still squeezing into a fist even though it rots under papery skin. The only part of the town cared for in any way is a small graveyard, row on row of faded wooden markers, names faded if ever legible at all, but each bearing a flower growing in its soil, family upon family, each accounted and tended.