Feel free to make posts here as your individual characters to fill in backstories, goals, and potential hooks. It can be done before the game starts or as we go. Whichever will be more convenient or fun for you.

When I put a character together I'll post their stuff here as well.
This message was last updated by the GM at 03:00, Tue 01 Sept 2020.

Let me elucidate my beginnings for you. I don't know if one would call it a hero's journey, but it does consist of a tragic backstory, mentorship with a master of eldritch secrets, and an enigmatic mystery.

Yes, yes, I'll simplify for brevity and clarity.

When I was four or five, I don't really know for certain, a band of adventurers came upon my family and me. We weren't causing trouble, but these adventurers, some call them murder hobos in the common vernacular, wouldn't accept that. Perhaps we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and perhaps they would have befallen any ill-omened souls that strayed into their path, but when you are their hapless victims, speculation as to what might have happened to other, hypothetical, victims isn't really reassuring.

OK, OK, fewer words. They killed my family. They came into our village and slaughtered several families, humans and orcs living peacefully, actually farming, raising sheep, and otherwise minding our own business. OK, OK, I cannot deny that sometimes the sheep were killed and eaten uncooked, which still made the humans among us squeamish, but no one was going into the nearby towns and preying upon the innocent.

When the killing was done, I was the only one left alive. I tried to hide, burying myself in a pile of dirty laundry, but the avaricious adventurers searched through everything, and eventually they found me.

One of them, a human wizard named Jonathan, succumbed to a pang of guilt. He scooped me up, apologized to me, and took me home with him. Well, it wasn't truly home, not for many years. I adventured with him, staying at the inn when they were afraid I'd get killed, but otherwise a part of their lives. Some of them couldn't even manage to look at me, knowing what they'd done, so it wasn't always a comfortable life, but I was fed, mostly safe, and they were the only people I really knew.

I never forgot my parents' faces, and I don't know if they'd forgive me, but eventually I accepted my fate. When I did, the wizard began to teach me. I know he thought it was funny, but I was smart, and quite adept. At first he just taught me to read, but once I had that power, I retreated to his library, learning everything I could. Eventually I learned to use unseen servants to do my chores. I'd sit back with a cup of cocoa and tell it what to do, and the sweeping and scrubbign and other mind-numbing tasks would get done.

Most of my early spells like that were for practical things. I learned to send messages because my very best friend, a half-elven girl who lived just a few houses away, had been forbidden to play with me. All half-orcs are possessed of evil tendencies, you know. We would sit in class and talk to one another silently, and we created great games of imagination that kept us entertained for hours.

Eventually I became a full-fledged wizard apprentice.

Time passed. There's nothing for it but to say that wizarding takes time and study. I learned everything I could, figuring that one day things would change again, and probably not in my favor. Pessimism was deeply ingrained, I suppose.

And now Jonathan has left me holding the bag. Or the book, I suppose. Something happened a few months back, some significant event that left Jonathan paranoid and uneasy. Eventually he handed me this book, this magnificent tome that I can't open, even though it calls my name regularly, and he told me to take it away with me, to find someplace far from home where no one knew my name.

That last part was easy; half-orcs all look alike, you know, and no one bothers to learn our names.

Except Sidri, that half-elf I mentioned earlier. Defying all her parents' wishes, she and I left town with nowhere particular in mind.

And now we're here, and I don't know if this is our final stopping place or just a serendipitous pause along the way. A part of me wants to linger for a time; I want to open this book and figure out what it says. Perhaps if I understood that, I'd know what we're running from. And perhaps where we should run to.

Is it really stealing if they have more than enough gold to buy it again tomorrow? I don't think so! Or at least that's what I tell myself as I slip the cute little wooden unicorn mug into my pocket.

When I was younger, it was stuffed animals, dolls, marbles, hair ties, even meat pies from our favorite pastry chef. I learned quickly that I should make sure there were other people around so that suspicion wouldn't always fall on me. And sometimes I planted things I took on other girls at school, so they'd get a reputation, not me.

It was probably a foolish game, but I couldn't help myself. My parents were guild merchants, my father a glassblower and my mother a seamstress with a reputation for designing gorgeous clothing. I probably could have asked them for most of the things I took, but that wasn't the point.

It was fun to take things. Besides, sometimes my parents made me mad.

You'd think that with a half-elf daughter they'd be more sympathetic toward Rashka. But no! "You can't play with her, she's evil. She'll just grow up and cause trouble."

So who's evil, the girl who always has her nose in a book, or me who steals just because I like the planning and the excitement.

Rashka always knew what she wanted to be when she grew up. Me, I wanted to be a thief. Rashka always said that was silly. No, she actually would say, "Sidri, Sid, please don't pursue such a maligned career. You're perspicacious, puissant, and passionate. You could take over the world one day. Don't cast that aside for petty dreams."

She didn't understand me, but maybe I didn't understand me, either.

Sorcery through a fish into my ice cream. I thought I had it all planned, but when I was about thirteen, the dreams began. Dreams of dragons and fire and old grudges and stories of wonder and magic that couldn't be believed.

And one day I woke up like this, with scales in all the shades of gold, and with magic that I couldn't explain, and couldn't always control.

My particular favorite are the pretty orbs I can throw. They're dangerous, especially when you don't really understand what they can do. I got angry at a boy once because he thought that because I was pretty I was willing. I found myself wishing he'd catch fire, and then there was this orb in my hand, and I threw it at him. Later I couldn't say where it came from or why I threw it, but he spent several days at the local temple just getting better. He hated me after that.

I think I knew that I couldn't stay in town after that, but it took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do. I started by writing letters for friends, forging their parents' or masters' signatures, that kind of thing, all to get a little extra money.

I actually had to give the money to Rashka because if I kept it, it just flowed through my fingers like water. There are so many pretty things to buy in the world, and I want them all. I deserve them all, really.

When my mother kicked me out, she said that I was an embarrassment, that she couldn't understand how I turned out like I did when I was raised in such an upstanding family.

I couldn't explain how the thrill of it all was what kept me alive, that I couldn't tolerate boredom. Oh I tried, but the look in her eyes was as scorching as my fire bolt. It was obvious she was revolted by what I'd become.

When she slammed the door on me and told me to never come back, I burned a smiley face into her front door. I wonder if that's what they call burning bridges.

There are things I treasure, like friends. I'd do anything for them, anything.

Lubadubalubadubalubadub lubadub lubadub lubdub lub dub lub dub. Creeeeeek lub dub crackle lub dub crickcrack crackledy crack lub dub. Woooooosssshhhhhhh.

The howling winds beyond his shell were the third sound Ting ever recalled hearing.

The fourth was that of the shivering leaves sshhhusshhing the wind.

The fifth was an unknown to him. To anyone else it was the rythmic ting ting of a hammer falling upon an anvil.

Those sounds of his shell falling to bits as he pushed his way out, his heart racing and slowing as a new world opened to him, and the wind, the glorious wind playfully dancing about and a beautiful rythmic something. Those were the first happy sounds of his little life. If birds could smile it would have been plastered across his face. It felt like that smile feeling would last a lifetime.

His young eyes looked out onto a world waiting to embrace him. The winds called as a bird soared overhead. A deep instinct from time before time told him to spread his wings and join the wind. He knew no better. In his young impressionable mind his wings, so beautiful and perfect, spread wide and he ran and ran until he could gain some lift.

If his parents had had any foresight they would not have left a nearly hatched egg a stone's throw from the cliff's edge. But as all Kenku are wont to desire the elation of flight and soaring through the sky, his family had settled somewhere as close to that feeling as they could find. A forge near the peak of a mountain. It was to bad then when that very feeling they had sought led to their newest and onliest offspring hurling himself off a cliff.

For one beautiful moment little Ting felt the air respond to him and he flew. Out away from the mountain and down down down he plummeted. Kenku have no wings. The horrible realization came to late.

He knew only the shrieking winds and he heard them and for the first time he shrieked with them. A shrieking comet falling to the ground below. To the lake below. His saving grace, his blessed curse.

There is an awful sound the now grown Ting can make and it is his foulest curse. The simultaneous sounds of one's bones shattering as meat splats against water cracking smashing and splashing all rolled into one.

It took years of rehabilitation for the bright new born Kenku to ever be able to walk much less run again. He spent so much time lying there day after day listening to the sounds of the world play out around him as he could not even rise to interact with them. It was a miracle he had lived at all. A miracle bestowed on his family by an ancient relic his mother had found and discarded years ago. It too had almost met it's end in that far down lake. Fate brought the two together. A discarded relic of the past and an enthusiastic and trusting newborn.

When he finally could move again Ting spent his days learning the trades of both of his parents. One week exploring ancient ruins deep within the mountain with his mom on her archaeological explorations and the next with his father forging new and improved equipments from those ancient things discovered. Never again would a thing be discarded if it could still be useful. And everything could be useful. Everyone. Even a broken, wingless Kenku. Or three. The Kenku Forge became slightly known and some few travelers would come to their mountain to trade. He learned much from these traders but always he loved his mother and father's teachings most.

Ting had never felt the need to leave his mountain but time flies quickly for the cursed race and before he even realized it his parents had grown old. He wasn't the one that needed help to achieve tasks anymore. His woumds had healed but his parents grew decrepit. There was nothing he could do for them but carry on their spirits. They were happy on their mountain but before they died they wanted him to do one thing. Go. Live. The Kenku Forge became the Kenku's Last Home when he laid them to rest. Few if any would ever visit the place again.

And so Ting set out. Down the mountain, the slow route this time. He listened to the last sigh of the wind over his shoulder. The rain that fell was the world crying on his behalf.

Halfling Interviewer after a fight: What was your childhood like?

Jenil (ponders): My mom and dad had ten kids. I was the youngest. We never had enough food, I never owned any new clothes, always hand-me-downs, and we all slept in one room. There were only two beds, so if you wanted to be comfortable, you went to bed early. None of us could read, and I never had a single copper to my name.

She pauses, looking sad.

My parents eventually sold off eight of us. No, they didn't keep their favorites; they kept the two oldest boys, Darl and Joe, because they were strong and could earn some money. The rest of us were sold.

Halfling interviewer (looking appalled): Who'd they sell you to? For how much?

Jenil: A handful of silver. And they sold us to a child broker. She, yeah, it was a she, would then sell you to people who were interested in you. Mostly for nasty stuff, but I got kind of lucky. This one trainer looked at me and decided I looked healthy enough and he wanted something unique for the gladiatorial ring. He bought me, and trained me. Never touched me, you know. He fed me, and I had everything I could want, except I'd better not sass him during training, or he'd kick my ... Well, anyway ... that was true until he couldn't do that anymore, until I was better than him.

Halfling interviewer: What happened then? Did you stay?

Jenil: You bet. The money was good, the crowds were intoxicating, better than any drink, and I could have whatever I wanted. When I started winning, he even got me training in other things I wanted to know. It's how I learned to cook.

Halfling interviewer: Cook? What good does that do you in the arena?

Jenil: Mmm, I can make these snacks that taste great and give me just that little added edge. Seriously, though, it can't be all fighting all the time. Your fans, they want to know that you're more than just a fighter; they want more all the time. You'd be amazed at the letters I get.

Halfling interviewer: Letters? What's your favorite?

Jenil (pulling a rumpled parchment from a pocket and reading dramatically): Dearest Jenil, you are poetry in motion, every movement perfect and effortless. I was delighted when you caught my eye last night; I knew you loved me, too. Every thrust enflamed my passions, and I knew I must rescue you from this life. Although you are no doubt an artist with a sword, I would like to explore other artistic endeavors with you. I will give you anything your heart desires, if only you will swear your heart to me.

She folds the letter and tucks it away again.

Halfling interviewer: Sweet, sort of. Did anything come of it?

Jenil: Yes. He came after me a few nights later, tried to abduct me. I carved a heart with my initials into his cheek. I suppose I shouldn't have done that; it will just encourage others.

...

Elven interviewer on another day: Everyone wants to know about you, Jenil? What was your childhood like?

Jenil: Actually, I grew up as the youngest daughter of a baron. He had six children, all girls, and he loved us, but he desperately wanted a boy. He began to marry us off, hoping to find a son-in-law he'd trust with the barony, but when I saw who he had in mind for me, I ran. I had all this great training from our weaponsmaster, and it was easy to slip into the arena

...