Post by The Sergeant / Alisha on Jun 22, 2017 10:00:37 GMT
Hi All,
I’m Josh, new to D&D having only played a couple of sessions. I’ve wanted to give it a try for a while - and finally have jumped in. From what I can see it is a really active and welcoming community. Bear with me as I ask a load of beginner questions... for instance in my last session I learnt 15 gold buys a hell of a lot of beer!
I was given some advice that spells can be a lot to remember, so I’ve kept it simple and gone with the fighter Val. If you want to learn more about him I’ve included the following:
- What You See - a brief description of Val for anyone who happens to pass him in town (i.e. the short version, without the long backstory)
- Full Backstory - Val’s fully fleshed out backstory (for anyone who doesn’t mind spoilers)
- Arrival to Kantas - How Val got here (again more detail)
What You See
At a little over six foot, the figure in the bar is tall lean muscle. Since arriving in Daring Heights this human has kept himself to himself, mostly seen in the corner of the tavern peering up from a pint, and summing up each and every person who walks through the door. Maybe he’s looking for an opportunity, sussing out who he can trust, or simply watching his own back. Unlike many others who have come to town and joined the local guard, it seems this shady character isn’t made for the law and order vocation.
Under the dusty clothes and long brown hair, the more perceptive among you may see strong, rough hands with calluses as hard as rough leather. Hands have that seen brutal combat, dirty brawls and a tough life. From the small scars on his face and neck others may sense this is a man who has both received and dished out some punishment in his time.
Yet despite his tall frame there are times he has simply disappeared from the dark corners of the tavern without a trace, aside from a coin on the table to pay for yet another night of drinking.
Full Backstory
Born to the backend streets of Waterdeep to a wayward mother and absent father. It was the streets themselves, full of criminality and violent delights of every kind, that brought Val up. A childhood of tough knocks, one chances and quick lessons, his natural strength helped Val survive those early years. Where that strength came from, he knows not. Val's mother, Shanty, was feisty from what little he saw of her, but small, slender and fair. While Val’s long brown hair, darker complexion and tall, muscular frame were quite different. From 11 Val towered over the other boys. He knows nothing of his father, nor cared.
As a child he teamed up with friend Amelio. A short, skinny lad with a mop of black hair, Amelio had a knack for making others smile. That knack lead him to run elaborate scams that would feed the boys, while Val fought off the other kids who wanted their prizes. From what began as tricks to pinch loafs of bread, or scraps in a quiet alley, grew to secret heists or fists covered in blood, bones broken with clubs, and make-shift blades piercing with precision. Val and Amelio were perfect pairing in their corner of the back alleys of Waterdeep, helping to keep each other alive.
Childhood very quickly became adulthood. Amelio's cunning lead him to build and rule the local gang, The 'Ngratia Rosso, with Val at his side as security. The Rosso carved out territory quickly. Amelio had an innate ability to read other's intention, and like a chess master out played and bluffed his way to a life the gang had always dreamed of, comfort. Not luxury, but the comfort to sleep a full nights rest with a belly full.
With a newfound sense of freedom, when not intimidating and enforcing for Amelio, Val boxed for sport. Val's reputation and experience on the street earning the respect of the crowds and organisers alike. One fight in particular won acclaim, with the knockout of the Half-Orc, Fist. And with Amelio watching over each fight, undoubtedly running more and more elaborate scams and betting circles, Val pocketed a healthy earning. Those earning, Val squandered on local whores and drink: the only memories left are the pox marks, and the burning sensations that arise from the time to time.
As Amelio continued to gain wealth and influence, The Rosso drew the attention of other local gangs and criminal families. But more troublingly was the attention of a group of clerics. Why Amelio became the focus of the temple began to trouble Val, keeping him awake as the whores next to him slept. What they wanted, Val never discovered.
One Summer evening Amelio and Val played dice and retold stories of their violent youth, as often they would. On opening a third bottle of wine and glugging the first of its contents, Amelio coughed, laughed and they choked before spewing blood across the room. Within seconds Amelio lay contorted and still in Val's arms. From outside of the room could be heard deep, low moans as Val sat till morning with his friend in his arms. The other seniors of The Rosso gang found Val rocking with Amelio in his arms after dawn.
Val never was able to mourn his friend.
The following night, as he lay in bed, this time along, the noise of feet that didn't want to be heard ascended the stairs to Val's apartment. Despite the alcohol and sadness clouding Val's mind, experience set in. Val's door burst open, and three slight figures wrapped in black cloaks entered with the speed of practiced professionals. The room was empty, or so they thought. As one of the cloaked figures checked the washroom, a distinct crack was heard, followed by a thud. Val stepped out from the washroom, and with the speed of his youth threw the second figure across his apartment, breaking what few decorations adorned the spartan room. The Unarmed Val danced as the third figure thrust his blades at him. All the blade hit was air. Val landed the intruder in the face with a sharp right hook, unbalancing the assassin. Val grabbed his opponent’s hand, which still held the dagger, and turned it with precision to pierce and slice the flesh of the figures throat. Blood leaked out as the limp body fell to the floor.
From behind him Val felt the warmth of blood on his back, and a tight grip on his neck. The cloaked rogue he had thrown across the room earlier was up, and had pierced him. The wound was well placed. With Val's strength seeping from him, he recalled his fight with the Half-Orc Fist those months ago.
Anyone walking the alley outside of Val's apartment would have thought a smith had been hammering stone with a worn hammer. Thud. Crack. Thud.
From the apartment stepped Val Mox, the victor of the streets, champion of over 20 fights in the ring, and now survivor of unknown assassins. Hands and body and face all painted with thick, sticky blood. Sweat dripped from his long dark hair, over his stubbled face and onto the floor.
Amelio's words of scams and betrayal and chess came racing through Val's mind. He knew he was now the victim of someone else's game. So he ran. He ran through the back alleys and out of the city with the stealth of one who was born in the gutter. Val knew he was cornered and was next to be killed by the hands who ended Amelio's life. Whether he was being framed, blamed or simply a loose end that needed to be cut he didn't know. He kept running.
Weeks became months, and still Val ran. Wandering from town to town looking for work that needs a strong arm. These brute tasks keep his mind occupied and helps release the anger that builds up. But the guilt and the pain of his lost friend still keeps Val from sleeping soundly.
Arrival to Kantas:
Picking up his fourth pint in Secomber’s Seven-Stringed Harp, the dusty figure at the bar may have looked like a harmless drunk only focused on his beer, but Val’s ear were open to the entire tavern. The conversation of a trade being made two tables behind him, mumblings of slavers in the far corner, and a rogue desperately trying with each barmaid that past him. Val laughed to his pint and drank some more. What he was truly listening for was the sound he had heard that night those weeks ago: of footsteps that didn’t want to be heard.
Just like each night since, he didn’t hear them. Both relieved and disappointed. He finished his final beer, tightened his long hair in a pony tale, and readied himself to leave.
“An undiscovered land...a new frontier.” Val’s ears pricked up before he got to the door, as one chubby Halfling told a redheaded barmaid, who seems much more interested in this little fella than the poor rogue. As she walked to the next table, the Halfling felt Val looking straight at him, and without a fear in the world patted his table. Val approached, took a seat and listened as the Halfling told him the tale of the Kantas, the wide expanse, of Daring Heights, and of opportunity. The two shared drinks, and tales, and for the first time in a long time Val relaxed.
Whether it was the thought of an escape, a chance for purpose once again, or simply a head whirling with beer, Val the idea was born that he would find this portal the Halfling has told him of, step through, and make a life in the Kantas.
I’m Josh, new to D&D having only played a couple of sessions. I’ve wanted to give it a try for a while - and finally have jumped in. From what I can see it is a really active and welcoming community. Bear with me as I ask a load of beginner questions... for instance in my last session I learnt 15 gold buys a hell of a lot of beer!
I was given some advice that spells can be a lot to remember, so I’ve kept it simple and gone with the fighter Val. If you want to learn more about him I’ve included the following:
- What You See - a brief description of Val for anyone who happens to pass him in town (i.e. the short version, without the long backstory)
- Full Backstory - Val’s fully fleshed out backstory (for anyone who doesn’t mind spoilers)
- Arrival to Kantas - How Val got here (again more detail)
What You See
At a little over six foot, the figure in the bar is tall lean muscle. Since arriving in Daring Heights this human has kept himself to himself, mostly seen in the corner of the tavern peering up from a pint, and summing up each and every person who walks through the door. Maybe he’s looking for an opportunity, sussing out who he can trust, or simply watching his own back. Unlike many others who have come to town and joined the local guard, it seems this shady character isn’t made for the law and order vocation.
Under the dusty clothes and long brown hair, the more perceptive among you may see strong, rough hands with calluses as hard as rough leather. Hands have that seen brutal combat, dirty brawls and a tough life. From the small scars on his face and neck others may sense this is a man who has both received and dished out some punishment in his time.
Yet despite his tall frame there are times he has simply disappeared from the dark corners of the tavern without a trace, aside from a coin on the table to pay for yet another night of drinking.
Full Backstory
Born to the backend streets of Waterdeep to a wayward mother and absent father. It was the streets themselves, full of criminality and violent delights of every kind, that brought Val up. A childhood of tough knocks, one chances and quick lessons, his natural strength helped Val survive those early years. Where that strength came from, he knows not. Val's mother, Shanty, was feisty from what little he saw of her, but small, slender and fair. While Val’s long brown hair, darker complexion and tall, muscular frame were quite different. From 11 Val towered over the other boys. He knows nothing of his father, nor cared.
As a child he teamed up with friend Amelio. A short, skinny lad with a mop of black hair, Amelio had a knack for making others smile. That knack lead him to run elaborate scams that would feed the boys, while Val fought off the other kids who wanted their prizes. From what began as tricks to pinch loafs of bread, or scraps in a quiet alley, grew to secret heists or fists covered in blood, bones broken with clubs, and make-shift blades piercing with precision. Val and Amelio were perfect pairing in their corner of the back alleys of Waterdeep, helping to keep each other alive.
Childhood very quickly became adulthood. Amelio's cunning lead him to build and rule the local gang, The 'Ngratia Rosso, with Val at his side as security. The Rosso carved out territory quickly. Amelio had an innate ability to read other's intention, and like a chess master out played and bluffed his way to a life the gang had always dreamed of, comfort. Not luxury, but the comfort to sleep a full nights rest with a belly full.
With a newfound sense of freedom, when not intimidating and enforcing for Amelio, Val boxed for sport. Val's reputation and experience on the street earning the respect of the crowds and organisers alike. One fight in particular won acclaim, with the knockout of the Half-Orc, Fist. And with Amelio watching over each fight, undoubtedly running more and more elaborate scams and betting circles, Val pocketed a healthy earning. Those earning, Val squandered on local whores and drink: the only memories left are the pox marks, and the burning sensations that arise from the time to time.
As Amelio continued to gain wealth and influence, The Rosso drew the attention of other local gangs and criminal families. But more troublingly was the attention of a group of clerics. Why Amelio became the focus of the temple began to trouble Val, keeping him awake as the whores next to him slept. What they wanted, Val never discovered.
One Summer evening Amelio and Val played dice and retold stories of their violent youth, as often they would. On opening a third bottle of wine and glugging the first of its contents, Amelio coughed, laughed and they choked before spewing blood across the room. Within seconds Amelio lay contorted and still in Val's arms. From outside of the room could be heard deep, low moans as Val sat till morning with his friend in his arms. The other seniors of The Rosso gang found Val rocking with Amelio in his arms after dawn.
Val never was able to mourn his friend.
The following night, as he lay in bed, this time along, the noise of feet that didn't want to be heard ascended the stairs to Val's apartment. Despite the alcohol and sadness clouding Val's mind, experience set in. Val's door burst open, and three slight figures wrapped in black cloaks entered with the speed of practiced professionals. The room was empty, or so they thought. As one of the cloaked figures checked the washroom, a distinct crack was heard, followed by a thud. Val stepped out from the washroom, and with the speed of his youth threw the second figure across his apartment, breaking what few decorations adorned the spartan room. The Unarmed Val danced as the third figure thrust his blades at him. All the blade hit was air. Val landed the intruder in the face with a sharp right hook, unbalancing the assassin. Val grabbed his opponent’s hand, which still held the dagger, and turned it with precision to pierce and slice the flesh of the figures throat. Blood leaked out as the limp body fell to the floor.
From behind him Val felt the warmth of blood on his back, and a tight grip on his neck. The cloaked rogue he had thrown across the room earlier was up, and had pierced him. The wound was well placed. With Val's strength seeping from him, he recalled his fight with the Half-Orc Fist those months ago.
Anyone walking the alley outside of Val's apartment would have thought a smith had been hammering stone with a worn hammer. Thud. Crack. Thud.
From the apartment stepped Val Mox, the victor of the streets, champion of over 20 fights in the ring, and now survivor of unknown assassins. Hands and body and face all painted with thick, sticky blood. Sweat dripped from his long dark hair, over his stubbled face and onto the floor.
Amelio's words of scams and betrayal and chess came racing through Val's mind. He knew he was now the victim of someone else's game. So he ran. He ran through the back alleys and out of the city with the stealth of one who was born in the gutter. Val knew he was cornered and was next to be killed by the hands who ended Amelio's life. Whether he was being framed, blamed or simply a loose end that needed to be cut he didn't know. He kept running.
Weeks became months, and still Val ran. Wandering from town to town looking for work that needs a strong arm. These brute tasks keep his mind occupied and helps release the anger that builds up. But the guilt and the pain of his lost friend still keeps Val from sleeping soundly.
Arrival to Kantas:
Picking up his fourth pint in Secomber’s Seven-Stringed Harp, the dusty figure at the bar may have looked like a harmless drunk only focused on his beer, but Val’s ear were open to the entire tavern. The conversation of a trade being made two tables behind him, mumblings of slavers in the far corner, and a rogue desperately trying with each barmaid that past him. Val laughed to his pint and drank some more. What he was truly listening for was the sound he had heard that night those weeks ago: of footsteps that didn’t want to be heard.
Just like each night since, he didn’t hear them. Both relieved and disappointed. He finished his final beer, tightened his long hair in a pony tale, and readied himself to leave.
“An undiscovered land...a new frontier.” Val’s ears pricked up before he got to the door, as one chubby Halfling told a redheaded barmaid, who seems much more interested in this little fella than the poor rogue. As she walked to the next table, the Halfling felt Val looking straight at him, and without a fear in the world patted his table. Val approached, took a seat and listened as the Halfling told him the tale of the Kantas, the wide expanse, of Daring Heights, and of opportunity. The two shared drinks, and tales, and for the first time in a long time Val relaxed.
Whether it was the thought of an escape, a chance for purpose once again, or simply a head whirling with beer, Val the idea was born that he would find this portal the Halfling has told him of, step through, and make a life in the Kantas.
