Hey there everyone, I've gotten back into gaming after about a 15-year hiatus, and I've done it with the Rise of the Runelords campaign.
This is the backstory I've come up with for my character Garen Dayle, a human sorcerer with the Fire bloodline. I'd like any feedback, flaming, whatever :)
Thanks in advance.
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Garen Dayle is a human Varisian. The members of the Dayle clan have long been (and continue to be) fine artists most known for their glassblowing, metalwork, jewelcrafting and engraving. Several generations ago, the semi-nomadic Dayle clan was frequently patronized by the noble families of Korvosa, among whom Dayleish works were among the highest of status symbols.
When the death of Aroden almost 100 years ago threw Korvosa into chaos, a noble named Vanit Dorvan approached Garen's great-grandfather Kinat. A magic-user of significant power, Vanit had urgent need of a brass medallion made to extremely exacting specifications, set in the center with a large perfect fire opal. (It was actually fairly common for the Dayles to be approached by arcane spellcasters in need of components or extremely fine pieces to be enchanted.)
The Dayle clan was beginning its preparations to withdraw from Korvosa and head West, as the social and political climate of the city was quickly becoming antithetical to their ways. Kinat could little afford to delay, but this commission would feed his growing family for months to come.
Kinat brought his tools to House Dorvan and was directed to Vanit's laboratory in a low tower of the compound. He labored nine days and nights, sustained in his efforts by Vanit's magic and his own creative motivations. He had painstakingly engraved the medallion's face with arcane runes he copied at Vanit's specific direction, and filled the etched lines with crushed opal. At the center of the medallion the fire opal gleamed with exquisite beauty. It was the height of Kinat's considerable talent, and he considered it his masterpiece.
Vanit pressed a heavy purse into Kinat's hand, muttered a hasty thanks and rather unceremoniously pushed him through the door. Kinat struggled with emotion. The creative process was much like creating a child, and his had just been taken away from him. Sure, it had been paid for, but that didn't make it any easier. He began descending the stairs, and paused...he wanted one more glimpse, or to hold the medallion in his hands one last time. He went one step further and resolved to give the money back, and as much in addition as it took to make Vanit see reason and let him have the medallion. He turned, pushed the door open... and his world exploded.
I'm leaving it to the DM to determine just exactly what happened, whether Kinat caused the explosion by interrupting some critical casting, if Vanit attempted to summon a creature too powerful for his circle of protection, if a rival sabotaged Vanit in some way, if a critical rune was engraved incorrectly or anything else that he'd like, if an angry Efreet destroyed the place simply because he could.
The Dayles' story has been embellished over the last century by the family's more musically inclined members. Two things are certain... the medallion was touched in some way by Elemental Fire during the event, and Vanit's body was not found in the rubble.
Kinat regained consciousness atop a pile of rubble. His left leg was pinned under a large piece of masonry but he managed to free it, albeit with a great deal of pain for his efforts. People were running about, and he could also see several who lay with the stillness only death can bring. As he tried to come to terms with what had just happened, he couldn't believe his eyes.
Sitting there atop a fragment of stone, just as if it had been placed there for him to find, was the medallion he had crafted looking no worse for wear. In fact, the opal glowed with an intensity it hadn't had before. He picked up the item, and looking closely at it saw writhing flames within the transparent portions of the stone. The medallion had a warmth to it that his imagination attributed to those burning flames. Surely it was his imagination.
Kinat slipped the medallion into a pouch, and made the decision to not hang around this city any longer. It was time to rejoin his family and start the move West.
The Dayles were some of the first inhabitants around Magnimar, lending their artistic muscle to the developing culture of that city. Where they had been looked on with possessive pride in previous generations by the people of Korvosa, Dayle artists became one of many subjects of scorn in that city. Korvosans who once coveted Dayleish works destroyed many of the finest examples in Korvosa, resentful that the artists had "turned traitor" and run off to Magnimar.
As for the Dayles themselves, they continue to thrive near Magnimar, and they cling to the ways of life they've known for generations. They live in elaborate wagons which also serve as studios and workshops. There remains in the clan a curious heirloom medallion which has passed to eldest sons of Kinat's line for the last 100 years, from Kinat to Beldan, then to Hollin and most recently to the strikingly handsome Garen Dayle.
Garen is over 6 feet tall, with long black hair and very sharp features. Like most Dayleish men, he wears a goatee and has many earrings. He has several small facial tattoos. His eyes set him apart, and indeed they are all that most people notice or can remember after talking to him. They are the color of amber, and people can swear they see the sun flash in them even inside and on dark days.
Garen's father Hollin passed on several years ago, leaving behind Garen, his younger sister Ara and their mother. The men of the Dayle clan are encouraged to go see the world's beauty for inspiration when they reach the age of 20. (This actually often serves the practical matter of finding wives and bringing them back home to grow the Clan). Garen had just reached his 20th year.
As is custom, Garen was presented with a pair of daggers and a scimitar (finely made and engraved on the blades with icons of the goddess Sarenrae and Dayleish scrollwork), a couple sets of sturdy traveling clothes, some trail rations, a bedroll and backpack, and a blank journal. Also according to custom, Garen set off at dawn without saying any goodbyes.
On the second evening of his journey, two men came along the road and veered off towards where Garen sat by his fire. He welcomed them to sit and share in the rabbit he had caught earlier for dinner. The idle chitchat of travelers followed and eventually dwindled to silence. There was an uncomfortable moment as the two men looked at each other and gave a little nod to one another. Alarms went off in Garen's head and he leapt to his feet as they dove at him. He had in his hand one of his daggers, still slick with rabbit juices from dinner. He was terrified.
Garen's fear mingled with shock and curiosity as one of the men said to the other, "it's him alright..see the disc?" and pointed at Garen's chest, where the brass medallion was visible under his unlaced shirt.
Garen threw his knife at the man who had spoken, and it hurtled harmlessly into the night, drawing a chuckle from the attacker. The two advanced on him.
Hopelessness set in and the world seemed to go silent. Suddenly, primal thoughts came unbidden into his head. The campfire flared as if angry.
Burn them.
How?
Simply desire it.
The medallion he had seen his father wear his whole life, the medallion that was now his by rights of blood, began to heat up against his chest. Garen screamed, and although he couldn't see it his eyes shined like fire. The fire opal at the medallion's center, so appropriately named, disintegrated. In its place a small ball of fire roiled around momentarily then suddenly spread, crackling, to either side and down his arms. Garen raised his left hand and pointed. A gout of flame lanced out, striking one of his attackers in the face and burning him severely.
It was the attackers' turn to be afraid. They ran, and the uninjured one received a bolt of flame to his shoulder that burned his skin down to the muscle. Falling over one another, they fled as only the truly terrified can.
It was over, and the adrenaline shakes set in. Garen slumped to the ground, all at once scared, exhilarated, wide-eyed, and exhausted. He tried to gather himself and take stock of the situation. There was a perfect impression of the medallion's runes and circular outline burned into his chest. Oddly, it didn't hurt at all. It was as if it were an old burn that had already scarred over.
The center of the medallion was now empty… a circular hole where the opal had once been. His hair was standing on end, and he could still feel the burning of energy inside of him. He realized finally what he had done, and wondered what more he might be capable of. It scared and excited him. He recovered his thrown knife in the short grass, and sat through the rest of the night staring into his campfire.
Several more things occurred to him as he continued his journey: who or what was it that spoke to him in his mind? How did those men know who he was? and why were they after him?
Maybe Garen would find some answers in the town he had heard was just up the road. A town named Sandpoint.
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I've selected his initial spells with RP in mind as well, the idea being that to this point in his life, the things that he can do with his arcane abilities have been put to fairly mundane use:
Prestidigitation for those tiny chores around the camp, keeping his clothes clean, earning a few coins here and there as a street magician, etc.
Light for reading anything about magic he could get his hands on under the covers after he was supposed to be asleep. And for making nightlights when his little sister was afraid of the dark.
Message allowed him to talk with his sister silently in their wagon at night without waking their parents. It was also great to cause a little innocent mischief around the camp.
Mage Hand also originated to help with chores. Working the bellows for the glassblowers furnaces is tiresome work, and it only took getting burned once to make him realize the benefits of using a magical hand to manipulate crucibles of smelted metals.
Grease, for when the clan is on the move and the wagon axles need a little coaxing
Color spray directed into the air to delight the children on feast days (only recent events have gotten him thinking about the implications of turning it against people)
