Hello everyone, and welcome to my big character thread! Usually, these threads are for players to post characters looking for specific games or game types, or DMs looking to fill spots in their game. Instead, I'm going to use this space to show off and highlight characters I'm particularly proud of and that haven't found a home, yet. If you are cruising these characters and one of them does strike your fancy for a game you're looking to run, shoot me a private message! Please don't reply in-thread.
Backstories are as generic as possible while still fitting the character. The attached character sheet is built to level 20 - if you're interested in the character, double-check the sheet to make sure you're comfortable with the selected options. There's always some wiggle room to modify characters for a game, but for the most part, the characters are purpose-built. Note that this doesn't mean these characters should begin at level twenty, only that these are my eventual plans if allowed.
Unless specific equipment is vital to the character, it will not be included on the character sheet. Creation is assumed 25 point buy and two traits.
Ideal Campaign Features: High magic, Home base, Downtime, Crafting, Affluent Ideal Adventuring Reason: Personal power in service of a greater cause.
"Ignorance of the law excuses no man from practicing it." - Addison Mizner
Quite; humble; unassuming - all traits none would expect from a son of bards. Then there's Hamish Danelund, a man encompassing all four.
Dressed in the robes and station of a tutor to the wealthy, few look twice at Hamish on busy city streets. Attractive but no great beauty, in good health but far from robust, and versed in rhetoric but no championed orator, the young man rarely calls much attention to himself. The most often remarked upon of his features are his brilliant green eyes, and only in familiar settings.
When not at home or sequestered in some law archive, Hamish makes his way in the world by instructing young scions of noble families in the ins and outs of local contract law and custom. His wardrobe consists almost entirely of shapeless, thin black robes and the recognizable black felt skull cap of a scholar. Like anyone interacting with the nobility on a regular basis, he keeps his hands and face meticulously clean, with his long, straight mahogany hair kept in a clip at the base of his skull.
Anyone with passing familiarity knows that Hamish is a devotee of The Archfiend, Asmodeus, signified by the small Archstar often worn as a pendant around his neck. Though this occasionally causes friction with other locals, few have a hard time recognizing this soft, kindly man as any sort of threat. Many of the families he tutors for secretly appreciate the forms of his worship - who better to teach iron clad contracts than a follower of the Prince of Law? Hamish is also known to honor Abadar on occasion and shows at least passing respect for the rest of the pantheon.
"This is so boring," Simon the Younger complained in her light, sing-song voice, elongating the 'o' sounds for emphasis. A young woman already at the age of nine -a facade all of her young peers pretended to- Simon had all the worst qualities of her landed father, Simon the Elder. Including his vicious reputation of impatience. "Change the color of my dress again!"
Long accustomed to the entitlement of privilege, Hamish kept his mouth locked in a small, genteel smile. Internally he cursed himself for seven shades of foolishness, having shown the girl a party trick that she now demanded any time she was bored. He knew too much about children in general, and noble children in particular, to have made such a silly decision. Now he had to fight with himself as well as whatever pretensions the girl carried.
"Not today, Simon," he denied, steepling his fingers on his desk. Most of his pupils called this his 'thinking face'; in reality, he planned most of his distractions in advance. The pose was simply a matter of showmanship. "How about, instead... Hmm. Would you like to hear a story?"
The girl's face immediately curled in suspicion. Considering she'd been raised amongst the finest bards and storytellers money could buy, it was clear she didn't expect much entertainment from one told by a stuffy scholar. Still, a story was a story, and she was dreadfully bored. "Is it a good story, Instructor Ham?"
The young man's face tightened imperceptibly. He hated that nickname and hated even more that children gravitated to it so naturally. Considering his circumstances, however, he knew he'd never object too loudly.
"I'll let you be the judge of that, Simon. It is a true story, though. One my parents told me, and one I want to share with you. Are you ready?"
"I guess," the girl replied, clearly unconvinced. Yet she settled back into her throne-in-miniature, piled high with cushions, and rested her head against its tall back. After giving her another moment to settle her squirming, Hamish cleared his throat and began.
"Once upon a ti-"
No sooner had he spoken than the girl interrupted him, pounding her tiny fist on the armrest. "I thought you said this was a real story! Only fairy tales begin with, 'Once upon a time'!"
"You're right, my lady, and I apologize. Let me begin again."
"Long ago, before our kingdom was a kingdom-"
"But we've always had a kingdom!" Simon began to interrupt again, her childish voice climbing with frustration. The tutor simply paused and raised a single finger warningly. With a great huff, the girl flung herself backward in her outsized seat.
"-before our kingdom was a kingdom, it was a collection of small villages, each surviving in their own way, keeping to themselves and happy to be left alone by the greater world. These were fairly simple folk, fond of good food and good drink, that loved their families and their communities, and strove for the goodwill of their neighbors. They had no king-"
"But however did they-"
"They had no king. Instead, the villages were guided by councils of wise elders that oversaw all decisions for the community. Our people have always loved music, and those with the gift of song or for poetry were regarded highly by the locals. Musicians and minstrels of all stripes were held in high regard, and lived lives easier than most.
In one village there lived a young man named Abel Danelund-"
"But your name is-"
"-my ancestor and the founder of the Danelund family. Who he was, and who came after, isn't half as important as what he did.
As a child, Abel terrorized his neighbors with his disregard for all things not himself. As an adult, Abel was a wastrel with no real talent to speak of. He survived on what generosity he could scrounge, resorting to theft when he could, and hated above all things the backbreaking labor most of his neighbors took as a matter of course. Needless to say, Abel was not regarded very highly by those around him.
For all of his life, Abel admired bards, but not for their skills. Instead, Abel envied the easy lives they led, and the adventures they faced, being of the few that regularly left their little community only to later return with news of the world. Abel desired more than anything for a life of such largesse. The only problem was, Abel couldn't sing or speak particularly well; neither could he read or write. All of the things that make a minstrel a minstrel Abel lacked. Still, the seed of dark admiration grew in the young man until it bloomed a flower of unsurpassed jealousy.
Abel lived many years like this: unambitious, full of envy, and a weight on the shoulders of those he touched. Then, one day, Abel received a knock on the frame of his dilapidated shack. Having never had a visitor, Abel felt some surprise that one of his neighbors would come calling. What greeted him at his cloth-covered threshold, however, was not a man but an unusually large, dappled black and white rabbit.
At first Abel was shocked. Though rabbit was no delicacy to most village folk, Abel never took the time to learn their habits or how to make snares to capture them. On top of that, Abel was very hungry. Seeing a free, easy meal tempting him from his very doorway, Abel dismissed the strange knock and dove for the small beast.
To the man's further surprise, the animal dodged past his clumsy hands and straight into Abel's filthy home. Stretching its long legs, the rabbit jumped up on a small, ramshackle table, and stood to its full height. Abel nearly collapsed with shock when the beast opened its tiny mouth and a small, thin voice emerged, speaking the local dialect.
'Disgusting,' the rabbit roared as best it could with its tiny lungs. 'Filth and slop! Is this how the descendants of angels live in this part of the world?'
Abel had no idea how to deal with a talking rabbit, though had he actually listened to the bards he so envied he may have avoided what followed in its entirety. Lost in a sea of unfamiliar, he spoke up about the first thing that caught in his mind.
'Angels,' he stuttered the question. 'There are no angels in these parts!'
'Descended from angels, my good man. Surely... Surely you must know you're kin to the celestial hosts? What gifts have you from your parents?'
'Gifts,' Abel replied, fully flummoxed. He searched his memory, and then his person, for any evidence that the rabbit spoke truly. 'I have no gifts, neither from my parents nor from anyone else.'
'Ah, the blood runs thin. That's a shame.' As it spoke, the rabbit adopted a pose not unlike you've seen me take, from time to time, when I'm thinking over a particularly stubborn problem.
"Like Jace Balerion?" Simon, enamored from infancy with the court magician's overly chatty familiar, had become fully engaged in the story. Hamish was surprised when she spoke up only to name the scion of another wealthy family. The boy was well known as a troublesome student, but Hamish wasn't in a position to discuss his social betters. When he didn't respond for several long moments, Simon settled back in her seat once more.
'I have encountered this before,' the rabbit finally offered after a long silence. Nodding its little head firmly, the animal indicated space on the floor before it. 'If you'll just come and stand right over here, we can fix that. Hurry now, you've waited long enough to claim your birthright!'
Abel, while not the brightest fellow, did have some small measure of base cleverness. Further, common wisdom told him to beware of any gifts given for free. 'Who are you,' he demanded of the rabbit, 'and why are you here?' Then, despite himself, he added in a tiny voice, 'What gifts?'
The rabbit, still propped up on its powerful hindquarters, patted the air soothingly. 'Forgive me, master. I am Rosencrantz, humble servant of The Lady of the Rose. I've been sent by your distant kin to see how their bloodlines fare on the material plane.'
'In your case, the answer seems to be 'not well'. Come, stand before me. Let me return to you the gifts you're entitled to. Come!'
Would that Abel's caution outweighed his greed and laziness. Instead, Abel took his place before the rabbit and squeezed his eyes shut. The animal made some small motions with its paws, then thumped the tabletop to signal the man. When Abel's green eyes opened, he swore in disgust, for he felt no different than before. Motioning the man to be still a moment, Rosencrantz leaped from the shabby furniture and skittered back outside.
Abel made to follow the strange beast, figuring he still had a meal if nothing else, but Rosencrantz returned almost immediately. In its mouth, it drug perhaps the ugliest lute in existed through the man's doorway. Delivery made, the rabbit left the instrument at Abel's feet and then jumped back onto the table. 'Here,' it commanded. 'Play this.'
Torn between greed and hunger, Abel eventually picked up the lute and plunked at the strings. To his amazement, his fingers took to them like a bird to flight. He opened his mouth to exclaim, but the voice that came out, while his, was suddenly smoothed over and filled with honey. Laughing with glee, the man paraded around his miserable little hovel, drawing forth sweet music and pouring delicate song from his throat.
'Rosencrantz,' Abel crowed with delight, stopping in front of the rabbit but letting his feet dance a sudden caper. 'This is amazing! Once my neighbors hear me, I'll never have to work again!'
'Shelyn be praised,' the rabbit intoned reverently in reply, hopping down from the table and making its way to the door. Some small part of Abel worried that his fortunate meal was escaping, but the larger part remained captivated by his new talents. And despite honoring no God as his own, he knew better than to anger the rabbit's divine patron. He was already putting the beast from his mind when Rosencrantz stopped at the hanging covering his entrance.
'One last thing before I go, Abel the Angel Choir. Your blood is too thin to forever bear the gifts of your heritage. If you want to keep your power, you must awaken each morning before dawn and honor your ancestors for an hour before the sun rises in the sky. You must do so in secret and you must do so alone. If any were to ever discover where your new talents came from, the angels will take them back - they can't just give those sort of gifts out to everyone, after all. You'll lose everything you cherish. Are we agreed?'
Abel did agree, and Rosencrantz the rabbit disappeared from Abel's life for many years.
Abel immediately set out to take advantage of his new powers and was swiftly rewarded. His neighbors crowded 'round the man's tiny stoop in the evenings to hear him play and sing, and soon his was the name requested in the local tavern of an evening. He was showered with new gifts, material ones befitting his ethereal ones, and before long a new house had been constructed for him by the village council. And whenever anyone would ask him the provenance of his new abilities, where he'd shown none before, Abel would only smile and begin another song.
Years passed and Abel grew famous for his talent, if not his personality, which had not changed despite his fortune. He took a husband, a shrill, vane man from another village, and together they raised a son. Theirs was an unhappy home, for his spouse proved far too similar in taste and temperament. In their son, however, Abel finally found the one thing he loved more than himself. More and more often he began to stay home of an evening while his partner went out and caroused. Over time his patronage waned and his resources dwindled and Abel found a modest life surprisingly to his temper in his latter years.
As the man's fortunes turned downward, so too did his home life. Abel and his husband fought like jungle cats; dark silences filled the halls where the boy would play for days after. For years Abel made his devotions in private, and for years his husband respected his privacy. Then, one morning as Abel was lifting his head from prayer, he met the other man's eyes. When Abel angrily demanded why, after all this time, his husband would do such a thing, the man simply smiled back at him and walked away. Though Abel chased after him as he left the house, his husband disappeared in the morning mists.
Many years had passed, yet when Rosencrantz the rabbit arrived on his doorstep the next morning, Abel found the creature unchanged by the long winters. Immediately the animal demanded that Abel sing and play for him; to his deepest shame, Abel admitted that he could not. Abel pleaded for a day and a night with Rosencrantz to restore his song but the rabbit remained unmoved. Then, on the third day, he demanded that Abel fulfill their contract.
You see, Abel had thought he was agreeing to give up the music he desired but never respected or earned. In truth, he'd bargained away all he held dear. Once that had been only himself, and a fair bargain to give. Time had changed him as it had not the herald of Shelyn, however. Now he had a child, and that child meant more to him than all the wealth in the wide world. Rosencrantz declared adamantly that the younger Danelund was now his. Abel, with no other acceptable options, grabbed the rabbit up by its long ears and flung it from the house.
Within days a plague fell upon their now prosperous town. Yet it was not a sickness that spread or insects that consumed. No; instead, with the setting of the sun every day for weeks on end, hellish beings rose in the streets and sought to wreak havoc on any they could catch unprotected. Many people died in those days, and the town fell nearly to ruin.
Abel knew he was responsible for this infestation. He no longer believed Rosencrantz an agent of Shelyn but an agent of evil in disguise. Now cloaked in the flesh of a fiery red devil, the former lapine appeared on the third night of the siege and cursed Abel Danelund by name. Calling out faithless, calling out deal-breaker, Rosencrantz swore to burn the village to the ground if the Danelund child was not delivered unto him. Abel locked the doors to his fine house, hid in his private chapel with his son, and prayed to any that would hear him.
'I will give you anything, anything you wish if you will but save my boy.'
As you may imagine, from the fact that I sit before you today to tell the story, Abel's prayers were answered. One morning he awoke to find his song returned, and his fingers nimble once more upon rosen strings. Further, the knowledge to defeat his tormentors nestled in his mind like a seed, ready to grow. That very night he set out with his old lute and walked the streets playing. One by one the devils left their sport and began to follow him, until he had them all gathered in the town square, enraptured. Strumming his lute, Abel Danelund began to walk backward out of town and the devils followed. Soon he crested the horizon, just as the sun rose, and he was never heard from again.
Abel was revered as a town hero, and the boy was taken in by a neighbor. By all accounts, he went on to lead a very normal life, at some point siring my great grandmother several times over. Some of the oldest versions of the tale mention that until the end of his days, the boy always had a pet black rabbit. So the goes the story as it was told many years ago, and that is that..."
Hamish stopped speaking for a minute and glanced across at his young pupil. The girl had been caught up in the story, her eyes partially glazed. She was beginning to wake up now, though, which was the perfect time to finish his piece.
"Or so they say. However, the true story does not end there. Rosencrantz the rabbit, as Abel had surmised, was indeed a denizen of Hell in disguise. For all the long years of Abel's success, Rosencrantz had been there in secret, feeding the man's talent. So long as Abel sang and danced and lived only for himself, Rosencrantz's ferocious appetite remained sated. When the former layabout stepped away from the limelight, however, the devil began to fade and weaken. He would need a fresh soul to work upon, and for that, the groundwork had been laid. He just had to retrieve his prize.
Tired of waiting, Rosencrantz waylaid Abel's husband one night when drinking, ensorcelled the man, and then commanded him to spy upon his husband during Abel's pre-dawn observance. With the pact broken, Rosencrantz returned to Abel in the guise of the rabbit from long ago. He had expected the man's resistance and so, after being thrown from Abel's home, Rosencrantz summoned a horde of imps to plague the town.
And yet, unbeknown to them both, a third player had entered the bargain. You see, Rosencrantz had been sent to this realm with a mission that was not 'seduce a local bumpkin and grow fat off their avarice.' Worse still, Rosencrantz had made the deal in the name and through the power of Asmodeus, King of Devils. He had made his greatest mistake in employing the armies of Hell to further his personal power, and the Archfay paid back his former errant tenfold. It was Asmodeus that answered Abel's final prayer and gave the man the ability to charm his Hellish servants. In exchange, the Lord of Devils took the one thing from Abel that once mattered most to him - his life, sparing sparing son's. Where Abel's soul ended up, however, is a matter for debate.
Rosencrantz arguably suffered worse for his transgressions. Hell was home to his kind, and he'd spent plenty of time in the torture pits of Asmodeus. No, his was to be far more severe a punishment. Once a herald of the greatest of the archfiends, Rosencrantz had his powers and form stripped from him for his desertion. Asmodeus found it fitting to return the imp to the shape in which he'd first appeared to Abel, that of a mottled, black and white rabbit. Further, a gaeas was set upon the devil, forcing it to serve the House of Danelund sand ultimately serve the Prince of Law's convoluted designs."
As his story drew to a close, Hamish casually stuck his hand into the small crate that had been resting beside his chair during their lesson. Young Simon, now intensely alert, followed every move of his hand with vivid interest. When it dipped below the lip of the crate, she held her breath.
"And that, my lady, is just one reason to always read your contracts thoroughly, and be prepared to argue their clauses. The Prince of Law has no sympathy, even when his offer seems kindly, and his punishments are harsh." As nonchalantly as possible, he drew a fat rabbit, mottled black and white, from its bedding and settled it in his lap with some small fuss. He then turned his attention back to his pupil and smiled gently. "I have quite enough rabbit in my care already."
Nov 18th, 2021, 12:38 AM
Hamish Danelund 
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