[Game Thread] Backstory / Off-stage narration

[MittenNinja]

I'm a big advocate of playing DnD as a group storytelling experience as well as a game. I will post events that happen involving the campaign but may not be of the PCs knowledge here. This space is also for you to make posts involving backstory to further explore, develop, and share your character.

[MittenNinja]

Example Off -Stage Post --The Eagle's Nest, Dock District-- --3rd day of Toil, Year 1383, midday-- Marcus sat alone at the corner table of the Eagle's Nest tavern, an empty mug in front of him and a small curved knife in his gloved hand. He eyed the full mug of ale across the table from him, it had yet to be touched. The smell of the sea air from just outside barely cut the stench of sweat, smoke, and mead in his nostrils. The raven haired man sat impatiently tapping his foot against the wooden floor, and found himself constantly tugging on the two gold hoops through his right ear, something he always did when he was nervous. A group of eight sailors were crowded around the bar, each with an ale in hand, singing and shouting as if the gods themselves needed to hear them. "I can't wait to get out of this place and get a little peace and quiet." He tapped the blunt end of his knife against his forehead, hoping somehow that it would rid him of the headache he now had. "Marcus..." a sinister sounding voice called to the man from across the table. "I hope you have what you owe us?" Marcus looked up to see a masked man in a long black cloak sitting across the table from him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He wore a cowl over his head with cryptic markings seemingly etched all over it's surface. The mask's wide, white, pupil-less eyes pierced through him as he answered, "Uh yes!... well... sort of..." "You do know what will happen if you do not live up to your end of the bargain do you not?" The masked man's word were calm but forceful behind the unmoving lips of his mask. Marcus nodded nervously. "Explain yourself." "The Rom brothers have it. They took it from a warehouse on the north side of the Docks District and are keeping it somewhere hidden." Marcus felt a pinching sensation near the back of his neck, as if a crab had latched onto a nerve in his spine. He could tell that his "friend" was not happy with his explanation so far. "B-b-b-but I know where they're taking it!" He felt his neck loosen. "And where would that be?" The masked man almost slithered as he spoke. "They'll be moving it to Archaic Arcana tomorrow night during the new moon. My guess is to probably try and open it." Marcus cringed, preparing himself for the painful pinching sensation, but it didn't come. "Let us hope your information is accurate, for your sake." The masked man folded his hands on the table in front of him. "And if it is not..." A drip of sweat fell from Marcus' brow as the masked man procured a pouch and placed it on the table. He then raised a sickly looking dagger from his sleeve and thrust it into the bag, sending a small river of blood flowing over the table. the mouth of the pouch limped down to the table revealing a severed heart with the dagger impaled through it. "Still waiting on your friend sir?" The balding, beer bellied barkeep stood next to the table gesturing at the untouched mug of ale on the table. Marcus looked up at the barkeep and then back across the table. The man was gone, as well as the pouch, impaled heart, and the blood. He took a moment to take in what he had just experienced and visibly shaken, he responded. "No... I'll be taking my leave."

[sammichweasel]

[Set just before the campaign begins]

Fang almost excitedly bounced down the wharf. Simon had said that there was actually something in the box he had reserved. A notice! In his mail slot! That meant work. Work meant being able to pay Simon for his room and board.

The kobold still didn't understand Simon's willingness to extend such a long tab to the traditionally sneaky little bugger, but Fang certainly appreciated it. If* when he finally got his company together and made the name of Fang synonymous with quality work, he'd have to find a way to repay Simon, beyond a simple monetary transaction. The half-elf certainly deserved it.

He got to the wharf manager's office, a squat rickety thing clearly meant to have just been temporary, and threw the door open. It banged against the wall, jolting Mort the Manager out of what was apparently a drool-worthy dream. The rotund human scowled at him, like every morning, but this time nodded towards his mail slot. "Ye've got an offer, kobold. Don't 'spect they know who they sent it to, but there it is. Now take it and get the hell out of my office." Fang sneered back at him, but bowed in thanks.

He moved to his mail slot, a bit nervous now. He had been trying to secure work for months, since that disastrous job guarding the dog fighting ring. It certainly wasn't his fault that his conscience got the better of him, although he probably shouldn't have taken his client's ear along with his fee. Not good for future employment. He DID get a letter of commendation from the local chapter of demihumans for the ethical treatment of animals, but that never amounted to anything for anyone.

The letter there was the standard plain folded paper, stamped with some merchant house he didn't recognize. He broke the seal, flipped it open, and started reading. He skimmed, looking for the important stuff. Guard job... boat... unnamed captain... perfect! This was exactly what he needed to redeem his image and make some cash. He skipped to the bottom, found the date and time of the arrival of the ship, and bounced out the door, his jangled makeshift scale armor rattling behind his fang-emblazoned shield.

Today was looking up for the future Mercenary Captain.

[girlplay]

Mai carried the small wooden tray closely to her body with one arm cradling underneath it as she desended the narrow staircase. She steadied herself on the wooden wall beside her as the world pitched. The sounds of the wave that had rolled past the ship flooded down from above. She had never fully gotten accustomed to the motion of the slender ship but was getting good at compensating for it. Her gaze stayed fixed on the tray so that she could be sure that nothing was spilling, especially her master's drink - an odd cocktail of cider, wine, and rum that had to be mixed exactly right. And she did not want to have to mix it again because she spilled it on her way from the galley.

Quietly passing through the fancy door at the end of the small hallway, the girl set the tray down on the small table and quickly disrobed, as was required of her whenever they were alone together. The captain was used to having his way and she was good at giving him what he wanted. The marks on her back had faded long ago from the time when she was still learning those lessons. He had no reservations about teaching his slaves respect at the end of a lash. Usually, it did not come to that and Mai-lana had got good at avoiding that punishment.

Captain Jon-Drew's quiet form still slumbered in the pile of pillows and blankets that made up his bed. She proceeded to his side, knowing that she could not allow his breakfast to grow cold. Her slender hand brushed his hair away from his face like a mother might caress the cheek of her sleeping daughter. Of course, the man's scruffy cheek was a lot less smooth and much more scratchy than a young girl's. Slowly, the large man stirred, stretching and opening his narrow, dark eyes. He looked up at his slave and a hint of a smile crossed his groggy expression; he always enjoyed having his favorite slave be his first sight of the day.

"Master," she whispered, "your breakfast is ready. Eggs and fried potatoes, as you requested." She stayed at his bedside while he slowly sat up, his gaze still admiring the supple smoothness of her silvery-blue skin. Mai hid her displeasure, for she knew that when he awakened with a desire to look upon her like he was now, that she was not going to escape the room with just performing her usual morning chores. She could already tell that he wanted more attention from her today.

"Did Cookie spice them the way I wanted," he asked. "Bring it here."

Mai-lana nodded and complied, padding softly across the room to fetch the tray and return it. She sat before him and rested the tray on her lap; it was her job to hold it while he ate, unless he commanded differently. Her muscles tensed subconsciously as he picked on his drink and sampled it for the first time. After a few sips, he put it back down and she relaxed. That she was not wearing it meant that he approved of her efforts to mix it. "Greogor says we are just hours from port and should be there by noon," she reported.

Jon-Drew nodded dismissively, though he had expressed earlier how much he was looking forward to it. He had merchandise to sell, business contacts to see, and whores to bed. At least that should keep him busy and allow Mai to have some peace for a while - unless he insisted on her accompanying him. "Then I will need a bath and fresh clothing," he informed her, cocking an eyebrow and nodding in satisfaction to himself when his young slave likewise nodded to confirm that preparations were already being made. His eyes drift from her pale, blue lips which he found endlessly fascinating to his boots near the door. He found no excuse there to punish her based on the state of his footwear.

He ate and drank quietly until he had had his fill and waved his hand to announce that he was done. Mai began to slip of the bed when he seized her small arm so powerfully that she winced in pain, making no effort to hide it. Jon-Drew made it pretty clear that he enjoyed the power he had over her and if she was in discomfort he liked to know. She met his eyes, which were gazing meaningfully back into hers. She was only allowed to meet his gaze when he was giving her instructions that he wanted to see in her expression that she understood. "After you bath me, I want one of your massages," he told her. She nodded, for she knew it was as much warning as she would get for what was expected of her. He found her feather-light massages to be so sensual that he would certainly take her afterwards. She hid her disappoinment, hoping to have escaped that fate but luck was not on her side. Perhaps one of his business deals in Raven Rock would turn ugly and he would not return to the ship... She could only hope...

[larrent]

Dark, quiet, and alone... Maivern sat wondering if those holding him captive had miscounted their dwarves. His whole family had joined him in the prison chamber weeks ago - but day by day, one by one, they had been pulled out never to return. Being now the last one, Maivern was alone with his thoughts - and he reached to grip the clutches of the gated door. Though the room be pitch black, he knew that the gritty sandy chamber bars had left a red stained grid upon his large hands. Maivern wondered how his whole family had even been crammed into a prison that was far to small for even a single dwarf. The overbearing heat and stench of his family in close proximity seemed most welcomed compared to his now cold, sightless, soundless, and scentless isolation.

"WahhhhhhhH!!" The faint screams had returned - and the dwarf teared up in his eyes. Though the scream was faint and muffled, it rang with such an awful pitch that one couldn't even fathom the pain one would have to endure to emit such an awful tearing sound. "Mother..." - Maivern only assumed, as she was the last one plucked from the chamber. "GwarrrhhhhhH!!!" roared the dwarf with such rage that he couldn't hold back his fists any longer. Maivern punched against the far wall with such ferocity that he knocked some rocks loose, causing him to lose a fair bit of blood from his thick fingers. Immediately after the impact, the screams were silenced - and Maivern followed suit, holding completely still to hear what would come next. The sound of a large rolling stone being released seemed to be coming from the opposite side of the wall he just punched - perhaps I knocked something loose...? Maivern listened even more closely, and then heard whispers of what he thought was his sister's voice: "Sir, the men above would like a word with you."

"Linn!" Shouted the Dwarf in surprise, who had thought his sister dead for a week. Maivern just then realized that the words didn't seem to make sense. "Linn, what do you mean! Are you alright, is our family alive? Just come quickly so we can escape!"

Seemingly indifferent to Maivern's resposne, the woman's voice repeated again. "Excuse me... sir, the men above would like a word with you."

"Gwaaa..wooo!!", grunted Maivern - who was both startled and confused. The darkness was suddenly gone. His fingers no longer clenched rusty bars, but the protruding end of a wooden bench. And his seat felt more like warmed, aged wood than the cold stone of his prison chamber.

"Linn! Ghealinn!... I... oh...", the shouting of the dwarf turned from desperation, to confusion, to realization. Maivern knew now that it was but another nightmare. Perhaps not as painful as some he had experienced, but the memory was a nightmare to him nonetheless. His eyes quickly glanced the room and found that all eyes were on him for his screaming outburtst. The dwarfs groggy and confused tone quickly left ship, and with a coarse exhale, his gruff voice returned - bitter at the women's interruption. "Aye, and what would a lass like you want with me dear?!" - the meanwhile he searched his belongings - knowing it not wise to fall asleep among so many men, but such was a necessity for travel on the seas.

The women stuttered in her response - clearly not accustomed to the greetings one can procure from awakening a sleeping dwarf. "S-sir... some men up deck would like to have a word with you regarding a business opportunity."

Maivern half-grinned, exposing a few teeth that appeared more worn than a dwarven hammer. "I will meet them in a minute!" shouted the dwarf, still with a bitter tone. He reached for his favorite dagger and quickly cut a short length from his beard, seemingly for intimidation of the others aboard, before throwing his dagger back in his belt. The dwarf found that his crudeness had at least garnered himself some respect - as the men aboard made room for the dwarf to walk to the upperdeck. Business eh'... Raven's Rock must be a big town - still two days away...

[larrent]

Maivern felt his eyelids open but saw no light, heard no sound, and felt no sensation in his body. "Uhhh... am I awake?" thought the dwarf. It hadn't seemed he was - no senses in his body were responding, indicated that indeed he probably was still asleep. But the dwarf was fully conscious and as the minutes past he began to feel a bit nervous as if something was terribly wrong. If he was dreaming - he never was in a dream like this. It was as if all that existed was his mind - and nothing else. More minutes past and the dwarf was scared to the deepest layer of hell but could do nothing but reason in his mind. "This... this isn't natural, something is wrong!"

Just then, he began hearing a fuzzy ringing sound in his ear, which gradually gave way to a grinding and clopping noise. "Thank goodness!" thought the dwarf who was temporarily relieved of his worries. But the dwarf still couldn't see nor find the strength to move his lips to call out for help. The worries of the dwarf were slowly returning as he began reasoning of what could be happening "Have I been... poisoned?"

The grinding and the clopping noise began to become more clear and crisp, and the sound reminded the dwarf of the trading wagon his brother used to take his family's crafts to the nearby human settlement. Just then, the neighing sound of a horse could be heard, followed by a fierce howl of the wind, which blew the familiar fragrance of his family's smoked boar meat to his nostrils. "Ah yes... I'm just outside - but what in the blazes am I doing here."

Just then, the feeling in the dwarf's feet and hands began to return - and they felt unusually tight. Then the feeling of a bumpy, rolling motion... "What kind of trick is this... am I onboard some kind of wagon...?". A dim white light began to appear, as if the moon was cloaked by a thick blanket of clouds.

As the dwarf struggled to regain his senses, a familiar voice of his older brother Jakkarn could be heard "Wh-what's going... where am I!" Seven Toes tried to respond but found sensation hadn't returned quite yet to his lips. But another voice quickly intervened...

"Silence - not a word! Who said that?!" said a screeching voice in a loud whisper. "Lernas - teach him a lesson!" Maivern was terrified, he still couldn't see nor speak a word. But if he could speak, he would be far too scared to do so. He felt the wagons stopped, and the silence returned aside from the snorting of a horse. The dwarf then felt a hand brush by his legs, which he jerked reflexively, but found his legs to be in restraints. He tried his arms and they too were in restraints. "Have I... have we been captured...?" nervously thought Maivern.

The hand that was searching about his leg started to make rattling and thudding sounds, much like metal and wood banging against a sturdy surface. An eerie silence returned for a moment, followed by the grunting of a large creature "Gwrr....ah!" and what had to be thrusting of a large metallic weapon. The impact of the object seemed softer than he expected - more of a tearing sound then anything, but that sound was quickly dispersed by a shout and moaning of his older brother. "Jakkarn!! The sound was awful and rang with the eerie sound of someone in tremendous pain. Maivern hadn't heard such moaning since a time when a small mine collapse landed on his cousin. At least moaning met his brother was still alive...

The whispering voice returned "Let that be a lesson to you - the next one who speaks a word will not be spared their life!" Terror overtook Maivern yet again, who knew now that he had been enslaved somehow. He desperately prayed to the gods that this wasn't real and that no one else in his family had been captured...