D&D Backgrounds

In years gone by, I would create a Dungeons and Dragons character in a few minutes – and give no thought to the character’s construction other than its name and stats.

Somewhere around the 3.5 edition, our DM started requesting we create backgrounds for our characters, which would help the DM to better integrate them into his plot lines.

I’ve always enjoyed creative writing, and it’s actually quite surprising to me that I haven’t been creating backgrounds for my characters all along.

A member of our gaming group asked me if I could include her character in a background story, so I whipped up this one where her character “Abraxas” encounters a Drow Rogue I was playing at the time named “Mal’drin” (ahem) “Do’Urden” (please don’t sue me!)

Without further ado – the Abraxas Encounter
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    The incessant rains have turned the roads into muddy scars across otherwise serene grassy fields.  A lone warrior is slowly trudging through the mud, undaunted and seemingly unstoppable, even after close to a week’s worth of travel.
Occasionally, the warrior will pause and shake her fist at the rainy heavens – promising a slow death to those responsible for the weather.


    A quick glance may miss the fact that the warrior was female, but her imposing stature makes her race and heritage all too clear, for Abraxas is one of the Dragonborn.


    Dragonborn warriors are normally only called on when the situation is very dire, for their resemblance to denizens of the lower planes tends to put humanoids on nervous footing around them. Dire situations, such as the impending loss of a kingdom to an overwhelming horde of evil Orcs, the battle she now triumphantly is returning home from. She is one of the very few Dragonborn warriors that have attained the title of Paladin. While battle scarred and weary – she is full of the righteousness only those that have vanquished a great evil can attain.


    Some time passes, and the road that seemed like it would never end, is starting to look more traveled, and the sounds and smells of a nearby settlement become sharper as she draws closer.


    Many years ago, farmers and trappers settled these lands.  They established a market place to trade their goods, which eventually grew into the small town in front of her.  The names of the original founders have long since been lost over the ages, and the town itself is now simply called “Farmer’s Hollow”


    Most of the noise seems to be coming from a modest two story building along side what appears to be the town’s general store.


    Realizing that she cannot recall the last time she has slept with out the endless wretched rain soaking her, Abraxas decides to end her trek tonight at a combination inn and tavern – the “Gray Mule”.


    Uncaring of the mud she is tracking across the hardwood floors, she dumps her belongings onto a nearby table and seats herself while none too subtly catching the bartender’s’ eye.


    “Bartender!” she bellows out in the unmistakable roaring voice of the Dragonborn, “bring me food and drink, and make it snappy!” The bartender, visibly shaken by the outburst, hastens over to the grill and instructs the chef to interrupt another patron’s order with hers.


    Beaming with false bravado, the bartender himself brings a large mug of ale over to her table and promises that her food will be on its’ way soon. All he receives in reply is a guttural growl and a nod.


    Abraxas resigns herself to the wait and begins to take in her surroundings; the room seems to contain the normal clientele you would find at such establishments: farmers, trappers, beggars, and the occasional warrior type – most likely members of the city guard.


    Her inspection pauses when she notices someone in the far corner, a corner that is darker than the rest, almost as if the fires’ soft glow itself is hesitant to enter. All that can be seen of the hooded individual is the occasional hint of snowy white hair, and the green eyes that seem to pierce the darkness when turned towards you.


    Knowing that her meal will take some time to prepare, she decides to saunter over and see what manner of individual would sit in such a darkened corner, seemingly repelled by the light.  With a reassuring pat on the battleaxe that never leaves her side, she crosses
over to the far table.  Being of the definitely non-shy type (her Dragonborn heritage at work) she stands at his table and looks down at him.


    Staring back up at her is an elf, but an elf of the sort she has never seen before.  This elf‘s skin is of the deepest ebony, he truly looks like one with the night itself.


    “Elf”, Abraxas says in her thunderous voice, “What brings you to these parts?  I have heard of your kind, and the evil deeds that accompany them and their kin.”  Trained in recognizing evil – she fails to discern his nature as malevolent, but in her suspicious eyes, he may still be a threat to all that is good in these lands.


    The dark elf smiles up at her disarmingly, stands up and bows deeply, introducing himself as Mal’Drin, of the house Do’Urden, traveler, explorer, and dabbler in the mercantile of all types.  He explains that he has heard of the quality of goods in these parts, and is interested in possibly setting up a business arrangement of a sort.  


    “I was on my way to Waterdeep when I heard of this town from a passerby, and just had to check it out in person.  The townspeople here seem friendly enough, but then that may be due to their ignorance and lack of prejudice against my kind.”


    Abraxas gives a loud snort at those words, “Well justified prejudice if you ask me, and keep this in mind, my order does not tolerate any evil in these lands, and I would not hesitate at all to add one more notch to my axe.”  Flashing another disarming smile at her, Mal’Drin assures her of his noble intentions as he sits back down.


    Just then, the bartender calls out “Your dinner is served” from across the room.


    Tromping back towards her own table, she is brought up short by a call from the dark elf, “You seem to have dropped something”.  He stands up and tosses something to her, a coin dangling from a chain, the holy symbol of Kord. Stunned, she can only stop and stare at the coin in her hand, the coin that a minute earlier had been around her neck for as long as she can remember.


    With a growl of fury she unlimbers her axe, turns and stalks back towards the darkened corner, but the booth is empty, as if no one had ever been there…