Dungeon Fantasy Character Backstory Contest

[HunterS]

EDIT: CONTEST CLOSED!

Who will you be in the depths of Dungeon Fantasy RPG? Now is your chance to tell us, and enter to win a copy of the Dungeon Fantasy Roleplaying Game boxed set!

Create a name, describe their look, come up with a backstory for a Dungeon Fantasy RPG character, and post it here to enter. Are you a mountainous half-orc barbarian with a mean streak? Or maybe you’re a halfling thief, slipping underfoot to relieve enemies of their treasure. Perhaps your backstory guides your path, or you believe your future is what's important. Let us know!

Entries are limited to 150-300 words. Limit one entry per person. If the Kickstarter funds, one winner will be chosen randomly among the entries to receive a copy of the Dungeon Fantasy RPG boxed set. Additional prizes may be chosen randomly depending on the amount of entries. Contest runs until Monday, September 19.

Good luck everyone!

[Ignus Pyre]

Now Introducing!
Burke Templeton... Possibly?

Time is eternal, and eternity sounds like a good deal when you have more tomes to read than any one man could manage in the strand of a single existence.

“It's just not right!” fumed the ageing scholar between ragged breaths. “There are too many good stories yet to be enjoyed!”

So the fateful words were spoken that would irrevocably alter an old man's fate.

Unfortunately for old Burke, when you craft your phylactery and it comes with an almost imperceptible micro-fissure.. time, well, time very slowly starts to slip away from you.

Burke doesn't recall how long ago he became a Lich, he doesn't really remember what a Lich even is. His long, dust coated, mottled brown robes accentuate the natural musk of hidden, ancient bones that creak and clatter across cobbled streets.

From within the depths of his time ravaged hood shines a single blue dot, cold like icy balefire. He has two eye sockets, sure enough, but he seems to have forgotten how to turn his right eye back on again.

Still, under the right circumstances, old Burke can fling a pretty mean incantation, just hope his target doesn't require too much depth perception.

Somewhere out there is a dungeon.
There are many like it, but this one is his.
Within the Dungeon is a Temple, within the temple there are tons of tomes.
Somewhere under the mounds of ancient text sits a tiny crystal vial with an imperceptible micro-fissure that slowly hisses away the memories of a creature that just wanted more time to read.

should YOU encounter an old addled Lich in your travels, do him a kindness. He may have both feet in the grave, but it's not his fault.

[A Ladder]

The innkeeper looked up from his bar as the front door banged open. He caught a brief glimpse of the backdrop of Fell Castle before his vision was obscured by the looming form of a half-orc stepping through his threshold.

The patrons of the inn unconsciously, or consciously, shied away from the newcomer. Their eyes suspiciously took in the half-orc's mottled green skin and yellow upturned tusks. But then their brows took on a quizzical quality as they espied the pointed, star speckled hat and rich blue robes that swaddled this outsider.

"Uhh, can I...help you?" the innkeeper timidly inquired.

"Yes! I will take a room for a week at your fine establishment! For I am here to research the lost information of Fell Castle!" Boomed the half-orc. His voice caused a stir among the other patrons: This orc's voice sounded well-bred, educated, and, quite frankly, held a human accent.

His green skinned fist slammed down a purse of silver farthings and a written document onto the bar, causing the innkeeper to jump. But the parchment caught his eye, and before he could stop himself, the innkeeper scanned the document.

The parchment stated with flowing calligraphy in fine ink:

The Trustees of the College of Wizards on recommendation of the faculty for outstanding achievement in the schools of Fire, Knowledge, and Meta-Magic have conferred upon Luktar Damorien the degree of Bachelor of Wizardry with all rights, privileges, and honors thereunto appertaining.

“And there’s nothing you pinkies can do about it.” Luktar sneered, grinning contentedly.

[Mark Skarr]

Hgggaawch! Son of Snnnggrth! (Eww, to his friends.)

A brave, sturdy Orc from the western tribes, Hgggaawch! decided the nomadic life of plundering and raiding didn’t suit him. He liked the finer things in life: sheets, alcohol, food he didn’t have to catch for himself. He traveled to the civilized lands to the east, looking to make a name for himself.

After a brief, confusion-based, standoff between him and a caravan, he was allowed to join up, work as a guard until they reached their destination. With a pocket full of coin, Hgggaawch! located a tavern and dove in to the luxuries he came in search of.

As the coin ran low, he discovered his talents would be in demand for people raiding dungeons and plundering their treasure. Hgggaawch! found a group desperate--um, eager for his assistance and joined up for his first dungeon crawl. He now gleefully lives on the road, traveling from dungeon to dungeon.

Hgggaawch! still has difficulty with the soft, non-guttural words the soft races use. He wields a heavy axe (“shields is fur wimps”) and orc-skin leather armor (“dey dead—wha’ do dey care?”).

[Doc Palindrome]

Tyson Wilce is lucky.

Not competent: that's definitely not the case. Ask his best friend, the elf, who ended up crushed under the force of an orc shaman's spell.

Not skilled: ask his well-armored giant ally who sank to the bottom of the ocean and was never found.

Not faithful: ask the were-tigress that loved him only to finally walk away when she could no longer deal with his constant philandering.

Not loyal: ask his friends and compatriots whom he betrayed when he accepted a deal which would eventually transform him into the god of Evil.

Tyson Wilce is only lucky. But he was once, possibly, the luckiest mortal alive.

[ericbsmith]

Grok the Barbarian
Human (barely)
Like most Barbarians Grok came from the far off Northlands in search of adventure and loot. And ale, lots of ale. When he's not adventuring you can usually find him at the nearest pub, having a drink and reciting some of his poetry - quite possibly the worst poetry in the world. Bards have tried and failed to turn his poems into something pleasant. Then one ingenious Bard turned his poems into a weapon; the Bard was excommunicated for crimes against all decency soon thereafter.

His favored weapon is an axe expertly forged from meteoric iron by his great great (great great?) grandfather and passed down to him. He loves this axe, not just because it is perfectly balanced and sized for his hands, but it's shiny too. He usually pairs it with a shield; or a door; or sometimes the leg bone of a cow (if it has still got meat on it all the better - makes for a good a mid-fight snack).

He has a particular soft spot for animals. This has been known to get him in trouble on occasion; for instance the time he adopted a goblin prince as his "pet monkey," much to the exasperation of the goblin prince. Then there was his pet "wolfie" (a rather mean Dire Wolf) who tried to eat the king's crown... while the king was wearing it.

[Phantasm]

Lynxara
Cat-Folk Thief

Lynxara is a lithe, slender female cat-folk, with auburn fur interspersed with black tiger-stripes down her neck; the fur around her hands and feet is white. She is dressed simply, in loose cotton and linen bound together with sashes, barefoot, with just the slightest hint of fine chain underneath. A dagger is strapped inside her left wrist, and a short sword and a pistol crossbow hang from a bandolier she wears over everything else.

Lynxara (often just called "Lyn") was either born or sold at a young age into slavery, but escaped as a kitten. Living on the streets of a major city, learning to steal and get into places just to survive, she developed a reputation as a second-story cat-burglar. She lives by her wits, and has built up a solid nest egg. She despises those who engage in slavery....

One day, she swears, she'll find her family and free them from slavery. To do that, she'll need allies and money . . . .

[lachimba]

Warwick
Leprechaun Martial Artist

"You've got to come with me!

Yeah I'll settle down when we get where we are going.

Yeah, we were in the tavern drinking... who with? That hulking barbarian you and I used to laugh at and call Grognar.

Anyway we were there enjoying ourselves and a little guy walks in. And by little I mean he didn't even come up to Grognar's knee! He was dressed like... I don't know like one of those monks only he was a watchamacallit a Leprechaun. Funniest thing I'd ever seen.

So we are all laughing and the little guy says nothing. He was serene, humble even. Then that idiot barbarian asked him to take us to his pot of gold.

Suddenly the little fellas eyes lit up and he didn't look so serene no more. He looked pretty angry like he was talking to himself repeating words over and over again and frothing at the mouth a little bit even, So I.. I asked him 'what are you doing?'

And he said... 'concentrating'.

Then it all happened so fast I didn't even have my first dagger out. That 'monk' he spoke a word and his hands weren't hands anymore they were freaking tiger claws. And he jumped, and I'm fast, but even I didn't see him hit and then Grognar didn't have eyes no more.

Thats why you've got to help me. No I'm not running from him anymore after he'd killed Grognar, him and I got to talking (quite a nice fellow actually) and the little guy's heading to the dungeon too. If you and I run we can catch up to him and I reckon anyone who can bring Grognar down ought to have the skills to get us past that guardian on level two.

[sir_pudding]

Forgive me for a bit of an inside joke:

Genero Boringfoot, of the Underplace Boringfoots

Underplace is a quiet sleepy halfling village were nothing much ever happens; until one day when it did. Catapulted into a life of adventure Genero discovered his natural gifts as a sneak-thief, and hasn't looked back since.

[rpgventurer]

Villari
(Human mage with a "back story")

Villari spotted his target at the tavern and moved in. He stood across from the table and leaned in to thwart the crowd noise.

"You're the one, aren't you? The one hiring for that expedition?"

The ranger only had time to nod her head before the lanky, gray-cloaked man continued.*"Mind if I sit? Thanks. You need to hire me and I’ll tell you why.

“First off, I'm the best fire mage in the valley. Ask anyone.

"Second, I'm familiar with the tunnels beneath the Mountains of Brimm. I don't know what you're looking for there but I can help with where not to go.

"Third, I don't want much for my share. Just any potions, elixirs, fungi -- whatever I can trade with my friend Ryllo, the alchemist. I hurt my back terribly the last time I was in those tunnels. I’m fine now, thanks to Ryllo. He cooked up some great medicine for me, but the effects aren't permanent and my supplies are running low. Ryllo prefers what he calls "apothecarials" to money. I'm eager to oblige him, so your expedition comes at an opportune time for me. You and I both want to go as soon as possible."

Villari's left hand brushed at his dark, scraggly hair. His cloak slipped back, revealing the vest and tunic of a well-born gentleman. "I'm telling you all this because – and this is the most important point -- you can trust me. I'll do everything I can to get everyone out safely. Ask anyone."