D&D Characters: Shamorn Fallenheart, Tiefling Bard

As a bit of a side occupa­tion, I like to engage in some cha­rac­ter design for role-playing games, as it just comes as a natu­ral exten­sion of being a hobby-ish wri­ter person.

Thus, I pre­sent: Shamorn Fal­len­he­art, a tief­ling bard from High Imaskar.

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Birth — and over misgivings

Shamorn was born in Gheld­an­eth, the fading Mula­nian metro­po­lis of High Imas­kar, and his par­ents belie­ved in the pro­phe­cies sta­ting Shamorn to bring forth bet­ter times for the tief­ling folk of the Gheld­an­eth slums. Being rai­sed in a com­mu­nity of hired hands to accom­pany adven­tu­rers on dan­ge­rous tre­a­sure hunts through the depths of the sun­ken city, hopes were laid on him, and him alone, to libe­rate them from this life of unof­fi­cial slavery.

Early life

Our young tief­ling was always a bit pam­pe­red. The male role models of the com­mu­nity were often too busy get­ting kil­led on a foolish quest, as was Shamorn’s own father — shortly before his fourth birth­day. As it were, there was none of the usual goading and tes­ting a tief­ling endu­res as part of gro­wing up. The con­se­quen­ces of this, as well as the pam­pe­ring he recei­ved by his mother and other “faith­fuls”, would be dire indeed.

Thus Shamorn grew to be a young adult, hel­ping out ever­y­where in the com­mu­nity, wit­hout ever taking up a real job. He had many on and off teachers, ver­sing him in skills as @skills and the heri­tage of the tief­ling race, trai­ning him in the use of wea­pons and tel­ling sto­ries of heroic deeds throug­hout time.

Con­stantly sur­roun­ded by an app­re­cia­tion for life, for hero­ism, the history and cul­ture of his people and a will to bring good to them, it came as a great sur­prise to many that Shamorn Fal­len­he­art, Pro­phe­sied Saviour of the Gheld­an­eth Tief­lings, came to start trai­ning to be…

… a bard.

There was a wan­de­ring Elven Bard in Gheld­an­eth at the time, and Shamorn choose to app­ren­tice him­self to him, belie­ving that beco­m­ing a bard, a herald of their people, would be worth much more than sim­ply slaugh­te­ring any would-be opp­res­sors or being a lea­der to guide the people to their Pro­mi­sed Land.

As was to be expec­ted, his deci­sion did not sit well with some, if not most, of his elders. His mother came just short of disin­heri­t­ing him, and he was fore­ver bran­ded as a wimp by most others. Still, there were some people who still belie­ved in him, and he mana­ged to stay in the com­mu­nity, even though ever­yone tried to for­get about any kind of pro­phesy laid upon him.

The turning point

His app­ren­ti­ce­ship was going well, all things con­side­red. But his teacher, unbe­kno­west to him, was a bit of a brag­gart and igno­rant, that is to say: not a very good bard. Still, Shamorn mana­ged to mas­ter his natu­ral graps of the Arcane under his tutor­ship, even though the social values might have been slightly distorted.

Sadly, this dis­tor­tion and the infu­sion of heroic tales led to an unfor­t­u­nate inci­dent. A rough band of tre­a­sure hun­ters, with a fierce repu­ta­tion for their harsh effec­tiv­en­ess and rumours of a bru­tal and unrelen­ting man­ner towards oppo­si­tion, sought out their enclave to hire some of their men for help. So, after a few minu­tes of shouting, waving of wea­pons and dragging people out of their hovels, Shamorn thought it was time to act.

Bra­vely step­ping for­ward, he con­fron­ted the lea­der of the sca­ven­gers, deman­ding of him to cease these des­pica­ble acts and appealing to his good sense, as a man, to respect his people’s wishes.

The screams as the leader’s mini­ons star­ted slaugh­te­ring the women and child­ren are still stuck in Shamorn’s head. He still only has vague memo­ries of that moment, but there is one thing he is quite con­fi­dent of:

As his mother’s life­l­ess body was thrown in front of him, crump­led up in a heap, he snap­ped. Shamorn went into a rage, slamming into the mini­ons and fight­ing them fier­cely. It see­med the demon in him had taken con­trol, for he was full of laugh­ter at the slaugh­ter he was cau­sing, taun­ting his enemies as he smas­hed their faces in with his $wea­pon or embed­ded his dag­gers into their hearts, even just rip­ping into them with his claws and bit­ing as he went along.

It did not take long for him to cut through the mini­ons, emer­ging bathed in blood, eldritch powers abound and fla­mes crack­ling around his body. His Elven mas­ter bard was asto­nis­hed at the dis­play, and reco­gnized the poten­tial of a war­lock in him should he have even been trai­ned thusly. As it was, the teacher pre­fer­red to cower in fear and observe what hap­pened next.

Shamorn con­fron­ted the lea­der of the sca­ven­gers who was just stan­ding there, sho­cked to his core.

“This is what hap­pens when you try to com­pel my folk, human!” the bard sta­ted in an almost neu­tral voice, only a hint of a burning dark­fire notica­ble in the voice. And with that, he slew the lea­der of the group that brought death to his kin.

And as if by mira­cle, Shamorn imme­dia­tely cal­med down to his usual, naive self. The only hint at his mons­tro­sity was the fact that he sur­veyed the slaugh­ter he had cau­sed wit­hout fear, shame or dis­gust. Loo­king around him, he found few people left alive. Some were cower­ing inside their hovels, eit­her hiding their faces or sta­ring out at him with fear. Others seem to have run a way, and it was eerily silent.

Shamorn clea­red his throat. “My mas­ter, I will be lea­ving now. Do you wish to accom­pany me?”

His mas­ter, still shaking slightly, replied “No, my app­ren­tice. I do not think that you need me any fur­ther. Con­sider your trai­ning complete.”

And with these short words, the recently orpha­ned Shamorn Fal­len­he­art set out into the Realms, ven­tu­ring forth to herald his people — and to leave this bligh­ted home which has been cur­sed by his deeds.

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The cha­rac­ter sta­tistics will fol­low as soon as I have access to the rele­vant docu­ments again. I might also write a short story or two detailing the back­ground or later adventures.