Often when creating a character for any role-playing game, my first challenge is to create a realistic personality. There are enough ‘Edgelord’ elven assassins and ‘Grog-the-dumb-barbarian’s’ in fiction that often we don’t need to think too deeply to understand who they are.
A character who has more value, however, is one that is more than a quirky concept. Who has instead lived a life, showed weakness, made mistakes, triumphed. A history must be present in the player’s mind to call upon when that character is acted out.
I wanted to know who I was playing, and I do so when I create character backgrounds. Often I’ll simply write a scene. A simple interaction which call upon three – maybe four – interactions which I can further build upon in game.
Here is one such example.
“The lightning always strikes first. The deed is done; the power exerted; but only those were looking for it get to see it, the rest: a flash.
It is the thunder that proclaims the action. The thunder is the marks that informs everyone of its boldness, and proves the act has substance. They say that without lightning, thunder would not exist.
They are wrong.”
-the Takaroth insignia.
——-
“Come on, son. Leave it for now”
A large clawed hand comes down reassuringly onto the shoulder of the boy, the navy blue contrasting visibly off the robin egg sheen of the child. It almost seemed to dull the hue projected by the candlelight flickering off of the boy’s back.
It was not a violent hand. The claws were sharp and the scales weathered and scratched, but that was but a sign of a steady upkeep and of experience. The dragonling shifted uncomfortably under the weight of the hand, and the weight of what it meant…
“But father, I know I can do it. I know what it is I need to create; I can see it in my head! But…”
His voice broke off as he looked back at the stone tablet. Upon it were markings, mere scratches, of symbols. They were supposed to represent words.
“But you just don’t know where you are going wrong…” The wizened Dragon-Born finished. “I know son, I know.”
With his free hand, he slowly lifted the hammer and chisel out of his son’s hands and rested them gently upon the worktop, brushing aside the marble residue caused by the day of intense study. He then took the tablet from it’s angled stand, and placed it carefully down flat, like one would do to a loved one at a burial.
Alek sat there watching, tears welling up in his eyes. Tears of frustration, of disappointment, of failure.
“Not everyone can scribe, Alek. It’s a skill that many people have issue with. We just have to be happy with what we’re best at.”
“But everyone is good at something except me!” Alek wailed, making eye contact with his father in the first time since he entered the chamber. “It seems not matter what I do, it ends in disaster!”
He pointed violently at his previous attempt at weapon-smithing, sitting abandoned in the corner of the stone walls. He spent sleepless days upon end working the forge and the iron to make a respectable battleaxe, and the reward for his endeavor was a blunt instrument which more represented more of a stone-age tomahawk than anything else. The only thing he got right was the hilt of the handle, to which flickered light blue in the torchlight.
Takaroth sighed, and patted Alek’s shoulder once again.
“Come on, son. Get some rest. You’ll think more clearly in the morning.”
Reluctantly, Alek climbed out of the chair and staggered out of the room, stopping only to look to his father as he reached the furnished oak door, before heading out. A single tear dropped onto the stone floor beneath.
Takaroth sighed again, and sighted the battleaxe of his only heir. He picked it up, weighing it gently in his hand. It wasn’t a bad weapon, for bludgeoning, at least. It was just unrefined, unestablished, but clearly the image of what it could be shone brighter than the metal of the blade itself. The hilt caught his eye, and he ran one claw down its engraved length. Softly smiling to himself, he blew out the candle, and closed the door to the study chamber behind him.
Picture: The Forge by Xavor85 from Deviantart.net
A Pursuit of Passion 