Okay my ex made a backstory for a DnD character and I'm not a very good critic when it comes to this stuff so I was hoping you guys around here could read this over and give some honest critics and opinions.
Dante, 3rd born to the noble Alderic line, though it wouldn't appear so, considering I alone was the sole inheritant of my mother's ember hair. Early on in life, I honestly thought very little of myself, having been born just outside my father's heir. Aside from that, I was often considered the "runt" of the litter as compared to my brothers, Derek, 6 years elder to me, and David, 4 years. This no longer holds true, of course. Despite my abandoned training into knighthood, I could easily keep them both under my heel now, assuming either of them are still in existance. But that's no longer of any importance to me.
Until the age of ten, I find myself to have been a rather well adjusted child, despite my unhealthy level of stockholm syndrome when it came to my father, my mother's near non-existance give or take a few offerings of feminine wisdom, and the severe sense of competition among my brothers and I.
By the time I realized that childhood had become a waste of time to me, I gave up on fulfilling, my family's expectations of me and began to set out on small expeditions of my own, eventually amounting in my discovery of an abandoned wizard's tower on the outskirts of town. this became my sanctuary for the following years. Every free moment I found I was there, reading every page of every book, and exploring every failed experiment and spell the old wizard had left for me. Most of what I read was out of sheer boy-like curiosity, but there was one set of stories that enthralled me the most. The legends of The Reaper, and the arts of the dead. A divine figure who passed judgment on those in mortal fear of their very existance, and disregarded all the laws of physics and morals to do so. It was a series of well-created fairy tales to me, Hours of daydreaming between those books and I. At least...until I found the archives that made the fiction into fact.
So I tried. I attempted each of these spells to no avail for many months, or at least until I found that with the right amount of concentration, I could cause my favored rat skeleton to twitch. Then one day it moved its tiny fractured skull in my direction. Despite its lifeless stare, I knew it was agknowledging the talent I'd fallen upon.
From there out, my skill only became more powerful and more defined. Finally, I had no diffeculty leading my rat around the tower behind me. (And, oh, the fun I had retrieving and reviving Derek's half-decayed dog, and causing it to scratch at his bedroom window. The boy didn't sleep for nights, but the family dismissed it as a nightmare. Only he seemed to know, but no one would have ever believed him). Other than having my own personal servants in my tower, I never took this as seriously as I could have until problems at home began to rise. My mother's spare time was mostly spent shopping and gossiping in town square with the other women, as the wives of nobles often do. Finally, my father had had enough and accused her of infedelity. She was ordered to be hung the following afternoon.
I was fifteen when my father killed my mother. It was then that I knew my relationship with my family would never be the same. Every chance I got, I rebelled against my father's new found tyranny. And no more than three months later, my mother rebelled as well and we were reunited. Mother slept while I tended to the duties outside the tower, but when I returned, it was as if she'd never left me. I kept her as well as she had in life, aside from her permanent necklace and lack of conversation. I was happy with my responsiblity toward my new household until that too was taken from me.
One day while I was gone tending to the Alderic house, I returned to find
my legacy gone. My servants, my research, my last remaining companion, my home, all burnt to the ground. Embers. As if it was never there in the first place. My father and brothers not once took notice of my mourning, not that I could confide my pain in them either way. I was wise enough to know what I was and that it was far from an acceptable choice of lifestyle for any spawn of Johann Alderic. I was finally becoming part of the tales I'd loved so long ago. I'd become a necromancer. The Reaper. I was slowly becoming a god among mortals.
This ideal struck me in the dead of night in autumn. I woke to find myself standing at the foot of my father's bed, his own servant's farming scythe in hand. To truly become what I dreamed so long of, I would have to prove all this to myself first. I would tear through the root of all evil, and then pluck of the buds that would soon rise to take his place. I would deny them the resurrection my mother was denied, and finally all that surrounded me would be mine alone.
It was perfect. But...I couldn't. I stood before my father's still form, that trembling piece of metal in my hands until nearly the break of dawn. I knew I'd been defeated once again. But for once, I wouldn't accept it. Before I fled, shattering through the window into the street below, I tore from my father's neck the very symbol is his tyranny. The family crest. With my trophy and what would begin my life anew, I ran. Never to glance back at what might have been.
I was a struggling nomad for some time, living day to day by whatever means necessary, picking up task after task, but never forgetting what I truly desired. The day finally came at the age of seventeen that I gave up all that I'd earned to look the part. Every piece of money I'd earned went into the construction of my authentic reaper's cloak. I was quite the terror to be seen. With my face shroaded and a 6ft scythe strapped to my back, no one could ignore me. This, of course, led to complications in some of the towns through which I passed. Questioning from guards and legal officials, short imprisonments based on suspicion alone. Nothing I wasn't able to handle with ease. My weapon was even confiscated once or twice, but it was always returned to me by morning.
I seemed a threat, but I never caused any direct harm to anyone. At least until I found another of my many endeavors. I found him in the spring of my 21st year. He was an incredibly large man, standing 6'7", nearly 300lbs (much larger than I am even now), working as a blacksmith. He was perfect. And because of this, I knew he had to be mine. I was cautious through all of this, I befriended him first, I even had him fashion my new masterwork scythe. Everything he touched glowed with his expertise. So finally I took him. I carefully stripped him of whoever he may have been before (this I may never know) and made him mine, as I had my mother before him. I couldn't keep him for long, considering together we were criminals, but in the time I had him, we were unstoppable. I was forced to abandon him a little over a year later when it came down to either his existance or mine. I know better than to take risks that severe.
Now, 24 years old, I've come to one of the most diffecult decisions I may ever encounter. So many years of travel, conquering ever obstacle I've stepped over, gathering all the wisdom one man can in a lifetime. But I've discovered that I can decide whether or not one lifetime is long enough. I found the secrets of immortality, the final step to becoming the god I idolized for so long. But with obtaining the status of a god, I'll be forced to abandon what humanity I have to my name. I'll be forced to hide what I've always been so proud of. And with the old family crest now embedded under my very skin, my one weakness as a deity, I'll need to protect myself with the intensity as if I were as mortal as ever before.
Immortality comes with a price. Oh, but the power it lends. Time will no longer be of any concern of mine. I'll have all of eternity to do as I please, while no one will be of equalling caliber to tell me otherwise. I'll be as indestructable as the servants I've walked alongside for so many years. Finally, I will have conquered the very boundary seperating the living and the dead. And with the very essence of death on my side, NO ONE will ever defy Dante Alderic, Reaper of the False, god of the dead.
Last edited by narutodesu
on Wed Feb 27, 2008 4:45 am, edited 1 time in total.