Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker
Age: 26
Race: Half Elf
Class: Cleric
Subclass: Life
Deity: Chauntea
Skill proficiencies: Medicine & Religion
Equipment: Mace + Shield, Chain Shirt, Priest's Pack, & Cook's Utensils
Holy symbol: Gold necklace with a small pendant of a red rose, over the slimmer part of a bundle of golden wheat.
Level: 4
Notable Spells & Abilities: Immune to poisonous plants and mushrooms, Lesser Goodberry, Guidance, Mending, Bless, Cure Wounds, Lesser Restoration, Purify Food and Drink, Healing Word, Guiding Bolt & Locate Object.
Background:
He grew up on a farm with his family, consisting of his mother, father and three elder brothers - all stout traditional practitioners of the Church of Chauntea. His father and brothers tended to their plot of land, while he and his mother were responsible for cooking the food, and for performing the different prayers every day. The village was filled with similar families, farmers, and believers.
Here, homosexuality, or any cross-race relationships, were seen as an affront to the Goddess; fertility wasted - being in a relationship with someone whom you could not sire children with. And Dennis knew he was of such sinful inclination, but hid it well for very long, even becoming a cleric to stave off the rumors of his sexual deviance. But it was all for naught once he met his first amour; Zephyr.
He was a Male Aarakocra, almost looking like a Western barn owl, and a Circle of the Land Druid, just a few years older than Dennis’ 23, at 25 years old. He was everything he couldn’t have; of the same gender, of a different species, and a druid.
Clerics of Chauntea and Druids often had a certain tension between them, both believing in the power of nature, but to different ends; were the Druids focused on balance and letting nature run wild, Clerics and practitioners of the Church of Chauntea sought a tempered nature, with the end goal of better crops, seasons, and fertility.
But Zephyr brought none of that prejudice into the conversations. He was on a pilgrimage of sorts, visiting different settlements and villages of Faerun, to lend his aid and to learn their use of the earth and soil. Being one of the very few clerics in the village, Dennis was often the one accompanying and answering any questions Zephyr might have about the culture and beliefs. Dennis quickly realized they shared a love of nature, healing, and peaceful exchange of knowledge. But when Zephyr’s questions became more personal and flirty, his eyes seeking Dennis’ at every possible moment, his touch becoming more frequent and lingering - Dennis fell hard.
His family caught them in the act, after Zephyr had overstayed his welcome by a month. They promptly kicked out the poor Aarakocra out of the village, not even allowing Dennis to say goodbye, only sharing a last teary look with his first love, before dragging Dennis away, effectively locking him up in his childhood home after that.
Dennis spent a month confined to his home, before being allowed to roam the village once more, hoping everything would return to normal. But it never did. After 6 months, he still met cold shoulders everywhere. Spiteful glares and harsh words. He was no longer welcome in his hometown. He was shunned.
So he left. Went on his own as an adventurer; seeking his own pilgrimage. He traversed Faerun, mainly seeking out different Druidic circles; whether it was to find Zephyr or a sense of belonging, he didn't know - never quite sure which one was the main goal. But he realized that this was the life for him: being on the road, joining different missions, enjoying the exchange of culture and knowledge, healing those who needed it, making all kinds of new foods with the varying bounty of nature, and actually being allowed to be himself.
It was during this time that he found a poster by the tavern in town, of an adventuring duo seeking a healer and companion for their next mission. He fit almost all of the many listed criterias, except for one important one; his level. He took a gamble anyway, and stepped into the tavern, seeking the barkeep.
Michael Robinavitch
Age: 402
Race: Elf
Class: Paladin
Oath: Oath of Devotion
Deity: Selûne
Skill proficiencies: Medicine & Insight
Fighting Style: Protection
Equipment: Half-Plate, Longsword & Shield, Explorer's pack, & Herbalism Kit.
Holy symbol: Silver necklace with a round pendant of Selûne symbol; her eyes and stars.
Level: 13
Notable Spells & Abilities: Divine Sense, Lay on Hands, Heroism, Compelled Duel, Warding Bond, Protection from Evil and Good, Sanctuary, Divine Smite (Improved), Aura of Protection, Aura of Courage, Lesser Restoration, Daylight, Zone of Truth, Beacon of Hope & Dispel Magic.
Background:
Michael grew up in the upper echelon of Baldurian society; his father - a wealthy merchant, and his mother; Levana - the third daughter of the Harbormaster. It was a marriage of convenience for his father, and Michael's conception was of the same nature. He never knew the love of his father, for he had none. The elven patriarch was cunning, greedy, and selfish, fully corrupt and narcissistic.
His mother was almost the exact opposite: kind, soft and caring, to a fault. Before the marriage, she was a fledgling herbalist, seeking to help the needy and the poor of the city. But once married to his father, he barred her from such “lowly altruism”. So she stopped, but didn’t quit altogether. She taught what little she knew to Michael during the nights father was out. Michael later understood he spent those evenings philandering, gambling, and drinking.
His father’s cruel demeanor knew no bounds. When Michael was still too young to live on his own, father had Levana killed. Of course, the official documents say it was suicide, but Michael knew mother didn’t have keys to access the roof, nor were any windows open when Michael found her mangled body in the morning, on the ground, just outside his bedroom window. That image forever etched itself onto his cornea; her limbs pointing in directions they shouldn’t, her face contorted in agony, and the many scars she’d hidden from him.
Father just so happened to meet a younger, more crude woman a week later and “fall in love”. Michael rebelled for the first time, and stopped hiding his disgust, cursing father at every possible moment, tormenting him enough so that the patriarch had to send him off. Michael was sent to a boarding school for elven paladins, which conveniently happened to be very far away from Baldur’s Gate.
But that was his blessing. There he found purpose, training, and Selûne: The Moonmaiden. Her tenets and beliefs reminded him of his mother, and he found comfort in the Selûnite dogma, and eventually took an oath of Devotion, in honor of both his mother Levana, and the Lady of Silver.
Michael took his training seriously, as well as, honing his skills as a fighter and diplomat. He wanted to thwart corruption, help the needy, and expose liars. Fight against the wrongs of his father, and swore to never become like him. His training made him stronger, his experience in battle; wiser, his tendency to command attention; a leader, and his lofty goals and ideals, mostly for himself; an emotionally exhausted mess.
He fought several wars, but not for the sake of serving some pompous noble, but to try and save as many people as possible. Michael quickly rose the ranks, excelling at diplomacy, but inevitably felt the weight of responsibility when he came to command three brigades - responsible for almost 10k lives on the battlefield.
Michael also met many people, found several lovers, but they never lasted long, losing them to either to his own folly, or simply to the passage of time. He never really and truly romantically loved any of them - the one clear curse of being his father’s son. But he truly hated feeling lonely and unloved, desperately jumping from one set of arms to another, seeking comfort in an embrace he did not love.
Love had become one dream he never wanted to seek, for he was scared of it. It was synonymous with loss; a constant fear and an inevitable promise due to his long lifespan. But it found him anyway, in the form of a human soldier, who was rugged, strong, and funny.
Just when he’d promised himself one last war, one last battle to end his military life and become an adventurer instead, traveling Faerun, seeking freedom, he met Jack. He was part of the human envoy - allies for the coming battle. Jack might not have been the leader or of any prominence in the human battalions, but he commanded the respect of many. And he quickly earned Michael’s. He was entranced by the man’s flourish in battle. He fought with a ferocity few elves ever delved into, like he was not afraid to fight a bit dirty to get an upper hand. Honed skills with a cunning mind is a deadly combination, both for the enemy and Michael’s heart. They paired well on the battlefield, in conversation, and in bed. It was not just comfort, it was freeing, warm, and fun. The human brought him more laughter than any other being ever had, and a warm feeling to his soul.
They became fast partners, best friends, and after the war - adventuring companions. They travelled and fought as a duo, but they realized they needed a third party member to help with healing, as Michael’s and potions alone wasn’t enough. With both of them fighting on the frontline, collateral damage and injuries were inevitable, and demanded more healing than what was currently viable. So they stuck a poster by the nearest tavern, and went through applicant after applicant, until golden locks bounced into the tavern.
Jack Abbot
Age: 49
Race: Human
Class: Fighter
Subclass: Battle Master
Skill proficiencies: Athletics & Survival
Fighting Style: Great Weapon Fighting
Equipment: Splint Mail, Halberd, Mechanical-Metal Transtibial Prosthetic (see ASovietLoaf’s homebrew The Proliferation of Prosthetics), Explorer's pack, & Smith's Tools.
Level: 8
Notable Spells & Abilities: Disarming Attack, Improved Lunging Attack & Bait and Switch.
Background:
Jack was an orphan. Grew up in an orphanage in the slums, surviving it by fighting for scraps of food and necessities, anything to stave the ever present hunger in his stomach. He’d cheat, steal, beg, and kill, just to make it one more day in that hellhole. Then came his “mentor”.
He was technically adopted, at 10, but in reality it was just a cheap way for the Blacksmith to get an assistant. Jack was made to do menial tasks; like fetching the water, chop firewood, tend to the fire in the forge, organize the tools, and tidy the shop. It was hard work, and always under the hottest conditions, but he had food and a roof over his head. Some semblance of home and safety, with no more need to fight to survive, just had to work instead. With time, he even learned a few skills and tricks from his mentor.
Jack didn’t even remember his mentor’s name, unfortunately. The only time he might have heard it was when he introduced himself to the mistress at the orphanage, but even with that hint at the back of his mind, he simply couldn’t wrack his brain to remember what the human man who adopted him was called; so he was just “mentor”. Jack was also certain that his mentor didn’t even remember his name either, since he only called him “boy”.
The years with his mentor were hard. He often went hungry, but thankfully not starving anymore. His mentor was a cheapskate, a bastard at haggling, and pinched every penny he could, so he only fed Jack the minimum to keep him in working condition. Which didn’t necessarily fill the stomach of a growing boy. When he was finally considered an adult; at 16, he found his exit by joining the militia. There were no sad goodbyes, and the only thing Jack had were the clothes on his back, and those were just oversized hand-me-downs from his mentor. Jack never looked back and never heard from his mentor again.
In the army, he finally got a steady enough supply of food to not go hungry, a more comfortable shelter, some more formal education, and extensive combat training. He was still small and gangly when he joined, but with the proper nutrition his body had sorely lacked throughout his youth, he hit a massive growth spurt, gaining muscles he didn’t know he had, and height he didn’t think was possible. And fighting came naturally. He was good at it! He’d done it since birth, after-all. Despite his battlemasters’ teaching and constant reprimands, Jack wasn’t above fighting dirty. It always gave him an edge in combat. While these prim and proper knight-types fought within the box, Jack decided to assault it from the outside. Which worked like a charm, every time.
At 18, he’d lost one of his legs. A career-ender for most soldiers - but not Jack. He commissioned a mechanical prosthetic, worth all of the money he’d earned so far, which he afterwards could maintain with the knowledge and skills he gained from his time with the blacksmith, essentially making him his own mechanic. He finally felt that those years spent hungry at the blacksmiths was worth something.
His peers were worried about his capabilities at first, but quickly realized he still excelled in combat, as he grew even stronger, faster, and climbed the ranks, earning the respect of many. Not necessarily for his diplomatic skills, but for his fierceness in battle, and his glib, humorous tongue. That same tongue, along with his peak physique, gained him many lovers and plenty of admirers. He fell in love a few times, fell out of love all the same, but lived on. Loving and losing wasn’t his constant fear… it was hunger. The hunger from the starvation he felt as a child, the ache for sustenance he couldn’t stave as a young. He never wanted to feel it again, but the pain of it lingered in his mind. Food became not only the fuel of the body, but also for his soul. The better the food, the better he felt.
He also gained a penchant for playing games; mainly cards or dice. He wasn’t dumb enough to ever truly lose any money while gambling - he simply enjoyed the strategy, the deception, the mindgames of it all. Just like combat, it was all about figuring out your opponent, and striking them where they least expect it. Often gained him more coin than his army paycheck too.
During one of the many battlegrounds he was sent to, along with his comrades, he met Michael; a white elven knight. Tall, handsome, charming - in a way he was not, prideful, and kind. He truly embodied kindness, righteousness, and respect. Not only did he command respect, he gave it just as freely, not seeing himself as better than others, despite leading 10k men into battle. And damnit he could fight! Where Jack was wild and unpredictable, Michael was graceful, controlled, and calm, controlling the battlefield with his mere presence. He was hard and soft at the same time, and it was the hottest thing Jack had ever seen and felt. Jack fell in love, but this time harder than ever before, and decided to stay for the long haul.
After successfully seducing his elder paladin, and sealing the sweet deal on many occasions, he went along with Michael’s plan - to adventure alongside him throughout Faerun. After all his hard work throughout his life, he felt he also deserved a calmer life. But there was just one thing about it that was severely lacking: They were both terrible cooks. They had food, yes, but he wanted feasts, and every day if possible. And it was not in their current disposition. So he went along with Michael’s plan to recruit a third member, with his own condition that they had to be a capable enough cook, along with being the healer they needed. He added some other criterias to the poster, too, making the list almost impossible to find it all in any one single candidate, but he enjoyed the beverages and the meals at the inn for the days they’d spent going through the boring interviews, meeting a failed candidate after another. Until he saw a soft half-elf skip into the tavern.