Ike
This is a character concept for a campaign of the good ol' tabletop RPG. His name is Ike, and this is his backstory
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Ike was born into a nomad community that sustained themselves by moving throughout the fertile Paradise Valley. This tribe was integrated enough with the local towns and villages that they could stop and trade for supplies when needed, but always they did everything they could to be self-contained. This involved hunting, fishing, foraging, surviving day-to-day. His parents were both very skilled, and while Ike was still young they taught him all they could about what to eat from the land. When he was shown how to hunt, he balked at the idea, failing even to loose an arrow on a deer that was too wounded to ever recover. Recalling that day, Ike would only offer a simple “I just wanted it to get better.”
One fateful day, his parents went off to hunt, and 72 hours later they had yet to return. Neither one of them had come back after a week, when the tribe pushed north towards Sweet Water. By the start of the second week, Ike was with his Uncle, his tribe walking off into the fertile lands and leaving him alone on the cold cobblestone of civilization. His uncle was none too pleased by the sudden arrival of his estranged sister’s 8 year old. He was a man of the cloth! He had more important things to do than raise a wild whelp! Begrudgingly he took him in though, and put him into school.
Ike was not a great student. He learned some of the Gods, but none seemed to stick with him. Another 5 years passed, and the blight came on the winds of that sickly hot summer. During his time trying to help heal others of the blight, his uncle fell to the same disease. The church where he had his lessons could not afford to take another mouth to feed, and history repeated itself. They gave him what they could, a bow, a blanket, some rations, but told him the rest would be his burden to bear. Crushed at losing what was his only remaining family, and being rejected by the extensions of those families, he set off into the valley.
His first few months were awful. Mostly sleeping under bridges, trying to remember what his parents had taught him so long ago, struggling with wanting to be a part of society still. He fell in with a village guard after a few years. He had figured out how to live on the borders of civilization, and a town he traded with often recognized the strong survival instinct in him. They trained him in exchange for an occasional patrol and more often an errand run through the more treacherous bits of the Valley. He learned to more effectively use his bow, but he picked up the broadsword better.
A few more years passed, Ike’s skills as a guard had improved to the point that he was able to hold his own while sparring with the guardsmen, but like so many other days, life pivoted on him again. In the depths of the Valley, trekking back from a late night delivery, Ike found himself face to face with a monstrosity he knew was real, for he could not imagine something so awful. Broken and bloody at its feet lay an orc. The terrible creature’s eyes glowed red, smoke seeming to emit from the sockets as dark tendrils of magic arose, pulsing a dark blood red into endless black. A sharp CRACK and grating of bone on bone as the orc slowly stood up, it’s snapped neck swivelling limply back into place. Blood sputtered through the orcs mouth, a gurgled word arising from the depths of its punctured lungs, the breath not it’s own.
Terrified, horrified, Ike ran. He ran until he was out of breath and ran some more. He could feel the creatures burning eyes on him, but he continued to run. He made it back to his new village, trying desperately to relay what he saw, what he heard. His fellow guards laughed at him.
Another quip was cut short by the sharp crack of a falling tree. The guards all stopped their laughing and peered out into the forest. Ike’s lungs burned for air, but his breath was caught in his throat. He didn’t need to see what it was, he could FEEL the eyes behind the trees. He had been followed. It had tracked a very panicked young boy back to a small village, and now it was out for blood. Ike sat frozen, trying to breath, trying to not hyperventilate, trying to reason with himself how it had all come to this. A strong clap on the shoulder and a hearty “OY!” brought Ike’s attention back to reality. More trees were cracking, thundering down limply into the dense underbrush. His captain was shouting at him. “-IF YOU DON’T GET UP AND HELP US!” was truly all Ike caught, but it was enough to get the point. He stood, drew his broadsword and joined the other guardsmen in their practiced formation. It was nothing fancy, but none of them had ever been in fancy combat either. It was effective against goblins and beasts, and that was the majority of their problems. Unfortunately, this was a “fancy” creature.
A fireball tore through the left flank of the guards, knocking men aside, blazing a trail through a few homes before exploding to the north side of the village. Ike briefly saw the countenance of a skull with horns bearing down on the remaining guards. Fire flowed freely from it’s nostrils and wreathed the thing’s face, those eyes, those glowing embers of hate, stared at Ike, even as the creature trampled through the pitiful line; even as it scooped up a guard and crushed his body while simultaneously igniting it; even as it swept the remaining few guards, Ike included, away like a gust of wind in the breeze of a wildfire, those eyes bore holes into Ike’s soul.
He awoke what felt like hours later, but in reality was mere moments. In front of him was nothing but charred masses of what were trees, homes, livestock, people. The beast had moved beyond him and the pitiful defenses they put up and was descending like a nightmare upon the rest of the town. People fled for the lives, screams and smoke filled the air. Ike was positive he was injured, but those eyes were enough to make anyone run, and run he did. He ran despite his lungs burning from the ash of his village and comrades, and then he ran some more.
He took to the wilds again, for the third time in his life knowing loss. He tried to warn other villages, towns, tried even to go back and find proof, but all he found was mockery and ash.
Until a certain old man took him aside, and heard his story...
Ike was born into a nomad community that sustained themselves by moving throughout the fertile Paradise Valley. This tribe was integrated enough with the local towns and villages that they could stop and trade for supplies when needed, but always they did everything they could to be self-contained. This involved hunting, fishing, foraging, surviving day-to-day. His parents were both very skilled, and while Ike was still young they taught him all they could about what to eat from the land. When he was shown how to hunt, he balked at the idea, failing even to loose an arrow on a deer that was too wounded to ever recover. Recalling that day, Ike would only offer a simple “I just wanted it to get better.”
One fateful day, his parents went off to hunt, and 72 hours later they had yet to return. Neither one of them had come back after a week, when the tribe pushed north towards Sweet Water. By the start of the second week, Ike was with his Uncle, his tribe walking off into the fertile lands and leaving him alone on the cold cobblestone of civilization. His uncle was none too pleased by the sudden arrival of his estranged sister’s 8 year old. He was a man of the cloth! He had more important things to do than raise a wild whelp! Begrudgingly he took him in though, and put him into school.
Ike was not a great student. He learned some of the Gods, but none seemed to stick with him. Another 5 years passed, and the blight came on the winds of that sickly hot summer. During his time trying to help heal others of the blight, his uncle fell to the same disease. The church where he had his lessons could not afford to take another mouth to feed, and history repeated itself. They gave him what they could, a bow, a blanket, some rations, but told him the rest would be his burden to bear. Crushed at losing what was his only remaining family, and being rejected by the extensions of those families, he set off into the valley.
His first few months were awful. Mostly sleeping under bridges, trying to remember what his parents had taught him so long ago, struggling with wanting to be a part of society still. He fell in with a village guard after a few years. He had figured out how to live on the borders of civilization, and a town he traded with often recognized the strong survival instinct in him. They trained him in exchange for an occasional patrol and more often an errand run through the more treacherous bits of the Valley. He learned to more effectively use his bow, but he picked up the broadsword better.
A few more years passed, Ike’s skills as a guard had improved to the point that he was able to hold his own while sparring with the guardsmen, but like so many other days, life pivoted on him again. In the depths of the Valley, trekking back from a late night delivery, Ike found himself face to face with a monstrosity he knew was real, for he could not imagine something so awful. Broken and bloody at its feet lay an orc. The terrible creature’s eyes glowed red, smoke seeming to emit from the sockets as dark tendrils of magic arose, pulsing a dark blood red into endless black. A sharp CRACK and grating of bone on bone as the orc slowly stood up, it’s snapped neck swivelling limply back into place. Blood sputtered through the orcs mouth, a gurgled word arising from the depths of its punctured lungs, the breath not it’s own.
“...D..E...ATH...”
Terrified, horrified, Ike ran. He ran until he was out of breath and ran some more. He could feel the creatures burning eyes on him, but he continued to run. He made it back to his new village, trying desperately to relay what he saw, what he heard. His fellow guards laughed at him.
“What, ya got scared by a dead beastie? Ha!”
“Red eyes? Boy'o, I think ye need some rest”
“Dead orcs speakin’ common, what next? Devils razing the land?”
Another quip was cut short by the sharp crack of a falling tree. The guards all stopped their laughing and peered out into the forest. Ike’s lungs burned for air, but his breath was caught in his throat. He didn’t need to see what it was, he could FEEL the eyes behind the trees. He had been followed. It had tracked a very panicked young boy back to a small village, and now it was out for blood. Ike sat frozen, trying to breath, trying to not hyperventilate, trying to reason with himself how it had all come to this. A strong clap on the shoulder and a hearty “OY!” brought Ike’s attention back to reality. More trees were cracking, thundering down limply into the dense underbrush. His captain was shouting at him. “-IF YOU DON’T GET UP AND HELP US!” was truly all Ike caught, but it was enough to get the point. He stood, drew his broadsword and joined the other guardsmen in their practiced formation. It was nothing fancy, but none of them had ever been in fancy combat either. It was effective against goblins and beasts, and that was the majority of their problems. Unfortunately, this was a “fancy” creature.
A fireball tore through the left flank of the guards, knocking men aside, blazing a trail through a few homes before exploding to the north side of the village. Ike briefly saw the countenance of a skull with horns bearing down on the remaining guards. Fire flowed freely from it’s nostrils and wreathed the thing’s face, those eyes, those glowing embers of hate, stared at Ike, even as the creature trampled through the pitiful line; even as it scooped up a guard and crushed his body while simultaneously igniting it; even as it swept the remaining few guards, Ike included, away like a gust of wind in the breeze of a wildfire, those eyes bore holes into Ike’s soul.
He awoke what felt like hours later, but in reality was mere moments. In front of him was nothing but charred masses of what were trees, homes, livestock, people. The beast had moved beyond him and the pitiful defenses they put up and was descending like a nightmare upon the rest of the town. People fled for the lives, screams and smoke filled the air. Ike was positive he was injured, but those eyes were enough to make anyone run, and run he did. He ran despite his lungs burning from the ash of his village and comrades, and then he ran some more.
He took to the wilds again, for the third time in his life knowing loss. He tried to warn other villages, towns, tried even to go back and find proof, but all he found was mockery and ash.
Until a certain old man took him aside, and heard his story...
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