YES

BAMP

Aw fuck yes. /tg/ doesn't make nearly enough non-40K characters.

When Sandy pushed the door open to her father's workshop, she heard the familiar sounds of his work. She could even read his moods by the pace of his movements, the tone of hammer-blows or file rasps. He turned as she entered, eyes flicking across the heavy armor she wore--armor he had largely crafted himself, fitting each piece to his daughter in his last act of fatherly protection.

"I'll be leavin' wi' the clerics for Oakhurst soon, Poppa."

She smiled, moving to his side at the workbench. Her own helm sat there, and Grilgar was wordlessly brushing its surface with an oiled cloth, buffing the thin layer of blueing that would protect it from rust. She saw that he had added a hinged visor to the helm; a series of diagonal vents across its surface allowing excellent vision, yet covering the entire face. Finally, not looking up from his handiwork, he spoke.

"Added this for ye, daughter. Ye might find...well, yer eyes ain't likely to be used t' th' sun just yet. And..." He let out a soft harumph, broad shoulders straightening. "Ye know I never taught you t' be anything but proud o' yer face, lass. But outside th' hold...well, maybe sometimes ye may want strangers t' know ye by word an' deed before they can judge ye unfairly. Is all."

>>6118187

He finally glanced up, meeting those red-violet eyes he had come to find so familiar, so lovely. He could see the welling of tears, blinked away, and he harumphed again, as always never quite able to respond to the ease with which his daughter showed emotion.

Sandy leaned down slightly, kissing the top of her father's head, his greying hair having long ago receded from its peak. A change for which he had often, loudly, blamed her.

"I love ye, Poppa. I'll make ye proud, I swear it."

A pause of a few seconds, then his quiet, rumbling voice. "I'm proud of ye already, lass. An' always will be."

Sandy held her father for some time longer, saying nothing. Then she took up her helmet, and turned toward the door, father and daughter alike hiding their tears from the other.

Dear Diary

Oi, what a day. So I awoke from my trance before the rest of the family had even stirred and made breakfast. I roused Aunty Vera and gave her a little peck on the forehead before leaving. I would be traveling with a caravan through the southern road. Apparently, the caravans had been having some bandit trouble lately. Smiting some foul cut purses seemed like a perfect way for a young paladin to cut her teeth.

Our caravan was led by a surly old dwarf named Belgar. Belgar left before dawn. The trip stared out alight, but soon things started going wrong. For one, the "southern road" actually runs more east to west, and this being the mountains it created a perfect channel for the sun. I was never quite comfortable with that big, glowing ball in the sky. It hurts my eyes something terrible. Two minutes after daybreak, I was squinting in the blinding light. Two hours later, I was staring at my saddle with watering eyes. Damn sun.

Of course, it was at this point that the bandits decided to attack. Murphy's law and all that. Our first sign of the attack was the sound of rocks tumbling down the mountain. I might be half-blind in sunlight, but that doesn't mean my other sense aren't sharp as a nail. I suppose there are more advantages to being born an elf than just the hair.

Next thing we knew, the caravan was being swarmed by Goblins, urging them forward was a big, hairy giant with two heads. An Ettin from the looks of it, and my target. I charged through the goblins, scattering them like so many pins as I lept from my horse and readied my warhammer.

>>6118195
>>6118187
>>6117607
Yes, just yes. Doing anymore?

>>6118228


The beast swung at me, wielding an uprooted tree like a club, but I managed to leap out of the way. I suppose there are other advantages to being born an elf. Channeling the holy power of Morain into myself, I brought my hammer down on the beast's foot with a satisfying crack of bone. As the beast reeled and I prepared to deliver the killing blow, however I felt myself being pulled aside.

A big, blonde, oafish-looking fellow in plate armor leapt in front of me. "Fear not, fair maiden this beast shall not harm you." He said, his back was to me, so he missed me staring daggers at him.

He also missed the Etin's arm coming down next to him him and knocking him off balance. "I'm doing just fine, thank you very much!" I shouted with more than a little annoyance in my voice. "No, fair maiden. Stay behind me, I will not let this beast lay a finger on you." He said, holding his arms out to block my charge. In the process of shouting at each other, we missed the Etin bringing the tree up to swing at us again. As the tree began its descent that would surely squash both this oaf and myself, two arrows buried themselves in the Etin's chest. As the beast fell, the man turned to the shooter, a goblin wearing a tabard, and said. "Sniff, don't you dare screw me up like that again."

"Sorry, sir." The goblin replied, turning it's eyes downward and sighing in resignation.

That was how I met Smite Brannigan.

Love, Sandy

>>6118240

>Smite Brannigan

SPLINT CHESTHAIR
BLAST HARDCHEESE
DIRK HARDPEC
GRISTLE MCTHORNBODY
CRUNCH BUTTSTEAK

>>6118240

>Smite Brannigan

>>6118240
OH DEAR GOD!

>>6118299
Oh ....My ...God and His Goblin lackie...

Mind=Blown

>>6118240

Please tell me Sandwich isn't going to have pity sex with this idiot.

>>6118299
>>6118313
>>6118320

...oh hell.

Sorry that will be all for now. Running late for a meeting.

>>6118422
what? nooo!

Here, have a little something while you wait for the other writefag.

----

Sandy sat near the campfire, morose, leaning against a boulder. Her shoulder ached, swollen into immobility, her arm tucked in a makeshift sling. The other initiates were similarly keeping to themselves, mulling over their own wounds and lumps, trying to absorb the lessons their instructors had literally beaten into them. The instructors--veteran warriors, all of them--kept to themselves, talking in low murmurs over the crackle of their own fire, passing around their flasks.

She looked up as a stout figure clomped back into camp, from checking the pickets. He strolled over to the fire, looking down at Sandy, the dim light eventually revealing the stern, asymmetric face of the Training-Master, Cazmar Stonejaw. An ogre-wielded club had shattered his jaw in his distant youth, and it had healed crookedly, giving his face a perpetual look of twisted disgust beneath his bushy, mane-like beard. It also gave his speech a distinctive, gravelly mumble, which generations of recruits had come to dread. He had no kind words for any of them; but seemed particularly offended with Sandy herself, ceaselessly reminding her of the failures of her breeding among her many other, imaginatively described inadequacies. But this time, he wordlessly sat, producing pipe and pouch from a deep pocket. He took his time with the process of packing, lighting, and taking a long puff of the faintly acrid smoke. Sandy dreaded what he would say.

>>6118639

The day had started with a forced march, full packs and armor, their instructor seemingly tireless despite his grey beard as he led them into disused caverns. As the hours wore on, they had found themselves heading upward, scrambling up rough slopes, and climbing seemingly endless stairs carved out of the stone. Lungs burned, calves and hamstrings turned leaden. The initiates slumped, seeing only the stone in front of them, none wanting to be the first to fall out of line.

They scarcely noticed the faint growth of light around them, until they turned from the tunnel into a broad open pit, the sun blazing down on the rocks, dazzling them. It was there that they found themselves beset on three sides by armored dwarves, bristling with hammers and polearms. No challenge or warning was given as they attacked the initiates, who scrambled to bring shields to bear, to defend themselves.

Sandy stumbled back from thrusting spearpoints, feeling them scrape across her shield as she reached back to slip her axe from its hook on her belt. Yet doing so, she could not find an opening to strike back. The attackers were more numerous, better armed and armored; the polearm wielders thrusting between the shields of their companions, driving the group of initiates back into a tight knot. Their ambushers bellowed battlecries; the initiates only panted, grunting with the strain of fighting for their lives. Within seconds they were bloodied; as Sandy shifted her sheild to deflect an axe-blow, a spearhead slid beneath her guard and tore along the inside of her arm, nearly skewering her through the armpit. Recoiling, she could feel the warm blood pooling inside her armor, dripping from her elbow.

Now let's have some Shzz'nit for balance!

>>6118240

Laughed big time. I like where this one is going.

>>6118654

It was then that she had heard Cazmar's distinctive voice from beneath the visored helm before her: "Filthy drow bitch!" She was flooded with fury, aches of her body momentarily forgotten. It was the oldest, most familiar, yet bitterest insult she had come to know. Her axe knocked a pikehead upwards, and she lunged forward beneath it, into the opening, seeing only Cazmar's armored form before her. Her first axe-blow rang against his sheild, deflected harmlessly, though the furious strength of the blow drove him a half-step back. She carried the swing through, turning it into a second strike meant to slip beneath that shield, exploiting her longer reach. But at that moment a guisarme slid past her own shield, its hook snagging beneath the rim as the wielder yanked back with great strength. Sandy was pulled off her balance, almost stumbling to a knee, her blow spoiled. From the corner of her eye she looked up and saw Cazmar's hammer above her, silhouetted agains the sky. It crashed down into her shoulder, a burst of pain as her paudron crumpled, driving jaggedly into the flesh beneath. The blow drove her to the ground, her shield arm immobile. Cazmar's shadow loomed over her; and still in the throes of her anger, she twisted, drawing her dagger from the back of her belt, intending to thrust it up into his unarmored, inner thigh. His boot stomped down on her good arm, pinning her down, his voice scornful. "Slippery as your black-heart kin, girl. But not quick enough."

>>6118669

Recalling the scene, Sandy was exasperated with her mistakes, her failure and humiliation. As Training-Master, Cazmar could dismiss her from the initiate's order with nothing but his own disapproving word. But the discipline of the initiates prevented her from speaking until spoken to.

"What did ye do wrong today, Sand?"

The nickname had started as a jest long ago: what was the weakest stone? Sand. It had stuck for so long, it had lost any sting. "I shouldna broken ranks, sir."

A brief snort, a plume of smoke puffing out from his nostrils. "Tha's one. Ye would've held longer with locked shields--yer shieldmates got taken apart, tryin' ta cover yer fool arse. But that's only th' obvious one. Yer mistake was losin' yer temper so easy in th' first place." His eyes finally looked up from the pipe, locking to hers across the campfire, flinty and unyeilding. "Ye always do. Yer easier t' goad than any proper dwarf."

He stressed 'proper' in a way to drive the point cruelly home. A fresh flare of ire led Sandy to hiss back, unthinkingly, "I'm a Stoutaxe! Not some-" She cut herself off, suddenly mortified at her own impertienence.

For once, speaking so blatantly out of turn did not bring instant punishment. As Cazmar let the silence stretch, Sandy realized how he was merely letting the point convey itself more thoroughly. He took another long puff, holding it before exhaling the acrid smoke upwards. "I've naught but respect fer Grilgan, girl; an if he takes it in his mind t' give his name t' whatever homely stray he likes, that's his business. Tha don't change what's in yer blood an bones, girl. Ye can't change that any more than ye can the length o' yer arm."

>>6118713

He paused, seeming to ponder before continuing. "Y'see, I know elves. Traveled with plenty, fought alongside some, been friend t' a few. Now, th' humans sometimes think o' elves as bein' patient or disciplined, on account o' elves takin' longer to do things than they can ever imagine. But just cause they might spend a decade sittin' round watchin' a tree grow, that ain't steadiness, or discipline. T' my mind, it's just flightiness and self-importance with lots o' time t' spare.

"But you ain't moon elf, girl, or any what walks th' surface. Yer blood's drow. And them...I can't say I ever known one longer than it took to splatter its brains 'cross the floor, but tha kind o' wickedness has t' have a hot-bloodedness all its own. Anger, ambition, greed, lust... we dwarves ain't ones t' talk often o' "passion," girl, but tha's what it is. An' oh yes, ye carry it." His jagged teeth showed in a broad, unpleasant grin. "I seen th' sort of dewy eyes you throw at tha human paladin."

>>6118732

Sandy felt the blood hot in her cheeks, thankful--as she so often had been--that she could not be seen to blush. "So, what are ye sayin'? I'm flawed? Evil?"

"Everything's flawed, girl--steel an' stone alike. The smoothest diamond is only keepin' its cracks inside, just waitin' for a hammer t' split em. It don't make ye evil. Not yet. But it's a part o' ye that yer gonna need t' know as well as ye know yer pappy's face. Like a warrior wi' a bad knee--it don't mean he cuts it off, it means he has t' learn what it can do, an fight around it, usin' it as best he can." Sandy said nothing, her mind a whirl. "If ye were trainin' ta be just another warrior, I'd pay it little mind, girl. I'd let ye take yer lumps and learn yer lessons that way. But it ain't th' clan and hold yer aimin t' fight fer. Ye'll be weildin' hammer an' shield in Moradin's name. If I let ye."

Finally he upended his pipe over the fire, tapping it, a small falling cloud of sparks tumbling into the greater flame. He got to his feet with a grunt, and a popping noise from his old knees. "Yer gonna be on light duty a week, lettin' that shoulder knit. Best spend th' time thinkin' about what I told ye."

Too much WORDSWORDSWORDS for /tg/, I guess. :(

>>6118773
I like it. Please, keep going.

>>6118299

PROCEED

>>6118816

THE MAN SAID PROCEED

...

FUCK I THINK THE WRITEFAG LEFT

>>6118883
THATS NO MAN!

>>6118883

That was the end of my story.

Dunno about dear-diary writefag.

>>6118907

Oh, well then I enjoyed it.

I'll just go back to raging about Smite Brannigan.

>>6118888
IT'S A MOON

>>6118936

To be fair, I like the idea of her meeting an ogre named Havy enough that I'm willing to overlook other people's blatant parody references.

WE MAKE GOOD TEAM!

I actually liked the training bit a little better, but I hate Zapp Brannigan, so I'm biased.

DEFINITELY need an ogre or half-orc barbarian working for a cleric nicknamed "Heavy."

"What was that, Sandvich? Kill them all? Good idea! Bwahahaha!"

>>6119123

OH GOD YES.

>>6119123
"The healing is not as rewarding as the hurting!"

I wanna find out if the original OP went with Sandwich as we dreamed her up or pussed out.

need an archive here!

>>6119123

>>6119123
Ideally, a Rashemi barbarian (if you're going with FR).

That wasy you can have all the goofy slavic fun you want.

>>6119123

"Paladin is credit to team!"

He needs a gigantic, ogre-sized, heavy repeating crossbow, which is really more of a repeating ballista.

It's relatively easy to picture the TF2 cast playing D&D. Scout is the cunt who plays a kender and screws over the team. Heavy is the guy who constantly wants to fight and who punches the BBEG mid-speech. Engineer plays artificer. Spy inevitably betrays every group always.

>>6119893

A Spy who actually knew how to play his class would be the brilliant Doppelganger Rogue who "died" a few fights before the climactic battle, but then three rounds in the BBEG's henchman suddenly turns around and knifes him in the kidney before shifting his appearance back to the murderous scoundrel the party knows and loves.

"I was never really on your side."

Soldier is a wizard who refuses to memorize any spells that don't do damage, preferably spells with a blast radius. If the others bitch at him for not picking more useful or applicable spells, he loudly accuses them of planning to stab him in the back. Spy is curiously silent on this matter.

>>6119286


Original OP here. I am actually following Sandwich as /tg/ dreamed her up. It's like having a hundred guys brainstorming one character concept and this character is probably one of the most fleshed out I have ever played. The only thing I'm changing is the name. I'm naming her Helydd.

Now, I just need to find a game to play her in. I have already played a female paladin in my friend's 3.5 game and I don't want to seem like I'm repeating myself. Besides, the two drow rogue/ranger brothers have given the original Aasimar paladin enough trouble, I shudder to think what they would do to Sandy.. I mean Helydd.

Also, some of Hely.. I mean Sandy's original backstory.

______

Weeks had passed since house Riylnrett had fled the citadel at Oryltlar. The Second House of Oryltlar had been a victim of it's own success, rising from the position of fifth house, the lowest in Oryltlar to second within the lifetime of one Matron Mother. Matron Micarvrae exemplified all the twisted virtues encouraged in all drow women, ruthlessness, cunning, cruelty, mercilessness, ambition. She had guided her house to within sight of seizing power and becoming the first house of Oryltlar. However, it is impossible to gain such power without making many enemies and house Riylnrett had made many enemies indeed. Learning that the entire city was against them, the house fled their citadel into the deep caverns.

While some of her daughters encouraged Micarvrae to seek another city where House Rilynrett could find sanctuary, she would have none of it. Matron Micarvrae was bound and determined that she would found her own city and would rule it herself. She more than once bragged that her new city would "eclipse Menozberranzan itself."

It was whispered in many circles that the Matron was mad, but none dare challenge her. There had been only one assassination attempt on this trip, and it had ended in failure. When the Matron discovered the culprit was her youngest daughter, she had the lass strung up between two stone pillars and disemboweled while the traveler's watched. From then on, no one dared challenge the Matron. They simply followed her from one cavern to the next as she sought the ideal place to build her new city.

While none dared say it in the presence of the Matron, things were looking bad. The caravan was exhausted, many of the lesser houses were near the breaking point, supplies were all but gone and now the Matron's youngest (formerly middle) daughter was giving birth.

>>6121798

Screams echoed through the vast cavern where the caravan had made camp as Erela pushed again. The young drow woman's features contorted in pain. The house physician kneeled between her open legs. Her sisters, both clerics were there as well, but rather than seeing to their younger sister's needs they stood by the Matron watching impassively. Such was the way of the dark elves.

"Just a few more pushes, my lady. It's almost there." Lady Erela answered with a squeal of pain as she pushed with all her might, with a wet squelching sound the child came free. Lady Erela collapsed back into the mat where she lay, panting. "Llolth smiles upon you, my lady. It's a girl." The physician held up the infant so her mother could examine her. "She's.....beautiful." Lady Erela said weakly. The physician cleaned off the infant before allowing the clerics the honor of tying off and cutting the umbilical chord. He wrapped the infant in fine cloth before handing her off to her mother. Elera beamed at her first born child. It was a girl, clearly the Spider Queen favored her, all her sister's firstborn had been boys. She cooed at the newborn. "She'll make a fine Priestess some day. Won't she, mother?"

"Perhaps." The Matron said as she gestured to her eldest daughter. "Bring the child here." Erela looked reluctant, she knew her sisters would be jealous and would do anything to take this honor away from her. Still, Erela dared not disobey her mother. Micarvrae, accepted the infant and held her up, examining her like a slaughterman might size up a prize winning cow. "She is not deformed or puny...." the Matron said before casting a meaningful glance at Erela. "But supplies are so terribly short. I'm not sure we will be able to keep this one." Erela glanced at her sisters and got only cruel sneers in return. She knew she had to act fast.

>>6122183


"Armsman!" Erela bellowed. The tent flap was pulled back and a tall, handsome drow male entered the tent bowing immediately. "You summoned me, Lady Erela." He said, expectantly. "Go to one of the other tents, find a male child and kill it."

"Yes, Lady Erela." The Armsman replied, without a moment's hesitation he bowed again before leaving the tent. Erela glanced back at her mother, who beamed her approval. Erela was ambitious and ruthless she would go far. A mother's anguished cry in the distance indicated that the Armsman had found his target.