This is a type of post I’ll do occasionally in which I discuss characters I’ve created. I’ve had fun coming up with backstories and translating them into game mechanics, so I thought others may be interested to read them. Each of these will have two parts: the first is the backstory and the second is the actual way I created the character.
Here we go:
Randulf Cardr was the youngest of five sons of Elstran Cardr, a lesser noble of Baldur’s Gate. There is little for even the eldest son of a lesser noble to do in that city, let alone the youngest, and Randulf soon lost interest in his obligatory military training. So, of course, Randulf occupied his time with the pursuits of the idle rich; drunken revelry, dangerous pursuits and the occult. After nights out on the town, Randulf and his friends—also bored noble youth—would stay up late in the night, collecting information and discussing dark, forgotten secrets.
These pursuits led them to the study of the Great Old Ones, powerful beings dwelling beyond the bounds of time and space. Randulf and his friends collected any information they could find—ritualistic materials from cults dedicated to these beings, ancient blasphemous texts, and even hints of their worship in Baldur’s Gate. During an exploration in the Undercity for rumored evidence of Great Old One worship, Randulf stumbled upon a makeshift shrine in an old, crumbling temple. Much of the material in the shrine was worthless or ruined, but he did find a notebook full of mad scribblings. Taking it back with him to the surface, Randulf and his friends discovered it contained a madman’s notes on his search for Zargon, one of the Great Old Ones, and rituals he believed would put a mortal in touch with the dangerous being.
On All Hallows’ Eve, Randulf and his friends gathered in the basement of one of his father’s warehouses, dressed in black robes (there was no indication this is what Zargon prefers, but they thought it looked neat) and conducted the ritual. As it completed, they were shocked to find it worked. A hole opened in the air, a sickly yellow light flooded out along with a booming, devastating voice. All of Randulf’s friends were driven mad, nearly comatose with their horror. For some reason—maybe because he discovered the ritual, maybe because he was slightly smarter and stronger than his friends—Randulf was spared. But Zargon did bind Randulf permanently to him, making him an unwitting servant of the great tyrant.
When his father’s guards stormed in, worried the noise and screaming indicated a riot or fight in the warehouse, they found Randulf wandering around dazed in a now-sickly grey robe and his friends on the ground. His father moved to silence any news of this event, as did the families of the other youths, as they hoped to avoid bringing shame on their houses. Randuf was now the shameful youngest son of a minor Baldur’s Gate noble, and faced even bleaker prospects for a fulfilling life.
But something else had changed. Randulf found himself inexplicably producing magical effects—hearing the thoughts of those around him, blowing open doors with an eldritch force from his hands, imposing hallucinatory sights and noises affecting others. Returning to his studies, he realized his bond with Zargon allowed him to tap into that being’s endless power. With practice he was able to craft more powerful effects, creating illusory images of himself that followed him around and even summoning an apparently real weapon that he could change at will. But this came at a price, as whenever he tapped into Zargon’s power he also made contact with the Great Old One, resulting in lingering effects—the temperature would suddenly drop, mad laughter or threatening whispers would manifest themselves. These images, and the fear of their occurrence, gnawed at Randulf till he often muttered to himself or listened wide-eyed for phantom noises.
His father, ever charitable, attempted to help Randulf. He arranged for a priest of Lathander to meet with the young man. Randulf found solace in the Morning Lord’s teachings, and even began to pray to him, but this only accentuated the constant darkness following him and the growing guilt he felt at what happened to his friends.
Randulf soon decided he needed to leave Baldur’s Gate, to hopefully escape his demons and redeem himself. He wandered throughout the Sword Coast, helping villagers threatened by ruffians or merchants waylaid by bandits. He perfected the power he could draw from Zargon—he sculpted the eldritch force into powerful bolts of energy capable of felling enemies, he twisted his breath into whispers that drove his target mad. But he still felt restless and guilty, unable to find his place in the world.
That changed one day when Randulf was travelling through a forest near Neverwinter. He came upon two travelers who had been set upon by a group of hobgoblin bandits. Drawing on his ever-growing power, Randulf came to their aid. He summoned the illusory multiple copies of himself to distract the hobgoblins’ blows and made one of the bandits run, screaming in pain, from a spell. He summoned a wicked-looking trident, fired a few blasts of his eldritch force, and charged. The hobgoblins were soon dispersed.
The grateful travelers turned out to be Harpers, members of that secretive organization dedicated to defending the innocent and fighting tyranny throughout the Sword Coast. They were impressed by his selflessness and power, and offered him a position with their organization. Randulf, wandering and lost for so long, had finally found where he belonged. But deep in the back of his mind were mad whispers and haunting laughter, constant reminders that the price of drawing on Zargon’s power is often madness.