Category: Steal this Background

Dayereth Eveningstar is an Eladrin male in his early forties (42 years old). He has pale golden hair and pupiless green eyes with flecks of gold that catch the light in an enchanting manner. He is nearly 6 feet tall and weighs 170 lbs. For an Eladrin, he is broad-chested and bulging with muscle. He is well-toned and in shape, and spends a lot of his free time exercising and reading (a minimum of 3 hours a day).

Dayereth has lived in Cornerstone for much of his life. His mother, Mairya Eveningstar was sent by the Feydari Council of Elders to be a Watcher in the Seven Bridges Valley. As a Watcher, she was to be vigilant for threats to the Eladrin city of Cael Morynaris. Cael Morynaris rests entirely in the Feywild, but is otherwise located in the Seven Bridges Valley. Dayereth’s father, Haderai Quinlonest, is a respected wizard and adviser to the Feydari. He spends his time in the Eladrin city of Cael Morynaris and has little interest in the mortal realm, aside from a perceived threat to the Eladrin way of life. His marriage to Mairya is a typical arranged marriage, a practice not uncommon to the Eladrin.

Mairya quickly grew to respect the younger mortal races and their constant struggle against the tide of darkness that they were only dimly aware of. Thanks to her work in the city of Cornerstone and her love of the community, she is a member of the Cornerstone Council. She uses her position both to benefit her original duty and to work tirelessly on various public works projects. She has passed on her sense of civic duty and responsibility to her son. She is a busy woman who spends very little time and effort pursuing her own happiness.

Haderai spends a lot of time traveling the planes at the behest of the Feydari.  Mairya would not allow her son to grow up in this dangerous pursuit and brought Dayereth with her. Growing up with her example, when Dayereth came of age, he chose to stay in Cornerstone and serve the community rather than return to Cael Morynaris and study with his father. This created a rift between son and father that has never healed.

Dayereth grew up reading in the library and working around the community, apprenticing to a blacksmith one month, a fletcher the next, helping gather food and firewood and working for the money exchanger, Garm Erikson. Garm was a retired Valley Warden who sometimes helped the Sentinels train. Watching the guards train reminded Dayereth of his brother. He vowed to become one of the Cornerstone Sentinels and became more interested in his mother’s pet projects. Specifically, how they would help brighten and defend this growing point of light.

Dayereth joined the guard as soon as he was able and quickly rose to join the Sentinels.  He became fast friends with a fellow sentinel Valen Mair. The two constantly challenged each other to improve and excel. Valen became a sergeant first, Dayereth following at the age of 23 (19 years ago).

Around this time, one of Garm’s many business ventures came to fruition. He had been planning and organizing a group interested in re-settling the near-forgotten community of Shadowdale. The village had been settled in the past and some believed it to be cursed.  The last settlement happened in the year XXXX. No one knows what happened except that all of the villagers supposedly disappeared mysteriously one winter, never heard from or seen again. Even with this frightening old wives’ tale, Garm was able to interest several dozen families in joining the new effort. Although his “financial” services were vital to the community, he was able to leave that business in the hands of his longtime partner, Vennessio Von.

Garm approached Dayereth and asked him to come and help as the community would need someone to help keep order and to help defend the community while it grew. Dayereth saw this as a chance to distinguish himself and to help civilize the valley. Mairya tried to convince him not to go, there were some mysteries better left alone. She enlisted Valen’s aid in trying to change Dayereth’s mind. Valen tried to tell Dayereth that attending to the needs of Cornerstone was more important than a suicide quest for fame and glory. After a heated argument, they parted ways. Valen still has not forgiven Dayereth for abandoning the Sentinels and Cornerstone.

When they arrived in Shadowdale that spring, the new settlers found decrepit buildings, long since crumbled from disuse. An old teleportation circle was found in the town center, a large crack running through the stone it was etched in. The sigils that were carved in to the stone contained an inlaid purple metal that Dayereth had never seen before. As they explored the settlement, they found no signs of battle or struggle. It was as though the former inhabitants decided to drop whatever they were in the process of doing and walk out of town.

The new townsfolk busied themselves with collecting materials and repairing what structures they could. That summer, they began constructing a new town hall/jail and a market center.  Later that fall, kobolds attacked. Dayereth was able to rally some locals and repel the “invasion” (it was a raiding party of 5 starving kobolds). Garm sent word back to the Assembly of Advisors and petitioned for them to accept Dayereth as an Initiate. They accepted, and he was invited to the next initiation ceremony to be held on the solstice…

When the Solstice arrived, Garm took Dayereth back to Cornerstone. As Dayereth’s sponsor, it was expected that Garm would be there to speak on his behalf. The ceremony went much as ceremonies do, and much celebration there was. Garm and Dayereth returned to Shadowdale.

They approached town as dusk fell. No hails from any guards, no lights/fires seen through windows; the town was eerily silent. They reached Garm’s house and went inside. There was no sound from his wife or two kids, and a smoky, charcoal smell filled the air. They entered the kitchen to an odd sight; the table was set for five as on any night when Dayereth dined with Garm’s family.  The spices and condiments were out on the table and over the cooking hearth was a pot that clearly had been cooking a roast.  The water was all gone and wisps of smoke were still rising from the charred meat. The two men gathered their weapons and searched through the town. Not a soul, or body, was found. There was no sign of attack or struggle. Like the ghost stories, it was as though the whole town just decided to leave.

Garm broke down and starting running through the village, screaming for his family, hollering each name: “Belissa!! Marek!! Holly!!!”  Dayereth was concerned that if there was some evil present, it would hear Garm and hunt him down.  He tried to quiet the man who had been a mentor, almost a father to him.  Garm just became more hysterical, to the point where Dayereth had to knock him out for his own safety.  Dayereth dragged him to the watch tower and hid there, vigilant through the night for any sign of the townsfolk or intruders. He saw nothing.

When morning broke, Garm woke up and realized where he was.  He raced down the tower and to his house.  Dayereth followed him, tired from his lack of trance and for some reason unable to access the Feywild, which would have allowed him to catch up to his crazed friend. As he reached the house, Garm stumbled out sobbing, “This is your fault, Dayereth!!  If I’d been here instead of babysitting you, I could have done something!!”

“You can’t mean that!  If you had stayed, you would be gone, too. Can’t you see that?”

“You kept me from my family when they needed me!  You were supposed to protect this town, Sergeant!  And you kept me from finding them last night!  You’re a curse I wish I was never saddled with!” Garm ran into the forest calling his family’s names.  Dayereth has never seen him, but has recently heard tales of a crazy old hermit, about Garm’s age, that periodically visits the towns of the Valley…

Dayereth returned to Cornerstone, determined to solve the mystery of Shadowdale and try to bring resolution to his ailing friend. He has spent the 18 years since in search of answers, which has brought him to the attention of Quinn Thorlin, the Assembly’s Librarian.  Quinn has watched Dayereth continue to grow and has taken him under his wing.  He has helped the young Eladrin explore the Assembly’s library and introduced him to the worship of Ioun, goddess of knowledge, skill, and prophecy. In addition to his personal quest for understanding, he has served as a tactical advisor to the Assembly and the Cornerstone Guard.

With what Dayereth has learned, he knows that he needs to gain in skill, knowledge and wisdom if he hopes to solve the mystery of Shadowdale. Not only that, he will also need to assemble a capable team that will help him discover the answers he seeks.  It is to this end that he has agreed to take on the mantle of Shepherd and guide some of this year’s Initiates on their adventures.

“Kartak, please close the windows, I’m freezing…” the elven woman wheezed to the half-orc sitting by her side as she bunched the blankets tighter about her face. A slight watering of her delicate green eyes betrayed her discomfort to the half-orc who knew her better than any other, including her long-lived clan members.  He looked at the windows, already knowing them to be shut tight against the summer heat.  The tusks that jutted from his lips turned upward as he gently smiled down at the woman he cared for so much.

“I’ll see to it.” The man she called Kartak rose from the bed and grabbed a wand from the dresser top. He waved it gently over her while he sang (in elven) an old song he knew the Valenar woman was fond of:

• In days long gone, our fathers came
• And made this land their own.
• With the Dhakanni chiefs, they lived in peace,
• Until trade turned to war.

 

• Through the years, our warriors blood
• Was spilled upon the land.
• The Dhakanni horde poured to the shore
• And drove our warriors home.

 

• And then some time until mankind
• Won it from our foes;
• The Dhakanni blood dried and died;
• Mankind laid their claim.

 

• Through the years, man did spread,
• And settled all the land
• But like us, their blood did boil
• And their tribes went to war.

 

• Back and forth, forth and back
• Allies changed and changed
• Cyrans feared other men and
• Looked to us for aid.

 

• Our warriors came and sold their skills
• Pure Cyran gold was earned.
• Our warriors fought across the land,
• And their souls remembered…

 

• This land was ours ‘fore any man
• Stood upon the sand.
• But Cyran men, stood in the way
• Of our ancestral claim

 

• Until the day our king did say,
• ‘This is our land and it has been
• Bought and paid with blood,
• Bought and paid… with blood’

While he sang, the tip of his wand glowed warmly with a soft red light. Her grip on the blanket relaxed and her breathing slowed as he eased the symptoms of her slow gradual poisoning. “There you go, Tarkita. Is that better, my love?”

“Of course, Kartak. My family never understood our bond.  If only they had been more patient… they might have seen the same brave, beautiful soul I always knew lie hidden in you.” Her eyes began to darken as her breathing began to shallow.  “It is time my warrior-poet.  I go to join my ancestors.  I hope I have brought them honor…”

“If not, you have shown it to me.  I will always remember your courage in the face of battles.  Think on your battle with the harpies so that that be fresh in the memory of Limel, your grandmother.  It is your ferocity that makes Berre Stonefist, Captain of Bones sleep uneasy during the night. I will sing your song so your deeds are known and all will know of the enchanting dewdrops you call your eyes.  Rest easy so that I may enjoy your beauty and allow it to become a part of me so I may remember you forever…”

Tarkita’s breathing slowed even more, until it came to a rattling halt.  The closed lids of her eyes kept her from seeing the features on her lover’s half-orc face melt and shift.  The brown eyes gradually lightened to a dark hazel and then subtly more until they were the same chartreuse hue as those of the dying elven woman.  They had become the same almond shape.  The large stony cheekbones of the half-orc had melted away and now matched the delicate curved arches on her lithe face.

He looked down at her fingertips that had always been strong, yet knew how to trace pleasure across his neck.  He held his hand close to hers and watched as it began to shrink, The skin color changing to match her perfect olive complexion. Something was not right.  Oh, of course.  The delicate mole inside the web of her right hand sprang forth upon his, the latter perfectly matching the former.

Crossing the small bedroom, he gazed upon himself in the mirror.  Tarkita’s strong, yet utterly feminine gaze looked back.  He watched, focusing on the eyes and cheekbones as he placed his right hand upon the mirror.  Staring into her eyes, he allowed all her features (save her perfect cheekbones, and of course the mole) to melt away to the formless stark white features that were his true face.

He uttered the litany spoken many times before.  Although it had become rote, it was no less important, no less meaningful for his latest kill. “Forgive me Tarkita, it had to be done.  If not by me, then by some other, who would never honor your memory as I will. All that is unique and special of you will live on in me. May the lessons you taught me allow me to reach my goal and serve us all.”

He made one last pass of the room ensuring no artifact remained.  Looking under the bed, he found no lost sock, no stray vial of the poison that in doses through the weeks brought her life to a close.  As he circled the room, he crumbled the token that allowed his words to be carried on the wind. “My Queen, it is done.  I return to you for payment. I will wear Prospero.”

Nym allowed the magic to activate and deliver his message.  As he felt the threads of arcane unravel (signifying the end of this little ritual) he pulled out a scroll. Knowing that Kendall was ever seeking his spoor had made this investment necessary. It was a small boon given him by a previous employer that would hide his involvement from arcane eyes.  Of course the slow-acting poison (made from the finely ground talileth root found only in Xen’drik) was undetectable to most methods the Watch had at their disposal. Even the agents of the Citadel were likely to overlook this poison known only to very few who had access to the lost knowledge held by the Umbragen.

It had cost Nym much to filch this secret from the clutches of the dark elves of Xendrik and more still to procure the root.  A small price to pay for the edge it had given him in his chosen profession.  Secrets want to be found; the living work hard to hide them. Often, the warm embrace of death allows fists to unclench and lips to part, revealing a bit of lore that the dying want to share with a loved one or trusted compatriot.

Nym took a last look at the delicate elven features he still wore, allowing them to flare in his memory one last time.  He turned to the door.

As Tarkita’s door opened onto the bustling Highwater thoroughfare, The Stupendous Salazar – the master illusionist, stepped into the sunlight. His brown eyes squinted against the bright rays of the afternoon sun as they shone on his human face.  He whistled a jaunty tune as he flagged down a passing skycab, eager to meet his employer and obtain his reward.  As he lifted his right hand to shield his eyes from the sun, the persistent mole in the web between his thumb and index finger caught his gaze.

“Tarkita, may you always remind me of your undying spirit,” he muttered as he gently shook his hand at his side.  He looked again at the now empty web and opened the door to the cab.

Artwork by Robert Stenberg.

Physical Description: Marit Proxis is a thin, but fit man with dark hair, flecked with gray. He wears a full beard, with a full head of hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Background: After spending 20 years as a prospector for the Radell Mining Corporation (RMC), Marit set out on his own and established himself as a freelancer, prospecting for RMC and other, smaller firms around the sector.  When the Empire restored its claim to the sector following the Clone Wars, they increasingly pressed local contractors such as Marit and his crew into service, scouting new ore locations for the construction of new bases.  Now, word has reached Marit of plans to expand its presence into the rest of the sector, leaving Marit with decisions to make.

 Personality: Marit is genuinely kind and caring, both toward his family and his community.  He is well thought of and looked up to by his community in Paran, and has many friends in business and both the local and planetary governments, as well as the various mining authorities in the sector.

Objectives: See that his family and friends are looked after and provided for.

A Quote: “Right is Right.”

Thorn and Whisper are Razorclaw shifter twins from the Tiger clan, which lives in the foothills west of Wolf’s Paw.  If in Eberron, this is in the Eldeen Reaches, otherwise anyplace else you like.

Thorn is one of the tribe’s hunters (a barbarian) who has always concerned himself with proving his worth as a warrior by feeding his tribe and winning every game of sportsmanship his tribe cares for.  When hunting his prey, he relies on his claws and natural cunning, while giving himself over to his primal bloodrage.  When fighting against marauders for the safety of his village, he wields his warpick; a two-handed weapon with a heavy head, one side blunted for crushing blows, the other pointed for piercing through the best of armors.

Whisper is quiet and introspective, keeping to herself and doing the tasks the tribe requires of her.  But when she is not working with her deft fingers (rogue or assassin), where is it that she sneaks off to?  It can’t be to the forbidden ruins rumored to harbor fey spirits; the ones that contain relics and mementos of a bygone goblinoid culture?  Between the rumors of malicious fey creatures and deadly traps of ancient and mysterious design, if Whisper was retrieving her trinkets from there, she would need some very impressive skills…

One day, when a scared teenaged human girl and her protector, a warforged follower of something he calls “the Spark” come to their little village, Grandfather Larm tells the twins that their destiny lies outside the village and he sends them off to help the newcomers.

Development: By the time their travels take them to Sharn, Thorn has developed a healthy test for extreme sports with boots that enhance his natural athletic abilities to leap over wide chasms and up to out-of-reach ledges, and soarsleds for flying through the City of Towers.  Whisper has honed her skills to be able to enter any location, open any lock, and escape from any threat. Together they are nigh-unstoppable.

The night-sky was overcast, with lightning striking the surrounding hills. The elves of the White Owls had closed their village gate and pulled up their rope-ladders. There was no rain that night, but the thunder was still enough to keep most inside.

After the thundering storm died down, Mother Pearl stepped out of her tree hut to breathe in some fresh air and listen to the wisdom of the wind. Instead, she was greeted by a newborn, wrapped snugly at her door. Mother Pearl realized this baby did not cry once while outside in the thunderstorm. She also realized that this baby did not belong to anyone in the village. Someone must have snuck into the village to abandon him.

Of course, the baby was adopted by the village, and given the name of Thunder. As the years counted on, Thunder was passed around as a foster child, never once settling with one family for more than a season. As a child, this began to wear on him, and he began causing trouble (as only a child can). With no real parents or family, he started to feel contempt for those in the village, since he felt that he would always be alone.

By the time that he could build his own tree hut, he did. With that, he began referring to himself as Plear, wishing to leave the name of Thunder behind. Most in the village assumed he was just trying to find an identity for himself. In reality, he wished to forget his upbringing, only looking toward the future.

The older he got, the more he avoided the other villagers. He took several trips away from the White Owls, and soon his trips took hem farther and farther. He was searching for his parents, looking for an identity, or looking for direction and purpose, but mostly just to get away from the village. He felt claustrophobic there. With few friends to come back to, Plear simply came back less and less.

If he ever came close to having a friend in the village, it was Mother Pearl. She didn’t try to befriend him – or push him away. She left him alone when he wanted, answered his questions with honesty, and rarely asked questions herself. He appreciated that.

During one of his treks he was ambushed by a small pack of orcs – orcs of the Iron Fang. Immediately, he noticed the leader carrying an intricate bow. Being something of an archer himself, Plear could clearly and immediately see that it was special. He had to have it. This bow did not belong to the claws of a filthy orc. Without thinking, he offered to sneak the pack of orcs into his village in exchange for the bow. Skog (the leader with the bow) agreed, and they sent off so as to increase their numbers.

Plear came through as he promised, unlocking the gates during nightfall, and then hiding in the bush. The village was overrun, and most of the villagers were rounded up for slavery. Plear had no trouble justifying his actions. Afterall, he didn’t owe the White Owls anything.

After the raid, Plear and Skog met for the exchange. Interestingly enough, Skog went to the meeting alone, and easily handed off the bow to Plear. The weapon was actually a Thunderburst bow, so when Skog (in his broken common) mentioned the word “thunder,” Plear thought the orc was referring to the bow. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that that he realized the orc actually said, “Here Thunder, take your bow.” Plear never told the dirty orc that his childhood name was Thunder.

Disturbed by this, Plear went back to the razed village, gathered up some supplies, and set off to find Skog. Even though he now held the weapon that felt like home in his hands, he couldn’t help feeling that he was somehow part of something bigger, for good or ill. Whether he finds Skog, whether he atones for his crime against the village, whether he finds out what his real destiny is, depends on you…

“Benedict!” Redhawk barked out the name, and the soldier turned immediately. “Fly up there and scout the area. I want recon.”

“Yes sir!” replied the grunt as wings began to sprout from his back. With a leap, he was airborn, and gone.

The voice of command, it is said, can move mountains. That has never been more true than in the case of Lieutenant Colonel Roswell Peterson – codenamed Redhawk. His force of command is such that anyone who is willing to follow his orders gains the ability to carry out the task at hand. If he tells you to smash a tank, you gain tremendous strength. If he tells you to shoot down a missile , you will be able to fire energy blasts from your wrists. If he tells you to walk through walls, by the Gods, you will do it. The abilities last around 20 minutes, but that’s more than enough to carry out the order. Heaven help you if it isn’t, for Redhawk does not expect failure.

Redhawk can bestow powers or enhanced abilities to himself too, but prefers to use his raw skills and tactical talents where possible. He’s neither a fool nor a coward, and if the situation demands his personal attention he’ll power up and be first on the front line.

He travels with his own cadre of 5 loyal soldiers known as Redhawk’s Harriers. Dressed in their distinctive red and black uniforms, they’re all ex-marines and well used to the transformations bestowed by Redhawk’s orders. Redhawk’s military contacts keep him busy feeding intel about possible metahuman hotspots and ensuring that they’re given a clear line of fire – after all, better to risk this band of mercenaries than the lives of good, solid regular troops and their expensive equipment.

Dirty little secret: How can Redhawk bend reality like this? How can he bestow superpowers with mere words? The answer is simple. Redhawk is a New God, though he’d laugh in your face if you suggested as much. He’s a slowly developing deity with the tiniest fraction of his future power. His word is will, made manifest.

Or, as Redhawk himself would say. “I tell my men to do something, and they do it. I expect nothing less.”

Notes: “Boost” is an awesome power in M&M, which allows the character to improve powers, abilities, skills or whatever – even if the recipient doesn’t possess those abilities in the first place. Redhawk can bestow Powers, Abilities or Skills, and the new or increased ability lasts for around 20 minutes. He can issue one order per round, and the recipient must be within 80′ and be able to hear the command. He can bestow one new Power, increased Ability or Skill ranks to himself too, but use Boost no more than once per round. In other words, in 6 rounds he and his team of Harriers could have 6 different super-powers and be primed for anything. Ouch.

Redhawk’s Harriers are 5 ex-marines loyal to his command. The roster is currently Benedict, Peppard, Schultz, Ashley and Tureaud, though there’s a waiting list of able bodies ready to fill their shoes.

They are each equiped with assault rifles, grenades, body armour and a standard issue red motorcycle. Redhawk requesitions additional military equipment if it’s required, but those times are extremely rare.

Their stats are as per the Soldier block on page 229 of the Mutants & Masterminds Core Rules with the addition of a Motorcycle. Because soldiers on red motorbikes is just cool.

 

This background is written for Rogue Trader, a far-future science-fiction roleplaying game from Fantasy Flight Games set in the Warhammer 40,000 setting. Rogue Traders (and their key crew members) are larger-than-life individuals who enjoy a much greater freedom and prosperity than the teeming masses of people living more pedestrian (and controlled) lives across the million worlds of the Imperium.

* * * * * * * * * *

Dominic Prospero brought no end of problems to his father, Arcturus, patriarch of a merchant family that once enjoyed more prosperous days. A smart child, Dominic learned all that his tutors taught, but always wanted to know more. This always seemed to take him in pursuit of forbidden knowledge. One tutor tried to temper this brashness of youth by having Dominic study his family’s history. Oops.

Dominic learned of the exploits of one of his ancestors, Angelo Prosperatus, a Rogue Trader. Angelo had tamed an entire sector of space, the Avernice sector, and established a closed-loop economy that had prospered over the generations. He also maintained an uneasy truce with the Eldar, an enigmatic alien race. Even though most of his followers would have gladly killed the aliens, Angelo was able to keep them in check. As he approached death, he knew none of his descendants were strong enough to carry on his legacy, so he nominated a governor and returned to the core of the Imperium and founded a line of nobility. Unfortunately, generations of descendants squandered their heritage and eventually lost their nobility through complicated political machinations.

Dominic’s tutor warned Arcturus of the young man’s interest in the Eldar. Not wanting to have the family accused of heresy, Arcturus paid off Dominic’s tutors and assigned him to Dominic’s older brother, Ricellius, heir-apparent of the Prospero Trading Combine. With Ricellius not knowing the full details of why Dominic came to him, it was easy for Dominic to convince Ricellius that he should send Dominic to the far-off Avernice sector to put as much distance between him and the family as possible.

Ricellius granted Dominic’s request and put him in charge of a merchant ship to head out to the Avernice sector. Captaining the “Star of Avernice” and armed with a forged Warrant of Trade (the Imperial document granting the recipient all of the rights and privileges available to a Rogue Trader), Dominic is off to seize his destiny.

.

Many times, we gamers will come up with nice detailed backgrounds for our personal PC’s that may or may not work with either the DM’s vision or the desires of the rest of the party. Sometimes coming up with a background for the party before finalizing characters can make some of the choices for roleplaying more intuitive, and allow for greater party cohesion. At the very least, it answers that question, “Why are these eclectic individuals with different goals adventuring together?” A better understanding of who the party is can help everyone better understand who the characters are.

This background is based on one I wrote for a party in the Warhammer Fantasy Roleplaying game. It’s been edited to be more accessible for a wide-variety of games, including fantasy, modern, horror or even some futuristic settings.  Please steal this, edit it, do what you want with it, and have fun. Let us know your thoughts on party identity.

Party on the Run

The PC’s at one point were all involved with a man by the name of Tarkus Rex. He was a natural-born leader who inspired fierce loyalty in the men under his command. One day he was given an order to destroy a small village for alleged heretical corruption. Rex believed the danger was exaggerated and saw no sign of these charges. He refused his orders and was declared a traitor, punishable by death. Such was Tarkus’ popularity, military distinctions, personal charisma and connections that he avoided this fate and was dishonorably discharged instead.

Forced into the civilian life, Tarkus turned his personal wealth into the beginnings of a network of businesses and contacts that would soon rival those of the wealthiest mercantile families. Tarkus was realizing great success, even though the wealthy elite of the city made business hard because of his dishonorable status. Noting this, he allowed his interests to spread to illegal activities. He quickly opened a slew of dicing parlors, whorehouses and other dens of illicit vices. Somewhat ironically, some of the services offered were so expensive and elite that the only clients (and there were many) were part of those wealthy few who would tarnish his name.

Tarkus’ network evolved into a criminal syndicate known as Tarkus’ Trust, so named because he surrounded himself with people whose trust he earned and, who in turn, were trusted by him. Included were former soldiers from his command, criminals of varied talents, and his support staff, such as a butler, driver, personal physician, etc. This last group (from which the player characters hail) were his most trusted and served dual roles, that of their surface profession and that of spy/informant/confidant/crime planners, etc., the brains not just brawn of his syndicate (although nothing stops a player from being one of his trusted former soldiers, either). Tarkus also maintained partnership in many legitimate businesses to account for his wealth and standing in high-society.

At last, the opportunity came for Tarkus to make a fool of one of his loudest detractors, Judge Magister Karl Strond. Strond was throwing a party for his daughter’s coming-of-age and many were the wealthy suitors in attendance. Tarkus had planned a caper that would involve stealing the dowry set aside for her nuptials and planting (actually legitimate) evidence of the Judge’s peculiar tastes. Pivotal to the plan was Strond’s wife, Judgess Vanessa who Tarkanian had turned (with the help of the damning evidence) and subsequently seduced (or so he thought…)

Vanessa’s role was to provide Tarkus access to the family vaults where the evidence could be left and the Judge’s wealth obtained, two crimes in one. Tarkus unwittingly walked right into her trap. Unbeknownst to him, Vanessa was the leader of a diabolical cult that was close to being uncovered by The Church. She needed patsies, and that’s where you come in…

Long story short, Vanessa’s cult murdered her daughter, killed Tarkus (a very public figure), and implicated you and your friends. Now, (1) the authorities (civil and religious) believe that you are a group of  murdering cultists, (2) a powerful and wealthy Judge has an extremely personal grudge against you, and (3) a criminal syndicate (that is falling apart and resenting it) blames you for murdering their beloved leader, bringing to life the phrase, “There’s no honor among thieves.”

Putting your past behind you, you have faked your deaths and fled the only city you ever lived in for a hard life on the run. Good luck, it’s a tough world in the backwoods of the empire where there is not always the benevolence and glory of the Church to keep the evil at bay…

Quetsen Sisten, like most hunter Ferrenai, clings to the traditions of old.  He makes his own clothing, his own weapons, and hunts for his his own meals.  Even though he is a slave that has risen to the status of Head Trustee, he still prefers to be waited on by no one.  Though he is a grateful, humble slave, he is still a hunter at heart.

Several times almost run over by competing farmers, the Stern Marsh has endured many setbacks.  With so few slaves remaining, and only a third of the original land still protected, the Stern Marsh has had to go from being a passive farming business, to an aggressive opportunist.

During the early days, when the Marsh Wars first began, the Stern Marsh was prosperous, but not well protected.  For competing farms, the Stern was ripe for the picking.  With its slave numbers dwindling (from either being killed or captured), and the lands being gobbled up by neighboring farms, it appeared that the Stern would vanish.  Yet, out of the chaos rose a hard-working slave-boy, Quetsen Sisten.

Quetsen Sisten was born unto the Stern Marsh, and that is all he has ever known.  Seeing so many family and friends killed or captured has erupted in him a savage beast.  As a boy, he made his first weapon and began to fight.  Steadily, he led the slaves through battle after battle in defense of his master’s marsh.  His master took notice, and quickly rose Quetsen to the status of trustee, then Head Trustee.  Now, with control over the other trustees and their slaves, the Stern Marsh has fortified its land and repelled all forthcoming attacks.  Neighboring marshes no longer attack the Stern, and his master could not be prouder.

As a slave, Quetsen can not attain a higher position than that of Head Trustee.  Everyone in his marsh knows him on sight, and respects his position.  Even if he could be granted ownership over his own body, he would prefer not to, as the perks and status in the Stern are too great.

When his master’s son left abruptly on a trade ship, Quetsen was tasked to find him, protect him, and bring him back home if possible.  Quetsen was hesitant with this request at first, as he was not comfortable leaving the Stern Marsh, his home.  However, wanting to serve his master faithfully, he agreed.  After saying goodbye, he left the Stern Marsh on the next scheduled  trade ship.

He’s pretty sure that he will not like what life is like outside of the marshlands, but plans on making the best of it.  He is loyal to his master, and is glad to serve him.  No other slave or trustee of the Stern has been granted permission to leave the Stern for such an extended length of time, so he appreciates the honor, and his quest.

This character background was created for a Star Wars campaign, though it should work in fantasy as well.  As a PC, Quetsen could be forever looking for his master’s son, taking on whatever adventure moved him closer to that end.  Or, another player could be the master’s son, who refuses to go back home (leaving Quetsen to be his bodyguard).  As a Star Wars character, Quetsen prefers to use only weapons that marsh slaves are allowed to carry (melee weapons) – to use anything else would defy his slave status.

As the heir to the Boanerges family fortune, James had it all – the mansions, the cars, the wealth – basically the playboy lifestyle. Though, when the Syndicate moved in, his life came crashing down. For reasons he still does not understand, they crushed his business interests through extortion, hostile take-overs, and direct attacks until all that remained was a small R&D tech firm on a remote hill.

It was there that James finally decided to take a stand. With the help of the remaining staff, he created a red power suit and an artificially intelligent, indestructible blade to go with it.  What he needs now is help from some heroes, and practical experience. This is going to take awhile……

Things to find out: Why are the Syndicate so determined to destroy the  Boanerges family name and all they own? Is there a link between them and some other superheroes? And does his newly created, AI sword know more than it is letting on?

By the way: My Iron Man is better than your Iron Man because my Iron Man’s got a sword. So take that.

For Mutants & Masterminds, the sword has been added as a Sidekick, instead of a Device.  This makes it completely autonomous.  Simply build it with INT 30, no STR, DEX or CON.  Add a Strike Power, Usable by Others, and you’re finished.