Hello sirs, madams, ladies, lords, and any others of any title or peerage who may come across this.
I would love to write stories based on requests made by any of you, my good fellows.
As such, please feel free to give any ideas, and no matter how absurd, I shall do my best to spin a tale.
P. S. I am a bard. I can spin tales if you give me heads, and turn taverns on their heads. Of course I can write a simple story to amuse you all.
Could you be able to maybe elaborate on a pre-existing character’s backstory? I’m interested in seeing what direction you’d take it in. If yes, I can send the backstory and the part I’m interested in your iteration upon.
Yes, that is well within my abilities. This sounds an interesting commission, good Sir @paisleypug
He’s an Astral Self(basically has the ability to summon more and more ethereal body parts, starts out with arms, then face, then body, then the whole thing.) Monk who had to get most of his body replaced with mechanical parts after being gravely injured. The injury also left his body unable to handle his power, requiring that magical bindings be placed on him, restricting him from using his Astral Self abilities. The appearance of the Astral Self would be essentially him rebuilding his own flesh. Summoning the parts of the Astral Self would look like bones, muscles and flesh all rising from the ground and forming into their respective parts. The Astral Self would have it’s nerves and muscles fully exposed, due to him desiring to once again feel all the sensations of being human (pain, warmth, cold, touch, etc.) but at a much more extreme level, as the form is temporary.
His appearance would be very similar to the character Mayuri Korutsuchi from Bleach, I think he’s a great inspiration because he looks both recognizably somewhat human and also very inhuman at once, the DnD fella would be visibly recognizable as once being human, but obviously no longer really being one. He could have an internal conflict about both feeling like his past self and present self are 2 separate people, and also attempting to let go of his past and start a new life in this new body.
Here’s some pictures of the inspiration for his appearance.
I’m interested in how you think he was gravely injured, who did it, and the motivation behind the attack on him. I’m also interested in what you think of his character backstory and my ideas for his appearance. Keep in mind that the injury left his body in a state where he was no longer able to utilize his previous magical abilities.
I see that ye have created a topic for fulfilling your duty as a bard. nice job my good man. (why am I so formal all of a sudden?)
Make a story of a guy who dies. Then dies again. Then actually lives. Then dies.
How tragic. I will see what I can do for him.
I appreciate your speech. 
I see! Very interesting. I shall get to work!
I think that his story is interesting, although I wondered if this character had a name?
His appearance is also something that will be fun to write about.
very good to see that you are back on the forums of flowlab.
@paisleypug
Here is a potential story. I wonder what you think of it?
Initially, I was a little uncertain as to what, exactly, your character was, so I did some research and the story finally evolved into this:
Stumbling through the snow, Huben knew that he had to continue, and could not stop. If he at any point slowed or faltered, all would be lost, and he would no longer be able to continue his mission.
Huben heard the howls of mirth and the pounding of running feet that indicated the arrival of the Drow. Oh, how he hated the Underdark.
His only hope was to reach the exit, the sunlight, before the Drow caught him, if he could.
A voice echoed through the dank, dark tunnel, reaching Huben as he fought to continue on. “You cannot escape! Do you really think that you could return, unscathed, from this place? You are in the power of our goddess now."
Gritting his teeth, Huben listened and nearly collapsed with the anxiety pressing around him, as if he could feel the Underdark’s displeasure. He considered his powers. He had truly considered trying again, but…
He glanced at his side, his hands, his feet, injured almost beyond recognition. The only reason he was still alive was because of his Astral legs, and the power from the orb hidden in his basket, sustaining his semi-Astral form.
If he tried to do any more, he was sure that he would pass out from exertion.
He continued on, the pain sending tremors down his spine, across his arms, his legs which were barely there.
Why, oh why, had he decided to retrieve the orb from the Underdark, of all places? What he had been promised now seemed far too little for what he now endured.
The howls suddenly halted, leaving an eerie silence.
Apprehensively, Huben listened, trying to figure out what had silenced the Drow.
And then he heard it.
The rustling of many legs.
“And so, that is how I became like this,” Huben concluded, resting his metallic hands on his knees as he peered at the apprenticed fighting monks before him.
One had fallen asleep at the beginning of the story, where he explained the lore of the orb, and one had fainted as he wove the tale of the Underdark and described the lore.
“But, sir! Why can we not use the orb to heal you? Then, you could reclaim your Astral Self, and again train us in that art of fighting.”
Huben stared down at the eager youngster, a worried frown creasing his features. This one, he was certain, would end up like him. He reminded Huben too much of himself. With a sigh, the Monk got to his feet, his metal legs clanking softly on the floorboards, even with the mufflers recently added to prevent such noise.
“Young man. The orb holds the power of the Underdark,” Huben exclaimed, his eyes narrowed. He wanted this boy to understand the gravity of his words, although he knew that his expression may be frightening the more delicate recruits. “Simply drawing on its power to escape and keep my Astral Self intact left both my powers and my body nearly dead. We of the good Monks are not meant to use it.”
A silence pervaded the chamber as 7 sets of wide eyes examined his face, most likely, Huben grouched, searching for any sign that he was joking.
The sleeping apprentice here saw fit to yawn, causing the stunned gazes of the youngsters to turn to him.
After a moment, one of them giggled hesitantly, sending the entire company into a fit of laughter. One by one, they got up, paid their respects to Huben, and left.
The Monk sighed, staring down at himself. He wished, with all his heart, that he could go back and undo his mistakes. But for now, he would protect that orb with the rest of his mostly mechanized life.
Hello Dear Sir @CorruptedSword.
I dislike too much tragedy, and as such give you a short, but somewhat sad, comedy. I hope that you find it amusing.
Unfortunates will forever be unfortunates. It seems that once they have had a taste of what life would be like without all their misfortunes, it is taken away.
Unfortunately, so goes the story of Tris.
“What is it this time?” the irritated Valkyrie muttered, watching as Tris fidgeted where he stoos before her.
“W-well, you see… I did die in battle this time. I swear it, on all… oh…” Tris stared at his stump of an arm, his hand nowhere in sight. Hastily, he tucked it under the folds of his cloak, which, unfortunately did little to hide it. His spirit form left many things sheer.
The Valkyrie eyed Tris in a way that implied her immense dislike of him.
Striving to recover his composure, Tris smiled uncomfortably with what was left of his teeth. “I… er, well, swear on all my ancestors, is what I meant to say. Not, you know, fingers, or… or hands, because… who has time for-”
“We have booked you a ship to your next life. Please, try not to come back. Do not, under any circumstance, lose your sword in battle,” the Valkyrie interrupted, her voice cold as she handed Tris a longsword, his ethereal cloak swirling about as she took her leave.
Tris sighed, wondering what right the Valkyries had being so high and mighty, nevermind that they were beautiful.
“So, I…. kept the sword, you see, but… I sort of…” Tris peered up at the Valkyrie, wincing. Her eyes were flashing a dangerous shade of red, her fingers pressing hard into her book and quill feather as she stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“Yes. Go on,” the woman hissed, the feather crunching sideways in her grasp.
Tris gulped, but continued, knowing that the Valkyries needed some sort of record of each failed warriors’ death. “I… I can’t swim, so-”
“You. Can’t. SWIM?” the Vaklyrie exclaimed, her voice shrill. She groaned. “You will never make it to Valhalla proper if you cannot even manage to swim! You drowned?”
Sighing, Tris shrugged. “Well, at least you’ll have a frequent… visitor, to…” He nearly stopped there, noting her withering glare. “Nevermind, miss.”
Tris was exuberant. He was ecstatic, euphoric, as joyful as joy could be.
“I MADE IT!” he shouted to the Valykrie as he bounded into the examining room of Outer Valhalla. “My dear miss Valykrie, I died with my sword in my hand, in battle! Oh, the joy! The triumph!”
Silence met his exclamation as the Valkyrie stared, her beautiful features twisted in an almost ugly expresion of disbelief. Slowly, she set down the red book she carried, exchanging it for a much more elaborate green volume.
Tris noticed, and his jaw dropped. “Did- you- you- had no faith? You were-” He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He paused, then threw his arms wide with a grin. “You know what? I do not care! Send me to Valhalla proper, m’lady!”
The Valkyrie stared for a moment more before sighing, grumbling under her breath words that sounded like cannot believe… stupid oaf… Valhalla…? Well… bother… never again.
With a snap of her fingers, Tris was on a large boat in the sky, overlooking the clouds which held the examination rooms and Valkyrie palace of Outer Valhalla. He was happy. He was amazed, he was dazzled, he…
Lost his balance, staring over the side as he was.
And with that, Tris, the many-times deceased warrior, was reborn again to try once more.
hey bard, I gotta go to bed soon. see ya tomorrow.
Farewell, Duke! I wish you a restful sleep.
talk to ye tomorrow.
