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Scoobywagon t1_j8f68j6 wrote

Battle Rapping Bard


mercy-moo OP t1_j8fd3fw wrote

Wyn, the Changeling Bard (School of Eloquence)

From a young age, Wyn loved taking the upper hand when it came to the arguments he had with his siblings. He would frequently change forms to whoever his siblings trusted enough and mimic their personality down to a T, all to find something juicy that he could pull out during a fight.

Sure, it may have been morally gray, but his arguing was like an art to him, and his canvas had to be as extravagant as he could make it. He wouldn't accept mediocrity from himself.

So, when his exhausted mother referred him to a battle rapping contest being held in his town, he was absolutely over the moon. He signed up for it, the ink staining his almost white hand, with all the same recklessness that led him throughout life.

Sure, his rhymes were shitty, but he'd be able to polish them with enough time. And sure, he wouldn't have the time or energy to scoop out info about his opponents like he often did, but he'd learn to improv well enough that it seemed like he did.

As the Day of Reckoning (as he called it) inched closer and closer, he spent more and more hours practicing his rhymes, studying his insults, trying to predict his opponents. It was tiring work, but it was worth it to him.

So, when the Day arrived at long last, Wyn came prepared with his same reckless attitude, a brand new clean outfit, and insults that could make the most stoic man cry laughing. Sure, he was about as nervous as a dog visiting the vet for the first time, but he was determined to make all those years of training worth it.

And by some stroke of fate, he won! The opponent stood no chance to him, and they ended up literally sobbing on the stage floor. That single vision inspired him to keep competing more and more, to climb higher and higher until he reached where he deserved to be: the very top.

Somewhere along the way, however, everything went wrong. One of the venues he was competing in collapsed mid-performance, and he barely made it out alive. He lost track of his family (who had been cheering him on), and to this day, it's up in the air as to whether they're alive too.

In the chaos of the wreckage, he ended up with a party of adventurers who seemed to need a force of intimidation and chaos to round off their sweetness. It was like there was a him-shaped hole in their group.

While he hesitated to join them, he soon realized that he had nowhere else to go. After all, he didn't know the way home from here, and he didn't even know if it'd be worth it returning home in the first place.

And so, he shunned his old name, instead naming himself after his favorite activity; to win.


Koanos t1_j8fbijv wrote

Peace Cleric of a Goddess of War and Love.


mercy-moo OP t1_j8fmgjb wrote

Dimuna, the Half-Orc Cleric (Peace Domain)

From a young age, Dimuna noticed how her village's elder never thought about the long-term, especially when it came to war. He thirsted for the blood of everything that came in his path, no matter what, and he ruled the village much in the same way.

She had always worshiped Lady Eladia, Goddess of War and Love, and if there was one thing prioritized in Her teachings, it was balance. A divine balance between war and peace, between love and hatred, between being gentle and harsh.

It was predominantly due to these teachings that Dimuna grew to hate her village elder.

She pitied how the other villagers just bowed to his iron fist with no thought... but it also made her shake in rage at how he could even think of treating his people in this way, how this shepherd seemed hellbent on abusing his sheep.

She pledged to herself that someday, she'd make things right. She'd restore the world to a more just order, both in her little village and in the corrupt kingdoms that surrounded her.

So, when Lady Eladia Herself showed up in her dreams, handing her that metaphorical sickle to harvest the seeds of justice, she seized the opportunity.

That morning, she woke up with divine magic coursing through her veins that she knew hadn't been there before, and she decided that the elder of her village would make for some great target practice.

In all honesty, it was humiliatingly easy to beat the iron fist that choked the village of Stormsong, because it had an obvious weakness.

It turned out that while their leader had skill in physical combat, he severely lacked any magical capabilities. Maybe that was one of the benefits of having such a bloodthirsty elder; they never stop to think of the damage that could be done without spilling a drop of red.

Dimuna didn't even need to harm him to get the job done; a little bit of enchanting magic worked just fine in convincing him to step down. And when the spell wore off and he started protesting again, a small tusked grin and a gentle reminder of what she could do to his feeble mind were enough to stop him.

And so, with a new elder appointed in Stormsong, Dimuna set off to other towns, looking for those who needed help throughout the world. After all, Lady Eladia's worshippers called Her "The Liberator of Cities" for a reason, and she intended to follow in her Goddess's image for as long as she could.

She often heard from others throughout her journey that it was odd for a woman with such physical and magical prowess to be a Peace Cleric, of all things. But can one really be peaceful if they're just harmless?


Koanos t1_j8g7047 wrote

I like Dimuna, and I really liked how you played with the contradictions!


mercy-moo OP t1_j8gev65 wrote

thank you!! i had a lot of fun writing her concept :D


ur-socks-sir t1_j8fwbme wrote

Artificer Alchemist who believes/knows that the weave is in everything


mercy-moo OP t1_j8lpkvm wrote

Hjuldain, the Dwarf Artificer (Alchemist Specialty)

Even as a young child, watching his parents work with the stones of the mines, he could see the Weave in every little bit of the caves. He couldn't help but admire how the Weaver put together the world so immaculately, even though he knew it was just one patch on a multiversal quilt.

Wanting to emulate his personal Deity, he took up weaving as a hobby. He started weaving small blankets with the approval of the Weaver, steadily building up to his magnum opus; the Weaver's Quilt, as he called it.

With patch after patch of old clothes, he weaved this large quilt, which managed to both tell the history of his Deity and to be big enough to cover the floors of his entire living room. At the very least, it was comfortable to lay down on after a long day at work.

This hobby was discouraged by his people, however. He was looked down upon and shunned for taking up a feminine job, so he started getting into potions instead.

After all, fabrics needed all sorts of potions to be dyed and treated, and if taking up that new job would get his village off his ass, he'd consider it a success... especially since they'd go fucking bonkers if they heard he didn't worship the Dwarvish Gods.

To this day, he makes a living off of his potions, and for particularly big purchases, he gives people free quilted blankets.

He and his wife Nyslinn may have told everyone that she made those masterpieces, but the two of them knew who the true weaver was in the house.

Besides, Nyslinn was much more in her territory when she was working on weapons.


ur-socks-sir t1_j8lqy3e wrote

I just got off of work and I was notified of this. Thank you for writing this, I love it!


Korra_Sato t1_j8fx50v wrote

Rogue, charming their way out of a bar


mercy-moo OP t1_j8glqsb wrote

Spell, the Tabaxi Rogue (Inquisitive Archetype)

Spell had been taught a variety of things by their rogue family. They were taught how to pickpocket, how to make murders look like suicides, how to investigate every move someone made to beat them at their own game... they had learned nearly everything at some point in time, or they had tried to.

Coincidentally, the one thing they hadn't been taught yet was how to be get away with it when you're caught doing crime. And right now, they DESPERATELY needed that, because their tall ass was just caught stealing out of a noble's pockets.

In short, they were now being interrogated by the federal guard force. This was quite the change from the local guards they were used to bribing.

The guard in charge of interrogating them was staring them down like an eagle as he asked a variety of questions, almost like he was playing with his prey before they got devoured.

"So, Mistrum... Spell of Rain. Quite an odd name, but- do you care to comment on why you have Markori's Onyx Shield Ring on your person?" he asked, keeping a stone face as he did so.

The pupils of their eyes widened in fear as their mind raced through a million strategies. However, before they could even think of the wisest thing to say in this situation, the perfect thing burst out of their mouth.

With a pathetic whimper, they started, "I'm- I'm so sorry, Sir... I had noticed this ring on the floor, with no owner, and I picked it up so it wouldn't be tarnished by the tavern floor! I truly didn't realize it was a noble artifact. I apologize dearly, to both you and Sir Markori!"

This was a total lie. They absolutely knew it was a noble artifact, and they didn't feel bad about it at all. To add insult to injury, the ring didn't even fall on the floor- it was in his bag the entire time.

But yet, somehow... it fucking worked. Both the guard and the noble human smiled at them with pity, almost like they were looking at a wet kitten.

Spell had to stop themself from laughing as they looked at how sympathetic the two were. After all, the tabaxi literally towered over both of them, and yet the duo's paternal instincts seemed to activate immediately when it came to them.

Sir Markori spoke before the guard got the chance to. "It's quite alright... as long as I get my ring back, it'll be alright."

They nodded, keeping their pupils wide on purpose as they handed him his ring. After a few more niceties, Spell was politely helped out the door by the noble and the guard, tail kept between their legs.

And yet, in all this time spent interrogating them, not a single person noticed the thousands of gold they'd pocketed alongside the ring.

Oh, well, he'd find out about it soon enough.

When they got home from the bar, their family was quick to both learn about the stunt they pulled... and to give them a humiliating nickname based on the incident. Spell ended up being called the "Boss Baby" of the family for the remainder of their life.

The entire experience may have sucked, but at least they made their family fucking rich in the process.


IDontEvenCareBear t1_j8g9cs7 wrote

Mute bard


mercy-moo OP t1_j8iksat wrote

Wisp, the Air Genasi Bard (College of Creation)

In a family full of loud people, Wisp was the one person who couldn't speak at all.

His mother was cursed by her ex to become mute while she was pregnant, but the curse passed to the baby Wisp instead of affecting his mother. As a result, he was shunned by his less understanding siblings, kept out of everything and forced to his parents' side.

And unfortunately, his parents would ignore him as well. They favored his siblings who could verbally communicate, and they didn't want to take care of the living reminder that his mother was almost hit with a curse.

He ended up fading into the background at every party his family held, being used as nothing but a servant.

After a while of this treatment, Wisp learned to appreciate his forced solitude.

He'd spend his days writing fiction, running away to fantasy worlds where he was loved and appreciated by those around them. He even learned how to play the lyre to tell the stories!

He had to learn to cook and clean from a young age just to keep himself alive. He did everything he could to stay afloat, but he wasn't able to do it. He collapsed under the pressure.

So one day, he packed all his things in his pillowcase and ran away, wanting to share his tall tales of creation and joy with his lyre.

After all, if his family wouldn't listen to him, then the whole damn world would.


IDontEvenCareBear t1_j8jfxk0 wrote

That hits the feels, you go Wisp!!! All the determined “prove ‘em wrong” support on his adventure.


mercy-moo OP t1_j8jgapy wrote

TYSM!!! im supporting my dude so much as well!! i drew heavily on my own childhood spent escaping thru fantasy for this (with lots of embellished bits as well) because. mute bard just hit the feels LMAO

edit: if you ever wanna play him, you have my full support!! and i feel like "the mute" by radical face should be his theme song- it fits So Well


IDontEvenCareBear t1_j8ji9th wrote

Omg that’s epic lol I love it. I’m not a bard type player, I love them so much, they seem beyond me though lol. I bonded with Wisp over the escape into fantasy worlds thing too. Books are where I lived growing up. And where I’ve gone back to after missing them for awhile.


NewRomanian t1_j8fixw5 wrote

Cleric and Misotheism


mercy-moo OP t1_j8g3ne0 wrote

Adresin, the Elf Cleric (Death Domain)

It was hard growing up in a family full of fanatics. Everywhere Adresin looked, there was some sort of religious artifact; the Book of Atheran Glory, countless mosaic windows depicting Lord Ather's Holy Deeds of Life, sun amulets...

His house's living room may have doubled as a church, but that did not explain why the literal fucking bathroom was also filled to the brim with religious items. It made the elf want to burn his eyes out whenever he saw even the tiniest sun symbol on a painting.

Even his NAME was based on it; it meant "Ather's Son" in Sylvan, his parents' native language.

And the worst part had to be that he couldn't escape this for 20 long, painful years... not even if he tried. And Gods, did he try.

Not only was he the preacher's son, but he was also the eldest, the one expected to be the heir to all this life-obsessed, goody-two-shoes bullshit. He was even being trained to become the next Atheran preacher for the village by his own dad.

He would've literally sacrificed his own life to escape this future life laid out for him. Sieyar, the God of Death and Ather's sworn enemy, saw his desperation and pledged to give him the powers to escape his personal hell.

Adresin took the chance immediately, ignoring any ulterior motives that Sieyar might have had.

Sure, he may have hated Sieyar almost as much as Ather. After all, they're both Gods, and from his previous track record, he's learned that Gods care for nothing but themselves.

But at the very least, he could somewhat tolerate Sieyar. He was far less uppity than his enemy, and that would have to be good enough for him.

With that pledge made, he packed his things, planning to give the imminent crowd of worshippers a show they'll never forget.

And that he did. With a dazzling display of his new necrotic magic, he was kicked out of his house by his old man... but boy, did he go out laughing his ass off.

Since then, he continues to keep his old name, both out of spite and to make jokes about how he isn't Ather's son anymore. He roams the world, looking to bring whatever change to the world that Sieyar wishes for him to make.

And to this day, he still dreams of retiring from adventuring one day and making a church for Sieyar right next to his parents' place, just to piss them off one final time.


theirishpotato1898 t1_j8hyt3u wrote

Paladin who only desires to be a restaurant manager


mercy-moo OP t1_j8i4i7d wrote

Damian, the Human Paladin (Oath of Devotion)

Damian was the most average adventurer alive; loving and supportive parents, no shitty backstory like everyone else he met at the tavern... he didn't even mean to choose this lifestyle. No, he became a paladin on accident, and he just kept at it because decided that it'd help pay the taxes enough for it to be worthwhile.

The day that he took his oath was like any other day for him. He was working errands around his city, saving up so that he could open up his own restaurant.

That day, he was tasked with cleaning up a grand temple, one that thousands of people went to every year. People were careless about their offerings, putting holy coins all over the floor, and so it was his job for today to clean all of them up.

As he first entered and looked up at the towering statue that watched over the building, he muttered to it that he would devote himself to his goal to open a restaurant for as long as he lived.

It just so happened that the God of that temple ruled over hospitality. As he finished his sentence, he felt... what he thought were the most intense goosebumps in his life.

Damian looked down at his hands wordlessly, wondering what the fuck just happened. He ignored it for the most part, however, and just went on with cleaning the temple.

That God came to him in his dreams that night. They started a grand speech about him being their holy paladin, which sent him reeling. All he did was just make a promise to himself! But oh well, apparently he had to help protect the world now.

Of course, Damian denied the job at first, but his new God told him that it'd pay him well. So, with that good news, he went off to start his quest of being the best damn protector there ever was... all for his future restaurant.


Paperaxe t1_j8g6joh wrote

A barbarian who is cursed to think he is a wizard.


mercy-moo OP t1_j8itfby wrote

Mystical, the Tiefling Barbarian (Path of Wild Magic)

Mysti knew from a young age that she was destined to be a wizard some day. She had an undescribable magic within her that she tried learning to hone, she'd studied up on all the spells she could, and she even spent hours practicing!

Sure, none of the spells ever worked, but every wizard experienced blunders from time to time, right? And besides, maybe she was just procrastinating too much for her training to be effective.

There was just one problem; contrary to what Mysti believed, she wasn't a wizard at all, and her magic could never be honed. It was the magic of the wilderness, a thing that came and went as it pleased. She was, by all means, a barbarian.

One thing she did notice, however, is that her magic was strongest when her rage took over, when she could feel the lightning soar throughout her body. All sorts of unpredictable things happened when she was upset, to the point where she was afraid to let her joyful demeanor slip for even a second.

From there, the fear of hurting someone was far more prevalent than the desire to practice, so when she raged for the first time as a teenager, she stopped practicing right afterward. This was the origin of her starting to mask her every emotion.

But she couldn't hold it in forever, and when she finally did unmask the rage she'd been holding in, the repressed power was strong enough to give her lightning-shaped scars for life.

She ran away from her old house out of embarrassment for letting her "wizardly" magic go amok like that, and since then, she's been looking for a relaxed place to live out the rest of her life and trying to not work herself to (literal) death.


Stentata t1_j8gdmz3 wrote

Ranger craftsman. Hunts magical creatures exclusively to craft magical items from parts harvested from them.


mercy-moo OP t1_j8gsx4l wrote

Marin, the Eladrin Ranger (Beast Master or Fey Wanderer Conclave, both work)

Marin sat patiently in the bushes, with her bow pointed towards the unicorn and aiming for its heart.

She couldn't help but pity the poor thing, with its life ending so soon. However, from the look of its gait, it was old and injured, and it would likely be hunted by a wolf pack if she didn't take action first.

So, with her guilty conscience reassured, she muttered a quick prayer of passing-on in Sylvan, shooting the arrow as she finished the final verse. She watched as the unicorn laid itself down to sleep, starting to say another prayer as she retrieved the corpse and brought it to her home to clean.

Over the past five years of her living in the Glittering Woodlands, the sight of a Woodlandan unicorn has never gotten old to her.

While most unicorns in this world looked like average horses with horns atop their head, these unicorns' appearances were uniquely affected by the fey magic that spread throughout this forest. Their fur, horns, and mane seemed to shine like a rainbow diamond.

The horns, especially, sold for hundreds- no, thousands- as daggers. That rainbow glow stayed with it regardless of how much a carver sanded it off, it was a material rumored to bring good fortune to its owner, and it looked rather pretty in a dungeon with an eager adventurer.

Their price only went up as well, considering that more and more sellers kept getting exposed for unethical unicorn hunting. Within the few years that she started this job, she ended up with a monopoly on the damn daggers.

Who would've known that all of this would come from her desire to retire from adventuring and live as her fey ancestors did?

She shook her head, quickly throw those thoughts aside and saving them for when she didn't have to focus so hard. After all, decay waits for nobody.

With the same amount of care as always, she grabbed her knife, humming a folk song as she cut off the horn and put it inside her nearly full drawer of horns.

Glancing at it, she decided that dealing with those horns and turning them into her famous daggers would be her priority tomorrow. After all, she did have to empty that drawer soon, before she hunted another animal.

Meanwhile, the meat looked perfect, apart from where she shot the guy. She pulled out the arrow, chopping away the bits and pieces that she couldn't eat. After all, those would make perfect offerings to the Woodlands later.

She put the meat she could make into meals in her magical freezer, smiling as she heard the familiar hum of the freezer keeping the meat safe from the elements.

As for the bones, she decided that she would sort those out later, humming as she placed whatever bones she could inside their appropriate drawers.

She kept the rest of the unicorn remains on the kitchen table, not wanting to bother with trying to find specific locations for now.

After all, she had a long day of horn carving to take care of tomorrow, and she was more than ready to prioritize that.


frenetic12345 t1_j8gu3nn wrote

Warlock, sad circus clown


mercy-moo OP t1_j8n5l5d wrote

Sahi, the Satyr Warlock (Archfey Patron)

Sahi's whole life was a performance. Xe put on elaborate makeup every day, xe made an absolute fool of xemself to crowds of people, xe essentially became a circus clown- all this to dedicate the pact xe made with xyr patron, an archfey named Nirsith.

See, Nirsith absolutely adored the humanoid culture that resulted in clowns. He found them so colorful, so similar to how the fey looked that he contacted Sahi, his descendant, in xyr dreams.

Xe was told that he'd help xem develop xyr powers so that xe could defeat the Evil Forces That Be... but only if xe dressed like a clown.

Since then, the earthy tones Sahi actually liked were replaced by force with the brightest colors xe could find on the market. Xyr usually relaxed and laid-back attitude was replaced with Nirsith's love for chaos and whimsy. Everything about xem became an unwilling clone of the fey.

Gods, how xe hated what xe had become. The only thing that kept xem holding onto life was the fact that Nirsith would let xem return to xyr old self when nobody was looking. But even then, it was a very thin thread.

Now, with the Forces That Be almost gone, xe hoped xe could finally stop being so clown-like. And sure, xe could, but xyr ancestor and patron had a lot more up his sleeve for xem... certain things that would make xem wish that xe could stay a clown.


No-Trick2389 t1_j8iqdgw wrote

Blood hunter, slice of life


mercy-moo OP t1_j8lnmow wrote

Reomi, the Aasimar Bloodhunter (Order of the Lycan)

At Reomi's first ever order meeting, she couldn't help but notice how different she looked to everyone else here. Everywhere she looked, it was scars and darkness and angst... and then there she was, dressed in the cutest dress she had. It just so happened to be all-white, which was terribly off-setting to the black atmosphere.

At one point in the meeting, all the new initiates (including her) were called up and told to explain to the order why they wished to join such an intense pact, to become a werewolf and bare that curse for their lives.

One by one, they all explained their reasoning for joining, each one more intense than the other.

Then, at the end of the line stood Reomi, and she realized that she did have to explain the predicament that got her here.

"Uh, well... hello, I'm Reomi, I'm an aasimar, and I want to become part of the Order of the Lycan because... this is kinda embarrassing to admit on stage like this, but I really wanna be able to understand how my dogs feel when I pet them and call them good girls and boys. And I thought, hey, why not become a werewolf? So I can understand them?"

The whole area burst out in laughter for what felt like a solid minute before the leader shut them all up with a harsh glare.

The leader slowly started, "...Well, clearly, this girl-"

"Woman- I'm 29 years old!" Sure, she knew she had a baby face, but she didn't think it was that bad.

"...woman. Clearly, this woman is devoted to her goals of understanding her own pack, and she did pledge to not use this power for express evil, so... I say we give her the curse she came here to get."

Everyone solemnly nodded, as if nothing happened a few moments earlier and they were always this serious about their initiates.

And with that, Reomi was given the "curse" of lycanthropy.

Now, she could transform into a cute-as-hell dog whenever she wanted, and she finally learnt how it felt to be pet and praised for existing.

She'd call it a win-win situation.


Ruffruffman40 t1_j8iy6wy wrote

A warlock of pure evil being influenced to do good deeds by their patron


mercy-moo OP t1_j8jl7uf wrote

Kio, the Leonin Warlock (Celestial Patron)

From a young age, Kio yearned for unimaginable violence. His watchful eye swept continuously over his peers, imagining a variety of things that could make the most stoic man squirm.

However, there was one thing prohibiting him from actually committing those acts; his mother.

From a young age, his mom saw the potential for danger within him, and she was able to successfully trap him into a pact that he couldn't escape from. As long as he kept from hurting anybody, she would help him hone his abilities in his dreams.

Now, as an adventurer, hurting people is very necessary. However, his mother refused to budge on the pact's wording, making him exclusively able to learn healing spells. Gods, how he hated being the healer.

Sometimes, his mother even forced him to befriend the enemy! It made him fit in perfectly into a good-aligned party, despite his protests to it.

One time, he decided to test his mother, squishing a butterfly with his powerful paws.

She came for him in his dreams that night, claws unsheathed and at the ready as she threatened to disown him if she ever saw him hurt another innocent being again.

Since then, he's never hurt another living thing (on purpose) again, and he's still forced to enjoy being a healer.

His mother can't help but smile as she sees how underneath all that evil, he's still firmly mama's boy.


Toothache42 t1_j8fd2pf wrote

Sailor Druid, Western theme


Ass_Incomprehensible t1_j8g1bjq wrote

Cleric, high velocity. Really, I just want to see what the best build is that you can make with the express intent of sending yourself headlong towards your foes at unsafe speeds, using a class that is not at ALL meant for that.


JitterySquirrel t1_j8g4icn wrote

Warlock but their Patron is Dante from Devil May Cry


NetherStat t1_j8g889f wrote

Goblin Princess. (or if thats not a class dwarf Princess)


ShadowFang167 t1_j8gs148 wrote

Palladin that needs money to heal.


dragon6784 t1_j8gxj5l wrote

A necromancer who’s so evil that he make Strahd looked like a kitten.


Scrub_nin t1_j8ht308 wrote

Bard - “it’s their fault for falling for it”


gigainpactinfinty5 t1_j8hyzeb wrote

Is multiclassing allowed? Shadow sorcerer sword bard and barely understanding emotions


RareMispellings202 t1_j8kk737 wrote

Artistic Paladin


mercy-moo OP t1_j8mzlna wrote

Eladithas, the Half-Elf Paladin (Oath of the Ancients)

From a young age, El always admired the countless paintings in his house. Every brush stroke was made so immaculately, every painting was planned so meticulously, and he thoroughly enjoyed painting some of his own as a child.

His parents supported this eagerly, glad that they no longer had to purchase their own paintings; their own little son was a genius when it came to the canvas, after all!

However, with pressure from his nation for all the men to learn combat, El turned from a lover to a fighter. He took up the sword, and in the process, he secretly took an oath to his ancestors to protect creativity in the world.

He kept painting throughout his time as a soldier, of course, but he started seeing the art in battle as well. Every move had to be planned carefully, and the sound of swords clashing together sounded like music, following a rhythm.

His fellow soldiers would joke that he should've become a bard instead, but he was quite happy with his paladinhood.

So much so, in fact, that when the war ended, he continued to go on campaigns with adventuring parties, working vigorously to defeat the evil in the world.

Whether it was with his paintbrush or with his sword, he had vowed to protect creativity with his life, and that was exactly what he was going to do.


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mercy-moo OP t1_j8gmov2 wrote

ALSO in advance: you all are free to use these d&d concepts as characters in your own campaign if you wish!! tell me all about it!! :D


Pokerfakes t1_j8ifyz0 wrote

Species: Beastman

Subspecies: Avian/songbird/ English blue tit

Class: Bard

Phrase: Singer/Songwriter/Performer


DBZKING13 t1_j8iw5oz wrote

Smoking Healing Cleric


Wixin74 t1_j8jevdg wrote

Socially Awkward Bard


Kevin1219 t1_j8le1dg wrote

Pirate Sorcerer, please.


mafiaknight t1_j8lrg0i wrote

Circle of life druid
Likes to give out lemons


Errant_Jackdaw t1_j9m4u9i wrote

How about a Soft-spoken Barbarian with a "Less is More" approach to raging?