#d&d lore

Name: Cornelius.

Class: Wizard.

Age: Unknown.

Race: Harvestborn.

Here's a picture of the harvestborn for anybody who isn't familiar.

Sorry for the terrible photo. Had to take that picture with my phone while holding the book open.

Backstory/lore: After awakening(igniting?) with no memories, Cornelius has spent a good chunk of his current life(3 years) wandering the land for answers.

Finally her eyes settled onto the little green dot of light in the distance. Earth.

What do you think earth is like?

We have in no particular order:

The Upside Down: I remember El helped, but she didn't name it with D&D terms

Demogorgons: who specifically called them this first?

Demodogs: Dustin for sure

The Mind Flayer/Shadow Creature:

The Flayed: ??

Demobats: either Dustin, Eddie, maybe even Steve

Venca: Dustin (? Maybe also Eddie idr)

The Abyss: Dustin (was it also called Planet X or was that something else?)

Pip starts his Journey as someone who cares only for himself, not thinking himself better, but rather- not worth the notice of people who belonged in the lives they lived. He was angry, and full of resentment.

Over time, he finds his value and place in the second life he was given, and the drive to use it to protect his newfound family and those who looked to him for protection.

Finally, he had found something worth living for... and worth dying for.

Snippet Below!

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I am a Young God

My name and deeds pass in whispers through the quiet air of the forest and the bustling heat of the city. They talk about me as if I am listening, always; a concept… a story… a dream walker. 

I have followers of my own, that clasp small hands and send prayers through the whispers of tree leaves, and I hear them - I hear them all. Syllable by syllable they weigh me down under the shadow I fear I need to be. I am but a boy myself, but feel indebted to these beings that believe in the person I fear I can never become.

I grew up too fast, but for their sakes I will cast what little remains of my childhood aside to protect them. In them, I see the potential of who I could have become. I want to be everything I needed and never received, I want to be for them a stable presence, without expectation, without tribute. 

I will become confident enough to be their voice. I will become sturdy enough to become their touchstone. I will wage war for them; adopting the teeth of a predator though my legs still shake and my breath still trembles.

Young God is actually a snippet from some character exploration of my warlock faun turned druid!

He was actually born as a melanistic deer faun and left to die, when the god of the forest and fae "Oberon", finds him and decides to make a deal with the young deer. His life, in exchange for his fealty. Unable to refuse, given the circumstances, 'Pip' is transformed into a young faunling and raised by a nearby village.

Pip resents his god for interrupting the cycle of life and setting him on a path he never wanted. Seeking power for himself instead of relying on Oberon, he finds himself closer to his contract-holder than he'd ever imagined... as he finds himself on his own path toward godhood.

Snippet below-

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

I am a God in the ways that matter, and those that do not.

I dig my fingers into the rich spring soil and tend the seeds that will grow to nourish those who feed upon their abundance. I break fragile stems at the notch so that others may grow stronger and yield better. Using the knowledge of those who passed through the cycle before me, I quietly influence the best rotation of crops so that taproots may feast on the nutrients left by what grew before them. Is this not also an act of Creation?

Most nights I sit in wooded glenn and tell stories to those who come across me and desire to listen. Sometimes I speak of wars and hardships, sometimes of joy and discovery. Things that have happened, things that may happen yet, and some things that may never be. My voice carries far in the still night and manifests dreams out of birdsong and crickets and the babble of the stream. Countless eyes of the young and old, the sick and healthy, look upon me and truly hear my voice. Is this not also an act of Worship?

My antlers no longer fall with the approach of Winter, and I watch as wrinkles crease the eyes of the small children I used to play with in their dreams. The body of my mother rests in a quiet clearing I used to spend a lot of time in, as a child. The rest of her has gone on to be many things, and still I watch over her in all her forms. While many I’ve known have passed on, I remain, for who else will tend the forest and guard the faunlings and make sure they sleep with fair dreams and full bellies? Is this not also an act of Sacrifice?

I look in the mostly still eddies of the river that keeps my long buried bones company and see a young man. I will always look this way. I am aged beyond my years but alive in ways I could never have imagined. In myself I see echoes of those who’ve shaped me, in the gleam of my eyes and the slope of my shoulders. I have been moulded and shaped by loss and love and life. Is this not also an act of Rebirth?