Sister Atom Bomb of Forgiveness (geekling) wrote in roleplayers,
Sister Atom Bomb of Forgiveness
geekling
roleplayers

Forgotten Realm mavens.

We're starting up a new campaign in the forgotten realms settings. Now, when it comes to that setting, I am more or less clueless. Never have gotten on well with published settings.

So for those of you familiar with it. If you would be so kind to throw a quick glance over this character background and see if there's any glaring errors in it that needs tweaking to better fit the setting. I would be greatful.


Note: The Dm have given it a quick look over to a-Ok the general concept. And granted the wriggle-room for the addition of a teeny tiny little one horse town out in the bonies called 'Ilese'.

There is not really much to say about Dialta's childhood. Her name was
not Dialta de Ilese, just plain Dialta Jacobi Nemren. The third child,
of the four born to Jacobi and Karmela Nemren, a pair of fairly well
to-do, but by no means noble nor rich, working landowners in ?some
rural-ish region supplied by DM?

It could be said that it was a happy, healthy, and trouble-free
childhood, lots of fresh air, plenty food, loving parents, and enough siblings to
never have to be alone. - Sort of thing.

This would all change for Dialta, in the incident that earned her, at
the tender age of twelve a new name.

The Nemren family had traveled to the nearby, small town of
Ilese. To take part in the end of harvest festivities, as was their
custom, the highlight of the year. As usual in these agricultural areas,
the church of Chauntea was the center of the festivities. The goddess
herself the main focus of the giving of thanks for an abundant gift
from the land.
It was as the congregation were returning to the modest temple after
the ritual of blessing the fields, it was noticed that the building, a
simple timber structure, was ablaze, consumed by flames.
What had happened never were fully discovered, but the townsfolk later
settled on the explanation of a prank by local youths - probably
involving the firework display planned for later that evening - gone
wrong. In the aftermath, what caused the fire seemed fairly irrelevant.

What did occur while the congregation were forming bucket-chains to
stop the fire from spreading etc. on the other hand, was something few
witnessing the event would forget.
A small girl child, left unattended for just a moment in the panic.
Walked into the burning building, and returned out again - untouched
by the flames. Carrying the greatest treasure this small, local,
temple possessed, a large, heavily embossed and richly decorated
silver altar dish.

A miracle right before their eyes!

What came over her in that moment, Dialta have never been able to
explain. Indeed, she can not remember much about it at all.
What she does remember, is waking up as from a dream, sat on an
overturned bucket, people crowding all around her. Faces as much lit on
fire by religious ecstasy, as the temple in the background. Then the
priestess with a touch and a word easing away the pain in her
hands.
For while the flames might have left her unharmed, the hot metal of
the dish had burned into the flesh of her hands where she touched it.
Leaving her to this day with the scars. Branded into her palms the
holy symbol of Chauntea, a blooming rose on a sunburst of grain. No
doubt transferred from the dish's embossing.

After that, her fate was pretty much set. A few months of negotiations
between the clergy and her parents, Dialta was not consulted. She
entered the monastery at ?Rather larger city somewhere in the region?
as Dialta de Ilese a student and acolyte of Chauntea, obviously chosen
by the goddess herself and with the expectations of a brilliant future
in the clergy.

Well, no one asked her and she chafed at the restrictive rules in the
monastery. Used to run free in the fields with the sunlight on her
face, she didn't take well, or graciously at being locked up in a
study hall. Being told when to pray, how to walk, what to eat...
While pious in her own little ways, had it not been for that incident,
being the 'saint child from Ilese' or some other nonsense like that
they used to excuse her. She wouldn't have lasted long at the
monastery. Kicked out for constant skiving and rules breaking.
But she was who she was, and got away with a lot. At least during the
first few years, while the fervour were still fresh. Later, once
things settled down, so did she. - Sort of.

While the clergy might put a lot of emphasis on the branding, and the
walking into the fire, etc. etc. so forth, yadiyadiya... Dialta really
couldn't care less, that wasn't really her. The one thing she
remembered with ice cold clarity was the agony of her burnt hands when
she snapped out of it. And the priestess' magic that eased it all away
in just a simple touch.
That's the kind of magic worth learning. Those where the times she
payed rapt attention. Indeed, showed a lot of promise.
It might not have come to a great surprise to the clergy when she
started to work things a bit differently than how things worked for
most of the clerics. That she seemed to have a certain connection
straight to the goddess herself. That just as they overlooked her
skiving off lessons, because of who she was, Chauntea herself seemed
to grant her magic powers, even when she skived off the morning's
spell preparation.

Perhaps it was thanks to this, with a squeak and a wriggle, Dialta
managed after near enough ten years at the monastery to somehow get
initiated into the mystery and able to leave a certified cleric of the
Earthmother. In spite of only really having a vague idea of the proper
details of the rituals, or the textual knowledge of the church's
dogma.

Dialta de Ilese does it in her own little way, and frankly, out in the
bonies. Some little farming community far from any major religious
centre, no one really seem to care. They're just glad to have the
fields blessed and a priestess that aren't afraid to get her hands
dirty helping with the harvest or a birth gone wrong, be it a breached
calf or a child.

Eighteen months she spent on the road, as a wandering priestess out
there in the bonies. She was happy out there. Some ten years after the
incident with the burning temple in Ilese, few outside outside the church,
or who were no there to witness the miracle at Ilese themselves
remembers the story, if they even heard it at all.
The obscurity, the escape from being 'the child saint of Ilese' like
balm on her soul. But just to be sure, Dialta tends to wear gloves to
hide the scars. Especially when visiting a temple.
Just seeing where the road took her and helping out where she can,
with what she can. Spreading, in her own way, the joy in the
message of her goddess. Was her idea of what life would be. She
thought that was it, she'd found her place in the world.

Then the second life altering event, fate, or possibly Chauntea
herself, trowing her a curve ball.
Like so many others of her kind, she'd taken to the scythe. A tool for
harvest, a walking stick in hard terrain, even a weapon to fend off
wildlife in more rough areas. The figure of a wandering cleric of
Chauntea, well the scythe is part of the regalia. It is expected.
One evening on the road, Dialta came across a combat scene. A band of
brigands assaulting a trade caravan. The fight already in full blow
when she became aware of the situation.
Wading in to, as she expected, to do her thing as someone versed in
the arts of healing with the magic to back it up. Help the fallen,
tend to the wounded, caravan guard or brigand. That sort of thing.
A brigand, in the heat of battle for sure, who'd attack a priestess?
came to misstake her for a foe and, well... attacked.

At the end of the battle, her scythe grip slippery with blood, Dialta
came to the horrible revelation. As she stood there for a moment,
before the cries of the wounded broke her out of it. In that breif moment,
blood pumping in her veins to remind her that she's alive, short of
breath from the exercise, goose bumps all over from the excitement,
Dialta realised she'd loved every second of it. The trill of the situation
filling her with pure, raw, vitality.

And hated herself for it, it was just wrong! The events should have
filled any peace loving human with repulsion. Not almost near religious
extacy.

Ever since then, like a moth drawn to flame. Dialta seek out
areas of unrest. Half to find redemption by plying her healing arts
where they are needed most, half to, well... to experience it all over
again.

Mechanically, we're talking a healbot kind of character, cleric 1 / favoured soul 4 - starting ECL 5.
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