Parzival
12-13-2006, 02:21 AM
Seeing if I can persuade Origin to change his mind... (And because Tin Soldier set a bad example for me.)
Here's a backstory I wrote up for a druid/thief build I only got to play a couple of times. I figured that I should put some thought into where and how druids fit into the world as a major part of it.
(I rolled a crit success on my "intimidate GM" check.)
I was raised by wolves.
Yeah. I get that reaction a lot. But I like the statement. It lends a certain mythic quality to a mundane tale. Besides, it’s true. At least from a certain perspective. It helps, I suppose, if you know a bit about the relatively estoric topic of druidic theology.
There are four ancient and accepted rites of druidic thought. They all share certain tenants. First, they accept no arbitrary distinction between human and animal. Second, they believe that the priests have it almost right, when they piously declaim “as above, so below”. They believe that the gods have domesticated humanity. The purpose for this, is a great discussion of heated debate among the learned.
The youngest rite, is the Rite of Ash-Enke (NE). They are colloquially known as “foxes”. They believe that the gods are alien and abhorrent, and that all that has been twisted by them must be destroyed. They really aren’t much fun to have at a party. And relations between them and the other rites tend to be strained at the best of times.
The third rite to be formed was the Rite of Rocinante (NG). They are colloquially known as “ash”, after the tree. They believe that the gods performed a great service by domesticating humanity. And that the average human is much happier, and better off within the bonds of civilization. Some even follow gods.
The second rite to be formed was the Rite of Baldwin (LN). They are colloquially known as “oak”. They tend to agree that the gods made humanity better off by domesticating it. Then they add “within limits”. Who sets those limits? Why, the oak, of course. It’s all very simple. The king owns the trees, the land, the water, the fish, the birds, and the animals. The oak, own only the king. If you’ve ever visited a castle, and seen the dogs, cats, horses and rats literally everywhere, you’ll understand why. Of course, they have to thwart an occasional assassination plot from the foxes, but they’re pretty good at it. They have lots of practice.
The oldest and first rite is the Rite of Bocephus (CN). We are colloquially known as “wolves”. Hence my amusement. I may not be a druid, but wolf am I still. We really don’t tend to care much one way or the other about civilization. Mainly, we hunt. Aberrations and undead feel the power of our jaws wherever we find them. But they are not our only prey….
There is a sort of “unofficial” fifth rite of druidic thought. We call them “nancies”, and hold them in disdain. They are domesticated men, who have learned power resides not in gods, but within themselves. You can easily pick them out. They tend to use terms like “balance”. Water is wet. Stone is hard. Blood is red and salty. Abstraction is a construct of civilization. A fetter used to bind humanity. But these fools are too blind to see. They turn to the wild for freedom from their bonds, but bring their chains with them.
As I said, I was raised by wolves. They found me running the streets, wild and in rags. They coaxed me in, much as I had coaxed many a pigeon to its death. Yet they did not kill me. Instead, they took care of me. They provided me with food, and warmth, a soft place to sleep, and the affection a boy needs to thrive. They used me, of course. There are many times when it is inconvenient for a druid to open a latch, or turn a key. I often went with them on various hunts. I gloried in the violence of the hunt, and on the seventh summer of my life, I made my first kill. He was an apocathary, old and toothless, who trafficked in “traditional” medicines. We would not have begrudged him his bits of stag horn, or hedgehog spines, but the pelt on his wall was unforgivable. It was that of Grugratch, the grizzled old druid who had first coaxed me into the fire’s sheltering light. That night, I made a vengeance for him. My blade was as a talon, as I sliced the apocathery open. I consumed his liver raw, and drank his blood, as is custom for a newly blooded hunter.
Much time has passed since then. I am older, and perhaps, wiser. Although I now often hunt alone, which would argue otherwise. I have heard rumors of an ancient edifice. A fallen temple of hewn stone that has some connection with the foxes. Perhaps, I shall take one unawares, and fall upon him like the ravaging beast that all men hide within their hearts.
Here's a backstory I wrote up for a druid/thief build I only got to play a couple of times. I figured that I should put some thought into where and how druids fit into the world as a major part of it.
(I rolled a crit success on my "intimidate GM" check.)
I was raised by wolves.
Yeah. I get that reaction a lot. But I like the statement. It lends a certain mythic quality to a mundane tale. Besides, it’s true. At least from a certain perspective. It helps, I suppose, if you know a bit about the relatively estoric topic of druidic theology.
There are four ancient and accepted rites of druidic thought. They all share certain tenants. First, they accept no arbitrary distinction between human and animal. Second, they believe that the priests have it almost right, when they piously declaim “as above, so below”. They believe that the gods have domesticated humanity. The purpose for this, is a great discussion of heated debate among the learned.
The youngest rite, is the Rite of Ash-Enke (NE). They are colloquially known as “foxes”. They believe that the gods are alien and abhorrent, and that all that has been twisted by them must be destroyed. They really aren’t much fun to have at a party. And relations between them and the other rites tend to be strained at the best of times.
The third rite to be formed was the Rite of Rocinante (NG). They are colloquially known as “ash”, after the tree. They believe that the gods performed a great service by domesticating humanity. And that the average human is much happier, and better off within the bonds of civilization. Some even follow gods.
The second rite to be formed was the Rite of Baldwin (LN). They are colloquially known as “oak”. They tend to agree that the gods made humanity better off by domesticating it. Then they add “within limits”. Who sets those limits? Why, the oak, of course. It’s all very simple. The king owns the trees, the land, the water, the fish, the birds, and the animals. The oak, own only the king. If you’ve ever visited a castle, and seen the dogs, cats, horses and rats literally everywhere, you’ll understand why. Of course, they have to thwart an occasional assassination plot from the foxes, but they’re pretty good at it. They have lots of practice.
The oldest and first rite is the Rite of Bocephus (CN). We are colloquially known as “wolves”. Hence my amusement. I may not be a druid, but wolf am I still. We really don’t tend to care much one way or the other about civilization. Mainly, we hunt. Aberrations and undead feel the power of our jaws wherever we find them. But they are not our only prey….
There is a sort of “unofficial” fifth rite of druidic thought. We call them “nancies”, and hold them in disdain. They are domesticated men, who have learned power resides not in gods, but within themselves. You can easily pick them out. They tend to use terms like “balance”. Water is wet. Stone is hard. Blood is red and salty. Abstraction is a construct of civilization. A fetter used to bind humanity. But these fools are too blind to see. They turn to the wild for freedom from their bonds, but bring their chains with them.
As I said, I was raised by wolves. They found me running the streets, wild and in rags. They coaxed me in, much as I had coaxed many a pigeon to its death. Yet they did not kill me. Instead, they took care of me. They provided me with food, and warmth, a soft place to sleep, and the affection a boy needs to thrive. They used me, of course. There are many times when it is inconvenient for a druid to open a latch, or turn a key. I often went with them on various hunts. I gloried in the violence of the hunt, and on the seventh summer of my life, I made my first kill. He was an apocathary, old and toothless, who trafficked in “traditional” medicines. We would not have begrudged him his bits of stag horn, or hedgehog spines, but the pelt on his wall was unforgivable. It was that of Grugratch, the grizzled old druid who had first coaxed me into the fire’s sheltering light. That night, I made a vengeance for him. My blade was as a talon, as I sliced the apocathery open. I consumed his liver raw, and drank his blood, as is custom for a newly blooded hunter.
Much time has passed since then. I am older, and perhaps, wiser. Although I now often hunt alone, which would argue otherwise. I have heard rumors of an ancient edifice. A fallen temple of hewn stone that has some connection with the foxes. Perhaps, I shall take one unawares, and fall upon him like the ravaging beast that all men hide within their hearts.