Updated: Feb 27
Every player has one. Their first character. And it's not surprising that if you ask them what theirs was they can tell you something about them. Maybe what race they are, or some of the stats, or more likely what campaign they were a part of. Although it's generally not the first, not really. Why? Well, that's easy. That's because it's generally not the very first or even the first couple of characters created that is really a player's "first". No, your first character is the one you really became attached to. The first one you didn't want to stop playing.
Take me for example, I have created dozens of characters even before I truly started getting into roleplaying myself. However, despite that, there is one character I consider to be my first "real" character. He was a human mage with the wonderfully, super imaginative, awe-inspiring name of..... Jack the Wizard! What? Not that awesome? Well, I was twelve when I created him. I suck at creating names now, I was even worse then.
The story of Jack is actually really short-lived. He was only around for about 3-4 sessions. But I will never forget his back story nor where he was left off.
Jack started off as many characters do, as an orphan in the slums. As far as he could remember that was his life, stealing for food, trying to find a spot to sleep, dodging the guards and worst other orphans, beggars, and thugs just to keep what he was able to get. He was a small skinny boy. But his life took a sharp turn shortly after he turned eleven.
The day started like any other, looking for a target to pickpocket. Early in the morning, he found one. A hunched-backed old man, stinking of booze and walking, or more like leaning and hobbling, with a staff. Despite the smell, he wore what to Jack looked to be very expensive clothing and more importantly an easy-to-reach coin purse.
Jack attempted to cut the purse off the old man as he passed. However, instead of getting the purse what he received was an electric back-hand that sent him flying into a wall nearly killing him. The next thing he knew he was waking up on the floor in a room with the very same old man glaring at him sitting in a chair.
"You have two choices boy," the old man said in a gruff voice. "Come with me as my apprentice or go back to that rot you call a life."
Jack was confused. He looked at the man, then at the door, then back at the man, and finally at his own body. He tried to remember what happened after he went for the purse but only remembered pain
and then waking up.
"Perhaps this will help you make a choice," the old man continued as he stood.
Jack's eyes widened in shock and awe as the old man began to change. His humpback shrunk as his posture straightened until he was in perfect form. The wrinkles and gray hair of an old man probably in his sixties that had lived a hard life became faded until he looked no more than thirty with solid black hair. His body seemed to grow as muscle began to fill out his clothes more. And to go along with it all an aura of some kind of energy became to emanate from him.
"Now boy, make your choice" the now much younger man said in a smooth deep voice.
After seeing such a special Jack didn't need to think. He immediately agreed to go with the man. To become his apprentice. Unknowingly setting himself for what many would say would be insane and inhumane trials ahead.