Dungeons and Dragons Backgrounds. 1-Shumira

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The thing that I love the most about Dungeons and Dragon is being inspired by my character. When that inspiration kicks is I cant rest before I write down a background that expresses and embodies that inspiration.

I have never shared my backgrounds in a public platform before, and there are some of characters I am still playing so i can't share.

However, I am looking forward to put this hobby of mine out there. It is quite exciting.

Here is the first background I would like to share, is for a Cleric i thought about years ago named Shumira. I wanted her to be full of love but not obvious. Imagine a mix between Barbie and Sadako!!

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Background of Shumira Pathwood

Mr. and Mrs. Pathwood, my parents, were already blessed with the joy of two beautiful twin girls when she became pregnant with me. It was a joyful event. They were fully in favor of having a large and strong family. The slightly curious detail was that my mother was already 55 years old. They had already surprised everyone when the twins were born nine years earlier, since they had been married only twelve years at that time. Despite the past surprises, no one in town would ever have thought they would have more children. There was much laughter at the inn in the evenings when my father’s friends began joking with phrases like, “Well Adam, I didn’t expect an old man of 63 like you to still be able to hold the weapon and fire! And even hit the target!”

My mother, Sara Pathwood, was also extremely happy. Partly because she had not hoped to experience the joy of motherhood again, and partly because she felt a mischievous satisfaction. Even though women her age tried awkwardly to hide it, she sensed the envy they felt knowing that the passion between her and her husband still burned. And besides, her husband Adam was still a very handsome man.

Their treasure, the twins, had been born on the summer solstice twelve years earlier. Their names were Theresa and Cassandra. Very blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful like the sun. They could not wait for me to arrive, a little sister to spoil. They had fun hoping they could help choose my name, but they were allowed to choose only if I had been born a boy. If I were a girl, the name had already been decided: Shumira, like the mixed-race girl who assisted my mother during the extremely difficult birth of the twins and then disappeared without accepting the payment my parents had prepared for her.

So I was born… and I received my name, Shumira. I was born on the winter equinox. “What a magical coincidence,” my parents thought. I was healthy and beautiful. The first case in the family of violet eyes. Over the years, though, family traits began to show, like the unmistakable golden curls that the twins also had.

I had a peaceful childhood. I had a special bond with my sisters. I adored them, and they of course adored me. My memories of that time are blurry. One of my first clear memories, apart from loving my sisters, dates back to when I was five. I remember falling while playing and a sharp piece of glass lodging in my thigh. My sisters, who were fifteen at the time, ran to me, pulled the glass out, and tried to stop my crying by holding my hand and singing a little song about the sun goddess. I remember that as I let myself be carried by their song, the pain eased. Almost disappeared.

It became something we repeated whenever one of us got hurt. It was our little secret. Our magic song, which affected me so deeply that it made the pain fade.

A year later, when I was six, my father became seriously ill. I do not remember what illness it was. I only know that my mother told us he was risking his life. So we went to the Temple of the Sun to pray. We rarely went there as a family. Not that we were not believers, but we were not particularly devout.

At that time, an important figure of the cult of Shanna was visiting the temple. We had the “fortune” of confessing while he was receiving people. We went together. I was little and did not know what to say, so I just listened. I remember only that he was tall, bald, with several scars on his face, and physically imposing. Not what I expected from a man of the church.

My sisters confessed, asking forgiveness for their sins and for going to church only in a moment of need. The man questioned them further, until he learned what this need was.

His comment was: “It is not possible that these creatures remain without a father. Take me to your father, daughters of the sun.”

We did.

Only a timely introduction prevented my mother from fainting when she saw a large, scarred man entering her house carrying me in his arms. “My name is Arakenus Nicolas, paladin of Shanna. I am here to see your husband.”

None of us had ever seen a paladin. We did not really know what one was. But the word “paladin” sparked in our young minds all kinds of fantasies about magic, battles, goodness, and sacred powers. His introduction alone left us speechless.

He entered my father’s room, approached him, and after a brief examination began chanting a prayer to the sun. A prayer so familiar to me that, after a moment of hesitation, I began humming it too. It was the same verses my sisters and I used in our secret song. The paladin turned sharply toward me, gave me a surprised but deeply pleased look, and invited me to come closer. I brought my sisters with me to my father’s bedside. They joined the prayer as well.

After several minutes, the paladin placed his hands on my father’s chest. My father had a violent spasm. Then his strained, sweaty breathing became calm and relaxed.

After one last check, Arakenus Nicolas turned to us and said, “Your father will be well now.”

My sisters smiled. “Thank you,” they said. “Tank oo,” I said.

He seemed deeply moved by that moment. Whether by our gratitude or by sensing something of the sun goddess within us, he remained looking at us in silence. My mother had to repeat twice, “Thank you, my lord, please tell us how we can repay you,” before he responded.

“You must not thank me. It is the divine Shanna who willed this meeting and this outcome. When your husband is better, come to the Temple of the Sun. You will find me there.”

Then he left.

We waited several hours for my father to wake. I fell asleep, but my sisters stayed awake with my mother, watching over him. Shouts of joy woke me. My father had recovered. He was as if nothing had happened.

A few days later we went to the Temple of Shanna, as promised to Nicolas. My father could not wait to meet his savior. After several minutes of formal and heartfelt thanks, my father insisted on asking what he could do to repay the immense gift he had received.

The paladin answered after a short pause, though he seemed to have already prepared his reply.

“I have heard that your family is not frequent at the temple. It is not with me that you must settle your debt, but with the divine Shanna. My advice is simple. To make my goddess happy, commit yourselves to knowing her cult more deeply. The presence of a family as harmonious as yours can only bring joy to this temple. And for you, the knowledge of Shanna’s greatness can only improve your lives.”

With those words he left, departing for other temples across the continent a few days later.

My father took that invitation very seriously. From that day on, my family — especially we three sisters, who did not work — were at the temple almost every day.

The peak moment of devotion to the sun goddess was dawn, her rebirth. So our habits changed. From then on, our eyes grew used to greeting the sunrise.

Two years passed. I was now eight; my sisters were seventeen. We did not just go there to pray. We interacted with the priests, helped as much as two teenage girls and a child could.

Then something truly surprising happened.

We were helping in the infirmary. Many wounded and sick people were treated there. One day, while we were assisting with a bandage, Theresa did something incredible. Repeating a formula she had heard the priests pronounce many times over the years, she instinctively managed to cast a healing spell on the injured man we were tending.

To my eyes, it did not look so different from what we did with our little secret song. What made it extraordinary was the reaction of the priests who witnessed it. That reaction doubled when Cassandra did the same.

They had never been trained. And yet, guided by instinct, they imitated the gestures and words of the priests and reproduced a divine effect: a healing spell, however weak it was.

My father’s tears of joy accompanied dinner that night when we told him what had happened. In those two years he had become a devoted believer in Shanna.

A few days later, my sisters were summoned by the high priestess of the temple. Pleased by this unusual event, she asked them what they felt, what they thought, what emotions they experienced when they invoked the goddess’s power. I do not remember their answers. I only know they satisfied her, because her next question was whether they were willing to try to follow the path toward becoming priestesses.

They agreed.

It took them two years to earn the title of priestess. During those years I saw them at home less and less. While I continued helping in the infirmary, they were being trained and initiated into the deeper ways that lead to the glory of our goddess.

I was eleven when the divine power of Shanna first flowed from my hands. That day was unforgettable at the temple. The power of the sun goddess manifesting through the hands of an eleven-year-old had no precedent in the city. Many things were said during that time. Many nicknames were given to us three sisters and to our family, to my father’s great pride.

Because of my age, I was not allowed to begin formal priestly training yet. But I was encouraged daily to try to use the healing spells I occasionally managed to evoke.

Honestly, when I tried to cast a spell, it was not pure charity that strengthened my hands. Much of my will came from the desire to be like my sisters. To be close to them. As close as possible.

Around that time another event stands out clearly in my memory.

Each year a strange traveling festival passed through our city, something like a circus, called the Darkmoon Faire. Exotic animals, acrobats, illusionists, fortune tellers entertained the crowd.

That year we visited a fortune teller, only for fun. Of course, two priestesses of Shanna would never believe in divination that did not draw upon divine power. But this woman was unusual. Convincing in a disturbing way.

She asked questions about our birth, as fortune tellers usually do, and drew strange conclusions. She spoke of a great light in my sisters’ souls, tied to their birth at the summer solstice. She found it almost trivial that two people so aligned with light would become priestesses of the sun goddess. My sisters were visibly annoyed by this.

Then she turned to me.

She said that those born at the winter solstice possess a particular affinity with darkness. She told me that the soul’s native affinities are heavily influenced by the surrounding environment, and that if I wished to remain in the light, I should stay close to my sisters. Otherwise, who knew? My affinity for darkness might one day manifest.

Theresa almost punched her. Cassandra’s quick reflexes stopped her.

The fortune teller smirked and said calmly, “This time, the service is free, my dears. Remember this: your choices decide your path. But affinities tend to play a role. Sometimes small. Sometimes fundamental.”

We left immediately.

Theresa’s anger came from seeing someone frighten her little sister. Cassandra stopped her not only out of reflex but because she knew her twin well enough to anticipate the reaction.

For two nights I struggled to sleep. By the third, I had almost forgotten.

That same year, however, Theresa began to change.

At dinner she was thoughtful and silent. She no longer shared discoveries from the temple. The joy and inspiration she once showed had faded. People said she was the most promising of the two sisters, the most devoted. Yet recently her power seemed to have diminished.

The high priestess said such crises are natural. Faith, she said, must be tested. A faith never challenged cannot be pure. But Cassandra mentioned heated arguments between Theresa and High Priestess Eleyne. She did not know the subject of those arguments.

Shortly before my twelfth birthday, one of the two most important events of my past occurred.

Theresa disappeared at nineteen.

She left only a note, addressed to Cassandra and me:

“Our power does not stop here. My power does not stop here. There is more, sisters. There is more. I love you.”

Months of sadness followed. Cassandra was softer in character than Theresa, but still strong. She continued her path as a priestess. I believe she suffered the most, though she hid it. I did not hide anything. It took me a long time to recover.

And I do not think my parents ever truly did.

We passed a strange year. Outwardly everything was the same. I continued my small duties, Cassandra her responsibilities as a priestess. But Theresa’s absence left a mark that would not fade. I could no longer use the spells that had once come to me so easily. Cassandra, too, lost much of her enthusiasm, just as Theresa had before she left.

Another change happened.

My golden curls slowly darkened into soft brown waves. My skin, once rosy, became paler. I had hoped to remain as blonde as Cassandra, but my features changed differently.

Then the second great event of my youth occurred.

One day a severely wounded man was brought to the infirmary. I was not allowed to see him at first. I only remember the trail of blood on the floor as he was carried in. They said his injuries were beyond imagining, and that at thirteen I did not need to witness such a sight.

The high priestess was absent. Cassandra personally tended to him. It took about a week to stabilize his condition. She could not use all her power for him alone; others needed care as well. Slowly he recovered. He was a handsome young man, slightly older than Cassandra. In addition to his wounds, he had a broken arm, which only time could mend. His recovery lasted about a month.

His name was Lestialt. He claimed to be a wandering traveler attacked by bandits near the city gates. He carried two fine daggers, which he refused to let go of even during treatment. For self-defense, he said.

Once conscious, he began giving Cassandra particular attention. At first we thought it was gratitude. But it seemed to be more. Cassandra appeared to return that attention, staying longer at the temple than usual to assist him.

At home, I imagined a love story between my sister and the mysterious traveler. I teased her with questions far too sharp for my age. She was shy about such things and would get angry with me.

About five weeks after his arrival, Cassandra disappeared as well. Almost exactly one year after Theresa’s departure, Lesthat vanished too.

I found the second letter.

“See you soon, my parents. See you soon, little Shumira. Lesthat must leave tonight, and I want to go with him. He needs my help far from here. He told me that a girl identical to me crossed his path in those lands. So goodbye. Theresa is waiting for me. I love you.”

My father almost stopped speaking entirely. My mother could not endure it; her mind began to falter. I reacted as Cassandra had the year before. I pretended to be strong, to support my parents. It did not help.

“How selfish they were,” I thought. And yet I still loved them. In my heart I hoped their reasons were justified. They were priestesses of Shanna. Their judgment must be beyond ordinary measure. That is what I tried to believe.

Two more years passed in deep sadness. The temple kept me alive, but the emptiness inside me was vast.

I began my own formal training as a priestess and regained the ability to channel Shanna’s power. I was not suited for armor, so my training focused almost entirely on divine magic rather than combat.

Shortly after my seventeenth birthday, my parents fell ill. It was a sickness I could do little to treat. I believed their broken hearts had helped bring it on. By then their minds were weak. They no longer recognized me.

My hair had turned black and straight. My skin very pale. I no longer resembled my sisters at all. My parents, in their confusion, asked where their daughters were, treating me like a stranger.

Seeing my physical changes, and remembering how I had lost my powers after Theresa left, I could not help recalling the fortune teller’s words about darkness and affinity. But my faith in Shanna was stronger than the ramblings of a wandering seer.

When my parents died, I officiated their funeral.

For that day I used a balm to lighten my hair and tried to curl it as much as possible, to resemble the daughter they once knew. I wore the ceremonial robes of High Priestess Eleyne. Many people attended. My family had become well known in the city, especially among Shanna’s followers.

I did not cry. I still apologize to my parents in prayer for that.

Three more years passed. My spells became stable. My appearance no longer reflected the sun, but that did not matter. I lived mostly at the temple, returning home only to sleep.

In those years my faith remained strong, but my passion faded. Without my sisters, I no longer had a goal to chase. At times I even felt a faint resentment toward Shanna. She had saved my father once, yes. But she had also allowed my sisters to leave.

I confessed this doubt to Eleyne. She asked me to cast a spell. I did so effortlessly.

She said, “The natural way in which you channel divine power proves your faith is stronger than your doubt. Shanna knows this. Soon you will too.”

She was right. I came to accept that my sisters’ departure was their own choice. Shanna had not taken them. And wherever they were, the goddess would keep them safe.

My apathy grew stronger over time. I felt concern for the wounded, sorrow at their deaths, joy at their recovery. But my face and actions remained cold. Emotion rarely reached the surface.

Many men slept in my house during those years. I hated sleeping alone in a home once filled with love. Yet I loved none of them.

I traveled often. Travel made me feel alive, almost as much as the sunrise I watched each morning with Eleyne. Through these journeys I carried out minor duties for other temples.

Growing up in a temple shapes a person deeply. My manners were impeccable. My sense of right and wrong was rigid, almost mechanical. Goodness was not always a feeling; it was a principle I followed.

It is a strange irony that though I love the sun, my pale skin forces me to avoid it when it burns too strongly. At the temple they joke that I resemble a follower of another cult more than a priestess of Shanna. During ceremonies I often wear heavy makeup and use balm to lighten my hair.

And now my life continues. I remain a priestess in a temple I know as well as my own body. I wait, perhaps foolishly, for the return of my sisters, who once were the fire in my life.

For now, that fire sleeps.