Creek the Valiant, Kobold Hexblade Warlock
Hello there!A wee kobold character I started playing until the campaign sadly stopped. Had the opportunity to play him again but didn't. Instead, I’m (very slowly) looking to perhaps turning him and his story into a bit of a comic series down the line!
And now I'm playing a female Bugbear Zealot. First female PC I've ever played (NPCs don't count) so it's kinda neat!
THE STORY OF CREEK THE VALIANT: Knight of the Lady
TLDR
• Name: Creek • Race: Kobold • Age: 8 • Occupation: ”Knight” of the Lady of the Lake
Raised in a tribe of kobolds in service to a necromancer. In exchange for security and not getting killed, the kobolds dig tunnels, provide care and maintenance for the lair. Creek’s role was mushroom picker, not a good one at that. Sometimes adventurers came and died. When Creek found the corpses, everything good was already scavenged except storybooks.
Taught himself to read from a young age, read stories of dragons (awesome), knights (neat), quests (oooh) and damsels in distress (whatever those are). Obsessed with chivalry, honor and valour, not that he completely understands it. Kicked out by tribe for being annoying and wanting to be a “good guy”. Mostly for being annoying.
Found a dead knight in a cave with a big sword. Sword talked to him, showed him a vision of the Lady of the lake that had given the sword to her Chosen (dead guy, great pick). Gave Creek the quest to bring the sword back! Took everything useful from the corpse, drags the way oversized sword with him, on a journey of quests, valor and honor! And tasty food.
TOO LONG BUT FUCKIT I'LL READ IT ANYWAY
Creek nibbled sadly on the mushroom. It tasted like dirt. All mushrooms tasted like dirt. He really hated mushrooms. His whole life had been mushrooms, nothing but picking mushrooms. He wasn’t strong enough to be a warrior, not clever enough to be a hunter, not… whatever diggers are… to be a digger. Every kobold must contribute to the survival of the tribe and since the only thing he wasn’t shit at was picking mushrooms, he became a mushroom picker. Not a good one, just not as useless at that as everything else. He once didn’t even try to work for a whole week to see what happened. No one noticed.
Deciding that the mushroom was in fact not going to start tasting any better, Creed put it back in his sack. He tossed a sad glance back towards the mountain. He had never felt he belonged back in the tribe. He’d always wanted to be a knight, like the ones in the stories, and they don’t belong in a tribe of kobolds serving a temperamental necromancer. He smiled at the weight of the storybook in the sack. He only managed to save one before he was tossed out the side-entrance. It had pictures. The stories were from a faraway land, filled with magic, where apparently rabbits can be knights in shining armor and mice were sneaky little thieves.
Still, he felt sad for leaving. No matter how hard things got, how useless and adrift he’d felt, how often he was teased, he’d always liked being a part of a community. It was a mean and shitty community, but a community nonetheless. Creek shook his head; he was being negative! He was going to be fine! No, he was going to thrive! Out on adventure, performing good deeds and mighty feats! He’d show his whole tribe, all those who’d laughed at him for not wanting to be dick and do things like drop a rock on that Gnome’s head. He picked up a (slightly) pointed stick from the ground and struck a pose taken straight out of “the adventures of sir Percival of the Green Valley”.
Then reality came crashing down upon him. He was going to fucking die out here. With a sigh, he turned around and started walking back home to the mountain. Then the sun came out of the clouds. Creek was immediately blinded, lost his footing and fell into a hole.
When Creek came to, he found himself staring into the empty eye sockets of a skull. With a yelp, he scurried back as far as he could. The skull remained indifferent to his escape. After a couple of seconds of brave cowering and sniveling, Creek took in his surroundings. He was in a large open cavern, overgrown with roots and lichen. The floor was strewn with bones, weapons and armor from Kurtulmak knows when. In the middle of this carnage laid the bones of the largest monster Creek had ever seen, its skull split neatly down the middle. By its foot, laid a figure in armor. Though the suit of armor was near featureless due to rust and decay, with the yellowed bone visible in cracks and breaks, Creek knew exactly what this was. What could it possibly be but a brave knight, dying gloriously in a fight against an evil monster! Cradled in its unmoving arms, the knight had a large sword, just as rusted and ancient as the knight itself.
After a reasonable amount of pebble throwing and prodding with shorter and shorter sticks, Creek had ascertained that these skellies were in fact dead-dead, not dead-but-moving like some skellies did back at the lair. As he crept closer his eyes were drawn to the blade in the knights arms. Just to be on the safe side, he tapped the knight on the head, which the knight responded to with having its head roll off its shoulder. Satisfied, Creek gripped the sword and the world disappeared around him.
He entered a world of light, brighter than the sun but more… kind. The world came into focus and he saw that he stood on top of a lake, the deep waters rippling beneath his talons. A dark cliff stood in the middle of the lake. Buried almost hilt deep into the black granite was the most glorious and heroic sword Creek had ever seen. With a not inconsiderable amount of imagination and romanticism, it kind of looked like the sword back in the cave. A voice thundered in his head:
“LONG HAVE I WAITED FOR A NEW HAND TO WIELD THIS BLADE. TELL ME, HERO, WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”
Not being used to inanimate objects talking to him through the medium of his skull cavity, Creek was having too much of a small case of a massive panic attack to respond.
“HERO?” The voice had lost some of its gravitas.
“… C-c-c-creek” stammered Creek, who was straight up not having a great time. There was a short but intense pause, the telepathic sword equivalent of just staring and blinking at someone who has said something particularly weird and you’re not sure if they’re joking or not.
“BRAVE CREEK, YOU HAVE BEEN JUDGED BY THE LADY OF THE LAKE AND YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND WORTHY OF WIELDING HER FABLED BLADE, CRANNIGBRACH.”
Creeks stared at the sword, experiencing what future generations would call “an emotional rollercoaster”.
“AS THE CHOSEN OF THE LADY, HER WILL IS YOUR LAW. TO EXECUTE HER WILL, SHE WILL GRANT YOU POWER. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SWEAR ETERNAL FIELTY TO HER AND ONLY HER. DO YOU ACCEPT THIS CHARGE?”
Feeling extremely out of his depth, Creek desperately scanned the water and cliff for mushrooms.
“DO YOU ACCEPT, CREEK... KNIGHT OF THE LADY?”
A singular kobold heartbeat later, a pact was sealed and Creeps life was changed forever.Apr 27, 2021
Comments
I love this character. Every time you post about him on insta I smile. You actually inspired me to play a Kobold of my own in a new campaign (I have escaped forever DM!!) and I even use an edited copy of one of your old commissions as my character art. One day I will do my own... one day. You the man, man
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