NPC / gen-garamo

Name: Gen Garamo Age: around 35 Birthday: Someday in November Pronouns: Cup/Cake Alignment: Chaotic Good Loves: Fields, nature, potatoes, work Weapon of choice: Black scimitar Languages: Common, Common Sign Language, Goblin, (Comprehend Languages spell) Random Fact: When nervous, he gives pep talks to his tail. Out loud. He owns a small, poorly drawn tattoo of a turnip on his ankle from a drunken dare. Hates: Crows, magpies, rooks, and jays (Every bird that damages his field) Sexual Orientation: Hetero

Physical Appearance Height: 1,93m (6'4“) Weight: 122kg (269 lbs) Skin: Purple with slight tail discoloration and darkened patches from work in sun filled fields. Hair: Dark purple overgrown mullet. He likes to wear the top half in a half-bun updo, always kinda showing his black horns. Face: His emotions are always hidden behind a wide comforting grin, wide jaw with short black beard. His ears pierced, decorated with black earrings. Clothing: Baggy “farmer” like clothes stylised in black or dark grey colours, long black coat Physical Build: Buffed from daily work on his fields, yet chubby cause he also eats all he sows

Personality: Charismatic & Calm: Gen exudes an easygoing, relaxed energy. He’s the type to defuse tension with a joke, offer a helping hand without being asked, and laugh in the face of danger—not because he's fearless, but because he's learned fear well enough to know how to carry it. (edited)

Name: Gen Garamo Age: around 35 Birthday: Someday in November Pronouns: Cup/Cake Alignment: Chaotic Good Loves: Fields, nature, potatoes, work Weapon of choice: Black scimitar Languages: Common, Common Sign Language, Goblin, (Comprehend Languages spell) Random Fact: When nervous, he gives pep talks to his tail. Out loud. He owns a small, poorly drawn tattoo of a turnip on his ankle from a drunken dare. Hates: Crows, magpies, rooks, and jays (Every bird that damages his field) Sexual Orientation: Hetero

Physical Appearance Height: 1,93m (6'4”) Weight: 122kg (269 lbs) Skin: Purple with slight tail discoloration and darkened patches from work in sun filled fields. Hair: Dark purple overgrown mullet. He likes to wear the top half in a half-bun updo, always kinda showing his black horns. Face: His emotions are always hidden behind a wide comforting grin, wide jaw with short black beard. His ears pierced, decorated with black earrings. Clothing: Baggy “farmer” like clothes stylised in black or dark grey colours, long black coat Physical Build: Buffed from daily work on his fields, yet chubby cause he also eats all he sows

Personality: Charismatic & Calm: Gen exudes an easygoing, relaxed energy. He’s the type to defuse tension with a joke, offer a helping hand without being asked, and laugh in the face of danger—not because he's fearless, but because he's learned fear well enough to know how to carry it.

I. The Seed of Fate Gen was born on a rainy night, when the sky above the Garamo homestead tore open like a tattered veil. He was the first and only child of Elrik and Mirena – humble folk who made their living farming at the edge of civilization. No one expected their child to be born with purple skin, black horns, and a tail that whipped like a snake in his cradle. His father went pale, his mother wept… and the village cast them out. But Gen grew up surrounded by love – misunderstood, hidden, but real. Elrik, burned by guilt from an old pact, tried to raise his son in peace and humility. He taught him how to plow, plant crops, care for animals. Gen, despite his appearance, loved the dirt under his nails, the smell of hay, the tiredness after a long day's work. He knew the farm understood him. The earth didn’t ask who your father was – it just needed tending. But in dreams, shadows came to him. He spoke to them – or they to him. Fluctuations in reality, strange signs in the grain, a whispering wind that brought a name he didn’t know: Zor’Kel’thar.

II. Between the Plow and the Flames As he grew, he became a strong man – broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, with a smile he wore like a shield. People in the area got used to him, some even warmed to him. Yet Gen always knew a shadow would cling to him. And then – one autumn evening – everything burned.

Literally.

In a single night, their farmstead was engulfed in sudden flames. Gen managed to escape only with his father – his mother remained inside. The fire burned like hellfire. And Gen realized then that it wasn’t an accident. His father died in his arms – and just before his final breath, he confessed the truth about the pact. “Forgive me… he’ll take you, Gennar… he was always meant to…” Gen was left alone. And in the ashes of his home, he found the weapon for the first time – an old, blackened scimitar, broken and scorched, which he had never seen on the farm before. When he grasped it, the world went silent. And a voice – that voice – spoke clearly to him. “Accept me. Take the strength that was denied you. But know: every power has its price…”

III. The Hexblade's Gift Zor’Kel’thar, a demon long forgotten and trapped in the blade of an ancient warrior, offered Gen a pact. Power – to protect, and to burn. Power that would reforge his pain into strength. But the price was steep.

Gen had to forget. He had to sacrifice every memory of his mother – all of them. Every touch, every word, every lullaby she sang to him – all that tied him to humanity. He survived the act, but its wounds would never fully heal. He accepted the pact. Became a Hexblade. Since then, the blade has become a part of his soul – speaking to him, tempting him, offering “solutions” in every hard moment. Gen knows he's walking a tightrope – but for now, he still stands on his own.

IV. Laughter in the Labyrinth Now, he wanders the world. He plays the carefree vagabond – a joker and a laid-back helper. At markets, he helps old ladies carry bundles. In taverns, he plays dice with kids. Sometimes he stays for a week or two on a farm, offering help in return for food and lodging. But he never stays long. His scimitar, now reborn and alive, hangs at his side like a second tongue. And sometimes, in the quiet of night, when Gen plants new seedlings in a lonely roadside patch – it whispers: “You grow life… but you are my tool of death…” And Gen just smiles. Because a smile is the last thing demons don’t understand.

General Sayings “Life’s like a potato – if you don’t turn it in time, one side’s gonna rot.” “All good things grow slowly. Except weeds. And trouble.” “We all have a bit of soil inside us. Some folks are just compost already.” “Sow wind, reap a storm. Sow crap… reap even more crap.” “Falling into mud isn’t shameful. Not getting up and planting again is.” (edited)

I. The Seed of Fate Gen was born on a rainy night, when the sky above the Garamo homestead tore open like a tattered veil. He was the first and only child of Elrik and Mirena – humble folk who made their living farming at the edge of civilization. No one expected their child to be born with purple skin, black horns, and a tail that whipped like a snake in his cradle. His father went pale, his mother wept… and the village cast them out. But Gen grew up surrounded by love – misunderstood, hidden, but real. Elrik, burned by guilt from an old pact, tried to raise his son in peace and humility. He taught him how to plow, plant crops, care for animals. Gen, despite his appearance, loved the dirt under his nails, the smell of hay, the tiredness after a long day's work. He knew the farm understood him. The earth didn’t ask who your father was – it just needed tending. But in dreams, shadows came to him. He spoke to them – or they to him. Fluctuations in reality, strange signs in the grain, a whispering wind that brought a name he didn’t know: Zor’Kel’thar.

II. Between the Plow and the Flames As he grew, he became a strong man – broad-shouldered, deep-voiced, with a smile he wore like a shield. People in the area got used to him, some even warmed to him. Yet Gen always knew a shadow would cling to him. And then – one autumn evening – everything burned.

Literally.

In a single night, their farmstead was engulfed in sudden flames. Gen managed to escape only with his father – his mother remained inside. The fire burned like hellfire. And Gen realized then that it wasn’t an accident. His father died in his arms – and just before his final breath, he confessed the truth about the pact. “Forgive me… he’ll take you, Gennar… he was always meant to…” Gen was left alone. And in the ashes of his home, he found the weapon for the first time – an old, blackened scimitar, broken and scorched, which he had never seen on the farm before. When he grasped it, the world went silent. And a voice – that voice – spoke clearly to him. “Accept me. Take the strength that was denied you. But know: every power has its price…”

III. The Hexblade's Gift Zor’Kel’thar, a demon long forgotten and trapped in the blade of an ancient warrior, offered Gen a pact. Power – to protect, and to burn. Power that would reforge his pain into strength. But the price was steep.

Gen had to forget. He had to sacrifice every memory of his mother – all of them. Every touch, every word, every lullaby she sang to him – all that tied him to humanity. He survived the act, but its wounds would never fully heal. He accepted the pact. Became a Hexblade. Since then, the blade has become a part of his soul – speaking to him, tempting him, offering “solutions” in every hard moment. Gen knows he's walking a tightrope – but for now, he still stands on his own.

IV. Laughter in the Labyrinth Now, he wanders the world. He plays the carefree vagabond – a joker and a laid-back helper. At markets, he helps old ladies carry bundles. In taverns, he plays dice with kids. Sometimes he stays for a week or two on a farm, offering help in return for food and lodging. But he never stays long. His scimitar, now reborn and alive, hangs at his side like a second tongue. And sometimes, in the quiet of night, when Gen plants new seedlings in a lonely roadside patch – it whispers: “You grow life… but you are my tool of death…” And Gen just smiles. Because a smile is the last thing demons don’t understand.

General Sayings “Life’s like a potato – if you don’t turn it in time, one side’s gonna rot.” “All good things grow slowly. Except weeds. And trouble.” “We all have a bit of soil inside us. Some folks are just compost already.” “Sow wind, reap a storm. Sow crap… reap even more crap.” “Falling into mud isn’t shameful. Not getting up and planting again is.”