Nyx Shadowflame
Info
Name: Nyx Shadowflame (of the Pebblebottoms)
Race: Tiefling
Class: Barbarian/Warlock
Alignment: Neutral Good
Backstory
Nyx Shadowflame, the Stormbound On a storm-laden night, two newborn Tiefling girls were discovered at the roots of an ancient, gnarled tree. Their cries barely pierced the howling wind, their tiny forms wrapped in dark cloth embroidered with unknown symbols. A pair of kind-hearted human innkeepers—Edric and Marla Pebblebottom—found them and took them in, raising them as their own daughters in The Wayfarer’s Rest, a small but welcoming inn frequented by travelers. Nyx and her twin, Natarri, grew up in a home filled with warmth, laughter, and the ever-changing stories of passing strangers. But even in those happy years, Nyx felt different. A storm raged within her, an untamed force she struggled to control. When her emotions ran too high, strange things would happen—shadows flickered unnaturally, objects trembled, heat surged in unpredictable bursts. While Natarri was calm and steady, Nyx always felt like a blade on the verge of breaking.
Then came the day Headmaster Altharion Veylen of the Wardens Order of Research arrived at the inn. A powerful scholar, he had spent years seeking those with immense potential, and in Nyx, he saw something remarkable. Though it pained the Pebblebottoms to part with their daughter, they understood that the world had greater plans for her. Unlike what she had feared, Nyx thrived at the academy. She learned magic, discipline, and control, and for the first time, she felt like she had a place where she truly belonged. Headmaster Veylen became like a father to her, guiding her not just in magic, but in understanding the fire within her. He taught her patience, the importance of restraint, and how to temper her rage before it consumed her. Yet, despite her love for the school and the people within it, Nyx is afraid. She feels the fury beneath her skin, the storm that never truly sleeps. Though she has grown stronger, there is a part of her that fears what will happen if she ever loses control. She remains at the academy, reluctant to leave, terrified that in the outside world, without the structure and safety she has known, she might become something dangerous. She longs for freedom but dreads the consequences. She misses Natarri and wonders if her twin still thinks of her. And most of all, she wonders if she will ever truly master the power that has both blessed and cursed her.
Bonding Event/Clockwork Catastrophe
Nyx sat cross-legged on the stone floor of the Academy’s workshop, her tail flicking behind her as she took slow, steady breaths. The smell of oil, burning metal, and something that probably shouldn’t be sparking filled the air. Across from her, Tink, the ever-enthusiastic earth genasi, adjusted the gears on his latest invention—a small, mechanical owl meant to deliver messages.
"You sure this one won’t explode?" Burton Jackson asked, arms crossed. The human bard-fighter had an eyebrow raised, his usual air of skepticism thick as ever. His lute was slung over his back, and he was leaning against the worktable like he was just waiting for something to go horribly wrong. "I never said the last one would explode," Tink shot back, adjusting the copper wiring. "That was an unfortunate and unpredictable combustion reaction!" "That means ‘explode,’" Zalanis Morissette, the half-elf rogue, muttered, flipping a dagger between her fingers with practiced ease.
Nyx exhaled through her nose, trying to drown out the usual back-and-forth of her friends. She had come here to relax, to focus, to keep her emotions in check. But instead, she was stuck in the middle of one of Tink’s many ‘harmless’ experiments. "Okay, okay!" Tink clapped his hands, sending small traces of dust scattering from his stone-like skin. "Moment of truth." He twisted a tiny key at the base of the owl’s neck. For a moment, the contraption hummed to life. Its brass wings fluttered, and its eyes lit up with a soft glow.
Then the glow turned red. "Uh-oh," Tink muttered. Nyx had exactly one second to react before the owl shot into the air like a firework, careening wildly around the room, knocking over stacks of books and sending parchment flying. "Why does this always happen?!" Burton yelled, ducking as the owl barely missed his head. "Improper weight distribution, probably!" Tink answered cheerfully, already reaching for a net he had somehow anticipated needing. Zalanis laughed, diving out of the way as the owl zigzagged toward her. "I love this school."
Nyx, however, wasn’t laughing. The chaos, the unpredictability—it made her heartbeat quicken, her blood feel too hot in her veins. She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing, trying to stop the familiar pull of magic from coiling in her chest. She couldn’t lose control. Not here. Not with them. The owl slammed into the back of a shelf. A heavy metal bust of a long-dead scholar teetered at the top. Oh no. Nyx moved. Faster than she thought possible, she leapt up, shoving Burton and Zalanis aside just as the bust tumbled down. It hit the floor with a deafening CRASH—right where they had been standing a second earlier. Silence. Then… "Okay," Burton said slowly.
"That was officially too close." Zalanis, still sprawled on the floor, let out a nervous chuckle. "You really do have a sixth sense for danger, Nyx. Or maybe a seventh." Nyx inhaled sharply, forcing herself to calm down, to ignore the burning sensation in her chest. She turned to Tink, who had finally managed to snag the rogue owl out of the air with his net. "Maybe," Nyx said, still catching her breath, "stick to non-flying inventions for a while?" Tink scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah… that might be best." As the dust settled, Nyx found herself smiling despite the chaos. This was her life. These were her friends. And though she still feared the power within her, she was grateful—because with them, she felt like she belonged. Even if that belonging sometimes came with the risk of explosions.
Bonding Event/Controlled Chaos
Nyx stood at the edge of the Academy’s courtyard, watching as Burton and Zalanis disappeared down the road, their figures growing smaller against the horizon. She clenched her fists, her tail flicking behind her with frustration. They were adventuring. Seeing the world. Living the kind of life she had dreamed of since she was a child. And she was still here.
"Watching them leave isn’t gonna make it any better, you know." Nyx turned to see Tink, arms crossed, a knowing smile on his rocky face. The earth genasi had never been one for wandering—not that he couldn’t if he wanted to. He just seemed content here, always working on new creations, always buried in his blueprints. Nyx wished she had that kind of peace. "I should be out there," she muttered, arms tightening across her chest. "I want to be. But I know I can’t. Not like this." Tink raised an eyebrow. "Because of your rage?"
Nyx exhaled sharply. "I can barely control it here, in a safe place. What happens if I lose it out there?" She shook her head, her frustration burning hotter. "I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want to hurt them." Tink was quiet for a moment, then a slow grin spread across his face. "Well," he said, "maybe you just need practice." Nyx frowned. "Practice?"
Before she could ask what he meant, Tink grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward his workshop. "Alright," Tink said, tightening the last bolt on his newest contraption. "This should be perfect." Nyx eyed the strange, humanoid-looking metal figure standing in front of her. It was cobbled together with spare parts, gears clicking softly in its chest. "What is this?" she asked skeptically. Tink grinned. "A sparring dummy. But this one fights back." He grabbed a small remote and pressed a button.
The dummy suddenly whirred to life, its arms snapping into a battle stance. Nyx took a step back. "Tink—" "Come on, Nyx," he interrupted, setting the remote down. "You say you can’t control your rage? Let’s test that. If you go overboard, it’s just metal. No harm done." She hesitated, heat rising in her chest. "And if I break it?" Tink smirked. "Then I build a better one." Nyx’s heart pounded. She wanted this. She needed this. A chance to fight, to release her pent-up fury, but in a way that wouldn’t put anyone in danger. She exhaled slowly. Then she lunged.
Her first strike was controlled—a simple punch to test the dummy’s reaction. But it countered, twisting with mechanical precision to block her attack. A thrill ran through Nyx. This was real. It was fighting back. She struck again. Harder. Faster. The heat inside her flared, her vision tinged red, but she kept herself aware. Kept herself present. Every time she felt her rage bubbling over, she forced herself to breathe, to redirect, to channel it into something precise instead of wild.
Minutes passed, sweat slicking her skin, until finally—CRASH! The dummy flew back, landing in a pile of scrap metal. The workshop fell silent except for the sound of Nyx’s heavy breathing. She looked at Tink, expecting disappointment. Instead, he was grinning. "See? You can control it." Nyx blinked, her heart still racing. She looked down at her fists, then back at the broken dummy. "I... I did it." Tink clapped her on the back. "And next time? We’ll try something even tougher." For the first time in a long while, Nyx felt something other than jealousy, other than longing. She felt hope.
Bonding Event/Hanging Out
Burton, Nyx, Tink, and Zelanis sat around a small campfire just outside the school grounds, the flames flickering in the cool night air. It had been a long day—another grueling lesson in combat tactics, another lecture on controlling one’s magic, another reminder that, no matter how far they’d come, there was still so much left to prove.
Nyx exhaled slowly, watching the embers dance. She had been struggling more than usual lately, her emotions on edge, her rage threatening to bubble over at the worst times. Burton, ever the defiant one, leaned back on his elbows, plucking at the strings of his lute absentmindedly. “We need a break. Some excitement. I say we sneak into the library archives and ‘borrow’ one of those locked-away tomes.”
Zalanis smirked, her golden eyes glinting in the firelight. “Tempting. But I don’t feel like being turned into a toad by the head librarian again.”
Tink chuckled, rubbing his chin. “You know, I could rig up a distraction. A harmless little pop of smoke, a slight flicker in the torches—”
Nyx shook her head, a small smile creeping onto her face. “You’re all ridiculous.” Burton gasped in mock offense. “Ridiculously brilliant.”
Zalanis nudged Nyx with her elbow. “You’re smiling. That’s a rare sight these days. What’s on your mind?” Nyx hesitated, her tail flicking against the dirt. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess... I just needed this. You guys. It’s easy to forget that I’m not alone.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Then, Tink reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, hand-crafted trinket—an enchanted pendant inlaid with a faintly glowing rune. He placed it in Nyx’s palm. “It’s not much,” he said, “but it’ll hum softly when we’re close by. Just in case you ever need to find us.”
Nyx swallowed the lump in her throat, tightening her fingers around the pendant. “Thank you.”
Burton threw an arm around her shoulder with a grin. “Alright, enough feelings. Who’s up for a bet? Last one awake has to clean the training room tomorrow.”
Zalanis cracked her knuckles. “You’re on.”
As laughter filled the night air, Nyx felt something settle inside her. No matter what the future held—no matter how strong the storm of her rage grew—she had them. And they had her.
After removing the Cult of Vecna from Neverwinter
It had been two months since the last cultist of Vecna crumbled to ash, silence swallowing their final curse. The victory was hard-won—not just by Nyx Shadowflame’s fury and eldritch flame, but through the strength of her allies. Burton’s inspiring battle cries and well-placed strikes turned the tide more than once, his balance of sword and song holding the line. Zelanis, ever the shadow-dancer, slipped through enemy ranks with a grin and a blade, a streak of chaotic good revelry cutting through darkness.
And then there was Tink.
Tink, the one Nyx trusted most. Earth genasi of many talents—artificer, cleric, wizard—and a mind sharp as any weapon. But in that final battle, it wasn’t invention that defined him—it was vengeance. His hammer struck with unrelenting fury, divine magic crashing like stone upon bone. The last cultist had made it personal. Tink made sure it ended that way.
But what gnawed worse… was the memory.
In the thick of that final fight, when her allies were bleeding and overwhelmed, something inside Nyx snapped. The rage took over—blinding, primal, total. She went berserker. She lost control.
She couldn’t remember parts of it. The blood. The screaming. Her own voice, inhuman and full of something ancient and wrong. When she came to, the battle was over. The cult defeated. But her friends’ eyes—concerned, shaken—told her the truth.
They had needed her. And she hadn’t been there. Not really.
That guilt sank into her bones deeper than any blade. It followed her even now, whispering alongside her patron’s voice, curling beneath every moment of silence. A quiet fear. What if it happened again?
The manor she’d claimed on the edge of town became her refuge. Not just to recover—but to atone. Crumbling stone and splintered beams bent beneath her will—and her hands. She could’ve fixed it with magic, but muscle and sweat made it hers. Burton helped charm the sitting room with warmth and music that lingered long after he left. Zelanis—less sentimental—installed subtle traps and left her a grin scrawled in charcoal on a wall beam. Tink contributed too: an unstable but brilliant set of arcane wards… then vanished back into his studies.
By day, she rebuilt. By night, she trained—refining the delicate balance between primal rage and pact-bound power. She inscribed protective sigils into the walls, whispering to her patron in a voice half-barbarian growl, half-warlock hymn. The house began to hum with quiet strength. A fortress, and a home.
And yet, even as the structure rose strong and whole, cracks grew elsewhere. Tink’s absence weighed heavier each day. Nyx didn’t speak of it, not even to Zelanis or Burton. But the silence pressed in.
Sometimes she climbed to the half-finished rooftop and looked out over the land—searching. Waiting. The cult was gone, yes. But Vecna’s shadow had left something behind in the world, and in her. A sense that the story wasn’t finished. That something worse stirred in the dark.
So she worked. Watched. Trained.
Because the next time her family needed her—she would not lose herself.
Not again.