If You Write A Story For The Backstory Of A Character In A Ttrpg That Is Set In An Existing Franchise,

"No, I get it. One heart, two kidneys, 2 livers, one stomach, one-"

"Two livers?"

"Did I say two?"

"We have nothing in common."

These and memes like it make me want to get an easel and pallet and paint wizards in nature and I likely places.

I was simply enjoying a drink on the beach, admiring the sunset and waving my hands back and forth to make the waves dance to the song I had playing everywhere in my dreamscape all at once when a woman with branches growing everywhere on her body and overflowing with lush green leaves stepped in front of me out of thin air. I frowned at her.

"Will you do something? Anything? For the love of Mother Gaia, I'm so booooored!" she said indignantly with that petulant stomp and balled fists you'd only see better performed on a toddler.

I waved my hand in a dismissive gesture and her leaves quickly faded through the shades of Autumn before they shriveled up and fell in a ring around her feet. She huffed and crossed her arms, her face giving them a run for their money as she glared at me.

I took a sip of my drink and stared back impassively.

Finally relenting, I raised my eyebrow and said, "You're the one that put me here. I'm perfectly content. Bargain well struck in my book."

I materialized a book in my hand which flipped itself open to a page with the words "Bargain with the Fae: Well Struck." I grinned at her indignant "Urrrrgh..." and gnashing teeth. They made a sweetly satisfying sound of wood grinding and creaking like I was back in the forest where this all started.

"You know how to end this, love. Now if you'll excuse me, I was playing with the ocean." I said as I waved my hand and she disappeared in a flurry of dead leaves.

I awoke with a start. Killed in my sleep again, I assumed. Sure enough, there was the wood fae at the foot of my bed. Her back was to me, which wasn't unusual but she was slumped forward instead of leaning back on her hands, which was very unusual. I yawned, preparing to go back to sleep, figuring it was another game that I didn't care to play.

"Cassia." she said, sullenly. I paused.

"Excuse me?" I asked in a deadpan. My expression went flat, not that she could see. That was until she spun around angrily, her hands propping her up as she was nearly sideways on the end of the bed.

"Cassia! That's my name! You're so infuriating!" she said, spinning back around with that last statement and throwing her hands in the air.

"Cassia..." I said, rolling the name over in my mouth. There was a faint shudder to the space around me as I felt something form between us. I smiled gently as she stiffened then looked over her shoulder at me hesitantly.

"It's a lovely name." I said to her before I began rummaging in my bag by the side of the bed. I pulled out a book and flipped to the newest unused page, finally able to write something in it again knowing it would stick.

Bargain with Cassia: Well Struck.

"I'm glad to have met you, Cassia. I always wondered why this inn smelled of cinnamon every morning. You have a mighty gift with time magic. We are going to do great things together!" I said, the excitement growing in my voice.

Cassia looked relieved and even had a shy smile on her face. She quickly tried to school it, however, before saying, "Maybe now you won't be so boring, I hope!" and crossing her arms, her face anything but cross in accompaniment for once.

The Fae that trapped you in a Groundhog Day-style time loop is extremely frustrated that you’re taking advantage of the situation to just sleep all day, every day.

Gertrude, is that you?!

The man at ten in the morning gave me a wary look as he accepted the package of sandwich bread, his payment left at the edge of the counter in exact change.

My favorite regular came in a quarter to eleven. She doesn't speak a lick of English but always bows to me at the door before letting it swing closed again.

Sometimes I can tell a spirit has taken a swipe at someone or said something inappropriate by their flinch or a flush to the face.

On rare occasion, those comments spark a full on fight like I was the one who gave them a lewd comment or an insult to their honor.

Everyone reacts differently to my collection. While it can be an inconvenience at times, I bake the best bread in the city so they have to come to me for something or another.

It doesn't get to me much though. My regulars know what's up, and those here for a sample either become regulars or are never seen here again.

Sometimes I think about hitting up the local priest to really give the spirits in my wake a piece of my mind. Ultimately it wouldn't change anything, though, and I've gotten used to the scared and disdainful reactions by now anyway.

The real treat comes when a "hero" comes by for a baguette or some brioche. The good ones give me a knowing smile and often tip well. The "targets" often buy what they came for civilly, but I've gotten good at reading the telltale signs of their nervousness.

The good ones are rare. The good ones are often labeled at vigilantes.

Right before close, Earth Man came in. I thanked him for his wonderful work saving the forest west of the city from those "foul" Kiowa Krusaders. He left sweating bullets.

I expect to serve a lot of humble pie tonight and have a new greeter in my entourage by morning.

For some context, the thought that came to me from this prompt that inspired this story was: Something about "hero" being a status generated by public perception but they were actually all evil

It is known that the ghosts of fallen heroes haunt their killers and cannot move on until the killer is brought to justice. But nobody is willing to ask the baker why so many ghosts are following them around.

"So then why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm trying my best."

Don't look behind me adventurer. I think the golems are following me and I need your help. Whatever you do, do not look into their eyes. They're glamoured to entice you like a siren does a sailor. They're built for sin to draw you in and bring about your end. Do not engage. Spread the word and get. me. help.

"So, how's the wife?"

"Ah yes, the old ball and chain."

"That's a little rude, don't you think?"

I pull out a wedding photo from my wallet and you see me at the altar across from a chain chomp with a pink bow.