Barbarian Backstory Generator: Raised Far From Any Town

Press New backstory for a wild homeland, the day the fury woke, why they left and one rule.

Barbarian Backstory Generator: Raised Far From Any Town: 30 backstories

Born at a waterhole that shrinks to a puddle by summer's end. Among their people they were the taster of strange water, sent ahead of the herd. The fury first came in a flood, with a door for a raft and six aboard. Left when the dare they made as a child finally came due. Keeps one rule: never counts their animals aloud. Carries a bundle of home grass, for stuffing into town shoes.

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Bornat a waterhole that shrinks to a puddle by summer's end
Among their peoplethe taster of strange water, sent ahead of the herd
The fury first camein a flood, with a door for a raft and six aboard
Leftwhen the dare they made as a child finally came due
One rulenever counts their animals aloud
Carriesa bundle of home grass, for stuffing into town shoes

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Backstory of the day

Born at a waterhole that shrinks to a puddle by summer's end. Among their people they were the taster of strange water, sent ahead of the herd. The fury first came in a flood, with a door for a raft and six aboard. Left when the dare they made as a child finally came due. Keeps one rule: never counts their animals aloud. Carries a bundle of home grass, for stuffing into town shoes.
Born among standing stones older than any story about them. Among their people they were the child who shouted back at thunder. The fury first came after losing at knucklebones to a five-year-old. Left following a signpost they could not read but liked. Keeps one rule: will not say the word for wolf. Carries a ball of wool, one wisp from every lamb they delivered.
Born in a dip where the cold air pools and frost lies till noon. Among their people they were the one who knew every ewe by its bleat, eyes shut. The fury first came when a calf went through a rotten bridge. Left to hear a language with no word for uphill. Keeps one rule: eats nothing they cannot name. Carries a brick of home peat, saved for one cold evening.
Born on mudflats, in a hut that walks on four long poles. Among their people they were famous for a sneeze that started a stampede. The fury first came when a child's shoe went down a crack in the rock. Left to return a cooking pot borrowed forty years ago. Keeps one rule: will not stay a third night in one place. Carries a sprig of a home herb, mostly dust by now.
Born where breath freezes and falls with a small sound. Among their people they were the only child of two champion stone lifters. The fury first came the night wolves circled, and one roar sent them off. Left to learn what a clock is for. Keeps one rule: mends whatever the fury bent before sleeping. Carries a slate with the skyline of home scratched on it.
Born on a plateau above the last trees. Among their people they were the one who asked why once too often. The fury first came when a calf went through a rotten bridge. Left after their strength outgrew every door in camp. Keeps one rule: roars once at sunrise, to get it over with. Carries a leather bucket that folds flat and nearly holds water.
Born on an island you can walk to for one hour a day. Among their people they were the reader of weather in a cup of milk. The fury first came when a cloudburst set the winter stores afloat. Left after eating the seed grain by mistake, all of it. Keeps one rule: sets down gently whatever they lifted. Carries a wooden token to show at the camp gate on the way back in.
Born on stilts above a lake with no visible bottom. Among their people they were the worst dancer and the last to stop. The fury first came when a gate was shut on latecomers in the rain. Left when the camp grew too crowded to hear the wind. Keeps one rule: pays only with what one fist will hold. Carries a slate with the skyline of home scratched on it.
Born in a reed bed, in a house that floats when it must. Among their people they were the child who shouted back at thunder. The fury first came on being told it was bedtime. Left chasing a herd of wild ponies that will not be caught. Keeps one rule: never covers their head in rain. Carries a grandmother's advice, stitched along a shirt hem.
Born in a canyon the sun reaches for one hour. Among their people they were the one who could sleep anywhere, and did. The fury first came when a brother was told he sang like a crow. Left when blown sand buried every landmark on the way home. Keeps one rule: never sits with their back to a fire. Carries a brick of home peat, saved for one cold evening.
Born on a slope so steep the stew sat crooked in the bowl. Among their people they were the one who planted beans where everyone else grazed sheep. The fury first came when a landlord fenced the only spring. Left after winning the elders' wrestling match by accident. Keeps one rule: enters a house only after stamping twice on the ground. Carries a little sister's milk tooth, given as a loan.
Born on mudflats, in a hut that walks on four long poles. Among their people they were the one who knew every ewe by its bleat, eyes shut. The fury first came when a toll was asked for a bridge their family built. Left to fetch a healer, who turned out to live very far off. Keeps one rule: never stays angry past the next meal. Carries the headwoman's second-best cloak pin, to look respectable.
Born in a gorge crossed by a single rope. Among their people they were the digger of wells nobody else would start. The fury first came on being told it was bedtime. Left after a flood moved the river a day's walk west. Keeps one rule: dresses the same for a wedding as for a muddy field. Carries the mat from their place at the home fire, rolled tight.
Born beside a dry riverbed that runs once in a lifetime. Among their people they were the best thrower of stones in four camps. The fury first came when a debt was collected twice. Left chasing a herd of wild ponies that will not be caught. Keeps one rule: eats nothing they cannot name. Carries a toasting fork long enough to reach from the back row.
Born at the foot of an ice wall that creaks at night. Among their people they were the headwoman's child, watched by everyone. The fury first came when a small child could not see the dancers past the crowd. Left the morning after singing at a feast uninvited. Keeps one rule: roars once at sunrise, to get it over with. Carries a twist of bean seeds, in case they ever settle.
Born on a ridge where the wind never stops. Among their people they were the one who always found water. The fury first came when a sneeze spoiled a week's careful beadwork. Left to ask whoever rings a bell every dawn to stop. Keeps one rule: raises the voice and never a hand. Carries a spindle weighted with a river pebble, always turning.
Born on a steppe where the grass hides a standing horse. Among their people they were the mender of things better thrown away. The fury first came after losing at knucklebones to a five-year-old. Left when the summer grass failed for a third year. Keeps one rule: opens every window in any room they enter. Carries a comb with one tooth for every cousin.
Born in a hollow tree during the worst storm of the decade. Among their people they were the digger of wells nobody else would start. The fury first came when the herd bolted for a cliff, and they got in front. Left to return a cooking pot borrowed forty years ago. Keeps one rule: never washes off the first mud of spring. Carries a blanket woven with one mistake left in on purpose.
Born in a thicket of thorn with one way in. Among their people they were the one who knew every ewe by its bleat, eyes shut. The fury first came when a pony sank to its belly in soft ground. Left to stand in a crowd where nobody knows their name. Keeps one rule: thanks every cook by finishing the pot. Carries a comb with one tooth for every cousin.
Born under an overhang that keeps one patch of ground always dry. Among their people they were the one who knew every ewe by its bleat, eyes shut. The fury first came when a child was stuck on a ledge no ladder could reach. Left to buy one iron needle, and see the place that makes them. Keeps one rule: lies down to sleep only where they can see a star. Carries a wasp's paper nest, empty, light as a breath.
Born on a burned plain the first spring after. Among their people they were the teller of one story, always longer than last time. The fury first came when a child was stuck on a ledge no ladder could reach. Left after leaning on the elders' table and breaking it. Keeps one rule: pitches their own tent inside any room they are given. Carries a milk scoop carved with the face of a pony that bit them.
Born in a gorge crossed by a single rope. Among their people they were the worst dancer and the last to stop. The fury first came when fog hid the path and they shouted until all came in. Left to taste every kind of soup there is. Keeps one rule: will not cut their hair until they see home again. Carries a rough hair cloak that smells of home in the rain.
Born at the edge of a forest nobody has walked across. Among their people they were the one who once outstared a bull. The fury first came when a friend was too shy to ask for a second helping. Left after their strength outgrew every door in camp. Keeps one rule: answers no question asked after dark. Carries a burr that has ridden in one sock ever since home.
Born at the edge of a forest nobody has walked across. Among their people they were the far lookout, alone for half of every year. The fury first came when an old man could not get up the hill to the feast. Left to see a building with more than one floor. Keeps one rule: wrestles only for fun, and only when asked twice. Carries a twist of bean seeds, in case they ever settle.
Born on a herders' road with no houses at either end. Among their people they were the teller of one story, always longer than last time. The fury first came when a pony sank to its belly in soft ground. Left tracking whoever carves the same mark on every gatepost. Keeps one rule: never lifts a person without asking first. Carries a lump of fool's gold they were once very proud of.
Born in a gorge crossed by a single rope. Among their people they were the one who laughed at the wrong story. The fury first came when a river rose and the ducklings were still on the bank. Left when blown sand buried every landmark on the way home. Keeps one rule: cooks with no lid, so the sky can see. Carries a nose ring from an ox that was gentler than he looked.
Born in a dip where the cold air pools and frost lies till noon. Among their people they were the one who came back from a trading trip changed. The fury first came when a promise made to their mother was laughed at. Left the morning after singing at a feast uninvited. Keeps one rule: counts stairs aloud and distrusts every one. Carries a crook cut for a child, far too short now.
Born on stilts above a lake with no visible bottom. Among their people they were the teller of one story, always longer than last time. The fury first came when a landlord fenced the only spring. Left when the summer grass failed for a third year. Keeps one rule: raises the voice and never a hand. Carries a burr that has ridden in one sock ever since home.
Born beside a waterfall too loud to argue next to. Among their people they were the champion at holding their breath. The fury first came when a child's shoe went down a crack in the rock. Left after telling the elders they would bring back a star. Keeps one rule: pitches their own tent inside any room they are given. Carries the headwoman's second-best cloak pin, to look respectable.
Born beside a fallen giant of a tree, used as a street. Among their people they were the champion at holding their breath. The fury first came when a cart rolled back toward the lambing pen. Left after winning the elders' wrestling match by accident. Keeps one rule: enters a house only after stamping twice on the ground. Carries the sling they were carried in as a baby, worn as a belt.

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Born: all 60 homelands

High ground 12

among standing stones older than any story about them Tall stones used as windbreaks, with soot up one side of each.
at the snow line, wherever it sat that year Tents half on white ground and half on brown, moved a little each month.
beside a tarn that never quite thaws A small round lake in a rock hollow, with a rim of old ice on the shaded side.

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High ground, continued

beside a waterfall too loud to argue next to A family talking with their hands in the spray.
in a hanging valley reached by one narrow path A green bowl high on a mountain wall. The path in is a pale scratch on the rock.
in a notch between two peaks that share one cloud Twin summits and a single cloud snagged across the gap like washing.
on a ledge wide enough for nine tents and a fire Count the tents. The tenth family sleeps in a cave behind.
on a plateau above the last trees Flat rock to the horizon and one bent bush. Tundra-like ground: nothing grows taller than a knee.
on a ridge where the wind never stops Every tent rope doubled. Hair and smoke both streaming the same way.
on a shoulder of rock that gets the first light for miles One lit shelf of rock with a camp on it, and everything below still in blue shadow.
on a slope so steep the stew sat crooked in the bowl A level line of stew in a tilted bowl, and a family all leaning the same way to eat.
under a cliff that drops stones every spring A camp set well back from a fan of scree, with a child's slide worn into it.

Cold country 12

at the foot of an ice wall that creaks at night A blue-white wall behind the camp, with everyone asleep facing away from it.
in a dip where the cold air pools and frost lies till noon A saucer of ground furred white with frost while the slopes all round it stay green.
in a pine wood where the snow stays blue all day Long tree shadows on snow. Keep the whole picture in two cool tones and one warm fire.
in a valley the first thaw turns to mud for a month Boots hung on poles. Everyone barefoot on planks.
in the lee of a snowdrift as tall as a barn A camp tucked under a curling white wave of snow.
in the year the river froze hard enough to cross A crowd on the ice with loaded ponies, halfway over, not looking down.
on a frozen lake, in a hut dragged out each winter A small hut on runners far out on white ice, smoke going straight up.
on a shore where the sea brings wood and nothing else A beach of pale driftwood logs stacked like a lumber yard.
on open ground where the sun skips a month A noon sky full of stars and one line of orange on the horizon.
under a roof of living turf, dug in against the wind A grassy mound with a chimney. A sheep grazes the roof.
under a sky that ripples green on clear nights Curtains of green light over tents. The dogs are watching it too.
where breath freezes and falls with a small sound A figure speaking and a little shower of ice under the words.

Marsh and water 12

at a river mouth where fresh water meets salt Two tones of water meeting in a line, with a net staked across it.
beside a bog that keeps what falls into it Black pools between tussocks and a plank path with one plank missing.
beside a spring so cold it aches to drink Hands cupped, face braced. Frost flowers at the edge in midsummer.
in a maze of creeks with one sure path through Stakes with rag flags marking a way between identical creeks.
in a reed bed, in a house that floats when it must A hut on a raft of bundled reeds, tied to a pole by a long rope.
on a salt marsh, on a mound the highest tides just miss Huts on a low green island in grey water, and every animal the family owns up there with them.
on a sandbar that moves a little every storm A hut with a mast beside it, for finding home again afterward.
on an island you can walk to for one hour a day A causeway of wet sand, a figure running along it with a basket.
on mudflats, in a hut that walks on four long poles The hut does not walk. The family moves it, a pole at a time.
on stilts above a lake with no visible bottom Posts going down into dark water. A child fishing through a gap in the floor.
under a sea cliff with a cave the tide breathes through A dark arch in the rock, spray puffing out of it, and a camp set well to one side.
where a river goes underground and comes up warm Steam rising from a hole in a snowy bank and a queue for the bath.

Grass and dust 12

at a waterhole that shrinks to a puddle by summer's end Cracked mud in rings, each ring a week, and one wet eye in the middle.
beside a dry riverbed that runs once in a lifetime Boats stored upside down on a bank above nothing but stones.
in a canyon the sun reaches for one hour A bright stripe moving down a rock wall onto a row of drying racks.
in dunes that sing when the wind is right A ridge of sand with its crest smoking off and a child with a hand to one ear.
on a burned plain the first spring after Black ground with green needles coming through it everywhere.
on a herders' road with no houses at either end A track worn a hand deep by hooves, running from edge to edge of the page.
on a plain so flat a fire shows three days off A dot of light on a ruled horizon. Leave the rest of the page empty.
on a salt flat that crunches like a crust underfoot White ground cut into plates. Footprints stay for years.
on a steppe where the grass hides a standing horse Only ears and a rider's head above a sea of seed heads.
on red ground under a wind that stains the washing Every cloth in camp is the same rust tone as the hills.
under the only tree between two horizons Its shade is shared out by family. Draw the lines scratched in the dirt.
where rain is so rare the whole camp runs out to stand in it A slanting curtain arriving and every face in camp turned up to it, mouths open.

Forest and stone 12

among boulders left behind by long-gone ice Round rocks the size of houses on bare ground, with tents between like toys.
at the edge of a forest nobody has walked across A wall of trunks and a camp turned to face it, like an audience.
beside a fallen giant of a tree, used as a street Doors cut along a trunk lying on its side, with a number on each.
in a cave with handprints older than the family Stencilled hands on a wall and a small new one added low down.
in a clearing the lightning made A ring of charred stumps round new grass, and a camp in the middle.
in a gorge crossed by a single rope A sagging line over white water and someone carrying a goat across it.
in a hollow tree during the worst storm of the decade A slit of lamplight in a huge trunk. Rain like rods all round.
in a quarry abandoned before anyone can remember Square-cut walls and a camp in the bottom, where the wind cannot reach.
in a thicket of thorn with one way in A tunnel through the thorns just wide enough for a loaded pony.
in a wood so old the paths go round the trees A trunk as wide as a hut with a trodden ring about its roots.
on a hill of slate that rings underfoot Flat shards everywhere. The fences are slabs set on end.
under an overhang that keeps one patch of ground always dry A sharp line on the ground where the rain stops, and a camp packed exactly inside it.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. Every homeland was made up for this list as a landscape told by its ground, water and weather. Landscapes like these lie in many parts of the world, and a turf roof, a house on stilts, a reed raft and a hut on a frozen lake have each been built by many peoples, so an entry may bring a real place to mind; none is meant as the home of one real people, and no people, nation or region is named. Left out on purpose: reindeer, yurts, igloos, longhouses and the stone lamp of the far north. The landscape words (a steppe is a grassland plain without forest, tundra is cold ground where trees cannot grow, scree is loose broken rock at the foot of a cliff, a tarn is a small mountain lake in a hollow carved by ice, a salt marsh is coastal ground flooded by the tide, boulders are carried and left by glaciers, some dunes make a sound in the wind) were checked on 2026-10-01 against https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steppe, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tundra, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scree, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tarn_(lake), https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salt_marsh, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glacial_erratic and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Singing_sand. The origin of the word barbarian (in ancient Greece it meant a foreigner, someone who did not speak Greek, and it later became an insult) was checked the same day against https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barbarian. The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

Among their people: all 60 places

By birth 12

a cousin taken in after a bad year, and treated the same An extra bowl on the shelf, a little newer than the rest.
a foundling raised by whoever had soup that night A bowl held out from six different doorways.
a late baby, raised by grown brothers and sisters Taught to climb before walking. Draw them on somebody's shoulders.

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By birth, continued

the eldest, raised to lead and bad at waiting Arms folded at the front of a queue they are meant to be minding.
the first baby after three hard winters Passed from lap to lap. Every adult in the picture is smiling at them.
the grandchild the oldest storyteller chose to carry on A small figure on an old one's knee, lips moving along.
the headwoman's child, watched by everyone A dozen sideways glances and one stiff back.
one of twins nobody could tell apart until the temper Two identical faces. One has its eyebrows down.
the one who took their first steps between two camps A toddler holding a pony's tail in a line of loaded animals, tents folded on top.
the only child of two champion stone lifters Short parents with thick necks, and a toddler lifting the family dog.
the smith's seventh child, with nothing left to inherit Six siblings with tools and one with empty, enormous hands.
the youngest of nine, and the loudest Eight taller figures in a row and one small one in front with its mouth open.

By work 12

the breaker of young ponies, by patience alone Sitting in the grass with their back to a pony that is edging closer.
the caller, whose shout turned the herd Hands cupped round the mouth. Far off, every animal has its head up.
the cook for forty, and feared for it A ladle held like a staff of office. Nobody is first in line.
the digger of wells nobody else would start Waist deep in a dry hole, still cheerful.
the far lookout, alone for half of every year A stone hut with one window and a tally of days scratched by the door.
the finder of strays, out in all weather Coming home at dawn with a lamb inside their coat.
the keeper of the herd tally A notched stick as long as their arm, and a thumbnail checking the last notch.
the one sent to trade because they could count Fingers ticking off a number while a merchant looks worried.
the one who carried the fire from camp to camp A clay pot of embers hugged to the chest, wrapped in wet hide.
the one who slept across the doorway of the store A bedroll on a threshold and one eye open.
the rope maker, never seen with idle hands Twisting cord against one thigh even while talking.
the taster of strange water, sent ahead of the herd Lips pursed over one wet fingertip at a pool's edge while every animal waits.

By knack 12

the anchor of every rope pull since the age of ten One figure against six on a rope, heels dug in, winning.
the best thrower of stones in four camps A pile of pebbles sorted by size beside one bare foot.
the one the dogs obeyed first Six dogs sitting in a row. The owner of the dogs is still whistling.
the one who always found water Kneeling with an ear to the ground and one hand raised for quiet.
the one who could carry two grown sheep at once One under each arm, both sheep resigned.
the one who could sleep anywhere, and did Flat out on a moving cart, on a wall, on a sheep.
the one who could stack anything on anything A stool on a churn on a barrel, and a small child on top of the stool, quite safe.
the one who knew every ewe by its bleat, eyes shut Eyes shut in the middle of a flock, pointing at one voice after another.
the one who never got lost, even as a child Walking ahead with total certainty while adults check the stars.
the one who remembered every debt Reciting to a circle of faces that are trying not to be noticed.
the reader of weather in a cup of milk Peering into a bowl held up to the sky.
the settler of quarrels, by sitting on both parties Two arguing people on the ground and one calm figure across them.

On the edge 12

the dreamer who walked off the path counting birds A line of walkers on a track and one figure well out to the side, looking up.
the keeper of a pet nobody approved of A very large bird on one shoulder, and room on the bench either side.
the mender of things better thrown away A cooking pot more patch than pot, held up with pride.
the one who asked why once too often A child's raised hand in a circle of sighing elders.
the one who beat the headwoman at stones, and smiled A game board, a winning move and a terrible silence.
the one who came back from a trading trip changed A hat from somewhere else, worn at an angle nobody likes.
the one who laughed at the wrong story One open mouth in a ring of solemn faces.
the one who planted beans where everyone else grazed sheep A small fenced square of green poles in a wide plain of grazing, and one sheep eyeing it.
the one who slept apart, by choice A single small tent a stone's throw from the ring of the rest.
the one who would not learn the old songs Humming something else, half a beat off the circle.
the only one who liked the taste of town bread Holding a white loaf like a secret behind their back.
the stranger's child, half welcome Sitting at the very end of the bench, with their own spoon.

By reputation 12

the champion at holding their breath Cheeks out, eyes crossed, a circle of children counting.
the child who shouted back at thunder Small fists up at a black sky from the top of a rock.
famous for a sneeze that started a stampede A handkerchief the size of a flag, carried ever since.
known for a snore that kept the owls awake A whole camp sleeping with pillows over their ears.
the one blamed for every broken jug, fairly A trail of shards leading up to their boots.
the one who ate the whole midsummer cheese A guilty face, round as the cheese was.
the one who jumped in every puddle, at any age A full-grown figure in mid-air over a puddle and a ring of people already stepping back.
the one who lost the bell goat, and never heard the end A whole hillside being searched, and a goat watching from the roof behind them.
the one who once outstared a bull Nose to nose with it. The bull is the one looking away.
the one who waved at every stranger on the skyline Standing on a cart, arm up, long before anyone can see a face.
the teller of one story, always longer than last time An audience that knows the ending, mouthing along.
the worst dancer and the last to stop Elbows out at a fire long after the drummers have gone to bed.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. Each entry was made up for this list as a standing inside one small, invented band of herders and foragers: a birth order, a job, a knack or a reputation. No real people or nation is named and none is meant. Left out on purpose: the words tribe, chief, clan and savage, and any rank or title taken from one real people. The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

The fury first came: all 60 moments

For the animals 12

the day the old barn began to lean, and they leaned back Back against a tilting wall, boots dug in, while the animals file out past them.
the night wolves circled, and one roar sent them off Mouth wide, arms out, firelight behind. The wolves are leaving in a hurry.
when a bull charged the washing line with children near Both hands on its horns, boots sliding, the bull slowly stopping.

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For the animals, continued

when a calf went through a rotten bridge Hanging from the planks by the knees with a calf under one arm.
when a cart rolled back toward the lambing pen Both hands on the tailboard, heels cutting two trenches in the mud.
when a mare would not leave a burning stable Leading her out blindfolded with a coat, walking backward.
when a pony sank to its belly in soft ground Hauling on a halter rope, leaning back at a slant no body should hold.
when a ram was stuck in a fence and nobody else could lift A full-grown ram carried overhead like a sack of meal.
when a river rose and the ducklings were still on the bank Wading out with a hatful of ducklings held above the flood.
when an eagle dived at a lamb, and they outran its shadow Sprinting up a slope that is nearly a wall, a wide shadow sliding over the grass behind.
when the dogs went down an old well one after another Flat at the rim, hauling up a third wet dog by the scruff.
when the herd bolted for a cliff, and they got in front Standing square on the edge with both arms up, shouting.

Against the weather 12

during a dust storm, roped to a line of walkers First on the rope, bent double, dragging the rest by the waist.
in a drought, digging until the hole filled A pit deeper than they are tall and a first dark stain at the bottom.
in a flood, with a door for a raft and six aboard Poling a door through brown water. Count the passengers.
in a rockfall, shifting the stones off the only path Boulders stacked aside like bread loaves and a line of people waiting.
when a cloudburst set the winter stores afloat Wading with a barrel on each shoulder.
when a grass fire jumped the break, and they beat it back Swinging a wet blanket with both arms in a line of smoke.
when a landslip crept toward the hay store A row of planks held like a dam against a brown wave, boots sinking, the hay dry behind.
when a storm took the tent and they held the ridge pole One figure gripping a pole while canvas snaps like a sail above.
when a whirlwind picked up the drying racks Holding four racks down at once, arms and legs spread like a star.
when fog hid the path and they shouted until all came in Standing on a rock, voice gone hoarse, counting heads in the mist.
when hail the size of eggs caught the children outside Holding a cart upside down over a huddle of small heads.
when lightning split an old pine and it began to fall Shoulder to the trunk, face red, the tree paused at a slant.

At something unfair 12

the day a boundary stone was moved in the night Carrying the stone back alone, in daylight, past every door.
when a bigger child took a smaller child's dinner Standing between the two with arms folded until the dinner came back.
when a debt was collected twice A strongbox held overhead and shaken until the second payment fell out.
when a gate was shut on latecomers in the rain The gate held open with one hand, bar and all.
when a judge would not hear a shepherd speak A courtroom bench with four officials on it, carried outside.
when a landlord fenced the only spring Fence posts pulled like carrots and stacked for firewood.
when a promise made to their mother was laughed at A table lifted by one end, slowly, until the laughing stopped.
when a storyteller was told to stop mid-tale A shout so loud the whole hall sat back down.
when a toll was asked for a bridge their family built The toll gate lifted off its hinges and leaned neatly on a wall.
when a trader's thumb was found on the scale The scale beam bent double in one fist, held up for the crowd.
when someone called their grandmother's cooking plain A cauldron lifted to the critic's nose for a closer smell.
when the elders gave the prize to the wrong runner A finishing post pulled out of the ground and planted in front of the right one.

For someone small 12

when a brother was told he sang like a crow Standing behind him at the next song, glaring at the audience.
when a child was stuck on a ledge no ladder could reach Climbing bare-handed with a small passenger clinging to their neck.
when a child's shoe went down a crack in the rock The crack widened by hand, with a look of calm purpose.
when a friend was too shy to ask for a second helping The serving pot carried over and set down in front of the friend.
when a lost child cried somewhere out in the dark Crashing through a thicket in a straight line toward the sound.
when a sister's kite went into the tallest tree The tree shaken like a rug until the kite fell out.
when a small child could not see the dancers past the crowd A child sitting on two raised palms like a chair, high above every hat in the crowd.
when a small cousin was dared out onto a rotten log Walking out along the log to carry the cousin back like a parcel.
when a small nephew was told he was too little to ride The pony across their shoulders and the nephew on the pony, all three doing a lap of the field.
when a well bucket came up with a kitten in it Winding the handle so fast the rope smoked.
when an old man could not get up the hill to the feast Carrying him up, chair and all, without spilling his soup.
when the littlest was left out of the game The whole game, players and all, moved to where the littlest sat.

For no good reason 12

after losing at knucklebones to a five-year-old A fistful of knucklebones squeezed until they squeak. The child is delighted.
at a tent peg that would not come out The peg, the rope and a good piece of ground, all in one fist.
on being called little by somebody shorter The speaker set gently on a high shelf, so the talk can go on at eye level.
on being told it was bedtime A very small person holding a doorframe that has come away from the wall.
on first meeting a mirror in a trader's cart A startled face in the glass and the whole cart rocking on its wheels.
on stubbing a toe against the same rock twice The rock carried a mile away and dropped in a ravine.
when a fly landed on their nose during a solemn oath A slap that missed the fly and flattened a drum.
when a goat ate their only clean shirt Chasing a goat across the page with one sleeve still in its mouth.
when a sneeze spoiled a week's careful beadwork Beads in the air like rain and a face going slowly purple.
when a song got stuck in their head for a month Singing it at a mountain until the mountain sang back.
when the porridge burned for the fifth day running A pot thrown so far it is a dot above the hills.
when the wind blew their hat off three times The hat nailed to a fence post, as a lesson to it.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. The fury on this page is a burst of strength, noise and stubbornness, and every moment was made up for this list. It lifts, hauls, shouts, digs or holds on, and in no entry is a person or an animal struck or injured. No real people or battle is named and none is meant. The game of knucklebones (small objects thrown and caught, with no board) was checked on 2026-10-01 against https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knucklebones. The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

Left: all 60 reasons

Sent on an errand 12

as the elders' answer to a letter nobody could read Holding the letter out to strangers, upside down.
to ask whoever rings a bell every dawn to stop Standing under a bell tower with both hands over their ears.
to buy one iron needle, and see the place that makes them A purse with a single coin, held in a fist the size of a loaf.

Show all 60 reasons (57 more)

Sent on an errand, continued

to carry word of a birth to kin a month's walk away A message tied in a strip of cloth round one wrist, never taken off.
to count the towns and report how many Pebbles in a pouch, one a town. The pouch is getting heavy.
to escort a cross old aunt to a far wedding Carrying a small, cross relative in formal clothes through a bog.
to fetch a healer, who turned out to live very far off Asking directions for the ninth time, pointing the way they came.
to fetch a new millstone, and nobody mentioned a cart Rolling a stone wheel as tall as a child along a road, one hand steering.
to learn a new knot the old ones had only heard of Stopping every sailor and weaver on the road, rope in hand.
to return a cooking pot borrowed forty years ago A huge black pot on their back like a shell.
to see where traders sleep when they are not here A cart far ahead on a road and one tall figure keeping pace behind a hedge.
to trade a winter's wool and not come back cheated A bale as big as they are, and a face practising looking unimpressed.

After an embarrassment 12

after calling a visiting elder by the wrong name twice A figure backing out of a tent, still bowing.
after eating the seed grain by mistake, all of it An empty sack worn as a hood, and a very fast walk.
after leaning on the elders' table and breaking it A long table in two halves, and a figure walking off with one half to mend.
after lending the camp's only map to a stranger A square patch of pale wall where the map used to hang.
after sleeping through their own naming day Running over a hill with a ceremonial hat half on.
after telling the elders they would bring back a star Walking toward the evening star with a sack held ready.
after their snoring was voted on A bedroll carried to the far side of a hill. Then farther.
after their strength outgrew every door in camp Sideways in a doorway with the frame round their shoulders.
after winning the elders' wrestling match by accident An old champion sitting in a hedge, more surprised than hurt.
the morning after singing at a feast uninvited Hood up, walking fast, a few flower petals still in their hair.
rather than explain what happened to the drum A drum with a boot-shaped hole, left on a doorstep at night.
when the dare they made as a child finally came due A scrap of bark with a child's mark on it, held like a summons.

Out of curiosity 12

because a trader's picture book stopped halfway The half book under one arm, open at the last page they have.
to ask a town child what they do all day indoors Crouched at a schoolroom window, face in both hands.
to find the end of the road, if it has one A milestone with the number worn off and a figure passing it.
to hear a language with no word for uphill Listening hard at a market, lips trying out a new sound.
to learn what a clock is for Ear pressed to a town clock, expression deeply suspicious.
to meet somebody stronger, and still looking A polite queue of challengers. None of them looks hopeful.
to see a building with more than one floor Head tipped right back at the foot of a tower, hat falling off.
to see snow, or to see somewhere without it Staring at the ground in a new country as if it might change back.
to see where a river goes after the last bend anyone knows Walking a bank with a leaf boat for company.
to see whether a city is as big as the traders say Standing at the top of a last hill, looking down at more roofs than sheep.
to stand in a crowd where nobody knows their name In a busy square, a head taller than everyone, smiling.
to taste every kind of soup there is A spoon on a cord round the neck, worn like a medal.

When the land changed 12

after a flood moved the river a day's walk west A dry bed with a boat sitting in it and nobody aboard.
after a rockslide closed the way home like a door A wall of rubble where a path ought to be, and one figure on the outside.
when a new road cut the old herding track in two Standing on fresh paving with a goat on a string, looking both ways.
when a new town's lamps hid the stars they steered by A night sky with half its stars washed out by a glow on the horizon.
when blown sand buried every landmark on the way home Smooth dunes in every direction, all the same, and the tip of one post showing.
when strangers bought the summer pasture and walled it One hand flat on new stonework, the other shading the eyes.
when the camp grew too crowded to hear the wind Edging out of a ring of tents with a bedroll, breathing out.
when the last of the old herd went to pay what was owed An empty pen with the gate left open, and a figure walking away from it.
when the summer grass failed for a third year Thin animals on a skyline and one person walking the other way with a pack.
when the waterhole went sour and the herd moved without them Cold fire rings round a pool, and one bedroll still laid out beside it.
when the wild herds they followed changed their road Old tracks grassed over and fresh ones bending off toward the unknown.
the year the birds flew south early and they followed Head up, under a long arrow of birds.

Following something 12

after talk of a mountain nobody has seen the top of Neck craned at a mountain that goes up into cloud and does not come out.
chasing a herd of wild ponies that will not be caught A halter over one shoulder that has never been on a pony.
chasing a trader who owes their family six sheep Six fingers held up at every market gate, and a patient stare.
chasing their own lost dog, last seen on a river barge Whistling from a bridge at every boat that passes below.
following a comet, to see where it came down Walking with a neck permanently tilted back.
following a line of ants that seemed sure of the way On hands and knees along a road, nose down, a whole town going by unnoticed.
following a signpost they could not read but liked Staring up at a fingerpost, then setting off the way the longest word points.
looking for a brother who left first and wrote once One creased letter with a drawing of a quay on it.
on the trail of a stolen prize ram, and the trail is long Hoofprints and a line of chewed washing lines, town after town.
to return a lantern to a stranger who helped and vanished Carrying a lit lantern at noon, holding it up to every face that passes.
tracking whoever carves the same mark on every gatepost Tracing a carved sign with one finger, then looking down the road.
walking into the wind, to find where it starts Head down on an empty road, leaning so far forward the coat tails fly out like a flag.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. Each entry was made up for this list as a reason to walk away from an invented band of herders: an errand, an embarrassment, a curiosity, a change in the land or something to follow. Nobody is driven out by force. Herders in many places have lost ground to new roads, walls and towns, so an entry may bring real history to mind; no real people, migration or event is named and none is meant. The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

One rule: all 60 rules

Roofs and walls 12

counts stairs aloud and distrusts every one One foot testing a step as if it were ice.
enters a house only after stamping twice on the ground Two big boot prints outside every threshold they have crossed.
lies down to sleep only where they can see a star A bed dragged across a room to a gap in the shutters.

Show all 60 rules (57 more)

Roofs and walls, continued

never lets a wall come between them and their pack The pack on their knee at table, like a guest.
never sleeps under a roof Bedroll on a lodging house's front step, in the rain, perfectly content.
opens every window in any room they enter A row of shutters banging and a host holding down the tablecloth.
pats every bridge as if it were a horse A flat hand on a stone parapet and a murmured word.
pitches their own tent inside any room they are given A small patched tent in the middle of a grand guest room, its ropes tied to the bedposts.
sits on the floor whenever there is a chair Cross-legged beside a throne, quite at ease.
sleeps with their boots pointing home Two boots side by side, toes toward a far line of hills.
will not eat indoors if the sky is clear Carrying a full plate out of a banquet through the nearest window.
will not stay a third night in one place Two scratches on a doorpost and a pack already on.

Fire and food 12

brings wood to every table they eat at Arriving at a town dinner with a log under each arm, looking for the hearth.
cooks with no lid, so the sky can see Steam going straight up from a pot in a kitchen full of unused lids.
drinks only from cupped hands or a stream A cup pushed politely aside and water poured into both palms.
eats nothing they cannot name Holding a fork up to the light with deep distrust.
gives the first spoonful back to the pot A ladle tipped over the stew before anyone is served.
never burns a branch that still has leaves A long search of a green wood for dead sticks only.
never refuses food offered with two hands A ninth helping accepted with a brave face.
never sits with their back to a fire Chair turned round the wrong way at every table.
pays for salt with work, never with coin A merchant's cart held up by the axle while he changes the wheel, a twist of salt as wages.
saves the last crust of every loaf for the road A pocket of crusts, each a different age.
tears bread and never cuts it A loaf pulled apart in two fists while the bread knife lies unused.
thanks every cook by finishing the pot Scraping a cauldron with a crust while the cook looks on, moved.

Names and words 12

answers no question asked after dark Mouth shut, one finger pointing at the moon.
names no storm until it has passed Watching a black sky in silence, jaw tight.
never counts their animals aloud Lips moving, fingers folding one by one behind the back.
never gives thanks in words, only in work A stranger's whole woodpile split overnight, with nobody to thank.
never says the name of their home inside four walls Stepping out of a doorway mid-sentence to finish it.
never swears by anything they cannot see One hand on a rock, a tree, a stranger's cart.
never whispers A secret told at full volume in a library.
shouts every promise, so the hills can witness Hands round the mouth in a quiet street. Windows opening.
speaks to the oldest person in a room first Walking straight past a king to bow to somebody's grandmother.
tells every new river their name before crossing it On the bank with one hand raised, introducing themselves to the current.
tells their true name only to someone who has shared a fire Two figures at a campfire, one leaning in to listen.
will not say the word for wolf Saying the long-legged cousin and looking over one shoulder.

What they wear 12

braids a pebble into their hair for every promise A head that rattles faintly when it nods.
dresses the same for a wedding as for a muddy field Among guests in their finery in a patched work coat, entirely at ease.
keeps one sleeve unsewn until they go home A loose sleeve tied on with cord at the shoulder.
never covers their head in rain Face up in a downpour beside a crowd of hoods.
never fastens the top toggle of any coat One toggle hanging loose on a coat buttoned to the chin.
never washes off the first mud of spring One boot toe crusted pale with old mud while the rest of the boot shines.
pays only with what one fist will hold A closed hand held out to a shopkeeper and opened.
takes their boots off on grass and never on a floor Barefoot on a village green, boots round the neck. Boots firmly on across a polished hall.
wears every coat they own at once, layer on layer Three coats deep on a hot market day, round as a haystack, sleeves of three lengths at each wrist.
wears home wool next to the skin, whatever the weather A scratchy collar showing at the neck in high summer.
will not cut their hair until they see home again A braid long enough to tuck in the belt.
will not wear metal while there is thunder about A belt buckle and a cloak pin in a neat pile under a tree.

About the fury 12

carries the heaviest load, so the temper has work A pack the size of a wardrobe and a mild expression.
mends whatever the fury bent before sleeping Straightening a gate hinge by moonlight with bare hands.
never breaks what they cannot mend Edging sideways between shelves of glassware, elbows tucked in, holding their breath.
never frightens anything smaller than a sheep Crouched very still while a kitten inspects one boot.
never lets the fury out for their own sake Jaw clenched over a stubbed toe. Somebody else's cart is safe.
never lifts a person without asking first Arms out, eyebrows up, waiting for a nod.
never stays angry past the next meal Glowering over a bowl, then not.
raises the voice and never a hand Arms folded tight, mouth wide, hats blowing off across the street.
roars once at sunrise, to get it over with A hilltop, a pink sky and birds leaving every tree.
sets down gently whatever they lifted A boulder lowered onto the grass like a sleeping child.
walks once round the nearest tree before answering an insult A worn ring in the grass round one small, patient tree.
wrestles only for fun, and only when asked twice Shaking hands before and after, grinning both times.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. Each rule was made up for this list as a habit carried in from a life outdoors or a limit set on the character's own strength. A few echo habits that many peoples have kept (not saying a feared animal's name, not counting a herd aloud, letting hair grow until a promise is kept, tearing bread and not cutting it); none is meant as the custom of one real people or faith. Left out on purpose: face paint, tattoos and any dress tied to one real people. The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

Carries: all 60 keepsakes

From the herd 12

a ball of wool, one wisp from every lamb they delivered Felted hard as a fist and still growing a layer a year.
a bracelet braided from a pony's mane Coarse, two-toned, worn thin where a thumb rubs it.
a collar their dog outgrew as a pup Buckled round one wrist, far too small for anything else now.

Show all 60 keepsakes (57 more)

From the herd, continued

a crook cut for a child, far too short now Carried anyway, and leaned on at an odd angle.
a lump of rock salt licked smooth by a hundred tongues Round as a river stone, with a groove on one side.
a milking stool with three legs of three lengths It only sits level on the hillside it was made for.
a nose ring from an ox that was gentler than he looked Hung at the belt, where one finger hooks through it when the temper needs minding.
a rough hair cloak that smells of home in the rain Worn in wet weather on purpose, one fold held to the nose, breathing in.
a tub of sheep salve, used on everything Boots, hinges, chapped hands, a squeaking cart wheel.
the horn of an old lead cow, kept polished On a strap across the chest, shined with a sleeve whenever they stop to think.
the old halter of the best ewe, soft as cloth Looped through the belt. The noseband still holds the shape of her face.
shearing blades wrapped in an old fleece Unrolled with care, like a musician's instrument.

From the home fire 12

a blanket woven with one mistake left in on purpose Find the stripe that goes the wrong way. They always do.
a fat lamp in the shape of a sitting hen The wick comes out of the beak. It has been mended at the neck.
a griddle iron worn as thin as a leaf in the middle Held up to the light. You can nearly see through it.
a mallet carved from an old tent pole, for pegs The head is worn round on one face, and the rope groove is still there in the handle.
a pinch of ash from the last home fire Kept in a stoppered reed. A little goes on every new fire.
a sleeping fur too warm for any town bed Kicked off by midnight, pulled back by dawn.
a small bellows patched with calfskin and an old boot Squeezed once at every new fire, with a critical look at the result.
a strip of the home tent, sewn inside their coat A darker, smoke-stained panel in the lining.
a toasting fork long enough to reach from the back row As long as they are tall, black at the prongs, with a grip worn pale at the far end.
a winter's dried berries, gone as hard as beads Strung on a cord. Eaten one at a time, on bad days.
the family's hearth stone, still black on one side Flat, heavy, and set down first wherever they camp.
the sling they were carried in as a baby, worn as a belt Wound twice round the waist. One end is chewed, from long ago.

From the land 12

a board from the threshold of home Set down outside every place they sleep.
a brick of home peat, saved for one cold evening A dark block in the pack, sniffed now and then, never yet lit.
a bundle of home grass, for stuffing into town shoes Pale stalks poking out at both ankles.
a burr that has ridden in one sock ever since home A small spiky seed in the wool at the ankle. They check it is still there before bed.
a grey stone with one white band right round it, for luck One unbroken pale stripe on a dark pebble. Children are allowed one wish each on it.
a lump of fool's gold they were once very proud of Turned over and over in the palm when thinking.
a pouch of home soil, to stand on when homesick Two bare footprints pressed in a small patch of dark earth.
a seed from the only tree they ever climbed Knotted into one corner of a neckcloth, and checked with a thumb now and then.
a slate with the skyline of home scratched on it Held up against new horizons for comparison.
a sprig of a home herb, mostly dust by now A twist of cloth, opened only to be smelled.
a twig from the tree their people meet under It has not grown a leaf in years. They water it anyway.
a wasp's paper nest, empty, light as a breath Carried in the hat, for reasons they will not give.

Made by their own hands 12

a ball of stitched leather stuffed with wool For a game nobody here knows. They explain the rules often.
a comb with one tooth for every cousin Very wide. Three teeth are newer than the others.
a fish hook bent from a thorn Pinned through the collar like a brooch.
a hat of felted wool shaped over their own knee It fits the knee better than the head.
a leather bucket that folds flat and nearly holds water Carried dripping from every well, a dark trail in the dust behind.
a milk scoop carved with the face of a pony that bit them Ears back, teeth showing. They can tell you its name, and they have not forgiven it.
a spindle weighted with a river pebble, always turning Twirling at the hip while they walk, a thread growing down toward the knee.
a toy boat that has never touched water Hull carved, mast stepped, still waiting for a pond worth it.
a wooden chain of seven links, whittled from one stick No joins anywhere. They hand it to strangers and wait for the question.
boots resoled so often nothing of the first pair is left Layers of leather at the heel like the rings of a tree.
the first basket they wove, with gaps an egg falls through Holes you could post a hand through. It carries one loaf at a time, with care.
one carved pony from a toy herd of thirty Thumb-sized. The other twenty-nine stayed with a small cousin.

Pressed on them at the leaving 12

a bar of soap from an aunt, still square at every corner Unwrapped now and then, looked at, and wrapped again. The aunt will ask.
a crock of the camp's sourdough, fed every morning A stone jar under one arm with a cloth lid, and a spoon of flour going in at dawn.
a grandmother's advice, stitched along a shirt hem A line of crooked stitches along the hem, read upside down when in doubt.
a list of things to bring back, drawn in pictures A strip of hide with a needle, a bell and a question mark on it.
a little sister's milk tooth, given as a loan In a nutshell on a cord. She wants it back in person.
a loaf from their mother, too hard to eat or throw away Wrapped in cloth and carried like an infant.
a packed lunch from eleven different relatives Far too much food, in eleven kinds of wrapping.
a twist of bean seeds, in case they ever settle Shaken beside the ear now and then, like a rattle.
a wooden token to show at the camp gate on the way back in A carved wooden disc on a thong, the camp mark burned in, worn smooth by checking.
the headwoman's second-best cloak pin, to look respectable Polished daily. They touch it when a decision is needed.
the mat from their place at the home fire, rolled tight A small worn mat on top of the pack. At home, a gap in the ring is waiting for it.
mittens knitted by the whole camp, a row each Stripes of every wool and every level of skill.

How this list was compiled: Original list written for Draw This Next, October 2026. Each keepsake was made up for this list as a small thing from an invented herding camp: something off an animal, from the home fire, from the ground, made by hand or pressed on them at the leaving. Plain things like these (a polished horn, a felt hat, a spindle, a blanket woven with one flaw left in) have been made by many peoples; none is meant as the craft of one. Left out on purpose: the cradleboard, totems, feathers worn as a sign and any object tied to the dress of one real people. A spindle (a weighted spike for twisting wool into yarn) was checked on 2026-10-01 against https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spindle_(textiles). The notes on what to draw are our own suggestions. Licence: own work

How it works

This barbarian backstory generator deals six parts of an outsider's past: a homeland, a place among their people, the first fury, why they left, one rule and a keepsake. Text only, and the fury hurts nobody.

Read the full guide

An outsider, not a brute

Barbarian began as a Greek word for a foreigner and later became an insult. Here it means someone raised far from towns. The first two parts give the land and their standing in a small band of herders. Draw the land first: it decides the coat, the boots and the squint.

A fury you can stage

The third part is the day their strength first got loose, such as when a storm took the tent and they held the ridge pole. The fury lifts, hauls, shouts or holds on, and nobody is ever struck. Draw that scene, then the rule that keeps the temper in check today.

Scale sells strength. Put something of known size in the fury scene: a cart, a doorway, a full-grown ram.
The keepsake is the soft note. Give it to the hand that is not lifting anything.
Draw the rule being kept in a town street. An outsider reads best beside people who are not one.

Questions and answers

Where does the word barbarian come from?

From ancient Greece, where it meant a foreigner: someone who did not speak Greek. It later turned into an insult. On this page it means only a person raised in wild country, far from towns.

Is the fury violent?

No. The fury lifts, hauls, shouts, digs or holds on, and in no entry is anybody struck or hurt. It bends a scale beam, carries a bench outside or shifts fallen stones off the only path.

Are the lists based on a real people?

No. The homelands are landscapes, told by their ground, water and weather, and the rules and keepsakes were made up for this list. No real people, nation or tradition is named or meant.

Does it follow a tabletop game?

No. Barbarian is the plain English word here. The lists name no game, rule book or setting and borrow nothing from one, so a result fits whatever world you already draw.