====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ====== Hjaaldrich, Son of Hjaalgar Level 7 Mul Knight Knight Feature: Shield Finesse Knight Weapon Specialization: Staggering Hammer Born of Two Races: Born of Two Races (Dwarf) Background: Geography - Forest (Perception class skill) Languages: Common, Dwarven Theme: Ironwrought
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 18, Con 18, Dex 10, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 9.
STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 15, Con 15, Dex 10, Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 9.
ITEMS Iron Armbands of Power (heroic tier), Frost Craghammer +2, Badge of the Berserker +1, Dwarven Baazrag Bone Armor +2, Heavy Shield, Javelin (3), Gauntlets of Blood(heroic tier) ====== Copy to Clipboard and Press the Import Button on the Summary Tab ======
Standing at nearly 6'5" and 210lbs, Hjaaldrich is a great bear of a man. He is well-muscled, but it is not the over-defined, veiny look of a bodybuilder. He has the more natural look of a man who is naturally big-framed and gets a lot of exercise. He has shaggy, blond hair that hangs down just past his shoulder blades. He always wears it in four small braids starting near his temples, and two that go down the back, tying the loose hair in a ponytail. The braids are a tradition among his people and represent his family back home. His face is proud and lean, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. A powerful beard grows down to his upper chest, bound twice with leather cords. His eyes are a deep blue. Hjaaldrich bears a fairly large number of tribal tattoos over his arms, legs, chest and back. The most noticeable, though, is a chevron going down his face, starting at his hairline and covering his eyes. All of his tattoos are a rich blue.
Hjaaldrich wears armor made from the bony plates of a large, reptilian beast that can be found sometimes in Hjaalspan. The plates are held together by leather straps and primarily cover his top half. His legs are protected by a covering made from the creature's scales. His shield is made from hides stretched tight over an oval-shaped wooden frame. He carries three wooden javelins in a holster on his back, and his primary weapon is a fearsome maul made by securing four huge fangs to the head of an ogre's femur.
Above all, Hjaaldrich is tenacious. He is also brave, and still retains some of the hotheadedness of his youth. He is not unkind. He places value in tradition, and in working with others for the betterment of all.
Hjaaldrich was born son of Hjaalgar, in the Warsong Clan, one of several clans to inhabit the region of Hjaalspan. The Warsong shared the northern forests with the Nerethil elf tribe, though shared, is perhaps, the wrong word. The elves were technologically superior to the human tribes due to their knowledge of arcane magic. They allowed the human tribes to live in and around the woods, albeit with not infrequent border skirmishes, because the elves would capture and enslave humans for their own use.
Growing up, Hjaaldrich lost two cousins to this slavery, and an older brother to the skirmishes. He became determined to stop the elves' oppression. At the tender age of 16, Hjaaldrich took and passed the first of the Tests of the Spirits, a set of trials a man would have to go through in order to be eligible to become chieftain. By the age of 19, he had finished all of them, and took over the chieftainship from the ailing Chief Brodich. Hjaaldrich wasted no time in carrying out his plans to oppose the elves. He knew the Warsong could not beat the elves alone, but he established a combined effort between the Warsong Clan, and two other nearby Clans, the Mammoth-Riders of the plains and the Briarkin of the wetlands.
Together they posed a respectable threat to the Nerethi elves. However, the Shatterbone Clan, orcs form the northern mountains, took advantage of the conflict to try and capture southern lands from the humans. Determined not to lose his war with the elves, Hjaaldrich took a novel solution to the problem. He knew that, like the human clans, the orcs valued strong hunters and warriors. He ventured into the mountains and slew the dragon Malurnaax to prove his worth. The orcs, who had felt the sting of Malurnaax's hunger before, were impressed with Hjaaldrich's might, and their Chief agreed to meet with him for peace talks. Hjaaldrich convinced the orcs of his ability to win his war with the elves, and persuaded them to join in on the human's side. In exchange, the orcs would be allowed to settle the lands that the elves were driven out of. Now four tribes strong, this alliance was able to topple the elves' rule and push them out of Hjaalspan to the east.
That was five years ago. Hjaaldrich is now 28, and settled in the Senshenk Woods with his family and clan. Life has been fairly simple since then, and lacking humanoid foes, Hjaaldrich has sought out large beasts to hunt and keep himself sharp.
The Warsong Clan, and indeed all the civilizations in Hjaaldrich's home world, are technologically very primitive. They have yet to discover metalworking, and as mentioned, only elves are known to have knowledge of arcane magic. Hjaaldrich has never seen worked metal.
Can't find a picture again. I always do this, I get a solid idea of what the character looks like when building him, then when I go to find the picture, I've already gotten too specific.
Hjaaldrich was built with the following reflavors: -Using Mul stats to represent the significantly hardier prehistoric humans of Hjaalspan. -Using the Knight class for Hjaaldrich's fighting style, though his people have no concept of Knighthood or similar orders. -Using the Warden multiclass to represent his having passed the Trials of the Spirits, a Hjaalspan local tradition for apsiring chiefs and shamans. Also it gave me Nature training, which is fitting for a hunter. -Using Baazrag Bone Armor(a plate armor variant from Dark Sun) to represent his Ankylosaur plate armor. -Using a Frost Craghammer to represent a maul made by strapping four smilodon fangs to an ogre's femur and etching runes in that call the attention of the Spirit of Winter. -Using Badge of the Berserker to represent a trinket made from a lizard's skull. -Using Iron Armbands of Power to represent tribal tattoos around Hjaaldrich's forearms that signify his having passed the Trial of the Earth Spirit.
Seriously, though, you should check out the PbP Haven. You might also like Real Adventures, IF you're cool.
Knights of W.T.F.- Silver Spur Winner
4enclave, a place where 4e fans can talk 4e in peace.
Coinil t'Chaw, level 7 Hengeyokai, Avenger Avenger's Censure: Censure of Pursuit Select Animal Form: Hare (Athletics) Background: Fugitive from a Vengeful Rival (Bluff and Stealth class skills, +1 to Bluff and Stealth) Theme: Bregan D'aerthe Mercenary
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 11, Con 15, Dex 18, Int 4, Wis 19, Cha 9.
STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 11, Con 15, Dex 15, Int 4, Wis 16, Cha 9.
Coinil appears in the new world in the possession of an armor of stiff green cloth armor other than the simple clothes on his body, and a small sack of items to be bound to his hip. In addition he owns two sheathes, one supposed to be bound to his opposite hip, the other resting on the sack, both providing easy access to his swords when sheathed.
In his natural state Coinil is covered in white fur. He has two long ears, his stance his hunched, his hands are three-fingered, and his hind legs are longer and more powerful than those of most Humanoids. During combat he usually stays on his hind legs, but he prefers to walk and run on all fours. In his Human shape he is a white-haired male, slightly smaller than average, and with a muscular athletic build. In his animal shape Coinil takes the shape of a light-brown hare with no distinctive features setting him apart from natural hares other than his slightly more intelligent behavior. While he can understand languages as in his normal shape, he has trained himself to act as much as a regular 'dumb' animal as he is capable.
With his obvious lack of intelligence, Coinil is a creature that responds to his natural instincts rather than respond to anything that would otherwise have taken years of training. He has trouble learning anything, and it was a long and hard struggle to learn the basics of the common language and the use of his two blades. Even to this day, most of his combat manoeuvres are more instinct and talent than training. On the other hand however, Coinil can show a great deal of empathy with other creatures, protecting those he cares for with a near unmatched dedication.
In combat he has a single-mindedness that, while deadly to those he has his eye on, can also bring danger to those he is fighting alongside or endanger whoever he is supposed to protect. Like the predators that hunted his ancestors, Coinil likes to single out one enemy, seperating it from any allies before crushing it mercilessly.
Coinil t'Char was, up until the point where he woke up on a forest floor, a champion warrior-hunter in a primitive tribe of hare Hengeyokai. Located deep within a enormous stretch of wilderness they had no communication with the much more advanced societies of Elves, Humans and other races. Their only knowledge of these races came from a Dragonborn traveller they knew as R'Searcher. He taught them the common tongue and Draconic and some rudimentary skills in survival and hygene, though he was adamant that the tribe retain their own cultural knowledge and refused to teach them anything that would interfere with their cultural heritage.
Coinil never liked the Dragonborn, for he had trouble understanding whatever the man tried to teach him. Despite this he gladly accepted the two blades he was gifted, one of many weapons brought to the tribe to aid in their hunting and self-protection. The tribe champion warrior-hunter had often fought with stonehead spears, but he took naturally to these new steel blades, wielding them with surprising speed and accuracy.
In the tribe, Coinil wielded an unusual position. He was credited by all members of the clan to be the best warrior and hunter, but he was also unpredictable and did not show the intelligence they demanded in their leaders. More and more they all turned to their tribe shaman, an old hare hengeyokai with a strong connection to their tribal god, Hur'anuk. Angered, hurt and confused, Coinil turned to the shaman, taking lessons from the old creature and building his own bond with their God. These lessons came to warrior-hunter easily, as they did not require a great deal of intelligence, instead tasking his empathy and emotional strength.
As part of these teachings he was often sent out of the clutch of burrows and small huts, to hunt in the upper world with a small group of fellow hunters. It was just after one of these God-bonding hunts that he vanished from his home. He was one of the few in the tribe that actually owned a bed, a gift of R'Searcher, and while he slept soundly after an exhausting trip, he never woke there...
Vorren Rivelle, level 7 Human, Wizard Arcane Implement Mastery: Tome of Readiness Human Power Selection: Heroic Effort Background: Arcane Refugee (+2 to History)
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 9, Con 13, Dex 11, Int 18, Wis 15, Cha 9.
STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 9, Con 13, Dex 11, Int 15, Wis 14, Cha 9.
Vorren has straight, auburn hair that falls down to his chest. He occasionally ties it behind him in a knot unique to the Mordu people. He has brown eyes, sharp features, and a thick beard. He is limber and lean, and his muscle tone is slight. The wizard wears a set of leather armor and a crimson robe. Vorren wears dark leather boots. At his side rests a large satchel, and nobody but him is really sure what it contains. With him, he carries a decorated tome that looks ancient.
Vorren was born into a harsh society that brewed many brooding individuals, determined to take out their lack of an establishment on others who have one. Despite many of his peers eating up the propaganda put forth by Muldrin, Vorren did not carry with him the burden of grudges like them. While he wished he could have been born in the city of his ancestors, he knew that all he could do was to make the best of what circumstances he was in. While he participated on the sieges that the Mordu fought, his intentions were to establish a home for his people, no matter the cost. He did not fight like his peers did, just to seek bloodshed or revenge.
Vorren is quick to act, and always seems to know what to do in troubling situations. Whether through an arcane trick or by simply thinking out a problem instead of hitting it with a bludgeon, he is able to help work through the struggles that his people have. He can seem quite eccentric to outsiders, and for this reason he is socially isolated. Vorren is slow to trust and harbors resentment to those who look down upon him or do not give him a fair chance.
Vorren Rivelle comes from a society of warmongering nomads who seek to spread their power by capturing as many towns, villages, and cities they can. Their aggression stems from early times in the realm, where they used to belong to a fortified city-state called Mordu. The city-state was isolated and already had bitter relations with the other kingdoms in the same territory, refusing to trade with the likes of them. After traveling merchants from the Tespeian Kingdom, who owned a large portion of mountainland nearby, were captured by Mordu, a war escalated that was painful for the city-state.
Because they had not spread their power, Mordu's combat strength was quite weak, relying on their fortifications and sizable militia. The Tespeian Empire, however, took pride in its strong armies. They sought to capture Mordu, believing its existence was a stain on the landscape. This attitude was shared by other Kingdoms so they gladly lent aid where it was needed. Mordu's walls were sieged and the attackers stormed the keep. The bitter king wasn't killed, as the kingdoms weren't savages, but they took control of the city-state and forced the king and all of his people out, installing a new leader there. As the Tespeian Empire had grown quite well and become overpopulated in their few cities, many of the crowded peoples flocked to their new, captured city to resume their life there.
The Mordu king and his people were given their horses, allowed to take as many supplies as their packmules could carry, and booted out of the city. They struggled, becoming nomadic and moving across territories. At first, their lives were extremely difficult, being used to the city life and not having to fend for themselves. The farmers took up hunting, the guards took up mercenary work where they could, and the craftsmen had to provide the population with new clothing, utensils, the like. The Mordu people traveled the lands and slowly became accustomed to their new lifestyle. A generation came and went, and it was new faces that led the Mordu, nomads from birth. They had never seen the walled city of their elders.
The king died early on, and leadership of the Mordu fell to the whoever had the head to lead. Whether this meant an alpha male, a scholar, or just a sensible farmer, they lead the Mordu in their harsh lives across the lands of the realm. A few generations passed and a warlord by the name of Muldrin became the crowned "king" of the Mordu people. Even at a young age, the warlord king was tyrannical in his nature and he used the bitter resentment of civilized kingdoms in his peoples' hearts to stir up frustration and angst.
Vorren was born around this time, in a time of propaganda and fueled aggression. The new generation wanted to take an establishment and claim it as their own, as the Tespian Empire had done to them. Vorren naturally gravitated to learning from the few elders left in the nomads, instead of the single-minded peers that took up the axe or the bow. He grew wise in his efforts and he even showed promise in the arcane arts, something that was quite rare for the Mordu people. He was granted a magic tome by one of the elders, said to contain spells that were lost to the world and found again, ones that Gods had not intended mortals to use, and ones that contained enough raw power to kill a man for reading it. He promised he would use the book to carry out the wishes of his people.
Vorren's youth was hurried, as he was the one of the only casters in the whole community. He was thrust into the military, and at a young age, he was in his first battle. The Mordu people had targeted a smaller kingdom they had quarreled with back in a time when they were a city-state, and they sought to remedy their problem by taking the fortified city. Vorren proved to be a fantastic siegeman, as his spells allowed him to rain fire on barricades, trick his enemies, and even conjure an arcane siege ladder that was used to climb the battlements. He enjoyed combat, but he did not enjoy the feeling of taking something that was not rightfully his. For this reason, he felt remorse for the people that fell victim to the Mordu's coarse ways of action.
Despite his feelings of remorse about the situation, Vorren was decorated among his peers as one of their finest combatants. His utility among the battlefield and decisive planning led the way to many successful captures on cities, villages, and towns. He tried his best to ensure that the casualties were very low, and tried to promote compliance rather than rebellion of the occupied citizens. He was a hero to the Mordu, and his studies of arcane magic and combat had paid off for him.
Muldrin, the risky and calculating warlord that led the Mordu, planned to attack Kirscheburg, the capital of the Kingdom of Draakfell. His hatred for these people stemmed from their refusal to acknowledge the nomads as equal beings, and they were held prejudice in their hearts toward them. Muldrin decided that Kirscheburg would be a fine place to expand his growing empire, having now taken a few distant cities and installed his own men at the throne. However, Muldrin's means to do so were morally hazy, and Vorren did not enjoy it one bit. The thought of assassinating the King of Draakfell sickened the wizard, and he refused to help with the siege. Needless to say, the plot failed miserably and Muldrin's right-hand-man was slain in the battle. The warlord used this as leverage to expel Vorren from the clan. However, the night before the exile, Vorren sleeps restlessly...
FEATS Callidyrr Dragoon: Mounted Combat Human: Precision Throw Free Expertise: Master at Arms Level 1: Improved Defenses Level 2: Alertness Level 4: Superior Will Level 6: Resourceful Leader
POWERS Human feature: Heroic Effort Skald feature: Words of Friendship Skald feature: Skald's Aura Master of Story and Song: Slayer's Song Skald at-will 1: Song of Serendipity Skald at-will 1: Words of Gravity Skald encounter 1: Lesser Flash of Distraction Skald daily 1: Disruptive Words Skald utility 2: Moment of Escape Skald encounter 3: Echoing Weapon Skald daily 5: Tune of Ice and Wind Skald utility 6: Revitalizing Incantation Skald encounter 7: Prescient Warning
ITEMS Trident of Long Range +2, Harsh Songblade Longsword +2, Battle Harness Hide Armor +1, Amulet of Protection +2, Ranging Defender Shield Light Shield (heroic tier), Holy Symbol, Identification Papers with Portrait, Manacles, iron, 120 gp
Claire stands 5' 9" tall, with blonde hair, brown eyes, and abnormally dark skin for people in her homeland. Her strange skin color is the result of her mother being a foreigner in Draakfell, a native of the desert Kingdom of Aggarin to the west where the average skintone is much darker than it is in the foresty region where Draakfell lies. Her hair color is a common one, though, and comes from her father - a wealthy and influential merchant noble from Kirscheburg.
Claire has a muscular physique thanks to her constant combat practice, and wears a serious face in all but the least formal of occasions. She is almost always seen in public wearing her blue and red guard uniform, complete with a few extras to indicate her status as guard captain. It is a rare treat to see her dressed up in more 'feminine' attire, and most of her fellow guardsmen agree that she cleans up very nicely on those rare occasions.
Like all people of Draakfell, Claire is fiercly loyal to her king and her homeland. She believes in the superiority of the realm above other kingdoms and nations, even over her mother's homeland which she sees as little better than the Mordu that plague the Draakfell borders. Nomads like the Mordu, and other technologically or magically inferior peoples, are viewed by her and her society as brutuish and uncivilized, subhuamsn by some of the more extreme.
Since there are no non-humans in Claire's world, any contact with a sentient non-human being (such as in the new world of this game) would be met with shock, distrust, and possibly outright hostility given the right (or wrong) circumstances. Any dragons or creatures that resemble dragons in some way are also despised by Claire and the people of Draakfell in general, as they play a very antagonistic role in the mythology of the kingdom.
One creature that Claire is quite fond of is horses. She respects their loyalty and sturdiness, and has always enjoyed raising and riding horses ever since the time when she was young that she received her first one from her father, an old pony named Wilfred. Wilfred's memory inspired the name of her current riding horse, a young brown one named Winifred.
Claire is adored by the public ever since their firsthand glance at her handiwork defending the capital from an invading force and, while she appreciates the recognition, she feels that the constant praise and attention hinders her ability to server the people. She has had more than her fair share of suitors since the battle, almost all fellow soldiers, and she would much rather go back to the way things were before. Being a hero can be difficult.
On an unnamed planet, on a lake tucked away in a dense forest, lies the city of Kirscheburg, captial to the Kingdom of Draakfell. For centuries this small kingdom has thrived, controlling much of the forest and the plains that lie to the north and east of it. Only in recent decades has armed conflict reached the kingdom's own borders, with the arrival of the Mordu nomads in the plains east of the forest.
The Mordu are not a civilized bunch, and their arrival was seen by the people of Draakfell as an omen of the end of society. It didn't take long before hostility between both sides increased as the Mordu extended ever westward, more and more into territory that belonged to the king. War inevitably broke out between the two sides, and still goes on to this day.
Many villages and towns have fallen to the Mordu, but there has so far been no successful attempts by the nomads to capture a walled city. In recent years this can be directly tied to the military genius of one Claire Marcheford, captain of the Royal Guard and chief defense strategist for the kingdom. She accompanies her king anywhere a siege is imminent and has so far never failed to defend her homeland from the marauders who would capture and plunder every town in their path west.
Her most recent, and well-known, accomplishments was the successful defense against a sneak attack on none other than Kirscheburg, the capital city itself. The attack was lead by a particularly ruthless Mordu warlord named Muldrin, who led a direct assault on the city's main gates while a small group of assassins snuck over the walls near the lake and attempted to assassinate the king. Claire noticed oddities in the assault compared to the Mordu's normal tactics and discovered the plot, managed to intercept and kill the would-be assassins, and then took control of the gate defenses to successfully repel the attacking force, gravely wounding the enemy warlord in the process.
Since her recent victory she has been viewed by the people of Draakfell as not just a fine commander, but a hero, peerless among the other soldiers and guards in service of their king. Some have taken to calling her "The Sandstorm," a reference to her mother's homeland (and dark skintone), a desert kingdom far from Draakfell, as well as a reference to her ferocity in combat. New recruits in the army look up to her as a model of the perfect soldier, and aspire to one day become as great a leader (if even a leader at all).
You gain two 1st-level bard daily attack powers of your choice, but each day you can use only one bard daily attack power. When you gain a bard daily attack power at 5th level you you can use two bard daily attack powers per day, But no more than one of a particular level. Similarly, after you gain a bard daily attack power at 9th level, you can use three bard daily attack powers per day, but still no more than one of a particular level.
At level 15, 19, 25, and 29 you gain a bard daily attack power of your level or lower without having to replace a power, but the number you can use per day remains at 3.
When you play an instrument or sing during a short rest, you and each ally who can hear you are affected by your Song of Rest. When an affected character spends healing surges at the end of the rest, that character regains additional hit points equal to your Charisma modifier. A character can be affected by only one Song of Rest at a time.
At-Will * Martial Minor Action Personal Effect: Until the end of the encounter or until you use another bard at-will attack power, your skald's aura gains the following effect: Each time you hit an enemy with a basic attack, one of your allies in the aura gains a +2 power bonus to all defenses until the end of your next turn.
At-Will * Martial Minor Action Personal Effect: Until the end of the encounter or until you use another bard at-will attack power, your skald's aura gains the following effect: Each time you hit an enemy with a basic attack, one of your allies in the aura gains a +2 power bonus to his or her next attack roll before the end of your next turn.
Encounter No Action Personal Trigger: You miss with an attack or fail a saving throw. Effect: You gain a +4 racial bonus to the attack roll or the saving throw.
Encounter * Arcane, Charm Minor Action Personal Effect: You gain a +5 power bonus to the next Diplomacy check you make before the end of your next turn.
Encounter * Aura, Healing, Martial Minor Action Personal Effect: You activate an aura 5 that lasts until the end of the encounter. If the aura ends prematurely for any reason, you can reactivate it during the encounter as a minor action. Twice per encounter but only once per turn, you or any ally in the aura can use a minor action to spend a healing surge and regain 1d6 additional hit points. Alternatively, you or any ally can use a minor action to allow an adjacent ally to spend a healing surge and regain the additional hit points. Level 6: 2d6 additional hit points. Level 11: 3d6 additional hit points. Level 16: 4d6 additional hit points, and the healing can be used 3 times per encounter. Level 21: 5d6 additional hit points, and the healing can be used 3 times per encounter. Level 26: 6d6 additional hit points, and the healing can be used 3 times per encounter.
Encounter * Arcane No Action Special Trigger: You hit an enemy with a basic attack using a weapon. Effect: The enemy you hit is dazed until the end of your next turn.
Encounter * Arcane, Thunder Minor Action Melee 1 Target: One weapon Effect: Until the end of your next turn, the next weapon attack made with the target weapon deals 2d6 thunder damage to one target of the attack, regardless of whether the attack hits or misses.
Encounter * Arcane, Healing Minor Action Ranged 5 Target: You or one ally Effect: The target can spend a healing surge. Additionally, the target gains temporary hit points equal to his or her healing surge value.
Encounter * Arcane Immediate Interrupt Ranged 10 Target: The triggering ally Trigger: An enemy within 10 squares of you is hit by an enemy's attack. Effect: The target can make a basic attack against the enemy as a free action, dealing 1d8 extra damage on a hit.
Daily * Arcane, Weapon Standard Action Melee Weapon Target: One creature Attack: Charisma vs. AC Hit: 2[W] + Charisma modifier (+4) damage, and the target grants combat advantage to you and your allies (save ends) Miss: Half damage. Effect: Until the end of the encounter, whenever you hit an enemy, that enemy grants combat advantage to you and your allies until the end of your next turn.
Daily * Martial Minor Action Personal Effect: Until the end of the encounter, your skald's aura gains the following effect: Enemies in the aura grant combat advantage. Once before the end of the encounter, when an enemy in the aura takes damage from any source, you can choose for that enemy to be dazed (save ends).
Daily * Arcane, Cold, Implement Standard Action Area burst 1 within 10 squares Target: Each enemy in burst Attack: Charisma vs. Will Hit: 2d6 + Charisma modifier (+4) cold damage, and the target is slowed (save ends). Miss: Half damage, and the target is slowed until the end of your next turn. Effect: You slide each ally in the burst 3 squares.
When you ride a creature, you gain access to any special mount abilities it confers to its rider. Not every creature has these abilities.
While you are riding a creature, it does not take the normal -2 penalty to attack rolls that is imposed on mounts. In addition, the creature can make any Athletics, Acrobatics, Endurance, or Stealth checks using your skill check modifier (not including any temporary bonuses or penalties) in place of its own.
Whenever you make a ranged basic attack using a thrown weapon with which you have proficiency, you can use Dexterity instead of Strength for the attack roll and the damage roll.
You gain a +1 feat bonus to the attack rolls of weapon attacks. This bonus increases to +2 at 11th level and +3 at 21st level. Also, you can use a minor action to sheathe a weapon and then draw a weapon.
You gain a +2 feat bonus to will. This bonus increases to +3 at 11th level and +4 at 21st level. In addition, if you are dazed or stunned, you can make a saving throw at the start of your turn to end that effect, even if the effect doesn't normally end on a save.
You gain training in one skill from the warlord's class skill list. When an ally you can see spends an action point to make an attack, the ally gains a +3 bonus to damage rolls on a hit or gains 3 temporary hit points on a miss. This bonus increases to +5 at 11th level and +7 at 21st level. These temporary hit points increase to 5 at 11th level and 7 at 21st level.
Weapon Category: Military one-handed melee weapon Weapon Group: Heavy Blade Weapon Property: Versatile Proficiency Bonus: +3 Damage: 1d8
Level 8 - 3,400gp Critical: +2d8 damage. Enhancement: +2 attack rolls and damage rolls. Rarity: Uncommon Property: Bards can use this blade as an implement for bard powers and bard paragon path powers. Power (Daily): Free Action. Trigger: You hit an enemy with a bard thunder power using this blade. Effect: Each enemy within 2 squares of the triggering enemy is dazed until the end of your next turn.
Level 7 - 2,600gp Critical: +2d6 damage Enhancement: +2 attack rolls and damage rolls. Rarity: Common Property: This weapon's long range increases by 10 squares. Property: You do not take the penalty to attack rolls for attacking at long range with this weapon.
Level 4 - 840gp Enhancement: +1 AC Rarity: Uncommon Property: As a free action, you can draw a sheathed weapon or retrieve a stowed item. Property: You gain a power bonus to initiative equal to this item's enhancement bonus.
Armor Type: Light Shield AC Bonus: +1 Item Slot: Arms
Level 4 - 840gp Rarity: Uncommon Utility Power (Encounter): Minor Action. Effect: Close Burst 5 (one ally in burst). Until the end of your next turn, the target gains the shield's bonuses to AC and Reflex, and you lose them. Utility Power (Daily): Minor Action. Effect: Close Burst 5 (one bloodied ally in burst). The target gains resist 5 to all damage until he or she is no longer bloodied or until the end of the encounter.
Female Lawful Good Human Skald 7th Lvl Theme: Callidyrr Dragoon
Vitals: Medium, 5'9" tall, 170 lbs 33 years old, hails from Kirscheburg, Draakfell Languages: Common, Draconic
Senses: 15 Insight, 23 Perception, Standard Vision
Encounter Powers [_] Second Wind [_]Heroic Effort [_] Words of Friendship [_] Skald's Aura (Activate) [_]* Skald's Aura (Heal) [_]* Skald's Aura (Heal) [_] Lesser Flash of Distraction [_] Moment of Escape [_]Echoing Weapon [_] Revitalizing Incantation [_] Prescient Warning [_] Ranging Defender Shield (Encounter)
Daily Powers [_] Action Point [_]* Slayer's Song [_]* Disruptive Words [_]* Tune of Ice and Wind [_] Ranging Defender Shield (Daily) [_] Harsh Songblade
HP: HS: AC: Fort: Ref: Will:
Core 54 8 19 18 20 23
RndX 54 8
0 THP Surge: 13hp Init: +5 Speed: 6
Resist: none Saves: none
*Notes* MBA (Longsword): +13 vs. AC, 1d8+6 damage MBA (Trident): +12 vs. AC, 1d8+6 damage RBA (Trident): +9 vs. AC, 1d8+3 damage, long range of 16 with no attack penalty for longe range. Song of Rest: When I play an instrument or sing during a short rest, everyone gains +4 extra hp (Cha mod) back per healing surge spent. Resourceful Leader: When an ally I can see spends an action point to make an attack, the ally gains a +3 bonus to damage rolls on a hit or gains 3 temporary hp on a miss. Alertness: I cannot be surprised. Master of Story and Song: Can only use 2 bard daily powers per day, and only one of each level. Superior Will: If I am dazed or stunned, I can make a saving throw at the start of my turn to end that effect, even if the effect doesn't normally end on a save.
Human female from Athas Psion (Telepath) 7 Alignment Chaotic Neutral XP: 10,000
Medium, 5'4" tall, 103wt, 27yrs old Long black hair; green eyes; mocha colored skin tone; TATTOO: A dragon’s tail wraps around her wrist, the body flying up her forearm. The tattoo looks very, very real. | Amulet on golden chain dangling in center of her forehead. | Sheer veil
(1-lvl, class bonus) Ritual Casting [PBH, chapter 10] (1-lvl) Discipline Adept [PHBIII, p180]: (Use each Discipline Focus power twice per encounter) (1-lvl, racial) Hafted Defense [PHBIII, p178] (+1 to AC and Reflex while wielding polearm or staff in two hands.) (2-lvl) Unarmored agility [PHBIII, p178] (+2 AC while wearing cloth or no armor) (4-lvl) Jack of All Trades [PHB, p198] (+2 feat bonus to all untrained skill checks.) (6-lvl) Implement Expertise – grants +1 to attacks when using staff
Human Traits -Average Height: 5’6” – 6’2” -Average Weight: 135-220 lb. -Ability Scores: +2 to one ability score of your choice -Size: Medium -Speed: 6 squares -Vision: Normal -Languages: Common, choice of one other -Bonus At-Will Power: You know one extra at-will power from your class. -Bonus Feat: You gain a bonus feat at 1-lvl. You must meet the feat’s prerequisites. -Bonus Skill: You gain training in one additional skill from your class skill list. -Human Defense Bonuses: +1 to Fortitude, Reflex, and Will defenses.
[PHBIII, p80] Role: Controller Power Source: Psionic Key Abilities: Int, Cha, Wis Armor Proficiencies: Cloth Weapon Proficiencies: Simple melee, simple ranged Implements: orbs, staffs Bonus to Defense: +2 Will Hit Points at 1-lvl: 12 + Con HP per Lvl Gained: 4 Healing Surges per Day: 6 + Con mod Trained Skills: (4+1 racial) Arcana, Bluff, Diplomacy, Dungeoneering, History, Insight, Intimidate, Perception Class Features: Discipline Focus, Psionic Augmentation, Ritual Casting Build Options: Telepathy Focus; Gain the powers distract and send thoughts.
[DS, p54] Secondary Role: Controller Power Source: Psionic Granted Power: You gain 1 power point & the Adept’s Insight power. Future Path: Psychic Scholar
Class Features (1-lvl) Send Thoughts (1-lvl) Distract
At Will Powers (Explanation of Powers above) (1-lvl) Memory Hole (1-lvl) Mind Thrust (1-lvl racial) Force Punch (3-lvl) Betrayal [PHBIII, p85] (7-lvl) Retraining Mind Thrust to Cruel Decree [DS, p55]
Daily Powers (1-lvl) Mental Trauma (5-lvl) Crisis of Identity
Utility Powers (2-lvl) Transport Self [PH3, p84] (6-lvl) Mind Shadow [PHBIII, p86]
(Begin with one 6-lvl, one 7-lvl, one 8-lvl, 1800gp)
Veteran’s Armor, cloth (worn) 7-lvl item Robe, desert style (worn) 2gp (Part of original clothing allotment with basic clothing for desert world, but robe has feathers and is a bit nicer than average so I’m paying extra)
Quarterstaff: Staff of the Evader +2 (right hand, 4wt) 5gp + 8-lvl slot Cracked Orb (encased at top of staff): 15gp
Widow’s Knife (belt left) Dagger strapped to left calf (worn) 5gp
Backpack (center back) Bedroll (below backpack)
Amulet of Psychic Interference +1 (worn) 1000gp Bracers of Mental Might (wrists) 6-lvl slot
Agony Beetle: [DS, p129] These insidious beetles latch onto a creature’s spine and cause excruciating pain. (Consumable | 160gp | Power (Consumable): Standard action. Make an attack: Melee touch (one creature; Dex + 3 vs. Ref; Hit: The target is immobilized, grants combat advantage, and takes a -2 penalty to attack rolls (save ends all).) {If DM Allows, instead of it being a one-use shot, I’d like to tweak it a bit so that she can continue to use this. Once used, the beetles (those not smashed up) will return to the vial. She will be unable to use them again until they regenerate or breed up new little guys (in other words, she pays the 160gp price).}
Amulet of Psychic Interference +1 [DS, p128] (Neck slot | Enhancement: Fort, Ref, Will | Property: You make saving throws to end charm, fear, or psychic effects at the start of your turn. If you fail any of these saving throws, you do not make a saving throw to end that effect at the end of your turn. | Power – Daily/Psychic: Immediate Reaction. Trigger: An enemy you can see hits or misses you using a power that has the charm, fear, or psychic keyword. Effect: The triggering enemy takes 10 psychic damage.)
Bracers of Mental Might: [AV, p115] The adage “mind over matter” truly applies when you wear these bracers. (Item slot: Arms | 1800gp or 6-lvl slot | Power (Encounter): Free Action. Use this power when making a Str attack, Str check, or Str based skill check. Use your Int, Wis, or Cha mod in place of your Str mod to determine the result of the roll.)
Staff of the Evader +2: [PHBIII, p211] This wooden staff ensures that you can slip out of harm’s way when you’re held in place. (Implement: Staff | Enhancement: Attack rolls and damage rolls | Critical: +1d6 damage per plus | Property: You gain a +2 item bonus to saving throws against being immobilized or slowed. | Power (Daily * Teleportation): Immediate Reaction. Trigger: You are immobilized by an attack. Effect: The effect that immobilized you ends and you teleport 5 squares.) {This staff is made from zebra wood and twists upon itself over and over. There is an orb encased at the top, but it has a crack running through the center of it and all the magic has drained out. It did not survive the trip through the Void.}
Veteran’s Armor +2 [AV,p 55] (Armor: Any | Enhancement: AC | Property: When you spend an action point, you gain a +1 item bonus to all attack rolls and defenses until the eoynt. | Power (Daily): Free Action. Spend an action point. You do not gain the normal extra action. Instead, you regain the use of one expended daily power.)
Widow’s Knife: [DS, p122] Although this weapon originated as a harvesting tool, it has become a favorite in noble courts. The blade is a flat semicircle. The grip can be modified to hold poison. A widow’s knife and a dagger are similar weapons.
Yasmina stifles a groan that threatens to force its way from between her clenched teeth. Her head feels as if she had been drinking broy, a fermented kank juice. Would she feel that way if she were dead? She doesn’t think so, which means she must have made it to the other side. A sense of smugness fills her as she realizes the presence of her watchdog is gone. She did it!
She remembers the first time she heard about the Rift and strange creatures crawling out of it. The spirits of the world kept crying out that the world had been rent in two, and then they began to disappear. The sorcerer-king wanted answers and so he sent their group. She kept her elation to herself, not wanting to alert the watchdog, or watchdragon, on her wrist. Oddly enough, it actually proved easier than she thought. For some reason it never occurred to her Master that she might try to jump in.
The Rift truly did look as if the world had been split in two. She and the others arrived in secret and began to climb down for a closer look when they learned just what type of creatures had climbed out of the void at the bottom of the Rift. Foul things with no eyes and overly large slavering mouths filled with vicious teeth. The things fought using powers she was familiar with, for they were psions like her.
They were defeated, allowing her and the others to move closer to the void that covered the bottom of the Rift. It took them several days of hard travel to get there and once there, no one was certain just what to do about the phenomenon. The dragon tattoo on her right arm was staring very intently at the void when she realized this was her golden opportunity. She may never get another chance to be free of the chains that hold her as a slave. Before the thought could even be finished and the dragon on her arm notice her intentions, she simply reached up, unhooked the harness at her chest, and kicked out and away. It wasn’t the most graceful of falls but she managed to miss the rock walls before hitting the void and passing through it.
She doesn’t remember anything else after it sucked her in but she is obviously somewhere where she can breathe. She only opens her eyes a slit, trying to ascertain where she is. Something is blocking the sunlight and she is not sure what it might be. The sounds of others moving about intrudes on her thoughts and she rolls to her feet in one smooth movement, or at least that is her attempt. The ground beneath her does not give the way good sand does and instead she stumbles just a bit, deep green eyes wide open and taking everything in.
She blinks, her mind unable to take in the large brown and green things around her. It is obviously no place on Athas she has ever been or heard of before. With wariness she looks down at the dragon tattoo on her arm. For the first time in her memory the burning eyes are closed and it appears to be slumbering, with just a hint of smoke trailing from its nostrils. She holds a sense of relief at bay, unwilling to celebrate until she knows for certain she is truly free.
Yasmina moves over to where her gear is neatly stacked and rifles through it. Someone has added a few things to her pack. Her eyes narrow as she looks around for the culprit. She eyes the others but they all appear to be in the same condition. She reaches into her pack and pulls out her robe, slipping it on over the loin cloth and silk thin top she is wearing. Next she pulls out her veil and attaches that. She is free and there are now none to tell her she cannot wear the veil of freedom.
Slaves are always ignored. Well, almost always. There are only two reasons to notice a slave. One is if they are attractive enough to catch the eye and the other is if they have done something wrong.
She clenches her teeth tightly together, refusing to give in to the pain she is feeling. Her arms burn and her shoulders feel as if they are going to be pulled from their sockets but there is not a thing she can do about it. She had dropped a bowl during dinner service, which was bad enough, but she did it at the Master’s table and this is her punishment, ten lashes with the whip. Now she stands with her arms tied to a post above her and her back bared to the one tasked with making her see the errors of her ways. She has already taken five lashes without crying out, which only tells the soldier punishing her that he is not doing a good enough job.
The sixth lash lands across her back. This one starts at the right shoulder with the tip licking the back of her left leg. It is as if someone were putting hot coals on her and drizzling in magma at the same time. Fire courses through the wound and tears leak from green eyes squeezed tightly shut. Her teeth grind tightly together. If they were not she would open wide and scream her agony to everyone listening, and she refuses to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing her scream for the mother who is only a hazy ghost-memory in her mind.
The seventh lash streaks across her back and she convulses in pain. It was not even a very expensive bowl and she really had not meant to drop it; she had in fact done everything she could to save the bowl. If the Master’s dogs (or DS equivalent) had not rushed in and almost knocked her over in their eagerness to reach their Master, she would not have dropped it. To her way of thinking, it is the dogs that are at fault, but that is not how the masters see it and so the dogs are romping through the mansion while she is out here being made an example of.
The eighth lash makes her forget all about who was at fault. The pain engulfs her and her legs crumple beneath her. She is not a strong woman but she is stubborn. Yet all that is like silting sand beneath her feet. The agony is her entire world. Well, that and wondering how much time before the next lash falls. She does not remember the count. There is no room in her mind for such extraneous thoughts. There is only the pain and the anticipation of the next imposed line of fire across her body.
“NINE!” That’s right. There is someone counting. The number explodes in her head as the next lash cracks through the air. This one catches her trying to squirm away, as if there were anywhere she could go, and the tip curls around her side and across her stomach like some dark lover’s caress. She would open her mouth to scream but her body convulses and her jaws seem wired shut. The world comes to a stop.
She can hear the sound of the whip being drawn back and knows that in another second she will feel it in a most personal way. “TEN” She cannot help it, her body tries to lurch away from where she knows the lash will strike. It is a feeble attempt for her legs do not appear to be working the same way. Pure molten gold runs in lines down her back and the whip adds one more stripe to the rest. She would wet herself if her muscles would quit contracting long enough, but that is not going to happen anytime soon. A groan escapes through her teeth and her vision swims alarmingly.
It seems like ages but is more likely a minute or two before she hears footsteps marching up behind her. It is the soldier who whipped her and he seems a bit incensed over not getting her to scream. He has a certain reputation to maintain. He leans in close and whispers into her ear and her mocha colored skin goes pale. He leans back and smiles. It is a dangerous smile and one she will become intimately familiar with in the future. Without warning, his hand slaps down upon her back. “See you around.” She did not scream once during the lashings but now she does as his fingers dig into her back one last time before he turns and strides away.
Now there is nothing for her to do but wait, stripped to the waist and tied to the whipping post. Her blood drips down to be absorbed by the reddish brown sand under her feet. She is not the first slave whipped here and she will not be the last. The seconds pass like minutes and the minutes like hours. The hours, they creep endlessly by. Several times different people stop by and give her a sip of water. It was not a crime to give water to someone suffering under punishment, but the ruling was that it had to come from your own daily allowance and not many were willing to share. She tries to focus but her vision dances as she fights off heat stroke and she has no clue who her benefactors are.
At dusk she is cut down. She had fallen into a kind of pain fog but as her arms are released, she cries out in agony as nerve endings protest the movement. She crumples into a heap on the blood soaked ground, long since dried by the heat and still warm from the sun’s rays. She is half carried into the Infirmary and placed on a cot that would become very familiar to her over the next few weeks. Physicians made sure she was healing and even used salves that when rubbed into her wounds ensured she would not scar. She overheard several physicians talking about needing her looking her best because she was in the lot that was being sold off.
Then she forgot about anything at all as she overheard the soldier who was responsible for putting her in the infirmary walk into the room and close the door behind him. She had hoped he would forget his little threat but it seems that was not to be. He took a very long time explaining to her the new “rules” and what would happen if she disobeyed or revealed to anyone what was about to happen. Then he took a very long time showing her exactly what he meant.
As the weeks went on she became filled with dread. Once she healed enough to be put back to work, she was sent back to the House. She thought this meant she was free of the soldier, whom she was forced to call Master, but that was not to be. She may never learn his name but she did learn that he was not just some common soldier. Unfortunately, he was someone high up in the House. It was not his job to whip prisoners; he simply did it for the fun of it. Now he had fixated on her and his rank allowed him entry into most areas of the House, certainly any area she had access too. In addition, no matter where she was, he always found her. He would require hours of her time and she still had to do all her assigned work, which often meant she went without much sleep.
When her healing was complete she was ushered in front of the Master of the House and forced to grovel at his feet, begging his forgiveness of her carelessness. He allowed her to grovel a good long while before suddenly agreeing that he was merciful and dismissing her. He stops her long enough to leave her with this warning. “Slave, interfere with my dogs again and I will feed you to them. Now leave my sight!” She ran.
The final straw came when the soldier, after one of their many sessions, told her exactly whom she is being sold to, Urik, the House of Stel, the most military driven land out there. He explained that he would speak privately with the Captain of the caravan and let him know of their little ‘arrangement.’ Fear runs through her as she easily envisions disappearing into military hands. She cannot survive a life of this! She is not even supposed to be a slave. It is all a grave mistake!
All the months of dread and fear and helplessness explode inside her and something inside her mind breaks, like a dam exploding and crumbling under the weight of water cascading against it. “No.” The soldier looks at her, his amused smirk falling into a dangerous glare. “NO!” She cannot do this anymore. Most slaves would have broken long before now but she has a stubborn streak as long and deep as the SiltSea. She will not! She can feel the power coursing through her and it gives her added strength enough to ignore the look of fury snarling across his face. She reaches out and her green eyes focus on a small footstool nearby. Using that sweet ambrosia of power she can feel flooding through her mind, she reaches out and somehow manages to move the footstool over until it is right behind the soldier. Then her eyes turn to him. He has cocked his fist back and is ready to punch her in the gut. He knows enough not to mark her with anything more than a bruise or it might lower her value at a time when the Master of the House needs it to remain at its peak.
The flood in her mind rushes out and suddenly the man is tumbling backward over the footstool. She stands there in shock as a CRACK rings out from his neck being forced into a position it was not meant to go in. He lay there, eyes staring dully at the ceiling. Without wasting another word, she grabs her cloths and flees. It will be hours before he is missed and from the way it looks, whoever finds him will think it was an accident. She returns to her duties, all the while thinking of ways to escape.
She is not even supposed to be a slave. It is all a big misunderstanding. Her family lives in one of the villages near the Sea of Silt, eking out a living by fishing for sand eels and the small sand sharks that live in the sands. It is not really the type of life she wanted for herself. She grew up on stories of the shining city of Balic and knew that if she could just find passage there, she could become something important; at least more important than being some fisherman’s wife, which was exactly what her parents were trying to arrange. To her horror they wanted her to marry old Bren in the next village over. She is in the full blush of youth while he is a wizened, withered old man who is at least twice her age. Sure, it is considered a good match by anyone’s standards, but no one asked her for her opinion.
She should have been apprenticed to the village shaman (psion), or at least that was her belief. She would often hang around watching the old woman whenever she could get away with it. She thought there was a chance but late one evening she overheard her father and his wife talking about it. Seems the shaman told them that she had Potential but that it was unlikely to develop without some life-threatening trauma and with all that there was no guarantee she would be strong enough to do more then pass the Ability down to her children. Then she heard her step-mother speak of accepting the marriage proposal from old man Bren. Her dreams crushed and her future planned out for her without her consent, she decided it was time she make her own future.
She gathered her few belongings and snuck out to a peddler who was camped out a couple hours from the village. With the money stolen from her parent’s secret stash, she paid the peddler to help sneak her away. He agreed to take her to Balic and then she would take it from there. She had great plans. She would get a job and find a place to stay. Once she was settled, she would find someone who would teach her how to use the power that so many others seemed to use and she could not. She could feel it there, like some latent itch behind her eyes.
Instead, she woke up tied and gagged and being sold off to a slave caravan. She tried to explain she was not really a slave but they only laughed and said that every slave said that. Her words did no good and earned her the first of several beatings. She finally shut up but not because she was beaten but because it did no good. There is no sense putting her through useless beatings. It only wears down the strength she will need to survive and escape. She decides to play along for now and quickly picks up on what is expected of a proper slave. This only makes the slavers more suspicious at the sudden change in behavior and they watch her more closely instead of less, which was not her intention.
Instead of escaping, the slaver sold her to a House located in Balic. Her first view of the city she had always dreamed of coming too was not the one she expected. She entered clothed in a skimpy top that barely covered her essentials and a loincloth, chained into a long line with other slaves. There was little sightseeing to do before she was shoved into a cage and set up on display with other slaves. The auction block was a new experience for her and she was humiliated when they forced her onto a stage with nothing but her long black hair to cloak her. Thus began a period of bidding that reminded her much of snake meat being sold at market. She was forced to open her mouth and show bidders her teeth, to twist her hair up and away so that bidders could see her body structure and decide what she might be good for. She has full hips and one man wonders if she would make a good breeder. The process seems to take only a few minutes and an eternity, both at the same time.
When the auctioneer yells, “Sold,” and the gavel hits the podium, she is taken away, just another piece of property belonging to a House in Balic. She wishes she had not been so hasty in fleeing from old Bren’s attentions. At least as his wife, she would command some level of respect among the villagers.
Now she just needs to go about her business until she can find a way to escape. She knows she cannot go home again. She is damaged goods and she could not face her father baring the shame of what she has done, much less what has been done to her. Where to go and what will become of her is something that will have to be answered after she gets out of the horrible predicament she is in. And once free she can take back her name, Yasmina.
Yasmina was sold, but her previous Master had a job for her. She was put on a special team that would be sent out as spies and assassins for the Sorcerer-King Andropinis. It was a small group, very specialized, and each of them had a special skill or talent that would allow them to become quite deadly. It would seem that someone had realized that Yasmina had used her powers to kill the guard who was abusing her. Instead of her death, she ended up here.
They were promised they would be given a chance to escape the slave caravan and hope blossomed in each of them over the possibility of not only escaping their new bondage but also bondage to this new group as well. It was not to be. Their Masters, knowing their thoughts, also knew how to insure obedience. Each of them was taken out and something “special” done to them. In Yasmina’s case, she was taken out and led to a man who spent the night tattooing the most realistic looking dragon onto her right wrist. The man used a special kind of ink that required the blood of a phoenix. Yasmina might have kept herself from screaming during her lashing but nothing could hold back her screams that night.
They threw her back into the cell with the others and when she awoke, the first thing she did was look down at her right arm. There it was, the tattoo of the dragon. Its scales glitter in the light of day and the tip of its barbed tailed drips realistic looking poison while wisps of fire leak from its jaws. Yasmina follows it up and looks into the blackest eyes she has ever seen. And then they blink at her.
It was then Yasmina realized she would never be free to escape. The dragon was to be her watchdog, and not just hers but a watchdog for the entire group. In the years to come, it would convey orders to them, which she would share with the group. She was also certain it reported back all the things it heard and saw. She knows it hears because once when the others discussed cutting off her arm at the elbow to rid themselves of their watchdog, she woke to find it had actually climbed up her arm and was instead wrapped around her neck. She could feel its presence like some dirty oil slick. It was then everyone realized the truth of the matter and sort of accepted their fate.
They were given a chance to escape the slave caravan and that was handled easily enough. The next seven or eight years, she could never keep track, saw them acting as free men and women while secretly doing the will of the sorcerer-king Andropinis. It was a strange life but one she was happy enough with, for she was as free as a slave ever gets and most people had no idea she was a slave. She could live with that, at least until the opportunity came to rid herself of her watchdog and be truly free.
Yasmina remembers the day when The Gorgon showed up and began to train her. For almost three years her training consumed her every waking hour, and sometimes even her unconscious hours. It was intense and the one thing she most remembers is that The Gorgon never spoke once in all that time. All communication between them was handled mind to mind. Never once did he include the others in their training and the others took to calling him her Shadow. He ghosted after them, shadowing them during combat and when they traveled across the face of Athas. She never once questioned that he wasn’t reporting their actions back to someone but never once did he interfere. He also never gave aid. His task was to train her in the ways of her powers and that was the only thing he did, and he did it with brutal efficiency.
Just when she began to believe The Gorgon would always be a part of her life, she woke up one day and he was simply gone, never to be seen from again.
Yasmina was born during the worst storm anyone can remember. The Sea of Silt blew so much of the fine, powdery gray dust it buried most of the village, except the house where Yasmina’s mother struggled in hard labor to deliver her firstborn and only child. In the midst of the storm the front door banged open and there stood one of the giants that often visit the village on their way through the Sea of Silt. It was one of their witch women. She stomped into the room, stooping almost in half so as not to bash her head against the roof. She stared at the woman lying in bed crying out in hard labor and watched as the child was finally born. Taking out some herbs from a pouch she sprinkled them over the babe and her mother, prophesying, “Cursed is the world and the spirits of the world. Death will not be enough. It will swallow the mother but not the child. She will rise up, then tear the world in half as she falls through, bringing death and destruction out of nothing; sealing for all time that which was unbroken.”
The giant vanished soon after, and after that they became hostile toward anyone they came across from the village. The villagers blamed her and when her mother died, they remembered the witch saying something about her being cursed and it would kill her mother. Some thought they might have remembered the words differently but they never spoke out and in the end, the village was relieved when she disappeared. They did not realize she often would encounter giants when she roamed the shores of the Silt Sea, and they did not treat her unkindly. She would often ride on their shoulders as they forded the sea, teaching her their language. They made her promise not to tell anyone else about her time spent with the giants, and she kept her word. It always frustrated her that they would never explain why they treated her differently. They would only say that someday she would need to know and it was important.
Years later, leaping into the void to escape her fate as a slave, she had long forgotten those secret times growing up where she rode on the shoulders of a giant. She still remembered their language but not the enigmatic curse (blessing?). She’d ceased caring about such things a long time ago.
Do NOT meddle in the affairs of dragons; for you are crunchy and go good with ketchup
Culthaw the Scarred Unaligned, Dragonborn, Warlord background: Dragonborn Madness (+2 intimidate) theme: Mercenary Recently in a bar somewhere in VathanShow
Culthaw eyed the simple meal before him with disintrest. A shuffle of feet beside the table caught his attention. Standing beside him was a young human visibly nervous, looking expectantly at him.
"Great. Another one." said the first voice.
"Give the lad a break. You were idealistic once." said a second voice.
"Yeah and look where that got us." said the first voice.
"SHUT UP!" shouted Culthaw.
The young human was startled by the dragonborn's booming voice that echoed in the near empty tavern. Confused, the boy's head turned, searching for the target of Culthaw's outburst, but could not see any nearby patron that might have caused offense.
The youth called on all his courage, stood a little straighter and looked the dragonborn hero in the eye. He held up a scroll bearing a purple wax seal imprinted with a crescent moon, and addressed the dragonborn with a shakey voice, "Sorry sir. It's from Master Agathail. He says it's urgent."
"Gotta give the kid credit. He didn't flinch much when he looked at you." said the second voice.
"Yeah but he just about pissed his pants. Hard to look a monster in the face." said the first voice.
Culthaw tried to ignore the voices that argued in his head. He focused on the human before him, reached out and took the scroll from the youth's shaking hand. "Fine. I'll take a look. Leave. Go!"
The boy quickly turned and ran out of the tavern.
"Aren't you gonna look at it?" said the second voice.
"Why bother. Probably another missive to lead more of us to the slaughter." said the first voice.
Culthaw stared at the seal for a few moments, before breaking it and reading the scroll's contents.
"Well. What you gonna do? Are we off to fight the good fight, throw off the shackles of slavery and end tyranny once and for all?" Said the second voice.
"Stuff it. We've heard enough of that trog droppings to last a life time. Of course he ain't doing it." said the first voice.
"You're not just gonna sit here and sulk are you?" questioned the second voice.
Culthaw said nothing. He stared at the missive penned by the secret leader of the Knights of the Crescent Moon here in Valthan. It was asking him to lead yet another raid on an Iron Circle caravan three days hence. He took a long sip from his drink and then crumpled up the papyrus message before throwing it into a nearby fire.
"I'm done", said Culthaw to the voices in his head. "I've had enough. Let's go find some better whiskey somewhere they won't bother me no more."
The dragonborn warrior then stood up, leaning unsteadily against the table. He threw down some coins and limped out of the small tavern doing his best to ignore the voices that continued to banter incessantly in his head.
Culthaw is a dragonborn warrior from Adretia, the rich kingdom now controlled by the oppressive tyranny of the Iron Circle. He grew up the son of a trained soldier hired as the personal guard of a rich merchant in Nath Mornal. This afforded the young Culthaw an education that only a rare few elite receive in the lands of the Iron Circle. He particularly enjoyed military history learning of the great stories such as Hannival's March Through the Mountains, the Conquests of Alefder the Great and the teachings of Sin Tsien.
His academic pursuits were augmented by training in warfare under the watchful eye of his father, such that by the time Culthaw came of age, he was capable battle leader. As he came of age, he became enamored of the Knights of the Crescent Circle and soon found himself welcomed into the organization who recognized his value as a combat leader. The rebel group was planning for an audacious revolt in the city of Sarcan and Culthaw soon found himself in the centre of this endeavor.
The revolt proved a masterful success, in a large part due to Culthaw's help in its planning and execution. Though a number under his command died during the initial uprising, it was far outnumbered by the troops lost by the Iron Circle due to the Knight's well planned attack.
Unfortunately, the Knights failed to fully appreciate the speed with which the Iron Circle would address the event. Fearing similar uprisings in other cities, the tyrannical order quickly gathered an immense army that marched on Sarcan, retook the city and massacred a large part of its population.
Amongst this devastation, Culthaw tried to lead a small contingent out of the city into the desert. He barely escaped being pulled to safety by the last two surviving members of his troop. During their flight, Culthaw suffered a terrible blow to his face that robbed his left eye of sight and rent a terrible scar down his face. He also broke his leg which was hastily splinted during their flight tot he desert. Unfortunately his leg failed to set properly, leaving the dragonborn warlord with persistent pain and a pronounced limp.
Eventually Culthaw made his way to Vathan, where he was welcomed as a hero by the Knights of the Crescent Moon that maintain a secretive headquarters there. However, not long after arriving, Culthaw began to hear voices of his old troop speak to him. He struggles with this, hoping that he was haunted by the spirits of those that died under his command because he didn't like the thought that he is gradually losing his mind.
Culthaw is fearsome. He is a powerful and intimidating figure even by dragonborn standards. He stands just a hand shy of seven feet, covered by dull bronze covered scales that are tinged with a hint of scarlet.
The most striking part of Culthaw however is a vicious scar gained from the ill-fated battles with the Iron Circle in Sarcan. The injury cuts a ragged line down from his now blind left eye to the edge of his mouth where a portion of his lips are torn away revealing chipped and broken teeth.
The dragonborn walks with a pronounced limp. His left leg pains him greatly where a broken bone failed to set properly.
====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ====== Culthaw the Scarred, level 7 Dragonborn, Warlord (Marshal) Warlord Option: Canny Leader Commanding Presence Option: Bravura Presence Dragonborn Racial Power Option: Dragonfear Dragonborn Madness (+2 to Intimidate) Theme: Mercenary LANGUAGES: Common, Draconic DIETIES: reveres Bahamut and Kord
FINAL ABILITY SCORES STR 18, CON 10, DEX 5, INT 16, WIS 5, CHA 18
STARTING ABILITY SCORES STR 16, CON 9, DEX 5, INT 15, WIS 5, CHA 16
Vitals: Medium, 6'8" tall, 280 lbs, 35 years old Languages: Common, Draconic
Senses: 12 Insight, 12 Perception, Normal Vision
Encounter Powers [_] Second Wind [_] Takedown Strike [_] Luring Focus [_] Flattening Charge [_] Deadly Returns [_][_] Inspiring Word [_] Dragonfear [_] Flash of Insight [_] Rousing Words [_] Hungry Spear (item) [_] Amulet of Life (item) [_] Bladric of Tactical Positioning(item)
Daily Powers [_] Leader's Instincts [_] Stand the Fallen [_] Kopesh-Foe Maker
HP: HS: AC: Fort: Ref: Will:
Core 52 7 22 19 17 19
RndX 52 7
0 THP Surge: 13hp Init: +0 Speed: 5
Resist: none Saves: none ACTION POINTS: 1
MBA: +12 Hungry Spear Longspear, 1d10+6, +11 Foe Maker Kopesh, 1d8+5 RBA: +11 Hungry Spear Longspear, 1d10+6 At Will - Furious Smash: +11 vs Fort, 4 dmg, adjacent ally (target or you) +4 next attack and dmg roll vs target At Will - Rousing Assault: +11 vs AC, 1d10+5 dmg, +4 hp restores with warlord healing use before EONT --- Dragon Born Fury: +1 attack when bloodied Bravura Presence: Ally who sees you and spends action point to attack can; on hit make basic attack or move; on miss grant combat advantage until EONT Canny Leader: you and any ally who can see and hear gains +2 insight perception Draconic Guardian: mark any creature until EONT hit by dragonfear Risky Charge: Knock enemy prone on a charge or enemy can attack you Polearm Flanker: Flank from 1 square away using polearm Two-Handed Weapon Expertise: +1 attack rolls, +1 damage with charge attacks --- Hungry Spear Longspear +2: Heavy Thrown (rng10/20) , +1d6 crit Baldric of Tactical Position: encounter(minor)-adj sqr considered ally for flanking EONT Amulet of Life +1: encounter(free)-spend HS, spend additional HS (2) Potions of Healing: spend HS but gain 10 hp
Crystyne is a thin brunette whose hair tends to cling close to her head. Instead of worrying about a lack of volume in her hair she has gone with more of a 'pixie' style of short hair. She has worn her hair longer in the past but this new look seems to suit her. Brown eyes which occasionaly glimmer yellow in the right light catch the attention of many. Her baby face looks have begun fading as she's started to approach middle age, but she's learned many things about disguising looks so it's likely she can keep her looks for a number of years into the future. There is a slight angularity of her chin and nose which hint at a Nerakese heritage, not that such a thing would mean much to someone from another world.
Her skin is largely unblemished and slightly tanned. Her hands are free of the callouses from having lived an easy life - at least on the outside. Just under five and a half feet tall she doesn't stick out for her height and her weight is low but still at a healthy level.
Crystyne's clothes change depend on the mission, though the garb she wore when traversing time included a warm and thick woolen black cloak (deep pocket cloak) over a billowing white robe (robe of avoidance) tied in with a red belt and white linen shirt with red trousers. The color choice is an intentional homage to the Orders of High Sorcery.
Tucked away she has a fancier blue silk dress with matching shoes and golden embroidery (fine clothing).
Crystyne doesn't remember who she used to be. Her life has been constant paranoia and deception for almost fifteen years. She simply plays roles now, doing what is necessary to blend in. With the prospect of death around every corner and the inability to trust even the friendliest stranger, she has very few trusted friends. She is utterly devoted to bringing down the Kingpriest and has become morally ambigous in her actions. She has done things she is not proud of, but she knows at heart she is not malicious.
Crystyne is a risk taker. She is beginning to accept her addiction to the thrill of the chase. The more dangerous the mission, the more borderline impossible the odds are, the more she enjoys it. Just because she runs from battle doesn't make her a coward. Quite the opposite: in battle you know the odds.
Her first thoughts in any situation are paranoid. Who is this person? Do they know who I am? How can I manipulate them? How can I get away if needed? What exactly do they assume they know that I can take advantage of?
However, this paraoia does not make her anti-social. What good is an anti-social spy? She is the first to open up a conversation with new people, even if she will never trust them.
Crystyne grew up as a mage in the worst of worlds to be a mage. Her world is now known as an alternative timeline of Krynn, a timeline in which the Kingpriest wasn't cast down but rather ascended to godhood. To her, it is all there ever was.
It was a timeline in which mages (and others) found themselves fanatically hunted by the agents of the Kingpriest and their Towers of High Sorcery fell in quick succession. Some mages fought back in secret, going against the wishes of the Orders of High Sorcery in doing so. For that they would have been labeled renegades and hunted by their own ... had they survived long enough to be noticed.
Crystyne joined the Orders of High Sorcery in the prosperous city of Palanthas. There things were relatively safe for a few years and she apprenticed as a Red Robe, learning much about illusions. It was there that she met the controversial living legend of her Order: Taylor Leighton. Taylor was an illusionist who had very rapidly risen in power amongst the Orders and caught much flak for her insistence on learning how to combine mundane deceptions with illusion spells instead of the more purist approaches taught by the Orders. Despite the controvery, there was huge demand to be Taylor's apprentice and Crystyne learned quickly why it was that she was chosen by Taylor as her first apprentice: she just happened to look similar to her new mistress. Being able to impersonate someone, or have someone impersonate you, was very valuable to Taylor.
In her brief official apprenticeship Crystyne learned more than she could imagine about deceiving people. Half-truths and simple lies could be just as manipulative as a well placed illusion. Together with illusions they were even more potent. Not long after that apprenticeship began, the Tower of Palanthas was the next Tower to be destroyed and Crystyne barely escaped. Like so many survivors of such attacks, she joined the renegade Burning Robes in order to fight back. There she met her mistress again. It turned out that Taylor had been playing a double role as both a loyal member of the Orders and a key figure in the renegades.
If it weren't for the tactics Taylor taught so many of the Burning Robes, they wouldn't have survived long. But thanks to the newfound deceptive - and often paranoid - tactics they managed to thrive. As the first apprentice of a living legend she held a position envied by many and even joined her mistress on many daring covert operations into the heart of Istar. The two of them were responsible for saving many lives of friends and getting enemies killed through the information they gathered during their espionage. Crystyne began to resemble her mistress in her paranoia and sheer audacity. High risk missions based on brilliant deceptions were part of daily life for her. While few other mages would dare tread in Istar, Crystyne lived there for many years in that heart of enemy territory, effectively a deep cover spy.
It was Crystyne who discovered the horrifying last line of the prophecy penned long ago by Pliny the Younger about the Kingpriest: "and the gods themselves shall bow to him".
Shortly after the Kingpriest ascended to godhood and began replacing the gods in a new form of tyranny, Taylor revealed to Crystyne her most audacious plan yet: to change history itself. Along with several others they were going to go back in time to manipulate events to stop things from turning out this way. Six mages were present when the spell was cast to open a rift in time. But the spell was not powerful enough to take all six and Crystyne found herself the odd one out as only five arrived back in time. As far as the others were concerned, she simply didn't make it back with them. Their timeline winked out of existence, but Crystyne didn't. Who knows what will happen when you jury-rig a time travel spell ...
Crystyne isn't the best known for her actions (she's a spy after all!). She's been trained to fight an impossible covert war against the rising fanatacism of the Istarian church led by the Kingpriest and has done so for ~15 years.
"Where are we?" Crystyne mentally asked her mistress through the telepathy ritual once they had been teleported.
"The Lordcity of Istar."
" ... are you INSANE?! We're as good as dead here!"
She could sense Taylor's mental laughing.
"So not funny. Can we please leave?"
"No. You're staying."
Crystyne wasn't sure whether to run or scream. Her heart pounded as adrenaline rushed through her body.
"Use your adrenaline. The only difference between those who achieve something and those who ask how it was done is that those who achieve had the guts to try. Adrenaline really helps with that."
"But we're in ISTAR!"
"Look around you. You don't assume anyone is a mage. They won't assume the same of you unless you give them reason ... like being nervous."
"Oh."
"You have money right?"
"Ya."
"Good. You'll be staying here for a few months at least. I'll bring your stuff in a few days. Until then get a feel for the city. And dismiss your invisibility in a back alley the first chance you get."
" ... okay."
"If you get in trouble, remember the poor."
"How exactly is that going to help?"
"When you pass a beggar what do you do?"
" ... ignore them?"
"Exactly. People make a point to not notice the poor. Use it if you need to. But if you're on the run and need a place to stay don't ever go to a cheap inn."
" ... why? Cause they'll sell me out?"
"No. Where do you expect a fugitive to stay at? A cheap inn or the most expensive one they can find?"
"Good point."
"See you in a week."
" ... bye." Crystyne looked around her at the Istarian people and felt the thrill at being somewhere where being a mage was a death sentence. The danger was strangely intoxicating.
It was hardly the last time she felt such intoxication.
Tears fell freely down Crystyne's face. Tears of joy: things were going to change. She and five other mages huddled together under the overcast winter sky in the ruins of Daltigoth. It was miserably cold, but every one of them was excited. Today was the last day of the year and it was going to be the last day of this hellish timeline. When the hour long spellcasting was done they would go back in time.
She wept watching her mistress cast the spell. They had spent years hiding their magic and now here they were casting a singularly powerful spell out in the open. That alone made it the best day Crystyne had had in years. More tears of joy fell freely as the spell neared its completion.
Shadows in the ruins danced in the corners of her vision but she didn't dare move. Disturbing the ring of diamond dust they stood in would spoil the spell and she stood closest to the edge. She smirked at the desperation of this plan. The spell required the power of an artifact in order to function, so here they were draining the power from a fallen Tower of High Sorcery. It was truly a sad time when mages didn't have access to artifacts and had to resort to using their most precious sites as a replacement. She knew the shadows were the remnants of the Tower reacting to the spell, reacting to the power being drained. In her heart she knew things could go terribly wrong with this but she didn't dare consider what.
The diamond dust ring glowed a brilliant white and she smiled. Here it comes ...
One by one the others in the circle vanished in blinding white flashes. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Five flashes all fractions of a second apart, so close as to be almost indistinguishable and so bright as to daze her.
That was it. There was no more power to take her. The ring still glowed as everything around her faded into blackness. The entire timeline - everything she had ever known - vanished from existence.
What?
It was beyond her understanding what was happening to her.
Crystyne is akin to a spy with the abilities of a mage. She is a manipulator and infiltrator. Her combat effectiveness might be a tad low as her powers are largely chosen thematically rather than for optimization, but she should excel in social situations and anything covert.
This is a very minor NPC from my own pbp campaign Lost History of Istar. The PCs have heard of her in passing, but as far as they know she wasn't brought back in time with the others. No one in that campaign (PC or NPC) is aware of what happened to her when some of the NPCs jury-rigged a time travel spell. There will be another mention of her, but nothing which would conflict with using her here. As a bonus, she doesn't have any knowledge which could spoil my game.
The Kingpriest Ascendant timeline can be found in the Legend of the Twins sourcebook (not to be confused with the trilogy of novels) by Sovereign Press for 3.5 Dragonlance.
