Post by sinisterspiral on May 29, 2009 10:00:09 GMT -5
Name : Clousyr van Dalrahoun
Race : Human
Class: Battle Mage (6)
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Gender : Male
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 175
Hair: light brown, held in a neat ponytail
Eyes: Dark Brown
Age: 25
Ability scores:
STR : 14 (+2)
DEX : 15 (+2)
CON: 12 (+1)
WIS: 10
INT: 12 (+1)
CHA: 16 (+3)
Derived scores:
HP: 40/ 40
Initiative: +2
AC: 16/ 20 (10+ 2Dex+ 4Armor) + (4shield)
Touch: 13
Flat-footed: 14
Armor
Master-work Chainshirt-
Ac: +4 Check: -1Spell fail: 20%
BaB: +4
- Melee: +6 (4+2)
Weapons:
Short sword +1; +8 to hit ~ d6+2, 19-20/x2
(+4 batk, +1 bonus, +2 Str, +1 Focus )
Saves:
Fort: 3 (2+1)
Ref: 4 (2+2)
Will: 5 (5+0)
Languages:
Common, Elven
Feats / Abilities
-Negotiator
-Dodge
-Weapon Focus- Short sword
-Persuasive
Familiar:
Black Cat (Lora)
Hd: 1/2 D8 HP:20 (40/2) AC:14
Bonus to me:
Alertness (as in feat, when within reach),
+3 move silently
[edit : changing to accomodate new class restrictions]
Skills
Max rank = 9 /4.5
= #+Feat (#+Mod)
*(cross class to both classes)
(#) is skill mod after ability mods are added.
Special Equipment :
Elf-moon blade- Appears to be a simple short sword, but when viewed at twilight or the dawn it shimmers like blue-silver. [Short sword+ 1][st][Spell Storing][st] (2k CP)
Handy Haversack. (2k CP)
{containing:
Trickster's Coif - A strange piece of headware that was found among the items in Clousyr's haversack a few weeks after leaving the Elven dell. (Acts as if Disguise self were cast on Wearer) (1800)
4x [potions of Cure Light Wounds] Vials of a refreshing peach tasting substance (600 CP)
2x [Pass without a Trace] - Vials of a near-gelatinous transparent liquid (300 CP)
1x [potion of Sanctuary] - Bottle of a bitter-herb brew (150 CP)
2x darkness oil. - Bottle of brackish water. (600 cp)
1x shield of faith potion +3 - beaten metal flask (300)
}
Other Gear:
{}Torches, flint, steel
{}Noble's Clothing (blue and white with gold trim and brass buttons)
{} 2 flasks of water
{} 2 tins of dried meat
{} small knife
Spells:
Known: 6/3/1/1
Per Day: 5/6/5/3 +1 for cha
Spell List:
0th : Prestidigitation, Acid Splash, Mage Hand, Read Magic,
Dancing lights
1st: Shield, Burning Hands, Ray of Enfeeblement
2nd: Scorching ray
3rd: Displacement
remaining Cp: 150
Background
Raise the sword, lift the shield, and cry loud the rousing shouts of House Dalrahoun. Grip ye frothy mugs, wipe thine greasy cheeks and spit from thy drunken lips. Makes me sick.
I once admired them, Uncles and Cousins; whole lines of proud warriors. When father gave me my first sword I think it was a week before I put it down. I was the first one to the straits everyday, ofttimes arriving before the tutors broke their fasts. In a word, I was eager, eager for battles and glory and revelry.
I got what I wanted- some of it at least. Got disowned too, wasn't expecting that one. All I did was tip a single goblet. I went up to the hall to refresh my memory of what was to come, one moon-lit night; Bribed a guard, climbed the roof and crouched in the rafters. Father was below, sitting at the head of the table, brooding while all the others were having their good time.
I had never seen him that way before, not a revelry. He was always the one lifting toasts and shouting-on the brawls and tests of strength. My uncle, Lord Vanflow had obviously noticed his languor as well, and was at my father's side speaking to him, yet it seemed his words were only angering father more.
Action. That's what my father needed. He needed to wash away his troubles in wine; Or so I thought. I stared at the goblet touched by his drumming fingers, and like any naive child, I willed him to lift it; as if my simple mind could control his mighty mind. After a little while, I saw it moving, more specifically it was marching; Marching in parody of our warriors. I saw my Uncle Vanflow's eyes swivel, first over the drunkards carousing at the table, then upward into the rafters where I sat staring. My father did not look away from the goblet and seemed too petrified to stop its sarabanding.
Suddenly he grabbed for it, and my name came forth from Vanflow's thin sniveling lips. The revelry stopped at once, and the dancing glass toppled into Father's lap.
"Clousyr!" my Uncle thundered. Father's lips moved softly and he would not look up. I didn't know why at the time, but I had shamed my father deeply, and I was mortified by the thought of it. I fell from my perch.
The warriors seized me immediately in their oily hands and bore me from the hall; Not toward home where I thought they would, but toward the tower of our keep. I struggled but it was in vain, for my strength was little compared to theirs. Afraid and confused, I was cast down into the Oubliette. These warriors whom I had adored and glorified and emulated in all my doings sneered at me and spat before dropping the trap door, sealing away all light of the world above.
I don't want to remember the darkness of that place, or the smell, or the slick floor I slept upon. I don't want to remember the sounds of my mother sobbing above or my father's voice condemning me as a warlock. Instead I will only remember the light and the cool fresh air that washed upon me as i was lifted from that fetid pit. That's all I needed on that day, and I'll never forget how good it was.
It's funny how little a child's eye sees. I thought these were good men, brave and strong, fathers of warriors, protectors of peace. But they were scared frightened little men clinging to each other while the thunder boomed. I didn't notice their hatred of magic until I brought it in from the storm. Even my father was so afraid of it that his son, his pride and joy knight-in-waiting, was forfeit to the fear. You might say that I was lucky or even that his love saved me from the fiery stake. But I say it was their fear and his shame of me that saved my flesh; For luck is hardly my ally.
I spent a good year playing exile. I haunted the hills of my home, sometimes looking back, sometimes running from it in anger. My child's eyes opened to a great wild world. I worked until my soft hands turned hard. I kept my sword sharp and looked for any excuse to use it; to help or to hurt, whatever brought blood and action. Slowly the longing and hurt burned away, leaving only anger.
It could not go on forever, this waif's savagery. the fiery anger burned down to embers. One day of many spent recuperating from a bloody match, I realized that I had done nothing to feed it; I was only leeching from it's warmth. Meanwhile, I had been still in the dark slimy pit, groping the jagged walls and all my fighting I had done to escape my shame was nothing more than tremulous cries for freedom. all this time i had thought myself free when I was still bearing the punishment of being alive; Of using my hands and my mind together to make my will reality. I had leaned upon my strength and my sword alone for too long. In all those years I had never assumed that my father and his drunken bigot warriors were right; That I was a warlock.
I searched it out. I left my sword sheathed and bathed and searched for someone who could help me. After the first frowning denials, I cut my hair and threw away anything I possessed bearing the mark of House Dalrahoun. Even still, they turned me away, speaking my name as a curse. Dismayed and growing short on funds one night, I slipped into a barn and made my bed among the sheep. I watched the farmer at his meal and tried vainly to upset his drink.
I was just about to give up when I felt something brush against my him. When I moved my arm to see what it was, the thing crawled into my lap and sat there, staring with wide dark eyes. I felt no compulsion to move it or strike it away; Knowing the instant our eyes met that it was no monster or greedy creature that sat upon me.
It was a cat, my cat, and it has been since. Before I could name it, indeed before five minutes lapsed, it was off, callign me after it. The way I followed my cat past the border of my country and into a wild forest, one would have thought it to be my master; but as it turned out she was leading me to her.
In the evening of a muggy, cloudy day, my cat led me to a glade full of summer glory. She stood beside a brook and in her was, bade me to bathe in it. After I was clean, and presently drying in the wind, an Elf of blue-silver hair came out from the trees. I could not speak, too shocked was I and wanting of woman. The elf spoke softly, asking what human dared straying so far for a bath. My voice seemed tiny in comparison. She then lifted a hand and peered into the great boughs, then spoke in her language. A few others of her kind came from the wood, glaring and holding bows ready with arrow.
She spoke more Elven words which, though I did not understand them, carried among them my name. the other Elves were furious, pulling their bow-strings taut, urging her in more than word to let them rid the world of me. She shook her head and stood beside me.
"I am Lorathii, and if to me you swear your life, I may save you this day. But there is one other price," she said to me.
Being naked and outnumbered, I could only agree. Lorathii took my sword and cast it into the churning brook. Only then did the others drop their bows and quiver their arrows. they left without a word or backward glance, slipping gracefully back into the the trees.
I learned that the glade was their home. Quite a number of elves lived there, though I never saw more than three at a time, including Lorathii who was always at my side. She taught me me how to use my other talents; Showed me how to use powers beyond brute force to persuade. All the while she made it seem as if she was polishing a gem; Adding nothing to it, only bringing it out to be seen. She taught me how to speak her tongue and how to commune with my black cat, whom I named Lora after her. I came to feel quite a number of emotions in her presence.
Two or so years after I had met her, I told Lorathii of my love. She wept- to my surprise. Before I had time to ask, she began to tell me of her past. She told me a story of murderous men who came yearly to her country and slaughtered all in their path. Before her birth, these men had chased her people from their homes, burning all they touched. I asked her if she thought me one of those men; and she answered "No, but the same blood is in thy veins." She told me that the seal upon my sword was the same as that of the raiders. She told me that Lora, my cat, was the only thing that saved me some two years previous.
Furious, I asked her why she had bothered to save me at all; Why had she not taken my life and saved her trouble and social degeneration, but she could only answer in tears.
I stormed away from the glen that very night, first retrieving the sword I had forsaken. It did not leave my hand that night, for I felt followed all the miles I traveled in darkness.
When the morning came, I knew I was alone. Exhausted, I flung myself to the ground to rest. My sword lay beside me, not rusted or atrophied by its long sojourn in the depths; It shone instead a beautiful blue-silver in the dawn's light. It had been cleaned and cared for all those months. And to my vast surprise, it had been cleansed of the unsavory mark of house Dalrahoun.
I slept that day, smiling, the whisps of a plan wafting through my mind. I dreampt of the free cool air and light at the end of a long darkness; and when I woke, I felt the warm fire blazing in me once more.
Race : Human
Class: Battle Mage (6)
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Gender : Male
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 175
Hair: light brown, held in a neat ponytail
Eyes: Dark Brown
Age: 25
Ability scores:
STR : 14 (+2)
DEX : 15 (+2)
CON: 12 (+1)
WIS: 10
INT: 12 (+1)
CHA: 16 (+3)
Derived scores:
HP: 40/ 40
Initiative: +2
AC: 16/ 20 (10+ 2Dex+ 4Armor) + (4shield)
Touch: 13
Flat-footed: 14
Armor
Master-work Chainshirt-
Ac: +4 Check: -1
BaB: +4
- Melee: +6 (4+2)
Weapons:
Short sword +1; +8 to hit ~ d6+2, 19-20/x2
(+4 batk, +1 bonus, +2 Str, +1 Focus )
Saves:
Fort: 3 (2+1)
Ref: 4 (2+2)
Will: 5 (5+0)
Languages:
Common, Elven
Feats / Abilities
-Negotiator
-Dodge
-Weapon Focus- Short sword
-Persuasive
Familiar:
Black Cat (Lora)
Hd: 1/2 D8 HP:20 (40/2) AC:14
Bonus to me:
Alertness (as in feat, when within reach),
+3 move silently
[edit : changing to accomodate new class restrictions]
Skills
Max rank = 9 /4.5
= #+Feat (#+Mod)
| *Bluff: | +6 (9) | [ 4 + 2]= 6 |
| Concentration: | +2 (2) | |
| *Climb: | +1 (3) | |
| *Diplomacy: | +3 (6) | [ 1+ 2]= 3 |
| *Gather Info: | +1 (4) | |
| Intimidate: | +6 (8) | [ 4+ 2]= 6 |
| *Jump: | + (1) | |
| *Know (nobility): | +2 () | |
| *Ride: | () | |
| *Sense Motive: | +4 (5) | [ 2+2]= 4 |
| *Spot: | +2 (3) | |
| Spellcraft | +2 (0) | |
| *Swim: | +1 (2) |
*(cross class to both classes)
(#) is skill mod after ability mods are added.
Special Equipment :
Elf-moon blade- Appears to be a simple short sword, but when viewed at twilight or the dawn it shimmers like blue-silver. [Short sword+ 1][st][Spell Storing][st] (2k CP)
Handy Haversack. (2k CP)
{containing:
Trickster's Coif - A strange piece of headware that was found among the items in Clousyr's haversack a few weeks after leaving the Elven dell. (Acts as if Disguise self were cast on Wearer) (1800)
4x [potions of Cure Light Wounds] Vials of a refreshing peach tasting substance (600 CP)
2x [Pass without a Trace] - Vials of a near-gelatinous transparent liquid (300 CP)
1x [potion of Sanctuary] - Bottle of a bitter-herb brew (150 CP)
2x darkness oil. - Bottle of brackish water. (600 cp)
1x shield of faith potion +3 - beaten metal flask (300)
}
Other Gear:
{}Torches, flint, steel
{}Noble's Clothing (blue and white with gold trim and brass buttons)
{} 2 flasks of water
{} 2 tins of dried meat
{} small knife
Spells:
Known: 6/3/1/1
Per Day: 5/6/5/3 +1 for cha
Spell List:
0th : Prestidigitation, Acid Splash, Mage Hand, Read Magic,
Dancing lights
1st: Shield, Burning Hands, Ray of Enfeeblement
2nd: Scorching ray
3rd: Displacement
remaining Cp: 150
Background
Raise the sword, lift the shield, and cry loud the rousing shouts of House Dalrahoun. Grip ye frothy mugs, wipe thine greasy cheeks and spit from thy drunken lips. Makes me sick.
I once admired them, Uncles and Cousins; whole lines of proud warriors. When father gave me my first sword I think it was a week before I put it down. I was the first one to the straits everyday, ofttimes arriving before the tutors broke their fasts. In a word, I was eager, eager for battles and glory and revelry.
I got what I wanted- some of it at least. Got disowned too, wasn't expecting that one. All I did was tip a single goblet. I went up to the hall to refresh my memory of what was to come, one moon-lit night; Bribed a guard, climbed the roof and crouched in the rafters. Father was below, sitting at the head of the table, brooding while all the others were having their good time.
I had never seen him that way before, not a revelry. He was always the one lifting toasts and shouting-on the brawls and tests of strength. My uncle, Lord Vanflow had obviously noticed his languor as well, and was at my father's side speaking to him, yet it seemed his words were only angering father more.
Action. That's what my father needed. He needed to wash away his troubles in wine; Or so I thought. I stared at the goblet touched by his drumming fingers, and like any naive child, I willed him to lift it; as if my simple mind could control his mighty mind. After a little while, I saw it moving, more specifically it was marching; Marching in parody of our warriors. I saw my Uncle Vanflow's eyes swivel, first over the drunkards carousing at the table, then upward into the rafters where I sat staring. My father did not look away from the goblet and seemed too petrified to stop its sarabanding.
Suddenly he grabbed for it, and my name came forth from Vanflow's thin sniveling lips. The revelry stopped at once, and the dancing glass toppled into Father's lap.
"Clousyr!" my Uncle thundered. Father's lips moved softly and he would not look up. I didn't know why at the time, but I had shamed my father deeply, and I was mortified by the thought of it. I fell from my perch.
The warriors seized me immediately in their oily hands and bore me from the hall; Not toward home where I thought they would, but toward the tower of our keep. I struggled but it was in vain, for my strength was little compared to theirs. Afraid and confused, I was cast down into the Oubliette. These warriors whom I had adored and glorified and emulated in all my doings sneered at me and spat before dropping the trap door, sealing away all light of the world above.
I don't want to remember the darkness of that place, or the smell, or the slick floor I slept upon. I don't want to remember the sounds of my mother sobbing above or my father's voice condemning me as a warlock. Instead I will only remember the light and the cool fresh air that washed upon me as i was lifted from that fetid pit. That's all I needed on that day, and I'll never forget how good it was.
It's funny how little a child's eye sees. I thought these were good men, brave and strong, fathers of warriors, protectors of peace. But they were scared frightened little men clinging to each other while the thunder boomed. I didn't notice their hatred of magic until I brought it in from the storm. Even my father was so afraid of it that his son, his pride and joy knight-in-waiting, was forfeit to the fear. You might say that I was lucky or even that his love saved me from the fiery stake. But I say it was their fear and his shame of me that saved my flesh; For luck is hardly my ally.
I spent a good year playing exile. I haunted the hills of my home, sometimes looking back, sometimes running from it in anger. My child's eyes opened to a great wild world. I worked until my soft hands turned hard. I kept my sword sharp and looked for any excuse to use it; to help or to hurt, whatever brought blood and action. Slowly the longing and hurt burned away, leaving only anger.
It could not go on forever, this waif's savagery. the fiery anger burned down to embers. One day of many spent recuperating from a bloody match, I realized that I had done nothing to feed it; I was only leeching from it's warmth. Meanwhile, I had been still in the dark slimy pit, groping the jagged walls and all my fighting I had done to escape my shame was nothing more than tremulous cries for freedom. all this time i had thought myself free when I was still bearing the punishment of being alive; Of using my hands and my mind together to make my will reality. I had leaned upon my strength and my sword alone for too long. In all those years I had never assumed that my father and his drunken bigot warriors were right; That I was a warlock.
I searched it out. I left my sword sheathed and bathed and searched for someone who could help me. After the first frowning denials, I cut my hair and threw away anything I possessed bearing the mark of House Dalrahoun. Even still, they turned me away, speaking my name as a curse. Dismayed and growing short on funds one night, I slipped into a barn and made my bed among the sheep. I watched the farmer at his meal and tried vainly to upset his drink.
I was just about to give up when I felt something brush against my him. When I moved my arm to see what it was, the thing crawled into my lap and sat there, staring with wide dark eyes. I felt no compulsion to move it or strike it away; Knowing the instant our eyes met that it was no monster or greedy creature that sat upon me.
It was a cat, my cat, and it has been since. Before I could name it, indeed before five minutes lapsed, it was off, callign me after it. The way I followed my cat past the border of my country and into a wild forest, one would have thought it to be my master; but as it turned out she was leading me to her.
In the evening of a muggy, cloudy day, my cat led me to a glade full of summer glory. She stood beside a brook and in her was, bade me to bathe in it. After I was clean, and presently drying in the wind, an Elf of blue-silver hair came out from the trees. I could not speak, too shocked was I and wanting of woman. The elf spoke softly, asking what human dared straying so far for a bath. My voice seemed tiny in comparison. She then lifted a hand and peered into the great boughs, then spoke in her language. A few others of her kind came from the wood, glaring and holding bows ready with arrow.
She spoke more Elven words which, though I did not understand them, carried among them my name. the other Elves were furious, pulling their bow-strings taut, urging her in more than word to let them rid the world of me. She shook her head and stood beside me.
"I am Lorathii, and if to me you swear your life, I may save you this day. But there is one other price," she said to me.
Being naked and outnumbered, I could only agree. Lorathii took my sword and cast it into the churning brook. Only then did the others drop their bows and quiver their arrows. they left without a word or backward glance, slipping gracefully back into the the trees.
I learned that the glade was their home. Quite a number of elves lived there, though I never saw more than three at a time, including Lorathii who was always at my side. She taught me me how to use my other talents; Showed me how to use powers beyond brute force to persuade. All the while she made it seem as if she was polishing a gem; Adding nothing to it, only bringing it out to be seen. She taught me how to speak her tongue and how to commune with my black cat, whom I named Lora after her. I came to feel quite a number of emotions in her presence.
Two or so years after I had met her, I told Lorathii of my love. She wept- to my surprise. Before I had time to ask, she began to tell me of her past. She told me a story of murderous men who came yearly to her country and slaughtered all in their path. Before her birth, these men had chased her people from their homes, burning all they touched. I asked her if she thought me one of those men; and she answered "No, but the same blood is in thy veins." She told me that the seal upon my sword was the same as that of the raiders. She told me that Lora, my cat, was the only thing that saved me some two years previous.
Furious, I asked her why she had bothered to save me at all; Why had she not taken my life and saved her trouble and social degeneration, but she could only answer in tears.
I stormed away from the glen that very night, first retrieving the sword I had forsaken. It did not leave my hand that night, for I felt followed all the miles I traveled in darkness.
When the morning came, I knew I was alone. Exhausted, I flung myself to the ground to rest. My sword lay beside me, not rusted or atrophied by its long sojourn in the depths; It shone instead a beautiful blue-silver in the dawn's light. It had been cleaned and cared for all those months. And to my vast surprise, it had been cleansed of the unsavory mark of house Dalrahoun.
I slept that day, smiling, the whisps of a plan wafting through my mind. I dreampt of the free cool air and light at the end of a long darkness; and when I woke, I felt the warm fire blazing in me once more.