Regrets, but this game will not start after all due to the ntimely passing of Wyrmsting.

Kilmorrigan

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Name: Aala Naidr Taliesin Immanuel
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Class: Bard
Level: 6
Alignment: CG
HD: 6d6+12;
HP: 41
Age: 24
Height: 5'6
Weight: 125
Hair: Sandy
Eyes: Green
Complexion: Pale

Str - 8
Dex - 16
Con - 14
Int - 16
Wis - 10
Cha - 19

Init +3, Fort +4, Ref +8, Will +5
Speed 30
AC: 20 (Flatfooted:17 Touch:14)
Base Attacks: +4
+8 (d8+1) Light Xbow

Special Qualities (SQ):
Languages: Common, Sylvan, Celestial, Elven
Bardic Knowledge +11

Bonus Exalted Feats lvl 1, 2, 4, 6
(Su) +6 Exalted Bonus to AC - does not apply to touch
(Ex) Endure Elements
(Su) Exalted Strike
(Ex) Sustenence
(Su) +1 Deflection Bonus to AC

Racial Features: (RF):
No special bonuses or penalties due to size.
Base land speed is 30 feet.
1 extra feat at 1st level.
4 extra skill points at 1st level, 1 extra skill point at each additional level.
Automatic Language: Common. Bonus Languages: Any (except "secret languages").
Favored Class: Any. When determining whether a multiclass human takes an experience point penalty, his or her highest-level class does not count.

Bardic Class Features:
Weapon and Armor Proficiency:
Simple Weapon proficiency: All, + longsword, rapier, sap, short sword, shortbow, and whip.
Armor proficnency: Light
Shield proficiency: All (except tower shields)
Spells
Replace known Spell -- starting @ 5th
Bardic Knowledge: check = Level + Int mod +2 [Knowledge (history)]
Bardic Music
(Su) Countersong
(Sp) Fascinate
(Su) Inspire Courage
(Su) Inspire Competence
(Sp) Suggestion

Skills: (96)
+9 Balance (Dex) 5R*
+9 Bluff (Cha) 5R
+6 Concentration (Con) 5R
+19 Diplomacy (Cha) 9R***
+9 Gather Information (Cha) 5R
+7 Hide (Dex) 5R
+8 Knowledge Nature (Int) 5R
+4 Knowledge Arcana 1R
+4 Knowledge Dungeoneering 1R
+4 Knowledge Local 1R
+8 Knowledge History 5R
+4 Knowledge Geography 1R
+8 Knowledge Nobility 5R
+4 Knowledge Plains 1R
+4 Knowledge Religion 1R
+4 Knowledge Architecture 1R
+9 Listen (Wis) 9R
+7 Move Silently (Dex) 5R
+13 Perform Vocals (Cha) 9R
+5 Perform Percussion (Cha) 1R
+5 Sense Motive (Wis) 5R
+8 Spellcraft (Int) 5R
+7 Tumble (Dex) 5R
(* denotes a +2 bonus from synergy)

Feats:
Sacred Vow
Vow of Poverty
Nymph's Kiss
Melodic Casting
Touch of Golden Ice
Master Manipulator
Words of Creation

Spells Known (Bard 4/4/3/-/-/-)
Lvl 0 -- Prestidigitation, Songbird, Light, Ghost Sound, Lullaby, Mage Hand
Lvl 1-- Tasha's Hideous Laughter, Cure Light Wounds, Inspirational Boost,
Hypnotism
Lvl 2 -- Hold Person, Cure Moderate Wounds, Glitterdust

Possessions:
Light Crossbow
10 bolts
Explorer's Outfit

Character Description/History:
Aala Naidr Taliesin Immanuel was born into privilege. He was the only son of a wealthy businessman. His father ran a security company that helped provide protection muscle, criminal investigation, and even body disposal to various people within his city limits. The business brought in mountains of gold, but it was not without it's dark sides. Tal, as his sisters called him, was the youngest child in a family of seven, and as the only son the sole heir to the fortune. His mother died shortly after his birth of an unidentified sickness, leaving his sisters to raise him.

He became interested in poetry, hereldry and above all else music. Growing up surrounded by women left him with a softspoken voice and aura of ease around him, much in contrast to his father's brash and cutthroat business attitude. Tal often watched his father cheat his way to a payment, or even go as far as to pressure customers for more payment or upfront "protection" money. One by one as they got older, his sisters married off and Tal increasingly was trained to take over the business. His father was now an old man and ready to retire with his hundreds of gold coins. Each day of "training" revealed a new psuedo-legal and downright thuggish behaviour practiced in the coin chase.

Tal could not take it. This life was not for him... he only wanted a simple life filled with nothing but music. No fighting, no rigid business plans, no dead bodies, no bookkeeping, and no thugs. One night he bid his youngest sister farewell, and left his keep with nothing but a single days worth of rations, some adventuring clothes, and a longspear from the family armory... just in case. He swore an oath to live a life of poverty, never keeping for himself more than he absolutely needs to survive and donating the rest to the world, as some sort of reparations for his father's greed. And he swore to dedicate his life to music, to peace, and to all things righteous.

As his adventuring career progressed, Taliesin became better ad talking his way out of trouble, inspiring others with speeches and poems, and above all else giving to the poor and needy. He had chosen a life of poverty, and it was his mission to assist others that had poverty forced upon them. After a few years of living on coppers, using his tips to buy dinner and then donating the rest, a messenger was sent from his father. He was ready to retire and wanted to find his son to pass the business along to. Tal refused, citing that he finally feels at peace with himself, and that he would rather the business die with his father than continue making money off of thuggery. He knew deep down his father wasn't an evil guy, but he certainly wasn't a nice one either. Tal told the messenger to request his dad donate whatever is left of the business after a modest retirement and close down and enjoy his life.

Tal still doesn't know if his father honored his request.

Soon after he had begun adventuring, he came upon a small forest, where Tal met his companions for the next few years. The forest was enchanted with powerful feywild magic. Each tree had a dryad, and sprites bounced back and forth. They enjoyed his voice and natural curiosity and charisma, and he likewise enjoyed their love for life and nature and their carefree attitude. He learned much about the natural world, including their language and customs, and in turn taught them the joys of music and knoledge. They helped him overcome his fears he held as a young boy, including the fear of dead bodies he so often witnessed as a result of his fathers business. After eating his first wild animal, Tali swore never again to touch dead flesh. He would live on the plants and grains of the world alone. No more would his touch be tainted by death.

Tali became increasingly powerful with magic as a result of spending time with the fey, and often joined in their pranks to trick greedy misers out of their riches and in turn donate them, often letting them keep a portion if they are good sports about it. Tal mastered the art of conversation, learning to doubletalk and catch people in their lies. All the while Tal remained a pinnacle of all things good, helping the needy and donating whatever he had on him whenever he got the chance. After several years of these games, Tal's tireless dedication was rewarded. The pixies helped him learn the language of the Eladrin, celestrial protectors of the chaotic good in the world. Tal began to weave Celestial words, along with the Sylvan language of the fey, into his songs and poems. They became exponentially more powerful as his knowledge and power grew, often taking a divine nature upon them.Words were revealed to him in dreams over months, until he became fluent in their usage. It was draining, but the benefit was surely worthwhile.

With his newfound divine power of words, and his prior training, Tal knew it was time to bid his companions farewell. Perhaps he would return someday, but for now he had to adventure and see the world and fight the evil within it. He was blessed with holy abilities to wrack evil and enbolden good. He had to use it.

2

Name: Ivan Vilat.
Male, Human, Binder, 6, Lawful Neutral
HD: 6d8+12(Con)
hp: 44
Age: 34 , Height: 5'11" , Weight: 160 , Hair: Blonde , Eyes: Green , Complexion: Shifting, Pale some days, Darker others.

Str : 12 (+1)
Dex : 14 (+2)
Con : 14 (+2)
Int : 14 (+2)
Wis : 10 (+0)
Cha : 21 (+5)

Init +6 (+2 Dex, +4 Improved Init)
Fort +7 (+5 Base, +2 Con)
Ref +6 (+2 Base, +2 Dex, +2 Feat)
Will +5 (+5 Base)

Speed 30
AC: 17 (Flatfooted: 15 Touch: 12)
Base Attacks: +4 [/+5] melee, +?[/+6] ranged
+6 (d6[+2]) +1 Scimitar [18-20/x2]),
+2 (d8[+1], Masterwork Composite Longbow (+1) [20/x3])
(+6 bonus when bound to Leraje.)
+5 (d4[+1], Dagger [19-20/x2])

Special Qualities (SQ): Bind Vestige, Suppress Sign, Pact Augmentation.

Racial Features: (RF)
Land speed 30 feet
Bonus Feat @ Level 1
+1 Point of effective intelligence when determining skill points.

Class Features:
Bind Vestige: 1/day
Pact Augmentation
Soul Guardian

Skills:
Bluff: +17 (5 mod, 9 ranks, 3 item)
Diplomacy: +12 (5 mod, 3 item, 4 synergy)
Disguise: +8 (5 mod, 3 item)
Gather Information: +14 (5 mod, 6 ranks, 3 item)
Intimidate: +19 (5 mod, 9 ranks, 3 item, 2 synergy)
Knowledge (Arcana) +6 (2 mod, 4 ranks)
Knowledge (History) +6 (2 mod, 4 ranks)
Knowledge (Religion) +6 (2 mod, 4 ranks)
Knowledge (The Planes) +6 (2 mod, 4 ranks)
Sense Motive: +5 (5 ranks)

Feats:
Dodge
Improved Initiative
Martial weapon proficiency (scimitar, class bonus feat)
Quick Draw
Lightning Reflexes

Possessions: Travelers pack.
Wealth: 85
Mount: n/a
Weapons: +1 Scimitar, Masterwork Comp Longbow, Dagger
Goods Carried:
Goods Stored: Backpack
Magic Items: Cloak of Charisma (+2), Circlet of Persuasion, Talisman of the Disk

Ivan was born and raised under the call that you are made perfect; do not attempt to alter yourself. The gods have willed you to be as you are. And so he believed it. Until he met Jonathon, that is.

Jonathon was an odd fellow, right from the start. The first day that he showed up, he had horns upon his head. The next day, his mouth was an inky black. The next, his hair was being blown about by an unseen wind. The fourth day, he was made of stone, so it seemed. Ivan, a curious man, wanted to know what sorcery this was, to which the man replied.

“Nay, good sir, this be no sorcery. This be the power of a vestige! I am at one with the beings who grant me unimaginable powers!”

Ivan, of course, was interested. It was against everything he had learned, but it amazed him. And so, Ivan began taking lessons from Jonathon, learning the magic of Binding.

After he had learned the magic, Jonathon presented him with a task, to bind himself to the Vestige of Malphas, the Turnfeather. It seemed simple enough, so Ivan traced the symbol on the ground, and summoned the Vestige.

However, when he bound his pact, something went horribly wrong. Perhaps it was sheer intimidation, but Ivan could not bring himself to be his smooth and charismatic self that he normally was. And thus, Malphas made him his own.
Suddenly, Ivan became more liking. He saw the world in a new light… one of romance. He skipped around town, giggling at everyone he saw. Inside he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t seem to care. The world was his lover, and he would please it. Suddenly, he saw a line of people crowded around a street, though not actually on the street. He joyfully walked his way over there, and looked at what they were looking at. No wonder everyone was crowded around there…

Upon a carriage stood a gorgeous woman, with red streaming down to her shoulders, and deep hazel eyes that could pierce your soul. And what was this? She was waving at him? Oh dear… Ivan began to swoon. He was beginning to think he was in love. He needed to have her… her, and only her.

Through the crowd he pushed, and he climbed onto the carriage. The woman must be glad that he was there, because she had an incredulous look of shock on her face. Ivan, knowing what she craved, grabbed her, and pulled her into a passionate kiss… only to be shoved off by rough man in fine clothing. How dare he! Steal his one true love away from him… that man would pay. Ivan stood up, and ran out to see Jonathon.

Telling Jonathon of his plight, Ivan begged for help. Jonathon reached into his robe, and pulled out a small vial of liquid… sickly green. He said, “This will render the magistrate helpless Ivan. You may do what you will then.” And he gave him the vial. The vial felt… good in his hands. And the man, he was the magistrate? He would pay for stealing his one true love…

That night, Ivan called upon his vestigial pet, a small raven, to fly into the night, searching for this “magistrate” so that he might kill him with this wonderful green liquid. Soon… he would have his lover. His raven returned, and the quest began.

Ivan whispered to Malphas, and slowly, his body began to fade from vision. Sneaking past the guards was simple… now to deliver justice. Ivan found the magistrate asleep. Opening the bottle, and pouring it into the magistrate’s mouth, he giggled softly; this was it.

The man gagged, but an invisible hand – Ivan’s – stifled his sound. Soon, he stopped thrashing. Unsheathing his blade, Ivan began to hack at the now helpless foe before him. More, more, more… this man would feel loves wrath.

Suddenly, the door opened, and there she stood. His beautiful woman. Ivan extended his hand to her, saying “Come away my lady. This man will harm you no more.”
As she peered past him however, she began to wail. “MY HUSBAND!!! YOU’VE KILLED MY HUSBAND!!! GUARDS!!! SIEZE THIS MAN!!!”

Ivan was now repulsed by this woman. She had chosen another? After all they had experienced? How terrible of her. Ivan left the building before the guards could capture him, and took to the road, in search of a new lover.

As the sun rose the next day however, no longer did he see the world in such brilliance any more. It was back to normal… and now he had a full conscious mind to identify what he had truly done. And he was horrified. He continued his travels, hoping that he would get far away as to nothing ill would happen of what he had just done. Of course he would not give up binding, but hopefully things would go a little more smoothly next time… If there was a next time.

Name: Dag
Male Human Chaotic Good Fighter 4/Rogue 2
HD: 4d10+2d6+6; hp: 41
Age: 23
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 183lbs
Hair: Light Brown
Eyes: Blue
Complexion: Caucasian

Str 12 (+1)
Dex 21 (+5)
Con 12 (+1)
Int 14 (+2)
Wis 10 (+0)
Cha 16 (+3)

Init +8, Fort +6, Ref +10, Will +2
Speed 30ft
AC: 21 (Flatfooted: 16 Touch: 15)
Base Attacks: +5, +6 melee, +10 ranged and weapon finesse weapons
+11 (1d6+2, +1 Shortsword [Single Weapon])
+9/+9 (1d6+2/1d6+1, +1 Shortsword / MW Shortsword (19-20 Critical)) [Two-Weapon]
+11 (1d6+1, MW Composite Shortbow)

Racial Features: +1 Skill Point/Level, +1 Feat at 1st Level, Favoured Class: Any

Class Features: 3 Fighter Bonus Feats, Sneak Attack +1d6, Trapfinding, Evasion

Skills:
Balance +12 (5 Dexterity, 5 Ranks, 2 Synergy)
Bluff +12 (3 Charisma, 9 ranks),
Climb +10 (1 Strength, 9 ranks),
Escape Artist +10 (5 Dexterity, 5 ranks),
Hide +10 (5 Dexterity, 5 ranks),
Jump +10 (1 Strength, 9 ranks),
Listen +5 (5 ranks),
Move Silently +10 (5 Dexterity, 5 ranks),
Open Lock + 10 (5 Dexterity, 5 ranks),
Ride +9 (5 Dexterity, 4 Ranks),
Search +7 (2 Intelligence, 5 ranks),
Tumble +12 (5 Dexterity, 5 ranks, 2 Synergy)

Feats:
Two-Weapon Fighting,
Combat Expertise,
Weapon Finesse (Short Sword),
Improved Initiative,
Two-Weapon Defence,
Improved Feint.

Possessions:
Wealth: 30pp, 5gp
Weapons: +1 Shortsword, Masterwork Shortsword, MW Composite Shortbow (+1 Strength Bonus)
Armour: +1 Mithral Chainshirt
Goods Carried: 20 Arrows [Quiver], Backpack, 100ft of Silk Rope with Grappling Hook, Small Steal Mirror, 2 Vials of Anti-Toxin, 5 Sunrods, 4 Smokesticks, MW Thieves’ Tools, Traveller’s Outfit
Magic Items: Ring of Feather Falling, Gloves of Dexterity +2, Cloak of Resistance +1

Physical Description:
Dag has maintained a low maintenance style since leaving his hometown, constantly scruffy from not shaving and with his messy hair getting in his eyes. His clothes are much the same, fitting to his frame so as to not inhibit him in combat or while doing reconnaissance but still showing the standard wear and tear someone in his occupation expects to accrue. The sole exception is his chain shirt, which he makes an effort to maintain a more pristine appearance for.

Personality:
Despite being in his mid-twenties Dag retains the knack for mischief he had as a youth, still managing to get himself into trouble as he goes along, although so far his luck has held up. While with others he maintains that’s he’s a gentleman, and his charm gives him some luck with the ladies he meets on his travels. He still believes he’s destined for great things, although he won’t violate his own morale code in order to achieve fame or fortune. He gets along well with just about anyone quite easily, and is always up for heading out on a journey or having some fun with a group of people he’s just met.

Personal History:
Dag had always been a bit of a scoundrel, a kind-hearted one, but a scoundrel nonetheless. The only and bastard child of a single scullery maid for one of the town’s wealthiest citizens with an unknown father, he was frequently left to his own devices in the servant’s quarters while his mother worked. The oldest of the small group of boys born to the other servants (all bearing moderately similar eyes and features amongst themselves and the master of the house, although the children were too naïve and their mothers too wise to make mention of this), Dag would frequently lead the group of boys from one misadventure to the next. Whether the goat pen had been “mysteriously unlocked”, the wash had been tied up into a rough fortress or the bread cupboard was short a few loaves Dag was among those found responsible, a position which made it even harder for his hardworking mother to find any sort of advancement or bonus in her future.

Time passed and like many boys his age, Dag went through a period of growth in both stature and maturity through his teenage years. While he had less freedom (a boy his age was expected to help work in some way) he still retained his boyish charm and thirst for mischief, often sneaking off during the day to steal a kiss from the neighbour’s daughter or lift a bottle of spirits from the cellar. His rebellious spirit and knack for trouble lent him the respect of the other’s his age, and his status as role model brought the attention of the more duty-minded servants down onto him. Worried that he might exert too much influence on the others, Dag found himself conscripted into the town guard on his 16th birthday at his master’s behest, with a promise to have him return in three years’ time to serve as a private bodyguard.

Unsurprisingly, the troublesome teen struggled to fit in with the rigidity and discipline of the town guard. Dag struggled under the traditional chain-mail armour and ceremonial pole-arm the town guards equipped themselves with. Even more troubling was the lack of action his new position afforded him. He watched with envy as mercenaries and travelling adventurers entered the town as he sat idly by protecting the town from a threat that never came. He’d always known the life had held much more promise, and the idea of spending his life trapped in this town upset him enough to take drastic action. There would be no way he would allow himself to become the bodyguard of the most boring man in the most boring city in all the known world.

Nearly three years to the day after he had been conscripted, Dag never showed up to his night shift. Stealing a pair of short blades and a loose fitting chain shirt from the town armoury, he used some of his old clothes and pillows to affix a dummy under his bed sheets, hoping to buy enough time for his disappearance to succeed. Hidden under a heavy cloak he slipped past through the town gate, seeking a mercenary company to hire him and provide him with the first steps on his way to fame and fortune, silently promising himself that he’d use his earnings to get his mother out of her job and into somewhere she could live the rest of her life in comfort. Taking a last look at his home town he set off to make his fortune.

Dag quickly fell in with a bunch with a group of shady types he met in a nearby town. Impressed by his ability they offered to bring him along on their current assignment, and Dag began a small career in thievery. While Dag enjoyed the thrill of the job, the morality of it never quite resonated with him, and during a job that didn’t go quite to plan he found himself in a delicate position. The others had taken the homeowner hostage in an attempt to barter their way out. Dag was sent through the home to find others to enhance the offer, and it was not until he found a secret room atop the staircase landing that he discovered the owner’s two young daughters, huddled together while trying to block out the screams coming from the rest of the house.

Not wanting to endanger young children he quieted the pair of them and was about to reseal the door when one of his comrades made his way over and spotted the girls. A malicious smile crossed his face as he drew a small dagger from his side, clearly planning to make an example of the girls to show the guards the severity of the situation. Dag thought back to his time in the servants’ quarters, and couldn’t help but think of what his mother would think of him if she ever learned what he’d been up to. He couldn’t return to help her with innocent blood on his hands. Taking a moment to cast a reassuring smile at the two girls he turned and swiftly kicked his former compatriot over the staircase railing, sending him crashing into a table a floor below, knocking him out. Taking the loud smash as a sign that things had escalated, the town guards entered the home and attempted to arrest Dag’s former crew. Closing the secret hollow where the girls were hidden, Dag used the commotion as a cover for his escape through a back window and off into the night, silently promising himself he’d never associate with those that harmed innocents again.

Since his falling out with the criminal groups, Dag spent the next four years moving from odd job to odd job. Protecting caravans or providing short term security, he made enough to survive, still keeping an eye open for the adventure he longed for to begin with. Seeking to make a name for himself he continues travelling the land, using whatever wealth he can acquire to better equip himself so should the opportunity make himself known present itself, he’ll be ready to heed the call.

Name: Renard
Male, Human, Cleric 6, Level 6, Alignment: Neutral Good
HD: 6d8+6(Con*lvl) ; hp: 42/42
Age: 26, Height: 6'0", Weight: 187 lbs, Hair: Brown, Eyes: Grey, Complexion: Caucasian
Religion: Grumbar (Domains: Cavern, Earth,Metal, Time)
Languages: Common, Dwarven, Goblin, Terran

Str 14 [+2]
Dex 11 [+0]
Con 12 [+1]
Int 14 [+2]
Wis 18 [+4]
Cha 16 [+3]

Init +4, Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +9
Speed: Base 30ft; 20ft armoured; ACP: -5
AC: 19 (Flatfooted:19 Touch:10)
Base Attacks: +4, melee: +6, ranged: +4
+8 (1d8[+3], +1 Warhammer [Bludgeoning]), x3,
+6 (1d4[+1], Dagger [Slashing]), 19-20 x2,
+4 (1d4, Dagger (10ft) [Piercing]), 19-20 x2,
+4 (1d4, Sling (50ft) [Bludgeoning]), x2,


Special Qualities (SQ): Metal Proficiency: Warhammer, Metal Focus: Warhammer, Time Proficiency: Improved Initiative

Racial Features: (RF) +1 starting feat, +4 skill points at lvl 1 and +1 skill point/level, Favoured Class: Any.

Class Features: Able to cast divine spells, Able to channel positive energy, Turn Undead 7/day, Domain Qualities

Spells Prepared (Cleric: 5/4+1/4+1/3+1/-/-/-/-/-/-)

0~: Light, Read Magic, Read Magic, Create Water, Mending
1~: Cold Fire, Nimbus of Light, Foundation of Stone, Bless, True Strike [D]
2~: Ghost Touch Armor, Veil of Shadow, Bull's Strength, Curse of Ill Fortune, Heat Metal [D]
3~: Mass Aid, Ring of Blades, Energy Vortex, Haste [D]


Skills: 45

5 : Craft (Armor): 3R
8 : Craft (Weapons): 6R
9 : Concentration: 8R
7 : Knowledge (Religion): 5R
4 : Knowledge (History): 2R
3 : Knowledge (The Planes): 1R
7 : Knowledge (Arcana): 5R
8 : Heal: 5R
8 : Spellcraft: 6R
5 : Ride: (4/2)=2R

Feats: (4)
Craft Magic Arms and Armor
Endurance
Combat Casting
Domain Spontaneity
Improved Initiative (Domain)
Martial Weapon Proficiency (Warhammer)
Weapon Focus (Warhammer)

Possessions:
Wealth: 6 PP, 20 GP
Mount: Ironshod (Light Warhorse)
Weapons: +1 Warhammer, Dagger, Sling (10 bullets)

Goods Carried: +1 Warhammer, Dagger, Sling, Bullet Pouch, Explorer's Outfit, Small Hourglass/Holy Symbol, Backpack, Heavy Steel Shield, Belt Pouch, Scroll Case, Ring of Sustenance, Periapt of Wisdom +2, Bracers of Great Collision

Goods Stored: Riding Saddle, Masterwork Smith's Tools, Artisan's Outfit, Magic Bedroll, Healer's Kit (10 charges), Scroll of Obscuring Mists (2), Scroll of Flare (2), Scroll of Detect Magic (2), Scroll of Healthful Rest (2), Scroll of Cause Fear (2), Blessed Bandage (5), Universal Solvent (2),

Magic Items: +1 Warhammer, +1 Banded Mail, Periapt of Wisdom +2, Blessed Bandage (5), Ring of Sustenance, Bracers of Great Collision, Scroll of Obscuring Mists (2), Scroll of Flare (2), Scroll of Detect Magic (2), Scroll of Healthful Rest (2), Scroll of Cause Fear (2)

Character Description/History:

Born to Gréno Farasun and Illya Vernedottor as Jonas Rénard Grénsun, Renard was the second of two sons for the pair of farmers. Born one year after Tatum James Grénsun, Renard resembles his brother in most ways. Most boys grew up lean and strong like any other but unlike many families, the two were the only children of Gréno and Illya after an accident when both boys were young.

While both James and Renard were blessed athletically, James excelled better at wrestling and archery over Renard. But Renard soon learned that as long as he could run faster and farther than his brother, he wouldn't have to suffer the humiliation of being wrestled all the time.

So eight years after Renard was brought into the world, a fateful night nearly made him leave. James and Renard had wrestled, the latter losing, again. In frustration and humiliation, a teary-eyed Renard left the farmstead, heading towards the river that ran by the pastures. There he sat for many hours through the afternoon and to near dark, throwing his troubles away like so many pebbles that lined the shores of the wide, slow moving but powerful river.

It wasn't until dusk had fully set in that he turned around and saw the plume of smoke and dull red glow in the distance. Confused, Renard the boy made his way back quickly, but cautiously, towards his family's home. A haze of smoke began to obscure his vision as he covered the last mile towards the house and barn. Renard heard shouting in the distance and his eyes began to tear from the stinging smoke. More than a few times, Renard fell in the gloom, tripping over exposed roots and brush, scraping his limbs and tearing his shirt and breeches.

As he neared the edge of the brush that lined the fields, Renard glimpsed the towering flames that marked the roof that once covered his bed. The barn was not yet alight, but he stopped and crouched in the brush once he spotted men with torches gathering near it. A few threw their torches onto the wooden structure's thatch roof, laughing grotesquely and drinking from flasks slung over their shoulders.

Terrified, Renard could only watch as the bound forms of his brother and parents were dragged away from the flames. The men were armed, some with longbows, some with crossbows and all with swords or daggers. Renard sat in fear, unable to anything but watch while the house and barn burned. As the fire caught in the fields, he finally noticed that the men had dragged his family towards the other side of the farm, away from him, the river and the nearest town. Whether courage or fear drove Renard, he climbed to his feet and turned from the fires to run the eight miles in the dark to the village.

He arrived hours later to collapse at the church steps, exhausted and dehydrated. The priest, a servant of Pelor and Fharlanghn, stayed with him while he recovered over the next three days. Renard awoke to the dawn, rested but still weak from illness and the smoke.

The priest, known simply as Yeseph, told him that his parents had been found slain not far from the farm. A group of bandits, outcasts from the northern cities, had been roaming steadily southwards, towards the border and freedom from the law of the land. They took what they wanted and burned the rest. When Renard asked of his brother, there had been no sign except a shoe a half mile from the farm. From what Yeseph knew about them, the bandits weren't the kind to hold prisoners for ransom and believed that Renard was the last living member of his immediate family. Renard knew no other relatives but an uncle who found work in a northern city as a blacksmith.

After three weeks, a caravan bound for the north took Renard as a favour to the priest, who had aided one of their injured guards. As the Renard boarded the wagon, Yeseph handed him a small hourglass filled with white and black sand and a few silver and copper pennies. It would always keep an hour, he said, and to pray that time would always be on his side. It would be the last time Renard heard from Yeseph or anyone from the village. The village was razed three years later by a group of southern raiders. The rangers who brought the news said there were no survivors.

Renard traveled for four months with the caravan. A message sent by wizard had alerted Renard's uncle to his arrival. Renard was now nine year's old, an orphan and a smith's apprentice.

For six long years, he toiled under the heat and smoke of the smithy. He learned to work the forge and use tongs, work a bellows and douse the metal. Over time he graduated from drawing nails and pitons to making shoes for horses and eventually, as was needed, found an aptitude for crafting sword and dagger blades as well as various forms of armor.

Through the hard work, the sweat, grim and heat, Renard's uncle showed him a faith in the metal beneath his hammer. Since his departure from Yeseph and the village, Renard had taken time everyday to pray to whatever gods would listen. He prayed for time to do things, time to finish the tasks he believed they had set out for him to do, whether that was to finish another set of shoes for a mule or craft the finest sword he could.

His uncle's faith lay in the iron and steel that he molded between his hammer and his anvil. The man, though severely unpolished, held a steadfast faith in the thing he wrought from "refined earth", as he called it. This, too, he passed on to Renard. In time, Renard began to pray not only for time, but for aid in his skills as a metalworker.

After many years above the anvil, Renard learned to craft a great many things, but weapons foremost. His uncle saw that, unlike his nephew, Renard had an aptitude for more than simply swinging a hammer at a hunk of molten slag and iron. On his eighteenth birthday, Renard received the gift of work: he was given the passage to the dwarven lands to better his craft and widen his knowledge.

He traveled for six months away from the city and into the mountains, escorted deep underground into the dwarven cities. He stayed for a year before making his way back to the city. Over that time he learned to speak and read most languages written in the dwarven alphabet, including Dwarven, Gnomish and Goblin. He also learned of Moradin, the dwarven patron and source of their priest's power. In accordance with the smith training, Renard added the dwarven prayer to Moradin to his daily routine.

After his sojourn abroad, Renard returned to the city to find his uncle waiting with a list of orders for his freshly-trained smith. Renard set to work immediately.

Over the next two years, however, Renard grew restless with the work. He forged sword after sword for soldiers, guardsmen and adventurers. Renard used the manual techniques showed to him by his uncle and the spiritual ones he learned from his time away. He had been putting what felt like a bit of his soul into every piece he put out.

On his twenty-second birthday, Renard's uncle took the day away from the forge, leaving the apprentices to complete their projects and brought Renard to a recently built temple in a developing quarter of the city. The dwarves had decided to send a group of smiths to work in the city, training and forging for the humans and the other races that came through town. They, of course, built a site to worship Moradin. It was rare, Renard's uncle told him, that a human should be made so familiar with dwarven culture. His uncle certainly had never been so in touch with them, not even when he had adventured with some.

Renard was surprised to hear that his uncle had ever left the smithy behind. The forge had seemed like an extension of his uncle and if he had left it behind for more than a day or two, he surely would have perished.

But, confessed Renard's uncle, there was a time when he had journeyed across the continent in search of glory and treasure. He wasn't alone, either. He learned of and reveled in the challenges of blacksmithing and weaponsmithing from the dwarves he campaigned with. It was also how Renard's father met his mother.

Renard was not shocked to learn of the news but he had also never suspected his parents of being adventurers. Then they were at the steps of the small building. The entrance was grand for a building that didn't even come close to rivaling the size of the cathedral in the centre of the city. Renard's uncle put a foot on the first step but would go no further.

This was for Renard, not for him, he said. He patted his nephew twice on the back and made his way back to the smithy. There was more work to be done.

Renard watched him go and noted a slight bounce in his step, like a weight had been lifted from his uncle's shoulders. A little confused and nervous about what was to come, Renard entered into the church of Moradin.

Inside, he met a cleric of the Soulforger, Daruun Anvilhand. Daruun explained that, if Renard wished, Daruun would show him how to ask Moradin for a tiny molten droplet of the god's will. If he were worthy, which Daruun seemed to find as unlikely as not, somehow the Creator of the dwarves would show them a sign.

So for three days, Renard returned to the temple, praying in the fashion of the dwarves (twice he nearly vomited from ingesting too much ale). On the eve of the third night, however, something felt... different. Renard finished the prayer cycle like he had been shown but when he went to sleep on the hard stone slab he had been given in the church's basement, somehow it felt softer and more forgiving. When he awoke, he did not feel sore in his back or neck from the cold granite bed and pillow. Rather, he felt quite refreshed. Daruun noticed, and smiled.

For three more days, Renard continued his cycles and was allowed to take and refine the raw ore that he would need to make a small shoe. He wasn't sure why he was given this task, but he completed it nonetheless. From the small chunk of stone, Renard distilled about a cupful of steel. Daruun took the hunk of metal and its maker into a small room to the side of the main forge at the back of the church. The heat was intense in this small space and the air difficult to breathe. Sweat broke on Renard's broke despite him not doing any work at all.

As he looked around the small, bare room, he recognized the only two items that adorned it. On one wall opened a bed of coals from the furnace to be used to heat metal. In it lay a cool-looking steel cup. Daruun explained that the cup was adamantine, one of the rarest forms of metal in all the planes. The dwarves explained it as gifts from Moradin from beyond the Material Plane. They believed it to be embodied of the dwarven creator.

The other item in the room was a cast that would take about as much steel as Renard had distilled earlier. Daruun handed him the chunk of steel and told him to go ahead and get to work, but he was not to open the cast until it was cooled. So Renard worked for hours and into the night, trying to work the steel into the mold. Finally, he dropped the steel into the cup and simply began to work the bellows. For a reason Renard would later attribute to guidance from possibly Moradin himself, he kept working the bellows until he thought he would pass out from the heat. But Renard uttered a prayer to be given enough time to finish this out and felt the heat wash away as he pumped the bellows harder.

Renard watched as the steel reddened and softened, but instead of removing it with the tongs, he waited and pumped the bellows some more. As he began to feel uncomfortable again in the heat and the sweat and grime, Renard noticed the steel bubbled. It was like a thick cup of red hot goat's milk. Renard grabbed the tongs and lifted up the still dark adamantine cup, pouring the liquid steel into the mold with ease. As the last drop filled the mold to the top, Renard dropped the tongs and cup to the floor and opened the door, collapsing outside into the cool night air.

He awoke a day and a half later in a soft bed. Someone handed him a cup of water and as he drank from it he saw Daruun standing at the foot of his bed, arms crossed looking as gruff as ever. Renard slowly put the cup down, afraid that he had failed at whatever task it was that he had been set out to complete. But Daruun recognized the look and smiled, something Renard had never really noticed before.

Renard was strange, he said. But Moradin had welcomed him. Daruun handed Renard a steel pendant on a braided leather thong. Renard recognized it as the hammer and anvil symbol of Moradin. A cleric's symbol.

His was different, though, said Daruun. Just as Daruun's was his own with a unique pattern of scratches and impurities, so, too, was Renard's. But Renard's carried the mark of time, too. An hourglass without its stand etched into the face of the anvil. This was something Daruun had never seen before, nor heard of. It was a rare thing for a human to inducted in this way and a rarer thing still for a human to complete the forging.

So Renard became a cleric of Moradin. But unlike the dwarves who worshiped the earth, good, dwarves and war, Renard was granted power from someone else, too. He liked to believe it was Fharlanghn. Perhaps the gods knew each other and watched over him. Renard knew not, simply that he had been given these gifts of power and he had a need to use them.

Renard returned to the smithy a changed man and his uncle could see it. Renard's uncle showed him to a small closet in the back of the storeroom. Dust covered the iron-wrought doors and handles. Renard's uncle opened it with a creak, revealing a set of adventuring gear, including a fine hammer, shield and suit of armor.

This was what his uncle had used long ago and now it was Renard's turn. For four years, he campaigned with varying groups of adventurers. Sometimes it was to help a small village get rid of a bandit or goblin gang, once to seek a treasure. Now he rests in the Blue Shoe Pub, waiting for time to open the next iron-wrought door...

79pt buy = Stat totals of 79 before racial modifiers correct?

Magic restrictions are : 1 weapon AND 1 armor OR 1 Shield or 1 weapon OR 1 armor OR 1 shield?

Grugg:
82-point buy with sstats starting at 0
Then racial modifiers,
Then 1 point for 4th level

Vilyamar:
One weapon, AND
One armor OR One shield
No restrictions on Potions, Scrolls, Rings, R/S/W, or Misc Magic ...

I suppose it wouldn't be possible to substitute the armor/shield enchant onto a second weapon. Was thinking of duel wielding twin blade things yeah.

I have to say no, BUT there is an option:

You can use the two-weapon fighting option and ambidexterity with the a magical two-gladed sword from the PHB. Per the DMG, though, to have the same enhancement (bonus) for both bolades would double the cost ...

But then two magical weapons would double the cost, too ...

I'm already taking 2-weapon fighting but guess I'll just slap an extra enchant on my armour.

Just waiting on Vil/Ayrn now?