Navar-Eth was born in an elven forest bordering Human lands. His father was a merchant by trade (no pun intended) and often did buissiness with Humans, occasionally taking his children with him in his travels to the nearby villages. Navar-Eth went when told, for it was his father's wish that his children learn how the family buissiness was run. However, he found little pleasure in doing so, for the Human children were not like Elven children and often teased Navar-Eth about his ears and eyes. He did not begrudge them this, but never-the-less, he found these trips unpleasant and did whatever his father expected of him in order to return home the quicker.
Growing up, Navar-Eth grew apart from his family, and his people as a whole. He trained with bow and sword and spell as all children must, for it was elven custom, and upon reaching adulthood at the age of 100 years, every young elf was dutybound to serve a term in the military. Yet still, after the hours of schooling and training, always he shied away from his people. He just didn't understand them, his people or any people for that matter. He always felt suffocated amongst his own. He had few friends elven or human, and felt best when in the forest, away from his kin. There, surprisingly, he made many friends amongst the birds and beasts that roamed the wood. He was amazed at first at how easily he understood their speach, and the song of the wind through the leaves. Navar-Eth came to love the forest, and felt closer to it than his own family.
One day, after his teachings, he wandered the wood. yet there was something different this day. He felt somewhat ill and afraid, and knew not why. He went still, and as with the animals he had come to love, he reached out to the trees with his heart and mind. He connected to the forrest, and it was like a single great entity, and it was screaming in pain! He ran through the woods, for 2 hours, following the forest-entity's feelings of pain and found the source. If he had learned his lessons well, these creatures were called "Orcs". They had a camp at the edge of the wood, and hewed the trees with great axes. Navar-Eth was unarmed. There had never been a need for weapons, the forest and its inhabitants were his friends. Cursing these "Orcs", he ran back to his home to alert his people.
Once alerted, the elven military was quick to plan a response. They questionned Navar-Eth at length and argued amongst themselves of the best tactical approach. Navar-Eth could still feel the forest's pain, and was getting angry with his people. While the captains planned and debated, they did nothing more. The forest needed help. NOW! Running off, he gathered his training arms and armor and set off to defend the wood, alone it seemed. With the forest's pain fresh in his heart once more, he found the "orc" things again, and began unleashing a hail of arrows on them. They were caught by surprise, they didnt know this forest was home to Elves. Most of the woodcutters fled back towards their camp, they just werent properly equiped to fight.
A few however saw the lone Elf and, knowing themselves superior warriors, charged headlong into the trees. They were unarmored, and one of them fell dead before he could reach the elf, the others closed with what they were shocked to see was little more than an Elven infant. Though 5 foot tall, the elf was still clearly a child!. They liked their odds. Navar-Eth was forced to face off against the Orcs with sword and shield, and knew from the first clash of arms that he couldnt win. Unarmored or not, these were experienced warriors, and it was obvious to him that they knew how to fight Elves. The first Orc fought on Navar-Eth's front while the other circled around. Navar-Eth backed up against a tree feeling his despair mingling with the forest's pain, and something more, an anger, a warmth. Someone was comming. Had his people arrived at last?
The second Orc took up a flanking position. Sure of his advantage, he lunged towards the elf, only to be knocked sideways as a large wolf barreled into him, felling him as he himself had earlier felled the trees. Three more wolves joined the first and the Orc was torn to pieces. The first Orc, was caught flatfooted by the fury of the wolves, and Navar-Eth, though not fully trained, saw an opportunity and seized it. The Orc slid off Navar-Eth's longsword with a curse and died. The young elf breathed heavily but was brought back to his senses quickly by the growling of the wolves. The Orcs had returned armed for battle and were pouring into the forest by the hundreds. Merging his heart and mind with the wolves, Navar-Eth thanked them deeply, and bid them to flee. They were brave and loyal to the forest, but they need not sacrifice themselves in vain. The Orcs were disorganised and brutish, or so his mentors had taught him. Kill off any straglers you find, but stay well away from the main force. The forest needs its guardians alive. The wolves gave their ascent and ran off. It was time for him to run as well.
Navar-Eth had been running for nearly half an hour with the horde more or less trailing behind. They had scattered quite a bit as they plunged deeper into the woods, as he'd expected. They were no longer a massed group as when they entered the forest but were spread out in a line. They had expected a fighting force of Elves awaiting them and knew better than to be caught bunched tight. They were ready for a pitched battle. The Elven militia however, was not. Expecting the Orcs at the eaves of the wood, they had been running through the forest in a travelling formation. Navar-Eth heard from a distance the warning cries of the foremost Elves and the roar of the Orcs.
Night was nearly gone in the Elven city. The Elven militia had returned after their hard won victory over the Orcs. Navar-Eth was furious beyong anything he had ever known. The militia commander had blamed him for the losses suffered. "Their blood is on your hands, you fool!" he had said. None of them understood. None of them had felt the call, the need of the forest. They hadn't even realized the Orcs were before them until they'd ran right into them. Was this the legendary Elven woodsmanship? They had all lost touch with that which made them truely Elven. Wizards? Warriors? Elves were not meant to be these things. Elves were meant to be healers of the lands and its inhabitants, and guardians of nature. What had his people become, and why was he different? He had little future among his own people anymore, if he even cared to call them that. He faced the elven counsel in the morning. Call it the last duty he felt he had to perform towards these people who were no longer his own. The elders reprimanded him severely for taking the fight to the orcs prematurely. The counsel spoke, as did the commander and captains of the militia. What was said was chiefly unknown to Navar-Eth, for he wasn't listenning. Eventually the Counsel room grew quiet. It was time for Navar-Eth to explain himself. Navar-Eth, making no reply, turned his back on "his people" and left the room, then the city. Navar-Eth, a child of 78 years left what had been his home, as far as he was concerned, forever.
During the next 2 years, he traveled the forest, renewing his ties with both wood and beasts, fighting at their side, spilling orc blood aplenty, learning the true Elven way, which had been forgotten by his forfathers. He hoped Elves of far away lands had not abandonned the old ways, but he couldnt know for sure, as he had never encountered Elves from beyond his homeland. Now and then, he traveled to the nearby human settlements to trade orc gold for the tools of his calling. Say what you would of these short-lived folk, they made sturdy bows, and the arrows he bought from them slew many Orcs. He found he made friends more easily among the adolescent Humans than he had long ago from their children, and freely taught any who would learn of nurturing the land. He also aided in their defense when needed. When his forest was no longer endangered by Orcs, he moved on. There were other forests in need of aid, and peoples needing Orcs slain.
Vimo the Brave
Human Fighter 4
NG Medium Humanoid
Init +1; Senses Spot -1, Listen -1
Languages Common, Dwarven
AC 25, touch 11, flat-footed 24
hp 44 (4d10+12+4 HD)
Fort +8, Ref +3, Will +1
Spd 20 ft.
Melee MW Flail +8 (1d8+6) or Flail +7 (1d8+6) or Battleaxe +6 (1d8+4) or Daggers +6 (1d4+4)
Ranged Sling +5 (1d4+4) or Daggers +5 (1d4+4) or Throwing Axes +5 (1d6+4)
Base Atk +4; Grp +8
Abilities Str 18, Dex 12, Con 16, Int 13, Wis 8, Cha 8
Feats Weapon Focus (Flail),Combat Expertise Improved Trip, Improved Toughness (Complete Warrior), Power Attack, Weapon Specialization (Flail)
Climb -3 [7 ranks, +4 Str, -14 Armor]
Jump -3 [7 ranks, +4 Str, -14 armor]
Intimidate +6 [7 ranks,-1 Cha]
Swim -17 [7 ranks, +4 Str, -28 Armor]
Possessions Explorer's outfit, +1 Full-Plate, +1 Tower Shield, +1 Cloak of Resistance, Chain Shirt, MW Flail, Battleaxe, Flail, 2 Daggers, 3 Throwing Axes, Sling, 10 Sling Bullets, Explorer's Outfit, Backpack, 50' Hemp Rope, Bedroll, Belt Pouch with 10pp 1gp 8sp.
Weight Carried: 175.5lbs Medium
Treasure: 101.8 gp
Experience: 8,000/10,000 XP
Height 6' 5" Weight 253 lbs
Emi is a delightful, beautiful young woman with a round, pixieish face, flawless fair skin, a long mane of shining golden hair...and striking amber eyes with catlike vertical pupils. Her fingernails are sharp and strong...not deadly weapons by most measures, but able to give a good scratching. Her teeth are mostly normal, flat, pearly whites...but her canines are sharper and slightly elongated. And if there was any doubt at all about what she is, there's the wings. Small enough for her to hide with binding and a cloak or backpack, big enough to slow falls and help jumps, her wings are yellow-gold scaled limbs with thin, but incredibly tough membranes stretched between. An otherwise beautiful woman, Emi is oddly both vain about her appearance and sensitive about her abnormalities. She enjoys dressing in colorful, even provacative clothes that show off her looks, but is always held back by her reluctance to display her least human attributes.
Backpack 2lbs 2gp
Bedroll 5lbs 5sp
Ink (1 oz. vial) - 8gp
Inkpen - 1sp
Waterskin 4lbs 1gp
Spell Component pouch 2lbs 5gp
Small steel mirror .5lbs 10gp
2 belt pouch 1lb 2gp
scroll case .5lbs 1gp
6 sheets of paper - 2.4gp
Burning Veil, 1000 (head slot, 3/day +1d6 dmg to fire magic)
Caustic Veil, 2000 (waist slot, 3/day +2d6 dmg to acid magic)
Dimension Stride Boots, 2000 (+2 jump, 5/day teleport up to 60')
3 potion of CLW 3lb 150gp
Emi's history is enigmatic, as it almost must be. Mahda, her adoptive mother, has raised her from infancy, but claims not to know her real parents. She is not truly a half-dragon, but clearly there is a strong draconic bloodline...a mystery in and of itself, given the fate of that ancient species. Emi knows little of dragons or magic, even her own powers are instinctive; learned not by poring over texts and painstakingly learning each word...but rather by harnessing the power of her own emotions and surrendering to the genetic memories of an ancient inhuman language and its power that is as much her legacy as wings and claws.
Mahda, the healing woman and to a lesser extent spiritual advisor to a small forest village has trained Emi as her apprentice, as much as she could. Emi's magic is ill-suited to the task of healing, even though she can easily learn herbcraft and lore...and it is becoming clear to Mahda that Emi's fate lies in another direction. Already the girl has helped the town against the occasional bandit or orc attack, commanding powers of fire to drive them off and bolstering her protections such that few can touch her. Even so, she prepares for the day Emi must leave, gathering the few relics of magic she has held onto all these years to pass them on to the girl she's always thought of as her daughter.
Male human warlock 1 / fighter 1 / monk 2
+1 mythal chain shirt (2100 gp, 10% spell failure, no acp 10 lb)
2000 ring of protection +1
+1 guisarme (1030)
Heavy Warhorse + Military Saddle... (420gp)
Backpack, Waterskin, Whetstone, Flint & Steel, Rations x3 (6gp)Έ
Potion of cure light wounds
Potion of enlarge
Wealth: +0; xxxlbs carried lbs.
Sorcerer spells:as 1st level sorceror (cast (0):5; (1):4 - known (0):4; (1):2 )
level 0: Lignt, mending, message, detect poison
Level 1: True strike, feather fall
Warlock invocations: 1 lesser: Hideous Blow
L2->monk 2 HP
Gorgonoth was raised in a monk's monastery. He never knew his parents, and doesn't have any memories of his time before the monastery. Gorgonoth was ill adapted to the rigid life of a monk, and left the monastery in his late teens, to explore the world. He has always been trouble by strange dreams, and felt there was something from his past that was pushing him.
He led a mercenary's life for some time, and one night, a few months ago, when he was in a forest, he felt a surge of power. He suddently had strange powers that his warrior's magical training couldn't help him understand. He seeks to learn more about who he is, and this strange source of power.
Special: Arcane Resistance, Elfsense, Hexblade's Curse, Darkvision 120 feet, light blindness, martial weapon profiency (all), Sleep Immunity, +2 to will saves against spells or spell-like abilities, Spell Resistance 13,
Arcane Resistance (Su): The hexblade gains a bonus equal to his charisma bonus (+4) on saving throws against spells and spell-like effects.
Elf sense (Ex): An elf who merely passes within 5 feet of a secret or concealed door is entitled to a Search check to notice it as if he were actively looking for it.
Hexblade's Curse (Su): Once per day, as a free action, a hexblade can unleash a curse upon a foe. The target must be visible to the hexblade and within 60 feet. The target of a hexblade's curse takes a -2 penalty on attacks, saves, ability checks, skill checks, and weapon damage rolls for 1 hour thereafter. A successful Will save (DC 15) negates the effect.
Spell-like abilities: Drow can use the following spell-like abilities once per day: dancing lights (DC 14), darkness (DC 16), faerie fire (DC 15). Caster level equals the drows class levels.
Languages: Common, Elven, Undercommon, Drow Sign Language
*This feat is from Drow of the Underdark. It allows a character to use poisons safely and apply poison to a weapon as a swift action.
Mekaz'zan was raised like a normal drow child, but he could never stop asking questions. Why do I have to obey the females? Why don't we unite and push our enemies out, as opposed to endless infighting? He hated life in his city, hated Lloth, and hated the annoying drow who wanted to make him a wizard when he wanted to learn the arts of the warrior.
At the age of 16 he discovered that people he hated were having accidents. He put 2 and 2 together, went to the arcane library his parents made him go to, and discovered he was a hexblade.
He learned the art of poison from his older brother, an assassin, and aided him with his spellwork. He confided his dislike of this life in his brother, and they decided to make a run for it. The priestesses did not want to let them go, and in the fighting, his brother was killed.
Unlike most drow siblings, these brothers had been close. Mekaz'zan decided to go to the surface world, as there was no place for him in the underdark.
Appearance and Personality: Mekaz'zan is tall for a drow (5'5"), and has red eyes and white hair. He is lithe and muscular, and gets on well with most people. He is constantly analyzing any situation to see what would happen in a fight, but this does not stop him from having fun.
Last edited by hellrazor111; Wednesday, 12th December, 2007 at 09:04 PM.