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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Grim" data-source="post: 575843" data-attributes="member: 132">Here's the next update. El at 45.Elshon Whitesand, ElfMedium Humanoid, Drd 2, AL NG; CR 2;HD 2d8 + 4; hp 16;Init +3; Spd 30 ft, AC 17 (+3 dex, + 2 leather, +2 large wooden shield).BAB +1; Atk +2 melee or +4 ranged;SV Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +6;Str 13, Dex 17, Con 15, Int 13, Wis 18,Cha 17Skills (25 points): Spellcraft +6 (5), Animal Empathy +6(3), Wilderness Lore +8 (5), Handle Animal +5 (2), Concentration +7 (5), Knowledge (nature) +6 (5).Feats: Dreamspeaking (BoEM).Languages: Elven, Common, Sylvan.Armor: Leather armor, +2 AC, 15 lbs; Large Wooden Steel Shield, +2 AC, 10lbsWeapons: Masterwork Scimitar: Atk +3 melee, Dmg 1d6 +1, crit 18+/x2.Sling: Atk +4 ranged, Dmg 1d4 +1, crit 20/x2, range 10ft.Other gear: folding tent (400 gp)Special Abilities:Nature Sense, Animal Companion, Woodland Stride;Memorized Spells (4/3): 0: Create water x 3, Know Direction; 1: Cure Light Wounds, Calm Animals, summon nature’s ally (axiomatic hawk)Five years have passed, and El has slowly grown into maturity. He now appears as a darkly tanned, wirey elf. His pointed ears are dark with sunburn. His leathery skin has been burned so many times that El no longer feels the heat of midday except as a slight discomfort. His black hair has been grown long, and it hangs down to his waist, unhindered by braids or combing. His feet are protected only by simple leather sandals, and he often wears nothing more than ragged brown pants and an open tan vest.His parents are proud of El. He has begun to take responsibilities seriously, and has become the caravan’s beast-tender. He has an uncanny way with the horses, oxen, and camels that pull the wagons, whispering in their ears and speaking to them in strange, low tongues. But despite his ragged appearance and strange ways, he is beloved by the entire caravan. He is silent around people, but seems to radiate an aura of wisdom and friendship far beyond his years. Even the most veteran of wagoneers comes to him for advice when something is amiss. His knowledge of the desert is beyond anyone else in the wagon train, even his parents. And his ability to interpret dreams is well sought after. At Everska, during the great faires, he opens shop as a dream-reader, and makes a tidy profit, which he is puts towards gear for desert survival, especially a Decanter of Endless water the local Temple of Tymora is holding for him. El keeps to himself most of the time. He is content to help the beasts of the caravan, not only because he loves them, but because they love him. During the nightly campfires, he is eerily silent. His answers to questions are rarely more than a few syllables, and he only speaks at length when discussing the flora and fauna of the desert. His silver wolf, Dawn, is a constant companion, lying at his feet when he sleeps, walking beside or slightly ahead when he travels, sitting or lying down calmly next to him when he sits to talk. Some whisper that El is, in fact, adopted, and that his mother found him born from the sands themselves, his wolf companion beside him.When he is not tending to the animals, he is a scout for the caravan. After years of practice, his gate has shifted and he no longer finds any difficulty in walking the desert sands. His feet seem barely even to touch the dunes, to the amazement of his fellow scouts. On long nights, he and his wolf range far into the desert, always in search of the Spike of Ardoros. El knew not what it looked like, only that he would recognize it when he saw it.Once they found a goblin camp. Eight goblins sat around a campfire, their wolf mounts tied to a stake not to far off. Creeping towards the camp, El heard them speak of attacking the caravan. The eight goblins snickered as they spoke loudly of the “stupid traders” and how easily they would fall, especially the women. Angered by these words, El called to Dawn and charged the goblins. Drawing his scimitar as he ran, he slew one outright as Dawn’s thick muzzle clamped down on another’s arm, severing it. The other goblins drew weapons. Dawn leaped to El’s side, defending him as he spoke in a strange hissing tongue. One goblin, unfazed by the elf’s strange behavior, charged, only to be taken by the wolf’s bite. A second ran, but this one El ran through with his scimitar.Suddenly, the sand beneath the remaining four goblins wriggled. A viper, black as night, slipped out of the sand and bit one goblin’s foot. As El urged it on in the strange tongue of snakes, it slithered up a second goblin’s leg. The goblin tried to slice at it, but only succeeded in hitting one of his companions with the pommel of his sword. The viper bit this goblin too, and then retreated into the sands. Stunned, the other two goblins dropped their swords and ran. Dawn chased both down. He left the bodies to the vultures, as was only natural. The wolves he spoke to in their tongue, calming them. They parted their circle and allowed him to free them. They ran of into the desert, howling their freedom to the wind. El looted the bodies and returned to the caravan. When the merchants learned what the young elf had done, they praised him heartily. But they did not know the true reasons for El’s fight. The goblins themselves were not the problem. Fighting and death were only natural parts of life. It was how they had chained those animals. El could hear the wolves’ thoughts, how much they resented their cruel masters. The horses and camels did not mind their servitude. They though it natural that they serve their purpose as beasts of burden and as riding animals. But to tie up a wolf and use it as a mount, what cruel mind could conjure that? The goblins deserved to die, and so they did. Freeing the enlslaved pack brought El one step closer to the dreams that haunted him nightly.</blockquote>

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