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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Morrus" data-source="post: 6706014" data-attributes="member: 1">Originally posted by SterlingRat:<img src="http://community.wizards.com/sites/mtgcommunity/files/styles/large/public/HEWarlock.jpg?itok=ZsLWXjqj" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " data-size="" style="" /> Diogeen "The Cliché" Callo 1st-level Half-Elf WarlockMedium Male HumanoidArmor Class 14 (studded leather armor)Hit Points 9 (1d8)Speed 30 ft.Senses Darkvision 60ft. Str 10 (+0) Dex 14 (+2) Con 12 (+1)Int 12 (+1) Wis 14 (+2) Cha 16 (+3) Alignment chaotic goodLanguages common, elvish, thieves' cant TRAITSBackground - CriminalFeature: Criminal ContactCriminal Specialty: BurglaryProficiency (+2)Saving Throws: Charisma, WisdomSKILLS: Stealth +4, investigation +3, peception +4, persuasion +5, deception +5, insight +4Tools: Dice, Thieves toolsACTIONSDagger +4, 1d4+2 damageEldrich Blast +5, 1d10 damageEQUIPMENTLight Crossbow w/ 20 bolts, Arcane Focus (cracked oak wand), dungeoneer's pack, Leather Armor, 2 daggers, quarterstaff, crowbar, dark clothes w/hood, belt pouch w/15 goldPERSONAL CHARACTERISTICSAppearance: Neither handsome nor ugly, ruddy complexion, black hair & eyes, usually with bags under them (depending on how long it's been since the last time he slept). Medium height, medium weight and medium build. He blends into a crowd well, becoming all but invisible in a crowd of 4 or more people. He's never been "out-of-place" among any group of people, whether noble or common, urban or rural; possesses what you might call a "reflective" personality, where people see what they want to see in him, and he's very good as saying what people want to hear.Traits: I always have a plan for what to do when things go wrong. I am incredibly slow to trust; those who are good and worthy of trust should despise me and would strike to kill if they knew what I've done. Those who do not despise me cannot be good, no matter how they seem, and would betray me.Ideals: I will avenge those who cannot avenge themselves, even if I have to do evil to do so.Bond: My friend in the guard is dead because of me. His family, a wife and son, don't see it that way, but I do. I have arranged to provide them money anonymously (they believe it is from a "widow's fund" run by the city).Flaw: Nightmares prevent me from resting for more than an hour if I haven't killed recently. I also tend to scream in my sleep, waking my companions and anyone else nearby. BACK STORY:Long Story made short:I grew up as a criminal until circumstance and conscience put me in the wrong place at the wrong time. A hideous, dark power with no home or right to exist in our reality was dragged into it, and I made a deal so it would leave. Now I use the dark power I gained to fight the predators that would feed on the weak or innocent. In part to atone for the sins of my past; In part to keep that hunger from satisfying itself upon the weak and innocent.The long story:[sblock]I was a petty criminal when the thieves guild I worked for sought to contact a dark god to secure more power. I don't mind the occasional involuntary redistribution of working capital, but they were getting into dark magic, human sacrafices, murder and politics. I betrayed them to a friend from my childhood that had joined the city guard. Unfortunately, the guard I went to for justice was betrayed and murdered by the cult, along with the rest of the guards, when they tried to intervene. I went underground and when the ensuing treachery-fest came to a head, the cult was dead, the guards were dead and I stood alone, ankle-deep in blood and gore, face to face with one of the Great Old Ones that the cult had summoned. The ritual was nearly complete. The power was already in motion. The... creature... was there, it's presence on our plane was tearing at the reality all around it, as if reality knew that this creature had no proper place and yet could not reject it. The cult's magics bound the creature in our world until a conduit was established, yet the thing's mere presence tore at the fabric of reality. I did the only thing I could do. I finished the ritual. I made the deal, became the conduit that the spell required and sent the thing back where it came from. Since then, when I closed my eyes, I can hear it wispering. I couldn't sleep more than two hours in a row. It waits for me in my dreams. I can't remember them and I'm not sure I want to; I only remember waking up soiled and screaming. I learned the hard way to empty my stomach, bladder and bowels before I close my eyes. It started to get worse, until I could hear it wispering with my eyes open. The wispers got louder and louder until it I thought I could recognize it; it reminded me of my own night-time screams, but it sounded like I screamed in a language, yet I couldn't understand the words. I don't want to understand the words. The constant whispering made me irritable and the lack of sleep made me desperate. One night I was trying to drown the whispers in a dockside bar. Alcohol had never helped before, but I was trying to drink enough to either drown the whispers or drown myself. Drunk and exhausted, I tried to walk out to the dock and throw myself to the sharks. Unfortunately, I stumbled into the wrong sailor and got in a fight. The alcohol never did help, but fighting seemed to make it quieter for the first time in days. Less than a day after, as I suffered from a hangover and bruising from the barfight, on top of my ever-present exhaustion, I was set upon by some thugs looking for gold. Instead, they found death, and I found the first silence I'd heard in weeks. Now, I do the only thing I can silence the whispers; I find those that deserve to die and I give them what they deserve. It likes that. Afterwards, I can usually sleep for more than just a couple hours, though it's still a troubled sleep and I wake screaming. I recently found something that worries me. I tracked some local youth disappearances to a man with blood-stained, child-sized manacles in his basement. We found a goal we agreed on, the creature and I. I took my time. After nearly a day in his basement, when his screams had started to lose a little volume because so many had torn their way out of his throat, I fell asleep. I slept while he screamed, and for the first time since making the deal, it was uninterupted and without dreams. I don't know exactly, but I'm sure I slept for nearly a day. When I awoke, refreshed for the first time in months, the only sound I heard was the slow drip of blood from the already cold corpse chained to the wall by his own, disturbingly small manacles. Now I'm not sure what's worse; living with the whispers, or knowing what I have to do to stop them.[/sblock]</blockquote>

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