Tower of the Heavens (Inactive)

Game Master bbangerter

If you are interested in participating please provide a race/class you'd like to play along with a back story. No characters of evil alignments are allowed, nor will PvP be allowed. The campaign will not be taking place in any of the players homelands, so you are free to make up whatever cities and/or kingdoms your character hails from, but understand that these will have little or no bearing in the campaign. What I'm really interested in seeing is what are your characters aspirations, dreams, motivations, short comings, weaknesses, and fears. What in the present day of their lives makes them who they are. If I select you I will then ask you create the actual stat block for your character. The deadline for providing a back story for your character is April 28th. If the number of interested responses is high this may be moved up to a sooner date (April 26th). If the number of interested responses is less than 8 then we will simply start with fewer players.

On the evening of the 30th (or 28th) I will then select 8 players based on these back stories and to make for a well rounded adventuring group. I will not be choosing any two players of the same class. So no two wizards for example, but a wizard and a sorcerer are possible. Which isn't to say don't select a class that a previous interested poster has already picked if you think you can create a more compelling and interesting back story.

The planned start date for the first chapter is May 7th.

If you are selected for the campaign you will be asked to create a first level character. This will be a 20 point buy using all classes, archetypes, races, feats, etc from CRB, APG, UM, and UC except Barbarians (nothing against barbarians, I'd just like to see a game played that doesn't contain one :). Characters should select 2 traits from any of the four rule books as per standard rules on traits. Take max gold for your class when buying equipment. Spells, feats, etc not contained within the listed books will not be accepted (I will likely approve them at a later point in the adventure if you ask so I can look over the feat or spell). No classes from bestiaries allowed.

Item creation feats can be taken, but be warned that downtime in the campaign will not provide much opportunity to make use of these feats. Perhaps a week of downtime per chapter at best unless the character purposefully skips out on some of the adventuring, and thus takes a loss in potential experience and loot gain during that time frame.

Long term the campaign will be broken into several sections, or chapters, roughly 3-4 months in real world time each. At the beginning of each new chapter players who played the previous chapter will get top priority in playing in the next chapter, but if someone needs to bow out because of real life schedule changes or other reasons this will give them a clean opportunity to do so and allow the group to recruit new players to fill in the spots.

The campaign is primarily focused on urban adventures, but will contain a fair bit of wilderness travel, some short dungeon crawls and some minimal sea travel/adventure. There are several relatively lengthy role-playing portions (besides the typical short RP sections typically scattered throughout any game).

Combat will be done using google docs for maps with combat working as follows:
Players who rolled initiative higher than enemies
Enemies
All players (including those who acted before enemies)
Enemies
All players
Enemies
etc.

The expected life cycle of a single round of combat is 1 day (hence the post once every 24 hours requirement).

Metamagic rods do not exist.
Metamagic feats are changed as follows:
Metamagic feats may be applied spontaneously 2/day to spells being cast in the same way that metamagic rods work (that is they do not increase the spell slot level of the spell being cast). However, you must be capable of casting spells that the metamagic feat would normally raise the spell level to. For example, if you choose the Enlarge Spell metamagic feat (increase spell slot level by +1) you can enlarge your first level spells as soon as you are high enough level to be able to cast 2nd level spells. You can enlarge 2nd level spells as soon as you are high enough level to cast 3rd level spells, etc. You cannot take a metamagic feat until you are of sufficient level to be able to cast 1st level spells with the feat applied. You may take a given metamagic feat multiple times to increase your times/day of using that particular feat.
Note that this means you cannot select metamagic feats until you are able to cast 2nd level spells.

Some monster abilities have undergone minor changes. This shouldn't surprise you unless you are meta gaming the monster abilities as the knowledge feats will reveal those changes on a successful check.

And with that here is a teaser to the beginning of the adventure.
Tower of the Heavers Chapter 1 - An Innocent Beginning
The last few years have been dry ones. Fears are that a famine will soon sweep across the land. Rumors fly that kingdoms to the west have erupted into war as food supplies have grown short. Wells are going dry and some smaller villages have become ghost towns. Small groups of homeless immigrants now travel the roads. Strangers that were once welcomed at an inn or tavern are being frowned upon in many places as a possible threat; another mouth to feed.

Seeking a change for the better you hired on with a merchant by the name of Bendon. A jovial overweight man, a little short for the average human, short black hair and a close trimmed beard. He hired you to protect his caravan heading east to Gumlat, a small town on the western border of Ondian, promising a fair pay for your services. For six weeks you enjoyed his friendly company and those of your new found companions. Less than a day outside of Gumlat you wake up late in the afternoon, sick to the stomach, dizzy, and a pounding headache. Bendon and his caravan are gone and your promised pay with them.

You are now sitting in a small tavern in Gumlat, the effects of whatever drug Bendon poisoned you with having nearly worn off. The proprietor is a thin wiry man who seems to have a perpetual scowl on his face, but that may just be because you have been taking advantage of the shade provided by his tavern and have yet to order anything.

You recall that to the east of Gumlat lies the city Coran, the capital of Ondian, known across the continent for its great library. The great city is built at the edge of the sea in the foothills of the Chaggath Spine mountains. South of Coran is a vast stretch of wasteland known as the Endless Desert.

Irina Moretskya was living the life she had wanted ever since she was a little girl. Fensmoor is a tiny Lantian village of 150 nestled on the tiny strip of arable land between the rocky Giant’s Maw Forest and the swampy and sodden Mistmoors. The Moor Road, a hard-packed yet little-used offshoot of the Imperial Road splits the hamlet neatly in two. Visitors are rarer than a white calf, and outside influences never touch the picturesque little town – exactly as Irina and her family have always preferred.

With outsiders, there is always the chance that someone will poke a little too deeply into their personal affairs. The villagers of Fensmoor have, for decades, been content to consult the kindly sages and healers who occupy the out-of-the-way hut outside of town. They would marvel at the potency of their brews and cures, and the accuracy of their psychic predictions, never once thinking that magic had anything to do with anything – which was exactly what the witches of Fensmoor wanted.

They were not an evil sort – not by any means, but common village folk were not the type to view somebody who consulted with a dark and mysterious power, who read fortunes in the entrails of rodents, and brewed elixirs from the toads, frogs, and other creatures of an icky bog as a shining paragon of virtue. So as long as the locals were ignorant, and content to continue supplying the ladies of the hut with game, grain, and goods, everybody was happy.

Irina was fifteen when the plague came to Fensmoor. A horrible, wasting sickness, with high fevers, leaking boils, and death, Irina’s mother did her best to combat its spread. While in the end she succeeded in wiping it out, she herself fell as the disease’s final victim, leaving Irina alone to take up the mantle as Fensmoor’s resident witch.

Irina was nineteen when Pietro Borgov, the handsome son of the local miller finally melted her resolve. The two were wed, and Pietro, knowing full well his wife’s important station within the village, moved into the Hut with his new bride. While handsome, strong, and loyal, Pietro also had the advantage of being quite dumb, making it quite a simply affair for Irina to hide her true nature. Her dark patron could not have cursed the union too much, as, within a month of the nuptials, Irina divined that she was expecting – a daughter.

Madira was born into a loving household, and the entire village doted on her. She filled her parents with joy every day, and for almost two years, Irina’s life was perfect. Then, she arrived.
Clara. The village of Fensmoor would buzz with anticipation anytime a visitor arrived, and how much more they buzzed for his hero, this legend, this holy warrior, a valiant, shining beacon of purity and goodness. Every villager opened his home to the paladin. She dined at every table, spoke to every woman, kissed every child, and turned over every rock.

Clara loved Fensmoor, and Fensmoor loved her, so when Clara suggested to the mayor that the local jail was inhumane in its filthiness, of course, the citizens banded together to clean it up. When she suggested that old Mr. Comescu’s favourite book of adventuring stories was inappropriate because of its depiction of demons, naturally it was burned, along with every other book and tome the villagers could find which contained anything the paladin deemed inappropriate. The coals of the bonfire had barely cooled before Clara mentioned that black cats were often used by devils to spy upon the pure and faithful. Miss Melovich lost twelve of her dear friends and companions to the paladin’s mighty sword (all eagerly offered up by her own hand, of course, for who would ever think to anger Clara the archon of goodness herself). Then Clara happened to mention that some women have been known to do things that were unholy.

You need a man to fall in love with you? So-and-so’s aged grandmother once new a charm or herb for that. You need to know where to dig your next well? So-and-so’s great aunt knew how to manipulate a goat’s intestine to find the best source of water. You need to mend a grievous injury? There are magic potions for that, too, but these charms and brews come with a price, and not of the mortal kind. Women like this, Clara taught, lived like a cancer inside the healthy body of the village, infecting it with their evil. It would be sad, of course, but better for all for the people to find out these sinners, and expose them. And who would ever think to defy Clara.

Mothers-in-law were the first to be outed, sisters too, and then daughters who had one too many strange and rebellious teen-age idea. Of course, all were innocent and were eventually proven so, but not before a great deal of damage was done to the various families. Despite these failures, the hysteria over witch hunting ran hotter and more contagious than the great plague which had taken Irina’s mother.

As befits a man of such little brain, it took Pietro a good while to connect his wife’s hobby with the warnings of the paladin. One night, as Irina was laying her beloved daughter down into her bed, she heard a noise from outside, and a flickering light crept in through the shutters. Fifty men, all of whom owed their very existence to the skill of Irina’s mother’s birthing hands, stood before the hut on the edge of town, pitchforks in one hand, and lit torches in the other, all chanting for the witch to come out. At the head of the crowd, as befitting a person of her skill and station, stood Clara, one arm brandishing her holy sword, the other wrapped comfortingly around the waist of Pietro Borgov.

Enraged, Irina presented herself to the crowd, demanding that they leave, shaming them with stories of the many times Irina had selflessly aided and healed almost every person in that mob. But for every uneasy grimace she placed on their faces, Clara wiped it away with her calm rhetoric of purity and goodness. The crowd quickly turned against the witch.

Stunned at the betrayal, by both her husband and her friends, Irina lost control. She called curses down upon the houses and crops of every man before her. She willed boils upon their flesh, frogs into their wells, and all manner of disease and misfortune to befall them. As the mob moved in to apprehend her, she struck back with sleeping curses, causing several to fall, but it wasn’t enough to turn the tide, and Irina did the only thing she could – she summoned a mist to hide her escape and fled into the fens, leaving behind her traitorous husband and villagers, her sweet and innocent baby girl, and the miserable wretch who ruined her life – Clara, the paladin.

Since then, Irina has traveled the roads of the known world, dealing in cures, helping other villages when she could, but never staying too long in any one place. And everywhere she went, she made sure to teach the people the dangers of rumour, hysteria, and paranoia, which the holy warriors who think themselves better than all, are prone to spread.

Irina looks forward to the day when she can bring down a paladin as she was brought down. And if that paladin happens to be Clara herself, so much the better.

Markov Galan was a born to a human father, Samuel and elven mother Alena. His mother stayed around for about three year and then suddenly left. Markov was then left to be raised his father who was a wealthy shopkeeper. As he grew he began to question his father about his mother. His father would always just tell him her first name and a brief description. As he turned twelve he asked again. Samuel knowing that he will keep asking and that he was old enough decided to tell him. Markov learned that his mother was an alchemist and that she left for an unknown reason.

A couple of years later Markov began studying alchemy with a traveling alchemist. He felt drawn to this craft maybe as a way to connect to his mother or because he seemed to have a talent for it. During his travels he displayed skills in the use of both healing and harming. His teacher would often praise him for his skill and soon saw that there wasn’t much left he could teach him and sent him off on his own to learn from experience.

Markov continued to travel often taking jobs to fund his research and supplies. He often looks for info about his mother wanting to know why she left and why she didn’t come back. He helps those who needed it and sometimes would be targeted as an easy mark. Those who tried were quick to meet an explosive or a slow end as either a subject for his explosives or experiments.

Markov has short dark brown hair with bright blue eyes, and stands taller than most at 6ft 2in.

Born as fourth, out of seven children in a typical farmers family Alagor always had issues to help his parents and work the fields. It's not that he was especially lazy, but he was very active and playful (not to say mischievous), meaning he spent much more time outdoors chasing game, wandering through the fields and whatever not - anything and everything but working the crops. His father tried to "bring him to common sense", but after some time Alagor started spending lots of time with Konstantin, his uncle (father's younger brother). Konstantin, unlike his father was not married, and has never been a farmer, instead he had spent some time as a local sheriff, hunter, village guard, and he was even participating in 2 campaigns as part of local militia. In the second campaign versus some orc horde (OK, it was a bandit group, but we all exaggerate a bit), he was even awarded rank of sergeant and given a very fine blue-green chain shirt as a reward and as a mark of his status.

Alagor learnt quite a lot from his uncle, but one of the most important things he learnt from him, is that there is a big, big world outside their village limits, and that it doesn't always have to "eat you alive", as his mother and father used to say all the time. As time was passing, and Alagor was growing, he slowly started to work with his uncle as a guide, hunter and as well as a caravan guard for convoys carrying food for sale from his village.

At the same time he developed a strong love interest for one of the girls from his village, and his affection was returned. They became lovers, hiding that fact quite effectively from most of the other villagers. However, as time has gone by, Grace was engaged by her father to a son of the village-chief. He was a good boy, rather intelligent, but of very bad health, and could not "properly" love her - or at least, that's what Alagor thought. He did not hate the boy (Kissim), but at the same time, he was madly in love with Grace. They have spent more time together, still hiding the truth from everyone in the village, while Grace was able to postpone marriage. But finally, she could not postpone it any more, and Alagor came to her with his desperate plea/idea - that they should run away together, into the big, unknown world. Grace spent a very tormented week after that, trying to decide somehow between her love for Alagor (she loved him honestly) and what she has felt as an obligation to her family. Finally, she broke and confessed everything to her sister. Under her influence, she has decided to stay in the village, and marry Kissim. They parted among many tears, kisses and with lots of mixed feelings.

Alagor then came home, packed just the basic of his possessions, and went into the night. In the morning, he was awoken by Konstantin, who was able to track him down. His uncle made an effort to try and convince the young man to return to their village, but Alagor told him everything and Konstantin understood. He quickly made arrangements for Alagor to contact a merchant named Bendon, and gave the boy his most prized possession - his blue-green chain shirt. With tears in his eyes, Alagor solemnly accepted the gift, as well as his uncle's advices and the two man parted...

Alagor is a young man, who wants to see the world and to adventure, trying to get away from painful memories of Grace, and her love. he secretly still desires to one day return to his village, as a man of wealth and fame. In order to do this he needs to be rich, so he can secure future both for his and Grace's family, thus giving him another chance to try and win her love again, this time from a different position.

Still, he is listening to the words of his uncle Konstantin, and he is willing to try all the "nice things" that the world have to offer, before settling down. Also, he is not a strict believer in gods/god, preferring to believe that man can choose and create their own destiny. He feels that most of the gods, no matter how good their intentions/portfolio are, are most responsible for the troubles and plights of all civilized beings.

Malaswyn was raised in Kyonin by his mother; Myvonwe, a cleric of Sarenrae, and his father; Galanir, a baker. He helped in the bakery each morning and ran errands at the temple.
As he aged Mala became increasingly devoted, spending more and more time in the temple and beginning to commit his life to the Dawnflower. Unfortunately Malaswyn had no instinctive grasp of the divine spirit and he laboured on as a lay devotee. Eventually Mala took a vow of commital to Sarenrae's service, committing himself to the church for 100 years.
First he spent 20 years in Kyonin's temples, then another 30 labouring at the altar in Qadira, beneath the long shadow of the Zenith of the Dawnflower. Over these years he absorbed Qadiran religious culture, learning to wield a scimitar with confidence and dancing the joyous celebrations of Our Lady in Fire.
This was followed by the most difficult of Malaswyn's devotions: 30 years of toil supporting the secret celebrations of the Dawnflower in Taldor. In this time he learnt to be more alert and handle life's dangers with greater care.
After all of this drama and tension Malaswyn was pleased to move on to Rostland and has learnt to love the simple decency of Rostlanders, taking pride in honest work and treating neighbours with warmth and kindness.
Mala expected to return to Kyonin after his 100 years of devotion and serve faithfully in the temple alongside his mother. However, fate, and his faith, had something else in store for Malaswyn.
After a quiet celebration with his friends in Rostland, Mala laid down his head, expecting an unsettled sleep on the final night of his sacred service. Little did Malaswyn know how unsettling and surprising his night would be...
That night, in his quiet, secluded bunk Mala had a dream vision. He was visited by the Holy Sunlord Thalachos, Herald of Sarenrae and told that his service would continue, one of Thalachos' 11 holy doves settled on his chest and gave a sharp peck, then the dream faded.
When Malaswyn awoke he bore a sharp wound in his chest, still bleeding slightly, and, still half-asleep and moving as if in a dream, Mala laid a hand gently on his chest and sang out a merry prayer to the dawn. In the next moment a golden light flowed out from his palm, across his chest, and closed his wounds.
Malaswyn went quietly from the temple, seeking to experience the dawn of his healing with personal contemplation of the Dawnflower's grace. As he walked past ripening fields and into a broad glade beside a stream he saw a tattered piece of paper dancing on the air amidst the motes of dust, dancing with them in the sunlight, glittering with dew. The paper danced for an unnaturally long time without snagging on a branch or falling to the floor. When Malaswyn stepped forward to see the paper more clearly it drifted on breeze and pressed flat across his heart.
Lifting the paper he saw that it was written in a delicate, hesitant hand. A message from a woman in desperate straits: a plea for help that touched his heart and ended with an appeal to Sarenrae for aid. The letter was written in a particular dialect, that of Coran, and signed Selome.
Malaswyn has been called for a purpose.

Alma, was something of a rebellious youth. He thought not of the consequences of his actions. He valued the freedom of do as he pleased. This is when he met Jezabelle. She was beautiful with her long brown hair. Whenever, Alma was near her, he felt only the desire to be as upstanding as he could possibly be. She tamed him with a look. He had plans to marry her, though her father Mosiah knew of the mischief Alma was capable of. Burned down barn here, a broken up tavern there, this was not the person Mosiah wanted Jezabelle to marry.

Alma had spent some time in prison for the destruction of the marketplace owned by a prominent official. Alma claimed he was setup, but the evidence indicated otherwise. Alma knew most people didn’t trust him, he saw their hateful gaze. Alma went before Mosiah officially asking his daughters hand. Mosiah strongly refused. Both men were heard yelling at each other. A scuffle began. What happened next depends on who you believe.

Alma claimed that while there were harsh words, he left without further incident. He claimed that he went for a walk out of the city, and at that time, he saw a celestial being who commanded Alma to become a beacon of light.

The city guards claim that Alma killed his would be father-in-law in cold blood.

The only truth that is not in dispute is that Mosiah was found hanging from a tree outside his home.

Alma was accused and convicted of murder. When Alma was being sent to prison, Jezabelle helped him escape, but told him she couldn’t be with a man who killed her father. Alma knew that Jezabelle loved him dearly, why else would she help him escape.

Alma swore that he was not responsible for her father's murder. He promised her he would change how people viewed him. And from that day forth he was determined to shun even the appearance of evil. He soon joined the order to become a paladin. As a dedicated servant of God and advocate of good, he will not stop until all evil beings are vanquished.

The slave markets of Khardoun are renowned for their selection of quality stock. A suitable thrall may be purchased there for every taste or need. Financing is available as well, and - for a fee - the guild will provide additional insurance in the way of professional hunting services. Slaves seldom escape their masters, but when they do the become prey to bounty hunters . The Khardoun hunters are the best in the business at both acquiring new chattel and in recovering wayward goods. The human trafficking racket is big, lucrative and competitive. There is increasing demand for new slaves as the landholdings of the richest families grow and consolidate. As demand increases, the slavers must also take care not to capture the subjects of their own clients, so they are always looking for new sources of slaves. The latest hot commodity are the Huttil hillmen.

Tough as nails, these are a clan of transhumant herders, who drive the mountain flocks through their seasonal migrations from alpine pastures down the rugged scarps and into the deep valleys below. The Huttil recently fell into a bitter feud against a rival Gol clan. A viscious campaign of intrigue and murder resulted in the near destruction of the Huttil. Survivors were forced to flee with their flocks to remote pastures and survive at the edges of the mountain wilderness. But the Huttil remain tough and difficult to eradicate.

Living in fear of Huttil vengeance the Gol have turned to the Khardoun hunters for further assitance. With financial backing from the Gol, the Khardoun have begun to hunt the highlands for Huttil slaves. They prefer to attack when their prey are vulnerable, such as ambushing them when they are moving their households up or down the valley. The usual method is to attack by surprise or with cruel magic. Survivors are first herded together and then beaten or tortured into submission - and to extract information. Men are killed as soon as they have provided the desired information. Women are typically raped before being killed. The children are held captive and transported down the valley and then loaded onto riverboats or caravans for service in distant lands.

Heligar is a Huttil woman, whose husband was killed two springs ago while defending the herd in a Gol cattle raid. She and her son Haldin were left alone in the High Country. They retreated to a small cabin under the Glooming Fells and survived the winter with a remainder of the herd and a few sacks of grain. With the arrival of spring they heard a lone horn echoing on the Fells. Old Baertchi from over the Yoke was summoning them to join him on the journey down to the Valley to buy livestock. Haldin gathered the last of his father's silver and set off to join Baertchi boys while Heligar stayed behind with the animals. She watched as her son hiked down to the appointed rendezvous by the Silver Pool far below- she saw little specks appearing from a cleft in the rock approaching her son. She saw him fleeing - it was a trap! She watched as the boy was siezed, flogged and taken away into the valley. It was the last time she saw him.

Heligar donned her leather armour and her slingstaff. She strapped on her father's greatsword and a few provisions and marched down the scarp with her herd. Selling the animals in the Valley for coin, her life as an adventurer had begun. Over the next year she has searched fruitlessly for her son. She fought off boozy ruffians in smokey taverns, sand worms, insects, bandits, thieves and scoundrels - escaping caputure once or twice herself. She journeyed to Khardoun, and spent the rest of her earnings buying information. It has become clear that her son was taken by slavers transported to a distant unknown land...and only the foolhardy would dare confront the slavers in their own town.

Lonely and bitter, Heligar now roams the dry country seeking her fortune, while searching fruitlessly for Haldin and plotting vengeance. She recently joined Bendon's caravan as a drover/wrangler following rumours of slave shipments to the East.

Half-Elven, Male
Cleric Lv1

Hit Dice: 1d8+1
Hit Points:

Height: 6ft 4in Weight: 122 pounds Age: 25 years
Hair: Sandy Blond Eyes: One blue, one green Skin: Fair
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Deity: The Whispering Sky/Wandering Wind

Languages: Common, Elven, Auran

Fortitude: +3 =2(Base)+1(Con)
Reflex: +3 =0(Base)+3(Dex)
Will: +4 =2(Base)+2(Wis)

Base Attack Bonus: +0
Combat Maneuver Bonus: +1 (+0 BAB, +1 Str)
Combat Maneuver Defense: 14 (10 Base, +0 BAB, +1 Str, +3 Dex)

Armor Class: 16 =10(Base)+3(Armor)+3(Dex)
Flat-Footed: 13 =10(Base)+3(Armor)
Touch: 13 =10(Base)+3(Dex)
Speed: 30ft

Strength 12
Dexterity 17(15+2)
Constitution 13
Intelligence 12
Wisdom 14
Charisma 11

Fighting Fan(1d4+1, x3, lbs, P or S) +3 melee
2 Daggers (1d4+1, 19-20/x2, 10ft, 1 pound each, P or S) +3 melee & range
Sling(1d4+1, x2, 50ft, 0 pounds, B) +3 range
Spell +3 melee & range

Studded Leather Armor

Skills
Knowledge(Religion): +5 =1(Int)+1(Rank)+3(Class)
Spellcraft: +5 =1(Int)+1(Rank)+3(Class)
Perception: +4 =2(Wis)+2(Keen Senses)
Survival: +7 =2(Wis)+1(Rank)+3(Class)+1(Trait)
Bluff: +5 =0(Cha)+1(Rank)+3(Class)+1(Trait)

Feats
Lv1: Combat Expertise (-1 Attack, +1 Armor Class)
Ancestral Arms: Exotic Weapon Proficiency(Fighting Fan)

Half-Elf Racial Features: +2 Dex, Medium, Normal Speed, Low-Light Vision, Ancestral Arms(Exotic Weapon Proficiency, replaces Adaptability), Elf Blood, Elven Immunities(immune to magic sleep effects, +2 racial saving throw vs enchantment spells&spell effects), Keen Senses(+2 Perception), Multitalented(Cleric and Fighter)
Favored Class Bonus: Cleric(+1 Skill Point)

Cleric Class Features: Aura, Channel Positive Energy(1d6, DC 10 Will Save, 3/day), Domains: Air(Winds Subdomain) and Travel, Orisons

Equipment:

Spells Per Day
Lv0: 3
Lv1: 2+1

Spells Prepared
Lv0 DC 12: Light, Guidance, Stabilize
Lv1 DC 13: Bless, Shield of Faith, Domain: Longstrider

Het had no mother, but Het had an aunt, and she was plain and fat and good. She lived in a small hut outside a small town on the edge of an ancient forest. The town had no name and the forest had so many that if one knew half of them, there would be no more room in their head. The aunt had a name. It was Gerde.

Gerde cared for Het, even though he had killed her sister in birth. It had been done without malice, after all.

After a few years, Gerde fell ill and Het was left to amuse himself much of the time. He went months without speaking to anyone. He invented entire worlds in the pool behind his house, filling it with all manner of creature and god from out his head. He began to sing along with birds and hum with the flies. As Gerde wasted, Het lost his grip on his mind.

He was a pleasant enough fool as a young teen. Gerde was dead, and Het begged for the bit of food he could each day. The people of the town thought him an idiot, and though fearsome about the face, he was also thin and frail looking.

When Het hit his teens in full, he became more and more erratic, dangerous even. Paranoia gripped him. Hallucinations clouded his vision and filled his ears with terrible voices. After a horrid little bout of raving, he was chased from the town, deep into the forest.

Where he was found by another aunt, this one much more sinister, and, in some way, more loving. She came to Het and made a deal with him, one he could not resist.

He emerged from the forest years later, quieter and colder and less insane. Still insane, but with purpose.

His aunt had told him that she had plagued him with those thoughts as a test, one he had yet to pass. She was curious whether that little child who sang with birds could weather the storm and so had thrown one at him, for years and years. He was not doing a good job. So she would help him. If she would help her. Now he serves her the best he can, no slave, but eager to find a way to know a moment of peace before he dies and so willing to do her bidding for that chance. She sent him west, because that was where the sun set, she had said.

Het travelled far, begging his way across the land, doing the odd job here and there, using his abilities learned from his aunt to earn his bread when no one would give him any. And the farther west he travelled, the less willing the people were to part with their bread.

When the chance at guard work came along, he took it gladly. He was frightening, and that was worth a little coin on the road.