Arthorion Aegas's page

AC 14, touch 10, flat-footed 12;
hp 14; For +6, Will +2;
Melee +8 masterwork longsword (1d8+5/19-20x2)
Ranged +4 Sling (1d4+5/x2)
Special Attacks 2 claws +7 (1d6+5)
Str 20, Con 18;
Cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration.

15 skill points (4 background*, 8 class, 2 race, 1 favored class [bloodrager]): 2 Acrobatics, 1 Climb, 2 Diplomacy, 2 Handle Animal*, 1 Intimidate, 1 Linguistics*, 1 Profession (miller)*, 2 Perception, 1 Sense Motive, 2 Survival

To the people of Phaendar, Arthorion Aegas is no more than a hardworking miller. The only adventure in his life, it would seem, is raising his baby daughter, born after many years of frustration during which he and his wife Rowena struggled to become parents. Little Flora came unexpectedly, when the couple had given up all hope, and already neared their 50th birthdays. Regardless, the birth of their only daughter, however late, was reason for great joy.

What the people of Phaendar do not know, however, is how Arthorion fought many times for their freedom. In his adolescence and early adult life, he lived and worked in military groups that defended the borders of Nirmathas against Molthuni attacks. Arthorion dedicated almost a decade of his life to protecting Nirmathas, only to see most of his friends dying horribly in bloody skirmishes. As the years passed, Arthorion became increasingly hardened by battle, and his hatred and bloodthirst for the enemy grew out of control. He would throw himself with abandon to every fight, and take relish in victory. He could feel something inside him changing, until suddenly something outside did, too: during a particularly violent battle, he looked down to see his hands turned into reptilian claws.

The transformation was a wake-up call. Arthorion noticed the kind of person he was becoming, and shunned it. He kept the secret to himself and, after a few weeks, retired from the fight to seek a sage that could explain his transformation. He found one among the druids of the Green Faith. The old man told Arthorion that dragon blood ran through his veins. Green dragon blood. “Zedoran?”, Arthorion asked, his face turning pale. “Who can tell? There was a time when green dragons were plenty”, replied the old druid.

Arthorion had heard tales of the wicked green dragon that ruled over northern Fangwood, and on one occasion he had even seen firsthand the destruction and suffering left on its wake after a raid against Nirmathas. Were all dragons like that? Afraid of the weight of such heritage, Arthorion gave up his arms and decided to start a new, peaceful life. He settled in Phaendar decades ago, fell in love, got married, had a daughter, and has lived a tranquil existence ever since. This many years later, memories of the Molthuni front still haunt his dreams, but he has never spoken of these times to anyone in town—not even to his wife. After all, the days of fighting are over. Or are they?

Arthorion is a brawny, 5’11’’ tall man of Taldan ascendancy, whose age doesn’t really show except for the customary wrinkles that come with it. Despite being 51, he still has a good physique and his abundant (albeit short) hair is just starting to turn grey, particularly on the temples. The time on the battlefront has left a few scars on his face, but nothing too serious. His expression is usually kind and calm, although his square jaw and strong features might suggest otherwise.

Within, Arthorion struggles to keep his inner rage at bay. Whenever he feels it coming too close to the surface, he retreats to a quiet place and meditates. He enjoys doing physical work, which helps him clear his mind. In general, Arthorion is an amiable and altruistic person who has no quarrels with anyone in town. His main concern nowadays is to keep his wife and daughter safe and away from the seemingly unending fighting that plagues Nirmathas. Phaendar seems just the place for that…