 About Ashliegh SabertAshliegh Sabert, Human Acolyte Fighter
Attacks:
Attacks: Rapier: 1d20+5, 1d8+3 Piercing (finesse)
Proficiencies::
Saving Throws: Strength (+4), Constitution (+4)
Personal Characteristics:
Alignment: Neutral Good Personality: He tries to stay optimistic in the face of adversity, when things look most grim he will try and offer an inspiring word. He WILL NOT LET SOMEONE INSULT OR HARM A LADY, he is always a gentleman, and never infringes on a woman’s modesty. He is of average intelligence having been schooled in a Lathander church, there he was taught to read. His common sense is where he shines, picking up on details, lies, and hidden messages. He is very self-aware and has learnt many techniques in the insane asylum to help him navigate mental shock. Appearance: Ashliegh has a muscular look to him that comes with much training and dedication. He does not look wiry or spry but he is an agile man with superior hand eye coordination. He is hearty even though he is skinny; he does not have a washboard stomach but it is firm. On general appearance he is blandly normal looking. Mid-length light brown hair with some blonde strands that shine in bright light. He is normally clean shaven trying to keep up what little appearances he can muster. He has a stern look to his face that says 'Dont lie to me' and his features are hard to read. He measures up at 5'10" and looks mildly imposing. He dresses normally and cares little for fashion or new trends. He is usually spotted in black breaches, a simple plain white shirt and black jacket. He will wear his small wooden symbol tucked under his shirt worn around his neck. Ideal: Greater Good, not that he asks for, or is suicidal, but he feels it is his duty to protect others, even if it will cost him his life. Bond: I may never find the necromancer that tarnished my life; but every creature I can slay that practices the dark arts is one less horror the world knows. Flaw: Ash has been thrown over the cliff of insanity but managed to climb back up. He did not make that climb unscarred, he often has trouble falling asleep and has taken to drinking to assist. He normally has nightmares of the unsettling things that have molded his life. Because of this he does not allow himself to get too attached to those around him, fearing the pain of another loss or topic of a new recurring nightmare. He also struggles with his faith, on the outside he goes through the motions but un-realistically blames Lathander for his ill-fortune. Trinket: A bouquet of wildflowers that will not wilt or die Fighting Style:
Two-Weapon Fighting, may add ability modifier to damage of the second attack Second Wind:
On your turn, you can use a bonus action to regain hit points equal to 1d10 + your fighter level. Once you use this feature, you must finish a short or long rest before you can use it again. Inventory:
14 gp
Chain mail (AC 16, 55 lbs) Rapier (1)
crowbar
Containers
Alternative Build:
Str 11, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 14* Prof +2
Spellcasting
Cantrips
1st Level Spells Known - Bane
Back Story:
On the road from Waterdeep the caravan has stopped to rest for the night, it has been a long journey but only half way complete. Nightly the guards and waggoneers would huddle around campfires while they ate and enjoyed several pints of ale; it was here people would tell stories, or pry into other’s past. Ashliegh had avoided talking about his past and knew it was only bringing more suspicion from his colleges, he would need to fold and tell his tale tonight to avoid becoming an outsider. How do you do? My name is Ash, I feel it would be a little unkind to present this story without just a friendly word of warning: What I am to tell is no falsehood, embellishment, lie, or stretching of any truth. It deals with foul subjects and black magic. It is not a tale for the faint of heart. I think it will thrill you. It may shock you. It might even horrify you. So, if any of you feel that you do not care to subject your nerves to such a strain, now’s your chance to uh, well,-I warned you. clears throat There use to be a small town not too far from Neverwinter, on the lake, it would be lucky be considered a ruin now, but luck has not shined there for some time. I am twenty three winters now born of that town with the forgotten name. I can remember living on the lake, swimming, fishing in the ‘lucky fishing hole’, waving to my pa on his fishing boat as he cast nets, mother setting a wild berry pie to cool on the windowsill. There was a small hallow not too far from the town, older folks use to warn about fey, and first world nonsense, normal deep country legends, of kids going missing, or waking up not aged fifty years later, nonsense stuff. The old legends never did any good to keep the town kids out of that hallow; the grass was unusually green, the flowers blossomed more vibrant and gigantic, bees were the only inhabitant anyone ever seen, busy bees stocking giant hives with honey. It was nice. sips ale, prepares to tell a difficult tale Let’s see, had to of been eight winters old when it happened. Autumn was on its last leg about to leave before the winter. That is when he arrived. Never met the man myself I was too young, all I remember is his black robe and the large chest of gold he came to town with. He paid to have a cottage made hastily before winter showed his true face; the men could not refuse the piles of coin placed in front of them and they started work on this massive cabin. The trees had already lost their leaves, and stiffened up for the winter, felling trees became a difficult task. It became colder and colder as the days past by and the sun set earlier and earlier. The men should have been preparing for winter, not building a cottage too late in the season. I remember that cottage, taller than those around it, two chimneys with no wood to burn, empty pantries, a wonderful un-stocked home, with strange green light at night from the windows; everyone thought the man had fancy lanterns or green glassed oil lamps. The entire town went without that winter, the fruit cellars were emptied early, the grains used fast; all the food that could have been stored but was not because of constructing that cabin. The first snow fall happened early that year, unnaturally early. sips ale It was cold, but not the coldest we ever had which living on the lake made it worst. Funny right, needing it to be too cold to be able to survive. That lake never froze right all winter; my pa went out to ice fish and never returned. We started to get hungry, having stripped and boiled all the bark from the trees around us, and boiled what leather we could find, trying to wait through the winter. The townsfolk also having no food or place to turn went to this robed man, whom they had found out was a wizard. Normally superstitious people, they would of made the elder sign of protection and walk away, however they were guided by their empty stomachs. He was very helpful; handing out smoked pork, and sausage links. The wizard’s handouts were not enough to satisfy anyone’s hunger, weirdly it made it worst, so the men tried to hunt being the lake could not be fished. People became friendly with the wizard and less scared of him through his charity. Nobody noticed at that time but people started to disappear, by late-winter two dozen strong men and a handful of others had gone missing. With the disappearances noises started in the woods, all night, the chopping of wood, and the sound of a falling tree. In the short daylight hours men went to try and find the felled trees; always they would find the same scene. Lots of foot prints, bare feet all through the snow, the stumps of the cut trees, and the chipped wood left from the cutting. No one knew what to make of it, and people were becoming afraid. They sought help of the wizard and he agreed to help, he would patrol the woods at night to keep the town safe. That is when it became very bad. sip People kept taking the wizard’s handouts, getting hungrier, many began to visibly shake; and the wizard roamed the forest at night never finding the source of the sound, saying ‘it was fey mischief’. Daily people went missing, families started to move in with each other for protection, my small town toward the end was no more than a hundred heads. The men still went out each morning to hunt and find the source of the noise. Many of the younger boys would go out in this hunting search parties, myself included, looking for small animals or something to scavenge. I was in a hunting party that by chance stumbled onto a freshly made cabin in the woods. The cabin had no windows and a strong locked door. Fate and misfortune complement each other very well and usually dance hand in hand. That day a blizzard hit, snow I have never had the chance to experience again, the purest white. We were caught still out in the forest at the cabin just discovered. The men forced the lock and opened the door. It was a gruesome butchery full of the bodies of the missing from my town. There with a smokehouse in a back room full of meat from the bodies; the same meat the town had been eating all winter. Also the source of the mystery chopping at night, a pile of axes lay in the corner next to a pile of fresh cut timbers. Many of the men looked panicked and vomited. There was another room to the cabin, barred from our side; noise could be heard behind it. We cautiously opened the door to see that some of the men that had gone missing were held behind it. At first it was a happy sight familiar faces we thought to be dead, but as the men shambled into the butchery room we knew right away that something was very wrong. Many were missing large pieces of flesh which did not hinder their advance into the room. One of the men quickly shut and re-barred the door after two had entered. The shambling man had grabbed onto one of the men that came to this cabin with me, bringing him to the ground, his teeth torn the throat from the prone man. The other assisted with the gruesome sight, together the two lost men began to eat the still warm corpse on the floor, not paying attention to the rest of us in the room. Pounding from the barred door, the rest of the lost men had become frenzied slamming it trying to get in. Someone found a cleaver and killed the two lost men that were eating our comrade, they made no attempt of defense, and they just ate absent-mindedly as the cleaver chopped pieces from their own bodies. We placed large tables in front of the barred door for support, it was successful and would hold, but the slamming would not stop. big gulp of ale Now we were stranded in that mystery cabin, cannibals pounding on a barred door, and a horrible blizzard outside; unable to leave until the weather let up. We tried to rest and made sure that barricade door would hold against the slamming, but no rest could come. During the night the man that was feasted on woke, and began to attack, biting and slamming us, we were unprepared. Many had taken grievous wounds before he too could be slain. Then the sickness started. The men that were bitten began with fevers, burning up, sweating, and stomach pains, it eventually ended in death hours later. After a night in the unlit dark cabin, one of the men opened the smokehouse and began to eat some jerky in the dark. Slowly others to made their way into the smokehouse heads hanging low, myself included. Finding places away from each other we ate the smokehouse jerky to the music of pounding cannibals on the door in the dark. Then the sickness had finally taken the bitten ones. There were two alive with me, still waiting for the storm to finish, still no escape. The men that died of fever then woke, the two surviving men and I ran for the door; we would have better chances in a blizzard than in that cabin. We ran into the whiteness, the world was lost under winter’s waste. Our pursuers could not be seen as we struggled in the neck high snow. One man fell behind and was heard screaming as he was consumed. The last surviving man and I pushed forward and made it back to town, he carrying me on his back for much of the trip. We came to the house my mother and I had just relocated to with some other families. We could hardly talk from the cold and took places by the fire to tell the others what was following. All I did was cry as my mother held me, "they are coming to eat us” that is all I remember saying over and over again. Not long after they came, the windows crashed in, there was lots of screaming, men entered the cabin and began to eat everybody. I hid in the empty fruit cellar, there was nothing else I could do. When they finished they left our cabin and walked to the next cabin full of people, their screams could be heard dampened by the blizzard. I gathered a blanket and was going to run, then my mother tried to kill me, she raised, massive amounts of flesh missing from her face and chest. With outstretched arms she came for me, teeth exposed by a tightened snarl. I dodged but she fell and grabbed my ankle, she was pulling me in to eat me. There was a struggle and I wiggled free. I ran into the storm, hearing the screams from other houses in the town now, I made for the hallow. The lights in that new cabin that dammed the town never stopped glowing, horrible unnatural greenish light that was the only thing that could be seen through the falling curtain of snow; eerie green light. In the hallow there was less snow, making it easier to wait the storm out. When the blizzard finally past the world was at peace, white, quiet and perfect. I found a bee hive and ate the frozen honey, carrying the shell with me for future meals for my journey to Neverwinter. I had been there before and it was the only real option, I had to survive the winter. finishes ale* if you keep pouring, I keep talking *sips from a new pint When I would get to Neverwinter I would make my way to the temple of Lathander, not really knowing what else to do and not having a plan. I walked through the night, and by morning I reached he road and collapsed. I awoke in the church, someone had picked up my dying body and delivered me to the temple. I told my story to the abbot that was healing my wounds and feeding me broth. Later that day all the priests and clergy left for the town I had come from, they returned several days later. The town was abandoned, no survivors, plenty of evidence to support the tale that I told when I woke. The church has heard rumors of the cannibal necromancer and was upset he eluded their attempt to hunt him down. They offered me a place, I studied for the priesthood as this was to be my new life. I ran chores, was very obedient, prayed non-stop; I was going to be cleric hell bent on hunting every necromancer that I could find. I read every book, rumor, story, poem, and letter; anything that could be learnt about my new enemy. sips, smiles Then I fell in love, got married, changed my path in life, and gave up on my pursuit of those practicing the black art. What you want the romance too, ok, thought you just wanted the guts and glory stuff. clears throat I was Seventeen winters old; her name was Candis Cane, her family owned a bakery not far from the temple, had a little rolling pin on the sign out front. I remember the first time meeting her, going there with an order for the temple, not being able to find the words to speak right, messing up the order and buying way too much for the temple. She was beautiful, sweet, a year younger than myself, and love at first sight. It took months of courting her to get her to like me, and much convincing to her father to let her be mine. ‘Love is a ladder from heaven’; my heart soared through the heavens on our wedding day, I will never be that happy again. I had left the church, and began working for her family bakery; taking another mouth to feed into the family business was tough. I did odd jobs, and found ways to make money; I am clever at that. One of my bright ideas was to cut out the middle man and buy our flour straight from the miller verses the supplier that charged too much. It saved us so much money we bought our own horse and cart, opened a second shop, and bought a house of our own. The journey to get the flour was a long and boring one; Candi would come with me on the trip. She use to love picking wildflowers by the road and the freeness of the country road. She was pregnant, maybe 6 months, she insisted on going to keep me company. On the way back our cart broke an axle on the road, it would not drive further with the large sacks of flour on it. It took me all day to repair it well enough to drive, Candi just lovingly picked wildfolwers, and then darkness came. Very big gulp of ale Shadows moved in the forest as we made for the city, our lantern was lit to make the path. As the shadows moved in both the horse and I froze, enchanted to stillness. Panic hit me when I saw the green light, it was moving up the road, and there was nothing I could do. Candi shook me violently trying to break the spell, pounding her fists into my chest and begging me to move. He was there now, he had quietly walked the road enjoying the torment he caused. He waved his hand a Candi and she fell to the ground in agony, her cries and pleas burning a hole in my soul that shall never heal. The necromancer joyfully told me how he had discovered that I had survived and decided to come and fix that; but on seeing my pregnant wife he said he decided that he had a new plan for me that would be more entertaining to watch. After he was done speaking Candi’s screams intensified, she began to bleed from her eyes then her skin began to sweat blood. He left us there, me frozen and her screaming. I do not remember any more of that night, just placing Candi on the flour and a hazy unlit walk to Neverwinter. gulp I came to a few days later in an asylum, amongst madmen and criminals locked in a caged room. Not sure what had happened I too questioned my own sanity. They had told me my wife had died, but yet she visited me nightly. I would get restrained daily for screaming out the window into the darkness, Candi was there I was yelling to her my infinite apologies for marking her for death. As night time would approach the orderlies would put me in a straight-jacket to better manage my midnight outbursts, no one believed me that Candi called on me every night. 'My master bids I visit you', she said that in the darkness every night when she arrived, those words still haunt me. She had showed me my son, born to her not long after my commitment at the asylum; pale scrawny sickly looking thing she would bring with her to torment me, shrill babe cries in the night. A year pasted and this same routine happened every night without fail. Only when she left me a present did anyone the doctors no longer question my sanity. It was the holy tome of Lathander nailed shut left in a large bowl of blood on the floor of my room; knowing I could not do this in my straight jacket or even have access to the holy tome, or finding any wounds to explain the blood they called for a priest. It was the same abbot that treated my wounds when I first came to his temple. He ordered me free and confirmed to the attendants that I was not a mad and my story to be true. He knew I was not a mad man but a victim that continued to find trouble. He took me back to my cloister; helping my mind heal, giving me tricks to improve my will. The nightly haunt ended with him, he warded my room and finally sleep without nightmare had come. I had not slept right during the assault on my mind that Candi seized for an entire year. When I was stable enough he told me the news; Candis has risen from the grave, slave to the man that killed her. Again my lust to extinguish this necromancer burned, revenge for the life that had been taken from me twice, there would be no more excuses or sidetracking. The abbot brought me to a colleague, a woman skilled in the art of fighting the occult, witches, and users of black magic. Nina R. Saitted, the only middle aged women I know with a Morningstar. She taught me much about the foes I seek, the best ways to fight and identify them, and tricks to avoid them. She also trained me to fight, this woman had a heavy swing, and left bruises. ‘The enemy hits harder’ or ‘do you think his minions care about honor’, she made her point one way or another. I started to rejoin the church of Lathander, something I had grown away from after Candi. They took me right back, hearing word of my misfortune and current training with Nina. finishes ale Not much more after that, Nina trained me until she thought I was ready. The church gave me aid and a blessing on my way out the door to track down the monster that has haunted me all my life, and to find my wife to slay her granting peace. And now I am here light headed from the ale. I joined up on this crew following a rumor that the necromancer had headed in the same direction this caravan goes. Taking the job for safe passage across the wild lands and company. Knowing he has unleashed a tale of mammoth proportions he quietly excuses himself from the group so the silence that has stolen their tongues could dissipate. Drinking by himself until he passes out to avoid the nightmares.
Background:
Acolyte Skill Proficiencies: Insight, Religion Languages: +2 Equipment: A Holy Symbol of Lathander, a prayer book, 5 sticks of incense, vestments, a set of common clothes, belt pouch containing 15 gp Feature: Shelter of the Faithful receive discounts or free services at temple See pg 127 |
