Davok Ironborn's page

Davok is not big for one with orc blood. He has dark green, almost brown, skin and black dreadlocks hanging halfway down his back. His exposed muscles are well defined but not large.

Davok's face is a battlefield. Craters, from some forgotten childhood disease, cover his face. Scars earned from skirmishes divide his skin into territories.

His voice is deep, yet raspy. His words seem to carry the weight of an army.

Height: 5'10"
Weight: 234
Age: 18

Manipulative: The free will of others does not exist. They are merely combatants that have not yet been convinced to join the fight.
Devout: Mentions Gorum in conversation a bit too much, and is constantly thinking about furthering the "church". Feels panging remorse when not acting in line with his religion. Occasionally these regrets cause Davok to act irrationally, but he has his emotions in check for the most part.
Student of War: Davok is intelligent and logical, especially when it comes to battle. He reads books about warfare, monsters, and everything in between but usually viewed through a tactical lens.

In Trunau, Davok has pushed for offensive engagement against the orcs.

Davok's father was an orc rapist that took advantage of his mother during a raid. It's not lost on Davok that he was conceived during battle and he was birthed during battle when the orcs raided Trunau again. It seems, Davok was chosen by Gorum.

Davok's mother Bella, of Varisian heritage, still lives in Trunau.

Davok is a true Trunauan. Born, raised, and trained in the defense of its community. Davok works in the town's militia as well as other odd jobs. He is often found practicing combat in the commons in his spare time. Davok lives in the Longhouse along with other members of the town's militia.

Davok has worn out his welcome with the councilors of the town. He often preaches the gospel of warfare during town meetings. He takes a fervent position that Trunau should not be content with merely surviving, but should take offensive measures against the orcs. His ideas, the councilors point out, are Gorumite madness since they are outnumbered. Still, Davok is a member of the community and people respect his skills and dedication to Trunau.

Despite his military training, he occasionally exhibits a sharp mind as well, perhaps his most admirable trait, however infrequently displayed. His mother tried to get Davok trained in the arcane arts by Agrit Staginsdar, but the effort failed...and that's putting in lightly.

Now a thirteen-year old boy, Davok gathers with a group of other children just outside of Trunau. They stand before the burned husk of a church known to the Trunauans as the Plague House. With the sun beginning to set on the neighboring hill, the children goad each other.

"Nobody's ever stood in the middle at night time. Not even to sunset," one boy says.

"Davok could do it," Henric says, almost zealously, the gap in his teeth exposed.

The rest of the children turn to see Davok's reaction. Davok says,"I could. And I will."

"Yeah, right. Let's see it then," says an older Varisian girl, her gaudy bracelets jingle as she moves her arms as she talks. Davok's mother is a Varisian, that's where he gets his brownish skin. He finds himself strangely drawn to Varisian humans.

"Fine." Davok moves out to the burnt down building, standing at the center of its blackened beams as mandated in this local game of childhood fear.

Davok, still just a boy, feels a strange exhilaration standing there. He doesn't know it yet, but the feeling is not fear--it is a hunger for combat with a powerful being.

The sun begins to dip below the hill and the magical glow of twilight consumes the area. The other children become worried, their eyes are starting to fail them. Davok is not quite so afraid because he knows that his orcish eyes will not fail him in the dark.

Soon the area is dark and a childish voice calls out, "Okay Davok, that's enough! You've made your point, let's go home now. We're all in trouble."

Davok doesn't listen. He stands there a few moments more, imagining a scenario of burnt zombies crawling up through the ground, and himself fighting them to the death with his hopeknife.

After nothing happens, Davok returns to the group of frightened children and leads them back to the main gate using his orcish darkvision. On the way, he declares, seemingly out of nowhere and without any provocation: "One day, I will slay a giant."

None of the other children have the nerve to disagree.

Davok stands atop the wooden watchtower of Trunau's main gate. He enjoys this particular duty as time for reflection and prayer as well as watching out for orc invaders. Anytime Davok fights the green-skinned raiders, there's always a brief moment of overwhelming surrealism as Davok stands shoulder to shoulder with pale or dark skinned humans. Truly, Trunua is a strange community. They are more accepting of half-orcs than other regions despite being under constant orcish threat.

Though sometimes Davok is bored of the watch and he would wish--no, he prays--that the orcs would come.

Henric, an childhood friend, climbs up the watchtower ladder and places a hand on Davok's shoulder. Henric has a brown mop of hair and the childish gap between his teeth has been around since they were kids. His skin is pale suggesting Ulfish heritage but nobody keeps track of those things in Trunau.

"Keeping Trunau safe as always?" Henric asks jokingly.

"I guess," Davok says. Davok's not much in the mood for talking as he usually thinks of his time at watch as a time for solitary contemplation.

"We sure had fun at the wedding last night. Good for the town to have something to celebrate," Henric says. "You know, as they exchanged hopeknives, I thought that maybe you and me could do the same thing."

"I'm not marrying you, Henric."

Henric laughs. "No, no. Nothing like that. More like an expression of brotherhood. You know? Like, we'll always watch out for each other."

"It's a stupid idea and a meaningless gesture. I'll keep my hopeknife thank you," Davok says, staring back out to the wilderness below.

"Fine. Sorry I brought it up."

Weeks later, Davok and Henric patrol the nearby forests, scouting for orcs. Despite the awkward conversation in the watchtower, Davok appreciates Henric's company. He is brave, skilled with a bow, and knows when to keep quiet.

As they turn the corner around a large boulder, a volley of arrows fall around them, one plunging into Henric's leg. An orcish ambush. Davok and Henric retreat, outnumbered five to one. Scurrying down the hillside and ducking between trees for cover, Davok notices Henric falling behind. Eventually, Henric collapses to the ground. Davok runs back.

Davok kneels down next to Henric. "Get up, it's just one arrow," Davok says, pulling the arrow out of Henric's leg.

"Poisoned...I think..." Henric says, the words trembling as they leave his lips. "...hope me...Davok...please" Henric slowly moves a hand across his wrist, the message clear.

Davok shakes his head at first but can hear the grunts and footsteps of orcs in the distance. Henric would be too heavy to carry. And no man deserves a fate captured alive by orcs.

Davok, moving hastily, takes out Henric's hopeknife and puts his own hopeknife in Henric's sheath. Then Davok holds up Henric's hopeknife so that he can clearly see the exchange of their hopeknives. "Now we are brothers. Forever. May Pharasma guide you to Gorum's fortress."

Henric smiles, the gap in his teeth showing for the last time, "...I would rather...Desna...but..."

The orcs steps draw perilously near. "Goodbye, friend," Davok says. He slices both of Henric's wrists and one jab to a jugular. The whole act ritually performed in one motion as they were trained to do as children.

Davok flees on foot, leaving Henric behind.

Davok Ironborn
Male half-orc inquisitor of Gorum 1
CN Medium humanoid (human, orc)
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+5 armor, +2 Dex, +1 shield)
hp 11 (1d8+3)
Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +6
Defensive Abilities orc ferocity
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee greatsword +2 (2d6+3/19-20) or
. . hopeknife +3 (1d4+2/19-20) or
. . light mace +2 (1d6+2)
Ranged shortbow +2 (1d6/×3)
Special Attacks judgment 1/day
Inquisitor Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1st (2/day)—bless, magic weapon
. . 0 (at will)—detect magic, guidance, read magic, virtue
. . Domain Conversion inquisition
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 14, Con 15, Int 16, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 14
Feats Bullying Blow[ARG]
Traits indomitable faith, - custom trait -
Skills Acrobatics -3 (-7 to jump), Climb +1, Craft (weapons) +7, Diplomacy +6, Intimidate +9, Knowledge (local) +4, Knowledge (religion) +7, Perception +6, Profession (soldier) +6, Sense Motive +7; Racial Modifiers +2 Intimidate
Languages Common, Draconic, Giant, Goblin, Orc
SQ monster lore +2, orc blood, stern gaze +1
Combat Gear acid, alchemist's fire, weapon blanch (silver); Other Gear scale mail, buckler, arrows (20), greatsword, hopeknife, light mace, shortbow, artisan's tools, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, hemp rope (50 ft.), holy text, iron holy symbol of Gorum, mess kit, scroll case, soap, spell component pouch, trail rations (5), waterskin, 4 gp
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Special Abilities
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Bullying Blow Make melee attack at -2. If attack damages opponent, you may demoralize them as free action.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Inquisitor Domain (Conversion Inquisition) Deities: Any deity.

Granted Powers: You are a powerful persuader. A honeyed tongue empowered by divine argumentation sways the indifferent and adversarial to your side.
Judgment (1/day) (Su) Variable bonuses increase as the combat continues.
Monster Lore +2 (Ex) +2 to Knowledge checks when identifying the weaknessess of creatures.
Orc Blood Half-orcs count as both humans and orcs for any effect related to race.
Orc Ferocity (1/day) If brought below 0 Hp, can act as though disabled for 1 rd.

Trunau Native: You were born and raised in the town
of Trunau, one of the few human settlements in the orcdominated
Hold of Belkzen. Orc attacks are an ever-present
threat, and like all Trunauans, you have made the Standing
Vow: to hold Trunau against all attackers, orc or otherwise, to
stand your ground, and to live free or die trying. Upon coming
of age, you were given a hopeknife—a small, sheathed dagger,
usually worn on a chain under your clothes—and taught how
to use it to take your own life to avoid capture by orcs, or to
grant the mercy of a quick death to the wounded. As a native,
you have served in Trunau’s militia, and fought alongside
Patrol Captains Kurst and Rodrik Grath. You begin play with
a hopeknife (a masterwork dagger), and your tenacity in the
face of adversity grants you a +1 trait bonus on Will saves.

Indomitable Faith: You were born in a region where your faith was not popular, but you never abandoned it. Your constant struggle to maintain your own faith has bolstered your drive; you gain a +1 trait bonus on Will saves as a result.