About Faraldur DuervalkHP: 75/75
Extracts Prepared:
Background:
"So... why'd you join the Crusades, Faraldur?" The roaring campfire crackled before two shadowed figures amidst a sleepy and silent camp. They were stuck on guard duty this evening, and the younger of the two felt obliged to make something of the night with the strange dwarf that sat opposite him. Faraldur Duervalk was known for being bitter and cynical, with a twisted sense of humour that often alienated him from the rest of the unit, but surely he wasn't that bad.
The dwarf put down his weapon on the log beside him, a rifle that he had been slowly and methodically polishing for the better part of an hour. "I was a veterinarian. They were wantin' some medics, and I figured there ain't much difference between people and animals. So I did the patriotic thing." That earned a grimace from the guard. "... Gods, I hope you never treated me." Faraldur laughed sparingly, a low-toned rumble like the earth cracking. Silence dominated for another few moments as he fished out his smoking pipe and set it alight. But then the dwarf continued, wide rings of smoke billowing into the night sky above him. "But in a lotta ways, I regret it, you know. Seen some god-awful things out here. Things you can't even imagine. Things I hope nobody else has to experience." "Like what?" The dwarf's tone suddenly turned bleak—nay, deathly serious. "Like seeing the insides of a person dear to you after a demon slices them up in front of you so you can 'learn from it'. Like feeling god knows what like barbed wire cutting you up from the inside and out simultaneously, slowly, tortuously, leaving you screaming for days on end. Like seeing twisted and burning flesh, your allies' flesh, that you've set alight with your own two hands, whose smell you can still smell in your nostrils two decades later. Like realising that you only got away because demons are sick and twisted and watching someone live a lifetime of eternal suffering and torment is like a drug to them. Like the knowledge that you gotta keep living no matter what because they'll be back for you when you're dead. And you already saw what they did to the rest." The campfire went utterly silent. The guard felt nauseated; was this the dwarf's idea of a sick joke? "Don't spend your lifetime here on the battlefield, lad. That's my advice. Get back to the rest of the world, get a pretty little wife and settle down with her. Nothing you might gain from being out here—nothing—is worth the price you might have to pay if your luck goes bad." --- Faraldur is a long-time soldier who's been around the block twenty times and seen everything there is to see—and plenty more. Though once a veterinarian in what seems a lifetime ago, he offered his services as a combat medic and joined the previous Crusade from a young age. His unit was utterly decimated one mission by a cruel demon who tortured Faraldur both physically and mentally, leaving him scarred for life. Since then, Faraldur has never once left the battlefield, always refusing to take leave despite his commanders' insistence. He is dedicated to eradicating the demon that spawn from the bowels earth here in the Worldwound in some attempt to pay penance for the terrible things that he was forced to do, to make sure that nobody else has to suffer through what he did. Faraldur lives a life where he simultaneously wishes death and never wants to face the prospect, knowing that his soul is in serious danger of being consumed by the demon that tormented him so many years ago. He seeks immortality, or at the very least, going out with the biggest explosion the world has ever seen and taking out all the demonspawn with it.
Appearance:
Faraldur is a stocky and muscular dwarf with a rather noticeable beer belly, standing about 4'4" tall—pretty average for a dwarf. His hair is a light brown peppered with occasional streaks of white, and it often sticks up into the air away from him as if blown away by an explosion, while his eyes are a medium stone grey. His beard is kept braided behind his neck to keep it out of the way; it is otherwise rather lacking in any form of traditional adornment. His face and body is twisted with scars and burns, with the most notable one running from behind his ear and over his right eye and lips. He's rarely seen without either his smoking pipe or a flask of strong alcohol (home-brewed) in his mouth, and he's more often than not some level of drunk, although he does a good job of hiding it. His teeth are yellowed from the constant smoking and his tongue is often strange colours from the weird elixirs he imbibes. Faraldur is almost always dressed for battle, with a magic 'combat kit' with numerous ever-filled pockets slung over a mithral chain vest; most of the pockets are filled with alchemical grenades and ammunition. Apart from that, he wears thick leather arm braces, a blue leather coat, dark brown leggings and fur-lined combat boots. His rifle, fondly named 'Missus' (short for 'The Missus Back Home'), is almost always in hand, and a well-made dwarven battleaxe is always slung over his shoulders just in case. Both are expertly crafted and engraved with dwarven runes and patterns.
About Faraldur:
Faraldur is grumpy and bitter with a twisted sense of humour and a definite "half-empty" view about life. He's stubborn as hard tack and very rough spoken, unlikely to hold back his thoughts for anyone whatsoever. He respects very few, but those who earn his trust gain an extremely loyal man for their entire life, and is not beyond sacrificing anything of himself for them. Faraldur is driven to revenge against the whole blighted race of demonkind, often to the point of being blind to potential dangers, and is known for being brash and hard-headed (but rarely stupid). He simply prefers to leap before you look (why waste time?) and adapt to things as he goes. One of his best traits is his adaptability, something rare to the dwarven race as a whole, and it's why he's been able to survive on the combat field for so long.
Faraldur doesn't consider himself an "Alchemist" per se. He's a combat medic, war veteran, and an experimental brewer on the side. Mostly, his infusions and mutagens are an experimental mix between his knowledge of anatomy/natural cures and his hobby of home brewing. Nobody liked the taste or methods of the traditional dwarven medicine he practiced (oftentimes because it was simply adapted from that used on horses and dogs...) so he decided to try mixing it with alcohol. Some failed experiments later and he discovered some of the very interesting properties of his "special brews". His alchemist's kit is less of a traditional miniature laboratory and more of a portable fermentation set-up and other braumeister tools. That means that, yes, every time you have one of his infusions, you also might get a little drunk. The other side of him, his bombs and gun and such, is just what developed out of necessity on the combat field. He's been in the Crusades for the past 40+ years and has picked up various skills because of that--mostly a fondness for grenades and firearms. They're flashy and do the most damage in a short period of time. His axe is just a back-up weapon (because god knows you need it out here in the Worldwound). Stat Block:
Faraldur Duervalk Male dwarf alchemist (grenadier) 7 N Medium humanoid (dwarf) Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +12 -------------------- DEFENSE -------------------- AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor, +4 Dex) hp 75 (8d8+32) Fort +9, Ref +10, Will +4; +2 vs. poison, spells, and spell-like abilities Defensive Abilities sky sentinel, stability -------------------- OFFENSE -------------------- Speed 20 ft. Melee mwk battleaxe +9/+4 (1d8+3/x3) Ranged +1 pepperbox rifle +11/+6 touch (1d10+1/x4) or . . . +1 pepperbox rifle +9/+9/+4 touch (1d10+1/x4) . . . bomb +11 touch (4d6+4 fire plus 8 splash) or . . . alchemist's fire +11 touch (1d6+4 fire plus 5 splash) Special Attacks alchemical weapon, bombs 12/day (DC 18), directed blast, mutagen (70 minutes) Alchemist Extracts Prepared (CL 8th) . . . 3rd—3 . . . 2nd—5 . . . 1st—5 -------------------- STATISTICS -------------------- Str 15, Dex 18, Con 17, Int 18, Wis 14, Cha 10 Base Atk +6; CMB +8; CMD 22 Feats Martial Weapon Proficiency (Firearms), Point Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Rapid Shot, Splash Weapon Mastery, Throw Anything Traits Accelerated Drinker, Scholar of the Great Beyond (Knowledge [Planes]) Skills Craft (Alchemy) +16, Craft (Firearms) +10, Disable Device +15, Fly +8, Heal +15, Knowledge (Nature) +11, Knowledge (Planes) +16, Perception +13, Spellcraft +15, Use Magic Device +11 Languages Common, Abyssal, Dwarven, Giant, Terran, Undercommon SQ alchemy, craftsman, discovery (explosive bomb, infusion, precise bombs, smoke bomb), swift alchemy Favoured Class alchemist (8 hit points) Possessions:
1 PP, 6 GP, 5 SP, 8 CP +1 mithral chain shirt
Belt of incredible dexterity +2
Bedroll
Handy haversack
. . . Portable alchemist's lab
. . . Healer's kit
. . . Scrivener's kit
Light riding horse
Purchased scrolls of fly, alter self, barkskin, ant haul, disguise self, and true strike and copied them into formula book (with appropriate scribing costs). Crafted all alchemical items and firearm ammunition.
Formula Book:
3rd—amplify elixir, fly, heroism 2nd—alchemical allocation, barkskin, invisibility, levitate, lesser restoration 1st—ant haul, crafter's fortune, cure light wounds, disguise self, enlarge person, identify, shield, true strike |
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