 About Fernriddle GrumbleforkFemale Gnome Sorcerer 1/Bard 1
Feat: Iron Will, Lone Wolf, Eschew Materials Skills
Possessions: Cloak of Resistance +1, Dagger, Small Light Crossbow, 20 bolts, 30 day supply of Nerrarack Root and Kechen Bark, backpack, artisan's tools (at home), Artisan's Outfit, 4 days trail rations, waterskin, [Scrolls] 1x Charm Person, 1x Disguise Self, 1x Expeditious Retreat, 1x Hold Portal 23gp
Deity: Pharasma, Goddess of Fate, Death, Prophecy, Birth =======================================================================
Per Day
Known 0 Level
1 Level
Spell-Like Abilities 1/day—dancing lights, ghost sound, prestidigitation, speak with animals. Grave Touch (Su): You can make a melee touch attack as a standard action that deals 1d6 points of cold damage +1 for every two caster levels you possess. Creatures damaged by this attack automatically fail all stabilization checks made within 1 minute of your touch.
Background
Her training started at an unprecendented age, but her aptitude surprised and re-assured any who had expressed concerns. She left the tribe often to wander the Sanos Forest with her tribe's patron fey guardians. They taught her many secrets of both the magic and natural worlds. Beyond showing skill in learning their ways and their language, she mastered the innate powers of her gnome heritage at a very early age, wielding such magic with ease and whim. The time came when she was to be blessed by representatives of the faerie king, a necessary rite to become shamaness of her tribe, provided she had the right gift to offer him. Travel was difficult and long. She hugged the Malgorian Mountains tightly, waiting for their break to signal her travel due east and her subsequent arrival at the designated meeting ground. The Mountains called out to her at night, she could feel their pull. Almost mindlessly, she travelled closer and closer to them. During a particularly fierce rainstorm, she sought shelter in an opening at the base of one of the towering rocks. Like a gaping maw, it's darkness was inviting, particularly in light of the downpour. Taking cover inside, she slept for the night. Startled awake, as if something had gently pulled on her hair, she rose and found nothing. She could hear tiny whispers further in the cave, and her inspection revealed small openings; the wind was rushing through from the other side, creating the illusion of sound. Some of the holes were large enough for her to squeeze through, though it would be tight. Wriggling like a worm, she emerged through to the other side, where it was perceptibly colder. Shivering in the dark, she muttered a few practised words and the room was revealed in dim light; she approached a small dais, where the remains of some poor soul lay, it's arms ceremoniously crossed over it's chest. Impossibly fragile, the remains were covered in a thick layer of dust. One thing caught her eye however. On the figure's right hand was a ring with an impenetrably black large gem set into it. The gem caught her eye, and there was no looking back. How perfect a gem! And it was as if no dust could settle on it. She knew that this magnificent object would satisfy her obligations to the faerie king. She had to have this ring. Reaching out for it, she stumbled on some obscured rock, tripping, and sending her falling on top of the corpse, grasping wildly. A thunderous crack and she was falling, the corpse trapped beneath her in the freefall. She was face to face with the previous owner of the ring, falling rapidly into the darkness. Her screams helped only to separate the figure from more dust, as they spiralled out of control. The speed of the fall caused the brittle remains to effectively disintegrate, and she was left with only her terrified shrieking. Her body fell into a sea of sorts. Crashing down into an immeasureable sea of bones, the impact of the fall was cushioned. These bones were so brittle that they turned to dust just by her touch. Frantic, she tried to push her way through them, to get to the other side, if there was one. The dust cloud of ancient bones began to fill all the space around her, and in her. The dust burned her lungs and eyes. Coughing and blinded, she struggled for what seemed like an eternity. Exhaustion would have claimed her if it weren't for the feeling of a million bony hands pulling at her, clawing at her. Skeletal hands would crumble into nothingness and be replaced by another set immediately; there was no end to the assault, or her desperate clambering. The sound of rushing water filled her head, or perhaps it was the blood furiously pumping through her body. She knew that if she stopped even for a moment, she would suffocate and die, trapped under impossible weight, her own bones added to the pile she would never escape. With one last furious push she cleared the choking and suffocating, and was falling again. This next trip was short, for she landed in fast flowing water. How cold this water was! It seemed to cut straight to her bones; screaming in shock and pain as her joints seized, she finally succumbed to the blackness calling her. She woke on the bank of the river, half in and half out of the water. The sun was beating down on her, drying her poor body. She managed enough strength to pull her other half out of the water, and she collapsed once more. The dreams that followed terrified her more. Paralyzed, she lay crushed under the weight of millions of bones. Crying idle tears, but unable to scream, invisible skeletal hands pulled and teased her hair. The darkness itself was suffocating. When she awoke fully, she looked down at her hand, which was covered in blood. Biting down on her lip, she uncurled her stiff fingers and saw the black gem ring in her hand! Through that whole ordeal, she did not lose the thing. In fact, she held onto it so tightly that it cut into her hand! Lost and off course, she was unable to meet the fey representatives within the allotted time. Knowing she would be banished for dooming her clan by leaving it shamanless, she did not bother to return to her kin. Instead, she wandered for many days before ending up in Sandpoint. There, under a different name, she still lives, eking out a living by making sculptures to sell in the local market. She sculpts to lose herself, obsessing over her more creative works, but often creating mundane items (bowls, tumblers, etc.) to sell for quick money. Her most impressive creations are her most terrifying. Gaunt, skeletal figures, with maws and claws ready to tear. These are the figures that she sees when she dreams. They call to her, whisper to her, pull her hair, and pull her down into the suffocating depths. A few of these grotesque sculptures have been purchased by a few eccentric individuals, but no one but her has ever seen her best pieces. She makes sure to smash those utterly. Appearance and Personality Fernriddle Grumblefork is tired; it's been almost two years since she last slept deeply. She regularly abuses Nerrarack Root, a substance used by shamans to enter a meditative trance, and Kechen Bark, a bitter stimulant, in order to push her body and mind to their limits and avoid a dreaming sleep at all costs. Her body and face bear the signs of her insomnia; deep circles under her eyes mar her otherwise perfect complexion. Her slender frame is at the edge of exhaustion, but her willpower more than compensates for her frailty. Anyone that has met her has been witness to the fury and the passion that is Fernriddle, especially when she is focused on her sculpting. Not one to shy away from using magic to help her craft, it is not uncommon to see materials and tools flying around her in a fury. Her long black hair is always neatly pinned, using a skull of a raven to hold it in place. Macabre, perhaps, but when the sun shines on it, her hair glimmers like dew-laden spidersilk. She dresses in bright colours, preferring vibrant reds and bombastic yellows. Telltale of a Kechen Bark addict, she grinds her teeth when not talking. Her speech is quick and excited; she is empassioned by chatter, and is willing to dive into a conversation with most people. She is no stranger to combat, though she would rather avoid it if she could. She leaves her workshop in Sandpoint only to collect more of her treasured root and bark in Sanos Forest, and has seen some conflict on the way. She naturally attracts attention, and most find her unquestionably alluring. It makes sense that more than a few petty bandits have tried their way with her as well. Her preferred method to deal with those that really disrupt her is to use her magic to show them just a piece of her suffering. She shaves off a portion of her mad dreams, her terror at being trapped under those bones, suffocating. That is generally more than enough to send them running. She has been running herself for years now. Fleeing from her fears serve only to make them even more present. Her nightmares are not staved away by her forced insomnia, but rather they are always at the forefront of her mind, asserting themselves, whispering to her. The ring too, whispers. She can't bear to part with it. Some of her rare moments of solace occur only when she's lost in the gaze of the black gem. She is not opposed to killing, as she understands that everything will eventually turn to bones and then to dust. She would rather join that pile later, rather than sooner. ------- Notes; *Fern identifies two potions of cure light wounds and a cloak of resistance +1. Two potions radiate divination magic, while two defy analysis entirely. The wand radiates evocation magic, with overtones of fire. It seems to be divine in nature, rather than arcane. The armour radiates minor abjuration magic, while the sling and spear are completely mundane. |
