About SeinalCN Male Elf Bladebound Hexcrafter 4
Arcane Pool 6 Gear:
Carrying Capacity: 116/233/350 55.5 lbs worn + 65.5 lbs in hand for 121 lbs while travelling Worn
-In bandolier- Wand of infernal healing (750 gp, -) -In backpack- Spellbook (-, 3lb)
-in Belt pouch-
-In hand (dropped to ground for combat)-
Coin 28 pp, 115 gp 8 sp 10 cp Spellcasting: Caster level 4, +6 vs. SR
(Spells per Day) Spells Prepared
Spellbook:
0-Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Brand, Dancing Lights, Daze, Detect Magic, Disrupt Undead, Flare, Ghost Sound, Light, Mage Hand, Open/Close, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Spark 1-Enlarge Person, Frostbite, Grease, Infernal Healing, Magic Missile, Obscuring Mist, Shield, Shocking Grasp, True Strike, Unseen Servant, Vanish 2-Frigid Touch, Mirror Image Fortune Slayer:
+1 Black Blade Scimitar Senses normal vision and hearing Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +4 (+2 vs. Enchantments, immune to sleep effects) Int 11, Wis 7, Cha 7, Ego 5 Languages Common Abilities Alertness, Black Blade Arcane Pool, Black Blade Strike, Telepathy, Unbreakable Arcane pool 1 Description:
When studying this elf, most people begin to feel a strange sense of unease. He is not unnatractive, but his alien black eyes are piercing and gazing into them evokes an unsettling twisting sensation. He is dressed in drab greys and the cowl of his dusty cloak is often pulled up over his head. In battle, he dons an eerie mask which is covered in arcane runes and markings, but left open at the eyes for his unpleasant gaze. Those perceptive to magical workings would note something off about the hilt rising over the man's shoulder. Even sheathed, the weapon is obviously exquisite. A silvery handgard sprouts from the black leather grip and inscribed on the pommel is a pentagram encasing an eye. An observer would have the uneasy feeling that that eye is watching, but most would dismiss this as an impossibility. A Recent Encounter:
Seinal smiled humorlessly as the big man across the table slammed the dice cup down on the ale stained surface. He didn't even have to bend fate with this one. He could almost see the aura of misfortune surrounding his opponent. Let's see now... how's the sot going to take it? As he lifted the cup up, veins lifted out on the sailor's swarthy brow. "You're a cheat, you are!" Seinal could smell the sour ale and sickly sweet chew emanating from the man's maw. "No one's that flamin' lucky!" He rose unsteadily from the table and his hand reached down to the cutlass hanging from his belt. Apart from a few eyes cut in their direction, the seedy tavern seemed oblivious to the sudden commotion. "They say Besmara's luck blesses the sea dwellers, but you've obviously fallen from the fair lady's favor." Seinal's black elven eyes drilled into the man as he leaned back in his chair hand drifting slowly to his side making a few subtle arcane gestures, "Don't take it so hard. She's a fickle b#&@~, and tonight it seems she fancies a more edifying companion." The sailor grunted, "Th'mistress o'the sea don't have no love for no land lovin' long eared slug like yerself. Yer a cheat, I say, and I'm gunta take mine back outta yer hide." His hand gripped the hilt of his sword, but before he could pull it free the lithe figure darted forward and grabbed the man's wrist and throat. The human's muscles bulges as he fought to free himself, but the smaller man's grip was like adamantine. Looking into those black alien eyes he began to feel something like fear in his gut. Seinal grinned fiercely and whispered, "And that was the last of your luck," before white lighting poured from his hand into the man's throat.
Background:
Seinal was born under a star of misfortune. A Vistani fortuneteller once told him this and he had no reason to doubt it. He viewed life itself as misfortune as he had been enslaved for as far back as he could remember. He bore neither collar nor brand, but he was a slave nonetheless. The fates had touched him and he was tied to them with bonds stronger than any irons. He could see the strands of destiny and fortune and how they wrapped themselves about every living thing. As a child his sight was unclear, something in his periphery. He could sense whether an archer would hit the mark as soon as the archer nocked the missile. Once he pushed an old man out of an empty road without knowing why. As the offended traveler began to rise in anger a massive stone gargoyle from the tower he was passing smashed into the spot he had been standing moments before. Despite his good intentions, as a child he quickly became associated with misfortune and was avoided and mistrusted by those that new him. His parents hoped to teach him to control this power by sending him to study at an arcane academy in Magnimar. There he learned the principles of magic and soon began to be able to visualize and understand the patterns of fate before him. He even learned that with a twist here and a push there he could actually alter these fates somewhat. He quickly discovered that this was futile, however. Misfortune still followed him, and despite his ability to control singular events, the greater pattern always managed to reform itself. This understanding became crystallized in his last few days at the academy and the weeks that followed. For days, Seinal had been distracted from his studies by a growing sense of dread. He'd learned to trust his senses in this, but staring at the signs and omens, nothing seemed imminently amiss. The academy was peaceful and the threads of fate touching it were strong and seemed to stretch on for ages. Multiple readings of his Harrow deck merely hinted vaguely at disaster without clarifying the situation. Days passed and the feeling did not subside. Finally, on a cold night, Seinal woke from a vision. He saw his home village destroyed as the earth opened up beneath it swallowing hundreds. He saw his parents crushed beneath stone. Panicked he approached one of his instructors and told him the news. His teachers had grown to respect Seinal's senses and so they sent a sending to the village warning of the imminent danger and instructing them to evacuate. Seinal was given permission to take leave and meet his family in the forest south of the village. It was a week's journey and he had to pass the village to get to the evacuation site. Three days into the ride he felt the earth move beneath him. The quake lasted 10 full minutes and when the tremors stopped he redoubled his pace. When he arrived at the village he was filled with relief. The village was destroyed, but there were no bodies, no injured. He had saved them. He camped that night on the outskirts and planned to head out the next morning, but awoke in the middle of the night with a horrible foreboding. He broke camp and hurried to the evacuation site pressing on until dawn. As he neared the place a strange smell accosted him, but he heard the voices of many people and so reassured himself. Stepping into the clearing, however, brought his world shattering down. The voices he heard were the raucous commotion of ravens squabbling among the dead. Over a hundred elves lay dead in that clearing, bodies slashed by blades and picked at by scavengers. Old men, women and children... the slaughter had been indiscriminate. Elves were not the only casualties in that field. Grey skinned orc lay among them, far fewer in number but their hulking coarse features stood out in stark contrast with the lithe elven figures. Seinal realized that Fate had won. She had determined that his village would die, and nothing he could have done would stop it. He swore then to fight Fate at every turn. He would ruin her plans for good or for ill. He would save the damned and doomed and kill those protected by prophecy. He would decide the fate of others and tangle her carefully woven skein. The first fate he altered was that of the orc tribe which had been the pawn of destiny that night. It was a small but vicious raiding band, ruled by a fat and greedy old orc. He tracked the brutes and used his arcane prowess to sneak into the camp undetected. He came to the leader's tent as he slept and whispered orcish words into his ears. He whispered words of conspiracy and betrayal and elven treasures kept hidden from their leader, then he left quietly. Seinal kept this up for days, sometimes whispering at night, sometimes casting figment whispers in the camp sowing the seeds of mistrust. It wasn't long before things came to a head. The lead orc burst into his second in command's tent howling and demanding the treasure he'd hidden be returned. Falchions were drawn and soon the camp was in an uproar. The old orc was fierce despite his age, and took down half his crew on his own. As the number left standing dwindled, Seinal began his own dance, drawing his curved blade and bringing fire and lightning down on the survivors. When at last he stood over the defeated orc captain he let himself smile down at his bleeding foe. "She would have let you live. Your destiny extended long past today's events. It is my hand that cuts it short." His eyes hardened as he brought his blade down. Seinal never returned to the academy. He has wandered adrift. Traveling seemingly aimlessly he swims against the current of fate aiming to alter the threads whenever he can. One day, he knows, he will claim mastery over Fate and she will bend to his will or perish. He can see it in his minds eye, his hand bringing a blade down across the thickest strands of fate. The blade that severs them is black as night. |
