Class Abilities:
Bloodline Power, Eschew Materials, Cantrips
Racial Abilities:
+2 Dex, +2 Cha, -2 Wis; Social and Agile, but lacking common sense.
Low Light Vision
Cat's Luck: 1/day, roll a second d20 on reflex save, must choose before save is rolled.
Natural Hunter: +2 racial bonus on Perception, Stealth, Survival
Sprinter: +10' racial bonus to speed on Run, Charge, Withdrawal
Traits:
Poverty Stricken: Survival is a class skill, +1 to Survival
Resilient: +1 Fort save
Bloodline (Elemental: Water):
*Whenever you cast a spell that deals energy damage, you can change the type of damage to match the type of your bloodline. This also changes the spell's type to match the type of your bloodline.
*Elemental Ray 30'; 1d6+1(+1/two levels) Cold, 6x / day.
*Knowledge Planes is a class skill
Equipment:
Dagger
Backpack
4 days rations
50' rope
Grappling hook
Bedroll
2 Waterskins
1682gp, 70 sp
2051 gp 5 sp
Scroll of Cause Fear (25gp)
Scroll of Lock Gaze (25gp)
Scroll of Disguise Self (25gp)
Wand of Mage Armor (7 charges) (105gp)
Background:
Tagatha never really fit in with his people. While his childhood wasn't bad by any stretch, he was just...different. Shorter and slighter of build than the rest of his clan, he also didn't have the interest in the hunt that the others did. He was always on the outside looking in as the other warriors trained themselves to be a part of the clan. His family tried to include him, to make him feel like a valued part of the clan, but he knew they were doing it out of kindness, rather than any real belief he would one day be a warrior. He just didn't have the heart for it.
Then the magic came.
It was an accident really. One moment he was doing his best to be "one of the clan" while they were engaged in a mock hunt. His brothers Nara and Holine were stalking him through the village. Nara pounced, and the next thing Tagatha knew, his brother was flung backwards by a jet of cold water. Soaking wet, muddy from tumbling through the village street, Nara just stared at him with wide eyes. Tagatha stared down at his hands, at his brother, then back at his wet hands. A sick feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, he ran for his flet. He spent a restless night on the sleep platform, wondering what was to become of him. His father came to him late that night, sitting on the floor next to him.
"My son, he began,"do you know what you are?" "In trouble? Tagatha asked.
His father chuckled. "No son. You are cathainaae, a spell user. Do you know what that means?"
Tagatha thought for a moment. He did not know, but it couldn't be good.
"It means you have a power that occurs in our people only in legend. It means that you are marked for a greater destiny than the Hunt," his father said with some sadness. "It means you must go forth into the wide world, and find your Fatum, your destiny." "Amongst the smooth-skins?" Tagatha asked, wide eyed.
His Father placed a great paw on Tagatha's forehead. "Yes. Achieve greatness, my son. Bring honor to the clan. Return to us with pride, when you have found that destiny."
That was 3 years ago. Enduring the prejudice of the smooth-skins, ranging from curiosity to outright hostility, he has searched for the destiny that his Father said would be his.
