About Threll AecksonCrunch:
Threll Aeckson Male Human Crossblooded Sorcerer 3/ Divine Marksman Ranger 3 LN Medium Humanoid (Orc) Init +3; Senses Perception +7, Nightvision Action Points: 3/6 -------------------- Racial -------------------- Bonus Feat: Reach Spell Draconic Heritage: At times, a human’s family history can have a dragon’s power bound to the bloodline. Humans with this trait gain darkvision with a range of 10 feet and low-light vision. They can also ignore the Charisma prerequisite for Eldritch Heritage and any feat that has Eldritch Heritage as a prerequisite, but can select only the draconic bloodline with these feats. This replaces the bonus skill rank humans receive at each level. -------------------- Traits -------------------- Magical Lineage: Shocking Grasp Marked by Unknown Forces: You may cast light three times per day as a spell-like ability, but this ability only targets the palm of your hand, and it manifests as a glowing sigil representing your ominous birth—a holy or unholy symbol, a demonic symbol, or perhaps some other distinctive marking established by you and your GM. Those who recognize this symbol have a starting attitude toward you of one step closer to friendly (if they are followers of or scholars studying the sign) or one step closer to hostile (if they are opposed to the sign or its followers). -------------------- Bloodlines -------------------- Draconic(Blue): Class Skill Perception Arcana: Whenever you cast a spell with an energy descriptor that matches your draconic bloodline’s energy type, that spell deals +1 point of damage per die rolled. Orc: Class Skill Survival Arcana: You gain the orc subtype, including darkvision 60 feet and light sensitivity. If you already have darkvision, its range increases to 90 feet. Whenever you cast a spell that deals damage, that spell deals +1 point of damage per die rolled. Powers 1st: blood mutation: Blood Havoc: Whenever you cast a bloodrager or sorcerer spell that deals damage, add 1 point of damage per die rolled. This benefit applies only to damaging spells that belong to schools you have selected with Spell Focus or that are bloodline spells for your bloodline. 3rd: Crossblood Power: You gain Nightvision an ability to see in the dark as if it were day with no limit on range except based on normal vision parameters. This also allows you to see into magical darkness of all kinds. Any light sensitivity that was had is gone. DRAWBACKS A crossblooded sorcerer has one fewer spell known at each level (including cantrips) A crossblooded sorcerer always takes a –2 penalty on Will saves. -------------------- Ranger Features -------------------- Favored Enemy: Humanoid(Human) +2 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, Survival, Attack rolls, Damage (b)Bullseye Shot Combat Style Archery[(b)Precise Shot] (b)Endurance Favored Terrain(Urban) +2 bonus on init, Kn(geography), Perception, Stealth, Survival -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 16 Touch 13 Flat-footed 13(+3 Dex +1 shield +2 Natural AC) HP 27 Fort +5 Ref +7 Will +3 Favored Class Sorcerer, Spells known: +3 0th -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee +3 Ranged +6 --------------------
Story:
Threll was raised in a small town in Thrane near Angwar Keep, and tragically close to what is now the Mournland. The town suffered from bitterly frequent raiding, and thus began Threll’s long history with chaotic battle. He was raised with the intent to be a powerful guardsman by his father Aeck, the town guard captain. Sadly, Threll never met his father’s goal: during a drawn-out raid on their town he lost his father. Threll was protecting his mother by hiding with her, per his father’s orders, when he felt something… undeniably wrong. Threll told his mother to stay hidden and ran from their homes cellar, just in time to watch his father, nested with arrows, fall from their town’s wall. Enraged and screaming, Threll ran to the wall, stole an archer’s bow from his hands and began firing. He felled man after man, being shot himself but screaming through the pain as he continued to shoot. Finally, he was out of arrows. Too enraged to call for resupply, he acted on instinct, and pointed two fingers at a man with bright red epaulets on his shoulder. There was a crack like rending stone, and Threll was knocked to his feet, unconscious. When he was awakened shortly after by a guardsman, Threll saw the raiders in full retreat. He peered over the wall and saw a body with red epaulets being dragged away by his comrades, a smoking and charred creator where the man’s head had been. A smile split slowly dawned across his face, but it wasn’t happy. In fact, the few guardsman nearby who saw Threll backed away, almost without thinking. The sight was… crazed, terrifying. Threll hissed one word through his manic grin, barely a whisper, “…Vengeance!”. After this, he ran the length of the wall, firing bolts of lightning at anyone close enough to the wall to draw his ire. No matter how he tried though, these were mere sparks in comparison to the bolt he had hurled at the man with red shoulders. After a while, when there were no more raiders to shoot, Threll felt his hand burn. He looked at his right hand, from which the lightning had come, to see an odd mark. He almost mistook it for a burn, but closer inspection revealed two things: it looked like an octogram, sign of the god Aureon, and second, it hurt. Gods, how it hurt. This subsided as the rage within him turned to curiosity at the days happenings, but fatigue swiftly overtook both and Threll sagged. He returned home to his beleaguered and grieving mother, another member of the guard having already come to inform her of Aeck’s fate. She hugged her son to her chest, and declared that she would never let him go again. Truth was, Threll didn’t want her to. He fell to his knees very quickly, asleep at his feet. He slept for two days straight, thereafter.
Day of Mourning:
This was not the only loss Threll endured. He lost his childhood that day, as the town’s elders insisted he be educated, “lest he destroy us all”. Threll was sent to a mage in Angwar Keep, to live and study so that he may return and aid his town. There he lived, 6 years, and tried to learn, but could never make much more than the lightning he threw on the battlefield that day, in one form or another. It was in the weeks of raiding before the Day of Mourning, when he received word his town was again under attack. No simple raid this time, a full siege by invaders taking advantage of the chaos nearby. Angwar Keep was on lockdown, however, and Threll was not allowed to leave. He tried to jump from the walls in the night, hoping to escape and go to their aid, but was stopped by 5 nightwatchmen, wrestling him to the ground. As they dragged him from the walls, Threll swore he saw the fires of his town burning in the distance. The next morning, the worst Day of Threll’s life, they received word his town had been routed and pillaged. Killed to a man. Threll was inconsolable. He sat atop the walls, morose and speechless. It was then that the flash ripped the sky. In an instant the sky was so bright that his eyes seared with pain, and he felt a rush of warm wind and dust wash the keep as it knocked him to the ground, screaming in pain. His eyes were never quite the same. On a bright enough day, his eyes would water uncontrollably, suffering from real and phantom pain alike. This was the Day of Mourning, and to Threll the first of many sunny days he would despise. It took his eyes a full month to heal, and by then, Threll had decided his purpose. He would escape this keep, with its half-blinded guard, and he would hunt. Hunt those responsible for the destruction of his village. This vengeance… no, retribution would be his calling. He managed to escape a week later, and thus began his hunt. His mission came to a screeching halt upon reaching the ruins of his home. The raiders had left nothing, not even a mark of conquest or tracks to follow. The only thing Threll had recovered from the town was his mothers pendant, which he found cracked and half-buried in the street. That night as he made camp in the wreckage of his childhood home, he made his first friend in years. Dropping from the shadows into his camp as he finished making his meal, a small and strange girl sat without ceremony at his fire. Threll nearly fried the girl, but stopped short of loosing the lightning crackling around his fingers. She introduced herself as Seras, a mechanic who could not wait to leave the Keep. She had decided to follow Threll out of the Keep, and, having nowhere else to go after leaving, continued to tail him until the moment he looked less...severe. They became travel companions, Threll welcoming a break from the road's silence. They joined a mercenary company shortly thereafter, one dedicated to hunting down ne’er-do-well forces like those who had attacked Threll's village, the Hounds of Khorvaire. With this company, he hopes to encounter the raiding company that marks what he can only assume to be their raid leaders with red epaulets. His hunt will never be done, so long as the men who took his parents from him still waste air. They are already dead, to Threll it is but a matter of time. And patience, endless patience. Personality:
The Hounds have had an odd effect on Threll, and a good one. He was serious, and brutal, upon joining. His time with his comrades had softened these walls, smoothed the lines on his brow and made him at least capable of smiling again. But, that rage still waits. Waits for men with red epaulets, in the same corner of his mind where his father and mother live. Threll has become a bit of a prankster, delighting in small, distracting jokes among his comrades. He laughs like a bell, and his friends groan at hearing it, saying “the Wyrmling’s at it again” Appearance:
Threll stands an imposing 6'2", with long, straight, dirty-blond hair (that is also often just dirty) which hangs to his shoulders. His eyes are disturbing to those few to receive his hard stare: They are sapphire orbs, with reptilian slits instead of pupils. He wears boots with simple black trousers and a leather tunic, leaving his scarred arms bare. There is a cracked and slightly singed woman's pendant hanging from his neck, the only remnant of family left to Threll. |
