Xoruk Ironmaw's page

Combat Gear flask of acid (10), flask of alchemist's fire (5), flask of unholy water (1); Other Gear 0pp 7gp 8sp 0cp, masterwork leather lamellar, soldier's uniform, traveler's outfit, cestus, dagger (5), sling, sling bullet (20), bard's kit (bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, harmonica, ink, inkpen, iron pot, journal, mess kit, mirror, rope, satchel, soap, torch (10), trail ration (5 days), waterskin) [Light encumbrance]

Xoruk was born to two of Asmodeus' faithful, his father a barrister and his mother a midwife. Simple folk, they were surprised by their son's abyssal heritage. As immigrants from Cheliax, however, they mostly chalked it up to someone in their family line working with the royal family, and left it at that. Xoruk did not lack for affection as a child, but was always a quiet boy, who preferred solitude and silence to the presence of others. His parents were happy to allow him to do so, and the tiefling child spent most of his youth poring over the various tomes and grimoires in his father's possession. As he aged, Xoruk's features became more pronounced, and he began to shut himself off from the rest of the world even more. Taken entirely to studying musty old tomes, and only leaving his personal study to eat and bathe, the young tiefling man's parents worried for his health.

And then the Mitrans came for them all.

Through a number of lucky circumstances, Xoruk was able to escape the Mitran Crusaders that slaughtered his family and burned his home to the ground. For many months, the tiefling fled from village to village, until he finally reached a small hamlet by the sea. Building himself a small hut there, he began to renew his study of the dark arts. Without his father's books, all he could do was work from memory. Starting by calling tiny outsiders and the spirits of the dead, the warlock began to work his way up the hierarchies of the various fiends and evil spirits. He would trade knowledge and the blood of small animals for knowledge and power, eventually allowing him to learn how to manipulate the fel energies he needed to deliver vengeance upon those that had wronged him.

In exchange for this knowledge, Xoruk had to feed the various contractors some of his own blood, and drink some of theirs in return. This act caused the tiefling's body to change irreversibly. His eyes now glow with a dull yellow light, and his flesh now has a strange texture, as if his skin had been replaced with tiny scales. And above all, Xoruk's blood now sings with magic, making his powers far more potent. He continues to practice and hone his magics, fully intent to one day return the favor to the Mitrans that they so graciously provided to him and his family.

Or he would have, had they not come for him once more.

Nearly a decade after he had first built his hut, the mayor of the town in which outskirts he had been squatting (a tiny village by the name of Lightboro or Heavensfeld or something, Xoruk had never actually cared enough to find someone to ask) was brought news of a mysterious hermit practicing evil witchcraft in the wilds, less than two days march from his own doorstep. Terrified for his life, despite the hermit's complete lack of interest in simple townsfolk, the mayor called on the Crusaders of Mitra to deliver judgment on the quiet tiefling.

When they sprung their trap, he was simply sleeping after a long night of scribing notes. The first thing Xoruk saw that morning was a shining blade pointed at his throat. "Ah, lovely. Took you lot long enough," he snarked, but wasn't so chipper when they bound and beat him. When he arrived to be put on trial, he was bruised all over, but surprisingly not seriously injured. Not that it would had mattered much, because he was only given the most farcical of trials, and set to be burned to death in three days. With his hands literally tied and the pyre already prepared, all the tiefling can do now is wait.

But is this the end for our hapless villian? The winds of fate might just be blowing in his favor...

Tall, heavily-built and with a nigh-constant mean look on his face, Xoruk is the epitome of what most people imagine tieflings to be like. His eyes are yellow and lack pupils, and they seem to glow in dim light. His left arm and ribs are covered in arcane runes that he inscribed himself, seemingly burned directly into his dull red skin. At nearly six and a half feet tall, he is thoroughly imposing and every bit appears to be a demon intent on devouring the weak and helpless.

Despite his outward appearance, however, Xoruk is a hermit and just wants to be left alone with his magics. He has no particular interest in butchering and eating small children and animals, nor did he ever intend to unleash the creatures he summons on the townspeople who eventually turned him in for consorting with dark creatures. Bitter he may be, he considers them too ignorant and shortsighted to truly hate them. Instead, he is simply resolved to his impending death.

Portrait of Xoruk.

[dice=Unarmed Strike attack]1d20+5[/dice]
[dice=Unarmed Strike damage (Pugilist Stance)]1d3+6+1d6[/dice]

Xoruk:
[ HP: 13/13 | AC: 11, T: 11, FF: 10 | CMD: 16 | F: +4, R: +1, W: +4 | Init: +3, Per: +8 | Bound Nexus: 3/4, Channel Negative Energy: 4/4, Spirits: 1/4 | Spell Points: 5/5 ]

Effects: None

Manuevers and Stances:
. . [maneuvers] encouraging roar GL [1/1], flurry strike BB [1/1], swift claws TD [1/1], tactical strike GL [1/1]
. . [stances] pugilist stance BB [1]