Bronx is a lot of things you wouldn't expect all togther: redheaded, green-eyed, dwarven, mage.
Character Name: Bronx
Player Name: Jess
Class and Level: 5 Wizard 1 Wild Soul
Weight: Nude- 180lbs With Gear- 223lbs
Looks: Red hair and beard, bright green eyes, otherwise stocky and dwarf-like
Ability Scores: STR 15 DEX 16 CON 18 INT 20 WIS 12 CHA 7
Grapple Modifier: + 5
Saving Throws: Fort- + 6 Reflex- + 5 Will- + 6
Armor Class: 13
Touch AC: 13
Flat-Footed AC: 10
Base Attack Bonus: + 3
Weapon: Quarterstaff, 1d6/1d6 x 2, 4lbs
Feats: Combat Casting, Collegiate Wizard, Summon Familiar, Scribe Scroll, Spell Focus (Conjuration), Seelie Courtier (good), Spontaneous Spells, Augment Summoning, (NEXT summon seelie ally 3x per day)
Racial Traits: See Dwarf pg 15 of PH
Skills: Bluff + 1 Conditional to magical beasts, Concentration + 10, Decipher Script + 9, Diplomacy + 1 Conditional to magical beasts, Hide + 5, Intimidate + 1 Conditional to magical beasts, Knowledge Arcana + 16, Knowledge Nature + 14, Knowledge the Planes + 7, Knowledge Religion + 9, Listen + 3, Move Silently + 8, Search + 7, Spellcraft + 11 (+ 2 From Skill Synergy), Spot + 3
Languages: Common, Dwarven, Gnome, Goblin, Orc, Giant, Draconic
Possessions: Backpack, Rations (10), Silk Rope (50 ft, Waterskin, Everburning Torch, Wizard’s Spellbook, Spell Component Pouch, Quill, Traveler’s Outfit, Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds (3), Type I Necklace of Fireballs (Used), Dart, Katriona’s Spellbook, Katriona’s Spell Component Pouch, Journal, 2nd Purple Potion (Identified as a Potion of Jump), Blue Potion (Identified as a Potion of Mage Armour)
Total Weight: 43lbs
Carrying Capacity: Light Load: less than 76lbs, Medium Load: 77 to 153lbs, Heavy Load: 154 to 230lbs
Familiar: Muffy the Cat (gray)
Familiar Ability Scores: STR 3, DEX 15, CON 10, INT 7, WIS 12, CHA 7
Initiative- + 2
Speed: 30 ft
Touch AC: 10
Flat-Footed AC: 13
Attacks: Claw 1d2, Bite 1d3
Skills: Climb + 4, Hide + 4, Move Silently + 4, Balance + 8
Special Abilities: Low-Light Vision, Scent, master gets + 3 to Move Silently
Level 0- All
Level 1- 14
Burning Hands, Feather Fall, Enlarge Person, Expeditious Retreat-Swift, Shield Bearer, Fist of Stone, Magic Missile, Comprehend Languages, Identify, Wall of Smoke, Mage Armour, Shield, Ray of Enfeeblement, Backbiter
Level 2- 8
Bull’s strength, Cat’s grace, Earthen Grasp, Whirling Blade, Scorching Ray, Detect Thoughts, Web, Escalating Enfeeblement
Level 3- 8
Unicorn Horn, Stony Grasp, Marge Armour-Greater, Repelling Shield, Dispel Magic, Haste, Slow, Fly
Spells per day:
Level 0- 4
Message, Resistance, Detect Magic, Disrupt Undead
Level 1- 5
Expeditious Retreat-Swift, Magic Missile, Mage Armour, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield
Level 2- 4
Bull’s Strength, Earthen Grasp, Whirling Blade, Web
Level 3- 3
Fly, Stony Grasp, Haste
Spontaneous Spell Options: Seelie
1st- Remove Fear
2nd- Tasha’s Hidden Laughter
3rd- Invisibility Sphere
Current EXP: 16,770
Red pools amongst flaming orange, spreading over the crown of a child’s head, blurring the colours together in a sticky mass. The angry buzz of flies fills the air, occasionally lighting on the exposed wounds and supping their sweet nectar. The body stirs, moaning quietly and struggling to sit up, forcing the flies to depart, disappointed to be denied their morning meal. When the child finally comes to, his hair is matted with blood, dried and crusted to an ugly russet brown. Lifting a hand to his head with a wince, Bronx takes in his surroundings, trying to establish where he is and how he got there. He appears to be lying in a drainage ditch with sand partially kicked over his body. With immense effort, Bronx struggles to sit up. He rises to his feet by bracing his body against the side of the ditch and pulling himself up by gripping some stones embedded into the little wall. Once standing, he squints and shades his eyes with his hand, the morning sun already strong and penetrating, like a great yellow eye. He climbs up out of the ditch, and sits on the sandy ground next to what appears to be a thoroughfare. Still shading his eyes with one hand, he rips a few long strips of cloth from the hem of his tattered shirt with his teeth. Carefully, Bronx wraps the strips around his head, forming a secure bandage, as he looks more closely at his surroundings.
The land is barren, brown, and arid. There are a few dried shrubs scattered here and there on the horizon, and a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky, but otherwise no sign of life or movement. The thoroughfare itself is made from hard-packed ground, flattened to a compacted pulp by what looks like the markings of many, many heavily booted feet over a long period of time. Bronx shivers despite the scorching heat of the climate, and stares worriedly at the direction the booted tracks lead. He suddenly feels very exposed and vulnerable, and crawls back into the safety of the ditch, ducking his head low to the ground to avoid both the penetrating gaze of the sun, and the imagined gaze of his captors. A curious smell prickles the dwarf’s nose beneath the salty tang of the scent of his own blood on the surface. A waft of a cloyingly sweet, yet repulsive odour emanates from the dirty floor of the ditch. Clawing at the dirt with his hands, Bronx uncovers the unmistakable shape of a Dwarven head rotting under the ground. With an ear-splitting shriek, the boy bounds out of the ditch, lands on the road, and sprints full-tilt in the opposite direction the footprints are heading.
When the boy can run no longer, he forces himself to crawl back into a ditch and crawl on his hands and knees to avoid traffic from the road. With his lungs burning and gasping for breath and his head throbbing, the boy continues to crawl all day and well into nightfall. A few times, he hears the distinctive crunch of booted feet on the road above him, and he makes himself flop lifelessly to the floor of the ditch to avoid their scrupulous gaze. Whatever mistake the human soldiers made to allow Bronx to survive in the first place has very likely saved his life. As he crawls, the landscape gradually begins to change, and his memories of how he came to be imprisoned gradually coalesce in his mind. The temperature grows less scorching by the mile, and occasionally various grasses and weeds sprout along the side of the road. Bronx’s increasing long-term memory reminds him of a life most idle and carefree, in a home in the depths of the mountains surrounded by stone and earth. He remembers his family, and his brothers and sisters, how they had played together and worked and lived together side-by-side. Bitter tears stain his cheeks, washing little paths through the dirt on his face as he weeps for his own fate. Bronx knows his family is gone, he remembers the day he had been torn from his idle, ignorant life in the ground, carried away by human soldiers, and stuffed into a canvas bag during a seemingly endless journey.
The low murmur of hushed voices tickles his ears, snapping Bronx’s thoughts back to the present, and alerting him to the presence of humans nearby. He risks a tiny peek over the edge of the ditch and spies two guards conversing outside of a simple wooden structure. Bronx understands this to be some sort of border patrol, and realizes that if he manages to pass the guards without alerting them to his presence, he shall be free. With excruciating care and silence, Bronx inches slowly toward the guard post, holding his breath with every shuffled movement within the ditch. If he can just maintain his composure for a few more hundred yards, then he is free of this horrible deadened land. Inching ever closer to the border, Bronx is growing more and more eager for his freedom, until he realizes suddenly that the guards to his side have stopped their uttered conversation, and stand in tense silence. His heart beats wildly, and the words Oh shit. are printed across his sight.
“Hey! Who goes there?” The head of a guardsman pops over the edge of the ditch, staring in surprise at the dwarf for the briefest of moments with his dead human eyes. He wheels around to alert his friend, and Bronx grabs a large jagged rock from the wall, and rams it deeply into the base of the guard’s neck, severing his vital arteries. The dwarf leaps out of the ditch, and jumps over the hobbled body of the first guard, his adrenaline and his desperation fuelling his strength. Before the second guard has time to react, Bronx viciously uppercuts the guard’s unarmoured groin, sending him too into a crumpled heap on the ground, and dropping his sword. Realizing this would not detain him for long, the dwarf snatches up the sword and plunges it deeply into the guard’s back with a bestial cry of rage.
All is silent. Two men lay dead at Bronx’s feet. He turns them onto their backs, staring sightlessly up at the endless sky. Unable to bear their eyes, Bronx drops the sword to the ground with a thud, and sprints across the border of Jaleox into Griknoska. He turns from society, disgusted at what he has done, repulsed by the clean, effortless thrust of a blade into the flesh of another man.
He wanders through Griknoska, skirting the mountain ranges on their western side, and enters the human realm of Nastedy by its Southeastern corner. Bronx barely remembers the long weeks and months spent crossing Griknosa, the endless nights and days healing from both his internal and external wounds. His face becomes a hardened mask, his red, teenaged beard growing out more fully, covering the twisted frown of his self-loathing. In the moment he escaped the slave nation of Jaleox, and murdered two humans out of cold blood, he stepped across the threshold of childhood to adulthood. Their endlessly staring eyes peer out of Bronx’s own emerald green ones, always haunting him. There is no more going back to his innocent, carefree life underground in Kar’harack.
The further north he climbs, the more moderate and temperate the weather becomes. Beautiful plants, trees, and flowers of all kinds speckle the landscape, especially once Bronx has entered the human realm of Nastedy. He is largely met with kindness by the human civilians, an unsettling reminder of his own cruelty, but he is never fully comfortable in their presence. It is difficult to shake off the reminder that their kind has enslaved and subjugated his people, though these ones in particular are of a different nation. Wandering endlessly, never exactly staying long enough with humans to get used to them, Bronx eventually finds himself once again separated from their society and their company. Without any specific reason or purpose, Bronx, having heard of a deep and lush forest at the heart of Nastedy from some of the local taverns, decides to go in search of it.
Bronx enters the lush forest of central Nastedy, attracted to the notion of being somewhere completely different from any other life he has known. Whether that life is the carefree and innocent one of his childhood inside hollow halls of stone, or whether it is the vast, desolate existence that lives behind his eyes and that reeks of the stench of rotting dwarf corpses, he is no longer interested in being there. Unlike the deserts of Jaleox, the forest is full of music and noises like the laughter of birds and the rustling of plants in the breeze. Bronx finds that he is very rarely alone with the voices of his mind when he wanders in this sacred place.
One particular late evening, while wandering through a deeply lush, primordial forest, Bronx kneels at a clear, shimmering pool to scoop up some water in his cupped hands for a drink. He raises his hands to his lips, and above his hands, across from the little pond, a snow white doe dips her slender neck to drink from the same shimmering source. He is stricken by her graceful beauty, her pure, white coat and her dainty hooves. He sighs in utter rapture, and she lifts her head, looking at him with her luminous eyes. Their eyes meet, his, green and lush, like the forest, and hers, brown and rich like the earth itself. She sees into his heart, and banishes the sightless gazes from their murky depths. With the barest hint of a nod, the doe turns and bounds gracefully from the clearing, leaving Bronx standing frozen in place, completely stunned.
After quite a few moments of stunned silence, Bronx begins to notice several tiny specks of light dance to and fro in the clearing, bobbing idly back and forth with some imagined music. Bronx shakes his head to clear it, and the orbs grow even brighter, tittering minute laughter at him.
“Who are you?” he cries, in a panic. One of the firefly objects flies closer to Bronx, and lights daintily on the tip of his prominent nose. She stands saucily before his gaze, flaunting her tiny but exquisite female body, fluttering her tawny wings flirtatiously.
“What does it look like?” She offers him a wink with her tiny gem of an eye. “You are chosen, and therefore you are welcome among our society. We are fey.” The tiny woman gestures toward the other coloured orbs in the clearing. “You are welcome to spend the rest of the evening and tomorrow with us, since you seem hungry and thirsty.”
As though in a dream, Bronx lives the next 24 hours with dozens of tiny fey, feeding him minuscule meals and offering him miniature clothes to change into. He has not thought about those sightless eyes since the moment the doe looked at him. When he regrettably has to leave the company of the wondrous fey, Bronx is pure. Ever since, Bronx has explored the lands of Dirio, learning what he can about the cultures and languages of people who surround him, and most importantly, learning how to perfect the art of combat without resorting to bestial swords and bloodshed. It could be said that sap now grows in his veins where rock used to dwell, and that his emerald green eyes are pure and clear, like the waters of a forest stream.