Sebastian is the younger twin brother of Cassandra, and of the two, is much more prone to letting his emotions rule him. Though by no means naive, he is certainly the more sheltered of the two and has a stronger sense of justice and more of a drive to see things through. During your journey, he has insisted on taking a watch each night - unusual for someone who hired guards, but then, he is no usual employer. He has also proven to be cautious, as he wears armour throughout the day, and his coinpurse, as Caw the Kenku so quickly discovered, is enchanted to let him know if someone reaches inside. There is one major trait he shares with his sister; he cannot stand by if someone is in desperate need of help. Be it a starved beggar on the streets, or a situation of life and death, he will act, though he may try and think it through first.
His appearance, whilst not flashy, is clearly that of one above the common folk, and something he puts care into, given his hair is often combed neatly, and he always smells faintly of soap. He wears brown leather boots and gloves, along with black breeches and a white shirt with flowing sleeves, though cuffed at the wrist, under a dark blue, short-sleeved tunic, and his red cloak is clasped at his throat. Over this, he wears steel half-plate, though he seems to have forgone a helmet. His weapons and armour are of fine make, the hilt of his sword embellished with gold, and has a ruby set into the pommel. Though at first, it may seem decorative, he practices shadow-fencing with it every evening when you make camp.
Longsword
Shield
Hand Crossbow
Case, Crossbow Bolts (20)
Half-Plate
Clothes, fine
Ring
Coinpurse containing an unknown amount of gold
Lucian, riding horse
Armour Class 18 (half-plate, shield) Hit Points 11 Speed 30 ft.
STR 16 (+3) | DEX 12 (+1) | CON 12 (+1) INT 12 (+1) | WIS 9 (-1) | CHA 14 (+2)
Saving Throws STR +5, CON + 3 Skills Athletics +5, History +3, Perception +1 Persuasion +4, Stealth +3 Senses passive Perception 11 Languages Common, Elven, Celestial
Fighting Style - Protection. When a creature Sebastian can see attacks a target other than him that is within 5 feet of him, he can use his reaction to impose disadvantage on the attack roll. He must be wielding a shield.
Second Wind (1/short or long rest). Sebastian has a limited well of stamina that he can draw on to protect himself from harm. On his turn, he can use a bonus action to regain hit points equal to 1d10 + 1.
Inspiring Leader. Sebastian is a natural-born or incredibly trained leader. He can spend 10 minutes inspiring his companions, shoring up their resolve to fight. When he does so, up to six friendly creatures within 30 feet of him who can see or hear him and understand him gains 3 temporary hit points. A creature can’t gain temporary hit points from this feat again until it has finished a short or long rest.
Actions
Longsword. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5ft., one target. Hit: 1d8+3 slashing damage.
Longsword. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5ft., one target. Hit: 1d10+3 slashing damage.
Shield Bash. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5ft., one target. Hit: 1d4+3 bludgeoning damage. If the target is Medium or smaller, it must succeed on a Strength saving throw (DC 13) or be knocked prone.
Hand Crossbow. Ranged Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, reach 30/120, one target. Hit: 1d6+1 piercing damage.
Sebastian's colour is 9e0b0f
CASSANDRA NIGHTHILL
Humanoid (human), unknown alignment
Cassandra is the older twin sister of Sebastian, and of the two, is the calmer, more thoughtful of the pair. She has a clearer idea of the way the world is and does not agonise over the things that do not go her way. She struggles in many social situations, and though she can and will engage in casual conversation, she has spent much of the journey lost in thought. She seems to have a fondness for the simple beauties in life, as high-born as she seems. There is one major trait she shares with her brother; she cannot stand by if someone is in desperate need of help. Be it a starved beggar on the streets, or a situation of life and death, she will act without hesitation.
Cassandra's appearance is somewhat more subdued than Sebastian's - though she still looks well-kept, she keeps things simple, tying her hair into a braid rather than grooming it. She has packed away her dress for the journey, instead favouring riding clothes, boots of black leather, with brown breeches and a spring-green tunic over a white chemise, and her red cloak clasped at her throat. Though her sleeves are long, she also wears leather bracers at Sebastian's insistence and carries a leather breastplate in her saddlebags. They seem fairly new, not yet worn regularly, but never far from her side is a staff of rowan wood, with a ruby set into its top.
Rowan Staff (quarterstaff, druidic focus)
Leather armour
Shield
Healer's Kit, 20 uses
Two sets of fine clothes
Ring
Sylvana, riding horse
Armour Class 15 (leather armour, shield) Hit Points 9 Speed 30 ft.
STR 12 (+1) | DEX 14 (+2) | CON 12 (+1) INT 10 (+1) | WIS 16 (+3) | CHA 9 (-1)
Saving Throws INT +3, WIS +5 Skills History +3, Insight +5, Medicine +5, Persuasion +1, Stealth +3 Senses passive Perception 13 Languages Common, Elven, Celestial, Druidic
Spellcasting. Cassandra is a 1st level spellcaster. Her spellcasting ability is Wisdom (spell save 13, +5 to hit with spell attacks). Cassandra has the following druid spells prepared:
Healer. Cassandra is an able physician, allowing her to mend wounds quickly and get her allies back in the fight. This gives her the following benefits:
When she uses a healer’s kit to stabilize a dying creature, that creature also regains 1 hit point.
She can spend one use of a healer’s kit to tend to a creature for one minute and restore 1d6 + 4 hit points to it, plus additional hit points equal to the creature’s maximum number of Hit Dice. The creature can’t regain hit points from this feature again until it finishes a short or long rest.
Actions
Quarterstaff. Melee Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, reach 5ft., one target. Hit: 1d6+1 bludgeoning damage.
Quarterstaff. Melee Weapon Attack: +3 to hit, reach 5ft., one target. Hit: 1d8+1 bludgeoning damage.
Produce Flame. Ranged Spell Attack: +5 to hit, reach 30ft., one target. Hit: 1d8 fire damage.
A bit on the shorter side even for his species, Caw is a diminutive Kenku whose beak and colouration resemble a crow more than a raven. His beak is shorter and less curved, and his plumage lacks a coloured sheen. Quite a scruffy sight, his feathers are often ruffled (in a non-figurative way) and the dark robe he wraps himself in shows clear signs of wear and tear. All in all, he very much looks like a product of the streets.
Caw tends to keep his face hidden, but when one does catch a sight of it, they'll see large beady eyes staring right back at them. He has a tendency to rapidly tilt his head around when listening or curious, the way a bird would - a habit he cannot control.
Name: Caw's Notebook | Age: ~5 years | Size: Small | Weight: 02lbs
As he fled the wizard's dwelling, Caw tried to take the man's expansive spellbook with him for safekeeping. However, it was much too heavy to carry and make a successful escape with, so instead he opted to snatch a study book on magic and, more importantly his own notebook. It's a worn old thing that doesn't have any complete spells on it, but it has bits and pieces of invocations, as well as other notes he's made. Perhaps not the most useful, but certainly holds sentimental value.
Personality
Main Mood: Cautious | Fave Food: Berries | Pet Peeve: Being taken for a fool | Style of Battle: Sneaky, careful
Caw isn't very talkative, owning to his "condition". However, that doesn't mean he's a recluse who's unwilling to socialize. On the contrary, he rather enjoys the company of people and even talking to them - he just hesitates to be the one to initiate small talk. Now, bring up the topic of magic or an urgent issue at hand, and he will do his best to contribute. He also has a tendency to mimic people or their manner of speech if he's been around with them long enough. Up until now, he's mostly been around illiterate folk; petty thieves and dimwitted minions. As such, even though the amount of reading he's done has left his writing eloquent and vocabulary extensive, he can only make rudimentary sentences with basic words, often with incorrect grammar. This tends to leave people thinking he's stupid, a fact that irritates him to no end. With that said, he does have a few more sophisticated phrases he picked up from the wizard. His invocations were always Caw's favorites to listen to.
Having attempted to turn a new leaf and leave behind his life of crime, Caw strives to do the right thing where able. However, being the craven sort, he does put preserving his own hide before anyone else's, and will flee if things get too dangerous. He also suffers from bouts of kleptomania, so used to picking pockets that sometimes his hand quite literally slips. He is a follower at heart though, having been one his entire life, so being told not to do something is an effective deterrent, at least for a time. If able, he does try to return the things he steals as well - unless the fellows he took from were the bad sort. Then it was just karma.
Finally, though he's read a lot about the world from the wizard's books, he lacks real experience in many aspects of life. He only got to see a limited portion of the world before he was taken in by the wizard and kept behind mostly closed doors, and the traveling he's done since hasn't been very vast yet. He's curious at heart, even if he is careful and cautious in his approach, and nowadays writes down his discoveries on the leftover pages of his book. A diary, if you will.
Origin
Born in the shadier parts of a small port town, it was only a matter of time before Caw ended up the newest recruit to an ill-reputable flock. An uncreative lot, their schemes were not very intricate, and for years they only found success in petty theft. They stayed afloat much thanks to their Master, an old and elusive Kenku with a good head on his shoulders. So when he passed away at the ripe old age of 57, the flock crumbled soon after; led by someone much younger and more reckless, they ended up following overheard plans of a heist and finding themselves severely outmatched. Some lived, some died, yet others slunk to the shadows and vanished.
Caw lived to tell the tale, but the bliss of survival was short-lived. Kenku were not creatures that thrived on their own - especially not ones as craven as Caw. So, scared, alone, and in need of a new home, he traversed the lands in search for a place to belong. Who found who is a debate for another time, but Caw did eventually end up on the receiving end of an offer he could not refuse. An elderly wizard with a dark beard and darker yet gaze was in need of an extra pair of hands, and had no real use for wit. From his demeanor alone, there was no mistaking him for a friendly fellow, but Caw was no stranger to the wrong side of law. And so, he found a new Master.
From then on he worked as the wizard's underling, doing various little tasks for the man. These included relying messages, making counterfeits, occasionally memorizing voices and, perhaps most importantly of all, copying spells from stolen tomes into the wizard's own, expansive book. It was tedious work that few wanted and fewer yet could complete on the level of perfection a Kenku could. It was no matter to the old wizard that Caw had access to his spells; he thought the bird as dim as a cave, and his head as hollow to boot. He was wrong. Though not very eloquent and definitely not charismatic, Caw had a knack for remembering things. He spent most of his time in the wizard's library, and once his tasks for the day were complete, he studied up on a variety of topics.
However, well-read as he soon was, his pool of memorized phrases remained rather limited. He didn't hear much speech during his days, only the occasional word or two from other minions, or the wizard reading out loud his spells. As such, since most of the auditory input he received for days on end were spells, he often found himself awake at night in his tower, gazing out at the night sky and muttering out loud invocations he'd heard. His words did nothing as far as magic went, but they brought him some form of ease. Somehow, the topic of magic in general did. After all, he'd seen spells like Levitate and Transmutation, and heard of magical boots and brooms that took their uses to the clouds. Eventually, it made him wonder... maybe if he were to learn magic, perhaps one day he could learn to fly as naturally as any bird and take to the skies. He wondered if his Master already could; to Caw, the man seemed able to do anything.
He'd soon be proven wrong. Before Caw could properly start to realize his dream of studying magic, his Master met his end in the hands of adventurers who had come to end his reign. His minions either fled, fought or died, and after gathering what little he could, Caw made sure he was among the former. Nimble and small compared to most, he managed to slip away unharmed - physically, at least. Mentally, he was distraught and once more, alone.
Kenku were not creative, but they were not stupid, either - and after losing his home twice due to the bad deeds committed by his Masters and companions, Caw started to wonder if the life of crime was really worth it. He was not bad at heart, and felt no particular attachment to misdeeds or hatred towards other beings. It was just that... following orders was the only thing he knew, and picking pockets was second nature to him. What other work was there for a Kenku?
He pondered on that, but as one would expect, could not come up with an answer - until his wandering hands came to pick the wrong pocket. Or the right one, as the case may be.
Writing Sample
How did Caw meet Sebastian?
Quite unceremoniously, to say the least.
It was barely past noon, yet Caw felt ready to collapse. He'd spent the last few days on the road, inserting himself into the company of caravans, adventurers and traveling merchants - anyone that could provide him the safety of a flock, even if only temporarily. As intriguing as the world at large was to the kenku, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could travel its roads alone. He was an easy picking to any cutthroat, madman... or a large feline. He'd heard those were a thing, too, and supposedly cats loved to hunt birds, even the flightless ones on two legs. Or that's what the wizard had said, anyhow.
Anyway, arriving to a town had brought him but temporary respite. He might've been safe from the dangers of the road, but the biggest threat to his life remained; hunger. His stomach felt like a bottomless pit, sucking every ounce of energy he had. He hadn't eaten in days, and had not a penny to his name. It was painful to see the stalls of a local market overflowing with produce and smelling the various scents that wafted to his beak. So painful that, despite himself, Caw eventually found his steps taking him closer and closer to the crowd.
He hadn't planned to steal. But when the local breadmaker had diverted his attention to a nearby group of children, Caw's hands had moved on their own. And with the success of that behind him, he'd soon found himself mimicking a dog to startle a man that sold meat - and the sound of a dropped coin to entice a careless peruser to look at her feet, away from the pouch on her hip. It was a cycle that, though initially born of need, continued out of habit.
Until Caw's fingers pulled out the coin pouch of a man clad in blue and black. Unlike the many others he'd stolen from that day, this one did not continue to walk away. This one turned around, expression stern.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Caw froze.
He stared up at the man, at a loss for words - for many a reason. It had been a while since he'd talked, and all the words he knew floated in his conscious in a jumbled mess that he could not make any sense out of. So, instead, he opted to mimic a sound he knew very well.
The sound of a rumbling stomach.
"Food," he finally managed, his voice ten times older than he was; the voice of a beggar man taking his last breath, a sight he'd witnessed in the last town over. "N-need... food."
"Even more of it?" the man questioned, gesturing towards the marketplace proper. "I think you've had quite enough."
Realization was a stone in the bird's stomach. Had the-- had the man seen him steal earlier? Who... was he?
"Keep," Caw hurried to say, offering back what he'd stolen from him. The panicked words he spoke were a cacophony of voices, all perfect copies of someone, somewhere. "Keep coin. Caw-- no need. Just let Caw go. Please."
The man said nothing, but Caw could tell he was contemplating something. The bird's eyes fell to the man's sword. How fast was the other at drawing that thing? Could he draw his rapier first? Would it make any matter if he could? He was not adept at wielding it.
As if reading his mind, the man's hand moved, brushing past the sword in question. Caw's reaction was immediate. Dropping the coin pouch on the spot, he yanked himself backwards. In an instant he produced a dagger from within his robe, holding it at ready as if it were a shield.
"You're quick." It sounded more like an observation than a compliment. The man proceeded to pick up the coin pouch Caw had dropped, then turned back to look at the kenku. "If you're in need of coin, I may have a job for you."
Caw's head turned into an involuntary series of tilts from side to side, and the clink of a coin escaped his beak. The man entertained a small smile - barely there, yet somehow reassuring.
"Yes, coin. What say you?"
Caw wasn't sure if it was a question or an order, considering the situation - but he truly could give only one kind of answer.
He lowered his dagger and nodded, offering the human familiar words, and more familiar yet voice: "In need of coin."
Features & Traits
Expert Forgery - You can duplicate other creatures' handwriting and craftwork. You have advantage on all checks made to produce forgeries or duplicates of existing objects.
Mimicry - You can mimic sounds you have heard, including voices. A creature that hears the sounds you make can tell they are imitations with a successful Wisdom (Insight) check opposed by your Charisma (Deception) check.
Kenku Training - You are proficient in your choice of two of the following skills: Acrobatics, Deception, Stealth, and Sleight of Hand.
Library Access - Though others must often endure extensive interviews and significant fees to gain access to even the most common archives in your library, you have free and easy access to the majority of the library, though it might also have repositories of lore that are too valuable, magical, or secret to permit anyone immediate access.
You have a working knowledge of your cloister's personnel and bureaucracy, and you know how to navigate those connections with some ease.
Additionally, you are likely to gain preferential treatment at other libraries across the Realms, as professional courtesy shown to a fellow scholar.
Expertise - At 1st level, choose two of your skill proficiencies, or one of your skill proficiencies and your proficiency with thieves' tools. Your proficiency bonus is doubled for any ability check you make that uses either of the chosen proficiencies.
Sneak Attack - Once per turn, you can deal extra 1d6 damage to one creature you hit with an attack if you have advantage on the attack roll. The attack must use a finesse or a ranged weapon.
You don't need advantage on the attack roll if another enemy of the target is within 5 feet of it, that enemy isn't incapacitated, and you don't have disadvantage on the attack roll.
The amount of the extra damage increases as you gain levels in this class, as shown in the Sneak Attack column of the Rogue table.
Thieves' Cant - During your rogue training you learned thieves' cant, a secret mix of dialect, jargon, and code that allows you to hide messages in seemingly normal conversation. Only another creature that knows thieves' cant understands such messages. It takes four times longer to convey such a message than it does to speak the same idea plainly.
In addition, you understand a set of secret signs and symbols used to convey short, simple messages, such as whether an area is dangerous or the territory of a thieves' guild, whether loot is nearby, or whether the people in an area are easy marks or will provide a safe house for thieves on the run.
Prepared Spells
Spell Save DC XX | Spell Attack Modifier +X | Max Spells Prepared X
Rules Surrounding your spells
Cantrip NameConcentration Verbal Somatic Material (material component), range, duration. Effect.
Spell NameConcentration Verbal Somatic Material (material component), range, duration. Effect.
Weapons | Quarter Staff, Spell Casting Focus - A stuffed Blue Dragon Doll.
Appearance
Age: 19 | Height: 2'9" | Weight: 26lbs Vaal is a Kobold of somewhat average height, a near aerodynamic build, and smelling faintly of ozone and rainwater. The last being a likely result of his magics. His shoulders are narrow, and his entire form seems to slope and roll smoothly with the lack of hard edges away from a few areas. His two slitted eyes are the color of amber. The majority of his scales are blue, and he holds many features of the very chromatic he’s kin to.
On his snout is a small single horn that appears to be two horns fused together. And his slender tail has thing but defined plates of scales rolling down the entire length. He even has the ‘ears’ built out of long exaggerated fins of a tarnished gold hue.
He wears a surprisingly ornate tabard of his homeland. It does say something about status, likely fooling those into believing he was a merchant or a lower nobility. The majority of the cloth is a dull white. With darker threads creating embroidery of thunderheads. It holds a single long baggy sleeve which completely engulfs the kobold’s gloved right hand. While half a skirt seems to offset the lack of symmetry by stretching down to the Kobold’s ankles on the left side. A dark purple belt, leather hidden in cloth, with amber edges wraps around his waist. Hanging from it at the front is a single stretch of cloth of the same coloration stretching down acting as a loincloth. And the same in the back, though split down the middle for the tail.
He also wears a thick veil of some sort. The way it is cut allows it to lay over his eyes and down the length of his snout. The edges of the cloth hanging just above his lips. There’s two holes in the back for his horns to poke through, and a split at the front for the single horn on his nose. Once again purple in hue, but this time with amber embroidery of striated clouds lining the entire length and curling away from where the eyes should be. There, the cloth is cut away and replaced with a dark cloth. The cloth is slightly opaque, blocking enough sunlight to make it bearable for the Kobold to walk in the day… but not enough to completely negate the sensitive nature of his eyes. Up close, nearing whisper distance, one could see the shrowded amber color of his eyes, but far enough away it’s just black.
And then finally hanging from his neck, under his tabard is a small simple sapphire tear.
Name: Eye of the Storm ( The Lyre He Caries ) | Size: Medium | Weight: 1lbs A wooden lyre that sweep upwards towards the middle from the side, and back down again. The wooden chassy has been stained dark at the outside, and slowly grows into a lighter brown the further inside it goes. It is decorated with burned engravings depicting circling striations of clouds growing more violent the further away from the center it goes. The only blemish is a terrible scar, a gash caused by a severe burn marring nearly a half of the instrument. Even so, it remains polished polished and lacquered.
The typically soft notes befiting the instrument has been modified to hold a more basey sound. The notes drag on much longer, causing the notes to reverberate in the air as if it was in a quiet auditorium. It was never meant to be sinister, but artistically serene and peaceful. Like the eye of a storm it's self... where there is safety, calm, and light.
The instrument was a gift he had commissioned to be given to the one he loved. A lover long gone and still mourned. He keeps it in the name of her memory. Taking as much care for the instrument as he does his own appearance. Rarely playing it. And fiercely disallowing anyone to take it out of its case, even less to touch it.
Personality
Main Mood: Flamboyant | Fave Food: Rare venison and Candied meats | Pet Peeve: Being Mocked | Style of Battle: On my terms, never yours.
Vaal is most certainly a vain, selfish and arrogant individual with a love for art, fashion, and beauty. He holds himself with a regal posture, as if he was some noble of grandstanding in the world. In fact, he adamantly believes he’s an actual dragon… reborn. Everything he does has to be beautiful in some way. If he’s lounging, it’s as if he’s posing for a painting. When he’s casting spells, there’s a practiced grace to them. Even when walking, he seems to find a way to draw attention to himself. Naturally, he is quick to come off as abrasive and pompous. And as massive as his ego is… his pride is two fold as fragile. Despite his flaws… he does maintain some redeeming qualities. He’s loyal and certainly trustworthy when you’ve earned his respect. There are even hints of empathy and compassion hidden in that sea of an ego.
Despite being incredibly manipulative, he strongly believes in order, family, and tradition. And holds men of honor, especially dragonborn in his highest respects. But he also strongly detests those who are so blinded by their duty or honor, that they fail to see reason and commit to difficult decisions. If one man of three potential victims is accused, with no way to prove who’s innocent… he’d sooner hang them all than to let them go. As the ends justifies the means. In this case, the removal of one dangerous man at the cost of two innocents, to maintain stability of a city.
Origin
None of the Kobold tribes of the Zakhara deserts seems to know where this Kobold had came from. He held none of the tribal markings or scents. He was discovered collapsed in the sun. He held grave wounds of acidic damage, and was wrapped defensively around a damaged lyre. The shamans had planned to leave him there. That was till they noticed the latent arcane energies inside Vaal. Even his appearance closely resembled a blue dragon. Dragon Wrought. Kobolds much closer to their ancestors who tends to show great magical power. Seeing a potentially useful member, they had collected him. Though, they soon began to regret their investment.
When they asked the recovering Kobold details of his life, they got strange answers. His name sounded as if there were parts of it missing. His memories were hazy and seemed erratically out of order. Repeated questions always yielded the same results. Even stranger was when his eyes fell on the lyre, he let out a long forlorn wail that echoed through the warrens.
And worse, where the question of his sanity had been brought to question, was he claimed he was a dragon. He claimed he soared the highwinds, was the master of the storms, his very own sea. A horde he once held, and now long lost. He did not just claimed. He poised, held the arrogance, mannerisms, and more. Vaal truly believed his own lies for truth. The shamans were not having this. It was a grave risk to their tribe, and so they had him exiled.
Vaal felt himself deeply offended. Yet… there was something deep in him that compelled him northward. It was not the desire to seek answers - he somehow felt he had them even if he couldn’t bring them to the forefront of his thoughts.
Writing Sample
So how did Cassandra meet the Kobold? It’s a slow tale, not quite worthy of songs… not that it’s wanted by the kobold. But, like many grand tales of upstarting adventurers undergoing wanderlust, it all began in a tavern…
---
Night. The streets were cascaded into darkness, while the light of the moon had been absorbed into the rolling clouds overhead. What remained was a gentle blue wispy glow about the size of a copper piece from so far below the skies. The thunderhead that rocked the skies and unsettled the air is long gone, leaving only the riddens in its wake. The drizzle after the storm, where the world seem calmer, more peaceful, save for the occasional flash of light. Droplets of water pitter pattered against the paved streets. The occasional gust of wind blue a cloud of water through the air to buff those who wandered the streets at night. It all added up to a gentle din. A din to which people ran to from shelter to shelter. A din to which puddles seemed to forever dance. A din that a dragon(Kobold) enjoyed.
Vaal Storm Touched, By the Grace of the Winds, Weaver of the Highstorms, Harold of Thunder, Scourge of Kites, Guider of Ships, the Grand Gem of the Fakhara sat in the sheltered patio of “The Thespian’s Clutch”. A lavish tavern located in Balder’s Gate, just across the street from a theater inside the proper district. His gaze was directed to the sky. A longing look filled his gaze. Like a sailor anxious to get back to sea. His daydream had overtaken him, soaring through the clouds. The gentle kiss of lightning. The defining roar of thunder…
Blink. He had snapped out of his daydream with a jolt when something had sloshed against his claw. His gaze dipped down slowly taking note of his claw which had been circling the rim of his glass. His eyes dipped lower, and saw that his carelessness had caused the glass to tip slightly and splash his wine across his claw. He sighed softly, and then noticed the world was gray and back. The candle at his table, and various others had gone out.
Still… it was hardly an inconvenience. His eyes were so well adjusted for the dark. A fact many did not know or forgot. A fact that some strangers eyeing him from an alley across the street did not consider. There was a small glint of brandished steel… a knife. Footpads then. They likely saw him leave the theater during the interlude… and desired an easy mark. A kobold was certainly an easy mark. But not a dragon. He tapped his claw in that small scented puddle consideringly.
With a swish of his tail, he raised his soaked claw and curled the digits. A low mutter left his lips, and his fist cracked to life with bright jagged tendrils of electrical sparks. What wine there was on his hand burned away and left a peculiar fragrance. The light illuminated himself, and the area around him with a soft blue glow. And the glow dimmed as the sparks died out… leaving a single curling trail of electricity that danced between his index and thumb. He placed it down on the puddle, lighting it a blaze.
One single flame rose from that puddle and waved gently in the air. The Kobold dabed his finger into the burning contents, drawing up a dollop of fire. Then flicked it onto the candle’s wick and lighting it. His claw gently laid down on the puddle, extinguishing the flames. It rose up once again, curling and allowed the Kobold to rest his chin on the back of it.
His gaze directed towards the footpads. A small smile curled on his lips. Seemingly wicked if the intent was known. What would such magic do to someone who’s wet? The footpads seemed to have the same thought. They shifted uncomfortably. They slowly began to round there way closer, then paused once realized that Vaal was confidently looking there way. His gaze had been trailing them expectantly. Even though the candle light wouldn’t have thrown enough light to expose them.
“Run along now, darlings… less you wish to leave your leavetakings to take your chances… and dance with jack o’ the shadows?” Vaal’s voice rang out softly in a lilt. Just loud enough to be heard over the gentle song of the rain. It held a strange accent. His words seemed to slur together, despite not showing hints of intoxication. The difficulty of understanding… was lessened with each new word being punched at the starting letter.
The message was clear, and well understood by the footpads. Vaal had ensured them of their plans tonight. If they went through, someone would die. And that someone would not be him. Messy at the very least. It was as if everything was stacked against them. The weather, the lack of light, his magic and potential range, and his smaller size being able to easily take advantage of what cover there was.
To the Kobold’s delight, the footpads spun about and hurried off beyond his sight. He thoughtfully pinched his goblet, and gave the contents a swirl. How many times has he been or nearly accosted? Many instances he had simply ran. Some, he got out of by the skin of his teeth and dumb luck. And few were fights under his terms. The kobold gritted his teeth into a scowl. Oh how he loathed feeling so vulnerable that even a small advantage felt like throwing dice loaded for failure with death! And why was it that the mediocre always sought to destroy their betters!? As if it was their fault they live such dour lives!
“Excuse me, is this seat taken.” The Kobold looked up slowly with a raised brow. He found himself looking up to a woman dressed in green.
“And you are….?” The Kobold began, his gaze flitting along her form, scanning her attire as well as what visible weapons she may carry. His gaze drifted back to where the footpads had been thoughtfully, and returned to the woman. Was she with them? No… that attire says something different about the woman.
“Cassandra.” The woman replied curtly with a dip of her head. She remained quiet even as the Kobold raised a brow. He had been expecting a house name to follow. But… as seconds grew uncomfortably close to a minute he relented.
“Vaal Storm Touched, your pleasure,” The kobold drawled, waving a hand towards the seat across from him. As she sat down, he continued. “Now… humor me while I am being so terse… but why have you approached me when there are many other seats? Most assume that when one is sitting along, they are not expecting… company.” “Oh… nothing else than that incredible display of power you’ve shown.”
Though mild, the flattery did cause the Kobold to perk up. Vanity and pride swelling up beyond what many may have believed to be capacity. It was blinding really, enough for him to miss that gleam in her eye.
“You saw that? It was nothing, a mere sideshow act amidst a sea of incredibility. Just enough to keep the rabble in check." He took a drink after poising himself in his chair. Leaning back, but not quite slouching. Tail curled in the air, arcing up to curl under his chin. "Now, darling, why are you here?”
---
A discussion was drawn under the time limit for the Theater’s crier to announce that the show would be continuing. A discussion for a job within armed service. A discussion that certainly piqued Vaal’s interest as a means of removing his vulnerability. The pay was nice, but not having to look over your back for some clout with a sword seeing a mere Kobold? That was like laying the sky before him, even if it was only temporary.
Features & Traits
Darkvision - You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray.
Grovel, Cower, and Beg - As an action on your turn, you can cower pathetically to distract nearby foes. Until the end of your next turn, your allies gain advantage on attack rolls against enemies within 10 feet of you that can see you. Once you use this trait, you can't use it again until you finish a short or long rest.
Sunlight Sensitivity - You have disadvantage on attack rolls and on Wisdom (Perception) checks that rely on sight when you, the target of your attack, or whatever you are trying to perceive is in direct sunlight.
Pack Tactics - You have advantage on an attack roll against a creature if at least one of your allies is within 5 feet of the creature and the ally isn't incapacitated.
All Eyes On You - Your accent, mannerisms, figures of speech, and perhaps even your appearance all mark you as foreign. Curious glances are directed your way wherever you go, which can be a nuisance, but you also gain the friendly interest of scholars and others intrigued by far-off lands, to say nothing of everyday folk who are eager to hear stories of your homeland. You can parley this attention into access to people and places you might not otherwise have, for you and your traveling companions. Noble lords, scholars, and merchant princes, to name a few, might be interested in hearing about your distant homeland and people.
Tempestuous Magic - Starting at 1st level, you can use a bonus action on your turn to cause whirling gusts of elemental air to briefly surround you, immediately before or after you cast a spell of 1st level or higher. Doing so allows you to fly up to 10 feet without provoking opportunity attacks.
Prepared Spells
Spell Save DC 12 | Spell Attack Modifier +4 | Max Spells Prepared 2
An event in your past, or in the life of a parent or ancestor, left an indelible mark on you, infusing you with arcane magic. This font of magic, whatever its origin, fuels your spells. See Spells Rules for the general rules of spellcasting and the Spells Listing for the sorcerer spell list.
Cantrips - At 1st level, you know four cantrips of your choice from the sorcerer spell list. You learn additional sorcerer cantrips of your choice at higher levels, as shown in the Cantrips Known column of the Sorcerer table.
Spell Slots - The Sorcerer table shows how many spell slots you have to cast your sorcerer spells of 1st level and higher. To cast one of these sorcerer spells, you must expend a slot of the spell’s level or higher. You regain all expended spell slots when you finish a long rest.
For example, if you know the 1st-level spell burning hands and have a 1st-level and a 2nd-level spell slot available, you can cast burning hands using either slot
Spellcasting Ability - Charisma is your spellcasting ability for your sorcerer spells, since the power of your magic relies on your ability to project your will into the world. You use your Charisma whenever a spell refers to your spellcasting ability. In addition, you use your Charisma modifier when setting the saving throw DC for a sorcerer spell you cast and when making an attack roll with one.
Spellcasting Focus - You can use an arcane focus (see the Adventuring Gear section) as a spellcasting focus for your sorcerer spells.
Gust - Components: VS | Range: 30ft | Duration: Instantaneous
One Medium or smaller creature that you choose must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be pushed up to 5 feet away from you.
You create a small blast of air capable of moving one object that is neither held nor carried and that weighs no more than 5 pounds. The object is pushed up to 10 feet away from you. It isn’t pushed with enough force to cause damage.
You create a harmless sensory affect using air, such as causing leaves to rustle, wind to slam shutters shut, or your clothing to ripple in a breeze.
Shocking Grasp - Components: V S | Range: Touch | Duration: Instantaneous
Lightning springs from your hand to deliver a shock to a creature you try to touch. Make a melee spell Attack against the target. You have advantage on the Attack roll if the target is wearing armor made of metal. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 lightning damage, and it can't take reactions until the start of its next turn.
The spell's damage increases by 1d8 when you reach 5th level (2d8), 11th level (3d8), and 17th level (4d8).
Shape Water - Components: S | Range: 30ft | Duration: Instantaneous or 1 hour
You choose an area of water that you can see within range and that fits within a 5-foot cube. You manipulate it in one of the following ways:
• You instantaneously move or otherwise change the flow of the water as you direct, up to 5 feet in any direction. This movement doesn’t have enough force to cause damage.
• You cause the water to form into simple shapes and animate at your direction. This change lasts for 1 hour.
• You change the water’s color or opacity. The water must be changed in the same way throughout. This change lasts for 1 hour.
• You freeze the water, provided that there are no creatures in it. The water unfreezes in 1 hour. If you cast this spell multiple times, you can have no more than two of its non-instantaneous effects active at a time, and you can dismiss such an effect as an action.
Ray of Frost - Components: VS | Range: 30ft | Duration: Instantaneous
Make a ranged spell attack against a target within range. On a hit, the target takes 1d8 cold damage and has its speed reduced by 10feet for one round. The Spell's damage increases to 2d8 at 5th level, 3d8 at 11th, and 4d8 at 17th level.
Fog Cloud - Components: VS | Range: 120ft | Duration: Concentration, Up to 1hr
You create a 20-foot-radius sphere of fog centered on a point within range. The sphere spreads around corners, and its area is heavily obscured. It lasts for the duration or until a wind of moderate or greater speed (at least 10 miles per hour) disperses it.
At Higher Levels: When you cast this spell using a spell slot of 2nd level or higher, the radius of the fog increases by 20 feet for each slot level above 1st.
You touch a willing creature who isn’t wearing armor, and a protective magical force surrounds it until the spell ends. The target’s base AC becomes 13 + its Dexterity modifier. The spell ends if the target dons armor or if you dismiss the spell as an action.
Gold & Inventory
Gold | 9gp, 0sp, 0cp
• Poorly wrought maps from Fakhara that depicts where you are in faerun • Eye of the Storm (Lyre) • Fakharan Sapphire Necklace (Worth 10gp ) • Stuffed Blue Dragon Doll (Spell Focus)
Other
This Kobold's character color is 00aeef
Vaal's personal memories are hazy, broken, and jumbled to the point of being out of order. Like it was all crammed unceremoniously back into the lizard's head with no care for capacity or order. Many things are obscured to him, moments of great emotions are lucid, and his dreams are frequently reliving those memories.
Vaal firmly believes himself a dragon.
While the character is listed Lawful Evil in alignment. This does not necessarily mean he's a murderous monster who's actions will jeopardize all that is good and holy. The Kobold is very much capable of good deeds, and heeding the laws respectfully. He even yearns for some sense of order. Though often it comes with some baggage - whether driven by hidden motivations, immoral actions that does serve good, or even using the law in his favor.
Rhaeyla is lean, sure-footed, and surprisingly sturdy. Her bearing is like that of a dancer's and there's a certain gracefulness with which her movements flow, even when she's moving about in her frenetic pace. Her presence is infectious in that her whole being—from her face to her body—is so genuinely expressive that folks tend to respond to her, and she carries herself with aplomb - often bordering on cocksureness - that comes from having little regard to external stressors.
Her hair and eyes are often what give away her slightly unusual heritage. Both are bright silver that shines like metal in sunlight and glows in moonlight. It's easy to miss in passing, but the longer you stare at either, the more you'll notice something's slightly amiss. She has noticed that it has an almost mesmerizing effect to certain types of folks.
As acting moon maiden in her village, she had to wear ceremonial robes that were hefty and itchy and impossible to move in. Now that she is free from such restrictions, Rhaeyla dresses for comfort and ease of movement, although most articles of clothing in her wardrobe are tailored hand-me-downs from Silas: loose breeches, fitted tops, sandals, and hooded cloaks (useful for nights when she shouldn't be out glowing).
Name: Rhaeyla's World Map | Size: Small | Weight: 0.01lbs
A ripped page from a book in the village's library, showing the map of the world. There are red markings all over the map, citing locations Rhaeyla had wanted to visit. On the back are random facts she has learned about certain places, like which city was said to have the best seafood, or which had the tallest statue.
Personality
Main Mood: Eager | Fave Food: Seafood | Pet Peeve: Indecisiveness | Style of Battle: Adaptive
Rhaeyla is a whirlwind: spontaneous and dynamic, ever flitting from one task to the next, never a pause in between. Driven by an insatiable curiosity about the world, there is this overwhelming sense of restlessness within her—likely born from years of confinement within her small forest village. There are too many places to see, folks to meet, and things to be done; and she's already behind by seventeen years.
There are no pretenses with her. She is genuine and frank, in that 'says what she means and means what she says' type of way. Idle pleasantries and circumlocution are eschewed and seen as a waste of time. If you want something from her, it's best to tell her directly or she'll likely be oblivious to it—not because she doesn't care, but because she believes anything left unsaid must not be significant enough to mind.
Although she can seem flighty and easily swayed into action without prior planning, Rhaeyla is quite resourceful. She is great at improvising and thrives under pressure.
Origin
Rhaeyla's home is a small settlement nestled between the rocky base of a mountain and the edge of a forest. In her village, nothing is more sacred than the moon. Those born during nights when the moon was full were said to be blessed by Selune, favored to live long, rewarding lives. Children of the full moon become respected leaders and fearsome warriors and prosperous merchants. Success was guaranteed for them. Anyone born on a black moon, on the other hand, was said to be ill-omened. Only misfortune awaits themselves and those around them. For the good of their village, it had been decreed that children of the black moon were to be sacrificed at birth.
Rhaeyla was born in such a night, even though she had not been expected for at least another fortnight. As the villagers prepared her for the sacrificial rituals - leaving her on a weighted dinghy for the tides to devour – a bright white light emanated from within her, one that grew until it engulfed the whole dinghy. It lasted all of a second but it was enough to change the villagers' course of actions. Within that second, she had turned from pariah to 'moon maiden.'
For a decade and a half, she was heralded as some sort of gift from Selune herself. Villagers came to her for blessings and cures, and they claimed that her light helped bring home the lost. What the village hailed as certain benediction meant a lifetime of confinement for Rhaeyla. She was forbidden from ever leaving the village, as their superstitious chief believed it would insult Selune to turn away her gift and incur her wrath. Her whole life was to revolve around her village and its people.
But Rhaeyla was feeling increasingly suffocated. There was only one person that she had considered a friend, but she had been able to do what Rhaeyla couldn't: she left the village. Rhaeyla yearned to see the world beyond their forests, to explore new lands and meet new folks. More than once, she had tried to fight for her freedom, but always it was met with resounding refusal.
Her eventual escape came about from an unlikely source. Rhaeyla befriended a traveling monk who had been in the midst of a pilgrimage, and he had sympathized with her feeling of imprisonment. Together, they'd devised a plan to smuggle her out. She traveled with him for almost a year as he finished his pilgrimage in the Moonshae Isles, learning his discipline and training in hand-to-hand combat.
Even though she had been mostly at sea, it was the most of the world she had seen. At least until they finally sailed back to the Sword Coast.
Writing Sample
Rhaeyla has bumped into Sebastian three times in the course of a couple of weeks and she has come to firmly believe that they were fated to cross paths.
☾
It had been at least a year: a full year since she ran away from home, since she shirked her duties as moon maiden for her own selfish yearnings. Although she had been resolute in visiting Baldur's Gate, her decision to escape never ceased haunting her – what if there was truth to the superstitions, preposterous they may be? What if some terrible fate has befallen her village because of her? It had been easy to remain distracted around the mysterious monk, Silas. He kept her busy with texts to read and lessons in hand-to-hand combat; there was no time to dwell on her guilt when both her body and mind ached constantly.
But she and Silas had to part eventually. With his pilgrimage completed, he had new undertakings to attend to, and he won't have time to keep minding her. For the first time in her life, Rhaeyla was faced with freedom.
Luckily, there were many things she had wanted to do, most of which would help her avoid thinking about things she didn't want to, and currently one task had topped her list. Rhaeyla had never been one to hesitate or do anything half-hearted, and so she roamed the streets of this strange, seemingly vast city filled with folks of all shapes and sizes, greeting all that crossed her path but looking for one in particular.
It was early in the morning when Rhaeyla met Sebastian for the first time. He'd meant to come to her rescue when an inebriated man tried to get handsy with her, but she had easily disposed of the problem herself. He left after introducing himself and double checking that she was unharmed, saying that there had been someone he needed to speak to about a job he was offering. Rhaeyla watched him leave wistfully; something about the way he stood and kept his brown hair perfectly coiffed brought to mind the children of the full moon.
The next time they met had been several days later, the same day she had come to realize that what she was looking for wasn't in Baldur's Gate after all. Sebastian spotted Rhaeyla hunched over an elderly man who had slipped and fallen down some stairs, her glowing fingertips resting on the man's head as she tried to help ease his pain. He helped her take the old man back into his shop, and they parted ways after a brief conversation—which had mostly been Rhaeyla asking an endless barrage of questions about the places Sebastian has been.
Their third meeting had been most opportune, and largely why Rhaeyla was absolutely convinced their meetings were fated. The town of Greenest had been her next destination, that much was certain. The means to travel there, however… that she was less sure of. Rhaeyla had memorized every inch of her world map and she knew which routes to take and to avoid, but that didn't matter unless she had safe passage.
That was where Sebastian came in. Or rather, out, of a tavern.
He was speaking with a burly man, perhaps the biggest man Rhaeyla has ever seen, trying (and failing) to convince him of something. She was certain it was this job of his again. After explaining the nature and destination (Greenest!) of the job, Sebastian offered the man some gold, more gold, and then even more, and each time he soundly refused. Sebastian gave up after three more attempts, perhaps knowing better than to press a man who was thrice his size vertically and horizontally.
Rhaeyla approached him eagerly once the other man had gone, greeting him in that excitable manner that he seemed to have gotten accustomed to already. "I'd take that job for half of your original price."
Sebastian was taken aback by her sudden offer, but seemed to consider it all the same. She imagined it was a longshot, considering his previous prospect had been basically the exact opposite of her. Such things wouldn't stop her from trying, though.
Features & Traits
Darkvision - Blessed with a radiant soul, your vision can easily cut through darkness. You can see in dim light within 60 feet of you as if it were bright light, and in darkness as if it were dim light. You can't discern color in darkness, only shades of gray. Celestial Resistance - You have resistance to necrotic damage and radiant damage. Healing Hands - As an action, you can touch a creature and cause it to regain a number of hit points equal to your level. Once you use this trait, you can't use it again until you finish a long rest. Light Bearer - You know the Light cantrip. Charisma is your spellcasting ability for it.
Rustic Hospitality - Since you come from the ranks of the common folk, you fit in among them with ease. You can find a place to hide, rest, or recuperate among other commoners, unless you have shown yourself to be a danger to them. They will shield you from the law or anyone else searching for you, though they will not risk their lives for you.
Unarmored Defense - Beginning at 1st level, while you are wearing no armor and not wielding a shield, your AC equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Wisdom modifier.
Martial Arts - At 1st level, your practice of martial arts gives you mastery of combat styles that use unarmed strikes and monk weapons, which are shortswords and any simple melee weapons that don’t have the two-handed or heavy property.
You gain the following benefits while you are unarmed or wielding only monk weapons and you aren’t wearing armor or wielding a shield:
You can use Dexterity instead of Strength for the attack and damage rolls of your unarmed strikes and monk weapons.
You can roll a d4 in place of the normal damage of your unarmed strike or monk weapon. This die changes as you gain monk levels.
When you use the Attack action with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon on your turn, you can make one unarmed strike as a bonus action.
Other
☾ Rhaeyla's character color is cbd5e0. ☾ Rhaeyla has an affinity for children and animals.
💰10 gp 🎒Explorer's Pack 🧰 Shovel, Iron pot 👚 A set of common clothes,
Main Mood: Lively | Fave Food: Raw Flesh | Pet Peeve: Meekness | Style of Battle: Spirited and tribal, loud.
As to be expected of a youthful Rakasta who has been graced by Sharess, a once Mulhorandi power and lieutenant to Anhur, and companion to the primal spirit Nobanion, and follows ancestral ways of said goddess, Mists on the Mountain is impulsive and passionate. One to enjoy pleasures and hedonistic tendencies, despite being such an outsider to the greater realm due to his questionable mortal qualities, Mists gets along well with those who mean well and who follow their desires. Passionately pursuing what is valuable in life in its exploration is what fuels him and, despite being a novice, calls much of his magic to life. It grants him a surprisingly deep wisdom for a young Rakasta and makes him strangely insightful from time to time.
Likewise, as a cleric, rather a shaman, Mists follows a certain dogma that borrows from the various forces of the Felidae portfolio and exalts them with expected fervor. Much of his sentiment revolves around enjoying one's self to the point that nothing goes to waste, that living things are sacred and should be preserved in their own place of the cycle, that the strong survive but they survive best with good leaders, and that all must work together for the cause. This sense of wholeness and unity, as well as sentiment, is not easily won from Mists but those he favors quickly become particular favorites.
Age: 20 | Height: 7'6" | Weight: 678lbs
A young Rakastodon, Mists on the Mountain, is a very distant Rakasta relative to the far more common "Jakar", or the word the Rakasta use to describe the Tabaxi. As all of these creatures are born under the portfolio of Felidae and are attributed to Bast, they are all large, cat-like humanoids, with Mists on the Mountain being no different in that regard, barring unusual size and scale. As with other "Ancestor Rakasta", Mists is of relatively gigantic proportions despite being a fairly young Rakastodon, towering well over seven feet high and weighing just over a third of one ton, which is expected of the breed, as is the massive canine teeth they bear.
As with other Rakastodon, Mists bears a fairly thick pelt of fur, which in his particular case more a rust color and adorned with elongated, thin rosettes than a more plain tan. With bright, youthful pale blue eyes, long whiskers at the muzzle and from the brow and jaw, along with an apparent absent of scarring, it is clear such a Rakasta is not well traveled or well experienced. As with others who come into their wandering age, Mists on the Mountain has decided to venture out and understand the world as it is now, wearing little more than a crude set of scrounged armor and equipment that poorly fits, notably a chain shirt that covers only his chest, which is otherwise dressed with but a loose, cropped gambeson. With large exposed arms, rolled leather pants cuffed at the knee, and without boots or gloves, the most decoration Mists has come from his leather belt, bandoleer, and assortment of leather bracelets, anklets, claws, and teeth. Despite this, Mists on the Mountain has a distinctive and well-kept amulet worn about the thickness of his large neck, one readily identified as a holy symbol of Bast, also known as Sharess; a goddess of the portfolio Felidae.
However, despite being an odd amalgam of many varied armors and equipment, ranging from chain mail to bits of furs and hides, the most distinctive element outside Mists' necklace is his choice in weapon; a sizable, bladed spear. Affixed with further ornamentation, such as being bound and decorated with leather and its weathered blade brightest and sharpest at its bite, it is abundantly clear this is not a weapon belonging to a Rakasta, although said primitive touches obscures that. Presumably, Mists chose said weapon during his travels, or at least fashioned it out of a large walking staff which would be more expected among young shamans, a form of cleric.
All young Rakasta, perhaps most famously the Tabaxi, experience wanderlust at maturity and are often cast out of their tribes as a result as a coming of age ceremony. For the Rakastodon, as they have done for years beyond their own number, this means recently mature males and females must go out into the world and survey all they can and return with not just knowledge of it and its secrets, but also the strength needed to defend their tribe. For Mists on the Mountain and his tribe, his role as a novice shaman is to unlock the greater secrets needed to guide his people and more importantly, quench his thirst for learning beyond what can be taught by his own kind; he must be made more tempered and disciplined, rather than lively and free of consequence. The only way to do this is down the path of life experiences.
So it became only natural that Mists was sent away with very limited goods and supplies, forced to live off of what he has learned, and has since discovered. Although as one expects, this is not easy for a monstrous race or one that is so few and limited. While he has skirted the worst of threats, his wandering, meandering endeavors have led him to a newer, greater adventure.
Dagger
Longspear (Glaive)
Chainmail
Clothes, Traveler's
Belt, Pouched (27gp, 7sp, 0cp)
Explorer's Pack
Holy Amulet, Amulet
Chainmail
Armour Class 16 (Chainmail) Hit Points 10/10 Speed 30 ft. Class Cleric (War)
STR 16 (+3) | DEX 11 (+0) | CON 14 (+2) INT 8 (-1) | WIS 15 (+2) | CHA 10 (+0)
Saving Throws WIS +4, CHA +2 Skills Athletics +5, Insight +4, Intimidation +2, Perception +5, Persuasion +2 Senses Darkvision 60ft, passive Perception 14 Languages Common, Elvish, Sylvan Other Drum
Feline Agility. Your reflexes and agility allow you to move with a burst of speed. When you move on your turn in combat, you can double your speed until the end of the turn. Once you use this trait, you can't use it again until you move 0 feet on one of your turns.
Savage Attacks. When you score a critical hit with a melee weapon attack, you can roll one of the weapon’s damage dice one additional time and add it to the extra damage of the critical hit.
Wanderer. You have an excellent memory for maps and geography, and you can always recall the general layout of terrain, settlements, and other features around you. In addition, you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day, provided that the land offers berries, small game, water, and so forth.
War Priest. (2/2) From 1st level, your god delivers bolts of inspiration to you while you are engaged in battle. When you use the Attack action, you can make one weapon attack as a bonus action. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier (a minimum of once). You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
Spellcasting. Mists on the Mountain is a 1st level spellcaster. His spellcasting ability is Wisdom (spell save 12, +4 to hit with spell attacks). Mists on the Mountain has the following cleric spells prepared:
Cantrips (at will): Sacred Flame, Thaumaturgy
1st level (2/2):Divine Favor, Shield of Faith, Bless, Guiding Bolt, Healing Word
Actions
Glaive. Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 10ft., one target. Hit: 1d12+3 piercing damage.
Sacred Flame. Ranged Spell Saving Throw: Dexterity Save (DC 12), reach 60ft., one target. Hit: 1d8 radiant damage.
"The important parts of your life aren't the years where you survived, but the seconds when you're alive."
Humanoid (Winged Tiefling), Chaotic Good
Daring yet cunning, Fran is a woman of action. Never one to allow herself to beholden to laws or regulations, yet at the same time doesn't allow chaos to harm the innocent or undeserving. A warrior who fights for her own interests, but sometimes her interests are for the benefit of others, as well as herself. She is willing to protect the weak but may not bother with the stupid, but she's always willing to fight the good fight against the strong and tyrannical. Though admittedly she is also a person who is seeking purpose, and simply throwing herself into battles isn't what she wants in life. She wants to feel wanted and needed, to know that there are people out there who believe in her and would help her when she has a weakness. She seeks honor and glory to slate the hunger of desire within her heart, her lust for battle is meant to warm the cold place where she's never truly felt love, even from her own family. On her own Fran would be far more reserved and pragmatic, and even before others she would always choose to win by cheating, than to lose with honor. Ultimately, despite trying to appeal to others, Fran's only really concerned about herself.
Fran appears to be simple a pretty face, but there's a bit more to her body than just her devilish charms. Her stark white hair is just the beginnings of her inhuman origins, and behind her pointed ears are torn horns, just as pointed and nearly as crooked as she is. But her most defining feature is one she keeps hidden as a cloak; her devil wings. Fully capable of flight, Fran's wings allow her to not only stand out among even her own kind, but grants her a level of mobility some people could only dream of. As for outfits, Fran is quite aware of her own beauty and takes effort to flaunting it even in battle, choosing armor and equipment that sacrifices practicality for sensuality. Finally Fran has various tattoos on her body as a mark of her patron, who had granted her magic powers in order to better spread her name across the world. They glow when active, though Fran can choose to make them glow or not as she pleases.
Combat Scythe (Reskinned Battleaxe)
Shield
Daggers x2
Sling
Leather Armor
Spell Component Pouch
A small ornate skull
Gladiator Costume
Belt pouch containing 15 gp
Scholar's Pack (Backpack, Beginner's Guide to Magic, a bottle of ink, an ink pen, 10 sheets of parchment, a little bag of sand, a small knife.)
Armour Class 15 (Leather Armor (11) + Dexterity (2) + Spike Shield (2)) Hit Points 10 Speed 30 ft., 30 ft fly.
STR 9 (-1) | DEX 14 (+2) | CON 14 (+2) INT 10 (+0) | WIS 12 (+1) | CHA 16 (+3)
Hexblade's Curse (1/Rest). You gain the ability to place a baleful curse on someone. As a bonus action, choose one creature you can see within 30 feet of you. The target is cursed for 1 minute. The curse ends early if the target dies, you die, or you are incapacitated. Until the curse ends, you gain the following benefits:
You gain a bonus to damage rolls against the cursed target. The bonus equals your proficiency bonus. Any attack roll you make against the cursed target is a critical hit on a roll of 19 or 20 on the d20. If the cursed target dies, you regain hit points equal to your warlock level + your Charisma modifier (minimum of 1 hit point).
Hex Warrior (Passive). The influence of your patron also allows you to mystically channel your will through a particular weapon. Whenever you finish a long rest, you can touch one weapon that you are proficient with and that lacks the two-handed property. When you attack with that weapon, you can use your Charisma modifier, instead of Strength or Dexterity, for the attack and damage rolls. This benefit lasts until you finish a long rest. If you later gain the Pact of the Blade feature, this benefit extends to every pact weapon you conjure with that feature, no matter the weapon's type. Spellcasting, if applicable. Fran is an 1 level Warlock. Her spellcasting ability is Charisma, DC 13, +5 to hit with spell attacks. Fran can cast the following spells/ has the following class spells prepared:
Cantrips (at will): Eldritch Blast, Green Flame Blade
1st level (1 slots): Armor of Agathys, Wrathful Smite
Actions
Combat Scythe Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5ft., 1 target. Hit: 1d8+3 Slashing. Reskinned Battleaxe. Dagger Melee/Ranged Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, melee reach 5ft./ Range 20/60, 1 target. Hit: 1d4+2 Piercing. Sling Ranged Weapon Attack: +4 to hit, reach 30/120ft., 1 target. Hit: 1d4+2 Bludgeoning. May be slinging more than rocks. Eldritch Blast Ranged Spell Attack: +5 to hit, reach 120ft., 1 target. Hit: 1d10 Force. Green-Flame Blade (Combat Scythe) Melee Weapon Attack: +5 to hit, reach 5ft., 1 target. Hit: 1d8+3 Slashing. On a hit, the target suffers the attack's normal effects, and green fire leaps from the target to a different creature within 5 feet of it. The second creature takes 3 fire damage.