Going for sorcerer, gotta get dat charisma through da roof.
Name: Rav "Laughing Devil" Troklen
Race: Tiefling
Age: 36
Job: Tavern/Inn proprietor. Sole owner to the Dizzy Imp, home of their speciality ale, Asmodeus's Contract, a slightly spicy cinnamon taste that feels good at the time but your sure to regret it the next morning.
- Performer at the bar as well should the mood take him, as it usually does after a few drinks.
Class: Sorcerer (Infernal Bloodline)/Bard
Short Story: Rav's earliest memories are those spent playing with the children of his traveling troupe. He had been there as long as he had remembered, living with a halflings couple when he was younger. The he and the children who he had been fast friends with, had been relegated to helping maintain the wagons and feeding and cleaning the animals, with older children being trained to follow their parents footsteps. At the wizened age of 8, it became rather obvious to Rav that he had no footsteps to follow in. His first clue had been the halflings he had grown up with had no tails to speak of, nor even a nub of a horn to speak of.
Armed with this sudden realization, and weilding a righteous fury only known to Heironeous and 8 year olds, he had demanded the ringleader tell him where his parents were. The fact that he was still wearing a clowns garb to advertise to townsfolk lessened the effect somewhat he feared. After the man had recovered from the shock of the angry little clown, he had spun a tale recounting the heroic efforts of his parents.
He listened in awe as the ringmaster told him of the terrible luck they had, falling into the path of a wandering war tribe of hobgoblins, who soon set their eyes on the rather poorly defended caravan. They had put up a rather valiant attempt at fending off the pack, a few of their entertainers knowing a bit of fighting good for shows and a few spells here and there, but most were hedge mages at best, all bluff and bluster. However it seemed that divine favor had been upon them that night, as a traveling tiefling cleric of Fharlanghn and her human husband were soon seen in the fray, none of the troupe having known where they came from, but they were surely turning the tides.
The battle had lasted long into the night, with many casualties. However despite this, the troupe somehow made it through the night, adrenaline pumping through them as they saw the retreating forms of the hobs. The ringleader hadn't learned until after the fight was done of the two strangers intervention, but was saddened to hear they had both fallen in the battle. The ringmaster had found Rav then in his own tent, and had taken the young boy as to respect the memory of those who had sacrificed themselves. He had then given Rave the tokens he had kept from his parents.
As the years passed, Rav gradually came into his heritage, going down a more arcane path than his mother's, and soon left the troupe afterwards, hearing the call of the road. After many adventures, a trail of broken hearts, and more than enough excitement to last him for awhile, Rav retired to the budding town of Grey Crossing 8 years ago, establishing the Dizzy Imp from a run down little stable with chairs to a rather well kept inn, bringing in a regular bit of buisness. He has been recently working on creating a new mead, having become satisfied that Asmodeus's Contract is now perfected.
Notable Quirks:
-Was born without the need to sleep
-Has a fairly high resistance to fire due to his bloodline, and will often set himself ablaze in non-musical performances... and occasionally in the musical ones if he's having a particularly tough crowd that night.
-Tends to fidget with his tail when thinking.
-Has a weakness for bets, often claiming with a chuckle that it must be a family trait.
-Will often hold a grudge against racist bastards. If it's pointed at him, no outward signs will be shown initially, as he will remain perfectly polite, they can expect their drinks to taste "funny", to be called as a volunteer for his acts, and should they order a room, it will unfortunately has a small vermin problem. However should it become a problem for his patrons, the offender shall find himself quickly out the door, his breeches often newly ventilated.
Skills:
-Is rather skilled with the cello and viola, though can play most stringed instruments with some degree of competence.
-Quite the charmer, well aware of the mannerisms needed to work a crowd.
-Most of his spells fall into the illusion and enchantment schools, often preferring to end a fight with as little blood shed as possible. Though his few evocation spells stereotypically are flame spells.Has dabbled a bit in the other schools, mostly situational spells though.
-Has become rather adept at brewing after experimenting for a few years to perfect Asomdeus's Contract, could simply make most of the other drinks he keeps in his bar, but it's easier to buy stock from the other brewers than make it, as well as keeping up good relations. Exports a few barrels of his own ale a month, but tries to keep it in town to drum up local business.
-A decent fencer, able to take on most common men and dispatch the usual fare of monsters without too much trouble, though most of the warriors in town can run metaphorical circles around him when it comes to swordplay.
-Can grow leathery wings for a few minutes of flight due to his bloodline
-Can speak Common, Abyssal, and Gnomish. Can understand a few words in Draconic, but is far from fluent.
Possessions:
-A personal enchanted
mug made to refill on a command word with Asmodeus's Contract. Can hold a pint at a time
-His mother's pendant
-His father's
masterwork rapier. Has been altered with a returning enchantment after a arduous escapade to retrieve it, having resulted in the collapse of two kingdoms, the alignment shift of a minor deity, though he refuses to say which one, and the resealing of an archdaemon...3 Times.
-
Viola-
Cello-An engraving of his
mother, obtained from the temple she had trained at.
Hobbies:
-Gambling
-Drinking, often his own supply
-Preforming, especially if he has someone to preform with.
-Fencing, when the chance arises.
-Flirting, happens so often it qualifies as a hobby I suppose, though mostly harmless.
