Monday, April 30, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Ilok's Junction


She had left the mountains behind and having them at her back was a welcome relief. True, the mountain folk were a taciturn, self-reliant lot, but they could also be hidebound and mistrustful of outsiders.  The dwarves of Orvald, in particular, were fine examples of such folk. Malora had skirted the dwarven city, traveling by night, even though it meant having to walk her horse rather than ride. The further west she traveled from Fallen Baramir the more the road deteriorated. Riding a horse at night was an invitation to disaster.
Now, the Greytooth Mountains were at her back, as were the watchful eyes of the Everwood. She had never managed to spot her observers, but she had known they were there, shadowing her along the road.
She was past the border of the wood, now, traveling along the Old Road at a decent pace. Her maps from the Adamantine Archive were current and fairly accurate. The road beyond the mountains seemed a bit better maintained and, ahead of her, lay a community that the Chief Archivist had assured her would be welcoming.
According to her maps, Ilok's Junction would be her last chance to swing south and take the New Road west. If she continued west, she would be committed to taking the Old Road and there were no guarantees regarding its safety or condition.
Still, a less traveled route was preferable to her in this country. A solitary drow, traveling alone, would attract enough attention and distrust. A drow woman, traveling alone, would invite a broader range of threats and a greater chance of violence.
Best to take her time on the Old Road, trust to the notes the Chief Archivist had given her, and avoid knives in the dark. Or worse.
The countryside was pleasant. The road passed through gently rolling hills. The forests alongside were neither dark nor menacing. At least, not any more so than any forest was. She did not sense eyes on her, watching her every move, making her itch to fling a dagger into the leafy shadows.  That was a good thing.
The road skirted the edge of a dense wood to the South when Malora spotted plumes of wispy smoke rising ahead of her. Telltale signs of civilization, or what would pass for it. Out of reflex, she took inventory of her weapons, made sure she could draw her rapier with no difficulty, then took a breath and continued.
Her first impression of Ilok's Junction was not favorable. She rounded a bend in the road and came upon a dilapidated log house, long abandoned and given back to nature. The roof had collapsed and the forest seemed to be doing its best to devour the structure in vines and mold. She passed it, warily, wondering if the Chief Archivist's notes were out-of-date. Perhaps Ilok's Junction was abandoned now, or become a haven for bandits.
Scowling, Malora pushed such thoughts away. If Ilok's Junction wasn't what she had been told to expect, she would adjust accordingly. She always had and she always would.
The road continued, a wide dirt track flanked by sparse woodland on either side. Smoke continued to rise ahead of her and, when the wind shifted, she caught the stink of hides being tanned.
So, she thought. Someone lives here yet and probably not bandits.
Nevertheless, her gloved hand slid to the hilt of her blade.
A little further along, Malora spotted the cabin. It was made of hewn logs with wooden shingles. There was a single story and, at a glance, Malora knew its interior was a single room. She spotted an outhouse behind the structure.
Standing in front of the structure was a man. He was human, with a weatherbeaten complexion and a shaved scalp. He wore buckskin trousers and leather boots. His naked torso was the color of teak, crisscrossed with fine scars and adorned with tattoos. A necklace of teeth and stones hung about his neck.
As Malora approached, the man was in the process of scraping a large deer hide which he had stretched across a sturdy wooden frame. He glanced up at Malora's approach, but never stopped his work. The air was filled with the sound of the blade scraping the taut skin.
"Well met, stranger."
Malora inclined her head. "Well met. Is this Ilok's Junction?"
"The outskirts of it," said the man. He jerked his head toward the west. "Keep following the road. You'll run into the Junction proper."
"Thank you."
The man grunted, "Safe travels," and kept on working.
Gently, Malora nudged her horse forward.
Well, she thought. Perhaps the Chief Archivist's notes aren't out of date after all.

The man's words were dagger-true.  She ambled into Ilok's Junction as the sun was hanging low on the western horizon. 
It wasn't a town, she realized, or even a village. It was a hamlet. She saw the peaked roofs of other log cabins. Most seemed small and cozy. There was also a wooden palisade, its fifteen-foot high walls sheltering what appeared to be an inn.  The palisade gates hung open and, as Malora guided her horse toward them, she spotted a scowling elf-man standing by them.
He stood with arms crossed, watching her with poisonous eyes. She held his gaze until he turned his head and spat on the ground.  Malora ignored him and studied the building in front of her.
It was bigger than she had expected, a sprawling two-story affair made of stout logs and mortared stone. Two chimneys rose from the slanted roof, spewing white smoke into the late afternoon sky. Bright golden flowers grew in abundance around the base of the structure, and the front doors were painted a brilliant shade of red.
As Malora slid off her horse, that bright red door swung open. A small matronly figure, swaddled in a light cloak despite the heat, emerged from the interior. She walked, leaning heavily on a gnarled wooden cane.
"Well met, traveler. Welcome to the Junction Inn. Would you be needing a room?"
"Aye, mistress," said Malora. "If you've got one."
"You've caught us between trade caravans," said the woman. "You'll have the place to yourself. Mostly." She lifted a hand, white as milk, and crooked a finger.  "Come inside. Let's get you settled. I'm Walfora Redflower, the mistress of this establishment. Welcome to Ilok's Junction."

Ilok's Junction is a hamlet of about nine families approximately fifty-two miles west of the dwarven city of Orvald. The Greytooth Mountains and the Everwood Forest are east of the Junction, while the Nemular Forest begins to the west.  The Old Road skirts the southern edge of this woodland while the New Road diverges from it at Ilok's Junction, heading south and west.
The largest structure in Ilok's Junction is the Junction Inn(1). It is also the best defended, situated behind a fifteen-foot high wooden palisade. During times of danger, the entire town can, and has, taken shelter in the Inn.
Other prominent structure in Ilok's Junction are the Temple of Ariel(3), Omir Moonrhyme's forge(4) and Neverene's Goods(5).
Most of the remaining buildings are residential dwellings (2, 6, 8, 11, 12).  Some properties have been abandoned (7, 9, 10, 13, 14) and have fallen into disrepair.  Whatever could be scavenged from these abandoned homes has been by the remaining residents.
Ilok's Junction is the last chance travelers have to leave the Old Road for the New Road. There isn't another opportunity to do so for almost two hundred miles.
During the warmer months, and into late autumn, trade caravans from Orvald and more isolated communities pass through Ilok's Junction. Many overnight at the Junction Inn, have damaged vehicles repaired at Moonrhyme's forge and purchase supplies at Neverene's. 
Remarkably, Ilok's Junction owes allegiance to no local lord or city-state. It is an independent community, handling their own affairs and meting out their own justice.  Occasionally some local lordling attempts to annex the Junction but its relative isolation, and the fierce tempers of the local residents, usually ends such schemes.




Wednesday, April 25, 2018

Lux Tenebris: The Lady of Everwood


The Lady of Everwood is a powerful dryad who serves Sunavis, the God of the Wilderness.  She protects a large area of the forests around the Graytooth Mountains from those who are evil or do harm. She is aided in her endevors by a loyal band of followers known as the Company of the Lady. This group consists of a variety of individuals, including forest gnomes, wood elves and sentient beasts.
The Lady is a formidable force in the Everwood, but few outside of it are aware of her existence. She can be a powerful ally or a dangerous enemy.
* * * * *
THE LADY OF EVERWOOD, L17 Dryad Cleric of Sunavis

STR     14 (+2)
DEX    16 (+3)
CON   13 (+1)
INT     13 (+1)
WIS     20 (+5)
CHA   16 (+3)
HP       105
AC      15 (w/Shieldl)/16 (Barkskin)

Traits:
Innate Spellcasting
- Spell DC:
- Atk Modifier:
- At Will: Druidcraft
- 3/Day: entangle, goodberry
- 1/Day each: barkskin, pass without trace, shillelagh
Magic Resistance
Speak w/Beasts and Plants
Tree Stride
Fey Charm (p.121, MM)
Treebound

Proficiencies (+6):
Armor: Light, Medium, Heavy, Shields
Weapons: Simple
Tools: None
Saves: Wisdom, Charisma
Skills: Insight, Persuasion

Feats:
Inspiring Leader
* * *
Spellcasting
Divine Domain: Life
- Bonus Proficiency
- Domain Spells
- Disciple of Life
- Blessed Healer
- Divine Strike
- Supreme Healing
Channel Divinity
- Turn Undead (CR4 or Lower)
- Preserve Life
Divine Intervention

Spellcasting:
Spells Known: 22
Spell DC: 19
Atk Mod: +11
At-Will (5): Guidance, Light, Mending, Resistance, Spare the Dying
L1(4): bless, cure wound, Command, Detect Evil and Good, Detect Magic, Healing Word
L2(3): lesser restoration, spiritual weapon, Aid, Hold Person, Zone of Truth
L3(3): beacon of hope, revivify, Create Food & Water, Daylight, Dispel Magic
L4(3): death ward, guardian of faith, Banishment, Divination, Locate Creature
L5(2): mass cure wounds, raise dead, Greater Restoration, Hallow
L6(1): Forbiddance
L7(1): Resurrection
L8(1): Control Weather
L9(1): Gate

Equipment:
Quarterstaff.  Melee; +7 to hit; deals 1d6 +2 bludgeoning; Versatile (1d8)
Longbow. Ranged; +8 to hit; deals 1d8 +3 piercing; Ammo, Range (150/600), Heavy, 2-handed
Shield. AC +2.
A holy symbol.

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Ashar Marellam


Ashar Marellam crouched among the branches of the tree, observing the woman below him. She was drow, which was enough to make him even more cautious than usual. That, added with the fact that she'd been seen leaving the goblin's place two days past, had caused all sorts of unpleasant scenarious to tumble through Ashar's mind. It had even been enough to convince their Lady to have the drow watched, as she made her way down the Old Road.
Ashar moved slightly on his perch. He shifted his grip on his bow and wondered if it would be best for everyone if he just shot the drow bitch where she stood.  People disappeared in the woods all the time. Ashar doubted that  anyone would come looking for the woman if she went missing.
But the gnome held his hand, even though his instincts screamed at him to take the shot. The Lady had been very clear; the drow was to be watched and followed, but no action was to be taken against her unless she did something malevolent.
Ashar watched the drow move toward a copse of blackberry bushes.  Would plucking a berry be malevolent enough for his Lady? Somehow, Ashar doubted it.
He didn't want to earn his Lady's ire. She had taken him in, welcomed him when his own folk threw him out for his . . . inclinations. Gnomes, for all their cleverness, could be as hidebound and unyielding as any rock-headed dwarf.
No, Ashar had found a home with the Lady and her company. He would not risk that, would not risk everything that he had built over the years because of some drow bitch.
Ashar would serve his Lady. He would follow the drow, make sure she harmed no one and nothing, and when she was gone from the Lady's domain, only then would Ashar return home.
Curiosity about the drow's purpose continued to gnaw at his thoughts, but he would not give in to it. However, Ashar knew with absolute certainty, that the ebon-skinned she-elf would haunt his head for days to come.
* * * * *
ASHAR MARELLAM, L11 Forest Gnome Fighter

STR     08 (-1)
DEX    17 (+3)
CON   14 (+2)
INT     13 (+1)
WIS     13 (+1)
CHA   13 (+1)
HP       87
AC      15 (Leather Armor + FS: Defense)

Traits:
Darkvision
Gnome Cunning
Natural Illusionist (Minor Illusion cantrip, Spell DC 13, Atk Mod +8)
Speak w/Small Beasts
Languages: Common, Gnomish, Sylvan

Proficiencies(+4):
Armor: All
Weapons: All
Tools: Drum
Saves: Strength, Constitution
Skills: Athletics, Insight, Perception, Survival

Feats:
Wanderer
* * *
FS: Archery (+2 Attack w/Ranged Weapons)
Second Wind
Action Surge
Martial Archetype: Champion
- Improved Critical
- Remarkabale Athlete
- Additional FS: Defense (AC +1 in Armor)
Extra Attack (+2)
Indomitable (1x)

Equipment:
Shortbow. Ranged. +9 to hit; deals 1d6 +3 piercing; Ammo, Range (80/320), 2-handed
Shortsword. Melee. +7 to hit; deals 1d6 +3 piercing; Finesse, Light.
Scimitar. Melee. +7 to hit; deals 1d6 +3 slashing; Finesse, Light.
Handaxes (2). Melee/Ranged (20/60). +7 to hit; deals 1d6 +3 slashing; Light, Thrown.
Leather Armor. AC 11 + Dex.
An explorer's pack, a hunting trap, a trophy, a set of traveler's clothes, a purse with 10g.

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Taros Skartos


"There aren't many of my folk left hereabouts," said the goblin called Taros. "It can get a bit lonely."
"I imagine so," said the Iron Rose. "This is excellent tea. Mugwort?"
"My own blend," said Taros, beaming at her.
"If you don't mind my asking, how did you wind up here?" asked the Iron Rose.
Her goblin host's face spasmed for a moment and Malora wondered if she had made a mistake, asking the question.  The rain was coming down in buckets outside the creature's home and the nearest welcoming village was at least a day's ride away.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Taros waved her apology aside. "I made mistakes."
"Everyone does," pointed out Malora.
"Most people's mistakes don't get other people killed," said Taros. "Mine did."
She said nothing, merely nodded in silent understanding. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. The Iron Rose let her gaze drift around the room. She took in the small shelf of weathered books, a crystal-topped staff leaning against one wall, a small devotional altar tucked away in a corner of the room, near the tangle of blankets that was her host's bed.
"You're a wizard."
She didn't try to keep the surprise out of her voice.
"I dabble," said the goblin, modestly.
"More than that, I'd wager," said Malora. "That's a copy of Korella's Grimoire on your shelf."
"You know it?" Taros looked intrigued.
"I know of it," said Malora. "I've no talent for magic."
"That's surprising."
She chuckled. "No more surprising than your apparent talent for it."
He shrugged, but she thought he looked pleased.
"That book is very dear to me. It was given to me by the wizard I studied with."
"Oh? What was his name?"
"Ellero Rill."
Her white brows shot up. "An elf apprenticed you?"
"Half-elf," said Taros. "He was a good man."
"What happened to him?"
"He died," said the goblin. "Killed by a group of dark wizards called the Ring of Fire."
"I'm sorry."
Taros shrugged again, but there was genuine sadness in his dark goblin eyes. It vanished quickly and he smiled and raised the kettle. "More tea?"
"Yes, please. It's really quite excellent."
And so they passed the night, in quiet conversation over cups of warm mugwort tea, while the storm raged through the mountains.


TAROS SKARTOS, L7 GOBLIN WIZARD


STR 13 (+1)
DEX 14 (+2)
CON 16 (+3)
INT 17 (+3)
WIS 16 (+3)
CHA 10 (+0)
HP 51
AC 15 (Mage Armor)

Racial Traits
Size: Small
Darkvision
Fury of the Small
Nimble Escape
Languages: Common, Goblin

Proficiencies(+3)
Armor: None
Weapons: Daggers, Darts, Slings, Quarterstaffs, Light x-bows
Tools: Disguise kit, Forgery kit
Saves: Intelligence, Wisdom
Skills: Arcana, Deception, Insight, Slight of Hand

Feats
False Identity
* * *
Arcane Recovery
Arcane Tradition: Illusion
- Illusion Savant
- Improved Minor Illusion
- Malleable Illusions

Spellcasting
Spells Known: 10
Spell DC: 14
Atk Modifier: +6
At-Will(4): Minor illusion, Friends, Mage Hand, Ray of Frost, Shocking Grasp
L1(4): Detect magic, Mage Armor, Silent Image, Witch Bolt
L2(3): Alter Self, Invisibility
L3(3): Dispel Magic, Hypnotic Pattern, Major Image
L4(1): Greater Invisibility

Equipment:
Dagger(2). Melee/Ranged(20/60 ft). +5 to hit; deals 1d4 +2 piercing; Finesse, Light.
Light x-bow. Ranged(80/320 ft). +5 to hit; deals 1d8 +2 piercing; Loading, 2-Handed.
An arcane focus, a spellbook, an explorer's pack, a set of fine clothes, a disguise kit, a deck of marked cards, a belt pouch w/15 gp.




Friday, April 13, 2018

Lux Tenebris: The Road West...

The woman standing at the marble table, bent over a map of western Nur, was beautiful. Her ebon skin stood out in stark contrast to the silver-white locks tumbling over her shoulders. As the Chief Archivist watched, the woman absently reached up and pushed her long hair over her shoulder.
She's let it grow out, thought the Chief Archivist. She feels safe enough here to relax her guard a bit, to indulge in longer hair.
The Chief Archivist felt a flash of regret at that realization. Nevertheless, she cleared her voice.
The drow turned, one hand going automatically to the point of her hip where her blade would have rested. She had turned it in when she walked through the Archive's doorways, but old habits were hard to break.
"Chief Archivist." The drow woman's voice was low and pleasant, barely tinged by the curious accent of her people. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I'm told you're planning a trip, Malora."
"Word travels quickly here," remarked the drow. She arched her pale brows and glanced at the room's high marble ceiling. "You'd almost think some people didn't have anything else to do but gossip."
The Chief Archivist just smiled and stepped up to the table.
"You're heading west?"
"Yes," said Malora. She traced a route, west and then south. "To Moontree."
"You're taking the Old Road. The new trade road would be faster."
"And more traveled," said Malora. "I would rather spend more time on the road and less time explaining my bonafides and fending off every idiotic bravo with a sword."
The Chief Archivist nodded. She tapped a section of the map. "I'd avoid Orvald, if I were you. The dwarves there aren't the friendliest folk in the Graytooth Mountains."
"I've heard. I'm going around."
"Some of that road hasn't been maintained in years," cautioned the Chief Archivist.
"I've traveled through rough terraine before, Chief Archivist. I'll be fine."
"No doubt."
"Was there some other reason you wanted to see me?"
"Yes, actually. There was. I would like to commission your services."
"For what?" asked the Iron Rose.
"I'd like you to deliver a sealed message to a friend. His home is on your route."
"And the reason you want to hire me instead of a more . . . traditional courier?"
"The message is sensitive and personal. I require someone of discretion to deliver it. As you yourself said, some people have nothing better to do than gossip."
"I'm not cheap."
"I know," said the Chief Archivist. "I believe this will cover the cost."
She produced a small leather purse and handed it to the drow. The Iron Rose glanced inside the bag. Her expression gave nothing away, but when she spoke her voice held a note of suspicioun.
"This is more than enough for a simple courier job."
"I know," said the Chief Archivist. "Will you do it?"
"I suppose so," said the Iron Rose. She tucked the purse away. "I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll stop by and pick up your message in the morning and you can give me the details."
The Chief Archivist nodded and, smiling, went on her way.
* * * * *
The next morning, after she had seen off the drow, the Chief Archivist made her way to her personal office. She was not surprised to discover she had a visitor.
Lukus Swann, the Regent of Fallen Baramir, stood at the west-facing window. He spoke without turning around.
"She's off, then?"
"Yes," said the Chief Archivist. She moved to her desk, seated herself in the fine dragonbone chair behind it. "I don't like this, Lukus."
"I know, Selne," said the Regent. "But we have no choice. The war isn't over. This is just a pause. Everyone is catching their breath.  The Empire is fortifying its position in the east and our neighbors are itching to take the fight to them.  I've even heard rumors that Goldsun and Darkwater may join the campaign."
"Darkwater makes sense, but I'm surprised Goldsun would deign to involve themselves in the affairs of the lesser races."
"Not everyone in Goldsun shares your father's prejudices, my dear."
"You could have spoken to Malora yourself," said the Chief Archivist. "Why I let you talk me into acting as your intermediary is beyond me."
"There are too many people watching the Iron Rose and me. If I'd employed her directly can you imagine what the rumormongers and whisperers would make of it?"
"You're paranoid."
"I'm prudent," said Swann.
"You're asking Isteban Mirelle to come back to Fallen Baramir. That's not what I would call a prudent move, Regent."
"I think we'll need him," said Swann. "And he owes us. Me, at least."
"This won't make you any friends when people find out," cautioned the Chief Archivist.
"Yes," said Swann. "Well, friendship isn't what I'm interested in right now."
"Then what?"
"Survival," said the Regent.

Thursday, April 12, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Bora Drakeseye


BORA DRAKESEYE, L4 Mountain Dwarf Sorceress

STR     15 (+2)
DEX    16 (+3)
CON   19 (+4)
INT     13 (+1)
WIS     17 (+3)
CHA   20 (+5)
HP       38
AC      16 (Unarmored)

Traits
Darkvision
Dwarven Resilience
Stonecunning
Languages: Common, Draconic, Dwarvish

Proficiencies (+2)
Armor: Light, Medium
Weapons: Battleaxe, Handaxe, Throwing hammer, Warhammer, Daggers, Darts, Slings, Quarterstaffs, Light x-bows
Tools: Brewer's tools, Cards, Thieves' tools
Saves: Constitution +6, Charisma +7
Skills: Deception +7, Intimidation +7, Persuasion +7, Stealth +5

Feats
Criminal Contact
* * *
Sorcerous Origin: Draconic Bloodline
            - Draconic Ancestry: Blue
            - Draconic Resilience
Font of Magic (4 Sorcery Points)
Metamagic: Empowered Spell, Subtle Spell

Spellcasting
Spells Known: 5
Spell DC: 15
Atk Mod: +7
At-Will(5): Dancing Light, Fire Bolt, Mage Hand, Ray of Frost, Shocking Grasp
L1(4): Burning Hands, Detect Magic, Magic Missile
L2(3): Alter Self, Shatter

Equipment
Handaxe. Melee. +4 to hit; deals 1d6 +2 slashing; Light, Thrown (20/60)
Daggers (2). Melee/Ranged. +5 to hit; deals 1d4 +3 piercing; Finesse, Light, Thrown (20/60)
An arcane focus, an explorer's pack, a crowbar, a set of dark clothes including a hood, a belt pouch containing 15g.

There isn't much organized crime in Orvald. Dwarves are, by inclination, a lawful bunch. However, there are always exceptions, and the organized criminals in Orvald usually have some connection to Bora Drakeseye.
She's the eldest daughter in a dwarven family rumored to have dragonsblood flowing through their veins. That would explain the family's propensity for sorcery, as well as their peculiar crimson eyes. Bora has inherited both traits, she's also inherited control of the family's extralegal endeavors.
The City Watch knows Bora is the leader of a gang of smugglers and thieves, but they've never been able to prove it.  Bora is too cautious to get caught easily and she'll dump a load of stolen merchandise before getting caught and thrown into the city's dungeons.
She spends most of her time in a small tavern the family runs called The Weeping Widow. Bora is the dwarf woman with crimson eyes sitting in the back, surrounded by shady characters.
Every few years some overambitious newcomer tries to replace Bora. These wannabes don't last long. Bora's gang is fiercely loyal to her and she to them.
Recently, Bora was approached by the Veil. They're interested in forming a partnership with her, as Bora has access to places and people that the Veil does not.  Bora knows dealing with the Veil could get dicey, but she's confidant that if she keeps her head and doesn't get greedy, the partnership could be extremely profitable for everyone involved.


Tuesday, April 10, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Sir Iaro Pruzor

SIR IARO PRUZOR, L13 Mountain Dwarf Paladin

STR     20 (+5)
DEX    10 (+0)
CON    16 (+3)
INT      12 (+1)
WIS     10 (+0)
CHA    20 (+5)
HP       121
AC       17 (Chain Mail & Shield)

Traits
Darkvision
Dwarven Resilience
Stonecunning
Languages: Common, Dwarven, Undercommon

Proficiencies (+5)
Armor: All armor, Shields
Weapons: Simple, Martial
Tools: Chess set
Saves:Wisdom +5, Charisma +10
Skills: Athletics +10, History +6, Intimidation +10, Persuasion +10

Feats
Retainers
* * *
Divine Sense
Lay on Hands
Fighting Style: Protection
Divine Smite
Divine Health
Sacred Oath: Devotion
- Oath Spells
- Channel Divinity: Sacred Weapon or Turn the Unholy
- Aura of Devotion
Extra Attack (+1)
Aura of Protection
Aura of Courage
Improved Divine Smite

Spellcasting
Spells Known: 11
Spell DC: 18
Atk Modifier: +10
L1(4): Protection from Evil/Good, Sanctuary, Searing Smite, Shield of Faith, Thunderous Smite, Wrathful Smite
L2(3): Lesser restoration, Zone of Truth, Branding Smite, Magic Weapon, Protection from Poison
L3(3): Beacon of Hope, Dispel Magic, Crusader's Mantle, Magic Circle, Revivify
L4(1): Freedom of Movement, Guardian of Faith, Aura of Life

Equipment
Warhammer. Martial melee; +10 to hit; deals 1d8 +5 bludgeoning; Versatile (1d10).
Sickle. Simple melee; +10 to hit; deals 1d4 +5 slashing; Light
Chain Mail. Heavy armor. AC 16. Disadvantage on Stealth
Shield. Defense. AC +1
A holy symbol, a priest's pack, a set of fine clothes, a signet ring, a scroll of pedigree and a purse containing 25g.

They call him the Knight of the Underdark, the Shield in the Darkness, the Silent Blade. His real name, however, is Iaro Pruzor.  He is the son of one of Orvald's oldest, most respected families. In his youth, he was a popular member of the old king's court, but then something happened. No one knows what, exactly. Some say it was the threat of a scandal that caused the dashing Sir Pruzor to leave the court. Others say that he felt a spiritual calling from the goddess, Elleru. Of course, some said that he just went mad and wandered into the Underdark and never quite managed to find his way back to the surface.
The fact remains that Sir Pruzor spends most of his time in the dark, twisting tunnels and caverns that connect Orvald with the Underdark.  He offers help to those he encounters, whether they be dwarf or drow or anything else. During the Summernight War, Sir Pruzor helped drow refugees fleeing the mindflayers find safe haven. His actions did not win him many friends in Orvald, but he did supply the king with important intelligence on the situation in the Underdark. It is largely because of Sir Pruzor's information that the passages connecting Orvald to the Underdark were closed or better secured. He was one of the first dwarves to encounter the mindflayers and the encounter left him with a deep loathing for the creatures.
Recently, Sir Pruzor has been observed again at Court, attending King Arrador. There is a great deal of speculation as to why the Knight of the Underdark has returned to the Court. Speculation is rampant, but the king keeps his own counsel and Sir Pruzor does not speak to nosy courtiers.
He still spends most of his time, deep below Orvald, patrolling the dark tunnels, doing his best to secure his beloved city from all manner of threats.

Saturday, April 7, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Abbot Athar

ABBOT ATHAR, L20 Hill Dwarf Monk

STR  08 (-1)
DEX 16 (+3)
CON 13 (+1)
INT 11 (+0)
WIS 19 (+4)
CHA 12 (+1)
HP 124
AC 17 (Unarmored Defense)

Traits
Darkvision
Dwarven Resilience
Stonecunning
Dwarven Toughness
Languages: Common, Dwarvish

Proficiencies (+6)
Armor: None
Weapons: Battleaxe, Handaxe, Throwing hammer, Warhammer, Simple wpns, Shortswords
Tools: Mason's tools, Disguise kit, Drum, Flute
Saves: Strength, Dexterity
Skills: Acrobatics, Insight, Performance, Stealth

Feats
By Popular Demand
* * *
Unarmored Defense
Martial Arts (1d10)
Ki (20 pts)
- Ki Save DC: 18
Unarmored Movement (+30 ft)
Monastic Tradition: Open Hand
- Open Hand Technique
- Wholeness of Body
- Tranquility
- Quivering Palm
Deflect Missile
Slow Fall
Extra Attack (+1)
Stunning Strike
Ki-Strikes
Evasion
Stillness of Mind
Purity of Body
Tongue of the Sun and Moon
Diamond Soul
Timless Body
Empty Body
Perfect Self
Equipment
Quarterstaff. Simple Melee/Monk. +9 to hit; deals 1d6 +3 bludgeoning; Versatile (1d8).

Nestled among the crumbling, shadowed streets of the First City of Orvald is a house. It appears no different from its neighbors, however if you were to open the front door (which is always unlocked) you would find a stone staircase vanishing into the earth.  The house is the entrance to the Monastery of the Silent Earth, which, according to local legend is older than Orvald itself.
The leader of the monastery is Abbot Athar. Over four hundred years old, the abbot is old, even by dwarven standards.  He seldom leaves the monastery these days, spending most of his time in silent contemplation.  However, he is always ready to sit and listen to anyone who wishes to speak with him. He rarely gives advice to those who ask, advising supplicants that they can usually find their own answers in quiet contemplation.
The abbot is fairly well known in Orvald and generally thought well of by his neighbors. King Arrador has consulted him on private matters more than once and has arranged a royal stipend for the monastery.
Rarely, Abbot Athar will leave the monastery and wander the streets of the First City. More than one would-be ruffian has learned, to his misfortune, not to harass seemingly harmless old men.  Despite his age and life philosophy, Abbot Athar is no push-over.  He has been known, during certain holiday celebrations, to take part in contests of strength, where the challenger wins by simply knocking the old man down.  So far, no one has won. It is widely rumored that Abbot Athar rather enjoys these holiday excursions.  Some of the monks claim that the abbot was a well-known gladiator in the days of his youth, and that these public displays of monkish fortitude are the abbot's way of reliving his glory days.
Although slow to offer  advice, the abbot is quick to take action if lives are at stake. He has helped to defend Orvald from threats, both internal and external.  He also knows people in every level of Orvald's society and could be a major help, or hindrance, to any adventurers who seek him out.

Friday, April 6, 2018

Lux Tenebris: Orvald

Sixty miles northwest of Fallen Baramir, nestled within the Graytooth Mountains, is the dwarven city of Orvald. Home to approximately 9,000 people, Orvald is the most prominant dwarven city in the Southern Greytooth Mountains. It serves as a commercial and cultural hub for the region, providing more insular dwarven communities with goods and services they cannot provide for themselves.
The bulk of Orvald's population, roughly 4600 people, consists of mountain dwarves, with another 2200 comprised of hill dwarves.  The remainder of the population consists mostly of humans, with a small scattering of other races present. 
The city itself is only about six hundred years old. Fairly young by dwarven standards. Large sections of Mount Nara were excavated by the original settlers, creating a series of terraces around the mountain.
The lowest level, known as the First City, is where most of the populace resides. The structures here are made of brick and stone, and are packed so close together that some streets never see sunlight.  This level also houses the more unpleasant city industries such as tanneries, chandlers and butchers.
The second terrace was constructed when the first became too crowded. Today, this terrace is the home of Orvald's wealthy citizens. It also houses the various Guildhalls that oversee the city's commercial life, as well as the City Militia and several temples.
The third, and smallest, terrace was constructed only a hundred years ago by order of Orvald's king. This terrace houses the King of Orvald, his family and court, as well as large, manicured gardens and the residences of the king's closest advisors.
Each terrace is surrounded by gray stone walls, thirty feet high and ten feet thick. Access to the First City is granted by a stone road that zigzags up the side of Mount Nara.  Access to the second and third terraces is only possible by entering the mount itself and passing through a series of carefully guarded checkpoints.
The interior of the mountain contains warehouses, store rooms, as well as forges, workshops and even some residences.  However, the majority of the city's residents reside outside the mount.
Orvald, like most dwarf cities, is an independent city-state governed by a hereditary monarch. The current King of Orvald is Arrador Drehard, who assumed the throne twenty-nine years ago.  At 190 years, King Arrador is considered  'young' by many of his subjects, and fantastically ugly by everyone who sees him.  Nevertheless, he is an intelligent and thoughtful ruler, beloved by most of his subjects.  It was recently announced that King Arrador is to wed and the entire city is ablaze with speculation about the bride, the details of the wedding and what this could mean for Orvald's future.