Dead Dwarven Avenger of Bahamut
Rogue: Thievery skill, Sneak Attack 1/encounter
Wis[w] vs. AC
1[w] + wis modifier, you shift 1 square and slide the target 1 square into the space you occupied.
Wisdom vs. Reflex
1d8 + wis modifier, and you gain temporary hps equal to your wis modifier.
Wisdom vs Will
3d10 + wis modifier, and you pull the target a number of squares equal to 1 + wisdom modifier. Target is immobilized until the end of your next turn.
Trigger: An ally within 10 makes an attack against your oath of emnity target.
Effect: The target makes a second attack roll and uses either result.
See sheet… Looooong. Ability comes back once target is dead, though…
Wisdom vs. Will
1d10 + wis modifier and a second creature you can see takes the same damage.
Wisdom vs AC
2[w] + wis modifier
Miss: Half damage
Effect: Until the end of the encounter, if the target is more than 3 squares away from you at the start of your turn, you can teleport to a space within 3 squares of it as a minor action.
The Story of Dorgen Duercral (translates to “Red-Fist Dark-Hall”)
“No Child Should be Raised in Luskan…”
A child born into wealth and good breeding never sees the likes of a dead body by so young an age as I were. A child born loved and kept sheltered from the nasty reality of life and death – would look for answers to mortality only in the passing of their forebears. But I was not a child born of wealth. I was not a child born loved. I was brought into this world kicking and screaming – and so it’ll be that I’m carted off, I think.
I recall playing in the corpses of the dead in the back-alleys of Luskan growing up. I remember seeing crimes committed before me that would turn a man’s stomach – but not mine. I remember that I was never afraid by the cruelty of man – because it was the only world that I had ever known… And I remember how sad I became the day that I learned that there was something wrong with growing up that way. My mother always said “no child should be raised here…” yet here we stayed – a place where an industriously virtuous lady like herself could maintain her 3 squares a day by the oldest profession.
At last count, my mother had been thrice pregnant – though I’m the only one who survived even a week in the hell she kicked us out to. Other buggers might well have been the lucky ones, I think.
I spent much of my time playing with the street rats and pickpockets… never any good at it myself. I never did really care to steal – because I never really did care what I had, if it were money you were talking about. If I wanted food, I might take that and tuck it away in my belly where no one could ever find it or take it back – and I’ll admit, I may have done that a bit too often for it to have been good for my midsection. But I found that my rounded face at such an early age gave off an aura on innocence. I was the unassuming imbecile to most – though I was wise beyond my years…
I remember searching the face of every strong-willed dwarf who kicked dirt in my face in passing as I sat in the streets. I remember trying to find that little glimmer of myself in them – so that I might actually feel complete. I remember dreaming of what it would feel like to loved and clean. People would tell stories of wily wizards in golden towers and chivalrous heroes in shining armor, but that world seemed like it couldn’t exist. We had wizards that sold drugs on the street corners, and the only armor in sight was worn by the mercenary companies and smelled of sweat, blood, and vomit.
I was born in Luskan… and for some reason – the city had its grips on me. I knew I would die here.
I was nearing 30 when things finally changed. I was drinking at the time, rather heavily – and I was playing muscle at a local bar. I wasn’t big and strapping – but I still had size that some folk took as strength… And I was reasonably good on my feet for a bloke like me. I remember how the ladies would flock the tipsier they got, and how even some of the manliest of men might be willing to do a little something to lower their tab.
There was one gal in particular who lived next to the bar that I fancied… and she fancied me about 3 times a week. A human lass who married a Halfling… so I don’t blame her for turning to a man with a little more “girth” under his belt. Poor little bloke must have been shocked when she gave birth to a stout little gal that looked half-human and half… not ling. But he played along – because that was the way in this city. Soon as you act like you have shame, its weakness… and the entire town can smell it, and they’ll eat you alive.
One morning – waking up on the bar-room floor, it looked to be a scene painted halfway between an orgy and a hospital emergency ward. I remember a man I’d never seen, big and strapping in a full suit of some well-maintained armor – tearing it up and beating some young bloke bloody. Two other folk tried to tear him off, but he made short work of the one (a gal with the most beautiful smile – teeth yellow like gold) whose smile would never quite be the same again. He picked up the young man’s head (which somehow lost its fondness to his body) and he walked out of the bar, the other man still clinging around his neck like he were a cloak.
Behind the bar – my boss had been yelling for me to get off my lazy arse and stop him… But lets be honest here… Look at him and look at me. Besides, I wasn’t going to get paid for it anyway… my shift ended at sunrise. Stumbling out for a piss and a look around to make sure the bloke was gone – I saw the people running past and could smell the smoke. I spun around to get my baring and saw a house at the end of the row on fire… and then I saw the bodies.
The man from the bar had been run through –it looked like a sword wound to the chest. There were horse-tracks leading off in the direction of a couple consoling each other, one with a dislocated arm and her leg broken – the other bleeding heavily from a wound on his side. A distance from that, a child lay motionless – trampled by the horse of the unknown man. Wasn’t just any child, though… It was mine, if I was to guess it…
No child should be raised in Luskan…
Story turned out, it was a soldier of a Lord somewhere off to the West… coming from a land where he shouldn’t matter – but come to collect a bounty on the man’s head. The rest who had been wounded or killed? Casualties for something they weren’t even involved in. Would there ever be justice for them? Who would send a soldier to collect on HIS head? But this wasn’t a town for justice.
Couldn’t deal with it all after that… the shame of it all… Tried drinking myself to death, but apparently, that didn’t work so well. Finally ended up outside the city limits, stumbling south – boozed and in my bed clothes. I remember lights when I woke up. Lots of them. No idea how far I’d traveled.
I was cleaned and dressed in white linens in an oval shaped tent. I noticed I even smelled pretty. I was pretty sure I was dead in a ditch somewhere, and this was going to be MY moment to offer a little something to grease my way a happier afterlife. But that didn’t happen. That’s when they entered. Cloaked figures in tabards with a platinum dragon. Bahamut they called him, and they said he was calling to me. I could give up my life and through their Rite of Rebirth, I could be born again as a servant on his will.
I was resistant, confused, and uncertain of anything at this point. They left alone in the room with one other servant. A Priest of Bahamut who sat next to my bed and talked to me for what may have been hours… This group was small – a traveling band of those faithful to Bahamut and who understood his true calling. To be the shepherds for the weak and oppressed, to be the voice for those who have none, to seek justice upon those whose crimes are grievous, and to bring honor back to the Realms. They trained Bahamut’s servants and sent them out into the world to do his true will.
Through them, I was reborn – though I was warned to not give up all of that which I once was, lest I forget where I came from, and the very thing I’m fighting to prevent. And so we traveled the Sword Coast, seeking those in need and in my own way, bringing brutal vengeance to those who would prey upon the weak. Let their deaths be a message to those who would do the same – change your ways now, or the hourglass of fate will hit its last grain at my arrival.
“My name is Dorgen, and I have been sober 63 days.”
And then he died.