Croft Vale

Chaos Sorcerer

Description:

====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&DI Character Builder ====== Croft Vale, level 2 Human, Sorcerer Build: Chaos Sorcerer Spell Source: Wild Magic

FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 13, Dex 16, Int 10, Wis 11, Cha 18.

STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 13, Dex 16, Int 10, Wis 11, Cha 16.

AC: 17 Fort: 13 Reflex: 15 Will: 18 HP: 30 Surges: 7 Surge Value: 7

TRAINED SKILLS Intimidate +10, Arcana +6, Dungeoneering +6, Diplomacy +10, Bluff +10, Acrobatics +9

UNTRAINED SKILLS Endurance +2, Heal +1, History +1, Insight +1, Nature +1, Perception +1, Religion +1, Stealth +4, Streetwise +5, Thievery +4, Athletics

FEATS Human: Armor Proficiency (Leather) Level 1: Implement Expertise (Light Blade) Level 2: Bardic Dilettante

POWERS Sorcerer at-will 1: Chaos Bolt Sorcerer at-will 1: Burning Spray Human: Acid Orb Sorcerer encounter 1: Bedeviling Burst (retrained to Mists of Disarray at Level 2) Sorcerer daily 1: Chromatic Orb Sorcerer utility 2: Spatial Trip

ITEMS Parrying dagger, Dagger, Leather Armor, Adventurer’s Kit, Thunderburst Dagger +1, Veteran’s Leather Armor +1 ====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&DI Character Builder ======

Bio:

Today was the day. Today was the Ceremony of Choosing. The Elders and Guildsmen of the village would spend this morning discussing, arguing, and bargaining with each other, plotting out the future of Croft and all the other village boys, who had come of age over the last year. All the boys had spent time working at the different guild houses. This was to let the Masters learn about the boys while the boys learned about the trades. That was the way it was supposed to work, but with Croft it was different. Croft was good at very little, except dropping tools, ruin supplies and get yelled at for carelessness. Croft could not help it, he really did try, it was not his fault he found most of the tasks he was given menial and boring beyond belief, I mean really how many times could you dip a candle wick in hot wax, or pump a bellows without going mad at the tedium.

Noon had come and gone hours ago. Croft stood alone in the village commons facing the mayor, Jax the medicine man, and the three remaining village elders. All the other boys had been chosen and had left with their new Masters. Crofts heart sank as one by one the elders took their leave and walked away.

The mayor sadly shook his head and began to speak, “I am sorry son, but there is no. . .

Jax held up his hand, the bones woven in his hair and beard rattled as he turned his head to speak to the mayor. “I will take this one. Last night a vision came to me and told me I was to train the one not chosen.”


For five years Croft had been training under Jax, learning the ways of the shaman. To listen to the ancestor spirits, to commune with them, to command them. For five years he had failed to summon even the spirit of a lowly field mouse. Something always seemed to get in the way. His trance would be ruined by the fleeting glimpse of a cyclopean figure shambling across the night sky. His chanting would falter because of the whispers of a thousand silent voices raised in unutterable song. His hand would shake and he would miss set the bone of an injured bird because of the caress of insubstantial cephalopedian fingers.


Jax woke Croft up long before the sun arose. “Today is your spirit quest. Take nothing but your knife. Eat and drink nothing that you can not gather as you travel. Go to the mountains, climb. Get above the where the trees grow, above where the animals travel, away from all distractions. Remain there until the visions came. You will find your spirit companion.”


It took five days to climb the mountain. During that time Croft ate only what he could forage, drank only what he found in passing. He slept where ever he collapsed when night fell and spend every waking moment hungry, thirsty, and sore. But he kept climbing.

On the sixth day, as evening fell he reached a high as he could go. Falling to the ground weak and hungry he shivered and drifted in and out of consciousness. Above him the stars shone like tens of thousands of bright glittering eyes set in an endless inky abyss. Each one watching him, judging him, wanting him. He screamed and in the scream he heard the gibbering of unspeakable beings using his voice to tell him terrifying secrets. He arose and ran blindly across the mountain, behind him he could hear the slouching tread of madness. He fell. The stars whirled and the sky opened. A yellow eye stretching from horizon to horizon gazed down at him. He screamed again, feeling his sanity fray as chaotic power flowed through him.

Teetering at the edge of sanity Croft suddenly smelled the musky sent of a large animal, and heard the rasping scratch of claws on stone. He turned his head and saw beside him the spirit of the mighty bear. It rose on its hind legs and roared at the sky. With a swipe of its great paw it banished all the horrors that were assaulting Croft. Peace covered Croft like a cool stream, yet he still felt a power within himself a jagged ever changing splinter of chaos pulsing with each heartbeat.

The great spirit spoke. “You will never follow the path of the shaman, you have been chosen by forces outside the natural world for reasons unknown. They have already given you power and because of that power you are theirs. They will never stop seeking you but you do not have to give into them. You must go. You can never stay in one place to long or they will find you and consume you. When the voices get to loud and you catch sight of the unthinkable out of the corner of your eye it is time to move on. Now sleep and dream, and when you wake leave this mountain and the village and do not stop running.

Croft Vale

Twilight of Alirium Amergin Leadfeather