Firdarig

Human Oracle (Scott's Character)

Description:

Attributes

STR: 12
DEX: 11
CON: 12
INT: 14
WIS: 14
CHR: 14

HP: 29

Feats

Haunted – mishaps & strange occurences. Ora.1
Fire Breath – 15’ cone, 1d4 damage per level. Ora.1
Burning Magic – Failed saves cause 1d4 rounds of fire dmg. Hu.1
Touch of Flame – Touch attack, 3+CHA per day. Lvl.1
Cinder Dance – Speed increased by 10’ (now 40). Lvl.3
Nimble Moves – shift into or out of rough terrain. Lvl.3

Language: Common, Abyssal, Ignan

Skills

(If it’s not here, it’s a zero)

Appraise 2
Bluff 3
Climb 5
Craft: Alchemy 2
Diplomacy 2
Disguise 2
Heal 8
Intimidate 6
Knowledge: Planes * 6
Knowledge: Religion * 6
Perception 2
Perform 2
Sense Motive 2
Spellcraft * 6
Survival 2
Swim 1

Bio:

I left the Demon wastes at a very early age. And now, I am haunted by sinister spirits that plague me, calling me back.

The Demon Wastes are a terrible place, where the Great Dragons fell to the earth, and ancient cults strive to raise terrible spirits into the world. My family was of the clans of Barbarians who roam the land. On a ranging excursion, I on my mother’s back, our group was suddenly overtaken by a Marilith and her Quasit. My clan fought back, but it was a lost cause. I alone survived the assault, and then only because I was too young to fight. The demons thought it a clever game to steal me away to their lair.

They did no end of hexes and curses on me. Marilith do not always kill and slay, especially not pitiful babes like myself. The Quasit took great pleasure in making me his toy. This is how I came to be cursed, and the spirits follow me everywhere, even now. They are spirits of the demons, and other innocents consumed by the Marilith. I don’t mind them so much; I don’t really remember the demons most of the time, so the hauntings are continual mischief makers that let me know I’m never alone. But they can be annoying, when I’m trying to sleep, or stay out of trouble. They seem to know most of all when I want to lay low. That is when their baleful moans and scheming mischief is most troublesome.

I don’t know how long I was their toy, but some while later — days? weeks? — a brave group of heroes attacked the demons, and, to their surprise, found me. They took me back to their homes, and I was put into an orphanage, where I lived the life of strife that orphans during wartime live. But all was uneventful, save for a few mysterious bumps in the night which were certainly never me, and I grew strong and brave.

Military life seemed a natural choice, for a strange child with no family and no roots. I enlisted as a soldier, looking forward to a regular paycheck and hopefully a solid meal. The opportunity to travel some was also appealing.

I came to serve as a combat medic for the Red Gauntlet. I was valued for my skills as both a compassionate healer, and a flurry of dangerous flames. When spun into a blaze on the battlefield, I sometimes seemed to singe every enemy at once, while faithfully helping my allies.

Firdarig

Veterans of the Gauntlet Skotte