Post by eyri on Apr 15, 2015 15:31:57 GMT -8
Alignment: Neutral
Stats:
Init: +3
Str: 11
Dex: 17
Con: 12
Int: 18
Wis: 11
Cha: 9
AC: 15
HP: 9
Fort: 4
Ref: 5
Will: 0
BAB: 0
CMD: 13
CMB: 0
Age: 113
Height: 67 in.
Weight: 130 lbs.
Skin Color: Pale... like... ghostly pale.
Hair: Platinum Blonde
Eyes: Red
Etc: Her canines are sharper than normal, but not "Fangs."
Languages: Common, Elven, Infernal, Draconic, Celestial, Auran.
Weapons: BOMBS!, Light Crossbow, Punching Dagger, Anything she can pick up?
Armor: Leather Armor
Skills:
Craft(Alchemy) +8
Fly +7
Knowledge(Arcana) +8
Knowledge(Nature) +8
Linguistics +5
Perception +4
Sleight of Hand +7
Spellcraft +8
Feats:
Life-Dominant Soul: You are healed by channeled positive energy used to heal living creatures and channeled negative energy used to heal undead, but both only heal half the normal amount. You still take damage from positive energy used to harm undead, such as that from channeled energy and lay on hands.
Throw Anything: I can throw anything bitch!
Brew Potion: You can create a potion of any 3rd-level or lower spell that you know.
Traits:
Personal Addiction(APCT 15): You gain a +1 on Fortitude saves.
Meticulous Concoction(UCa 58): Once per day, you can either add a +2 trait bonus to the save DC for one bomb you throw or extend the duration of one extract you imbibe by 2 rounds.
Cross-Knowledge(UCa 56): Once per day, you may treat an extract you drink as if your caster level were 1 level higher as long as that extract appears on the wizard spell list and the alchemist list of formulae.
Racial Traits:
I swapped out Manipulation(ARG 97) for Vampiric Empathy(ARG 97). Due to Sera's sheltered upbringing she isn't as 'manipulative' as other Dhampir. She only interacted with one person for the last 100 years. Due to this she spent her time communicating with rats. Her mentor explained it was probably part of her vampiric nature and she'd be able to do it with bats and wolves as well. +2 Racial bonus on Diplomacy checks when dealing with those three animal types.
Sera was also Dayborn(ARG 97) thus she is not dazed by being in the sun like normal Dhampir. This replaced a detect undead spell-like ability.
Backstory: Death Journal style!
To whom it may concern,
If you're reading this, then I am dead. Were you there when it happened? Was it cool? Did I die like a hero? Burned to dust? Crushed to dust? Did I fall asleep only to never wake up as a pile of dust in a bed? I'm sure you're wondering why all the dust? It's just an assumption on my part, given my heritage. Ready for a tragic backstory? Here I go! I am a Dhampir. The unholy forced Union of vampire and woman. I know little of my mother, only what the priest told me. She was devout, and beautiful; like the rays of the dreaded sun in the morning. Gah sorry, stupid sun. Anyway, she was wonderful and deserved far better than me. She lived in a small village, with a small church just a short walk away in the woods. She was happy; to be wed in fact. Her fiancé as devout and wonderful as she. They peacefully lived their days there until one night; it came. It had apparently been watching her for weeks as she walked merrily to and fro the church; waiting. When it finally made its move, he tried to stop it, only to be torn to shreds, his head severed; body mangled; blood everywhere. She screamed as loud as she could. But it... It bit her... And raped her... My helpless mother. My poor, beautiful mother. Her scream had been heard all the way at the church, and as the thing had its way with her, the priest was already en route. He caught it unaware, stepping over the shredded corpse of what should have been my father. He threw holy water upon it with one hand, and drive a stake through its heart with his other. The monster turned to dust over my mothers naked and bloody body. She was unconscious. The priest, knowing exactly what was to come of this, set his mind and body into motion. He was brilliant, an ex adventurer in fact, who had dealt with many a vampire in his time. In fact, that's why he chose to live in this village, to prevent this sort of thing from happening. He had traveled through once, and swore to come back; a truly virtuous paladin. He moved my mother from the bed, wrapping her in a clean sheet. He spread more of her fiancé's blood over the bed, even moving shreds of body atop it. He made it look like no one survived, picked up my mother and took her to the church. The shock had put her in a state of amnesia, and the priest did not want to destroy that blissful ignorance. He knew I was coming; he knew my mother wouldn't survive the birth; he was ready to extinguish my unholy existence the moment I popped out of the womb. He kept my mother in the church for the next nine months; to the townspeople, she was dead. He cut her hair, cowled her in the robes of a nun, and had her support the church. The townspeople who visited just assumed the child was his, and he had found a beautiful woman to deal with his grizzled nature and look. Nine long months passed like this. And eventually they did fall in love, despite the priest trying his damnedest to not; knowing what fate awaited them all. Then the fated day finally came. My mother thought the child his and was happy. The priest was sad, but trying his best not to show it. I came out, crying. My skin unnaturally pale; an abomination.
"Stop, please." She pleaded as she felt the energy in her dying. "I remember."
The priest gazed at her, tears welling up in his eyes, "Annabelle," he stuttered.
"Callen, please look after my child. Our child. This is a selfish request, but she doesn't deserve to die, she did nothing wrong. Please, raise her, for me," she spoke in between long pauses and shallow breaths.
Holding her hand to his cheek, he wept, "As you wish my love."
"Thank you," she muttered with a smile as her lifeless hand fell from his face.
Thus my life was spared, the dying wish of my mother. Callen raised me in secret, spending more time teaching and guiding me than supporting the church in which he lived, and the people who came to worship. The townsfolk assumed him distraught and unable to defeat his grief, for he told them both my mother and myself had died during the child birth. Thirteen years passed like this. He had plenty of books, and plenty to teach. I took a liking to alchemy, but his expertise in that field was small. Then, a friend of his came to visit; a wizard. They had adventured together a long time ago. The wizard was elven, so while Callen had become gray, his friend still looked as though he were a young adult. I was to go with this elven wizard; to learn alchemy. Before I left, I was told everything. For years I had asked why my skin was different, and why I couldn't go outside. I was torn when I heard, but he held my shoulders and pulled me into a deep hug.
"I love you Sera. You will always be my child," he cried, "Please, live. For me; for your mother."
A mob had grew outside, for I had snuck out one day months prior, and my skin had given me away.
"Want me to deal with them?" Asked his wizard friend.
"No, it is my fate."
The wizard carved a door through the air with his hand, and pulled me through it. I haven't seen Callen since. However, he did write to his friend. Apparently after we had left he proved his innocence by begging his God to smite him if he had done wrong, instead he was bathed in holy light. The townspeople bowed to the messenger of their God, dropping their torches and pitchforks on the spot, angry with themselves for having doubted.
I spent the next one hundred years devoted to alchemy under the instruction of a one Eluveair Barchumont. He was an eccentric man, very eccentric, and a brilliant teacher. I learned plenty, and even attained a goal. I once asked him if I could cure my heritage through alchemy. He said, "Hmmm... Well it's not... Impossible?" That was enough for me. Callen deserved better than I; Eluveair deserved better than I; my mother deserved to watch her child grow with her, but instead I took her life. When I was one hundred and thirteen I set out on my own at Eluveair's suggestion. At his behest, I traveled to the city of Korvosa. I immediately was fooled into buying a drug called Shiver. I had told myself I was just going to study it's alchemical composition; that didn't work well. One night I took too much and dreamt of Callen. He told me I was being dumb, I stopped the addiction right there, barely surviving. Perhaps it was his God? I began investigating as much as I could, mostly at night. I discovered the drug was a big problem, especially among the youth. It was all due to a local crime lord, but before I could take action, rumors had begun circulating of his death. Which brings me to now, or what should have been now, but I guess not since I'm dead. So, in short, if I'm a pile of dust, I failed to cure myself and please mail my dust to Eluveair Barchumont. If I am not a pile of dust, then wow it really sucks that I died; please still mail my body to Eluveair Barchumont.
