Victory

28 October, 2015

I’m sure this is completely wrong and anachronistic with respect to the actual 13th age history. And I’m taking liberties with other people’s characters again. But whatever. 🙂


A battlefield. The victorious army makes pyres for its dead, and buries the bodies of its enemy – thus do their comrades ascend to the overworld, and their enemies are consigned to hell.

The vanquished are the usual – goblins, hobgoblins, a smattering of orcs. The victors humans and elves. The humans wear the devices of their clans – the dragon of the overking, the lion rampant, the chevron argent, the three mallards. The elves wear no insignias. Excepting those few – human and elf alike, who bear no weapons, and wear a simple robe bearing the sign of the lotus. Between the three camps is the careful politeness of allies by force of circumstance.

The leaders are conferring in a muddy pavilion, examining a map. “The bulk of the remainder of the orcs are here, to the north. The scouts can make it in a day, but it will be at least three days to move the army. Four would be wiser.”

“Agreed”, replies Sir Grace. “And Geoffrey, will you bring your troops, or will you stay and take your new barony in hand?” The man with the mallards replies “Of course I will bring my men as agreed. We will all extend the overking’s lands and drive these orcs out once and for all.”

An elf quietly interjects, “to the border of the forest”. “To the line between the peak of CloudHome and New Falls, yes.” replies the man in the dragon surcoat, somewhat carefully. “Your Queen was wise to lend us aid – we will not forget that what we hold we hold because the the Queen helped us take it.”

The moment – passed.

But there was another source of tension in the pavilion. The monks of the grandmaster had been even more silent than usual. “And to the grandmaster, too, we must extend thanks”, he said, inclining his head to the elf of indeterminate age at their head.

“We welcome this effort,” said Mis’than’ar, “your course is a course of honour.” There was a curious stress on the word ‘honour’. It was not lost on the men at the table – fighters and politicians to a man. “Mis’thanar”, said Sir Grace – stumbling a little over the name – “If there is a difficulty among us, then we must resolve it before proceeding. “There is no difficulty.”, said Mis’than’ar, at which one of the younger monks, a human, spoke up. “The men with the birds on their chests have named the adept ‘bloodstone'”.

Sir Geoffrey Mallard shot a look a his sergeant. “Is this true, Wilks?” “Aye milord,” he replied, “for his fists – like stones, you see, and covered with orc blood.”

Sir Geoffrey considered for a moment. “You understand, Mis’than’ar”, he said, taking care to pronounce the name correctly, “that the men mean to do you honour.” The elf nodded, but said “Is an ill-aspected name. We do not eat blood, nor use weapons that draw it.”

Sir Geoffrey declined to mention the gushing compound fractures that Misthanar’s fists tended to inflict. “Nicknames among fighting men are earned, not chosen. If the men have named you Jasper,” he said – shooting a no nonsense look at the sergeant, “then Japser is how they will call you.”

Mis’than’ar considered for a moment. “Jasper is acceptable.” A small sigh of relief escaped everyone, and Wilkes nodded his understanding. “I will see to it, my lord”.

“Well, that’s sorted out then!” said Sir Gravel. “We’ll clean out the rest of these orcs, and then a christening at Geoffrey’s castle.”


There’s more to tell about Sir Geoffrey du marais des colverts, later Baron Geoffrey (he had the ‘marais’ changed to ‘lac’), first of his line. Despite the careful formality in that pavilion, he was rough around the edges and a notably dirty fighter. Oh, and he married a young witch. They were very happy – four kids.

He was a pretty good baron, as these things go. Well-liked, charismatic, and his lady had a knack for bookkeeping. It worked out well. Times were rough, and there was always plenty of fighting to do.

The barony was extinguished long ago, but his family line lives on.


Arena fight!

20 May, 2014

One of the things which I think we all recognise and appreciate is how much work Andrew puts into the game. He does story for all of the characters. We each have two characters, which is a lot, and yet he’s given Rapha my hobgoblin more work than I have.

Tonight we started off with a bit of story, a bit of a cutscene, but then Andrew dropped us into an arena fight. And it was just great. Three waves of enemies. First, we fought team B. Then, Durian the size L dwarf/goliath champion decided that we were worthy and crashed the party. We dropped him in one round 🙂 . Then OMG! Zombies! Shit just got real.

It was great to have a long combat. Most of our fights have been a few rounds then win or run away, and they have mainly been there to drive plot. Not that that’s a bad thing – nothing duller than a “here are some monsters, fight them” campaign. But goddamn it – you build these characters, you want to try them out! It was cool to do that, and everyone got a feel for what their own characters and all the other characters could do.

And this is not to say there was no plot. Alix’s warlock and Durian are due a rematch, for starters.

For me, Blackfen is a bad guy, which really I personally can’t play forever. He’s definitely an alter-ego. Blackfen is a bit of an a-hole, so new people who have only played with me as Blackfen can’t help but see me in those terms. Him becoming a revenant gives me scope to edit his personality a bit, but he’ll still be pretty dark. Playing my other dude – who has a couple of heals and buffs – it was good to take a break. Support caster (“controller”, in 4th ed parlance) is where I am most comfortable.

And I continued my usual “screw up the DM’s encounter” modus operandi. Everyone was already beaten up when the zombies came out. Rapha had one heal, which he dropped into – Durian! “Durian! Durian! Wake up! Zombies!” Andrew is like “Didn’t think of that…”, but handled it with aplomb, as always. Durian took care of the minions, but Andrew made us do the BBEG.

We are all looking forward to meeting Handsome Hank, whatever his incarnation in this campaign. God, he’s a dick.


So, this is death.

2 May, 2014

When the sun, and the light, and the moon, and the stars, be darkened,
    neither the clouds return after the rain:
In the day when the keepers of the house shall tremble,
    and the strong men shall bow themselves,
And the doors shall be shut in the streets,
    and all the daughters of music shall be brought low;
When the silver cord is loosed, and the golden bowl is broken,
    and the pitcher is broken at the fountain, and the wheel broken at the cistern.
Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was:
    and the spirit shall return unto the god who gave it.
Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; all is vanity.

I took a calculated risk, it did not go well. Bolts to the chest and the eye. I am dead.

I lie on a mound of bodies, just another corpse given to the maze. In the place between life and death the demon whose tooth I stole came to me, reclaimed his tooth and took his price, but it was little more than a beast – no bargains to be made there. In truth, I have little left to bargain with.

I watch my silver cord fray – a metaphor come to life (A metaphor? Or simply plain description of the reality?). Soon my spirit will detach from my body, and fly to face an uncertain future. I see it now – so obvious: the spirit to the immortals, the body back to the primordials. The ancient compact that made sentient life possible. I wonder for what gain they each bargained?

Around me … strange. The power in the corpses around me does not return below, as it should. The flesh remains … capable. Ready to be occupied. Animated. The spirits – I am no priest – but they do not fly as they should. Their path – they travel inward.

Into the maze.

What in the natural world appears to be an ever-changing, interlocking puzzle of shifting stone is here in the between-place a great vortex, a maelstrom. Slow at the edges, breezes merely tugging at the spirit, but a great roaring windstorm at its heart. The ground tremors and hums with the power of it – how could I not have noticed it before?

I watch the spirits around me rise, float away towards the astral sea and the immortals, but they become trapped, snared, slowly but inevitably drifting inwards to the maze. Their bodies rise and follow, like a dog its master, but the spirit drifts away faster as it is caught by the winds. I divine the purpose (or one purpose, at any rate) of the maze: to keep both body and spirit trapped together and yet lost, separated from one another. The paradox of the labyrinth – you know where you are, yet you don’t. So you wander. So close to its spirit, the body does not return to the primordials as it should. But separated from its rightful master, the body is left to its own devices – to walk, to kill and eat – and is ready to fall thrall to a spirit not its own.

It is manifestly a work, an artifact of magic. Its power is immense. Here, here is what I came to the underdark to find. Here is what I schemed and planned for. Are there even greater powers deeper below? Perhaps. But this maze lies before me. It calls me, as it calls all the rest. A snare, a trap – the naked spirit cannot walk it safely. Only armour of flesh can shield the spirit from its reality.

I will not go. I must go. I will not go. Not like this. Not like all the others – an uncomprehending spirit, while my flesh serves the will of another. I will not wander lost and forlorn without my body. Torn and ruined as it lies, yet I need it.

I have chosen my purpose, and my fate.

I will enter the maze. I will puzzle its riddle. I will decode its power.
I will gather what is mine, I will take back my flesh,
I will endure the pain of living once more,
I will seize the silver cord,
I will bind the broken bowl,
I will gather together the shards of clay,
I will enter the maze in my body,
I will tread its paths on my feet,
I will unlock it,
I will solve it,
I will know it,
I will,
I will …


A roar of shock and pain. Harrowing, as only the sounds of the undead can harrow. Among the pile of bodies at the base of the great cliff, one more rises. But this one does not shuffle dumbly towards the maze. It inspects itself, cursing its left arm hanging almost useless from a shoulder shattered to bits by crossbow bolts, which it pulls out of the wounds. One eye a gaping hole, and a great diagonal slash from shoulder to hip – ragged edged exactly like a wound ripped open by demon claw. Within, more horrifying than viscera spilling out – nothing. Nothing at all.

Shadow congeals around the corpse’s stump of a right wrist – it seeming unaware that it has called the shadows together for the purpose. It inspects a somewhat gaudy amulet, marked with a symbol of an eye. After briefly tinkering, it puts the amulet on, concentrates for a moment, and suddenly is clothed in a simple but clean dark grey robe – its eye still missing, but most of the worst of its scars effaced. It looks more or less as it remembers itself looking. It tucks the amulet away, out of sight.

It speaks. “I will also need some help, or at least some shields.” It looks up the cliff down which it so recently was thrown. “Damn them all.”

It clambers off the mound of bodies, kicking aside the occasional grasping hand, its movements becoming smoother by the second. It pauses, its attention caught by something invisible to mundane sight. It picks something up, then something else. It heads towards a pinprick of light in the distance, a flickering torch.


The guards stand their post, communicator close at hand. Cold comfort, that. If they are attacked, there are no spare troops. Did something move out there? No – all was still.

Wait – there was something moving. Shit. A single figure walking towards them, striding, not shuffling.

A hand on the communicator.
“Base! Base! We got incoming.”
A pause.
“What you got?”
“We got – looks like fast zombies.”
“How many?”
“Just the one visible.”
“Deal with it.”

So much for back-up.

The zombie, or ghoul, or vampire, or god-only-knows-what, approaches. Spears are leveled. “Halt and be recognised.” Standard procedure. Stupid, but you have to do it.

The figure halts. Raises its right hand. What the …?
Both hands!”
“I apologise, gentlemen, but my left arm seems to be injured.”
Pause.
“All right. Approach slowly.”

The figure steps forward. Slowly. Its grey face, its mangled eye-socket: unmistakable.

“Shit! Zombie!”
“Stand down! I assure you I am not a zombie. As you see, I am in my right mind.”
“Well, what are you then?”

“I honestly do not know.”
“Name?”
“Blackfen. Blackfen Undergallows, I think. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Wait a moment – the one that was tried for treason?”
“And completely exonerated, I remind you. I was killed in the attack by the traitors in Justice division, along with all the others.”
“Wait, what? So you are walking dead?”
“Yes, I never said I wasn’t. Look, you are clearly incapable of dealing with this. Take me to the oracles – they will wish to inspect me at the very least.”
“Sargeant…”
“And don’t call me sargeant. Do you see a badge? I stopped being a member of the underguard when I caught a crossbow bolt to the eye, and I’m not inclined to volunteer again. Find someone to tell you what to do. I’ll just wait here. I assure you – the oracles will want to see me.”


My side of the story

5 April, 2014

So I am playing a 4th ed shade warlock binder, named Blackfen. He’s basically a bad guy.

Our party is meant to be the classic “DnD irregular group of PCs the army”. Blackfen is supposed to be one rank higher than everyone – the “leader” of the group. He got his rank by sly, weasely double-dealing. His main goal is to acquire power of some sort by exploring the underdark. He already jabbed himself with a demon tooth, in hopes it would do something cool. I suspect one day it will, but the DM hasn’t quite decided what yet.

Anyway. We met some drow and Blackfen went to speak with ’em. They offered goodies for him personally in exchange for a sacrifice of one of his men. To de-emphasise what a dick move this would be, it’s meant to be a high-mortality campaign. We each play a different character on alternate weeks, so that we don’t get too attached. I fully expect Blackfen to get fragged at some stage.

Out-of-game at the table, of course, everyone was listening in. As luck would have it, Grobnar poked his head in. Nice of Jeremy to volunteer his character, rather than me having to pick someone. Blackfen waved Grobnar over, and the drow shot him. A crit. DM rolled the ‘body part’ dice. In this game, a crit to the head is an insta-kill.

Deciding that the higher-ups would never believe that Grobnar just happened to get killed by the undead, Blackfen used his racial ability to get out and back to the rest of the squad. It turned into a fight, of course. The BBEG left with Grobnar’s body, and we fought the remaining three drow. Meanwhile, the undead started to rise.

Two of the drow got killed, my guy told the other one to get out – sort of playing both sides at once (saving the last drow, but seeming like he was chasing him off).

There’s going to be an inquiry.

Here’s Blackfen’s version of events. Minor fixes from the version I emailed, including a more complete denunciation of Maddie’s character.


On [insert date here], I was ordered to take my squad to the gate of the maze to investigate the lack of contact from the sentries stationed there. Cpl [Maddie’s new character] was assigned to the squad to bring us back to a full complement, after the loss of Pvt Deekin who died heroically as part of my squad defending the rear gates of the fort on [last game here]. (Deekin was Maddie’s character, of course)

We proceeded to the gate without incident. We found the gate unguarded. There were signs of battle, and indications that the fallen had been dragged into the maze.

The gate being completely unguarded and open, and without specific orders, I determined that my squad should guard the gate until we were relieved. I sent [Alix’s Character] back to the fort to report. (Alix was away last week)

After a period of less than 20 minutes, Cpl Grondar reported that there was a drow just inside the maze, attempting to make contact to parley.

As the highest-ranking soldier present, I entered the gates of the maze. There were a small party (three) of what appeared to be drow armed with crossbows. The substance of our discussion on their part was that they were aware that the underfort was having difficulty with supplies, and suggesting that they might be able to improve matters. However, they insisted on being extremely vague. I gained the impression that they were attempting to imply that they were responsible for cutting some of our supply lines. (note the lack of mention of the BBEG 🙂 )

On my part, I attempted to gain agreement that these persons would parley with a more senior officer – I myself having no authority whatever to negotiate on behalf of the underfort.

After only a minute or two of these discussions (the “drow” being very evasive and indefinite the whole time), Cpl Grobnar reentered the maze and approached. The drow spooked and shot him cleanly in the head, killing him instantly.

I used my arts to go through the wall of the maze and call my squad to action, as Grobnar had been attacked. Members of my squad entered the maze and engaged the drow. Cpl [Maddie’s Character] accused me in front of the squad of betraying the squad to the enemy and being unfit for command.

I entered the maze and cast an enchantment to enable my those of my squad with normal surface vision to see and engage the enemy, however, I could see that a large number of undead were approaching. My squad had already killed two of the drow, but I ordered then to withdraw immediately and hold the gate.

The undead did not pass the gate, and we were duly relived.

It also bears mentioning that we retrieved the body of one of the drow. The dark skin of the “drow” proved to be makeup. These – as far as we can determine – were not drow, but ordinary surface elves.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂

In defence I my own actions, I submit the following:

I believe that my decision to order my squad to man the gate was correct, and that little discussion is needed on that point. I sent back a runner immediately for reinforcement, although after a search we uncovered the communicator.

With respect to my decision to parley with the group within the maze, my alternative was to do nothing. I decided against this for two reasons. First: although I have no authority to negotiate on behalf of underfort, it is clear that we should attempt to not reject out-of-hand the overtures of potential allies and so I attempted to communicate with them while staying within my authority to do so. It is gravely unfortunate that Cpl Grobnar interrupted these negotiations and paid for it with his life.

Second, and more immediately important, I believed that I was best able to determine the nature and size of the unknown force – one quite possibly responsible responsible for the attack on the previous sentries – inside the maze which my squad was guarding. Events proved me right in this, as I was able by my arts to remove myself when negotiations broke down.

With respect to my squad simply charging into the maze, I accept that I ought to have prepared better and left clearer orders. Our squad should have formed up and defended the bottleneck of the gate rather than individual soldiers charging into battle, although it was inevitable that we would have to move forward to engage as the enemy was armed with missile weapons.

I would also, at this point, commend the courage and skill at arms of my squad. They entered the maze and engaged the enemy without hesitation and if not for an army of undead approaching from within the maze would without question have disposed of twice the number of troops that we faced.

The most serious issue is discipline, the lack of discipline resulting not only in the haphazard charge into the maze, but most importantly in the actions of Cpl Grobnar himself. If he had remained outside the maze and not interrupted negotiations, this affair may have turned out considerably better.

As the court is aware, my squad is an irregular group of recruits, volunteers, two or three ex-regulars and at least one from other backgrounds (ie: convicts). Over the past few weeks, I have had particular difficulty with one of my men – a civilian volunteer who occasionally is prone to give his duties less attention than they merit. I intended to deal with this by deferring his promotion to Corporal (a promotion rightly earned for valour on the battlefield) by a matter of a few days. I was refused permission to do this. I do not know why I was refused permission to impose an extremely mild disciplinary measure on my men. It may be that if my squad had been reminded that in the underguard we are required to follow orders, Cpl Grobnar might not have acted as he did and been killed as a result. We will never know.

(Needs a little explaining. Alice’s gnome alchemist is a pretty typical gnome, so Blackfen has decided to blame him for everything that goes wrong. It’s not that he especially dislikes the gnome in particular, it’s just that the gnome is designated patsy after the grass fire in the first mission.)

Finally, I should like to reply to the outrageous, reckless, and completely unsubstantiated accusations of Cpl [Maddie’s new character], that I had betrayed my squad to the drow, and that I am thereby unfit for command.

There is little to say but that these accusations are false. I did not and would not under any circumstances do any such thing. Cpl [Maddie’s new character]’s conduct was disgraceful. He made these accusations because he panicked when battle broke out, as I believe the comms operator at the fortress can attest.

(Maddie’s character was freaking out, yelling into the mike “OMG we are being attacked! Send reinforcements! Aieeee! When those reinforcements coming? OMG!” At least, that’s how I remember it 🙂 .)

Having only served with Cpl [Maddie’s new character] for less than a few hours, I know little about him save that his previous squad was killed to a man, with only him surviving. I find in greatly suspect, in the light of his shameful display of cowardice, that he survived an attack that killed the rest of his unit. I also find it deeply suspect that Cpl [Maddie’s new character] immediately concludes, when events go awry, that a soldier of the underguard has betrayed his comrades. With respect, I suggest that this or some other court might wish to inquire more closely into the circumstances under which all of Cpl [Maddie’s new character]’s comrades died, leaving only himself to survive.


IOW: everything that happened is someone else’s fault, and no-one can prove any different.

Fun times at Good Games!


That’s Cpl. Blackfen, thank you very much!

27 February, 2014

At last! Or nearly so, at least. The Underdark! So close, so tantalisingly close.

It has been some time since I made my little bargain with my patron. Service for power, a little of my life for a little of his. My flesh partly replaced by shadow – I claim to be part drow, it fools most.

The key is time. A human does not live long, not compared to most races. Oh, there are libraries of tomes, there are years of fusty research on the surface, growing old and feeble, finally attaining wisdom and then death shortly after at fourscore and ten.

And then again, there are the secrets of the darkness below.

To be young and vital, not for a few decades, but for centuries. To have the leisure to pursue knowledge and power. To know a single tree from seed to its eventual fall. To simply live as long as an average elf or dwarf – it is not wrong to desire this. I do not seek immortality, only to live a few years longer than my allotted span.

AKA: “I don’t want all the land in the world, I just want the land that borders mine.”

So. To explore the underdark, to wrest from it its secrets, is more easily said than done. In practical terms, the only way is to join the underguard. A strange rag-tag bundle of misfits, a dumping ground for the unsociable and the criminal. Patrolling a few holes in the ground – it’s possible they have not even reached the real underdark at all. Its possible they merely patrol a few simple caves.

Be that as it may. Being part of a military party is the only practical way into the deeps. Having command of a military party is even better, and I have begun taking my first steps in that direction today.


Guys, I don’t have my notes with me right now. I’ll do the best I can. We had me, John, Jez, Alix, and new dudes. Six players, but I only have five characters below.

Our first mission – to clear a field of kobolds. We numbered myself, a pair of fighters, a god-botherer of some kind, another who had made some kind of … pact (it takes one to know one), and a gnome tinkerer. The sergeant had spoken to me – he wanted a report on the other recruits. Excellent! I resolved to make this my top priority, observing and keeping notes. The main thing being to identify someone to blame for any problems. This went swimmingly well, as the gnome tinkerer threw bombs of some sort that se the tall grass afire. We got the fires out (while fighting kobolds, I might add), but the point is – I had my patsy.

The kobolds gave us little trouble. They were kobolds. But as we looked for the little nuisances and fought them, we discovered a few very large reptilian or possibly avian footprints, and a cage that had been left open. Some of us had a sensation that we were being watched. Stalked.

After a time our superiors came in, declared that we had performed sufficiently well, and dispatched the remaining kobolds with startling efficiency. Most of them departed, leaving one behind to speak to us.

It was then that the demon attacked. It tore the corporal in two, and we fought it. I did little but watch and take notes.

When we were done, I investigated the cage. Inside was scored with clawmarks, and I found a fragment of talon. I tested it, it chimed with power. In the privacy of the cage, screened by the grasses all around us, I plunged the talon into the muscle of my chest, towards the pit of my left arm.

I regained conciousness with the rest of the group around me, tending to the various wounded. Of the talon, and the wound in my chest, there was no sign.

We returned to base.


I reported to the sergeant. I gave, I think, a fair accounting of the performance f the other recruits. Our fighters fought well (if with foolish impetuousness), our god-botherer healed, even the other warlock showed competence. And I openly expressed my bad opinion of the gnome – I judged that this sergeant would have no time for subtle insinuations. A display of plain forthrightness was what is called for in dealing with such men.

But the gnome is a civilian volunteer to the underguard. Such are unusual, and they can’t simply be ejected from the corps. The sergeant told me that he wanted me to keep an eye on the gnome, and I leapt at my chance. Leapt at it. Feigning no more than concern, I said “Well, sarge, I don’t know what I can do. I’m just a private like everyone else.”

And so now I am a corporal. On the one hand, a nuisance – I will be held to account for our group, and I can’t blame the gnome for everything. But on the other, I now have six troops.

The underdark will not give up its secrets to me willingly. But I am now on the right path. I can feel it.

Guys, I just want you to know that if it turns out that the party decides that it needs to frag its corporal for everybody’s safety, then that’s a role-playing outcome that I am cool with. We’ll see how badly this bootlicker fucks things up.

Blackfen

25 February, 2014

Started Season 8 tonight. Should be good. Andrew is running the game, and we no longer have 900 people playing so it’s a bit more manageable.

My character A is Blackfen, a shade Warlock/binder. He has very rapidly turned into a “power-hungry bootlicker”, as I posted on the email list. I should write up the game, but it’s 1AM and I am going to hit the sack and do it maybe tomorrow. This post is really just a note-to-self to get it done.

‘Nite all.

This is some text which I have added for the purpose of testing the style.


Season 8!

3 February, 2014

Season 8! Season 8! God-damn season 8!

Well, I hope it’s ok, anyway. Dropped out of the game at Good Games a few months back. New game starts in a few weeks – looking forward to it. I have built a Shade Warlock (binder). I think I should build a couple of characters. Thing is – I have played most things that interest me. I could go Warlord or Cleric, but they would inevitably be Baharash II and Orsik II. There are plenty of other classes, but most involve learning new rulesets (points, infusions, companions).

Oh, it’s such a drama!

Anyway. Here’s proposal #1. A Mr Blackfen, who normally just calls himself Phil.

Controller class. All the social skills. Lot of odd-numbered abilities, which will get bumped as we level up. Pretty balanced. Str dump stat.

====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ======
Blackfen (aka Phillip), level 1
Shade, Warlock (Binder)
Pact: Gloom Pact (Binder)
Arcane Pariah (Diplomacy class skill)
Theme: Deep Delver

FINAL ABILITY SCORES
STR 8, CON 13, DEX 15, INT 10, WIS 15, CHA 18

STARTING ABILITY SCORES
STR 8, CON 13, DEX 13, INT 10, WIS 15, CHA 16

AC: 14 Fort: 11 Ref: 13 Will: 15
HP: 25 Surges: 6 Surge Value: 6

TRAINED SKILLS
Bluff +9, Diplomacy +9, Dungeoneering +9, Intimidate +9, Stealth +9, Streetwise +9

UNTRAINED SKILLS
Acrobatics +2, Arcana +2, Athletics –1, Endurance +1, Heal +2, History +0, Insight +2, Nature +2, Perception +2, Religion +0, Thievery +2

POWERS
Basic Attack: Melee Basic Attack
Basic Attack: Ranged Basic Attack
Deep Delver Utility: Subterranean Survival
Shade Utility: One with Shadow
Warlock Utility: Shadow Warp
Warlock Attack 1: Web of Shadows
Warlock Attack 1: Hound of Dark Omen
Warlock Attack 1: Echoing Dirge
Warlock Attack 1: Shadow Claws

FEATS
Level 1: Skill Training (Diplomacy)

ITEMS
Leather Armor x1
Adventurer’s Kit
Rod Implement x1
Syllable of Grace
Potion of Cure Light Wounds
====== End ======