Strength 11 Constitution 16 Dexterity 10 Intelligence 15 Wisdom 19 Charisma 9
AC: Fortitude 14 Reflex 15 Will 15
Trained skills: Endurance, Insight, Intimidate, Diplomacy
Level 1 Human Invoker
A man awoke in the bustling heat of the docks of Namal, the great port city. Nameless, clothed in simple, worn garments, and with but a few coins in his pocket, he sought both survival and memory in the alleys and avenues of the city. His only clue to his identity was a curious mark, burned into the flesh of his right palm – an upright wedge, slashed.
The man worked in the port, finding himself strong and skilled, though completely bereft of any memory of his past. He sought the meaning of the mark that he believed would provide the key to his past, but none knew its significance.
Namal, at the time, was a den of iniquity; corruption, sloth, filth, and crime reigned, and the poor peasants who sought to scrape together a meager life for themselves were constantly tormented by the cruel and ruthless, on both sides of the ostensible law. As the man grew to love his adopted city and its people, his rage at their maltreatment grew.
One dark night, returning to his small room from his work on the docks, the man encountered a band of thugs. Their leader, a nasty stump of a man, grabbed a girl hurrying past and, laughing cruelly, began to tear off her dress. Seeing such wanton, blatant evil, the man snapped. He strode to the offending dwarf, grabbed him by the neck, and, feeling a tremendous surge of power, hurled him to the ground. The dwarf’s confederates immediately ran to their leader, but drew back just as quickly in horror. His eyes were shattered, his lips blue; the blood in his veins had oozed from his mouth thickly, and his arm lay crazily askew, snapped from his body like a frozen twig in winter.
The man was forced to flee Namal by the corrupt leaders who, it turned out, favored the vile dwarf and his ilk. But empowered by his encounter, the man set forth with renewed energy to discover his past, and his future. He traveled far into the wilderness, scaling peak after peak, drawn to the burning, purifying cold he felt flow through him in his moment of righteous rage. At last, upon the peak of Memnes, the Crown, he reached what he knew to be his goal.
What transpired between the Lady of Winter and the man that dark, icy night will remain forever secret. But he emerged from her stronghold with a name – Keranas, wrath of the winter – and a holy power. Keranas still seeks his past. But he does so as he writes the story of his future, in service to the goddess who marked him from the dawn of his memory, and who gave him his name and his power. (to be continued)