The fire in the old, empty inn burnt softly, the crackling and burning of the wood sent sparks skittering across the floor. A young boy, no old that ten darted across the room, stamping out an ember which had lodged itself firmly on huge brown rug, clearly made from the hide of a dire wolf. The child grabbed a broom and begun sweeping the soot and ash back into the fireplace.
The smell of the inn permeated the air, and the stale smell drifted across the table where a small runt of a man and an older man sat sipping their ale.
“Tell me lad. I must hear the story again” said the old man as he opened the well-worn manuscript, his hand grasping at the quill like a sword as he dipped the device into the ink well, eager to take note on the young man’s story.
The young man cleared his through, the look of guilt and remorse clearly spread across his face. He sighed, took a swig of his drink and looked longingly into its depths.
“My name is Rurrt, an Ulfen name, given to me by my late foster father Burr. He was a Werebear you know”.
“Yes, yes. Go on.”
“I bear the coloring and features of a member of the Skoan-Quah or Skull Clan in the northern tongue, of the Shoanti people from the Mindspin Mountains. I do not know who my true parents are or why they abandoned me deep in the forests of the Ustalav Mountains. I am bereft of my cultural heritage.”
The young man again took a swig from his mug. A tear flowed from his right eye and was just as quickly whisked away by his smelly sleeve.
“I have neither undergone my naming ceremony nor have I received my tattoos. These are the things, among others, that are of concern to me now that I have ventured from the mountain forests and into the wider world.”
The boy pondered for a moment.
“Oh. And did I mention that I am a Wererat. I think I forgot that bit. Or at least I was for a time. It’s complicated.”
“I was found in a remote part of the Ustalav Mountains, deep in the tall trisanti forest, by a giant of a woodcutter named Burr.”
The young man sneered and chuckled to himself.
“In actual fact, to be precise, I was found by his huge dog, which had sniffed me out. Burr was a simple man, who lived alone within the forest, living off the land and being his own master. His dog, which is simply called “Dog”, followed him everywhere”.
“I remember Burr tell me one day that he found me lying in a bed of moss, wrapped in strange skins. There were vulture feathers lining the wraps and beside me neatly arranged where large beetle casings. I had been there more than a day when he found me. I was weak and sickly. I was on the brink of death.”
“Recognizing some of the symbols of the Shoanti peoples, Burr picked me up. At the sight of this giant of a man, I made a weak mewling noise. He sniffed me and was close to discarding my near lifeless body to the dog, when he noticed my right palm bore a birthmark in the shape of a crescent moon. He halted, studied the symbol and told “Dog” that I was not for him. He said that he had not seen the symbol for many years, but instantly recognized it as being the mark of the changeling caste. This mark, more than anything, led him to take this small helpless baby, me, into his life.”
“He rewrapped my frail body and started the trek back to his humble home deeper in the woods. And that was where he raised me for my first 14 years. How he managed to keep me alive, I will never know. But, against all odds, alive I remained and I flourished under his care and tutelage.”
“It was at age five that my true identity became apparent and Burr bore the scars from that awakening for as long as I knew him.
“Burr, having recognized my blood origins, knew what was to be done at this stage in my development. He built timber shutters for his windows and a heavy bar for his door. At the next full moon, he left me outside to allow nature to take its course.
“That first night outside alone, going through the change, was the scariest night of my life. I remember it as if it were only yesterday. I remember the pain, as I went from a human child to that of a rat. Once changed, I wailed against the door wanting to taste flesh, to make my first kill. I hated Burr for shutting me out, and hated him for each change thereafter, until I realized that the change was part of who I was. It was not something monstrous as many if they knew my secret would accuse me of being. Of course Burr’s calm teachings assisted me in realizing this truth more than he would have ever admitted. He knew what he was doing I soon realized, as he always claimed that each person found their place in their own time and way.
“Each morning after such a night, Burr would come looking for my battered and bruised body, where ever it lay, and would care for my injuries.
“Burr started to teach me about my blood heritage. From that first night outside, he taught me all he knew, about “the change”, which for a man as simple as Burr, was quite extensive. He also taught me a little of my Shoanti culture, mostly about the spirits of my people. How he knew of that was beyond me at that point. He taught me about when the change is easiest, during the full moon, and when it’s hardest, during the new moon. He taught me how to change on the run, and how to use the partial change to enhance fighting techniques.
“He explained to me the ways of his bloodline, and some of the ways of the Werewolves. He taught me some of the signs from which one could recognize one of the changing breeds, although these are not to be relied upon in and of themselves. However the most important lesson he taught me was to never bite anyone, unless the intent was to create an abomination with which havoc will be wrought, and therefore bring about another human uprising against the changing breeds. The ‘others’ will not look kindly on these acts.
I asked Burr one day how he knew so much about the changing breeds, at which he growled and explained that it was time that I knew. Knew what I thought, as he led me out of the cabin and into an open clearing. I followed eager to see what he was up too and there in front of me, he initiated his own change. What was once a giant of a man standing before me, now was a giant bear standing on all four haunches, he pushed his enormous bulk off the ground and stood and roared. I was entranced. For some reason I ran to him. Something within him changed. I saw it in his eyes. He raised a paw and with one swift blow he swatted me down to the ground”
The boy took a breath, his finger gently touching a scar which ran down the side of his face.
“His claw gave me this. He didn’t mean it. I was something that he just couldn’t control. As I collapsed, bleeding profusely, he changed back, and quickly rushed me back inside the cabin. He tended my wound, continuously apologizing for his clumsiness.
“Burr was a gentle giant. He was slow to anger and fiercely loyal to those who knew him. He was not very smart, but was generally a happy man.
“In the coming years I grew into my true self, becoming one with the change. I learnt to control it, and was able to bring about partial changes. I reveled in this part of myself. I felt alive, strong and quick. I wasn’t a bear like Burr, but a rat – a big rat – and thus the reason for me having a fondness for rats.”
Almost on cue, a rat appeared from a pocket somewhere on the young man’s person. It stopped for a moment on his arm, looked at the young man, and then made its way to a slice of bread which still occupied its master’s plate.
“I have several as pets, and they seemed to like me.
“Burr explained to me that rats where of the city and it was very rare for a Wererat to be so far from one. It was even stranger since my birth place was surely been the Mindspin Mountains, the home of my people.
“The nature of my arrival in Burrs part of the mountains is still a mystery. Why I was left as a baby is beyond both of us.
“Burr instructed me further on the ways of the changeling races. He taught me how to be wary of other folk as they did not – and still don’t – like our kind at all. In fact many would rather kill us than spend the time to get to know us. Burr told me one day that our kind had its fair share of bad eggs in the past, and will do so into the future. But as you can see, this does not mean we are all alike.”
“One thing I learned of was the curse. We had the ability to create others like us but unlike us, if we were to bite a humanoid creature, it could turn into a semblance of us – but not the same as us. The curse robs them of free will, and turns them into ravenous blood thirsty killers. This is the reason we cannot expose ourselves to anyone, and unfortunately most people do not understand the difference.
The Best of Times
“Those first 14 years of my life hold the fondest memories for me even today. In the dark times of my life since leaving those mountains, I would cast my memory back and gain some measure of peace.
“During my time with Burr, I worked hard to assist him. When I was very young I would lead the ox through the forest for him and fetch water. As I grew, I learned to hunt and forage. I learned about all the different trees and the ones that would fetch the best prices at market.
“Burr spent a lot of time teaching me how to enhance my natural abilities. He slowly realized that I would never be big and strong, and that I would always be relatively small of stature. But he also knew that I was very quick and agile, and he trained me – although I did not recognize it as such at the time – to survive not only the forest but also the places of people. Something at that time I was yet to experience.
“He developed a fighting dummy, a log hung from a tree with branches sticking out of it. He trained with me and taught me the locations on both man and beast of where to strike to cause the most lethal damage. Burr did not like to inflict pain, so all his hunting strikes where true and enabled a quick kill. This fighting style was efficient and direct, and was definitely not an honorable form of combat, or so some of these human nobles would say. I have studied these so called honorable forms of combat in recent years, and can say that they are inefficient at killing, and cause wounds rather than swift killing strikes.
“Burr taught me the value of distraction in order to get the best strike, thus he used “Dog” while hunting. I trained in this hunting style and became adept at taking advantage of opportunities in combat. Soon I took Dog hunting and although I had no talent in handling the great lummox, despite my own deficiencies, we did start bringing back our food requirements.
To Market, to Market
Every month Burr and I would roll the precious timber logs that we had cut down, down to the creek and readied them for the trip down river to the village market in Varistol, what I now know to be a small hamlet south of Burr’s cabin. The journey usually took a few days mainly due to the fact that there were lots of snags in the creeks and river for the logs to become lodged in. Because of our time in the water, I quickly I learnt to swim with a knife between my teeth and cut the logs free from snags.
Floating the big logs down the river through the forest expanse was an art in itself. The logs would become water logged, and the moss on them would them quite treacherous. Driving these logs enhanced my natural acrobatic instincts by forcing me to balance on moving slippery surfaces. I learnt the hard way on many occasions that one must move instinctively, and learn to read the river as well as the logs, in order to avoid a nasty injury. I must admit, I had a few of those.
I grew to treat each journey with both excitement and apprehension. There was the excitement at the prospect of seeing all the people and all the sights of the village, and the apprehension I felt by the manner in which the villagers would treat me. They would call me names, and throw stones at me, calling me ‘animal’ or ‘monster’. Burr always defended me and most folks would move away when this mountain of a man thundered in to protect his pup.
It was one such altercation that led to me to leave Burr, Dog and my home, far behind.
The Worst of Times
That day we arrived at the village on dusk. It had taken us five days to get there this trip as we were delayed by debris generated by a flash flood that we had experienced earlier in the month. There were strange wagons in town this day, all black and covered with strange red writing.
I noticed Burr stiffen as we rounded the bend in the river when he first set eyes on the wagons. I asked him what the matter was to which, as normal, he just grunted and maneuvered the logs into the lumber wharf.
We were greeted cordially by the lumber yard owner, who was keener to see the logs than us. After some haggling by Burr, who usually got what he wanted, we got our money and we on our way.
Burr sent me to ready the canoe which we would tow with us for our return journey. While he headed off to the general store for our monthly supplies, this month he was buying a new axe for me. As much as I wanted to have his, he clearly thought of his act as his child as well, and often I would hear him singing to it. Anyway, I didn’t have a problem with him going alone as the store owner had made it very clear over the years that I was not welcome within his store.
I had reached my coming of age that year, and Burr had given me two blades, explaining to me that anything bigger would be wasted on one such as me. I was playing with these while tending the canoe, when a strange fellow came sniffing around. In fact, he was literally sniffing the air in my direction.
I readied myself for a fight or worse, another mocking or beating. I thought to myself that now that I was old enough, I could look after myself and that I was not going to put up with crap from no stranger.
This sniffing dark skinned man, stopped just off the wharf, and learnt on the rail. He called out to me.
“YOU. Boy. Caaaannn yoooou speeeeeakkk?”
I turned towards the man, still flipping my knives, “Yes”, I claimed.
The man was not much past his own coming of age. He had a haughty, self assured attitude about him. He wore fine clothes, relative to my own rags, and had a long blade hanging from his hip.
“That’s not talking. Sounds more like a grunt of a pig”, the man laughed. “Is that what you are ugly? An ugly pig? Oink oink”. The man laughed again.
I put both my blades into one hand draw an old knife from my boot. I flicked it to bury the blade in the post the little shit was leaning against. Startled he jumped back drawing his long blade. With a snarl he charged at me.
“I’ll have pig on a spit for my lunch today”, the man cackled as he ran headlong into me.
I quickly flicked my second knife into my other hand, so that I could effectively wield both blades. I crouched to receive his charge, and as he closed, I ducked and stepped to the side, bringing both blades up and across in a crossed arm to open arms motion. The action quickly opened his throat and abdomen simultaneously, blood splattered on the dock, and the man’s body fell to the ground and remained motionless. I could hear the drops of blood pouring from his wounds into the river below. Ut was my first kill. Soon however, I could see a red stain spread out into the current. A shout went up from downstream in the vicinity of the stranger’s wagon camp. I looked up and saw some villagers looking at me in horror. I guess I must have looked quite the site, standing over the dead man, twin blades dripping with entrails, my clothes covered in fresh blood, and a steely, feral look in my eyes. It was then I realized that I had instinctively initiated a partial change to give myself the added speed I needed to quickly defeat the fool. Looking back, this was a very grave mistake. Burr would not be pleased.
A scream went up from the villagers, “The rat boy has killed one of the gypsies”.
More shouts came from the gypsy wagons, and a mob was quickly forming. Burr burst from the general store, and ran straight for me. He took one look at me and the body at my feet and without a word turned to face the building crowd, hands clenched into mighty fists.
The villagers gathered shouting and cursing at us. A whistle issued forth and the crowd quieted, and parted to let a tall gypsy woman through. She stood before us, took one look at the body and let forth a wail. Just then the village elder pushed his way through the crowd. He was a plump man with a red face from too much wine. He owned most of the stores within the village and was a gruff angry man, but generally fair handed. He shouted over the renewed hubbub of the crowd.
“What is going on here?” the man asked, “What has transpired”. At that stage I wasn’t sure what he meant, you see he liked to use big words to show off to visitors, although sometimes I don’t think he used them right.
“Murder!” the crowd erupted. “Cold blooded murder! They are beasts! String him up! String ‘em both up”
The village elder also owned the lumber business, and was making exceptionally good money off Burr’s log deliveries. He wasn’t too keen on losing his best and only source of rare timbers that the mages in the city paid enormous sums for. He turned to Burr, took one look at the determination in his face and frowned. He turned back to the crowd.
“Now people listen! I am sure there is a perfectly perfunctory explanation for what has ensconced here! Let me handle this. There will be no further bloodshed here today!”
No sooner had the village elder spoken that a tall gypsy woman pushed past. She pulled back her black veil at which point both Burr and I saw the woman’s face, her expression filled with rage, her different coloured eyes bursting with fury.
“Different coloured eyes?” said the professor.
“I’ll get to that said the young man, handing his pet rat another morsel he had been saving for later.
Yes, she had different coloured eyes. I couldn’t help staring at her.
Suddenly the woman brought forth something from within her clothing and started chanting and cackling. I got a little uneasy about this and Burr’s whole body stiffened.
The gypsy woman, shouted at me, “For your crime you shall travel forth from this place bereft of your true heritage. You shall never be whole, as you have taken a part of me so I take a part of you”.
She waved a stick at me and I felt incredible pain flow through me and my very soul. I buckled and fell to the boards, unconscious, and when I awoke I was floating down the river in Burrs canoe. He was paddling quickly sweating profusely, and he showed signs of having been in a fight.
He did not speak of what had happened and only told me that I was no longer welcome in the village. He told me then that he had taught me all he could, and that it was now times for me to venture forth into the world of men. I asked what he would do. He told me that he would be good and that he would go back to his home and cut trees. He told me that it was time that he was alone.
Tears swelled in my eyes. I told him that I didn’t want to leave, and that I was nothing without him. He told me that I couldn’t come back and that I must accept that what I had done was bad.
We traveled for another day or so when we came upon another village, a place I had not known of before that day. Burr pulled into shore just north of the village, and helped me out of the canoe. He reached under a blanket and pulled out a leather backpack full of food and equipment. The backpack also held a small satchel which contained the strange skins, vulture feathers and the large beetle casings that I was found with. Unbelievably Burr had kept them, unbeknownst to me, all these years. For some reason he knew that this trip would be our last together.
“Go well boy,” he said, “and mind you avoid folks, especially those gypsies. Guard your secret as there are those that would use it against you.”
It was the most that I had heard him say – ever. I did not have the heart to tell him that I knew I was no longer of his ilk, and that somehow the witch’s curse had taken from me that which I prized the most. My soul. My being. My life. I felt less than whole. I felt lost.
I parted company with Burr that day. As he entered his boat, I saw that he didn’t look back. I expected him to turn the canoe around, hoping he had changed his mind, hoping that he would jump up, grab me in his arms and proclaim that he had forgiven me. He didn’t, and he never looked back.
I must have sat on that dock for hours, lost for what to do with myself. Finally something told me to get up and I did – I got up. I walked for a way further down river. I don’t know what I would have done now if I didn’t get up. Perhaps I would still be there.
It was during that walk that I happened upon a group of men who were looking for a deck hand on a small ferry that was travelling down the river to a place called Illmarsh. I had heard Burr mention Illmarsh before, something about a place the world forgot and that the world preferred to keep that way. The men said that they needed a few extra souls for the journey. The men claimed that they would be taking some of the smaller logs down to Illmarsh and then across the bay to Threshmoor, a journey that would take a few weeks. I had nowhere else to go and these men didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at my appearance – something I was curious about. It was clear that I had nowhere else to go, and as I was desperate to see the larger city, and to possibly find more of my kind, I accepted their offer. Perhaps, I thought, that this journey would also help me find a way to lift this curse.
That journey was long and very eventful. I learnt much and discovered something that gave me purpose again, something that gave me drive. It was during that journey that I discovered the undead.”
“And this is what I wanted to hear about son”, said the Professor.
“Yes. The undead. Abominations. Things that should be destroyed. That journey ignited a flame of hatred within me that I yearn, even now, to feed. It was because of the Undead that I lost of my companions on that journey and that I lost my father, Burr.”
Death and a New Purpose
I had heard word at a town we stopped at along the way that the village, where I had been forced to leave, had been attacked by strange creatures that, in their words, had no life. They had the pale skin of a freshly slain corpse, glowing blue eyes and fangs like a wolf. I did not care that much, as those villagers had not shown any friendship toward me. However, one aspect of the story being told, inflamed my heart. It was said that a giant of a man, fighting beside a wild woman with two different colored eyes, was in the village during the attack. I was told that he saved many lives fighting the scourge, but the numbers where too great and he was seen to fall and not rise again.
I mourned for my father for many days and prayed that I would be given the opportunity to avenge him. I should not have prayed so hard. We were a few days from our destination when it happened. I had come out of my gloom, and even the other drivers were speaking to me and including me in the evening discussions. When the creatures struck, four of the men were struck down before we could rally a defence. It was them, their glowing blue eyes cutting through the mist.
I saw red and flew into a rage. I drew my blades and flew at the foul beasts, cutting my way through them – cutting my way to revenge. Everything seemed to slow down and somehow I was moving fastest than they were. I got a good look at them too. White skinned creatures that moved quickly. I saw their fangs, and how easily they sunk them into the necks of my new found companions. They appeared to be drinking their blood. Were they vampires? But how was I killing them so easily then? Had I become such a formidable warrior now? I did not understand, and this raised more questions than answers.
Later the men spoke of my ferocity and precision during the attack. I earned their admiration that day, but my thirst for revenge was far from satiated. I wanted to kill more of these hell spawn, and I hope that day would come again soon.
We did not stay long in Illmarsh. There was something strange about that place, that I hope I never see again. Within hours of docking, we quickly made our way across the bar and followed the shoreline to Threshmoor. As we came around the bend, I caught sight of the steeples in the city. What a sight! My eyes were so wide. It was no wonder I fell in with unsavory characters. I was so innocent back then.
Upon reaching the city, I bid farewell to my employers. In parting, the Captain of the barge, a dwarven fellow, took me by the shoulder and gave me some advice.
“Son”, he said, “These folk here won’t take kindly to your kind. Take my advice, and travel back with us and work the logs. You could do worse”.
But my eyes where full of the wonder of the city, the sights the sounds, so many people.
With money in my pocket and wonder in my eyes, I bid the Captain and his crew a fond farewell. I would miss, given the short time that I had known them. We had suffered many hardships together along the way. Later, the telling of one of those hardships led me to you Professor.
A Bond is Forged
It was the end of my first month in the city. I had been forced to join a group of street thugs, and somehow, upon entering the city, I managed to owe the group’s leader money for his protection. I had no money at the time, having purchased a no somewhat overpriced meal and mead, and then in my drunken stupor had been rolled for my remaining coin and equipment. I somehow managed to recover my belongings through shear ferocity, and I later came to the realization that the group of street thugs I was forced to join was the same one that had relieved me of my wealth. It was because when I came to recover my gear that I injured one of the thugs who just happened to be the simpleton brother of the pack’s leader. At knife point, the leader ‘suggested’ I work off my debt to him and so, reluctantly, I agreed.
By the time I met the Professor, I was beginning to realize, that my indenture was not to my benefit, and was seeking a way out of my predicament. I was wandering the streets, deep in my own thoughts when I bumped into a well dressed man. My immediate reaction was to fleece him as he appeared well groomed, and obviously plump with coin. As I eyed him off, he caught me, grabbed my arm and said, “Just the ticket! You will do finely. Come with me son”.
I tried to run. I even managed to slip his grip, but he stopped me with a word – “undead”.
“You’ve had some run in with them haven’t you boy?”
How could he know? I hadn’t spoken of the incident with anyone.
“Come with me lad and I can show you a better way that this way of the cutpurse. And perhaps, along the way, you can assist me in my studies”.
I couldn’t think of a better way out of my current predicament, and so I agreed.
He took me to his room in one of the inns, and we spoke, about many things. What he was most interested in was my run in with the Undead.
The professor showed keen interest in my story and at the description of the attack, muttered “Vampires? No. Tainted? No. Half-bloods? Yes. Although there are so few that they do not travel that way. Curious. Either way, you were all lucky lads. Now, tell me more, as he topped up my cup of warm coco”.
Over the next few months I trained under a master swordsman paid for by Lorrimor, however it was the professor that reawakened the hatred of the undead in me and assisted me in my training to kill the foul undead spawn in all its forms. He showed me many drawings he had made of the undead, and explained that there are so many types of these foul things. He assured me that my feelings against the undead where not isolated, and that there were many among the living that strived to wipe out their kind. He also explained however, that there were many, in particular in Ustalav that sought to create great armies of Undead and return to the ways of the Whispering Tyrant
I learned how to attack these beasts effectively and soon became a weapon against the undead. The skills I learnt then would assist me in my training within the thieves’ guild, and I quickly honed my skills to its fine level of today. I have much more to learn, but I am ready to hunt now: Hunt the Undead.
Into the Breach
I soon left the Professor and made my way across Ustalav and ended up in the capital, constantly on the hunt for undead, on the look-out for some mention of my kind, or listening for information on how to release me from this curse.
It had been many years since seeing the Professor when recently I arrived in a tavern I often frequent after a scouting job for the keep’s watch. As I brush myself off, the bar-keep, a grumpy old geezer hands me a letter marked with the Professor’s seal. After grumbling about not being my house maid nor his messenger boy, he reminded me of my late rent claiming that if I didn’t pay up he had a number of people waiting to pay good money for the room. I had been paid well that night, and I dropped 5 gold pieces on the bar.
“This should bring me up to speed.”
I had not heard from the Professor in many years, not since I had left Threshmoor, and I wondered if he had found some new information on my plight. I cracked open the mysterious missive’s seal and took a seat at a nearby table. The bar maid brought me a warm coco, something I had become fond of since being introduced to it by the professor those many years ago.
I read through its contents and my heart stopped, a tear rolling down my face. I had not cried for many years, not since Burr left me behind. But the Professor was dead, and I was summoned to his home in northern Ustalav, in the town called Ravengro. What had happened to the Professor I wondered. Never-the-less, the Professor had given me much in the year I knew him, and the least I could do was to go an pay my respects.
I finished my warm drink, readied my things, and begun my long journey north. As I exited the gates of the city, a cold wind blew through the gate almost trying to to push me back into town. Something didn’t want me to go to Ravengro, and it was then that I realized I must find out what that was…
Male Human (Shoanti) Rogue (Acrobat, Scout) 1
N Medium Humanoid (Human, Shapechanger) Init +4; Senses Perception +5
AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 Dex) hp 11 (1d8+3) Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +1
Spd 30 ft. Melee Dagger +4 (1d4/19-20/x2) and
» Dagger +4 (1d4/19-20/x2) and
» Shortsword +2 (1d6/19-20/x2) and
» Shortsword +2 (1d6/19-20/x2) Special Attacks Sneak Attack +1d6
Str 11, Dex 19, Con 16, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 7 Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 14 (15 vs. Trip) Feats Rogue Weapon Proficiencies, Two-weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse Traits Dirty Fighter, Log Roller (forest), Subject of Study: Undead Skills Acrobatics +9, Disable Device +7, Escape Artist +3, Handle Animal -1, Knowledge: Nature +0, Perception +5, Ride +3, Sleight of Hand +8, Stealth +8, Survival +2, Swim -1 Languages Common, Shoanti SQ Heart of the Wilderness +0, Weapon Cord, Weapon Cord Combat Gear Dagger (2), Shortsword (2), Studded Leather Other Gear Flint and steel, Lantern, bullseye, Potion of Cure Light Wounds, Pouch, belt (4 @ 1.66 lbs), Thieves’ tools, Waterskin, Weapon Cord, Weapon Cord, Whetstone, Whistle, Signal
Dirty Fighter +1 damage when flanking. Heart of the Wilderness +0 +5 on CON checks to stabilize, +1/2 level to negative HP level for death, +1/2 level Survival. Sneak Attack +1d6 +1d6 damage if you flank your target or your target is flat-footed. Subject of Study Undead Professor Lorrimor approached you as part of his studies, as he had heard that you had survived a recent encounter with a strange monster or had another fateful encounter. Interested in the conditions of the run-in and the means by which you avoided Weapon Cord Attached weapon can be recovered as a swift action.