Rampart

Description:

Rampart
Level 9 Warforged Warlord
Warlord: Combat Leader
Commanding Presence: Resourceful Presence
Background: Pivotal Event – You Die (+2 to Heal)

FINAL ABILITY SCORES
Str 18, Con 12, Dex 13, Int 16, Wis 8, Cha 16.

STARTING ABILITY SCORES
Str 14, Con 10, Dex 13, Int 15, Wis 8, Cha 15.

AC: 24 Fort: 21 Reflex: 20 Will: 21
HP: 69 Surges: 8 Surge Value: 17

TRAINED SKILLS
History +12, Endurance +11, Athletics +12, Heal +10, Stealth +11

UNTRAINED SKILLS
Acrobatics +4, Arcana +7, Bluff +7, Diplomacy +7, Dungeoneering +3, Insight +3, Intimidate +9, Nature +3, Perception +3, Religion +7, Streetwise +7, Thievery +4

FEATS
Level 1: Weapon Proficiency (Drow Long Knife)
Level 2: Toughness
Level 4: Weapon Focus (Heavy Blade)
Level 6: Acolyte of the Veil
Level 8: Weapon Expertise (Heavy Blade)

POWERS
Warlord at-will 1: Paint the Bulls-Eye
Warlord at-will 1: Wolf Pack Tactics
Warlord encounter 1: Hammer Formation
Warlord daily 1: Relentless Wounding
Warlord utility 2: Adaptive Stratagem
Warlord encounter 3: Martial Doom
Warlord daily 5: Situational Advantage
Warlord utility 6: Inspiring Reaction
Warlord encounter 7: On My Mark
Warlord daily 9: Coordinated Assault

ITEMS
Shadowflow Shield Light Shield (heroic tier), Deathburst Chainmail +2, Elven Cloak +2, Sunrod (20), Backpack (empty), Silk Rope (50 ft.), Torch (2), Oil (1 pint) (3), Identification Papers with Portrait, Short sword, Crossbow, Wyrdwarped Drow Long Knife +3

Bio:

You wanna know my story? I wish by the mother-hatin Lords of Khyber I could tell it to you… problem is I seem to be more in the dark than most people.

In the dark… no joke there.

I paid a Cannith Artificer a heavy fee last year to divine how old I was. Turns out I’m 32. That makes me among the first warforged ever built. Trouble is, I only remember the last 4 years, and to be honest, I only really care to think about the last 2.

Before that it’s damn blur. Some things flash to mind. I can see the forge that I was conceived in. Ever seen a living construct forge? It’s not what you’d think. Bloody thing is alive. They made us call it mother, I think. Like I said, it’s hazy. I remember battles, though where and why I couldn’t begin to tell you. I remember also that I wasn’t originally designed to fight. Some warforged are called ‘pleasure models’. Bloody Cannith women are too wrapped up in their spells and intrigues to meet regular flesh. I guess I wasn’t any good at it though, cause the artificer says my battle components looked to be roughly 30 years old. Hah! I figure I lasted a couple weeks in some house wenches bed before my natural charms convinced her to send me off to die in the Last war.

Those days don’t matter. Even if I could recall them, the past is done with. I know I was a good soldier, and flashes of heroic deeds quicken in my mind from time to time. What I do recall more clearly than I care to is the day I woke up in Dolurrh, or at least close to it. If you don’t think it’s real, I got bad news for you. Maybe it’s not what everyone says it is, but I wasn’t dreaming what I saw. Warforged don’t dream. There was a valley of ash and rot, and I woke up on the hill overlooking this valley. Down below, thousands upon thousands of khyber loving ghosts or souls or whatever were wanderin’ around lost. Dumb bastards didn’t seem to know they were dead, but I could tell even from here that their days were done. At the end of the valley was black maelstrom, a kind of swirling emptiness that even looking at seemed dangerous to do. But the worst part of it all was the thing that sat a damned mountain throne above that void. If it wasn’t the blasted Keeper himself than I don’t what. He was as big as a damn mountain, and it looked like he’d been there for all time, just watching the parade of souls slowly drifting their way to the void beneath his feet. I couldn’t make out his features in the gray haze, but I didn’t want to. It was like lookin’ at something that had always been and always would be. And I swear it shuddered briefly, and the cracked, cause this thing hadn’t moved in countless years. And it looked at me! Right into me. I ran. I ran for days. Thing like that, you can’t imagine what a strange and terrible thing it is to be seen by a good. They don’t know us any better than we know them. Think of it like this, what do you know of an ant, and what do you imagine an ant might feel about you. Gods and men can’t talk to each other. Best to just be afraid of them and stay out of their sight.

That’s why I keep this though (pulls out a symbol of the Keeper). I don’t love the Keeper or nothing. But I’m afraid of him and would rather he know it.

Anyway, I walked for days and days on desert plain of ash and ice. Nothing but gray in all directions. Who knows how long it took, but only a warforged could hope to survive such a trek without supplies. Finally the land took shape and found a road. Turns out I was in the Shadowfell, which the locals say is the land between Eberron and Dolurrh. The locals. Dark ones and Shadar kai they were called. People who had long ago gotten stuck in the Shadowfell and had been changed by its gray wastes. my prospects didn’t look so great.

I hired on as a Caravan guard. Another journey, this time with dark ones, which make for lousy company. We traveled out of the plains and into a gnarled forest, stopping at strange little villages from time to time to sell goods and resupply. Finally I came to Gloomwrought, a city run by the Shadar kai. It’s a bloody unsettling place. I’ll you about it sometime. I did odd jobs as I could. I knew had once been a great warrior, but the details of that life were gone. I sold my martial services to whoever wanted them and hoped for a way out, back to the world my broken mind could barely imagine.

My past helped me out in the end. A pack of mercenaries on some fool quest for gold had made their way to Gloomwrought, and they recognized me. They said I had worked with them for a time during the last war, and that I had actually saved their lives once during the third battle of Danthaven up in northern Thrane. Said they owed me one. Who was I to argue. They supplied with some unwanted magic gear they had looted in the Shadowfell and took me with them back to Eberron. We appeared somewhere in the Shadow Marches.

They dropped me off in Zarash’ak then set sail for fortune in Xen’drik. They offered me a place on their expedition, but I knew that Khorvaire had been my home once, and I wanted to spend some time in a place that felt just like that for a while… home.

That’s it really. Been doing freelance work for House Tharashk for the last two years. I’m saving coin for a big trip across Khorvaire, hoping to see places that will jog my memory. Then I run into you guys and it seems my journey might not take me where I thought after all. You say I had something to do with the Day of mourning. Can’t say I’m surprised. I suspect those millions of souls I saw the day I woke up were Cyre’s newly dead. Somehow I escaped that fate, and I want to know how.

Rampart

Prophecy's Empire Tremus