Blade of the Dark Sands
== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ==
Level 4, Half-Elf, Battlemind
Psionic Study Option: Wild Focus
Half-Elf Power Selection Option: Dilettante
Balic – Silt Sailor (+2 to Streetwise)
Theme: Dune Trader
FINAL ABILITY SCORES
STR 10, CON 18, DEX 12, INT 9, WIS 14, CHA 18
STARTING ABILITY SCORES
STR 10, CON 15, DEX 12, INT 9, WIS 14, CHA 15
AC: 21 Fort: 17 Ref: 15 Will: 19
HP: 51 Surges: 13 Surge Value: 12
Athletics +7, Diplomacy +13, Endurance +12, Streetwise +13
Acrobatics +3, Arcana +1, Bluff +6, Dungeoneering +4, Heal +4, History +1, Insight +6, Intimidate +6, Nature +4, Perception +4, Religion +1, Stealth +3, Thievery +3
Basic Attack: Melee Basic Attack
Basic Attack: Ranged Basic Attack
Dune Trader Feature: Quick Formation
Battlemind Feature: Battlemind’s Demand
Battlemind Feature: Blurred Step
Battlemind Feature: Mind Spike
Battlemind Feature: Wild Focus
Ardent Feature: Ardent Surge
Wild Talent Cantrip: Know Direction
Ardent Attack 1: Focusing Strike
Battlemind Attack 1: Vicious Cobra Strike
Battlemind Attack 1: Concussive Spike
Battlemind Attack 1: Accelerating Strike
Battlemind Utility 2: Psionic Vigor
Battlemind Attack 3: Wrenching Claw
Level 1: Fervent Talent
Level 2: Hafted Defense
Level 4: Telekinetic Savant
Staggering Trikal +1 x1
Dwarven Scale Armor +1 x1
Amulet of Protection +1 x1
== End ==
That’s the last thing my mother cried out as they dragged her away. She was clutching my baby brother to her breast with one hand, reaching out to grab me with the other. I stood frozen up, able only to stare at the drama unfolding before me. They were frightening to look at, the humans that took her. I was all of 7 years old. She was my mother, but I could not bring myself to run to her, to go with them. Somehow, I doubt those men would have let me tag along anyway. So I watched instead, and made a silent promise to fulfill her last request.
That task proved impossible over time. The elven traders I had grown up with, a loose clan of con artists and bandits named the Duneriders, no longer saw fit to keep me around. “Half breed!” they laughed, and, “So long, whoreson!” they joked, and they walked away from me, indifferent to my fate, shoving each other and chuckling as they shuffled out of the city gates. At least they had the decency to dump me off in Balic, the kind of city where a lone child had some kind of chance. Plenty of times I’ve heard tales of half elf babes left in the deep sands. I guess without my mother around I was just another mouth to feed, and the vile offspring of a human to boot.
She had been important to the clan, my mother. A priestess of some sort I think. I remember rituals… incense… occasional chanting. She never bothered to explain her beliefs to me, though one time she did quietly apologize for my brother, Sylan, whom I had come resent shortly after his birth. She said, “I’m sorry. Its him, not you, that the spirits favor. I used to think it would be you.” Maybe she was some kind of Shaman, but whatever she did, Brieya Jyhadi did not think my ears and mind worthy of the powers she worshiped.
I did look for a while. I didn’t know who took her, though, or why, and I was a child. My main priority quickly became finding food and water. Luckily, I had the fortune to stumble into the care of one of Balics few decent nobles, a merchants daughter named Hannala who took it upon herself to provide food and water to some of the orphans near her villa. She even read to us sometimes. Eventually I got too old to win her gifts. Hannala only ever cared for the smaller children. But by then I felt capable enough to find my own way. I’d always been resourceful. I had an uncanny knack for knowing which way north was, and turned that ability into a job on the House Tomblador silt ships. A lot of Balicans gripe about the silt sea, and why not. Dust as far as the eye can see, giant raiders, sink holes, an endless blankness that’s impossibly unforgiving on almost every living thing stupid enough to get too close. I loved it. The danger,the freedom, the travel, and the women you meet at every port. Ah the women. So many lovely girls. There’s all types out there. The hard ones take you in gently, the gentle can’t get it hard enough. They all value love though, a currency that I always felt wealthy in. Though she never spoke much about her faith, my mother instructed me daily to embrace even the cruelty of Athas, and cherish the gift of my body.
I could have almost let that sailors life consume me. Almost. Mother’s ghostly cry continues to haunt me. I could sleep with a thousand women, but I’ll never know peace until I learn why she had to be ripped away, why I could not have a child’s simple life.
What can I say. So the words echo in my dreams and sometimes linger in the depths of my heart. The reality is that I don’t know who took her. The details of her face have become lost to faded memory. We probably would not recognize each other even if I could find her. And the Duneriders are said to be criminals in every citystate, hiding in the deep desert. Impossible to find them. And I don’t think they’d be too happy to see me at any rate. What I wanted, and what I’ve been able to get, are two different things.
Honestly, I was lucky Tomblador didn’t take me for a slave. I’ve always had a way with words, and even convinced them to train me in some combat techniques to better defend the silt ships I helped steer. Turns out I’m gifted in the Way as well as women. That certainly has certainly paid off with Tomblador, since the merchant house values psionic prowess and has many ranking females. Whenever I needed something, I made sure to favor the house women over the men, paying them back for their help with a little of whatever was missing in their private lives. Living on the streets, you learn quickly the value of a fair exchange.
Too bad. I always know how to find north. It’s never helped me find what I really long for. The comfort of the many beautiful women I’ve been with is no small thing. However, it pales in comparison to the comfort of family.
One thought, though, has been brewing lately. Maybe I’ve gone about this all wrong. I don’t have the slightest idea how to start, as usual, but looking for my mother might be the wrong goal.
Maybe I should be looking for my father. He might know something. He might know a lot.
Course it seems every time I sniff out even the trace of a lead, life intrudes and sets me on a new course. Lady Valara Tomblador just informed me I’m to help guard a huge shipment of wine and spices to Nibenay. Nibenay!? It’ll take weeks. Though I have heard that the Shadow King husbands many lonely wives in that city. So the trip should prove at least somewhat rewarding.