Proficiency +2 bonus @ level 1
Skills: Acrobatics (+6), Athletics (+4), Medicine (+6), Stealth (+6), Survival (+6)
Lores: Military Lore +1, Orrish +1, Bleak Swamp +1, Mizeras +1
Tools: Herbalism Kit, Flute
Weapon: Simple Weapons, Short Swords
Armor: None
Saves: Strength, Dexterity
Communication: Gladnorean (Spoken and Literate), Rudimentary Druid sign (from his time in the Briarwood), Rudimentary Orrish (Spoken only), Rudimentary Mercat (Spoken only)
Powers/Feats
Human Variant: +1 Dexterity, +1 Wisdom, +1 skill (Medicine), +1 feat (Spear Mastery).
Qui Gong: 2nd level is max hit dice and you may spend 1 Ki to gain advantage on a save vs toxins.
Wanderer: You have an excellent memory for maps and geography, and you can always recall the general layout of terrain, settlements, and other features around you. In addition, you can find food and fresh water for yourself and up to five other people each day, provided that the land offers berries, small game, water, and so forth.
Spear Mastery: Though the spear is a simple weapon to learn, it rewards you for the time you have taken to master it. You gain the following benefits.
• You gain a +1 bonus to attack rolls you make with a spear or pike
• When you use a spear, its damage die changes from a d6 to a d8, and from a d8 to a d10 when wielded with two hands. When using a pike the damage increases from a d10 to a d12 (This benefit has no effect if another feature has already improved the weapon’s die.)
• You can set your spear or pike to receive a charge. As a bonus action, choose a creature you can see that is at least 20 feet away from you. If that creatures moves within your spear’s reach on its next turn, you can make a melee attack against it with your spear as a reaction. If the attack hits, the target takes an extra 1d8 piercing damage, or an extra 1d10 piercing damage if you wield the spear with two hands. You can’t use this ability if the creature used the Disengage action before moving.
• As a bonus action on your turn, you can increase your reach with a spear or pike by 5 feet for the rest of your turn.
Unarmored Defense: Beginning at 1st level, while you are wearing no armor and not wielding a shield, your AC equals 10 + your Dexterity modifier + your Wisdom modifier.
Martial Arts: At 1st level, your practice of martial arts gives you mastery of combat styles that use unarmed strikes and monk weapons, which are shortswords and any simple melee weapons that don’t have the two-handed or heavy property.
You gain the following benefits while you are unarmed or wielding only monk weapons and you aren’t wearing armor or wielding a shield:
You can use Dexterity instead of Strength for the attack and damage rolls of your unarmed strikes and monk weapons.
You can roll a d4 in place of the normal damage of your unarmed strike or monk weapon. This die changes as you gain monk levels, as shown in the Martial Arts column of the Monk table.
When you use the Attack action with an unarmed strike or a monk weapon on your turn, you can make one unarmed strike as a bonus action. For example, if you take the Attack action and attack with a quarterstaff, you can also make an unarmed strike as a bonus action, assuming you haven’t already taken a bonus action this turn.
Combat
Tactics/Setup:
Armor: Unarmored (dex+ wsd) = 18 ARMOR CLASS = 18
Item Prep:
Magic
Monk Ki abilities
Spell SAVE DC = 8 +2 prof +4 wsd = 14
Spell Attack > +2 prof +4 wsd = +6
Feat –
Cantrip
1st
2nd
3rd
Equipment
Armor
Weapons
Spear of Mitheras: D6/D8 versatile (D8/D10 spear mastery) bonded/attuned weapon (-1 essence) the wielder can use an action to change the spears length either reducing it to a 1.5 ft weapon or increasing it to a 10ft. The reduced size strikes as a D4, while the elongated weapon strikes as normal but gains reach. Going from reduced length to elongated length requires 2 actions or their equivalent (and vice versa). +7 to hit. 6/8/12 (reduced) 9/14/24 (normal/elongated)
Background: Outlander (Survival, Athletics)
Personality Trait: Life is too short to wait for an ideal scenario, I’ll make one for myself.
Ideal: Things could be alot better….. Or they could be worse. Things are what they are and I’ll make the best of it.
Bond:Freedom (Especially mine) is necessary and worth sacrifice (By myself and others).
Flaw: My obligations weigh on me, worse than any armor, yolk or chain. Those who sacrificed for me can never be repaid.
Description: Race: Human (native to the heartlands), male, 5’9”, Black Hair (Long, clean, usually tied back in a ponytail), meticulously shaven goatee, right handed, Olive skin tone, #170.
Perfect posture, always relaxed and comfortable, unassuming build and frame
History
Bostric was born a native of a single mother within the Duchy of Fayl. His father was some traveler, grifter or vagrant of some sort, he never got a clear story from his mother. In truth his father had been an exile from the Elan who had taken a shine to Bostrics mother until his people caught up to him and gave him a scarlet necktie before letting him ride the pendulous neck swing free of charge in front of the locals. Shortly after that his mother settled in a hut outside of Bleak Swamp.
His mother served as a midwife and herbalist for locals who were willing to consult her. Her proximity to the swamps and marshes gave her access to medicinal resources that others didn’t have, of course causing her to have rumors of being a witch surrounding her. This gave Bostric a rather isolated, but secure childhood. He learned the basics of herb care and foraging from his mother, and got to witness the benefits of haggling from a position of mystery and in some cases fear. His mother kept them comfortable, but humble, as she saved most everything she could rather than seeking creature comforts.
This proved to be beneficial when the year of the Green Flux struck the duchy. Bostric was one of the children unfortunate enough to be afflicted, and his mothers skills were too insufficient to save him. She spent a large portion of her savings to have him taken into the care of the Green Church (She had little trust in the lightbringers due to Umbaks constant forays into the Duchy) in Stormyhope. There he was oddly cured by the powers of Darupet, rather than Gaia. The priest called upon the healing spirit of the earth mother, yet she would not respond. It was only when they called upon the vigor of the beast lord that the illness was chased away.
Through the entire illness and much of his recovery Bostric thrashed and lashed out at anything he could perceive. He felt constantly threatened and lacked any awareness of who anyone was or where he was. His mother could barely handle him long enough to get him transported to the Briarwood. When the powers of Gaia were channeled to cure him he rejected the healing powers and Gaia did not impose upon him. Darupets aid took a different route, bolstering the child’s natural vigor and constitution so he could fight off the illness himself.
While Bostric recovered to perfect health, he was not unaffected. His mother worried that he was too resigned, withdrawn into himself, while the Acolytes within the Briarwood worried at the violent behavior displayed during the sickness and the constant near paranoid awareness post recovery. Unbeknownst to any of his elders was the fact that Bostric had felt and controlled nearly every aspect of his recovery once the vigor of Darupet had been instilled in him. The bolstered vigor faded with the disease, but his bodily awareness remained.
Bostric remained for a while within the Briarwood, learning more of herbs and their effect on the body. Even the priest was impressed by the boy’s ability to quickly grasp the concepts of metabolic responses to varying medicines and herbal concoctions. In truth he learned by imbibing a variety of substances and tracking how they were affecting his own body, while the scholastic aspect of this knowledge went to the wayside. He was always more interested in what affected HIS body, especially in matters that hindered him.
The study of medicine and wounds caused him to look into the wounds of the protectors of the Briarwood, those who had permanent scarring or had currently been wounded in combat. He had much more interest in avoiding these wounds in the first place than learning to treat them. He would volunteer to help the guards and wounded combatants for the chance to glean information on the ins and outs of personal combat. It was not long before The priest became aware that the Green Church, and not even the Wyld Faith, would be a home for young Bostric.
The next year would see Bostric in regular training with the few warriors within the Briarwood, and (under the insistence of the church) with the captain of the militia in Stormyhope. Every once in a while he was given the opportunity to speak with the Blade in Waiting within the halls of the church of Mizeras, but that was uncommon. The church hoped to prepare him for what they thought would be the inevitable path of an armsman for him. Some of them felt guilt over the ‘damage’ that had been done to his mind during the sickness and fever they had not cured fast enough, and hoped that he would serve as armsman or soldier and then after the horrors of war would seek solace within the church, where he could find a somewhat peaceful purpose.
After a year of studying wrestling, arms, tactics, field survival, Faith’s place in warfare and military discipline Bostric set out in the winter of his 13th year with some basic equipment, 20 silver crowns, a medkit and 2 meat pies prepared by his mother, 2 sets of clothes, and a letter of recommendation from the church encouraging those reading it to take bostric on as a Page or Scout in training. The leather jerkin they provided him with he sold as soon as he could. Armor was heavy, and he’d never understood why everyone insisted on wearing something to lessen a blow rather than just getting out of the way to begin with.
He set out quite deliberately once he felt appropriately light. He’d paid attention to which Houses and Factions had militant forces and where they would be going. He went to on Lord Aubrech, a small noble who had used the promise of armsmen being sent to the Eastern wall on behalf of Earl Adeliniss as a means of securing affordable property rights along the edge of the Falyn Marshes (where he intended to set up a waystation for troops that he could profit off of). With his knowledge and the letter of recommendation Bostric was offered a position as the leading officers messenger, personal assistant and Page. The lords recruiter had thought Bostric would be eager to take such a rare opportunity, but Bostric insisted that he wanted to be a rank and file soldier, despite his age and stature. Due to his background, he was reluctantly given the ‘opportunity’ to fight (and likely die) against the orrish hordes along the eastern wall.
Travel to the wall was not uneventful. Bostric was regularly chastised for refusing to wear/use standard gear (He would regularly doff his armor while marching, and throw his shield away) and was nearly court martialed for refusing to follow orders. He would have been chained and sent back home had it not been for a wave of dysentery that struck the forces halfway across the Falyn Marshes. Only half of the forces survived, with only Bostrics company having a survival rate exceeding 60%. Of the 20 men he was assigned with, only 2 died, while many had been afflicted. Bostrics knowledge of the Marshes and rough familiarity of medicinal herbs secured the lives of those around him. With their force significantly reduced, and Bostrics efforts having been so significant, he was spared the chains and even given the rank of ‘Medic Corporal’ within his unit.
The eastern wall would prove to be everything Bostric had wanted while being the worst environment possible for him to thrive. His ability to fight, think and adapt made him a natural selection for promotion (Especially since he frequently survived when officers or NCOs did not), yet his refusal to use or carry any encumbering gear remained an issue that saw him before his superiors for insubordination. He came to learn that it wasn’t just restricting clothing or gear that he had issue with, he didn’t really like ANY restrictions. On his body OR mind. The military was proving a bad fit, yet he could never screw up so badly that his exploits and willingness to engage danger didn’t overshadow his stubbornness.
For 4 years Bostric served against the forces of the darklands, never shying away from the most reckless or dangerous tasks, all the while refusing to fit the mold. He found himself alongside the followers of Mizeras frequently, and eventually was a regular amongst the followers of mizeras who served on behalf of the ‘Sword and Shield’ or ‘Hammer and Anvil’. It was while training amongst the brethren of Mizeras that he met a squad of the Sword Brothers of Mizeras. His natural aptitude for the kinetic arts was recognized by these Emblematic Brethren, and he was permitted to join them in their daily drills as well as serve as their messenger while they were in service along the Eastern wall. While he thrived from their teachings, and displayed a natural affinity for the knowledge of combat, self, war and bodily discipline….. They would not accept him into their order. They recognized that he could have been one of the best, but his combative spirit would always call him to the forefront of conflict, where their blades could never be, lest they taint the knowledge passed on to the order by Mizeras himself. Bostric was left disappointed, bitter, and more dangerous than veterans with 3 times his experience.
Undoubtedly it was his denial from the Sword Brothers that led to the end of his time in the East. He left the fortress, the brotherhood, the church, and went with an invasive force into the darklands to destabilize an outpost the orrish had established too close to the positions of the forces of light. Just outside the outpost, Bostrics forces were ambushed. The commanding officer, a somewhat arrogant cleric of Ikrubu, ordered a charge of the outpost to secure fortifications for the light bringers. He and his entourage were mowed down at the fortified position. Bostric Charged headlong uphill towards goblins firing arrows and throwing rocks/spears towards his squad, drawing fire while his superior pulled everyone he could to safety.
The forces of the lands of light were able to fortify themselves, and hold off the ambush forces of the orrish, despite being outnumbered 2 to 1. Some of this was due to the extreme discipline of the forces, and some due to the orrish forces being predominantly goblins rather than orcs. Yet this all changed when the forces who had initially set up the orrish outpost emerged. 20 Orcs, with an ogre in tow, led by a Champion of Sunstealer. The lightbringers used their power to bring a suncharged lightning bolt down upon them, but the powers of the Champion diminished its effect, and Bostric screamed in rage as the wounded Penitent of Whelm he’d been caring for gave the last of her life to sunder the defenses of Sunstealer, causing the Lightning to erase the Ogre from existence and stun the surrounding orcs. A brief moment of silence hit the battle field, before everyone could here a near cackling chant from the Champion, and every goblin in the field became enraged. Fueled by frenzy, hatred and the wrath of Sunstealer, every one of them seemed as powerful as an Orc, overwhelming the diminishing forces of light.
Bostric, tears streaming down his face, scooped up the holy symbol of Whelm that had been upon his patient, and scurried over the makeshift barricade. He climbed, leaped and rolled across treacherous terrain, dodging arrows and using the cover of the rocks to create a difficult target. He threw or left every weapon he normally carried dispatching orrish in his way, only holding on to the spear that he’d been given by the church of Mizeras, a finely crafted weapon that would pierce all but the hardest of armors. A cacophony of screams, pain and confusion found him in the outcroppings in enemy territory, just over the orrish outpost. He could see the Champion of Sunstealer, shield covering him against arrows and spears as he held his sword aloft, channeling the Balefire of Sunstealers blood against the powers of light that would bring him low, while his very presence empowered all orrish on the battlefield. Yet aside from that, Bostric could see directly in front of him, a squad of goblins, led by the only truly armored orc he had ever seen.
While the option of escape was possible, Bostric could easily have run and avoided these combatants, he could not bring himself to disengage, instead running headlong through his enemies trying to get to the edge of the outcropping. As the slashes, thrusts and cuts bombarded him he thought longingly of a discarded shield, and even the standard leather that could have saved him from the worst of several wounds, even while he evaded most. His attempt was stopped short by the spear thrust and grappling of the full orc, who crushed Bostric against his scale armor 3 feet from the out-cropping edge. Bleeding, terrified and losing consciousness Bostric looked at his assailant. Upon the spear that had so severely wounded him was a faded marking of the church of mizeras. His vision faded in and out, seeing only the symbol of the god of war and darkness, then… clarity. A stolen spear! A weapon of the church, in the hands of these monsters!
Bostrics vision came clear again, his blood pumped, drenching himself and the Orc, as he plunged his spear into the orcs chest, punching through the armor and knocking the orc back, still clenching Bostric. As they both began to fall Bostric grabbed the orcs’ stolen spear and wrapped the leather thong of the Holy symbol of whelm around the spear. As he lunged off the outcropping away from the orc and goblins he hurled the spear, yelling “Here’s your divine war you piece of shit!” The spear struck the Champion of Sunstealer square between his shoulder blades, piercing the armor slightly more than it normally would, and the symbol of Whelm flared with radiance. The Champion was no more, and Bostric lost all consciousness when he struck the rocks below.
The first thing he could see upon awakening, after the flares of white and red flashing in his head from the pain faded, was a white robed woman. She seemed to be calling out to him, and light was glowing from something she wore around her neck, but the pain was too intense, and he blacked out again. When he next awoke he felt slightly better, but he was alone in what appeared to be a tent. He couldn’t tell if the sun was rising or setting, but the light was not strong. He ate and drank from the platter that was next to him and set his body to begin repairing itself. The effort was much greater than before, much like the days after his bout with the green flux when he was still learning how to take advantage of his newfound bodily awareness. He needed more rest.
It turned out he was being tended to by one of the white sisters, who had only been able to stabilize him, not heal him. He learned that day that external healing was something he could only benefit from if he told his body to allow it. A balance to the level of control he maintained over his bodily functions he supposed, or perhaps a byproduct of Darupet and Mizeras having claimed so much stake over his life….. Either way, he was able to allow the healing process to reach fruition, but not in a way he had been prepared for. The damage had taken it’s toll, the discipline he had imposed over his body had atrophied in his recovery, all while the people with the power to prevent it stood powerless because he naturally rejected external influences…… It would take years to recover what he’d lost.
Once he was deemed fully healed (though not recovered), he was discharged with honors, granted spoils of war, given his back pay plus the remaining years wages, and presented a gift from the church of Mizeras. While his efforts in the field had nearly killed him they had turned the tide, allowing the powers of the priests of light to smite the Champion of Sunstealer. The spear he had rested from the Orc and cast into the back of the Champion had survived, and had once been a powerful weapon of the faith. Most of the powers had been robbed by the followers of the Dark Trio, but what was left within the spear had recognized a servant of its origin and had bonded to Bostric. The spear was his, and he was told that so long as he sought the virtues of Mizeras the spear would regain its former power and reflect the capability of its wielder.
Heavily burdened with what he considered a small fortune in loot, Bostric set off for home. He estimated that what he carried, aside from the spear that would not be wielded by any other than him, was worth perhaps 5000 silvers, a fifth of that just being 3 gems set into the handle of his spear. He could go home, and ensure that his mother would never have to scrounge and save again. Turns out life doesn’t care about dear old mother. He was set upon by deserters from Heartcliff in the Falyn Marshes. He was able to escape, but only by ditching the vast majority of what he was carrying. Navigating and hiding in the Marshes he could do, but not while weighted down. He made it to his mother, but the only wealth he had left was the stones set in his spear. He looked upon his spear and pulled the stones, handing them to his mother “The spear made me money once….. It’ll probably do it again.”
He set out again, seeking a means of making his fortune again, this time aware of the follies that cost him so dearly, and determined to achieve the physical discipline imparted to him by the sword brothers of Mizeras. He started by wreaking havoc across any raiders, smugglers or vagrants within the area around Bleak swamp, ensuring his mothers safety and establishing himself in the area. From there he went to Wilde Point, where he secured a relationship with the church of Mizeras. Between his local history, his spear, and his military history, he found himself welcome and a mentor/guide for pursuing his personal war. His spear showed him that he was on the right path, as it granted him the ability to change it’s length to accommodate his needs.
He found himself serving some of the locals in political disputes after a while. The nobles of Heartcliff, while professing virtue and utmost loyalty to their superiors and peoples, were just as corrupt, greedy and self serving as nobles anywhere. Bostric found a means of consistent income by sabotaging some of the peacocking efforts of specific nobles (on behalf of others) out in the Falyn Marshes. His knowledge of the area and maneuverability allowed him some excellent sabotaging opportunities. Yet they were never without cost. He would frequently be wounded, be it from fighting armsmen in the field, being ambushed in the streets or from his own reckless actions trying to accomplish what others might see as impossible. There were two means of escaping/hiding to recover that Bostric used during this time.
The first, and easiest though the most annoying, was through the use of Swamp crest. Bostric learned quickly that the divide between these 2 distinct halfling societies was volatile, goofy, and permanent. He’d been aided by one ‘side’ of the halflings, and when he left through the domain of the others he was set upon by thrown rocks and rotten vegetables. He’d only been struck by the first throw, simply by being caught off guard, but that only seemed to embolden and encourage the others. He found himself in a rather dangerous, albeit funny, game of dodgeball. Yet he made it out almost entirely unscathed. The halflings towards the edge of town laughed and invited him back for lunch. Confused, he accepted, and came to understand the jovial lighthearted nature of halflings as he ate and drank with them. When he next came through he was welcomed by the halflings who had thrown at him before, but when he crossed to the other ‘side’ he was set upon by more thrown debris and trash. He has made the trip through several times, and has realized that he is a game to the dwellers of Swampcrest. Whichever side throws trash at him and rejects him, will be countered by the other side welcoming him. The two sides will not ever agree on anything, and a friend of one is the enemy of the other, yet the game of “try to pelt the squiggly wiggly man” is something both sides want to play……. Freaks.
The second, and more reasonable means of holing up for a while, was through a contact he’d been referred to through some of his old military squad. Mikel, a recon soldier who was a canny scout and reliable means of intel. They met for a few drinks and recognized a professional respect for one another. Bostric would occasionally run ‘errands’ for Mikel, and Mikel would let Bostric crash at his place every now and again while he was in town. Eventually Bostric started stashing a medical kit at Mikels, and even bought a cheap pallet to put in the cellar so he wouldn’t be invading when Mikel was meeting with whichever mover and shaker he was currently involved with. The relationship became cemented when after several instances of Bostric showing up, bleeding and nearly dead looking for his medkit and pallet to recover on, Mikel was growing fed up. Yet before he was willing to tell Bostric to find other arrangements, Mikel was wounded himself in an intel deal gone wrong. Bostric fended off the assailants who may have finished the job, the spent 2 weeks tending to Mikels wounds and ensuring he suffered no permanent damage. Since then Mikels meetings always took place near the top of the cellar stairs, where Bostric could choose to listen if he was there.
Things changed recently. Normally Bostric would arrive in the late hours of the night, near on early morning, to hole up and hide while he recovered from whatever reckless thing he’d done. But this night he showed up in the middle of one of Mikels meetings, multiple arrows in him, blood dripping onto the floor and the torn up banner of the same noble Mikels current contact was in service to being used to staunch his wounds. When the Nobles agent saw Bostric, shock and outrage on his face, Bostric just gave a half smile and replied “Don’t worry, They aren’t dead. Sends a better message this way.” The meeting was ended, and Mikel approached Bostric in the cellar while he tended to his wounds. “You’ll need to get a different job, no one will hire you for this after what you pulled tonight.” Bostric shrugged “Probably can only take so many more piss poor assassination attempts and abushes before I get bored anyways…… Got any ideas for a washed up soldier down on his luck?”