Deep We Go
A Suicidal But Loveable Cleric
TOTAL XP: 3874
Paragon Path: N/A
Epic Destiny: N/A
Adventuring Company: Deep We Go
Strength 19 (Mod +4)
Constitution 14 (Mod +2)
Dexterity 11 (Mod +0)
Intelligence 10 (Mod +0)
Wisdom 14 (Mod +2)
Charisma 14 (Mod +2)
Speed 5 (Base 6)
Passive Insight 19
Passive Perception 14
Surge Value 12
Saving Throw Mods: None
Attack and Damage Workspace
Standard Attack(Maul) 4
Dragon Breath 2
Weapon Proficiency (Maul)
The Infinite Grunt
The acolyte begins reciting the Infinite Grunt, a long, meditative chant in Saor that prepares a warrior for a devastating attack. Not all followers of Kord believe in using the Infinite Grunt, as it requires the speaker to stay their hand for some time to fully unlock the power of the attack. This is a Daily Power, and consumes all of a player’s actions for one to three turns. A player must spend at least one turn chanting, but may stop after any turn and release the attack. The player cannot use any other ability while chanting, though the eerie calm they project means that all attacks against them take -1 to hit. Any successful attacks against the player do not halt the chant.
After 1 turn: The player begins to spin in wide arcs, catching any and all characters in a whirlwind of righteous fury. The player spends the next two turns spinning with a melee weapon. Each turn, including the initial one, roll a d8. The character moves in a straight line up to their movement speed in that direction. Any creature or character, friendly or not, that is adjacent to this path takes a 15/2/2d8+2/3d8+2 attack, which also ignores terrain.
After 2 turns: The player attacks the nearest enemy. This uses their entire turn, but they ignore distance and terrain between them and their target. The character moves almost too fast to see, and brings one well-aimed, precision attack to bear. This is 19+/2/2d10+2/3d10+2 damage.
After 3 turns: The Infinite Grunt grows in power, and the character starts to shed light like the soon in the sky, causing their enemies to ignite like cowardly torches. For that turn, the character can move and act freely, with the following caveats. They shine with a light too bright to look at, and cannot be attacked. Any adjacent enemies take 3d6 fire damage and flee the character as an immediate interrupt free action.
The instruction in battle and slaughter that you obtained in your youth has never left your thoughts, and you are a force to be reckoned with beyond your years. All attacks with your chosen weapon (the maul) will do 1 extra damage, unless the attack is a miss.
Your earnest nature and blind faith is at times a virtue, and at others a curse. If enemies secure a surprise round against the party, one extra attack may be made against you.
At-Will: Righteous Brand, Priests Shield
Encounter: Healing Strike, Divine Fortune, Turn Undead, Healing Word (x2), Split the Sky
Daily: Avenging Flame
Gold And Other Wealth
Dazriael was, on the surface, among the finest of dragonborn. His golden eyes were keen. His scarlet scales glistened in the light of the sun or the moon. He wielded his maul, graced ‘The Might of Kord’, with ease, crushing those who would oppose him or his companions. He was devoted, presenting himself to the rising sun every morning and praying to Kord for the strength to pass the day. Every evening he watched the sun drip beneath the horizon and prayed for peace to fall with the darkness. In return, he was blessed with mighty powers that dazzle the eyes. An opponent would be a fool to underestimate him or any of Dazriael’s companions. Dazriael would not stand to see his friend’s honour questioned or sullied, and would fight viciously to defend them, if they in turn honoured and respected him.
When you dug a little deeper though, looked further and beyond what you saw at first glance, it became clear that something was amiss. His armoured skin was not perfect; some scales were broken, some scarred. Some were missing altogether. The ends of a few fingers were gnarled, as though his nails had once been brutally ripped away. Several teeth were chipped and, had you ever witnessed Dazriael smile fully, you would have seen that two teeth were missing altogether, others bored by strange holes that let his breath through.
Ask about any of this and Dazriael’s pleasant demeanour would turn cold and hostile. The past is the past; it should hold no sway over him or anyone else. It matters not. Ask about his family and you were met with equal terseness. His parents were well-respected dragonborn warriors. Occasionally, you heard him speak of how great they once were. How much respect they commanded from the various tribes of dragonborn that roam the lands. Where are they now? A question, like many others, that Dazriael would refuse to answer. Kord was his courageous father and wise mother now.
There was an ache inside of Dazriael. A longing for something. A void that must be filled. Perhaps that was why he threw himself into battle, often so recklessly, seeking to prove something to himself or other unseen eyes. Perhaps he sought to atone in battle for some past sin. Perhaps he looked for something else that only battle could give him.
There was so much you never knew about Dazriael, known affectionately as ‘Daz’ by those he last journeyed with. You can only hope that in that final, terrible fight against Szatharrax, where Dazriael fought with all the skill and bravery you had come to known him for, that the Dragonborn servant of Kord finally found what he was looking for.
Though maybe you need not just hope. For death is not the end in this world. Some things that are cut down can be reborn anew. Those that were not meant to die, or whose purpose is not yet fulfilled, can be given life again. Maybe, one day soon, you’ll be able to ask him yourself…
Dazriael was surrounded by the stone circle again, the burning image of Kord, the bones of mother and father. As quickly as the images came they were gone again and his eyes fluttered open. For a dragonborn whose life had just been given back to him, he found himself fighting for it all too quickly. A priest of Kord, chanting for the Holy Heat, plunged a dagger into Dazriael’s scaled flesh. With a mighty roar, the Dragonborn struck down the priest and the others who occupied this strange, hot place. He made his way into the even stranger city above him and, after tearing through unfamiliar streets, he finally found something he knew; his companions.
All was not well though. Rarely did Dazriael miss one of his foolish jumps, or a fearsome blow to his enemies. Yet now he was, tumbling many feet to the ground below and letting the skulls of his enemies escape his maul. He was not at ease. The power of Kord had brought him back yet the servants of Kord were inches away from striking him down again. How could the Lord of Roar, his protector and to whom he has sworn his alliegance, betray him in this way? Was Kord angry, because of how the dragonborn had thrown his life away? Did he not care about his faithful servant anymore?
In the desperate dash to escape the city, when the metal construct stormed towards Ramnon and Vardin, Dazriael knew what he had to do. Even in this act though, did he find myself thwarted and were it not for the quick assistance of Ramnon, he never would have made it up that wall. He turned and faced the metal beast, before closing his eyes.
“Kord. The last time I did something as foolish as this, it was because I wanted to die. I wanted to fall into darkness and escape the pain of my sins. But you would not let me. You brought me back and then you abandoned me. Maybe I have shamed you with my selfishness. I do not know. All I do know is, that this time, what I do is not for me, or even for you. This… this is for my companions!”
With a mighty roar Dazriael leapt onto the metal construct’s back. Struggling to keep his balance he searched frantically for a way to deactivate it. He saw a narrow slit on its head. Sized to fit a dagger. Which he did not possess. He was about to curse the god he loved when he felt a sudden weight. A little pulse of energy. Time slowed. His hand went to his chest and the Symbol Of Kord that hung there. His fingers tightened around it. He ripped it from his neck and plunged it into the slot. The construct went wild with fury and now, Dazriael did the other thing he did best. The first strike missed, glancing off the warforged’s head. The second slammed into the holy symbol, driving it further down and, with a flurry of sparks and smoke, the construct collapsed to the floor, as did Dazriael.
Upon reawakening, he found his allies whole and victorious. The same could not be said for his amulet, which was twisted and battered, melted a little at the tip. Still, he took it in his hands and kissed it, caressed it with a little flame, as was customary. Kord had been with him. Just as he always had been. It was Dazriael’s faith that had wavered, not the love of his god. His faith would not waver again.
For the first time since his resurrection, you see Dazriael kneel and pray to the gods above. Whatever the future holds in store for you all this much is clear; Daz is back!