The Apples of Nerull
Male human favored soul, tanned and muscled, amber eyes, brown hair greying on the sides, wears an black onyx ring on his pinkie and fiddles with it frequently
Favored Soul 4th level
HP 25, Speed 20 ft
Str 14, Dex 10, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 8, Cha 16
AC 16, TAC 10, FAC 16, Fort 5, Ref 4, Will 3, Init 0
Concentration 5, Craft(Jewelry) 8, Heal 5, Knowledge(Religion) 7, Spellcraft 6
Power Attack, Improved Bull Rush, Weapon Focus (Greatsword), Craft Wondrous Item
0th: Cure Minor Wounds, Detect Magic, Guidance, Mending, Read Magic, Resistance
1st: Cure Light Wounds, Divine Favor, Sheild of Faith, Comprehend Languages
2nd: Delay Poison, Bull’s Strength, Silence
Spells per day:
0th 6, 1st 7, 2nd 4
M. Greatsword, Att 7, Dam 2D6+3, Crit 19-20X2, Type Slashing, Size Two Handed
Dagger, Att 5, Dam 1D4+2, Crit 19-20X2, Type Piercing or Slashing, Size Light
Javelin, Att 3, Dam 1D6+2, Crit X2, Type Piercing, Size Light
Breastplate +1, Type Med, AC 5, Max Dex 3, Check Penalty -3
Holy Water(2), M. Manacles w/ good lock, Healer’s Kit, Wand of Detect Magic, Wand of Cure Light Wounds, Everburning Torch
Edric is my name. Kord is my god.
I was seven, an orphan boy stealing on the streets of Duren. My closest friends were two other orphans, the boy Johen and the girl Heran. Johen dared me to steal jewels from a store, and I was caught. Instead of turning me over to the guard, the jeweller Falme Thele took pity and set me to polishing and other chores. I grew to respect and then admire the pious master jeweller. I wished to be a jeweler and loved the craft. Johen and Heran would stop by and we would eat meat pies in front of the store and tell jokes with the grease running down our chins.
I was sixteen, an apprentice jeweler in the home of my master. I had learned to read. Heran stayed in contact and I could help feed and clothe her with Mistress Thele’s help. We three finished dinner and I was helping Heran to read a musty brown book from the shelf on the wall. From the wall tumbled the greatsword “Rebirth” that was the sword of Mistress Threle’s passed grandfather, a cleric for Kord. It seemed innocent. I went to replace it. I touched the handle.
I was ageless, a spot before the glory of the god of strength, Kord. I couldn’t understand the meeting then. I cannot explain it now. I was irrationality.
I was eighteen, an initiate in the temples of Os. Falme Threle had sent me off immediately to Os after the event. I was told that Kord had a plan for me. I was assured that I would be the one to accomplish his work. I wished only that it would be done and I could return to my home and trade. In the nights after lessons and assurances, I crafted a black onyx ring in promise.
I was twenty four, a young man returned to the streets of Duren. Falme Threle was five years dead, and I knocked on a brothel door looking to Heran for the first time in eight years. We sat with mugs of hot cider, lying to eachother. She told me that she’d been doing great since I left. I told her that the onyx ring was a parting gift to me from the priests of Os and slipped it uncomfortably onto my pinkie finger.
I am 42, a favored of Kord. I assembled warriors and warrior-priests for years to do Kord’s bidding, and as I lie dying from the damned wizard’s blast, here against my fallen brother with “Rebirth” in my limp hand and a tight fitting onyx ring on my finger, I wonder if Kord sees. Does he see some great evil on the horizon that I am meant to sacrifice himself for, or am I his drunken boast that all humans are fools? There is no choice; I am Kord’s. I have but my miserable devotion, I have duty to him.