Shepherds of Fate
====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ====== Ishtar, level 6 Kalashtar, Ardent Build: Enlightened Ardent Ardent Mantle: Mantle of Clarity Kalashtar: Diplomacy Bonus Background: Auspicious Birth (Auspicious Birth Benefit)
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 10, Con 12, Dex 12, Int 8, Wis 19, Cha 19.
STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 10, Con 12, Dex 12, Int 8, Wis 16, Cha 16.
AC: 22 Fort: 16 Reflex: 15 Will: 19 HP: 56 Surges: 8 Surge Value: 14
TRAINED SKILLS Heal +12, Streetwise +12, Diplomacy +14, Insight +14
UNTRAINED SKILLS Acrobatics +3, Arcana +2, Bluff +7, Dungeoneering +7, Endurance +5, History +2, Intimidate +7, Nature +7, Perception +7, Religion +2, Stealth +3, Thievery +3, Athletics +2
FEATS Level 1: Weapon Proficiency (Fullblade) Level 2: Quori Shield Level 4: Weapon Expertise (Heavy Blade) Level 6: Melee Training (Charisma)
POWERS Ardent at-will 1: Focusing Strike Ardent at-will 1: Energizing Strike Ardent daily 1: Implanted Suggestion Ardent utility 2: Mind over Matter Ardent at-will 3: Prescient Strike Ardent daily 5: Fate Exchange Ardent utility 6: Mend Wounds
ITEMS Chainmail, Fullblade, Adventurer’s Kit, Dwarven Finemail +2 ====== Copy to Clipboard and Press the Import Button on the Summary Tab ======
Chosen of Serenity
It is cold, and dark. There is a flickering blueish incandescence that is not light, but it is far from her. She moves forward, and as she does so, she hears a voice. “One…”. The voice is soft, with a note of melancholy. She isn’t sure where it is coming from, it seems to be all around her. “Two…” It is louder this time, though still distant. “Three…” She casts about with her mind, seeking the source of the mind behind the words. “Four…” She wants to reach, out, to connect. “Five…” The melancholy tone has begun to change, to take on a note of anger. “Six…” Ishtar drifts forwards, she can feel it at last, she knows where it is. “Seven…” The voice is loud now, and insistent. “Eight…” It is no longer just a voice, there is a feeling of fury and despair that clings to her like a shroud. “Nine…” Ishtar thrashes helplessly, caught in the deep surge of hatred and terror that radiates from the cool blue light. She waits for the count to continue, feeling with despair that she will be ripped apart when it does.
Instead, there is a strangled cry, and she feels a massive wind against her face. She snaps awake. She has had this same dream – no, not dream, vision, her people do not dream – every night for weeks, but every night she feels like she comes closer to the voice before she is torn away. And tonight something is different. She sits in the dark of her room, and she can feel something brush against her mind. She dresses quickly and quietly. It is the dead of night. She slips out of her house, carrying nothing but a small lantern.
She stumbles through the forest, trees and bushes tearing at her hair and clothes. She moves quickly, she feels like she is being pulled along by a rope, and if she moves too slowly she will lose her footing and be dragged along rather than run. She knows she is close, she can feel the pain and sorrow that she felt from her vision.
Suddenly, there is as cracking sound, and the ground beneath her opens up. She drops her lantern as she flails around wildly, trying to grab on to the edges of the mouth of the hole. It’s no use, and she plunges into icy cold water. She had no time to take a breath, and the water fills her lungs quickly. She is completely surrounded by water, she can feel herself sinking. Her hands brush against the sides of the hole, they are slick and smooth. It’s a well, forgotten and unused, deep in the forest.
She tries to swim but there’s something in the well with her, grasping and dragging at her. She feels rather than hears the counting begin. “One…” She is panicked, frightened, thrashing against the slick walls and the cold skin of the thing in the well. “Two…” She knows that she is drowning, and the pain and fury of the being overwhelms her mind. “Three…” Ishtar stops struggling and closes her eyes. “Four…” She sinks deeper into the cold dark water, pulled by the restless spirit in the well. “Five…” It is cold, and dark, and she can see the blue light in front of her. It shimmers like a reflection of the moon in a dark lake. “Six…” Her feet sink into the mire at the bottom of the well. “Seven…” She is barely conscious, she can feel the spirit waiting to drink her essence. “Eight…” She feels a whisper from somewhere inside, and strength flows through her and enfolds her like a cloak. She steps outside her body, the pain in her wracked lungs and the cold of the water disappear, like waking from a dream. “Nine…” She looks into the creature, and suddenly she can SEE.
“Ten!” Ishtar shrieks out with her mind, and it pierces the spirit like a lance. It is suddenly quiet, and the flickering blue light takes the shape of a beautiful young girl, who looks at her with gratitude before dissolving into a much greater light.
In her spirit state, she sees the girl. She is alive, not the cold drowned thing in the well. She is a servant in a house that stood in these woods long ago. The son of her master looks at her with desire in his eyes. She resists, even if it weren’t for her lover in the village, the young master is capricious and cruel. He schemes against her. Knowing that his father has a set of fine plates, a family heirloom, he steals one of the plates and hides it.
He takes her to the great hall and asks her to count the plates. She counts them, then counts them again when she realizes there are only nine. “I know that you broke one of these plates…” he whispers to her with satisfaction oozing from his voice. She gasps, she knows that a servant can be killed for far less of an insult against their master. “I won’t tell anyone though, if you only…” She turns away from him, in her fear and panic she can’t do anything except count the plates. He grabs at her and she tries to tear away, still counting, recounting.
Ishtar watches as the young master drags the broken girl through the woods, towards the well. She hears the girls repeat the numbers through her bloodied lips, and shudders. “Eight…”, “Nine…” Each time she reaches nine, she cries out in despair.
Ishtar awakes in the wood, with two strangers standing over her. Their faces are illuminated with a soft blue radiance, and at first she thinks she still dreams. Then she looks down and sees that the blue light is coming from her.
“It is time for you to come with us.” says one of the strangers, and his companion nods.
Ishtar remembers little that is certain about her life before her Exaltation. She lived in the country, in a large old house. She can’t remember caregivers, save the face of an old man who may have been her grandfather, or possibly an elderly servant. She was haunted by fantastic visions and mad whispers in the dark, happenings in the past and the future flowed chaotically around her. Unable to tell what was real she withdrew into herself.
After her Exaltation, and her awareness of her abilities as an Ardent, she has gained stillness and peace, but she knows that she must fight to maintain her mental balance at all costs. She has thrown herself into her training and the service of the Bureau of Destiny.