y - Naveed of the South Shores (Deceased)
level 1 human monk hermit
Human Monk Hermit
|STR: 13||DEX: 16||CON: 14||INT: 6||WIS: 18||CHA: 16|
|HP: 10||AC: 17||XP: 520||Save Proficiencies: STR, DEX|
|Passive Perception: 19||Passive Investigation: 13||Speed: 30||Height: 6’ 0"||Weight: 174 lbs.|
|Armor and Weapon Proficiencies:||Simple Weapons||Shortsword||Longbow|
|Stealth||+5||From Hermit (substituted).||Insight||+6||From Monk.|
|Perception||+6||From Variant Human.|
|Survival||+6||From Hermit (substituted).|
|Herbalism Kit (Wis)||+6||Used to identify or apply herbs, or to stabilize an unconscious creature upon passing DC 10 Nature check. From Hermit.|
|Shortsword||+5||Melee||1d6+3 piercing||N/A||Main-hand. Light. Finesse.|
|Longbow||+5||Ranged 150/600||1d8+3 piercing||N/A||Heavy. Two-handed.|
|Dagger||+5||Melee / Ranged (20/60)||1d4 piercing (1d4+4 thrown)||N/A||Off-hand. Light. Thrown. Finesse.|
Unarmoured Defence: 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.
Observant: Quick to notice details of your environment, you gain the following benefits:
- Increase your Intelligence or Wisdom score by 1, to a maximum of 20.
- If you can see a creature’s mouth while it is speaking a language you understand, you can interpret what it’s saying by reading its lips.
- You have a +5 bonus to your passive Wisdom (Perception) and passive Intelligence (Investigation) scores.
Martial Arts: 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.
- 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.
My ghost-wife Sarene Some unknown force guides my strikes in battle. I can get advantage to my attack rolls; each time I do, I must roll to save against being afflicted with a level of exhaustion.
|Clothing||1 set||3 lbs.||None.|
|Healing Potions||2||1 lbs.||Restores 2d4 + 2 HP.|
|Explorer’s Pack||1||59 lbs.||Includes backpack, bedroll, mess kit, tinderbox, 10 torches, 10 days of rations, a waterskin, and 50ft of hempen rope.|
|Clothing||3 sets||1.5 GP|
Naveed was an honourable man, once.
He can still remember the man he used to be. If not rich, self-sufficient; if not renowned, capable. A simple monk wedded to the love of his life, the fisherwoman Sarene. Raised in the quiet monastery from which Raevori hails, who left at the age of manhood to build a home with his lady love. A simple, honourable man.
A weak man, a stupid man who did not value what he held until it was lost.
It was one day, one chance meeting with the necromancer who swept through Naveed’s home village and brought misery to his life. Who seduced Naveed with the promise of greatness. He was lost from the first drink the necromancer poured him in the corner of the village tavern; lost from the first tale of grand exploits and the thrill of command over beings living and dead.
He wanted it. Like food, like air, like sex, he wanted what the necromancer promised
(what he promised was death; what else do the corpse-raisers ever promise but eternal death?)
and gave of himself to have it.
Little things, at first. Materials for rituals. Assistance with preparation, the reward for which was a chance to view wonders the likes of which he had never dreamed. He tried explaining them to Sarene, but his words could never capture the feeling. She began to withdraw from him. She did not understand. She could not understand. She was small.
And then, bigger things. Animals, as tribute.
An invalid, old and sick,
(she will not be missed)
one less old, less sick
(he is serving a greater purpose)
and finally: six young adults in their prime.
Naveed begged. The necromancer was firm. Naveed knew he would give in and hated himself for looking for an excuse.
The appointed place, the appointed time. Sick at heart, he unloaded their drugged bodies from the cart and began to deliver —
it happened so fast —
Sarene, small Sarene, fierce Sarene, out of the shadows with stimulants to revive them and tell them to run, run, looking back at Naveed with desperate eyes, please my love please come home with me run with me —
The necromancer suddenly looming over them both as Naveed gibbered and babbled and cried and for the first time knew what he had squandered —
Death. Not for him. Cradling his love’s body on his knees as the cold wetness of the forest floor seeped through his clothes, as the necromancer disappeared in a whisper of the night.
Hours, days later, she spoke. He, wild-eyed, thought he was delirious from grief.
“No, you idiot, look up. And put my body down, it’s decomposing and it looks disgusting.”
Naveed looked up. She was there, translucent. He could see the outlines of the oaks behind her. She was there. How was she there?
“Don’t ask me, you’re the one who decided to become best friends with a necromancer, didn’t you pick up anything?”
She cannot rest, now. She hangs between worlds, driven by a compulsion, and he swears what remains of his destroyed life to helping her achieve it. To setting her free so that she can die a final death with dignity. This is all he has left.
“Of course it’s not. You have me, or… well… whatever fraction of me this is. Thank the gods, otherwise we’d never get this done.”
The compulsion brings them both to Silanya. The compulsion guides his strikes at the undead and flays him for it. He cannot be free of her. He never wants to be free of her. He must free her.
“And then you’ll die eventually, you big sap, and we’ll be together in the void anyway. Are you going to keep brooding, or are we actually going to get this done?”
They are. If it takes the last strike left in his worthless body, if it takes the last ounce of sanity from his foolish mind, they are.
“That’s my Naveed.”