Wrath

Description:

<table><tbody><tr><td> STR
</td><td>10</td><td> 0</td><td> 0</td></tr><tr><td>CON</td><td>15</td><td> 3</td><td> 3</td></tr><tr><td>DEX
</td><td>12</td><td> 1</td><td>1</td></tr><tr><td> INT
</td><td>16</td><td> 3</td><td> 3</td></tr><tr><td> WIS
</td><td>11</td><td> 0</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td> CHA</td><td>15</td><td> 2</td><td> 2</td></tr></tbody></table>

Initiative: 1

Languages: Common, Abyssal

 

Armor Class: 15

Hit Points: 27

<table height=”50” width=”77”><tbody><tr><td>Fortitude </td><td>13  </td></tr><tr><td>Reflex </td><td>14
</td></tr><tr><td>Will </td><td>13
</td></tr></tbody></table>

 

Speed: 5

Combat Gear: Dagger, Hand Crossbow with 80 bolts

Racial: Infernal Wrath

At-Will Spells: Eldrich Blast, Hellish Rebuke

Encounter Spells: Vampiric Embrace

Daily Spells: Flames of Phlegethos

Utility Spells:

Feats: Improved Dark One's Pact

 

Skills:

<table><tbody><tr><td> </td><td>Acrobatics
</td><td>1</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Arcana
</td><td>8</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Athletics
</td><td>0
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Bluff
</td><td>9
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Diplomacy
</td><td>2
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td> Dungeoneering</td><td>0
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Endurance</td><td>3
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Heal
</td><td>0
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>History
</td><td>8
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Insight
</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Intimidate
</td><td>2</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Nature
</td><td>0
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Perception
</td><td>0
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Religion
</td><td>3
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Stealth</td><td>3
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Steetwise</td><td>7
</td></tr><tr><td> </td><td>Thievery
</td><td>1
</td></tr></tbody></table>

Passive Insight: 10

Passive Perception: 10

 

Possessions: Standard Adventurer Kit, Leather armor, and a Rod

Bio:

Born into darkness.  Breed from the darkness. His youth was one of torment.  Left to die, lying next to his mother, on crimson black stones of a back alley, while the city burned around him.  Baptized into fire and blood.  Found by a man, Francis Jonathon.  General Jonathon gazed upon the newborn, cleaning the blade of the boy's mother's blood.  Remarking at how red the monster's blood ran, almost human.  His men cheer, as they burn, rape, and pillage.  Their shouts saving the baby's life, for if they had fallen on the General's ears certain death would have followed, but fate (or was it a darker power) was at work.  The General needed a conquest and what better one than to have dominated this child, this demon, the last alive remnant of the city, a reminder of his greatness.  

The winds scream, the seasons come, the years flow by like a rushing torrent.  Pain is all he knows.  Pain from the lashings.  He won't give in.  He can't.  Something inside won't let him, even though the rest of him cries out to break.  They're coming again, what time is it?  He feels the old wounds alive with fire.  He can't scream.  He can't let them know that satisfaction.  Let the blood flow.

He is honed in pain and darkness as more years stab and rake away at his body, like a weapon struck and quenched.  Sleep comes uneasily, like the guards who have grown to fear him as a demon.  This night however it was different.  Was it a dream?  Was it real?  All he remembered was the blood, the crimson blood.  The darkness of the it.  The very deep color of the…..rod…..the ruby rod.  He begins to remember the voices.  The voices that call to him.  That cry out.  He feels something new….a need.  A need for a name.  He hears the foot falls once more, they're coming again, but this time it's different.  This time they sound like drums….ringing in his ears…...the drums of war.  The light from the door cracking peers in, highlighting his face.  One of the guards says "It's time boy.  Get up."  The only responce is wrath.

As the boy walks away from the burning, smoldering remains of the place he once was held captive, he doesn't look back.  It was a beutiful sight.  The full moon basking in the heat and glow from the fires.  The wind howling….almost a laugh….as it licked at the flames.  The quite broken by the boy….."My name is Wrath."   

Wrath

Idols of Presperia thegreatpaulio