Pantheon of Heroes
Oracle Half Orc Thespian (Played By Jason)
Speed: 30 ft.
Will: 1 (3 vs. enchantment spells & effects)
Dmg: 1d3 (somehow)
Special: Can hit anywhere within 15ft. Provokes AoO. Does no damage to anyone with Armor bonus of +1 or higher or Natural Armor +3 or Higher
Range: 10ft. (thrown)
Skills (only including skills with ranks or class skills that don’t require training)
- Bluff: 5
- Craft (jewelry): 3, class skill
- Diplomacy: 4, class skill
- Disguise: 5, class skill
- Heal: 1, class skill
- Intimidate: 6, class skill
- Knowledge (history): 4, class skill
- Knowledge (local): 4
- Knowledge (nobility): 4, class skill
- Perform (act): 5
- Profession (driver): 2, class skill
- Sense Motive: 2, class skill
- Stealth: 0, class skill
- The Old Tongue
- Human Disguise Kit (1lb)
- High Quality Chain Shirt (25 lbs)
- Haramaki (1lb)
- Whip (2lb)
- Club w/cord (3lb)
- Cards (1lb)
- Candles x10
- Candlestick (1/2lb)
- Paper x25 sheets
- Street Clothes (2lb)
- Entertaining Clothes (4lb)
- Artisan’s Tools (5lb)
- Crypt Key
- Holy Water (1lb)
TOTAL WEIGHT: 45.5 lbs
Oracle Class Features:
Mystery: Dark Tapestry
Archetype: Possessed Oracle
Orisons (no limit per day):
- Detect Magic
- Create Water
Lvl 1 Spells (4 per day)
- Cure Light Wounds
- Cause Fear
- Ray of Sickening
- City Raised
- Orc Blood
- Orc Ferocity
To whoever finds this
If you’re reading this, it has finally happened. I don’t know what it is, but you’ll know.
Everyone will know.
I’m not looking for pity or absolution, this is a warning. Whatever happened isn’t my fault. I don’t really know who’s fault it is, but I don’t think it ended just because I died. Death means nothing to it. Everything means nothing to it. It’s the space between the stars and in the darkened corners and in all the unknown places in the world. It’s old, older than you could imagine.
Shit, I hate pulling this soothsayer stuff on accident. I’ll just start at the beginning. My name is Bozzok. Just Bozzok, that’s enough.
My other names are Well I’ll get to that later.
I was born a little less than thirty years ago, don’t know just how many. My father, Jacoby Scipius, was a human working for the Black Company, not much of a fighter, but a field engineer. But he was a vagabond at heart, and followed them out. He lived with them for years before
falling in fucking my mother, a half-orc among the tribes. Soon after I was born. Something snapped in good old dad after that and he stole away with me and returned to Starbreach. He never told me why, though if you are reading this you might know what he was afraid of leaving me among the beasts.
After three years or so Jacoby got tired of raising me. Perhaps he returned to the Company, if they’d even take him back, or moved on to the frontiers to
raze raise new settlements. I don’t know and I don’t care. I remember almost nothing about him, but I didn’t die, so I guess he did fine. Some of his former comrades told me his name but they hadn’t heard what became of him either. Fuck him. I was fine without him, and the worst of what happened he had nothing to do with. He’s just a bastard. Still, getting me away from the tribes was probably the best thing for me.
Life on the streets was rough, but if you don’t think I’m willing to pick a pocket or rummage through a dumpster to eat for the night then you know nothing about survival. Dignity is the
privilege curse of the houses. I met many street folk, had friends among the dockworkers and stagehands of the theaters, the invisible folk. I knew near about everything and everyone in this city. I would sell “authentic orc-folk jewelery” of wood and copper to make money when I got too big to hide so easily, and eventually took a job as a driver after the stables owner caught me sleeping in her hay loft. How? A silver tongue, my one saving grace here. A quarter orc runt with no training in ferocity combat is not much of a physical force to be reckoned with. But an expert in disguise, with a certain… felicity of tongue… but then again, my tongue, that’s also what damned me in the end.
I’m avoiding the big one I know. From around ten or so, I can’t remember the anniversary and don’t care to, I started to… “peek beyond the curtain” is what I call it. A couple of Jiani thugs a few years older than me chased me through town, down to South Side one night (I may have been stealing some paper from one of their apartments). I made a bad turn to avoid some of the Sheriff’s men and found myself cornered in an alley. I turned to the the three Jiani and opened my mouth to try diplomacy, but nothing familiar came out. Everything I said emerged as something alien. I was terrified at the sound of my own voice, partly because I’d never heard these words before, but even worse, I understood them. The thugs were terrified, pointing and screaming before running away. I thought they were scared of me, until I felt it behind me
This time, it manifested as a looming darkness. Climbing from the base of the street to above the roofs, curving over me, the stars were blanked out, light came to a sudden stop. And inside… I could describe it to you, but it would be in a script you’ve never seen and a language you’ve never heard. It was my first peek beyond the curtain. I’ve seen the tenuousness of the world, the fragility of reality. Everything in my life has been running from that horror. And being followed by The Black Man. I’d call it darkness, or shadow, but that isn’t accurate. It is beyond all of that. It is a hole in the world. Not always a human man, though that is the most common form, but sometimes that formless terror, or an orc woman, once a horse, many times the swirling blackness between the stars, and so on, it’s not worth recalling all here. The point is there is no limit to the beyond.
I found that I was safe from these… revelations I’ll call them, in the brightness of the day and in complete darkness. It leaks out from in between places. I hope these places will stay safe, but again, if you’re reading this, my precautions probably didn’t pan out. I thought if I left the city when I was younger I could avoid these horrors. I tried to rejoin the tribes, but the shamans were fascinated by my nascent powers. They taught me how to use the magic energy I just had tapped in to, but encouraged me to seek out the visions. I fled back to Starbreach to avoid their dangerous exhortations. If everything has gone to hell (or beyond) that’s who you should talk to.
On my return I took back my job as a driver and tried to forget about everything but the mundane. I learned use of a whip and longsword, driver’s armaments, though my unstable finances led me to abandon any sword in favor of a simple club. My quiet manner earned me credit with the houses, who appreciated a driver who would fade into the background. I may have stopped talking but I was still listening. I learned about their fears, their politics, their personalities, their weaknesses. I took a chance. With the help of a few small spells, I took on the persona of a psychic, doing cold readings on the side of the street and eventually in the halls of the great houses. It paid the bills, gave me a place to sleep, and the mental focus required helped distract me from beyond the curtain.
As of the time of this writing, I’ve been plying my act across the city, enjoying acts at the theater, fashioning more elaborate costumes and props, and avoiding the darkness. Aside from the amenities I have no pleasure living amongst the high and mighty, especially the way they look down on my former tribe. I always cringe when i apply my human disguises for their chambers. I always remember the kindness, pride, and trust of the shaman in the woods, and the anger at losing their ancestral home. If I were a braver or nobler sort I may have stood up for them. But for now I just want to survive. Whatever happened that brought this to you… I didn’t mean it. It wasn’t my fault.