Name: Maechen Eyre
Race: Human
Class: Wizard 5/Barbarian 1/Dragon Prophet 1
Experience: 25,400
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Religion: Aureon
Homeland: Aundair
Age: 31
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 155 lbs.
Statistics: STR 14, DEX 14, CON 16 (18), INT 18, WIS 13, CHA 11, BAB +3, Fort +7 (+3), Ref +3 (+1), Will +7 (+6), Init +6 (+2 Dex, +4 Improved Init), AC 12 (+2 Dex), HP 44 (51)
Skills: Balance +2, Concentration +8, Craft (Bookbinding) +6, Craft (Alchemy) +7, Decipher Script +8, Gather Information +5, Jump +3, Knowledge (Arcana) +10, Knowledge (History) +7, Knowledge (Geography) +1, Knowledge (Dragon Prophecy) +4, Spellcraft +10, Survival +3
Action Dice: 8
Spells: 0 (4/day) -- All 0-level spells; 1st (4/day) -- Comprehend Languages, Ebon Eyes, Enlarge Person, Feather Fall, Grease, Identify, Mage Armor, Magic Missile, Lesser Orb of Acid, Reduce Person, Shield; 2nd (3/day) -- Bull's Strength, Ice Knife, Invisibility, Phantom Foe, Web, Wraithstrike; 3rd (2/day) -- Clairaudience/Clairvoyance, Dispel Magic, Fireball, Haste, Lightning Bolt, Tongues
Class Abilities: Fast Movement, Rage 1/day (6 rounds), Constellation Power: Falazure
Weapons/Attacks: +6 (1d10+3, Greatclub +1), +6 (1d4+2, Masterwork dagger)
Equipment:+1 Greatclub, Amulet of Health +2, Wand of Magic Missiles (5th level) (49 charges), Pearl of Power (1st), Spellbook, Explorer's Handbook, Backpack, Alchemist's Lab, Light Horse (w/Pack & Riding Saddle), Masterwork Artisan's Tools, Everburning Torch, Bedroll, Scroll Case, Parchment (10 sheets), 50' silk rope, waterskin, spell component pouch, Tindertwigs (10), ink & pen, identity & traveling papers, 2946 GP (Dave, is this a House of Kundarak letter of credit, gold and platinum, jewels, etc.? Break it down for me if you will)
Feats: Combat Casting, Dragon Prophesier, Extend Spell, Improved Initiative, Prophecy Shaper, Scribe Scroll
Proficiencies: All Simple + Martial Weapons, All Light & Medium Armor, All Shields (except Tower)
Languages: Common, Draconic, Gnome, Elven, Argon
History: Growing up the son of a moderately famous bookbinder in the city of Passage, Aundair, the gangly, introverted boy named Maechen would oft times wonder at his surname – “Eyre.” It was, he learned, derived from the name of the moon and mid-spring month of the same name, and Maechen was excited when his mother explained how it was associated with the dragonmark of making. Throughout adolescence, he felt drawn to the moons, the stars, and the Ring of Siberys, certain that his family name would prove a calling, that his dragonmark was soon to appear.
It never did.
Reluctantly, he took up his father’s trade of bookbinding. Some years into his apprenticeship, he learned a secret that explained both how his father had avoided military service in the war and how the family maintained such a comfortable living: his father had a private contract with House Orien to construct the finest spellbooks in service to those wizards House Orien sent to the frontlines. Once he was “in” on his father’s secret, Maechen was only too happy to help him. He became friends with many a visiting wizard, began to study their simplest cantrips, and was encouraged by them to continue his studies.
In his mid-teens, Maechen was sent to the metropolis of Fairhaven to begin his formal study of wizardry at the prestigious University of Wynarn. He excelled in his studies, learned the principles of alchemy, and even found himself setting aside his books at times in service to athletic pursuits - the latter more in service to romantic pursuits than any love of sport. Maechen had become involved with a classmate, a spirited beauty with auburn hair. Her name was Melaan Windshire. On a lightning rail field trip to the Starpeaks Observatory, the pair snuck in after hours and consummated their love beneath the field of stars. It was that night that she told him about her hobby of studying the Draconic Prophecy.
A year passed. The pair were inseparable and, when Melaan learned that she was carrying Maechen's child, they married and took a leave of absence from the university. Those were Maechen’s happiest days, living with Melaan and studying the Prophecy together, caring for his young son, and eking out a modest living making spellbooks as the war drew to a close that seemed to bode well for his future.
The first wedge between the pair was, in a sad irony, the Prophecy itself. For Melaan it was a hobby; for Maechen, an increasing obsession. As if returning to his childhood, he felt sure he was on the cusp of some fateful discovery, but it was always just around the corner, always in the shadows just beyond his vision. Maechen cared deeply for Melaan and his son, Zanj, but his obsessiveness gave him a temper he never knew he had and arguments were frequent and painful.
In the year 995 YK, he dreamt ceaselessly for three months of a great silver dragon. When an emissary arrived at his home claiming to represent such a dragon - Vuulaytherus of the Chamber – Maechen accepted the man's word without question. Accepted, too, that he had a role to play in the Prophecy, that he was to travel to Argonnessen in one year’s time to accept that role from Vuulaytherus, and that in the intervening year, he would travel Khorvaire at the dragon’s bidding to prove himself.
Fired by the purpose he’d so long craved, Maechen left his home and family the following day, leaving only a note of darkest regret. He knew they could never understand that this is what he had to do. That if he didn’t follow his calling, his life would be as nothing and even his devotion to them would be undermined – for what husband and father could face his loved ones knowing he had failed to play his part in fulfilling a destiny that would surely make the world a better place for them?
The year that followed tested Maechen as never before, traveling many lands beyond the borders of Aundair in service to Vuulaytherus. He sought out obscure magic items, rare documents, and sages both esteemed and held in contempt. At times Vuulaytherus’ commands made little sense – what did a dragon need with a handful of sand from the shores of Newthrone in Q’Barra? – but Maechen performed them with the zeal of a true acolyte. And he also tasted his first combat, putting into practice those arcane battle magicks that were mere
theory in college. But even as Maechen felt the righteousness of his path, ever did his wife and son remain in his memory. He always sent them a portion of the spoils he earned adventuring for Vuulaytherus, and occasionally, when he could tolerate the emotionalal toll, he would even write them. He wanted them to know that he was well and that he thought always of them, but he never left a means of responding - lest he risk weakening in his resolve.
On the appointed day, he sailed for Argonnessen with a crew of men he thought to be traders, but who proved to be little more than wreckers looking to prey on ships driven from Argonnessen by the Seren barbarians who protected its coasts. In a fitting twist of fate, they themselves were set upon by Serens. Perhaps the Serens recognized that Maechen wasn’t truly aligned with these corsairs, perhaps they saw in his eyes the calling of the dragons that they too worshipped. Whatever the case, he was the only man on that ship to not have his belly put to barbarian spear that day. Instead he became their captive.
The life to come was brutal and filled with the pain of learning amongst a people who responded to failure with the sharp crack of a fist. Maechen was forced to learn their ways lest the wildlands themselves leave him starving or devoured by some monster. And so he learned to fight, wielding the shaped greatclub of the Serens, and he learned to channel his moments of rage into bursts of great fighting prowess in battle. He even learned their language, a curious mixture of Common and Draconic. When the day came that he decided Vuulaytherus could wait no longer, Maechen was confronted by the Seren tribal elder on trying to sneak from the village. Indeed, his leaving had been foretold, and the confrontation was simply a final parting of ways with a rare outsider who’d managed to earn a measure of the tribe’s respect. "
Just a measure," the old man told Maechen, a rare smile lining his tan, creased face. Maechen was gifted with a mighty club etched with arcane symbols, and more importantly, given a sacred cord with which to bind his long, black hair in the ponytail worn only by those tribesmen considered worthy fighting men.
In the weeks to follow, Maechen ventured into the depths of Argonnessen with only the calling of the Prophecy to guide him. Even with his newfound survival skills, the jungles beat him down, he became emaciated as prey proved too elusive to hunt, and when he finally found Vuulaytherus, he was half-mad from his journeys. What followed Maechen recalls only as one remembers a dream, but secrets were told him that toppled the final barrier of doubt that he was destined to play a role in the shaping of the Prophecy. He bore no dragonmark, but he would indeed be a “maker,” and that which he forged would shape the world more than anything so mean it could be made by hand.
Just a few weeks ago, Maechen awoke from his fugue meeting with his newfound master. He found himself hale and hearty, staying in a comfortable inn in the city of Stormreach on the vast, unexplored continent of Xen’drik. He felt as if he’d slept well for the first time in years. His more fiery impulses had faded, replaced with an understanding that he would fulfill his role even if it took years, decades...or more. His zeal for the Prophecy was now counterbalanced with a level of serenity. A glowing symbol of the draconic constellation of Falazure had appeared on his shoulder overnight, the final confirmation that Vuulaytherus had faith in him.
And so it was that when a messenger arrived with word from the great, silver dragon that Maechen was to seek out a man in Xen’drik with a key role to play in the Prophecy, Maechen didn’t howl for joy, but rather smiled the quiet smile of one who
understands. He had suffered the turmoil of indecision the whole of his life, to the point of hurting those he’d loved dearest, but now he knew the pain would not be without reward.
He readied his gear.
Name: Tock