The Tomb Of Horrors
A curious, book-smart mage who seeks the truth and doesn't care who he has to manipulate to get it.
== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ==
Quinn Stonegaze, level 11
Human, Wizard (Mage), Entrancing Mystic
School: Enchantment School
Expert Mage Option: Enchantment School Expert
Binding Initiate Option: Binding Initiate (Star Pact)
Master Mage Option: Enchantment School Master
Human Power Selection Option: Bonus At-Will Power
Missing Master (Missing Master Benefit)
Theme: Renegade Red Wizard
FINAL ABILITY SCORES
STR 9, CON 13, DEX 12, INT 21, WIS 14, CHA 18
STARTING ABILITY SCORES
STR 8, CON 12, DEX 11, INT 16, WIS 13, CHA 15
AC: 24 Fort: 22 Ref: 26 Will: 27
HP: 63 Surges: 7 Surge Value: 15
Arcana +15, Dungeoneering +12, History +15, Insight +13, Perception +13, Religion +15
Acrobatics +6, Athletics +4, Bluff +13, Diplomacy +13, Endurance +6, Heal +7, Intimidate +11, Nature +7, Stealth +6, Streetwise +9, Thievery +6
Personality and Appearance
“ Quinn could walk down any city street and blend in perfectly. There is nothing that immediately stands out about him. Maybe slightly taller than average, but everything else about him seems just normal. There is no better way to describe him than ‘normal’ if maybe a bit on the plain side. It isn’t until you get close, when the curiosity hits you. What does such a bland man do? For someone to blend in so well, he probably leads an interesting life. Maybe his robes indicate he is a scholar at one of the nearby universities, or the way he eyes the produce make him a noble out for an incognito stroll out among his people. Maybe a noble’s son, a wannabe adventurer, he would be good to impress if he will be in power some day.
It is around this time, that he walks up and asks how much a nice cut of fish you are selling is. Slightly caught off guard, your first reaction is to give him a good discount. You are befuddled how you lost yourself, and would think it rude to ask for more. After the sale, he casually walks away. Normal, plain, bland. As he walks further away, you look down at the small amount of coin you received for such a nice cut of fish. And wonder, what did you see in him that made you think he was special? You shrug and place the money in your pocket, no use dwelling on it.”
At first glance Quinn is a normal, if not quiet, book worm. Although plain, people nearby seem to be attracted or fascinated by him. An outside observer would observe people reacting as if he were a famous bard, when his simple gestures would not warrant the affection. He wears comfortable, plain robes when he can and uses his magic liberally, without thought. His time at the archive has fostered a curiosity about the arcane and old forgotten tomes into a lifelong quest to read and learn. He will often reference where he learned a particular piece of knowledge, as it was often a requirement of maintaining the archive.
In the nation of Karrnath, war and death come hand in hand. Those who have the proper magical skills and mindset are encouraged to carve out their own place within the necromantic armies. Quinn was to be such a wizard-destined for greatness because of his magical potential. To his noble family’s great honor, Quinn joined the prestigious academies used to train mages for the mighty army of Karrnath. There, he was taught the fundamentals of magic in all its schools and forms, with a focus on necromancy.
At the time, this dedication seemed normal to Quinn. Manipulating the forces of death itself? Animating those who had been living, breathing, laughing people into mindless, shambling armies? This is the way Karrnath would prove its rightful place as the decedents of Galifar.
So might his life have gone, had not Quinn’s best friend, Alek-a partner and companion throughout his years of schooling-failed an assigned experiment. It was nothing disastrous, only a ritual that went ever so slightly awry, but the event sent the instructor into a rage. When that rage was spent, Alek was dead, his life force sundered by necrotic energy.
Alek was also Quinn’s next project, for his was the body that the class-working together to perform magic none of them could handle alone-was ordered to reanimate. And Quinn complied, for fear of what might happen if he did not.
For the first time, the grotesque, decaying face before Quinn was not that of a stranger. For the first time, he knew of and could feel the utter absence of the life and laughter that once had thrived behind those eyes. At that moment, Quinn finally understood the horror of what he had been trained to do and forswore necromancy – and the whole of Karrnath itself.
It wasn’t that hard to flee, for who would ever try to escape the academies when there were so many potential mages waiting to get in? By the time they knew to look for Quinn, he was already gone.
Quinn no longer recalls the exhausting, starving months of travel, constantly watching over his shoulder. He fled West across the boarder to Aundair, but the battles of the Great War and Karrnath was too close. He then fled South through Thrane into Brieland. Not far enough, he continued travelling South and West until he weakly walked just a few miles from Sharn. He hadn’t intended to go there, but travel was easiest along the major roads for someone unaccustomed to the wilderness.
Starving, exhausted, feverish, Quinn stumbled down the road toward Sharn in the dusk of a sweltering day. On a blind turn, a noble’s carriage flew out of nowhere and struck Quinn hard. Lying on the ground, he might have heard the horse hooves click-clack to a stop but it also might have been his imagination. As the carriage rolled onward, leaving him to die on the side of the road.
Looking up at the stars, Quinn cursed his fate. Had he had it all in Karrnath? Did he run from his true destiny of raising and leading the undead hoards of his King? Or was it all just a pale gaze into the infinite of death? Losing his senses, he begged and pleaded, cursed and bemoaned his fate to the stars. A small change in fate is all that he needed. Some small shift in the alignment of the great celestial bodies on what was likely to be his deathbed.
And the stars answered. A small pact for a small change in fate. A slice of humanity, not even Quinn wanted, was given easily for a small reorientation of the stars. A mark of the deal, a Dragonmark appeared on his left hand as he raised it to the darkened sky. Just moments after, a horse carrying a Gnome wrapped in fine cloth strode up to the body by the side of the road. The stranger instantly recognized the mark and pulled the unconscious Quinn onto his horse.
Quinn awoke inside a giant, small library. Giant for the amount of books, but clearly spaced for a Gnome. The Gnome caring for his illness was an archivist named Orryn D’Sivis. He had recognized the mark on Quinn’s hand, the Mark of Scribing. Since his mark was clearly not of lineage, it meant something to the prophecy. Orryn had been stationed in Sharn for some time, cataloging the prophecy, and maintaining the local Sivis archive.
To pay back for the food and shelter, Quinn assisted in the archiving duties and quickly proved to be a natural. So much so, that Orryn stopped working all together, and spent his days casually observing the people of Sharn, and weaving intricate tales of adventure and mystery about his more youthful days. Sometimes, he even found a few hours to impart a few enchantment and illusion tricks to his protege.
One day, Orryn was gone. No notes, no signs, just gone. Later in the afternoon, two Gnomes arrived at the archive looking for Orryn. When Quinn told them Orryn wasn’t there, they appeared angered and disappointed. Quinn recognized them as agents of the House Sivis, although they had gone to some length to not advertise the fact. After they excused themselves, Quinn quickly packed up what his ‘Adventuring Advice’ book had told him he would need and left in search of his Master.