Brooding, ambitious, bitter. This self-proclaimed scion of Bael Turath plans to write the future with the ashes of history.
Tiefling, Warlord, Turathi Highborn Commanding Presence: Tactical Presence
FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 20, Con 15, Dex 9, Int 20, Wis 12, Cha 15.
AC: 28 Fort: 27 Reflex: 27 Will: 24 HP: 92 Surges: 9 Surge Value: 23
TRAINED SKILLS Endurance +13, History +17, Athletics +16, Diplomacy +16, Arcana +17
UNTRAINED SKILLS Acrobatics +7, Bluff +13, Dungeoneering +11, Heal +11, Insight +11, Intimidate +13, Nature +11, Perception +11, Religion +14, Stealth +9, Streetwise +11, Thievery +7
FEATS Level 1: Tactical Assault Level 2: Lend Might Level 4: Linguist Level 6: Jack of All Trades Level 8: Skill Training (Bluff) (retrained to Skill Training (Arcana) at Level 10) Level 10: Ritual Caster Level 11: Fiery Rebuke Level 12: Paragon Defenses Level 14: Mettle
POWERS Warlord at-will 1: Wolf Pack Tactics Warlord at-will 1: Commander’s Strike Warlord encounter 1: Warlord’s Favor Warlord daily 1: Bastion of Defense Warlord utility 2: Shake It Off Warlord encounter 3: Steel Monsoon (retrained to Inspiring War Cry at Level 11) Warlord daily 5: Stand the Fallen Warlord utility 6: Inspiring Reaction Warlord encounter 7: Surprise Attack Warlord daily 9: Warlord’s Recovery Warlord utility 10: Unintended Feint Warlord encounter 13: Pincer Maneuver (replaces Warlord’s Favor)
ITEMS Bashing Shield Light Shield (heroic tier), Circlet of Authority (heroic tier), Potion of Healing (heroic tier) (2), Adventurer’s Kit, Deathcut Hide Armor +2, Periapt of Wisdom +3 (2), Flameburst Javelin +2, Resounding Flail +3
Born a bastard son to a fat leg-breaker in the gutters of Haverford, Testament knew only contempt and poisonous affection from the humans who bothered to talk to him. His father dragged him along on work, teaching him all his brutal techniques. He learned how to corner the weak, how to injure without killing, and how to cause fear and pain. Testament saw only weakness in his laughing tyrant of a father. The old devilskin was all too happy to crawl around in the filth, a happy lickspittle carrying out the petty orders of money-lenders and guild bosses. Testament wanted more.
At age 15, he fudged some paperwork to get into the local constabulary. He loved the discipline, the constant drilling, the martial study. His eagerness and acumen put him leagues above his peers, who mostly joined for a few extra coins. A seargant pulled him from duty to serve in a battalion of hardened regulars marching overland.
He saw his father one last time before he left town. Testament wore his tabard and mail in the doorway of his father’s shack. The old thug had been drinking, spitting confused words of belittling praise in between bitter sobs. Testament stood silently straight, grip tightening on his slung shortblade. His father pushed up from the table, staggered to a cabinet, and withdrew a package wrapped in an oiled rag. It was a jagged hatchet worked in an exotic etch design. ‘An heirloom’ the father offered, ‘and your birthright,’
Testament threw the blade to the ground and spit on his father’s feet. ‘Any right of birth I will claim myself. I will cut it from the heavens. I will take nothing from you. Drown in your pity, creature. I have no father,’ He left the door open, and followed the morning chill across the dark streets to join the wagons rumbling out of the city.
He fought for years, earning the respect and honor of his soldiers on the front lines. Slowly, he grew frustrated in service. His low birth and maligned race left him behind as less competant and cowardly soldiers received promotion above him. Testament saw no hope of commission in his future. He served five years faithfully, then left quietly one night, burning his tabard and honor stripes in a crude pit fire at the edge of a distant city.
He assembled a team of war-weary mercenaries to hunt for profit. They named themselves the ‘Reckless Tigers’ and traveled the length of the great continent, earning fortunes in blood and glory. Only a means to an end, Testament saved as much as he could to mount a campaign against a mad despot in the harsh, rocky lands north of Veyn. His tigers stormed the castle in secret, catching the drunken dwarven king asleep. Testament killed the sovereign and claimed the iron crown for himself.
Now, King Testament rules from his throne in his castle, the Blightspire. His fortune set to task rebuilding the nation, mustering the army, preparing for conquest. He has named his empire ‘New Turath’ sending his tigers out to deliver his mesage to the surrounding nations, ‘Bow to the Spire and pay tribute or watch your cities fall to the Turathi’