To hell and back, the spirit of a primordial
Harramin Benson Human Chaos Sorcerer level 13 Primordial Channeler Paragon Path
|AC||21 + enhancement|
|Fort||18 + enhancement|
|Reflex||22 + enhancement|
|Will||27 + enhancement|
- Distant Advantage
- Action Surge
- Dual-Implement Spellcaster
- Sorcerous Blade Channeling
- Sorcerous Vision
- Implement Expertise (Dagger)
- Disciplined Wild Soul
- A Falcon
|Cha = 14+enhancement bonus = 17|
|Str = 6+enhancement|
|Dex = +11|
|Magic = 7+4+2+(2x enhancement) = 17|
|Physical= -1 + enhancement|
Ancestral Holdings Background- I am a descendent of a powerful sorcerer that has been long forgotton by history. His blood flows through my veins, and our family shall have its place in history thanks to me. +2 to History
|Winged Dagger||lvl 10||PHB2 204|
|Fireburst Armor||lvl 8||PHB 230|
|Shroud of Ravens +3|
|Ice Golem’s Breath|
Non-Magical Standard Adventurer’s kit
|Chaos Bolt||ranged 10||cha vs will||1d10 psychic|
|Acid Orb||ranged 20||cha vs rfx||1d10 acid|
|Storm Walk||ranged 10||cha vs fort||1d8 thunder|
|Mind Hammer||One or Two Targets||cha vs Will||2d10 psychic, knock prone: Even=cannot stand/odd=slide dex||PHB2 143|
|Essence Prism||Ranged 10||cha vs rfx||2d8 force||PHB2 140|
|Chaos Storm||Burst 1 within 10||cha vs rfx||2d6 lightning||PHB2 142|
|Primordial Rage||Ranged 20||cha vs rfx||2d10||AP 47|
|Hostility Charm||Ranged 10||cha vs will||4d10, makes a charge, oppies on evens save ends||PHB2 144|
|Thunderleap||Close Burst 1||cha vs fort||2×2d6||PHB2 141|
|Winds of Change||Cloe Burst 3||cha vs fort||3d8||AP 34|
|Elemental Shift||Daily||Choose wild soul resistance||PHB2 140|
|Chaotic Defense||Daily||Various||AP 32|
|Fog Form||Encounter||Insubstantial interrupt||AP 34|
|Primordial Boon||Daily||Resist 15 cold, fire, lightning, thunder for encounter||AP 47|
I reawoke to find myself falling through darkness, through mist. My fall ended abruptly, but without pain. The land upon which I fell was completely devoid of features. It was like a blank slate waiting to be written.
The only thing notable about the world I had entered was the mist. The mist always stayed a few feet back from me. They parted wherever I walked and closed back in on where I had been. It is impossible to see past the mist, and so I kept walking in a single direction.
After a few days, I noticed the land around me beginning to take on characteristics, but it was always shifting under my gaze. It changed from lush and green to dry and sandy to cold and frost-bitten. It seemed undecided as to what it wanted to be.
I discovered that, with the same sort of thought and concentration that produces magic, I was able to control the landscape around me. I had at first thought that it was connected to the magic that I was using but later realized that it merely ran along the same lines. Perhaps some day I will be able to create something useful, something other than these dreadful mists.
Further in still, I was quite sure that the mists were drawing back away from me. It was not a very noticeable change, maybe an extra foot or so, but it was something of a relief. I was beginning to feel clausterphobic, trapped within those mists that seemed to go on forever.
Then, suddenly, the mists seemed to part, and I was met with existence. A land stretched before me for miles. Along its side, the mist acted as a border between being and unbeing. The landscape around me ceased shifting, resting with the form it was before I passed over it.
There were people there. They looked at me as I stepped out of the mists and ran to their homes where they hid from me. They seemed to fear me. Word of me apparently traveled quickly. As I entered their town, streets cleared before me and I found myself alone once again. Not far off in the distance stood a castle, and I felt it best to go there.
The town turned into a city, and as I walked through it, the fear that had gripped my onlookers turned into suspicion. Everyone watched me with an uneasy gaze. Everyone made sure to keep their distance from me. I can somewhat understand their lack of trust, but am I not human as they are? Why are they so afraid of a simple outsider? I concluded that people do not emerge from the mists very often.
Word of me does indeed travel quick. As I approached the castle, I was welcomed inside. The owner was apparently expecting me. Becoming ever more nervous at my surroundings, I went inside.
Inside I was greeted by very the very familiar comforts of aristocracy and met by a very unusual man. He confirmed my theory about people emerging from mists, it doesn’t happen very often. He went on to explain that this would usually be beneath his notice, but I was different. Not many people emerged from the mists, no, but nobody had ever pushed them back wherever they went.
He enquired as to what I was and how I ended up here. I explained to him that I was a sorcerer and detailed the events leading up to me being here. He described me as an Outsider, someone who really didn’t belong, and told me where I had been sent. I was in hell.
He told me that he was what was known as a Darklord, a person who had committed an unbelievable and irreprehenceable evil. Those who perform such an act are sent here and given their own lands, a sort of prison from which they can never escape, surrounded by the mists, to be forever tormented by the Dark Powers that oversee this land. The commoners here are almost all products of the land itself. As such, the vast majority of them are ignorant to all of this. The only ones with the power to realize their own existence are the Darklords, and even then only maybe.
He assured me that I had garnered the attention of the Dark Powers but also informed me that they were unlikely to act against me. They are not, themselves, evil, and I have committed no great atrocities nor have I acted against them. Until I performed either one of those actions, they would most likely regard me as a curiosity, one that they were sure to watch.
He let me go with a warning. Not all Darklords were as reasonable as he, he explained. Many are driven by lust for power and vengeance. Others do not fully understand this realm they inhabit. One thing is certain, however, and that is that I am sure to draw attention to myself. If ever I get in trouble, I must remember one thing: For me and nobody else, the mists are a refuge.
As I wandered around the city, I realized that I had not, in my time here, been hungry, though I had slept. I decided to find an inn for food and rest. That night, I found out just how much attention I would draw to myself. I was awoken by a priest from the Darklord that had met me who explained that the Darklord of a neighboring domain had sent forces into this domain to get me. He was to escort me to the misty border of the island.
On our way to the mists, he said that, to Darklords, I shone like a beacon, with a brightness that had never before been seen. Informants to the Darklord had sent urgent notices regarding movement towards his domain. Everyone was after me. They saw the light but did not know what it was that shone with such intensity. All they knew is that they wanted it or they wanted to put it out.
Once again, I headed off into the mists. I valued my safety but dreaded the loneliness that awaited me inside them. This was truly my hell.
Having learned about the nature of existence in this realm, I sought to replicate it. The bubble that I inhabited was without any other influence and so I held limited power over it. This power was exerted in much the same way that I cast spells, and so I trained it.
Slowly, my sway over the space around me grew. Eventually, I was able to control the landscape around me without concentration. I decided to keep it lush, grassy, and distinctly more sunny than what I had experienced on the Island. From there, I turned my focus to creation, to filling this void.
I found I was able to create and manipulate the elements with my thoughts, with my efforts. Before long, I was able to create nearly anything out of the nothingness of this realm. I feel as if I was fighting the very realm itself for these little bits of existence, and I grew stronger with each passing day.
As I did that, the mists retreated from me. My few feet of space expanded to the size of a house and then a full acre of space with which I could do anything, well, almost anything. Though I was capable of creating any material component, I was unable to create life. No matter what I created, my space was every bit as lonely as it was when I first arrived.
After what seemed like weeks, my mastery of controlling this world what seemed to want to be shaped had just about peaked. It was then that a small black cat entered my space and spoke to me without moving its mouth in a voice that could shake this world to its core.
We do not know how you came to be in this realm, nor do we care. It is obvious that you do not belong here, and we have learned enough about your nature to satisfy our curiosities. We have not had an outsider like you visit this land for a long time, and your downplayed abilities helped to obscure what you are from us. We know now, and we do not want you here.
With that, the mists rushed back towards me, quickly covering up every inch of my space. As they closed in on me, everything went black, and I felt that same falling sensation again until I passed out.
Upon waking up, I found that my power was all but gone. Only with the hardest concentration could I summon up the energies like I was able to at a whim in that realm. Reality is much stronger here. The land has already been written and resists being changed. It’s obvious I’m back in the prime material, it feels exactly like it did back then, but where?
Where really doesn’t matter, for I now long to once again wield that power. The taste of it was addicting. To be without it is like having your arms cut off. I need it, and I will get it. I will gain the power to create worlds as well as destroy them, and I will be able to wield it in any plane. I can feel the power smoldering within me. It must be reignited.