A disgraced protector


====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ====== Yusef, level 5 Half-Orc, Warlord Build: Resourceful Warlord Commanding Presence: Resourceful Presence Background: Half-Orc – First Generation (+2 to Bluff)

FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 19, Con 12, Dex 13, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14.

STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 16, Con 12, Dex 11, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 13.

AC: 19 Fort: 18 Reflex: 15 Will: 16 HP: 44 Surges: 8 Surge Value: 11

TRAINED SKILLS History +9, Intimidate +11, Athletics +10, Endurance +9

UNTRAINED SKILLS Acrobatics +2, Arcana +4, Bluff +6, Diplomacy +4, Dungeoneering +2, Heal +2, Insight +2, Nature +2, Perception +2, Religion +4, Stealth +2, Streetwise +4, Thievery +2

FEATS Level 1: Bloodthirsty Mien Level 2: Improved Resources Level 4: Quick Draw

POWERS Warlord at-will 1: Wolf Pack Tactics Warlord at-will 1: Commander’s Strike Warlord encounter 1: Leaf on the Wind Warlord daily 1: Lead by Example Warlord utility 2: Rub Some Dirt On It Warlord encounter 3: Shielding Retaliation Warlord daily 5: Scent of Victory

ITEMS Shared Suffering Chainmail +1, Magic Scimitar +2, Casque of Tactics (heroic tier), Amulet of Protection +1, Dagger, Sling, Adventurer’s Kit, Chain (10 ft.), Climber’s Kit, Everburning Torch, Crowbar, Grappling Hook, Torch, Travel Papers ====== Copy to Clipboard and Press the Import Button on the Summary Tab ======


They say the Sultan is a forgiving man. At one time, I might have argued that point, but I suppose my continued existence is more a testament to that forgiveness than anything else.

I am Yusef Al-Akhzi Ibn Nadhim Ibn Fahad Il-Kalish. I am descended from Djinn, or so my mother told me as a child. She was always so fond of her fairy tales. Always smiling and telling my younger self of the magic creatures that stole into the cities many generations back. She told me how they disguised themselves as humans, elves and dwarves. How they shared in our wars, our political intrigues and our revelries. “And one night,” she would say, “they all just disappeared.” She told me their blood still runs through the veins of my city’s people. “Every so often, it will manifest in a child. That child be tall and strong, and would make his father proud.” Then she would smile her distant smile and shoo me away lest I be placed in a lamp. I have since learned my histories. I have learned of the wars once fought with Orcish peoples. The wars in which my father died. And I have learned of the strikes made against our city in the months before I was born. But one mustn’t spend all of one’s days thinking of children’s tales and best-forgotten histories.

As I reached adulthood, I entered into service protecting the Sultan and his family. A keen eye and a fierce dedication made me an excellent fit for the position, and my natural strength and speed set me apart from my comrades. It was not long before I was granted the honor of guarding the Sultan’s two sons, Jabir and Rafa. I watched over them while the Sultan was away. I guarded them as they played at war or pretended to sit at the head of a mighty sultanate. I grew fond of the boys and very proud of my place as guardian. Had I been present to see them take places of leadership when the time came, I’d have proudly guarded them as a sultan and a royal prince. Sadly this tale, like many others, must end with a tragedy. One night as I slept, with two of my guards at the boys’ door, assassins struck the palace. I awoke from a restless sleep to the sound of my guards slumping to the floor, their throats cut. Reaching for my sword and attempting to rise, I was struck from behind. I grabbed my dagger and lashed out blindly behind me, feeling it sink satisfyingly into the skull of my attacker. I stumbled awkwardly toward the boys’ door, the room still spinning from the blow I received. Through the haze that had fallen over my senses, I could only barely hear the screams as Jabir and Rafa were mercilessly cut down. I entered the room and attempted to engage the assassins, but in my weakened state they had no difficulty escaping. I collapsed to the floor, succumbing to my wounds and to my grief.

The next day saw the beginning of my trial. I could not but stand and listen to the charges leveled against me. The Sultan sat before me, grimly nodding as each charge was spoken. His enemies had sought to harm him by destroying his family, and they had succeeded. I had no defense. I could make no excuse for my failure. I should have been executed, but in his wisdom, the Sultan found a way that I might be spared and given proper time to repent. In the end, it was decided that through my incompetence, I had stolen the Sultan’s sons from him. I was to suffer the fate of all thieves. I was taken to the dungeons and my left arm was severed below the elbow. Following this, I was exiled from the sultanate. Taking only my father’s sword and the great shame I had brought upon myself, I struck out for new lands across the sea. I would find a life in a distant world, and I will never again allow one in my charge to fall.


Rescue at Mistfang Island Slade pwbrian