Wild Magic Sorcerer
Strength 12 (+4) Constitution 12 (+4) Dexterity 20 (+7)
Intelligence 10 (+3) Wisdom 8 (+2) Charisma 20 (+7)
AC 23 Fortitude 17 Reflex 21 Will 23
Init +9 HP 59/29 Healing Surge 14 (7/day) Speed 6
Attack Bonus +13 Damage Bonus +20
Feats Dual Implement Spellcaster, Leather Armor Proficiency, Two Weapon Fighting, Weapon Expertise (dagger), Weapon Focus (dagger)
When Maxamillion, that half-conscious booze hound, told me he had an adventuring job all lined up, I must say I was a bit hesitant at the time. Reliable has never exactly been the word I would use to describe old Max – how he even got into the Academy is a mystery that goes well beyond my own far-reaching understanding, nevermind how they made that drunkard into a professor. (It is my knowledge that half of his classes were cancelled anyway, due to his overly prolific drinking habits.) But I don’t run that place, which is why I left.
Well, they did warn me that if I ever came back I would be arrested on sight and thrown into accomodations that I can only imagine are far beneath my otherwise important stature.
So I ended up here in the barony. After not too much boozing and sweet talking, as I am quite known for, you understand, I found my way into the generous and, might I say, able, hands of Kallista, a local tiefling woman, whom I had convinced her wordly duty was to tend to my waking desires (I am a sucker for that accent those she-devils have). But Max rolls into town, causing a stir, like he always does, spouting off at his spittle-laden bearded face about how he had winged kobolds and needed to speak with the Academy about this something or other. He tends to ramble, and I immediately lost interest in what he was trying to say in that slurred Common vernacular of his.
Next thing I know, he’s skipped town after (they informed me of this part later) riling up the Baron, something about him being a vampire (which, I have to say, is ludicrous… even though I’ve never met the Baron, or even seen him myself, the idea of a man like that being a vampire for how healthy and fit he is for someone of his age is laughable), sticking his nose in the underground, and other sorts of misbehavior that only a dwarf could conjure up in such short notice, and some of the local authority figures are knocking on my door (the door itself actually belonged to my gracious tiefling hostess, but I referred to it as mine for the time that I was housed there), saying they want to ask me a few questions.
It was probably about the money purses I pilfered the night before. Or the farhmhand who had ended up through that blacksmith’s door because he accused me of soliciting his wife. Soliciting, ha! I would have been doing her a favor. Or perhaps they had finally come around to address my complaints about the dog next door that never ceased to bark through all hours of the afternoon while I caught up on my beauty rest.
Whatever the reason, I was sure Max had one of his grubby, dwarven hands in all of this, but I had an overwhelming urge to leave the limits of the city quite hastily, through a concealed window, while those guards searched through my previous place of residence, less I be accosted and framed for the mischief of some drunken Warlock.