Breaking with tradition I'm posting the story after the build, it's really long. The Harper Scout is the only class I haven't made a build with. I wanted to make a build that made maximum use of the classes abilities, i.e.: the stackable spells, the skill list and the bonus feats. When I thought of classes which would get the maximum benefit from the Harper scout levels, I settled on Paladin: they get access to tumble and detection skills as a class skill, the great charisma feat and they can benefit from the stackable Eagle's Splendor (even the Cat's grace, since most paladins leave their DEX at eight). I threw in fighter for some extra feats and damage and came up with this build. There are two builds that use the same classes: Almalith's HolyIKDer and M_beaubien's Exalted Harper, the later is somewhat similar to this build, but significantly different (it gets devastating critical). I was a bit surprised with how well the end result performed. A fair AB, a good AC, good damage and pretty good saves, except for the low HP an all round solid build. Because the paladin buffs and divine shield count towards the +20 stack, I would only recommend this build in low to mid magic settings (+3 to +7 or thereabout).
Advantages
-Fair AB with many buffs. A 42 is a little low for most melee builds, but with paladin buffs that becomes a 57, and with the exception of divine favor which can be extended to 20 rounds all of the buffs last a long time. This should be a pretty good total in low-mid magic settings. -Good AC. Without any magical equipment he can manage a 44, in a +5 environment he can get a 68. -Good Damage. Without any buffs he get 14+1D6 damage which isn't bad. Buffed he can do 42+1D6 points of damage (a good deal of that divine), more against evil and undead opponents. -Divine Might and Divine Shield. He can easily self buff to a +12 Charisma, and get 12 rounds of divine might and divine shield. -Level 4 paladin spells. This build gets most of the cleric buffs and holy sword. His caster level is high enough that he only has to worry about Mordenkainen's disjunction. -A 49 Taunt (55 with CHA buffed). He has a good chance of lowering an opponents AC if he needs to. -Pretty good saving throws. They could be better, but with his charisma buffed he has a 37 fortitude, 27 reflex and 32 will (34 vs. mind affecting spells). He can get an extra +2 to all saves with Tymora's Smile as well. If desired, the skill points in listen can be dropped for spellcraft and another +4 to all saves. -Immune to fear and disease. -A fair listen total (46, 51 while standing still). He'll detect a strength based sneaker, or invisibility user. He might even stand a chance against a DEX based rogue with a shield. Not the most useful skill, but I included it to show one of the advantages of using the Harper scout. -Improved Knockdown. Always nice to have.
Disadvantages
-Mediocre hitpoints. 420 is a little low for a melee build. -No alternate form of combat to melee. He can't cast offensive spells or set traps.
Mystra's Avenger
Race Human
Alignment Lawful Good
Playable from level 1-40... PvM or PVP
Base Attributes STR 15 DEX 8 CON 12 INT 14 WIS 14 CHA 14
Attribute Bonuses All 10 bonuses go to Strength
Final Level Distribution Fighter 12 Harper Scout 5 Paladin 23
Final Attributes STR 26 DEX 8 CON 12 INT 14 WIS 14 CHA 22
AB and Damage (no buffs, normal Scimitar) 42/37/32/27 14+1D6 (15-20 x2)
(+4 to STR and +12 to CHA [Eagles's Splendor x2, Bull's Strength, Aura of Glory], divine might, bless, aid, prayer, divine favor, deafening clang, bless weapon, holy sword) 57/52/47/42 22+1D6 +3 sonic +5 magic +12 divine (+2D6 divine Vs. Undead) (+1D6 divine Vs. Evil) Deafen and Dispel on hit (15-20 x2)
(+12 to STR keen Scimitar and everything else as above) 61/56/51/46 26+1D6 +3 sonic +5 magic +12 divine (+2D6 divine Vs. Undead) (+1D6 divine Vs. Evil) Deafen and Dispel on hit (12-20 x2)
AC 30 (Full Plate, Tower Shield) 44 (+4 to DEX, +12 to CHA, Divine Shield, Full Plate Tower Shield) 68 (+4 to DEX, +12 to CHA, +5 Full Plate, +5 Tower Shield, Divine Shield, +5 amulet of natural armor, +5 ring of protection, Boots of Speed)
Added playability range - Kail Pendragon _________________ Two wrongs don't make a right but three lefts do.
Edited By Kail Pendragon on 06/02/06 09:27
Tarik shuffled nervously from one foot to another, smoothing out the loose gravel with his boots. He did not care for this kind of work; such deeds did not befit a knight of Mystra, though he supposed they were standard fare for a Harper. He pulled his heavy fur trimmed black cloak over his pauldrons to shield his massive frame, as a brisk night wind blew through the shadowed alley. It was more of a reaction to the baleful quality of the howl it made as it passed through the deserted streets than the cold itself, his glorious mithral plate armour was adorned with gold inlaid runes that offered some protection from heat and cold, a necessity in these dessert climes. “I do not detect anything out of the ordinary, are you certain this is necessary?” he whispered, leaning in conspiratorially to the shorter of his two companions. “What’s the matter, I would have thought you would have more faith in me by now.” She chided, playfully. Tarik was not amused, if it had not been for her he likely would not be Harper and here right now. "Illegal ingress is not an acceptable activity for the captain of the guard, how much longer will it take you to open that lock." he hissed. "It will be done when it is done. Besides, it is common knowledge as to what Malak is, why are you so concerned over his rights?" "Because actions have consequences. Malak may be evil, but he has not broken any laws and the support of his troops has strengthened this city. If he dies the resulting power struggle could lead to internecine war, and that would not benefit anyone." "So you only persecute the guilty when it suits you?" "No, you misread me. If Malak is dealing with dark magics, I will stop him. It is just that good and evil are not extremes, there is a spectrum that runs between them. And justice must be tempered by law and comprimise or there would be and endless war of mutual destruction and retribution." "Those do not sound like the words of a knight." "Perhaps not, but they are the words of experience. Elirya, You forget that I have travelled the face of Toril and walked the planes. I have marched under the banner of righteous zealots who would slaughter children for the sins of there parents. I have allied with despotic tyrants against horrible fiends, even if they only acted out of a desire for self-preservation. I have fanned the flames of the blood war, a war of ideology that profits neither side and weakens both. There are evils that must be fought, but one must know when the cost of that battle is too high." "Compromise is the first step to accepting evil. Once you can accept evil, you start to become evil." Tarik moved to respond, but the second figure, who had been working on the lock, chimed in, "If the two of you have finished your philosophical debate, we may proceed." Tarik glared into the emerald eyes of the raven haired Elirya, as if to say their conversation would be resumed later, then turned away to pick up the shield he had set against the wall. Janus, the third member of their group, sighed, "Every time the two of you are together it is the same argument. I'll go in first, Elirya follow close. Tarik, bring up the rear, and try to be quiet in that fool plate of yours." he shot a crooked grin in the direction of the paladin. Janus slowly pushed the door open, the light from within was almost blinding compared to darkness of the alley. More appalling was the stench of death that wafted out from within. It was the smell of blood and rotting flesh that Tarik had smelled on countless battlefields. Janus looked at Tarik, a concerned look in his normally twinkling mischievous eyes. Tarik placed a gauntlet clad hand on the shoulder of the rogue to reassure him. The light pat from the warrior's hand sent tremors through the wiry five and a half foot frame of the man. Deciding that strength might be required more than discretion, Tarik drew his scimitar and, taking the lead, stepped into the manor.
It was an elegantly appointed room, completely set in white marble. Ensorcelled glass orbs set in sconces in the wall, provided illumination for the room. As his eyes swept across the room, he noted two hallways that led deeper into the manor and a door which he assumed led to the pantry. A large fire pit, now cold, occupied the centre of room; a large hole in the roof surrounded by soot stains belied its use. Clustered around the pit was a ring of marble benches, undoubtedly used for food preparation. Behind these benches a ring like trough was cut into the floor providing drainage to four large grill capped drains set at the north, south, east and west points of the ring. What surprised Tarik was, while the smell was strong, the kitchen was immaculate. There was not a tool out of place or a mark of blood anywhere within the room. Tarik motioned with his blade for his two companions to enter. Elirya sniffed the air as she entered, letting her senses guide her she approached one of the drains. As she peered into the drain, her lithe form recoiled as if struck. Tarik and Janus, walked over to the drain, this was indeed the source of the offending odour. Elirya pulled an arrow from the quiver on her hip. With some whispered arcane words, she caused a bright glow to emanate from the arrow head. Notching it in her bow she fired the arrow into the drain. Peering down, Tarik could see red at the base of the drain. Elirya whispered, "There is cavern beneath this drain, it is filled with..." Tarik, motioned with his hand for her to be quiet, he could hear noise from below. Now he could hear it more clearly, there were voices moaning in pain.
The three Harpers looked at each other and nodded in agreement. Tarik sheathed his scimitar and slung his shield across his back. Reaching down he gripped the iron grill and with a mighty heave he pulled the grill off of the drain. They all winced at the sound of twisting metal, but expedience was required. No sooner than the grill was pulled free, Janus, who had already tied a length of rope to one of the marble benches, cast the rope down the drain. Janus moved to climb down, but Tarik halted him. "I will go. Elirya, cover me with your bow and then follow. Janus, once we are down take my ring to the guard station and have them send reinforcements." as he spoke, Tarik removed his signet ring and handed it to his comrade. Tarik began to climb down. He knew he had to move quickly, he could hear the house guards stirring. As he climbed down, he could see that there was a cavern about 50 feet below him filled with flayed corpses. Tarik pushed his feet against the wall of drain and loosened his grip on the rope so that he slid down the drain, gripping the rope occasionally to slow his descent. As he cleared the drain, he tucked his legs under him and rolled down the pile of corpses which broke his fall.
Tarik found his feet quickly and drew his scimitar and shield. He cast his gaze about the cavern looking for any threats. Content he was alone for the time being, he turned his attention to his surroundings. He was knee deep in blood and the dead lay all about him, even with the protection of his Goddess he felt like the miasma was contaminating him. The cavern was fairly large, about twenty feet diameter. At one end of the cavern a roughly hewn staircase rose a few feet leading to a passageway that led into the darkness. The moaning voices were coming from the darkness. The center of the cavern was filled with a pile of over one hundred corpses in various states of decay. Looking at one of the less decomposed corpses, he could see that the skin had been stripped from the body, either by magic or an expert skinner, and dark runes had been cut into the flesh; the neck of the corpse had been slashed. This was no murder, this was a dark sacrifice. He only prayed that the victim was dead before they were flayed.
He was stirred from his contemplation as Elirya dropped into the cavern, tucking and rolling down the grizzly hill, to land in its moat of blood feet first. He could see the revulsion in her face, as the blood sprayed over her. Tarik said a prayer to Mystra, which would enhance his sacred aura and spread some of his inner calm and discipline to the horrified elf. “Focus Elirya, it is nothing that won’t wash off. What do you make of these runes?” He posed the question to calm the elf more than to glean an insight. A task that required focused thought would keep her mind from dealing with her surroundings. She steadied herself and looked down at the corpse. After a cursory glance, she retrieved her light ensorcelled arrow and stooped to examine it in more detail. Frowning, she rose to address the Knight, “The spell is beyond my ken, but I’ve seen these runes are used in binding spells.” Tarik thought as much, “I have seen corpses mutilated like this during the blood war, demons used them to bind captured enemies to the plane they were in so that they could be killed instead of banished. I cannot tell if it is the same spell, but if Malak is dealing with demons, we had best be cau…”
He was interrupted as an explosion rocked the cavern. Elirya pulled the knight against the cavern wall, seeking cover behind his shield as debris rained down from the drains overhead bathing them in fetid blood and chunks of flesh as it disturbed the stagnant pool and corpses. Tarik, plucked an eyeball from his breastplate, tossing it aside with disdain. As the ringing in his ears ceased, he could hear the shouts of men and clash of metal on metal overhead; the battle had commenced. “We have to find the prisoners before Malak can get to them! Their voices came from that direction.” He shouted, beckoning to the darkened passage with his scimitar as he ran up the steps to its entrance.
They moved quickly down the hall, Tarik took the lead. If they ran into trouble, he would rather have their enemies focus on him. As they proceeded down the hallway it began to widen, the roughly carved passageway giving way to smoother worked rock. The sounds of battle died down as the moans of the prisoners grew in intensity. As they continued through the dark passage, they could see heavy iron manacles set in the wall at regular intervals, the grey rock around them streaked with brown stains of blood. Looking ahead he could now make out shadowy forms writhing against the wall. The two Harpers ran to their aid.
Several prisoners were chained to the wall. Their naked emaciated bodies spasmed as they tried to shield their eyes from the unaccustomed light of Elirya’s arrow. They were covered in blood, their bodies covered with the same runes as the corpses in the pile. Their moaning intensified, but Tarik doubted they could speak, they were too dehydrated. He wondered whether it would not be the best for him to grant them their final rest. Perhaps the clerics could restore them in body, but he doubted their minds could be saved. No, they were alive, and as long as they still breathed there was hope they might be saved. Leaning his scimitar against the wall, he retrieved a flask of holy water flask and handed it to Elirya. He grabbed the chains of the first prisoner. Planting a foot against the wall, he pulled the chain out of the wall. He helped the prisoner into a prostrate position and left Elirya to tend to him, he then got to work on the chains of the other prisoners. With a grunt, he pulled the last chain from its moorings. Elirya had done what she could for the poor souls, she gave each of the twelve a mouthful of the holy water and done what she could to make them comfortable but there was little more she could do. "We can't move them, can we?" Said the Knight. Elirya, shook her head, tears falling from her blood stained face. Tarik looked around, they could not fight a pitched battle here and hope to defend the wounded. The hall was perhaps ten feet wide where they were, with no defences available, it continued to widen ahead, the ceiling rising as well. It did not look encouraging but he thought he could see a wall in the distance. Motioning for her to stay with the prisoners, he picked up the arrow and headed towards the wall.
The hall widened to about twenty feet and ceiling rose to around 15 feet, before it reached the wall. Unlike the rest of the hallway which was cut from the stone, this wall was made of large earthen bricks, with a large black iron door, twelve feet high and half as wide, set in its center. He checked the door; it was locked, but if they could get past the door and lock it behind them they could defend the prisoners until the city guard secured the manor. Motioning with his hand for Elirya to join him, he put his head to the side of the door to see if he could hear anything on the other side. He could hear something, but it was faint and muffled by the door. It was a rustling, crackling sound, maybe fire? Looking at the base of the door, he could see a felt pad that blocked any light which could filter through. Looking back, he could see that the elf had crept noiselessly to his side. He explained his plan to her and left her to work on the lock.
He turned back to the prisoners, how could Malak do that to another human being? In his soul he desired nothing more than to execute the wizard on sight. He sighed, he was the law. As much as it pained him, if it was possible, he had to arrest the fiend. He turned back to the door as he heard the tumblers click. Putting himself between, the elf and the door he inched it open.
He winced, inhaling sharply, as red light flooded in from the room. Then he coughed, gagging on the foul air. It was not putrid stench of the dead that assailed his senses, it was the acrid odour of smoke and brimstone. As he recovered, he could now tell it was not fire he had heard, it was the cackling of a multitude of voices. Forcing his eyes to focus he looked into the room. Demons filled the room, Balors by the look of them, their leathery black wings twitched excitedly behind their muscular backs. Their flame shrouded skulls were not focused on him but on something in the center of room. He could only see one corner of the room, but it looked like the chamber was a great octagon, about twenty feet to a side. Like the wall before him, the walls were made out clay bricks, except instead of iron doors, he could make out portcullises which had been opened and from which the demons were issuing forth. The floor was polished granite, embossed with the same arcane runes he had seen earlier, between the massive flame wreathed forms of the demons he could see staircases leading up to some raised platform in the center of the room.
Tarik pulled back from the door, ducking down against the wall, he began reciting prayers that would call the favour and protection of Mystra upon him. His fingers traced the symbol of the goddess upon the scimitar, leaving a shimmering rune that glowed softly with a white light. As the white light spread to the rest of the blade, a baritone bellow pierced the demonic chatter, “Quiet!” Tarik recognized it as the voice of Malak. As the fiendish throng came to order, the voice continued in a more measured tone. “The guards have laid siege to my villa. I had hoped to raise more of you, but this situation forces my hand. You must go forth and destroy the guards, do not destroy the city or leave the compound. I would not have my prize ruined when with a show of force I can take it intact. Remember, you swore a geas to obey me. Bound to this plane as you are, its power will not banish you. It will destroy you.” The knight’s spirits sank. His guards could handle the soldiers of Malak, but not a demon army. He felt a shiver pass through his body as the gravity of the situation settled on his mind. He had fought Balors before and won, but he could not stop an army. They had only one chance. The trepidation faded from him, replaced by the grim determination of a cornered man as he flung the door wide and entered the room.
Despite the blood and gore that coated him, he seemed to glow with an inner light as he stepped into the chamber. A raised square platform was situated in the center of the room. Four black columns with spiral fluting rose from the corners of the platform to the dome like roof of the great chamber, four stair cases including the one he glimpsed earlier led up to the platform. Standing alone on the platform surrounded by three flaming braziers was Malak. He stood in a shimmering plain black silk robe, the fist sized ruby set in gold atop his ebony staff caught the light from the braziers and seemed to glow illuminating the silver streaks in his flowing black hair. He turned to look at the paladin, his ice blue eyes and sallow skin a stark contrast to his accoutrements. Tarik did not speak, he continued to stride forward. The balors turned to look at him, at a quick count he would have guessed there were perhaps sixty, their skull like eyes glowed with malice, but shaken by the sight of a figure that showed no fear they did not attack.
As he drew closer to the stairs, one of the larger balors charged brandishing a battle axe. Tarik moved swiftly, bevelling his shield upwards to deflect the axe. As the axe swept over him, Tarik drove the tip of his scimitar into the Demon’s foot and slammed his shield against its body. The Demon roared with pain, falling back. Pressing his advantage, Tarik stepped forward and thrust his scimitar into the groin of the beast, eliciting a deafening howl. As the beast spasmed, pulling itself into the foetal position, the knight stepped in slashing upwards through the thick abdominal muscles of the prostrate beast. As its intestines spilled upon the stone floor, Tarik raised his blade and brought it down severing the beasts head from its shoulders. Tarik kicked the head at the feet of the nearest demon, giving it a look that promised a similar fate if it attacked him.
The room was silent except for the crackle of the braziers and a low hiss as the white light of Tarik’s blade boiled off the foul green pestilence that passed for demon blood. Tarik stepped past the corpse, the balors separated as he approached the staircase. As he climbed the first step, Malak broke the silence, “Go no further Tarik, your skill has not been exaggerated, but you cannot defeat me and my army. Do not throw your life away in a pointless battle, I will still need a captain of the guard when I control the city.”
Tarik climbed the second step, “If you order your fiends to attack, I will fall, but you will have a much smaller army. Send them back to the Abyss and I will forget what I have seen here today.” Based on Malak’s previous speech he doubted that the demons wanted to be here. They were terrible in battle when they only faced banishment if felled, but like all immortal beings they were less zealous when their own existence was threatened. Looking at the horde, they seemed reluctant to intervene to save the wizards life.
Malak looked at the corpse lying on the floor and back at Tarik, “I cannot send them back, they are now bound to this plane. They were expensive to raise, and I would hate to lose more than a few… If you leave now, I will spare the temple of Mystra. I will even let the populous continue their worship of your god.”
Tarik took the third step, “Do you think you can stop me before you lose your own life? Take your wretched army and leave this city. You and I will settle this on another occasion.” At least, this would save his men and the city from the ravages of the demon horde. He could then arrange a proper group to hunt down Malak and exact justice.
Malak laughed, “You will not kill me knight. If I die the demons will be freed from their geas and left to run amok upon the city. Under my control, the damage they do will be controlled…” Tarik interrupted him, taking two more steps in a stride, “You have done much to anger Mystra! If I am to fall, you will fall with me.” Malak raised his hand, “Very well, we will leave. I will send my human retainers for my possessions.”
Tarik halted his advance, “I will tell my guards to ex...” he was interrupted as an arrow streaked past his ear, striking the wizard in the shoulder. Tarik looked back; “Justice must be served!” shrieked the shrill voice of Elirya, as she notched another arrow in her bow. Tarik ducked as a bolt of green light flew over him, striking the elf square in the chest. The bow dropped from her hands as she clutched her chest, her mask of rage twisting into a silent scream of pure agony as a green light spread from the point of impact flowing over body. As it past all it left was a light black ash that floated in the air.
Tarik recoiled, a thousand images of his history with the elf passed through his mind as rage filled his being. A primal scream issued from his mouth as he charged the wizard. Malak levelled his staff at the knight, as he chanted a swirling vortex of green light formed before him, taking the form a giant green hand that streaked towards the knight. As Tarik reached the platform, he dropped his shoulder and rolled forward, letting the hand pass over him. Coming up on his feet, he swept his blade towards the mage, cleaving his staff in two and leaving a deep wound across the mage’s chest. Continuing the arc of his swing, he let the blade rise then brought it down sharply, cutting through Malak’s clavicle and forcing him to his knees. Stepping forward, he thrust the scimitar into the centre of the wizard’s chest, it burst out of his back with a spurt of arterial blood. Malak looked up at Tarik, he gurgled something unintelligible, as blood filled his lungs. His body convulsed on the blade and then he slumped forward. Tarik planted his foot against the wizard’s body and pulled his scimitar free, letting the corpse fall to the ground.
“Thank you for releasing us righteous one.” Laughed a harsh raspy voice. Tarik looked up, in his rage he had forgotten about the demons. They had to be stopped, if they reached the surface there would be no measure for the havoc they would cause. He looked about frantically; he could see the demons heading towards a doorway in the wall opposite to one which he had entered from. Through it he could see a staircase leading upwards.
Tarik ran forward, leaping off the platform, he landed shield first on one of the balors, knocking it to the ground. He let his momentum carry him forward, sending him into a skid over its prostrate form. Running forward he placed himself in the doorway blocking the path of the Demons. He could hear the demons running behind him, their footfalls fell like thunder in the cavern, and he could feel the heat of their fiery essence approaching. Reversing his grip, on his blade he thrust behind him, his divine blade sinking effortlessly into flesh of the fiend’s leg. Withdrawing his weapon he spun back slaming his shield into the wounded balor, knocking it back into its companions. As it companions pressed forward, they pushed the off balance Demon back towards the knight and his waiting blade. The demon fell upon Tarik with all its weight but the knight held his ground, driving his scimitar through the thick sternum of the beast and piercing its heart. Rotating, he let the dying fiend slump to his slide as he pulled free his sword from its heart. Raising his shield he stepped back as the next demon lunged at him.
Minutes passed like hours as the warrior fought off the advance of the demon horde. For every demon he felled he had to retreat a step. Five fell, then ten, twenty, soon he was fighting on the stair case. Every blow he caught on his shield or turned with his blade shook his frame, numbing his limbs and draining his strength. As the demon blood splashed over his armour, soaking through the joints and saturating the cloth beneath, it burned his skin. His only advantage was that the hallway was so narrow only one of the balors could attack him at a time. The battle had faded into a constant blur of motion; thrust, parry, slash, became the mantra in his mind. He beat his rage upon the horde until it broke; then all that sustained him was years of conditioning and mental discipline. With a mighty overhead slash he cleft asunder the skull of a balor. As its head split, blood and brains splashed over Tarik’s hilt and gauntlet. Tarik struggled to pull the scimitar free, but his hand slipped and the weapon fell from his hand.
Another demon leapt atop the body of its fallen comrade, cackling at the paladin’s misfortune, it levelled a man cleaving slash with its longsword at him. Tarik swung his shield against the blade knocking it aside, stepping in he raised his fist delivering a mighty upper cut to the beast. The demon reeled, spitting a mouthful of broken fangs at the knight, who ducked down to retrieve his blade. As Tarik rose, a mighty blow knocked him back down to his knees. He felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, as the demon’s sword pierced his plate. He pushed up with his legs, driving the blade deeper into his wound, but bending back the balor’s wrist. With a slash from his scimitar he took the demon’s hand. As it withdrew the bleeding stump, the paladin struck again, severing its throat with the point of its blade. As the beast gurgled for breath, Tarik kicked it in the chest, knocking back into its companions who fell back a couple of steps.
Gripping his scimitar in his shield hand, he reached back and pulled the demon’s blade from his shoulder. As the pain wracked his body, he felt weak and dropped to one knee leaning heavily against the wall. How could he keep fighting? He was badly wounded, his limbs felt like lead, and even now the demons were clearing the corpse of his last victim to resume the attack. He should turn and run, he had fought valiantly, by his last count that was the thirty-seventh demon he had felled, what more could he do? As he resumed his grip on his scimitar, he saw the rune of Mystra glowing on the blade. It should have faded by now, but it was still there. With all he had seen he had doubted that the gods cared for the fate of mortals, but Mystra was with him. Mystra wanted him to destroy these evil fiends. Tarik placed hand to his shoulder, his faith renewed, a bright blue light radiated from his hand, passing over his body and healing the wound.
His body healed and refuelled by his faith, he called the power of Mystra into his limbs. With a new zeal he threw himself at the demons. No longer did he retreat, but with every swing he pushed the demons back. Every slash drew thick green ichor. No demon strike could touch him, but it was deflected by an unseen force, and no defence they had could stop him, but his blade carved through it. One by one the demons fell, until the remaining few broke in retreat. He would grant them no quarter, but hunted them down.
The last demon turned and charged the paladin, spinning a heavy flail above its head as it closed. As the demon rushed, Tarik raised his shield ducking to his side to deflect the imminent blow. The demon, did not swing but tried to push past the knight to climb the stairs and escape. Tarik swung his scimitar at the back of demon’s knee, cutting through the thick tendon and hobbling the limb. The Balor crashed face first on to the stairs, and Tarik stepped forward driving his scimitar through its back in into its lung. As the beast sputtered and gasped in vain for air, Tarik released his grip on the blade and slumped down against the wall.
He looked in awe at the carnage he had wrought. The corpses of demons were scattered everywhere, their blood streaked the walls and pooled on floor, dripping down the stairs in an obscene parody of a waterfall. From the sounds he heard overhead, his guards were in control of the manor overhead, barking orders and securing Malak’s mercenaries. As the death throws of the demon ceased, Tarik pulled himself to his feet and pulled the blade from the Demon’s back. It made a wet sucking sound as it cleared the wound. Looking at the blade he watched as the glow of the rune faded, seeming to sink into the metal. The metal itself seemed to melt away, leaving an etching of the symbol of Mystra on the sword. Tarik said a prayer to Mystra, then climbed the stairs to join his men. _________________ Two wrongs don't make a right but three lefts do.
Strong build, Mith. Strong story as well. The line, "Once you accept evil, you start to become evil" (from the person Tarik spoke to at the beginning), eerily reminded me of Joseph McCarthy (among others). _________________ Got Hommlet? World of Greyhawk Action Server (with 1/2 price ales on Mondays!)
Ariel, Ookla, RIDE!
Edited By grizzled_dwarflord on 06/02/06 10:43
Thanks Grizz, that was the kind of feel I was going for with that character. Notice that the character's beliefs got her killed after the protagonist had negotiated a ceasefire.
I've seen a lot of paladins who take the black or white approach to good and evil and get themselves, their party and a bunch of inocent bystanders killed in the process. I remember one PnP group where the paladin spent a good deal of the adventure hogtied on the back of his steed while we negotiated an aliance with an evil faction against a common foe. Paladins generally have a higher than average wisdom and charisma, they should be able to see the bigger picture and negotiate when necessary. _________________ Two wrongs don't make a right but three lefts do.
Amazing story and a great build too! This is a paladin character I do really like.
Kudos!
Cheers, Kail _________________ To hear the sound of Freedom, many gave their lives They fought for you and me Those memories will always live inside us, and now it's our time to be free