Emeric Wulf :: (Read-Only)

Character Name		Player		Campaign	Current XP	Next Level XP	XP Change
Class		Alignment		Deity
Level	Size	Age	Gender	Height	Weight	Eyes	Hair

Ability	Score	Mod	Temp Score	Temp Mod
STR
DEX
CON
INT
WIS
CHA

Hit Points

Defense

	Total		Dex		Misc
INIT		=		+


Speed	Armor Type

	Light Load
	Med Load
	Max Load
	Over Head
	Off Ground
	Push/ Drag

Saving Throws	Total		Base		Ability Mod		Misc Mod		Temp Mod
FORTITUDE		=		+		+		+
REFLEX		=		+		+		+
WILL		=		+		+		+

	Total Attack Bonus		Base Attack Bonus		Str Mod		Size Mod		Misc Mod		Temp Mod
MELEE		=		+		+		+		+
RANGED		=		+		+		+		+
	Total Attack Bonus		Base Attack Bonus		Dex Mod		Size Mod		Misc Mod		Temp Mod

Weapon	Total Attack Bonus	Damage	Critical	Range

Special Properties	Ammunition	Weight	Size	Type

Weapon	Total Attack Bonus	Damage	Critical	Range

Special Properties	Ammunition	Weight	Size	Type

Weapon	Total Attack Bonus	Damage	Critical	Range

Special Properties	Ammunition	Weight	Size	Type

Armor/Protective Item	Type	DR	Check Pen	Max Dex

Special Properties			Weight	Speed

Shield/Protective Item	Type	Def Bonus	Check Pen	Max Dex

Special Properties			Weight	Speed

Currency

Languages

5 gp.
6 sp.
0 cp.

Name: Emeric Wulf.
Role: Scout.
Homeland: Velmark.
Gender: Male.
Age: 21.

Personality: Emeric had an easy-going personality. Far from being a serious leader of men, he adopted the opinion that war only brought forth more violence. His naivety and friendliness did not, however, help the fact that he wasn't very trustworthy. In fact, while he had all the necessary qualities that would make for a good leader, he did not have his people's heart. Eager to displease his father and please the virgin maidens in the few outlying villages, Emeric's attitude had, in effect, naught to be envied. However. He was and remained a young heart, an extrovert, free to change, to experience, to adventure. Whether good or ill, his personality stayed open-minded.

Physical Description: As a Velian and son of the clan leader, Emeric was taught the arts of war and lore by his tutors, and has grown physically and mentally from both. He had bright blonde air, light skin and dark blue eyes. He had little to no facial hair, but that might be attributed to how young he was. His muscles were lithe, well toned and had a wiry strength to them. He was fair and had less of a brutish look than his forefathers, taking after his mother's grace and natural elegance. He was often chided for it, but his strength was nothing to be mocked and loudmouths would never say it to his face.

Brief History: Emeric was born to Bjorn Wulf, a weaponsmith and clan leader, descended from Velmark. Velians had always been renowned for their masterwork craft, but Emeric's father had never proudly represented his people in that regard. After a few years of trading in the inhospitable land that was Linden, the Wulf clan were soon disassociated from Velians for their mediocrity. Chiding him about his ancestry and his failed aspirations with emissaries more intent on trying to provoke the man in doing something foolish than in real discussion, other villages tried to stir fights. The land they were on was prized for its better grazing grounds, that was perhaps the only reason their clanhold had survived this long in mediocrity. Bjorn's only hope for salvation was to teach Emeric all that he knew and pray that he was born with more talent to lead than he and his forefathers that had decided to come to this forsaken land.

His hopes never eventually came to fruition, for Emeric was an impetuous, lively young man and cared more to sleep with the daughter's of others than to further his father's dreams. What little hope or wealth they did have, he squandered and spent while his father had his best tutors in arms and lore teach him. Unfortunately, Emeric paid them little heed and his father's heart was wrenched shut every night as his son came home at dawn. He would see him come in, the cold of the outside creeping into his home, without so much as a glance to his father, waiting anxiously near a brazier's flames for his return, hoping for a change of heart that would make him come to him and listen. This change never occurred, and Bjorn's heart sank, it felt like his clan would fade and disappear, drifting away to the ends of the world. He did not have the courage to scold his son or use strength to bring him to hear him after his mother had died. The winter was so treacherous here. He carried on, the same as ever, attacked from all sides by his neighbors and losing the trust of his clan for failing to rear in Emeric.

It wasn't until his son came back from his daily adventures on a winter night that something unusual happened. A bright glow on the horizon. The light had the color of a raging fire, and it was obvious that its magnitude was nothing like what their campfires and banquets would give them. It came from his home, his village. In Emeric's limbs, fear crawled up from his feet to his mind. The cold harsh winter whipped his muscles and froze him in place as he watched with parted lips. At length, he took a step forward and marched towards his home, coming over the hill and seeing the display of fire that now engulfed the chieftain's hut. Words escaped him as he gaped at the spectacle and he knew in his heart that his father was inside. The roof crumbled and caved in, cinder flying up in the air as he could feel the hot air against his skin from where he stood.

People around the hut shouted pleas and cried. The women held their children close and the men bowed their heads. Emeric could smell the despair from the top of the hill, as he smelled the stench of charred flesh. Everyone inside was burned. Their servants, his sisters. His father. Panic rose inside him as did anger. Who had done this? Their neighbors had wanted this land for so long it felt easier to blame it on them. He could not imagine it to be an accident. His entire body produced energy that he thought he never had. His mind thinking of the implications, of his responsibilities. What would his people do now? Disperse? He wouldn't let it happen. But then, he needed something to rally them. He knew they trusted him little, if at all.

His legs carried him forward like the wind. Down the hill, where his clanhold had buried his forefathers and many of their possessions, brought hither long ago from Velmark. He passed one mound after another until he came to his great-grandfather's tomb. He knew it well. His father had always praised him as the last great descendant of the Velians. His frozen hands dug frenetically at the hard earth with his nails and a desperation that no man could possibly comprehend. His entire life was about to collapse. His eyes finally were open to his responsibilities, to his bloodline. Blood mixed with the earth of his forefather as it finally reached wet earth and cloth wrapped around a man that used to be his kin. They had been poor, even then, he knew this. The valuables he had in mind were not gold coins, silver pieces or jewels. It was an heirloom: Ulricht's sword. Seizing it, it felt like his fingers would snap. He was exhausted.

The villager's turned from the roaring inferno to gaze on a panting Emeric, holding up the sword of his fathers before their eyes, and it shone, greater than a jewel, greater than any blade. It gave many of them hope. "I would lead you back to our homelands, if you would have me." Emeric shouted. Shadows grew longer and darkness slowly gathered as the fire died out in the cold of winter. His people were uncertain. Many packed their things and dispersed. None stayed. Out of the fourteen families that lived in his village, only four decided to follow Emeric on his journey back to Velmark. Mostly because he knew lore of herbs and many were still sick from winter. Little did they know that the voyage would claim their lives and leave Emeric as last of his kin on the cold beach of an uninviting land with three other survivors.