Caedmon Bishop

[Jagael]

  

Caedmon Bishop   “The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living”   DRUID (SPIRIT MENDER) FIGHTER (TWO-HANDED SOLDIER)   PRIMARY ROLE FRONT LINE FIGHTER   SECONDARY ROLE HEALER SECONDARY SKILL MONKEY   RACE: Half Minotaur AGE: 26 GENDER: Male

 

Appearance

Seeing him from afar, one might think Caedmon wears an horned helm to battle, but upon meeting him, his melded visage is quite unsettling.  The horns that sprout from his otherwise human head matched with his cloven hooves cause many to assume he is some demon spawn come to claim their children.  He once tried to hide these off-putting elements, but once the spirits joined in their dance around him, it became an exercise in futility.  

 

A few scars line his neck and cheek, the remnants of a burn from his youth.

 

Spending much of his time traveling in the untamed lands between the cities, Caedmon opts for simple garb.  A pair of woolen pants covers his bovine legs while an old--once loose fitting--leather jerkin strains against his muscular torso.  The humongous axe strapped to his back is the only truly remarkable part of his ensemble, though it is memorable enough that one is not likely to mistake anyone else for Caedmon.

 

Personality

Caedmon is a man of warring sides, the ultimate form of nature versus nurture.  His father's brutality and desire for murder rage within him constantly, but the sacrifice his mother made to bring him into the world and the care of those at the monastery instilled in him a longing for peace and harmony.  Most of the time the nurture wins out.  Caedmon is kind and always ready to lend a helping hand to villages in need or to his allies on the battlefield. 

 

But there are times where his darker side breaks through to the surface.  When the stench of blood is thick, when innocents are threatened or murdered senselessly, when the desire to hurt becomes too much, Caedmon unleashes the bestial nature of his forefathers.

 

Backstory

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

 

The woman's tears create channels of clear skin through grime that covers her face.  She can hear them behind her, the beasts that have held her captive for months.  They will catch her.  The knowledge pounds like a battering ram against her brain, but she will not succumb to that reality.  She will not go back to the beasts.  They will not have the child she carries.  

 

Ahead, a caravan.  Soldiers?  No, their clothes are too neat, too ritualistic.  Even if they cannot fight the beats, they can hinder them.  She flees towards the wagons and mules calling out in a hoarse screech for their help.  The men and women respond quickly, forming a line to protect her.  They are not soldiers, but they are warriors.  She does not see what happens, but she falls asleep to the screams, both man and monster.

 

When she wakes, she is in a wagon, the caravan is moving.  There are stars above her, watching.  She tries to get up, but the pain in her abdomen is excruciating.  There is blood, too much.  A nurse's hand holds a washcloth to her head.  And the woman knows.  "Keep him safe," she whispers.  "Love him."

 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

 

The rain rolls down Caedmon's window.  Filling his lungs, he releases an exasperated sigh.  "Five days, Papa!  Five days of mud and wet and dark.  When will it stop?"

 

The old monk chuckles from his rocking chair.  "Caed, I hate to tell you.  If the omens read true we have another week until the downpour clears."

 

Caedmon clomps away from the window and sits down next to one of his adopted fathers.  "I just want to run in the fields.  I get so antsy cooped up in here; it makes me want to scream and hit the walls and..."

 

His father leans forward and ruffles the boy's hair, careful to avoid the stubby horns growing out on either side.  "And what, son?" he asks in a measured voice.

 

"And...and hurt things.  The chickens, the goats...people...you."

 

The monk sinks back into his chair, not frightened by the admission but resigned to its implications.  "We knew this might happen one day, Caedmon.  You probably don't remember what a terror you were as a toddler.  Headbutting Sister Agnes if she wouldn't let you have seconds.  Stomping on Father Michael's foot--he was limping for a week." He sighs.  "You see, there is a side of you that will always want to do things like that.  It is...who you were born to be."  

 

"But--"

 

The monk holds up a hand to forestall Caedmon's interjection.  "But," he agrees, "you do not have to be that creature of hate.  We have watched for many years as you have become a better man than any of us hoped.  The miller will remember all the times you pulled his rotary mill when his horse went lame.  Sister Agnes has forgiven your youthful tantrums and welcomes your help in the kitchens.  And I cannot imagine anyone more tender or skilled to work the gardens here.

 

"You are a good man, Caedmon.  Whenever the anger builds like this, remember that you love those around you, that you are kind, that you can be better than that."  The pair sit in a heavy silence.  "And maybe I can talk to Sir Roderick in town about some...outlets for your anger."

 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

 

Is that the rain? he thinks as sleep slips away.  No, it doesn't smell like the rain.  It smells like...  

 

Oil drips from a toppled lantern.  That is bad, but for a moment Caedmon cannot remember why.  His head hurts.  His fingers slide back across his head and find the lump just below his right horn.  Did I fall?  No, someone hit me.  He watches the pool of oil slowly spread across the floor as he tries to piece together the fragments in his memory.  Father Jacob was running down the hall screaming 'They're coming!' and then I came outside and...  The oil creeps steadily across the worn stones toward a bright, flickering light just beyond Caedmon's field of vision.

 

The oil ignites a moment before Caedmon's brain connects the light to a flame.  The fire almost seems to eat the oil as it flashes across the ground.  Caedmon's torso and face scream with pain and he recoils from the heat.  Despite the ache in his head and the sickening disorientation it causes, Caedmon rolls across the ground.  The flames go out quickly, but the damage is done.  Even the slight breeze that flows through the courtyard sets him on the edge of screaming.

 

At the very least, Caedmon regains his senses and recalls the Minotaur raiders that have been savaging the countryside.  He rushes quickly through the parts of the monastery that are not on fire searching for survivors.  There are bodies in the dining hall, the kitchens, the sanctuary.  He has seen death before, but these are his parents, his aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, his family. 

 

It has been years since he felt the anger this strongly.  His vision narrows, his body feels hot, and a scream rises unbidden from his chest.

 

The sound of metal dragging on stone echoes in through the halls behind Caedmon.  He turns to see a massive beast, head and shoulders taller than himself, stomp into view.  The shadows hide most of the monster's features, but Caedmon makes out the horns on the creature's head and marvels at the similarity to his own.  The Minotaur bellows and charges Caedmon with frightening speed dragging a large, bloody axe behind him..  Caed is unaware of his body reacting--bracing, lunging, running.  All he sees are the faces of those he loves.  He lowers his head and feels the impact.  Two lines of agony snake down his back just before his head and neck are jarred with hitting a solid mass that collapses atop him.

 

Caedmon struggles out from underneath the Minotaur.  His head is covered in blood, and he has to work to extricate his horns from the beast's gut.  The anger is slaked for the moment, but seeing the Minotaur take a shuddering breath rekindles it.  Caedmon kicks with one hoof to turn the Minotaur on its back.  He reaches down and awkwardly wrestles the axe from the beasts hand.  It is much larger than the battleaxes Sir Roderick introduced him to, but Caedmon makes due.  He brings the axe down in a swift chop to end his foe's life.

 

As the battle haze lifts, Caedmon hears a human scream in the distance.  Someone is still alive.  He hefts the axe onto his shoulder and makes his way into the night unaware of a wisp of light bobbing along behind him.

 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

 

"The ice is melting."

 

 

"Damn.  Why can't anything go our way?  This was supposed to be a cakewalk!"

 

"This is what, your third assignment, Caed?  I thought you would have figured it out by now; if the Guild gets a contract it's never a cakewalk."

 

Caedmon paces as well as he can in the fissure he and Clayton are trapped in.  Three steps to forward, awkward turn where Clayton has to duck, three steps back, repeat.  "You think Donovan abandoned us after he made the wall or did the delvers get him?"  Clayton stays silent.

 

Another hour passes, and the magically formed wall of ice gets thinner and thinner.  Clayton conjures up a little ball of light every now and then, but its feeble illumination is little comfort.  Caedmon fares better with his monstrous eyes, but even he misses the light of the surface.  When the ice shrinks enough that movement is visible on the far side, Caedmon picks up his axe, Heart Bane, and readies for a fight.

 

Clayton's anachronistic chuckle startles Caedmon.  "You have less than a foot either side to swing that overgrown twig.  You're more likely to gouge your own arm than knock one of these slugs about."  He pops to his feet and unsheathes his rapier.  "You need finesse in a close space like this, not brute--"  Clayton vanishes as the ground drops away beneath his feet.  

 

Caed barely registers the slimy slug that emerges from the hole before he charges forward.  He slams into the slug and feels the creature's acid bite into his skin.  He doggedly pushes forward slamming Heart Bane's shaft into the slug and jabbing forward with his horns.  The brief battle of strength sends the pair toppling down the hole.  The slug hits first, alive, until it splits apart under the force of Caedmon's landing. 

 

Amidst the burning acid, Caedmon spies a body wrapped in robes.  Though the face is gone, he recognizes Donovan, the mage who saved his life.  And there just a few feet away is Clayton.  At first, Caedmon assumes the swordsman has shared the wizard's fate, but a shallow breath gives hope.  Caedmon scrambles over and reaches for the potion he always keeps in a belt pouch.  A shard of glass pricks his hand, the vial shattered in the fall.  

 

Frantic Caedmon searches Clayton and then Donovan's belongings for some potion or poultice he can make use of.  Nothing.  

 

"There must be something.  You can't die, Clay."  But after a few minutes Caedmon collapses beside his friend's dying body.  He takes Clayton's hand in a gentle grip.  "I'll make them pay.  Every slithering, creeping one of them.  I'm sorry."

 

The grays and whites of Caedmon's vision retreat suddenly.  A dim light brings color back to him.  A glowing ball hovers above Donovan's corpse.  It bounces through the air and runs a circle around Caedmon's head before sliding down his arm.  In a brief flash the ball is gone, and Clayton's wounds close up.  His breathing becomes even.

 

Caedmon stares in wonder.  "What in the nine hells was that?"

 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

 

The blood falls from Heart Bane and pools on the ground.  The battle is done.  There are casualties; there are always casualties, but fewer, he thinks, than there used to be.  Caedmon stands next to the surviving hunters and relishes the afterglow of a good fight.

 

"MmonSTeR!"

 

Caedmon sighs.  This happens more and more these days.  He steps away from the others with a nod and kneels down beside the mountain troll's corpse.

 

"I waTCHed yoooou.  MmonSTeR!"

 

Caedmon pulls a spade from his pack and begins testing the ground.  Trampled, but not thick with clay; it would be fairly easy to dig.

 

"Yoooou ARE a dEEEEmon.  A KILLER!"

 

"I am sorry.  You made your choice, my friend.  You could have stepped away, gone off to find a hairy flood troll with all her teeth and settled down."

 

"You LIKed the BLOOD."

 

"I'll see you to your final rest.  I hope you find peace there."

 

Caedmon sets to work digging.  It will be a few hours before he can bury all of the fallen, the sooner he starts, the better.  He hears the jeers and questions of his fellow hunters but simply shrugs off their attentions.  The spirits will be back in a few hours, he wants some peace before then.

 

[Jagael]

Origin Breakdown

Race:  Humanoid (Human)/Monstrous Humanoid (Minotaur)

9 Potent Talents=3 Potent Talents at Lv1 + 1 Potent Talents every 5 levels + 3 Potent Talents from Feats
-Large size (3 Potent Talents)
-Spell Hardy (1 Potent Talent)
-Quick on the PickupWhen you gain a level in a favored class, you gain both +1 hit point and +1 skill rank instead of choosing either one or the other benefit. You can choose other favored class bonuses in place of either of these bonuses (but not both). Associated Feat: Fast Learner. 
-Traded for 2 Aux + 1 Utility (4 Potent Talents)

 

6 Auxillary Potent Talents
-Face Your Fears
-Natural Attack (Gore)
-First to Battle
-Darkvision
-Climber
-Skill Familiarity (Acrobatics, Stealth)
-Fleet Movement
-Fleet Movement

 

3 Utility Potent Talents
-Skill Familiarity (Know: Dungeon, Survival)
-Quick RestYou only need to sleep 2 hours per day to gain the benefit of 8 hours of sleep. This allows a character that requires rest to regain spell points or prepare spells to do so after only 2 hours, but this does not allow a character to regain spell points or prepare spells more than once per day.
-Keen Senses
-Dabbling Expertise

 

3 Phenomenal Potent Talents=1 Phenomenal Talent at Lv1 + 1 Phenomenal Talent every 7 levels
-All-Around Vision (1 Phenomenal Potent Talent)
-Traded for 2 Aux/Utility Talents (2 Phenomenal Potent Talents)

4 Auxillary Phenomenal Talents
-Blindsense
-Tremendous Tolerance
-In-Depth Familiarity (Acrobatics, Stealth)
-Additonal Natural Attack (Hooves)