Saeseth

Details
Class:	Race:	Alignment:	Deity:
Sorcerer	Human	Chaotic Good	Mystra
Level:	Size:	Age:	Gender:
3	M	19	Male
Height:	Weight:	Eyes:	Hair:
5'5"	134	Dark blue	Black

Abilities STR 13 1 DEX 17 3 CON 17 3 INT 16 3 WSD 16 3 CHA 18 4

Hit Points TOTAL wounds subdual 17 0 0 Initiative TOTAL dex other SPEED 3 3 0 0 Armor Class FINAL = base + armor + shield + dex + magic + other spell failure armor check penalty 13 10 0 0 3 0 0 0 0

Battle Scores MELEE = base + str + magic + other 3 2 1 0 0 RANGED = base + dex + magic + other 3 2 3 0 0

Saving Throws TOTAL = base + stat + magic + other FORT 4 1 3 0 0 REFL 4 1 3 0 0 WILL 6 3 3 0 0

Weapons
Weapon	Bonus	Damage	Critical	Range	Weight	Size	Type	Special
Light Crossbow, Mstrwrk	3	1d6	19-20x2	18			Piercing
Wand, Magic Missile (Lvl 1)								5 charges.

Armor

No Armor Assigned

Feats & Special Abilities
Feat / Ability	Description/Notes
Combat Casting
Spell Focus- Enchantment
Spell Focus- Evocation
Still Spell

Skills
Skill Name	Ability	Skill Mod	=	Ability Mod	+	Ranks	+	Other
Bluff	Cha	10		4		6
Concentration	Con	9		3		6
Knowledge, Arcana	Int	9		3		6
Knowledge, Architecture	Int	4		3		1
Spellcraft	Int	9		3		6
Knowledge, History	Int	5		3		2
Diplomacy	Cha	7		4		3

Spell List
Name	Level	Ready?	Count	Cast Time	Range	Save	Description/Effect
Detect Magic	0	no
Light	0	no
Mage Hand	0	no
Prestidigitation	0	no
Read Magic	0	no
Burning Hands	1	no
Charm Person	1	no
Magic Missile	1	no

Gear
Gear	Location	Weight	Description/Special
Bob's Backpack	Worn		It comes with the basics. How useful. ^_^
Flasks, 3	Bob's Backpack		There's water in them, right now.
Chalk, 1 piece	Belt pouch		It's only half a piece; he's used the rest.
Paper, 5 sheets	Bob's Backpack		Folded into forths.
Ink, 1 vial	Bob's Backpack		Well-sealed with wax and cork to prevent leaks.
Pouch, belt	Worn		Soft, worn leather.
Grappling Hook	Bob's Backpack		It's still gleaming, as yet unused.
Soap	Bob's Backpack		Only a handful is left; he keeps giving pieces away.
Sewing Needle	Belt pouch		The eye's a bit large for fine fabrics.
Torches, 5	Bob's Backpack		Only one's been lit.
Sealing Wax	Bob's Backpack		As yet unmelted.
Vials, 2	Belt pouch		They're empty now.
Rope, hempen	Bob's Backpack		Still a little damp.
Ink Pen	Bob's Backpack		The tip is stained permanently black.
Pot, iron	Bob's Backpack		It's actually rather small.
Crossbow Bolts, 40	Bob's Backpack		They've been soaked in holy water.

Treasure/Money

No Treasure Assigned.

Experience
Current	Next Level
4975

Description

A pleasant, amiable smile is usually never far from the boy's face, and his dark blue eyes betray the tendency toward kindness that's often left him taken adventage of. His hair is hopeless, a mess of black that rarely allows itself to be tamed to managable levels. His clothes, though not fancy, are well-cared-for; he washes and patches them when they need it and keeps himself clean by the same fastidious standards.

Personality

Generally good-natured and at ease around people, the boy is an avid learner with a passing interest in just about everything. He collects unimportant information the same way that others collect interesting stones, keeping it just to know that he has it. As such, he is a voracious reader, though books on magical study fail to hold his interest for long; he'd much rather read about something that he's never encountered before. His generous nature can make him seem something of a pushover- and, in truth, he is. However, once he's made up his mind about something one way or another, he can be quite insistent and even stubborn. He looks after his friends as best he's able, attempting to add some practicality to situations where it's often sorely lacking; unfortunately, he's not usually persistant enough for his views to be taken seriously.

Background

Born in Phlan, a large town situated at the mouth of the Stojanow River, Saeseth never knew his father. The man was away when his wife gave birth, off fighting in one of the military skirmishes so common to the area. He never returned. Saeseth was raised largely by his mother, an austere, stubborn, unforgiving woman who nevertheless loved him very much. From very early on, she became convinced that both her sons would follow in their father's footsteps, becoming great warriors. There was, of course, one notable exception: in all her imaginings, they survived every triumphant battle, returning always to tell her tales of their success. Saeseth's brother Delton, five years his elder, seemed made for the life that she'd decided. He took to his sword training fluidly, spending tireless hours in practice to ensure that the newest lessons took hold. When Saeseth was four, Delton began towing his brother along to his "practice grounds"- sections of the town still under repair and largely deserted. It was intended to get the child interested in swordplay, but most days found the boy clamboring over the dangerous wreckage in search of entertainment- anything to avoid paying attention to his brother. When the boy grew old enough to begin practicing swordsplay himself, he and Delton rapidly came to the same conclusion: he was -terrible- at it. Though at first attributed to lack of experience, Saeseth's utter failure to manage even the most basic of moves quickly led to frayed tempers. Delton, assuming that the inability stemmed from his brother's stubborn refusal to try, only pressed him harder. To compound matters, the boy was fond of slipping out at night, often stealing an oil lamp from the kitchen so that he could sit up on the rooftop and read into the early morning hours. Books offered him the picture of a world beyond the things he knew, an escape from the hated training that left him exhausted, aching, and dissatisfied. Even when it became hard to wake in the morning, when the dark marks under his eyes began standing out harshly against the pale of his face, Saeseth couldn't surrender the stolen time. When Delton turned fifteen, he joined the military. And suddenly, joyously, Saeseth's days of training coincided only with his brother's holidays. With the excuse that he was practicing, the boy was free to do as he pleased; since their family couldn't afford formal lessons, he was expected to wait for Delton's instructions and do the best that he could on his own in the between time. When he could, the boy would snatch unattended books and take them out to the "practice grounds", perching himself on a bit of high, craggy rubble, hunched down against the wind to read. And when he couldn't find any, he wandered instead the wrecked parts of the city, fascinated by the fact that, however fast the rebuilding effort seemed to go, there were always vast sections yet untouched. When the boy was thirteen, things began to change. The first time he noticed, a spoon had followed him halfway back to his room before he turned to look and it clattered to the floor. And things were just starting. Lights flickered in his room when he awoke in the middle of a dream; small plants grew from his clothes; wind blew through the hallway and ruffled the curtains even when the windows were closed. Terrified at first, Saeseth appraised and discarded a whole list of possibilities in his mind- that he was going insane, that the house was haunted, that an invisible person had taken up residence with them, that some dark magic was afoot... and on, and on, and on, each less likely than the last, until finally, some three months after the spoon had fallen in the hallway, the boy connected the occurences with something that he'd read in one of his stolen books. And realized, with the mental equivalent of a smack in the face, that he was a sorcerer. From that point onward, the boy spent his days in excersing his developing powers, delighted and startled at the same time to realize that he had no idea what he was doing. The practice grounds became exactly that- and though almost half his time was still spent reading, perched high up in one of the semi-destroyed buildings, for the first time Saeseth began putting effort into his training... though, admittedly, not the sort that his mother had hoped for. When Saeseth was fourteen, his brother took leave time in order to visit home. It was a surprise trip, and Saeseth had gone out to the practice grounds as usual, attempting as best he could to mold his powers into some semblance of control. By the time Delton had gone to see their mother and set out for the wreckage at the edge of the city, it was late afternoon; the young sorcerer, as was his wont, had exhausted himself early and was perched reading in his usual spot, waiting to recover some of the energy he'd lost. When the boy's brother arrived to see him wasting time, sword sheathed and on the ground some fifty yards away, he was a few steps beyond irritated. Picking his way through the rubble and up the side of the ruined building, Delton was nearly standing beside the sorcerer before he realized the man's presence. What followed began as a reprimand- a reminder to Saeseth that, if he ever wanted to make anything decent of himself, he had to stop ignoring his swordsmanship and really apply himself. Or at very least, do it for their mother's sake. The conversation degenerated when the young sorcerer attempted to explain exactly how low on his want-to-do list a future in the military was. Which was, of course, the last thing Delton wanted to hear- and the situation spiraled out of control from that point, the argument eventually uncovering every long-held resentment that had ever been between the two boys. Probably, it was an accident. In the heat of the argument, it would have been easy to forget where one was, to forget that a misstep at the pinnacle of a ruined building could be fatal. Regardless, a simple shove- perhaps the beginnings of a true fight- was enough to knock the young sorcerer off balance. And for just a moment, one terrifying, heart-stopping moment, Saeseth knew that he was going to fall- three stories, straight down, onto the jagged wooden and stone remains of the rest of the building. And he did. Miraculously, though, he survived the fall, and Delton scooped the boy up, unconscious and bleeding, to carry him home. He told their mother that Saeseth had had an accident while training, that surely the boy would have died if he hadn't come along. Delton left three days later, expressing his repeated apologies but firm in the insistence that he couldn't possibly take more leave time. It was half a tenday before the boy's mother could find a cleric both able and willing to heal her son for the small amount of gold she had to offer. And Saeseth, when he woke, acted strangely; always a talkative boy, he seemed suddenly distant, as though something was on his mind. The months that followed were hard. Though physically recovered, the boy thought often about the argument he'd had with his brother, wondered even more frequently whether Delton had intended him to fall. He couldn't bring himself any longer to climb to the top of the building wreckage in the ruined areas of the city, nor even onto the roof at night as he'd used to long before. For a time, he gave up practicing his magic, spending each day as he had in his childhood- trying and failing to learn the basic moves of swordsmanship, again and again and again. One day, when the boy was not yet fifteen, he reached a decision. He was halfway across town when the thought came to him, on the way to the practice grounds; Saeseth simply turned around to go home. His mother wanted to know if he'd forgotten anything- very nearly managed to ask him- but halfway through the sentence, the look on her son's face stopped the words. More solemnly than he'd ever managed to do anything, Saeseth handed her the practice sword, dusty and banged up from years of use. And, very quietly, he told her "I want to make you proud, mother. I do. But just... not like this." Leaning over to kiss her on the cheek, he said goodbye and walked back out the door. === For a time, Saeseth traveled on his own, managing to scrape by on odd jobs. He found that he had something of a knack for getting himself out of difficult situations; talking fast and backing out of possible fights served the young sorcerer well in the time before his magic had developed into something more controlled. Without much purpose or gold, he wandered wherever fancy struck him, taking the hard times with the good. That is, until a year and a half later when he met a young thief girl. Season was in a tavern at the time, well and truly on the way to falling-down drunk, and the very large man nearby had just caught her with a hand in his money pouch. Saeseth interceded when violence was beginning to seem inevitable, talking the man down and persuading him that, since he still had all of his gold, there was no harm done. Less than a minute later, when the more threatening patron had departed, Season turned to thank the boy... and passed out. At a loss and not wanting to leave her there, the sorcerer used the last of his gold to pay for a room, dragging her upstairs and hauling her onto the bed. He slumped into the room's sole chair himself, and when morning came, he wasn't long in discovering that Season had no intentions of traveling alone if it could be helped. They've wandered together since, still mostly without purpose or gold. More often than not, Saeseth finds himself cleaning up whatever the thief girl manages to make a mess of, but in all honestly, he doesn't much mind.