|Hair:||Varies (see background)|
|Eyes:||Vary (see background)|
|Gold:||180gp, 92sp, 98cp|
|Played by Trihan|
|Ability||Score||Mod||Temp Score||Temp Mod|
Temp Mod Used to track Magic Item bonuses etc
|Total||Base 11 + Dexterity = 14|
|Dex = +3|
|Skills||Ranks||Stat Bonus||Synergy||Magical Bonuses||Total|
|C||Decipher Script (Int)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|C||Disable Device (Int)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|C||Escape Artist (Dex)||+0||+3||+0||+0||+3|
|C||Gather Information (Cha)||+0||+5||+0||+0||+5|
|C||Handle Animal (Cha)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|X||Knowledge (Stuff) (Int)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|C||Move Silently (Dex)||+0||+3||+0||+0||+3|
|C||Open Lock (Dex)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|X||Sense Motive (Wis)||+4||+0||+0||+2||+6|
|C||Sleight of Hand (Dex)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|X||Speak Language (n/a)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|X||Use Magic Device (Cha)||+0||+0||+0||+0||+0|
|C||Use Rope (Dex)||+0||+3||+0||+0||+3|
Where C is Cross Class and X is a Class Skill
Languages Known: Literacy, Common, Sylvan, Trade Tongue
Skill Tricks go here
Skill Point Total: 20 (20 used)
1st 36, 2nd-7th 54, 8th-9th 20 <—Breakdown of skills generated per level, helps you keep track.
Racial Abilities: +2 racial bonus on saving throws against sleep and charm effects, Natural Linguist, Minor Change Shape (Su)
|Weapon||Attack Bonus||Damage||Crit||Damage Type|
|Armour / Shield||Armour/Shield Bonus||Max Dex||Armour Check||Arcane Spell Failure||Movement Speed||Weight|
|Doublet, shadow||+1||+8||-1||12%||30ft||40 1/2lbs|
|Head||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Face||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Neck||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Shoulders||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Torso||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Arms||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Hands||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Right Ring||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Left Ring||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Waist||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Feet||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
|Pack||Item name goes here||Brief item description|
List of Items Here: Backpack; Bedroll; scrollcase; Flint and Steel; beltpouch; 4 days trail rations; 50' silk rope; sack; sewing needle; 2 waterskins; whetstone
Statistics of Items Here:
Level 1: Eldritch Blast 1d6 (save 10+1+5), Beguiling Influence (+6 bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy and Intimidate checks for 24 hours)
Zanzar had known since the age of 7 that he wasn't normal. His human parents had never openly antagonised him, but there was a palpable sense of something…not quite right whenever he felt them looking at him. Felt them looking; it was a sensation that creeped across his skin even if he wasn't actively watching them, and he had always hated it. At an early age he showed a basic understanding and potential aptitude for magic, and despite the uneasy feeling between them his father cultivated this as best he could.
It wasn't until his 12th Birthday that he discovered what the feeling had been.
It was, on the surface-and at least to begin with-a Birthday like all of his others. No celebration, no special treatment, just a normal day. Zanzar was practicing simple cantrips-no more than parlour tricks, really-when his face went numb and started to feel odd, as if his skin were melting. His father, coming out to see how his magic studies were going, let out a wordless cry and ran back into the house.
As Zanzar sprinted after his father to ask what was going on, he caught sight of his reflection in a puddle of water. Only, it wasn't his reflection-Zanzar stared dumbfounded at the face that was not his own. He lifted his hands up to touch his lips, and this mysterious stranger reflected in the pool copied his movement.
"What am I?" he demanded as he slammed shut the door of the family home and rounded on his father, who looked terrified.
"We were going to tell you, son, but…it was never right. There was never a good…never a good time."
"I'll ask you one more time, father…WHAT. AM. I?!"
Several minutes of uncomfortable silence pierced the air. Zanzar's usually-hazel eyes-now a dull black-flashed with anger as he turned on his heel, grabbed his travelling cloak from a peg near the door, and picked up a bag of belongings he'd tossed to the floor the last time he'd gotten fed up of the secrets his parents wouldn't tell him and had considered just leaving home.
"You do this all the time," his father said, some of the confidence creeping back into his hoarse voice, "and you always come back."
Zanzar spun around to look at his father, his features once again twisting and writhing until they settled on a visage so demonic and cruel that his father stumbled backwards into a chair. With eyes blood-red, he bared his teeth at the creature who had raised him and spat. "Not this time."
As Zanzar stepped across the threshold, he heard his father feebly utter the words he'd dreaded hearing his entire life.
"Mine…not mine. You're…Changeling. You're a Changeling!"
It was the last time Zanzar ever saw either of his parents. In the years that followed, his passion for magic took a decidedly dark turn as everything about the arcane served only to remind him of the family he'd lost. Desperate to find his place in the world and craving the power to never have to rely on anyone again, he turned to the darker side of the occult, studying the necromantic arts of the Warlock. In order to conduct his experiments and research without interruption, he ceaselessly practiced the arts of subterfuge and deception, the better to turn away those who would ask awkward questions. Over the years, he learned the intricacies of his innate shapeshifting talents, and learned to use them to good effect.
Now, Zanzar travels where his whims take him, taking what he needs and doing what deeds fate has laid in front of him. Few have ever seen his true form; in company he favours a dark, stony complexion with white eyes. He hopes that someday he will finally understand what family really means.