The Taming of the Stolen Lands
|Half-orc monk 8|
|LG Medium humanoid (half-orc)|
|Init +1; Senses Darkvision 60 ft; Perception +8|
|AC 20, touch 16, flat-footed 14 (+2 Dex, +3 Wis)|
|hp 63 (1d8+1)|
|Fort +9, Ref +8, Will +10|
|Speed 50 ft.|
|Melee unarmed strike 7 (1d10+5/×2)|
|or unarmed strike flurry of blows 12/7 (1d10+5/×2)|
|or spear 5/×3)|
|or (2) masterwork sai 5/×2)|
|Ranged shuriken 5/×2)|
|Special Attacks flurry of blows, stunning fist (8/day, DC 17, choice of stun or fatigue), +1 to attacks of opportunity made with unarmed strikes|
|Str 20, Dex 13, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 17, Cha 10|
|Base Atk 1; CMB +13; CMD 27|
|Feats Dodge, Improved Grapple, Deflect Arrows, Scorpion Style (movement reduced to 5ft after successful unarmed strike), Ki Pool (8 points), Razortusk (secondary attack to full round attack 2), Improved Trip, Weapon Focus (Unarmed Strike)|
|Skills Acrobatics +16, Climb +9, Escape Artist +5, Intimidate +13, Knowledge (History) +6, Knowledge (Religion) +6, Perception +10, Perform (Oratory) +4, Profession (Bartender) +5, Ride +5, Sense Motive +7, Stealth +5, Swim +8|
|Abilities Fast Moving, Still Mind (2 to CMB), Slow fall (ignore first 40ft), Evasion, High Jump (add level to acrobatics jump skill check or use a Ki point to add 20 to skill check), Purity of Body (immune to all diseases and their effects), Wholeness of Body (heal 8 HP as standard action for 2 Ki points)|
|Temperature Bonus 30/50|
|Traits Rostlander, Bullied|
|Languages Common, Orc|
|SQ Orc Ferocity|
|Gear spear, shiruken, masterwork sai +1, bracers +1, amulet of natural armor, belt of giant strength +2, cloak of resistance +1, Ioun Stone|
|Personal Gear cold weather outfit, backpack, crowbar, flint and steel, grappling hook, manacles, water skin, silk rope (50 ft), explorer’s gear, 1962 gp|
|Adventuring Gear [on donkey] bedroll, pack saddle, winter blanket, feed (10−3), trail rations (10−3)|
|Animal Companions donkey|
So ugly even my own mother didn’t want me. That’s what I was told for as long as I could remember. She left me on the monastery’s doorstep not even a day after I was born. No one knows who she was or where she went, but it was plain as the color of my skin that she didn’t want me. Abandoned and defenseless, the monks took me in and gave me my name, Doal.
Along with a simple name went the simplest and most demeaning of tasks. No one gave me credit for having a mind of my own. The other children of the monastery were merciless in their taunting. While I was too small to fight back, I was pushed around, tripped, shoved, and made a general fool of behind the backs of the adults. I could have tried to tell them, but they would have never believed me. So I suffered and seethed. My temper almost always got the best of me, and I’d try to fight back. For the first eight years, I lost and was humiliated time and time again. Then I started to grow. Before I realized it, I was bigger than most of the fully human kids who were years older than me. The last time the human children bullied me I lost my temper and beat one boy so badly he will never be the same again.
I don’t remember what happened. I just blacked out, and the next thing I knew the other monks were pulling me off of him. My hands were covered in blood, and I looked at the boy on the ground. Unconscious, his face was barely recognizable. He didn’t even look human anymore. I was horrified. I’ve never seen so much blood, and it was all over me. I was punished severely for my actions, but nothing would remove the image of his face, broken and bleeding, from my mind.
Never again would I lose my temper. Never again would I allow my anger to control my actions. This I vowed before Iomedae as I was stripped naked and forced to flog myself before the entire monastery. Never again. Never again.
Ostracized for my heritage, now I was shunned for my actions. Attempting to redeem myself for my transgression, I listened when the old monks lectured the younger disciples. Every night and morning I meditated, calming my mind and siphoning away the anger that filled my soul. I was in control, but just barely.
When I was ten, a wandering monk came to our monastery. I remember seeing him as he walked through the monastery doors. He was easily the biggest human I’d ever seen. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t hardened muscle. His face was a study of serenity, but his eyes, ice-cold and hard as diamonds, spoke a very different story.
I later overheard that he had been an adventurer that had had his fill of the world and was ready to train new disciples. He trained the humans every day, driving them mercilessly. There wasn’t a weapon he couldn’t use, often improvising weapons from the most mundane of objects. Needless to say, I was amazed. This was what I wanted to be. This was how I could channel the anger and fury my orc heritage bestowed upon me. I watched every training session I could while attending to my tasks. I’d sneak out at night to practice while I was supposed to be meditating.
Moonlight lit the clearing where I practiced. I ran through every move I could remember from watching practice earlier that day. I let my rage take me through the motions over and over again. I saw nothing but the invisible opponent in front of me. Suddenly a face appeared in front of my fist. Pulling the blow, I reeled in surprise losing my balance and toppling over. The owner of that face grabbed my arm and immobilized me in seconds. Dazed and confused I lay there, expecting punishment or death when the pressure on my arm and back lifted. I rolled over in the grass to look up at the cold eyes I knew so well. His hand was extended to help me up.
From that night forward we sparred. I never had to hold back with him. At first he beat me in mere moments, but as time passed I was able to hold out longer and longer. We finished every practice with meditation. He would sit, still as a statue in the middle of the clearing gazing at gods knew what. I would follow suit, emptying my mind of everything and allowing the silence of the night to fill me.
Years passed and I grew. My mind grew calm, my strength became controlled, and I learned what it was to become a true monk. My teacher never spoke to me, but we had no need for words. I watched, and I learned. It was winter again. I had built a fire, not for the light, but warmth while we meditated. It roared as it consumed the wood I’d scavenged earlier. As always he appeared from the darkness, attacking when he thought I was least ready. I easily dodged this and whirled around to face him. We danced around the fire making feints and bluffs trying to draw one another into making a mistake. The snow swirled around our feet like miniature blizzards. I didn’t even feel the cold. I was focused on my enemy.
He stood across the fire from me, scanning me for weakness. I grinned. I had him where I wanted him. I felt the power in my legs as I soared over the fire. I saw the surprise on his face as my blows connected. My weight drove him to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. I had him. I had finally won. His body went limp beneath me, indicating his surrender. I stood and offered him my hand to help him up. On his feet, his eyes met mine and he smiled. Then he turned and left the clearing.
The next morning, I tended to my duties as always when I noticed confusion among the monks. Curious, I followed them a short way and overheard them. The monk who had been training me for the last ten years was gone. He’d left no word, no message. He was just gone.
He was teaching me my final lesson, and I would follow his example one last time.
Date of Birth: 14 Kuthona, 4689
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Skin Tone: Dusky with a greenish cast
Height: 5′ 3″
Weight: 190 lbs.
Quiet and brooding at times. Slow to warm up, but friendly when comfortable. Lives in the here and now. Strives to obtain bodily perfection and inner calm. Stuggles with the conflicts between discipline and impulsive actions at times.