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Image ffd443
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ABILITIES/FEATS
Feats
- Lightning Reflexes
- Point Blank Shot - +1 attack on damage on ranged targets within 30 feet
- Precise Shot - Fire into melee without penalty
- Endurance - +4 on saves vs. nonlethal damage [free to rangers]
Other Abilities
- Favored Class:
Favored Enemy - Humans +2
Favored Terrain - Forest +2
Racial Abilities
- Darkvision 120ft
- Immune to magical sleep; +2 on saves vs. enchantments
- Dancing lights, darkness, faerie fire each once daily
- 6 + level resistance to magic spells
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COMBAT FOCUS: Archery
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SPELLBOOK:
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SPELLS KNOWN/PREPARED:
0:
1:
2:
x:
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SKILLS (Max Rank = Level, Class Skills get +3 bonus with at least 1 Rank)
^Trained only
Languages:
Common, Elven, Dark Elf Silent (Hand language), Undercommon
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MONEY:19 gp 9 sp 4cp
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GEAR (Weight):
Weapons / Armor / Shield
Arrows (quiver of 20) x1
Backpack
Candle
Flint and steel
Lamp (common)
Pouch x1
Rations (1 day) x3
Soap
Torches x3
Waterskins x1
Whetstone
Cloak, Gloves
TOTAL WEIGHT: 54 lbs
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MAGIC ITEMS
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DESCRIPTION
Aris'ta is an elf caught between two worlds. While she retains the silver hair
of her mother, long and flowing to well past her waist if left free (it is
generally held back in a tight, knotted pony behind her), her eyes retain the
silver of her father's line. Her skin is an elegant ebony color with
highlights of gray among her cheeks and hands, though it is not sickly, but
rather smooth and firm. High cheekbones give an heir of grace and dark, thin,
but pouted lips give a hint of delicacy. High tipped ears lay back against her
head. She is thin, yet toned, a delicate frame that stands with both poise and
sturdiness. A scar is seen on her left hand, small and patchy, as it is the
branded mark of a half-breed to the underworld, for her a mark of
disinheritance and betrayal. It is generally hidden by gloves.
Her voice is smooth with dulcet tones, as of one of nobility. A generally
expressionless face when on her own, she can be quite animated at times and
come off as condescending or questionable with a quirked eyebrow at someone
else's actions. Her mannerisms reflect one of distrust and general discomfort.
It is rare for her to remove her gloves, the mark on her skin feeling as a
sign of weakness. Her cloak also, generally, stays in place if there is even
a remote possibility of being seen. When addressed, she would stand ramrod
tall, arms folded and chooses to often walk this way as a manner of protecting
herself from outside influence. Her eyes, that brilliant near glowing silver
tell a different story. It is a story laced with regret and sadness, of
longing and despair.
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BACKGROUND
Since the day of her birth, Aris was one of a different world. The daughter
of a strong house, she was destined for power, yet desired none of it.
Disenchanted within the darkness in which she lived, she was easy prey for
the dangers that often come when and where one least expects them. In this
case, it came in the form of a Elven man who had wandered to far into darkened
hell Aris had once called home.
There were few reasons why surface dwellers would venture into the darkness.
Some out of curiosity. Some out of greed. None of them good.
There was an unspoken war between Aris' home and the elves of the sunshine.
Any who ventured below were never seen again, and those who dared above
similarly never returned. Whatever the truth behind the disappearance was
left to question. This man, whose name is not yet important to our tale, spoke
wonders of sights and adventures that existed beyond the darkness.
Without thought of truth or consequence, she risked life and limb to see to
his freedom. Too easily they were caught and the consequences would change the
course of her life forever. The man was sentenced to die in no friendly terms,
while Aris was given a sentence much worse than a welcome death. Beaten and
bloodied, she was banished from her home and left to rot in the sun of the
surface.
The Drow are a beautiful race of people, though shrouded in mystery, contempt,
and suspicion. Their skin is a beautiful shade of black, for the darkness
comes in so many different intricacies. A reflective shade that almost
shimmers like gemstones. The sun has some unexpected affects on the skin of
a dark elf once in the sun. The skin remains beautiful, but to Aris' own eye
became scarred.
Initially, her hair fell out. Her skinned dried and cracked, flaked from her
body. Her eyes, a brilliant silver seemed almost to glow. Death lingered, but
the tears which would fall refused as dehydration set in. By some grace, the
binds that had tied her in the sun, frayed and broke. Allowing her to free
herself, crawling into the shadows to lick her wounds and hide away from the
world that was no more lovely than the mud that caked her body. She shivered
in the unexpected cold away from the sun's burning light and curled up, ready
to die.
Eventually, darkness fell and familiarity gave rise to some meager remnant of
confidence. Pulling herself from her ball, she crawled to her feet, standing
on shaky legs that threatened to give way. She managed to make her way deeper
into the woods, finding a pond and drinking from it thirstily. Long after,
she remained, caught in the reflection staring back at her from the mirrored
surface. How much she had changed. She looked thin, almost sickly. It was
startling to see, but settled the debate within her head. There was only one
course of action if she was to survive, and she would survive.
It was not ideal, but somehow she managed.
At first she scavenged for survival, eventually resorting to thievery --
until she was caught.
Another fork in the road. Another turning point. Only this one for the better,
if only slightly and for a moment. Looking for food, she stumbled upon a
campsite with single occupant. While he rested, deep in sleep, she crept
steadily forward. As she reached for the remains of his nights hunt, a sound
caught her attention and she looked up to find herself face to face with the
sharp end of an arrow.
She froze in place, waiting for the blow that would end her misery and
suffering, but it never came. The scrap of a girl with beautiful skin,
shimmering grey eyes, and newly sprouting hair that was dark as night caught
the mans eye and pity. He lowered the weapon and kicked the food to her when
she hesitated. It was the start of an uneasy alliance.
From then on, whenever he was in the wood, he knew she was there, but only in
the darkness when he was alone would she show her face. She spoke no common
language, but eventually he managed to teach her and she him of her own. They
formed a bond, akin to friendship, but never with the trust. He somehow knew
that was something he could not obtain from her, this woman who had suffered
so much, yet found herself forced to rely on the aid of a stranger.
She was a lucky sort, for anyone else might have killed her on spot.
Eventually, she followed him even in the day, but only after he had purchased
her a cloak to hide her face and the sun that was forever causing her to wince
in pain. She steadily grew more confident. Her features filled out and her
beauty grew. He taught her to use a bow. If only so she could survive once the
seasons ended and he moved on. He knew she could not, nor would she follow him
when he went.
Tragedy seemed to follow her and his premonitions seemed always to come true
for their parting was not to be a pleasant or temporary one. A chance meeting
with another hunting party once more put her life in danger. If not for her
newfound companion, she might not have survived, but he once again saved her
life and on the day he died, she called him "friend."
Since then, she has kept herself remote and hidden from the world at large. A
shadow among the trees she has learned to watch and wait and listen. A
silent, sturdy figure of beauty in a dark and unforgiving world.
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