Warlock, pacted to Neifion, Lord of Bats
Warlock Lvl 4, Human, Chaotic Good
Inspiration: Charlatan – Flatters, Ideal is Aspriation, Bonds – wicked Stepmother and Patron, Flaws No one could fool me
Proficiency Bonus 2)
Dex 18 (3)
Int 14 (2)
Cha 18 (+4)
Saving Throws (+2 to Wis, Cha)
Sleight of Hand (6)
Passive Perception, Passive Wisdom
12 (without familiar)
13 with pseudodragon, 13 +advantage
11 (with imp)
Speed 30 (long jump 15")
HP Max (lvl 4) 35
Total 4 HD d8
Spear (M( +2 Attack, 1d6/1d8) range (20/60) +3 from Dex
Dagger range 20/60 +3 from dex thrown
Eldritch Blast +6
Fey Presence – 10’ Cube, Wis save vs 14 charm or fright, use again after a short or long rest
Pact of Chain – Find Familiar
Pseudodragon, AC 13, HP 7, spd 60, fly
100’ telepathy, two ways
action to borrow senses (Perception and passive perception 3, blindsight 10, darkvision 60) Adv shared on sight, hearing and smell)
Adv shared on saves vs spells and magic when within 10’
action to dismiss temporarily
action to reappear within 30"
Cha 4, spell save DC 14, Spell attack bonus 6
Cantrips at will, Spells recharge after a short rest
4 spells, Slots 2, Lvl 2
Friends (swap this one out?)
Repelling blast (swap out to Agonizing Blast?)
4, Slots 2
Arms of Hadar
Gloomwings Signet ring
10 days rations
When Gotha was a boy, his father, a kind woodsman, came under the spell of a wicked and vain woman named Sycorax, who came to be his stepmother. She set the family to build a home to her liking, made only of the shiny black stones from a distant section of Neverwinter River. They toiled, as if in a dream, until the late summer, gathering the special rocks and setting them into mortar. The dark cottage was beautiful and strong, but they had not tended garden, and as the harvest approached, did not have enough to eat.
That night, Gotha heard his stepmother plot to drop him far into the woods to leave them there for the goblins, so that she would have enough to eat. Trembling, he crept out into the night to leave them, and take his chances outside. But as he opened the door, he saw a tall, thin, bald man standing there, with squinting eyes and an oddly hooded black cloak. The dark outside was rustling, as if a great flock of birds had taken wing.
“Gloomwing Tower stands again,” whispered the tall man, gesturing to the small but darkly beautiful cottage with an absent gesture, which was clearly not a tower, “And by treaty, has broken the binding. It has been a very long time. You seem smaller this time, Lord Gloomwing, different.” The tall man leaned over, bringing his puckered eyes closer, but did not unwrap his arms within his cloak. “No matter – Darroch Castle awaits its human envoy, the Lord of Gloomwing Tower. We shall sup before we meet The Garden Court. Do you have the required sacrifice? Our pact feast requires it.”
Gotha swallowed hard, as Sycorax awoke from her slumber behind him, and his spellbound father snored.
“Yes. I do.” He pointed at her.
“Excellent.” The tall man pulled a small silver snuffbox from his sleeve and sprinkled a sparkling dust in the room. He felt dizzy, and closed his eyes.
Gotha took on the identity of Lord Gloomwing, a human envoy of Neifion, Lord of Bats. The stones used in the cottage were from the very ancient ruin of his tower. His wicked sorceress stepmother was put in torpor to be drained for blood feasts, across a decade of service within the Feywild. When he returned, a decade later to Toril to greet his father, he found that nearly 200 years had passed.
He is a charlatan, who insinuates himself into lives to prey on their misfortunes and secure their fortunes.
Flattery is his preferred trick to get what he wants.
He is determined to make something of himself.
He hates to admit it, but he will run and save himself if the going gets tough.
He greatly fears that somehow, Sycorax will free herself and take revenge.
His pact bond is an amber amulet with a perfectly preserved human finger in it, snipped from his wicked stepmother.