Half way between two worlds, a marred half breed walks a perilous line.


Male Half Orc Shaman 5
Lawful Neutral

STR: 12
CON: 14
DEX: 11
INT: 13
WIS: 20
CHA: 8

Hit Points: 46
AC: Standard 20 | Flat 20 | Touch 10

Will Save: 10
Fort Save: 4
Ref Save: 2

Perception: +5

Feats: Combat Casting, Brew Potion, Scribe Scroll

Magic Items: Necklace that gives me +1 to all saves, 2x Scrolls of Resist Elements (3rd level), Scroll of Cure Moderate Wounds (5th level)

Horse: Muriel


Gravefoot does not do damage to living things (So basically everything except Undead and Constructs). Offensive spells are like hold person, curse, blindness, etc. Can also debuff attack rolls and saves, but prefer the slots for buffing party and healing spells.

Physical Description:

Gravefoot is unnerving in appearance, a grisly holdover from the attempted infanticide by his mother. He hides the lower half of his face in a faded scarf that may have been violet at one point. He wears a sleeveless black robe over a well-worn breastplate once enameled black, but now chipped by with age and use.. The parts of his bare arms that show are covered in tattoos similar in design to illumination one might find in a manuscript. He carries a simple staff, atop which a ghostly raven is often perched. A skull worked illuminated in Pharasmic script weeping motes of wispy ghost-light hangs from a necklace of large round beads around his neck, and he adorns himself with totemic fetishes mainly consisting of ravens’ feathers. His back is laden with all manor of map and scroll cases.

Update 10/26/14:

The last year has seen Gravefoot’s spiritual tie to Pharasma has strengthened as he has come to know his true calling. Even still, his has lost significant weight over the last year, his tall frame now somewhat gaunt. His eyes are slightly sunken, and often have a far off look. He is often accompanied by the faint sent of the grave, although he is used to that as a grave digger in his former life.

Update 6/24/14:

HIs act of kindness repaid, Gravefoot finds himself in turmoil. His situation is one of half way. He feels loyalty to Valen and his adventuring companions, but he also wants to join Captain Javair, if only to be with her. He will not admit his love for her because he is certain she could never see him as anything but a monster, despite the fact that she has never treated him as such.

Even his spirituality, that which he has always held with clarity, is jumbled. As he progresses further down a new path some part of him feels he was always meant to walk, he is discovering that death can be brought about in a primal fashion. And that there are those that believe it is only the next step in a further journey. Gravefoot now is left to ponder, how best is Pharasma to be served? For is a sermon in a cathedral any more or less an exoneration of her majesty than the devastation of a typhoon?

Outside of all the turmoil, Gravefoot feels a close kinship with Oleg, Svetlana, and their expecting child. He would do anything to keep them safe, and outside of his adventuring companions, they are some of the few that he calls “friends”.


Dirty hands, tattered coat;
Faded scarf and smushed nose;
Swinging lantern, bowed head;
Over his shoulder you ride when you’re dead.

–Children’s chant overheard in Arvirst.

Gravefoot was found as a newborn essentially dead. His mother’s attempts to dash his head against a large rock failed, and the timely discovery of the battered newborn by Nimbus, Paladin of Erastil, is the only reason Gravefoot is still alive. Nimbus used his divine power to save the infant half-orc, but the damage the child sustained was too much and the lower half of babe’s face was horribly disfigured. As the babe grew, his face remained horribly scarred, his teeth grew in broken, and the left side of his face was pitted where the cheek bone was shattered. Nimbus called the infant Gravefoot, for when he was found, he had one foot in the grave.

Gravefoot was raised at a monastery of Erastil in a life of service. His half-orc heritage and marred visage were unsettling to them that did not know him, so he was often tasked with chores that could be done in private, like caring for the dead and illumination of manuscripts within the vaults, a task he loved above all others. Gravefoot enjoyed his monastic life, learning about Erastil and the other gods. It was there that he discovered his affinity for Pharasma, for he was born and killed on the same day. Nimbus made it a point to visit the monastery every year and check up on Gravefoot on his birthday, guiding the youth in his studies and serving as something of a father figure to the lad.

One day a traveler came upon Gravefoot in the vaults of the monastery and told him of Brevoy. A place where race and religion were not used as a measure of the man. Forever serving in hiding, this sounded ideal to Gravefoot, and on his 18th birthday he set out from the monastery with their blessing, though he wasn’t able to see Nimbus before he had to leave.

In Brevoy the traveler’s words proved to be somewhat true, but Gravefoot’s disfigurement was still too much for many to take. Eventually, he found a place in the village of Arvirst as a grave digger, and later helped with midwifery as the villagers began to fear him less and less. Not being able to afford vellum and ink, Gravefoot continued practicing his skills in illumination on the bodies of those he prepped for burial, fortunately exhumation didn’t happen often in Arvirst, else some might find their buried companions beautifully illuminated with prayers to whatever deity he knew them to serve, as a surprise. Eventually Gravefoot became an accomplished tattoo artist, and began working on the skin of the living as well as the dead.

One evening, in his 25th year, Gravefoot was roused from his sleep by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Overcome with sadness at the loss of her dead companion, the woman enlisted his services for burial. It was a particularly cold evening, and the woman offered Gravefoot her long purple scarf to stay warm as he dug. When his task was done, the woman who called herself Lt. Javair, paid Gravefoot handsomely, and let him keep the scarf. That act of kindness was so profound that Gravefoot has worn the scarf every day since, often to hide the lower half of his disfigured face.

In the business of burials and tattoos, Gravefoot often found himself in the company of adventurers and soldiers. He would ask those that he worked on if they had ever heard of Lt. Javair and inquire after her well being. Over the next ten years he would catch smatterings of her campaigns, and would image her accomplishing great tasks in a beatific and benevolent fashion rivaling any story book hero.

A month ago, upon his usual inquiry after now, Captain Javair, a veteran mercenary became saddened at his inquiry. The mercenary said he had ridden with the mercenary captain for the last few years. But sometime back things had gone bad. Last her heard Captain Javair had been taken captive by the Stag Lord, and he was ransoming her, or worse, back to her company that meant to cut and run, leaving the captain to the Stag Lord’s torture.

That night Gravefoot decided to leave Arvirst with his meager belongings to rescue one of the few people who had ever done him any kindness.

Gravefoot knows nothing of the Stag Lord, and less of the Greenbelt. He only knows that he must trust Pharasma to guide him. He joined the first band of people he encountered headed into the Greenbelt.


Kingmaker Mars