DKMortals/Sunning Lynx

Name: Sunning Lynx

Concept: Traumatized Survivor

Motivation: Survive

WP: 7

Essence: 1

Attributes:

Strength **

Dexterity ****

Stamina ***

Charisma **

Manipulation *

Appearance ***

Perception ****

Intelligence **

Wits ***

Abilities:

Favored:

Stealth ***** (**) (Death Stench *)

Combat:

Melee *** (Defense ***)

Integrity *

Resistance ****

Athletics ***

Other:

Awareness *** (Hood *)

Survival ***

Larceny ***

Investigation **

Medicine **

Craft (Air) * (Jewelry *)

Bureaucracy *

Lore *

Linguistics

Skytongue (Haslanti *)

Backgrounds:

Resources **** (Jeweler's son, and jewel thief)

Artifact ** (Hood, Snowshine's Earring)

Virtues:

Compassion ***

Conviction *

Temperance ****

Valor *

Equipment:

Perfect Spear: Speed 5 Rate 2 Accuracy +2 Damage +5/8L Defense +4 (Two-handed, reach, lance type)

Attack Pool: 9d Damage: +7/10L, Lance (extra damage when charging or receiving a charge)

Exceptional Breastplate: Soak 5L/+3B(6) Mobility: -0 Fatigue: 1

Defenses: Parry 7 Dodge 2

Join Battle Roll (for convenience): 6+1 (hood)

Hood (Artifact Filter *)

+1 Awareness, negates up to -2 penalty from darkness/etc. +3 to resist airborne diseases and toxins.

A blank taupe cloth hood that lets him see and breathe. All that can be made out of his head from it is the peak of his nose and the slight in and out sucking of his breath.

Snowshine's Earring (Artifact *)

Appearance:

Lynx is a young man - somewhere between 14 and 18, and small by nature and deprivation. He always wears his hood, a smooth and uniform covering of taupe cloth, turning his head into featureless lump, except for the slight in and out sucking of his breathing.

Right now, he wears layers of thick, ragged, winter clothes, covered in putrid viscera as camouflage, some dry, some still wet.

He carries a slightly short spear, reinforced with iron bands at regular intervals. He wields it almost like a staff, whirling it about himself defensively and occasionally licking it out in quick, piercing, thrusts.

Story:

He was a jeweler's son, painstakingly trained in the precise and monotonous art of his father. He always had the clever fingers for it, but never the patience. Eventually he had had enough arguments with his father, enough nights at home, and enough of the minor responsibilities his family placed on him. He had run enough errands for his father to be trusted among his friends, and to know how they ran their shops. He made off with piles of jewels, all in one night. They caught him of course, not that he'd expected it, but they never found where he'd stashed them. Soon as he could, he called to be a raven. He had the tattoo put right over the T they had branded into his right palm.

He made it through training, by his skill with his hands mostly, but still only by the skin of his teeth. They put him in third scale about two weeks before there no longer was a third scale. Sometime later, he met Iscal in the vents of the zombie-plague-underice-airship.