A historian, scholar, linguist, archaeologist, and invoker of Corellon, this Deva seeks a connection between the history he studies and his half-remembered past lives.


====== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ====== Dagda, level 1 Deva, Invoker Divine Covenant: Covenant of Preservation Background: Curious Archeologist (Perception class skill)

FINAL ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 13, Dex 10, Int 18, Wis 18, Cha 11.

STARTING ABILITY SCORES Str 8, Con 13, Dex 10, Int 16, Wis 16, Cha 11.

AC: 17 Fort: 12 Reflex: 15 Will: 15 HP: 23 Surges: 7 Surge Value: 5

TRAINED SKILLS Religion +11, Perception +9, Arcana +9, History +11

UNTRAINED SKILLS Acrobatics -1, Bluff, Diplomacy, Dungeoneering +4, Endurance, Heal +4, Insight +4, Intimidate, Nature +4, Stealth -1, Streetwise, Thievery -1, Athletics -2

FEATS Invoker: Ritual Caster Level 1: Linguist

POWERS Invoker at-will 1: Sun Strike Invoker at-will 1: Grasping Shards Invoker encounter 1: Blades of Astral Fire Invoker daily 1: Silent Malediction

ITEMS Ritual Book, Adventurer’s Kit, Inquisitive’s Kit, Staff Implement, Hide Armor RITUALS Hand of Fate, Comprehend Language ====== Copy to Clipboard and Press the Import Button on the Summary Tab ======


The sky was clear as the sun crested the peak of Maia, highest mountain in the Pinars. Despite being thousands of feet up, not a single snowflake lay on the mountaintop, and the air was as calm and warm as a sheltered glade in springtime. Only the sound of a stream bubbling somewhere nearby disturbed the serenity.

Sages debate whether an entity can truly be said to exist, if it is entirely unobserved. Indeed, this entire scene could be said to be nonexistent at this point, however more important at the moment is the question of the existence of the observer, for until he opened his eyes, the person standing atop the peak was not there.

He stood perfectly still, as eerily calm as his surroundings. His skin was chalky white, with dark charcoal-grey lines running across his face, starting from his pupil-less white-blue eyes, and running down his cheeks, and across his temples. Sleek silvery-white hair fell to just above his shoulders. He was exotically dressed in richly coloured fine silks. Ornate metallic epaulettes adorned his shoulders with wing-like protrusions rising from his back, and a finely wrought headdress gave the impression of an angelic halo.

For several minutes he stood, inert as a statue – though a majestic one at that. Then a slight smile crossed his lips, and he said, in a soft, melodious voice: “ah, what manner of adventure awaits me this time…” He then slowly looked around, taking in his surroundings, his eyes stopping on a large building in the distance nestled amongst the slopes of the mountains with a flag flying above it – an elongated eight-pointed star in white, on a field of blue. He smiled again, a hint of recognition in his eyes, and set off towards it.

The building was a monastery of the Seekers of Majesty, a group of worshippers of Corellon involved in the preservation, study, and location of great works of art or magic. They offered shelter to the mysterious stranger, who introduced himself as Dagda, and at his request, let him join them in prayer. It quickly became evident that this strange being, the like of which none of them had seen before, had a greater instinctive understanding of their god than many of their most respected clergy, and a similarly innate affinity for divine magic. He expressed a great interest in their work, and they offered to train him as an Invoker.


Several years later, Dagda found himself back at the summit of Maia. It was a sacred place, where, having completed his training, the ritual would take place to forge his divine covenant with Corellon himself.

Clerics busied themselves around him, placing incense and various arrangements of flowers around him on the ground in specific patterns, while he sat in the exact place where he had found himself all those years ago. He largely ignored them, sitting with the unearthly stillness that he so often did, in quiet contemplation. After a while, they seemed satisfied with their preparations, and departed, leaving him alone on the mountaintop.

As the sun reached its highest point, it appeared to twinkle slightly, and the whole area was bathed in light, such that Dagda, who had been known to occasionally stare into the sun for minutes at a time, and appear completely unfazed by its brightness, was blinded for a moment. When the light faded, a figure leant nonchalantly against a nearby rock: a beautiful woman, she appeared Eladrin, but with almost white skin that seemed to glow slightly, and white feathery wings sprouting from her back. She regarded Dagda, and smiled.

“We meet again, old friend… and every time, you find new ways to surprise me with the circumstance.”

Dagda looked at her, confusion mixed with inexplicable recognition in his pale eyes, “I… know you.” He spoke slowly and uncertainly, but it was not a question.

“Ah, so you do not recognise me this time? No matter… I see in your eyes that you remember enough… for now. Anyway, as for what you are here for…” She glanced upwards slightly, and for a moment he thought he saw the twinkle of a white star in the midday sky. A rush swept through him, powerful but gentle, like a soft caress along the spine, and he felt strengthened, and somehow touched by something… greater.

“You have a measure of the power of our father and patron. Now, as to how you must use it. Look to the past, Dagda. Both yours, and that of this world. Look for the beauty in it… but be prepared for its ugliness. That should be enough for now” She wore a mischievous grin. “I always enjoy talking to you… I’m sure we shall meet again before long.” She walked forwards, leant over and kissed him lightly on the forehead. He blinked in surprise, and she was gone.

(Sorry, got a bit carried away with this, and never got round to putting anything about him being a linguist or archaeologist… but thought this seemed more interesting as an origin story, and you can kind of see where it’s going)


Mists Of Time Lycastus