Big Business in Little Tamriel
Tlik'ch'Vuul is a Thri-Kreen Monk
== Created Using Wizards of the Coast D&D Character Builder ==
Tlik’ch’Vuul, level 2
Build: Stone Fist Monk
Monastic Tradition Option: Stone Fist
Ringing Mountains – Isolated Monastery (+2 to Athletics)
FINAL ABILITY SCORES
STR 16, CON 10, DEX 20, INT 10, WIS 11, CHA 8
STARTING ABILITY SCORES
STR 14, CON 10, DEX 18, INT 10, WIS 11, CHA 8
AC: 18 Fort: 15 Ref: 17 Will: 13
HP: 27 Surges: 7 Surge Value: 6
Acrobatics +11, Athletics +13, Stealth +11, Thievery +11
Arcana +1, Bluff +0, Diplomacy +0, Dungeoneering +1, Endurance +1, Heal +1, History +1, Insight +1, Intimidate +0, Nature +3, Perception +1, Religion +1, Streetwise +0
Basic Attack: Melee Basic Attack
Basic Attack: Ranged Basic Attack
Thri-Kreen Racial Power: Thri-kreen Claws
Monk Feature: Stone Fist Flurry of Blows
Monk Attack 1: Five Storms
Monk Attack 1: Crane’s Wings
Monk Attack 1: Rising Storm
Monk Attack 1: Masterful Spiral
Monk Utility 2: Supreme Flurry
Level 1: Ki Focus Expertise
Level 2: Four-Armed Flurry
Monk unarmed strike x1
Ki Focus x1
== End ==
The Chi’kik pack understood well the power of symbiosis. It enabled survival in places life did not normally dwell. They saw it in the relationship between the sand lizard and the spotted tarantula. They saw it in the bond between a rook owl and its cactus home. They saw it in the delicate interplay between the silt crocodile and the filchershrike. They saw the power of these lifeweaves to sustain, to nurture, and to protect. They took these bonds of life as gravely seriously as they took their own symbiotic relationship, unique among all thri-kreen packs.
The Chi’kik had entered into symbiosis, and thrived because of it. They hunted faster. They hunted smarter. They moved quicker, and saw the desert in new ways. Their soldier kreen were fiercer, more adept at protecting the clutch. The drones worked harder, ate better. The queen produced more eggs, and more hatchlings grew to adulthood.
In return, the Chi’kik provided portions of each kill to their symbiotic partners; the beings were not naturally equipped to move in the desert. They had soft skin, which the sands would tear. They had watery eyes, which the sands would blind. They had delicate lungs, which the sands would choke. The Thri-kreen had none of these concerns, and so could hunt. Yes, the humans of the Monastery of the Sun, perched as they were on the mountainous precipice overlooking the kreen’s desert, would not have lasted long without the Chi’kik’s aid. Fortunately for all, the monks and kreen had reached mutual wisdom after their initial struggles. The kreen respected the monk’s focus and calm, their control over their bodies. They welcomed the monks’ pledges to train thri-kreen soldiers in the arts of the battle dance. Those soldiers became magnificent hunters, and the pack thrived. The monks respected the Chi’kik’s knowledge of the desert, the way they found food in a land of impossibilities. The monks respected the symmetry of their insect friends, and the partnership was sublime, lasting for over one hundred years, for over twenty clutch-cycles. It was what allowed the monks to focus upon their inward journeys, secure in the knowledge that they did not need to fear starvation. It was what allowed the Chi’kik to expand the radius of their huntzone, and to move silently above the sands. It was what allowed the monks to commune with the desert. It was what allowed the Chi’kik soldiers to be as stone and wind.
In the year of the 332nd clutch, at the apex of the sun’s summer rise, Tlik’ch’Vuul clicked a series of desperate commands to his huntmates. Of all the Chi’kik soldiers, Tlik’ch’Vuul had embraced the ways of the monks most deeply. He had become the fiercest hunter, the most adept warrior. It was said that Tlik’ch’Vuul was blessed with two clutches – his birthmates, with whom he ran now, and his brethren at the monastery. Indeed, just as a kreen soldier could sense when his clutchmates were in danger, it seemed as though Tlik’ch’Vuul knew that the Monastery was under attack. He flew across the sands more frequently than he ran, his shimmering wings buzzing angrily behind him. His clutchmates could scarcely keep up, but even they sped across the sand when they saw the columns of smoke rising from the monastery.
Even though he scaled the cliffside with such speed that the other kreen could only marvel, Tlik’ch’Vuul was too late. The monks had been slaughtered, killed from afar with fire and ice. Magic. The air reeked of it. Upon the ground were the bodies of five of Tlik’ch’Vuul’s human clutchmates, their flesh seared or frozen. Tlik’ch’Vuul hissed with rage, bounding through the compound, leaping his way to Master Sufthi’s quarters. There, he found the wizened old man, his body broken and the breath of life fast leaving him.
“Ah,” the old man said as Tlik’ch’Vuul picked up his body, “Whirling Scorpion. It is good you’ve come. The eventide prayers have not yet been spoken, and I fear our voices have been silenced. Someone will need to ring the bells of contemplation.”
Tlik’ch’Vuul placed his third hand upon the man’s lips, bidding him not to waste energy by speaking. Master Sufthi brushed the gesture away. “Thank you, Whirling Scorpion, for your care. But my life is already written, and my bloodwater has already flowed. But I would hear the bells one more time before I pass. Take me to them, please.”
Tlik’ch’Vuul carried his Master through the compound, to the sacred shrine where the platinum handbells rested. Many times had Tlik’ch’Vuul played the bells; the Monks had always marvelled at the kreen’s ability to play four bells simultaneously, and to so so with such intense focus. Tlik’ch’Vuul set his Master down gently, and turned to ascend to the bell table.
The bells were gone.
In a rage, Whirling Scorpion tore apart the table, flinging cloth and wood and stone about, desperate to find the bells. Whoever had attacked the monastery, though, had stolen the bells. Perhaps that had been the reason for their assault in the first place? Tlik’ch’Vuul vented his anger upon the shrine, nearly destroyed all that was left. However, with his Master watching through dimming eyes, he calmed himself. He sublimated his rage, focusing it as he was taught. He settled, allowing the light to catch each facet of his compound eyes. He allowed the world to come to him. And there, as a mote of light glinting upon water, he saw it. Beneath the shreds of the table, he saw a single bell, the smallest of the set. Tlik’ch’Vuul retrieved it, checked to make sure neither bell nor clapper nor delicate, reed-thin handle had been damaged. He clutched this, the last of the Sun Bells, to his thorax, and then he returned to his dying Master. In his native language, he clicked the eventide prayer, and at the end, he chimed the tiny bell, its single clarion note blazing, and then fading into the crackle of the still-burning fires. As that note faded, so too did his Master. All that was the Monastery of the Sun was destroyed.
Tlik’ch’Vuul, the Whirling Scorpion, slipped the tiny bell into his neck pouch. He lifted his Master’s body once more, carrying it into the courtyard, where his clutchmates had reverently laid the bodies of the other monks. In a tradition to honor their fallen symbiotes, the soldier clutch feasted on their bodies, consuming their flesh to lend themselves strength. When the feast was over, Tlik’ch’Vuul commanded his clutch to return to the hive, to tell them of the tragedy that occurred here. Val’thrik cocked her antennae to the fore, and clicked, “And of you, Whirling Scorpion? Will you stay here to guard the burnt husk of the monastery?”
“No,” he replied, using the language of his fallen brothers, “I will find the bells. I will find the ones who did this, and I will teach them what it is to be prey. I will use what Master Sufthi taught me, and I will hunt.”
Also in common, Val’thrik replied, “Would Master and the others have wanted that? That is not who they are.”
Clicking, Tlik’ch’Vuul responded, “They are not Thri-kreen.”
TL;DR : Tlik’ch’Vuul left the desert and joined with East Skyrim Company to facilitate the hunt for those who destroyed the Monastery and stole the bells. The little platinum bell is his ki focus.