Squirrel Sorcerer 7 with Human Familiar



Tiny Magical Animal

Str: 3 (-4) Dex: 15 (+2) Con: 10 (-)

Int: 9 (-1) Wis: 12 (+1) Cha: 5 (-3)

HP: 17 BAB: +3 Init: +2 Speed: 20

Fort: +2 Ref: +4 Will: +6

AC: 18 Touch: 14 Flat: 16

Attacks: Bite +4 (1d3-4)

Skills: Balance +12, Climb +10, Escape Artist +4, Hide +11, Move Silently +8, Spot +3

Feats: Agile, Weapon Finesse

Special: Low-light vision, Scent, Alertness, Improved Evasion, Share Spells, Empathic Link, Deliver touch spells, Speak with master, Speak with rodents


Deep in the untamed wilderness outside Greystone, there is a glen untouched by time. It is all but unknown to the world, save for the few who walk out of it transformed, and they cannot speak of it. Every now and then, rarely, the wind will overhear two trees whispering of it. The wind carries the rumor to the birds, who occasionally speak of it to those who know how to listen. There begins our story, one of an unfortunate quest for an unfortunate wizard.

This particular magi was out one day conversing with nature, as he often did. A swallow told him of the myth, relating to him vague directions to the sanctuary. Said the bird, “Twelve days with your back to ocean. Chirp. Twelve more o’er the mountain’s bowel. Chirp. Twelve yet again in a circular motion. Chirp. Of it speak to Brother Owl.”

With his back to the town and the shore, he traveled for over a month following the directions. On the last day of wondering hopelessly in circles, he was greeted by an owl. Said he, “The forest yonder which you seek. Hoot. O’er the plains where Cypress grow. Hoot. There within crawl up the creek. Hoot. Of it speak to Brother Crow.”

Across the plains he ventured, into a wood with blanketed by Cypress, up the slippery stream. At the edge of a dark grove, a crow greeted him. Said he, “The secret glen is within paces. KAKAAAW. In it’s heart a bleeding tree. KAKAAAW. It’s bark is black, and etched with faces. KAKAAAAW. Is said to grant immortality.” With that, the crow departed.

The wizard entered the foreboding glen, and was immediately drawn to a giant willow that seemed to be the heart of the wood. The darkness around it pulsed, and the branches seemed the grasp out at him like fingers blindly reaching. Feet rooted to the ground, his eyes locked on the tree, jaw wide open, it was a moment of intense awkwardness. After some time his body fell limp, soulless but not lifeless. No longer a person, the husk shuffled back to whence it came, back over the plains and mountains, back to the city, speaking not a word of it. Only Melancthon witnessed the whole episode, and to no one he would tell. Yes, this is the story of he, Melancthon, Squirrel Princling.

Born second in line to the squirrel throne, Melancthon grew up with all the luxuries afforded to woodland critter royalty. Upon the death of his father, King of all squirreldom, Melancthon was exiled by his older brother to prevent any threat to power. During this time he attended school, graduating top nut at squirrel academy. He enrolled in the school of wizardry as an apprentice familiar. There he partnered up with a human, who’s name Melancthon could never pronounce. The two were inseparable.

It would not be for many years that this man would seek that fateful forest, and it has been many years since. Instead of aging, time seems to be turning him progressively more plantlike. His skin is turning brown to brittle bark, his limbs are growing stiff, and water is his only sustenance. There is no light in his eyes, no will to drive them. All that remains is Melancthon, and his wizard familiar.

Melancthon’s mind is complex, and his motives unclear. It would seem he desires to once again seek out that dreadful den of evil. Perhaps there he can find a way to restore consciousness to his comrade. Maybe he seeks the fabled immortality, biding his time to ascend the throne, become king, and rule squirreldom for all eternity. Or a third option, he seeks the thrill of adventure and fame that would come with such an expedition. There is all that to consider, but maybe he just wants some acorns. He’s very complicated.


Greystone Banon