Adventure Title
Reworkt Starting Log and Rest Changes for 2024 Rules

Levels Gained

Location Played
Roll20

Notes
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ # **Lerra Bravewalker** ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Size: 225 cm (Medium) – Towering yet graceful, Lerra moves with a quiet, predatory elegance rather than brute force. Weight: 82 kg – Despite her height, her build remains lean and athletic, her strength forged through hardship, wandering, and the mingling of frost, flame, and divine touch. Eyes: Grey – Usually calm and distant, they glow like embers when her fiery blood awakens, or shimmer with cold light when her frostbound power rises in frozen lands. Hair: White – Falling like pale snow around her shoulders, it takes on warm copper highlights when fire stirs within her, and icy blue hues when her power resonates with cold regions. Skin: Greyish – Ash-toned and marked by faint runic scars, her skin reflects her dormant state as cold stone, blazing subtly with inner heat when flame is active, or shimmering with frost in Icewind Dale. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Costomizing your Origin: Race: Goliath Creature Type: Humanoid Size: Medium (about 7–8 feet tall) Speed: 35 feet Giant Ancestry.: Fire’s Burn (Fire Giant), Large Form, Powerful Build. Ability Score Point ´Buy: St 15 (+2+1+1+1), Dex 10, Con 15 (+1), Int 8, Wis 14, Cha 8 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fighter (PHB) Proficiency: Saving Throw: Strength, Constitution Proficiency Weapon: Simple Weapons, Martial Weapons Proficiency Armor: Light Armor, Medium Armor, Heavy Armor, Shields Choose Fighting Style, Second Wind, Weapon Mastery Skill Proficiencies: Animal Handling, Athletics lvl 2 bis 19: 2: Action Surge, Tactical Mind 3: Chosen Subclass - Runen Knight Proficiency Tool: Smith's Tools Proficiency Languages: Giant Rune Carver, Giant’s Might 4: Level 4 Feat: Selected: Great Weapon Master +1 Str 5: Fighter Extra Attack, Tactical Shift 6: Level 6 Feat: Selected: Mage Slayer +1 Str 7: Rune Carver (7), Runic Shield 8: Level 8 Feat: Selected: Skill Expert +1 Str Skill Proficiencies: Sleight of Hand Skill Expertise: Athletics 9: Indomitable, Tactical Master ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lost Childe of Wyrmdoom Crag (Reghed Tribe Member) (Adoptiert) Source: Ability +2, one +1 Chose: Str +2, Con +1 Skill Proficiencies: Survival, Perception Tool Proficiencies: Horn , Leatherworker's Tools Language Proficiencies: Common, Dwarvish, Draconic Feat: Tough ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fighter Starting Equipment: Chain Mail (1), Greatsword (1), Flail (1), Javelin (8), Dungeoneer's Pack (1) A uniform of your company (traveler’s clothes in quality), an insignia of your rank, a Gaming Set of your choice (Dice Set), and a pouch containing the remainder of your last wages (8 gp) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ # **Biography** ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Lerra Bravewalker Daughter of Frost, Bearer of Flame Prologue – The Echo of the Forge Long before Lerra Bravewalker ever drew breath beneath the cold skies of Icewind Dale, before wolves howled her name into the storm and steel learned the shape of her hands, fire walked among stone. It happened in the high places of Wyrmdoom Crag. The peaks there rose like broken teeth against the sky, ancient and defiant, their roots buried deep in the bones of the world. Storms gathered around those mountains as if drawn by their presence, and avalanches thundered down their slopes like the voices of slumbering giants. Goliath clans had lived among those heights for countless generations, carving their homes into rock and ice, honoring strength, endurance, and the quiet wisdom of survival. It was there that a Fire Giant came. He did not arrive as a conqueror. He came as a smith. His name, long lost to mortal tongues, was once spoken with reverence among his own kind. He had turned away from the endless wars of the fire giant holds, leaving behind volcanic fortresses and rivers of molten iron. He carried with him only his hammer, his anvil, and the knowledge of flame shaped by centuries. The Goliaths of Wyrmdoom Crag were wary at first. Fire Giants were creatures of destruction in most stories—bringers of ruin, tyrants who bent lesser folk beneath their boots. Yet this one asked for neither tribute nor submission. He offered craft. He taught them how to temper steel with patience instead of fury. How to read the color of heated metal like a language. How to listen to stone when carving foundations, and how to coax strength from ore rather than tear it free. For a time, fire and frost coexisted. Some of the Goliaths learned from him. Some shared meals. Some shared stories beneath the stars. And in that brief, fragile peace, bonds formed that would echo far beyond that single generation. Children were born. Most carried only faint traces of that union—slightly warmer skin, a resilience to heat, an unusual affinity for metalwork. Over time, even those signs faded, diluted by centuries of frost giant and stone giant blood. But echoes lingered. Sometimes, fire waits. Chapter One – Born of Stone, Lost to Ice Lerra was born beneath a sky heavy with snow. Her first cry was swallowed by the wind. She entered the world in a high mountain shelter carved into the living rock of Wyrmdoom Crag, surrounded by the rough warmth of clan and kin. Her mother wrapped her in thick furs while her father stood watch at the entrance, spear in hand, eyes scanning the horizon for threats that might dare approach. They named her Lerra. It was a strong name. A walker’s name. A name meant for paths not yet taken. Her parents belonged to one of the smaller Goliath clans of the Crag—resilient, close-knit, known more for craftsmanship and scouting than brute force. They traced their ancestry through frost and stone giants, like most of their people, but somewhere far back in their lineage lay that forgotten fire. It was dormant. Lerra’s infancy showed nothing unusual beyond the hardy constitution common to Goliath children. She slept through storms. She cried only when hungry. Her skin was pale even by Goliath standards, almost gray in certain light, and her eyes held a strange silvery sheen that elders sometimes remarked upon with quiet curiosity. Then came the raid. No warning horns sounded. No scouts returned with urgent news. The attack came at dawn, when fatigue still clung to muscles and minds alike. A rival band—whether Goliaths driven by desperation or something darker, history would never record—descended upon the settlement with ruthless efficiency. Blades flashed. Tents burned. Stone rang beneath the impact of heavy boots. Lerra’s parents fought. They fought with everything they had. Her father held the narrow approach between two rock faces long enough for several families to flee, his spear breaking beneath the weight of attackers before he finally fell. Her mother joined the defense after securing Lerra in the care of one of the clan’s elder women—the tent mother who oversaw the youngest children. The tent mothers gathered what infants they could and ran. They did not make it far. Overtaken by raiders, they were bound and dragged from the Crag. Some were slain along the way. Others were separated, scattered like seeds cast into frozen soil. Lerra was barely aware of any of it. She knew only cold, movement, and the fading echo of voices she would never hear again. Eventually, somewhere along the endless expanse of Icewind Dale, she was left behind. Whether she was abandoned deliberately or lost during chaos would never be known. She lay wrapped in furs near the edge of a frozen treeline, crying weakly into the white emptiness. And there she was found. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Two – Child of the Wolf The Wolf Tribe did not leave children to die. That was their way. They were Reghed nomads, moving with the seasons across Icewind Dale, following game, avoiding the worst storms, honoring ancient traditions passed down through countless winters. They were hunters, trackers, and survivors, bound not by stone halls but by shared hardship. When one of their scouts heard the faint cries and brought the infant back to camp, there was little debate. She would be raised among them. They named her Lerra after the scrap of cloth tied around her bundle, on which her birth name had been stitched in rough Goliath script. From her earliest memories, Lerra knew snow and wind. She learned to walk on uneven ice. She learned to recognize wolf tracks before she could read. She learned that warmth was precious, food was never guaranteed, and strength was something earned every day. The Wolf Tribe did not coddle their children, but neither were they cruel. Lerra was taught alongside the others—how to set snares, how to skin game, how to respect the spirits of the land. She learned to throw spears and wield knives, to climb frozen rock faces and cross rivers on unstable ice. Yet she always felt apart. Her body grew tall and powerful like the other Goliaths of the tribe, but her features marked her as different. Her skin carried a strange ash-gray tone. Her eyes reflected light like polished metal. And sometimes, when she was angry or afraid, she felt warmth bloom beneath her ribs, as if a coal had been stirred in her chest. The elders noticed. They spoke quietly among themselves, attributing it to odd blood or the touch of wandering spirits. Some treated her with wary respect. Others kept their distance. Children can be cruel without meaning to be. Lerra heard whispers. Felt eyes on her back. She learned early not to show hurt, not to ask questions that made others uncomfortable. She trained harder than anyone else, pushing herself until her muscles screamed and her lungs burned. If she could not belong by blood, she would belong by effort. She became an exceptional hunter. She learned the craft of weapons and armor, assisting the tribe’s smiths when they traded with settlements or passed near Ironmaster. Metal felt natural in her hands. She understood how it moved under hammer and heat, how it wanted to be shaped. The Wolf Tribe taught her discipline. The wild taught her endurance. But neither answered the question that lived quietly in her heart. Who am I? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Three – The Fire Beneath the Snow As Lerra grew into adulthood, the fire within her became harder to ignore. It never manifested as uncontrolled flame or blazing aura. It was subtler than that. Her body resisted cold in ways that defied explanation. Exhaustion left her more slowly than it should have. In moments of battle, when adrenaline surged, her strikes carried unnatural force. Once, during a brutal winter hunt, she fell through thin ice into freezing water. By all rights, she should have lost consciousness within moments. Instead, she climbed out under her own power, teeth clenched, steam rising faintly from her skin. That night, as she sat by the fire wrapped in blankets, she stared into the flames and felt something inside her answer their call. She did not speak of it. The Wolf Tribe valued strength, but they feared what they did not understand. Lerra learned to keep parts of herself hidden. She carved runes into her armor—not magic at first, merely symbols of protection and connection to the spirits of land and beast. Over time, however, those markings seemed to deepen, dark lines etching themselves faintly into her skin as if echoing the patterns she wore. She bore scars proudly. Bite marks from wolves she had faced in ritual trials. Long cuts from battles against tundra beasts. A slash across her lips that healed into a permanent line, giving her smile a sharp edge. Later, a brutal strike would leave one of her eyes pale and silvery-white, though her vision remained strangely unharmed. Each scar became part of her story. Yet the sense of displacement never faded. She respected the Wolf Tribe. She honored their ways. But she began to understand that she was walking someone else’s path. And so, when she finally chose to leave, it was not in anger. It was in clarity. She stood before the elders beneath a gray sky and told them she needed to find her origin. Not to abandon the Wolf—but to understand the fire that did not belong to snow. They did not stop her. Some clasped her forearms in farewell. Others merely nodded. She departed with her glaive on her back and questions in her heart. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Four – The Wanderer Lerra’s years of wandering hardened her. She crossed Icewind Dale from end to end, traveled through Ten-Towns, and followed rumors of Goliath settlements into the Spine of the World. She worked as a guard, a hunter, a caravan escort. She fought raiders, monsters, and creatures that crawled from frozen caves. She learned the ways of cities and the dangers of trust. Some people helped her. Others tried to exploit her strength. She took what work she could find and kept moving. Her glaive became her constant companion—a strange weapon forged from dark metal, its central blade capable of shifting slightly as if alive, an inset gem dull and unreadable. She had acquired it from a traveling smith who claimed its design originated in forgotten giant forges. At the opposite end of the shaft, a metal ring served both balance and brutal close-range strikes. The weapon suited her. It felt like an extension of herself. She followed fragments of information about Wyrmdoom Crag, but answers remained elusive. Many she spoke to had never heard of it. Others warned her away, speaking of dangerous passes and hostile clans. Still, she persisted. Her path eventually crossed with a small band of adventurers—strangers brought together by circumstance and coin. They took on a contract together, then another. Lerra did not grow close to them, but she respected their competence. It was with them that she faced her first true defeat. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter Five – Death The details blurred afterward. She remembered battle. She remembered pain. She remembered falling. And then she remembered darkness. Not empty darkness—but a vast, quiet space where sound seemed distant and weight no longer existed. She walked along a shadowed path toward a towering gate of black stone. Before she could reach it, a spear of living flame appeared across her way. The heat did not burn. It comforted. A presence filled the space around her—vast and powerful, yet gentle in its attention. A voice spoke, layered with warmth and command. “My child. Your time has not yet come.” Lerra tried to answer, but no sound left her. “You are needed still. There are paths unfinished, truths yet buried in frost and ash.” The spear touched her forehead. Fire flowed into her. Not destructive fire—but forging fire. Purposeful. She felt herself pulled backward, away from the gate, away from the silence. Chapter Six – Awakening She woke on a stone bier. Her body felt heavy, unfamiliar. The air smelled of incense and cold iron. She lay in a mortuary hall, her gear placed neatly beside her. Around her were three other bodies—her fallen companions from the battle. Memory returned slowly. She sat up, breathing hard. A rune burned faintly on her palm. She knew, with absolute certainty, that she had died. And that something—someone—had sent her back. She did not linger. Voices approached, echoing down the hall. Lerra slipped into shadow, waiting until the mourners passed, then fled into the night. She took shelter in a derelict storage hut on the edge of the city, tending to her wounds and examining herself in a basin of water. She looked younger. The deep lines of exhaustion she had carried were gone. Some scars remained. Her eye was pale and strange. But her body felt renewed. She whispered a quiet thanks to the unseen. Then she slept. Epilogue – Frost and Flame Lerra Bravewalker walks the world now with new purpose. She no longer seeks only her origins. She seeks understanding. The fire in her blood is no longer a mystery—it is a legacy, awakened by divine will. Her goddess watches over her with the stern care of a warrior-mother, guiding her not with gentle whispers but with trials and survival. Lerra carries the Wolf within her still. She carries the forge within her as well. Between frost and flame, she walks her own path. And whatever waits at Wyrmdoom Crag will one day have to face her. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------