Kontar

Kontar was my first D&D character. As a result of that and my rather young age, he was modeled a little bit on Raistlin Majere of Dragonlance fame (except, y'know, not evil). The campaign required players to make two characters, and turned out to be an extremely Monty Haul Campaign. This was all the way back in 1st Edition, but he did get translated (and somewhat made a bit more sane) to 2nd Edition for a different Grayhawk campaign and saw some later play.

Kontar
Basic Information
Aliases	The Pale One
Home	Hommlet
Gender	Male
Race	Human
Occupation	Historian, Magician
Known language(s)	Elvish, Dwarvish, Orcish, Common, Ancient Suloise
Rules Information
2nd Edition Statistics Alignment Neutral Good Class 8th Level Wizard Strength 14 Dexterity 17 Constitution 14 Intelligence 18 Wisdom 18 Charisma 14 HP 46

Description

A tall man, black haired with chalk white skin and black eyes-without whites or color to irises. His robes appear to be a tattered grey, but when out to impress, Kontar lets it appear in its true form, a brilliant white robe fit for any archmage.

Personality

Kontar is a rather wise man. He is respected by all who know him at this point. He is one of the few people in Oerth who could be called a genuinely good person. At the same time, however, he has a capacity for vengeance that can border on the truly creative.

Kontar is prone to conversation with his familiar, Ralfonsus. Ralfonsus is disrespectful, sarcastic, sharp-tongued, and generally witty. Since Ralfonsus speaks telepathically, Kontar sometimes speaks back out loud, and sometimes in kind.

Kontar has thus far been true to the augury. It has more to do with his lack of desire more than any force holding him back. His wisdom, which would have qualified him as a powerful cleric, has often proven to be a far greater power than his magic.

While his appearance disquiets many, his charisma and skill at social conversation have given him a good reputation in the region. He is prone to using phrases in different languages-such as using orcish for many swear words and curses. He speaks with a natural eloquence, and one could almost see the soul of a poet within him.

Abilities

Weapon Proficiencies: Specializations: Dagger, sling

Nonweapon Proficiencies: Spellcraft, religion, animal handling, artistic ability: sketchwork, etiquette, riding: land based, reading/writing, Elvish, Dwarvish, Orcish, Ancient Languages(written and spoken Suloise)

Possessions

Equipment: Four daggers; sling

Magic Items: Dagger +1; Ring of Wizardry, third level spells; white robe of the archmagi; crystal ball, w/ clairaudience

History

The following are excerpts from Kontar's personal journals. As a historian, he was keenly aware that even his own life could have a profound impact on the shape of things to come.

Entry One

My name is Kontar. I am occasionally called Warlock of Hommlet, though that is a far too sinister name to be called on a daily basis. Especially since I am, in truth, not a very sinister person. I am also referred to as the Pale One, though the reasons for that are far more obvious to those who look upon me.

I am a man of many talents. For the most part, I am a magician. I have yet to attain the rank of wizard, as of yet, but I am convinced that my time will come. I do still have a considerable amount of mystic might on my side. I am also a historian-as might be inferred from merely reading this journal. I am multilingual, which has impressed man and even goblin alike. But I suppose I enjoy the title Counselor best-for I try to see beyond violence and impulse, and see what is hidden in things.

Read this well, for though I believe my life is little import in the great pond of the multiverse, I like to believe that I have made my own ripples. I have no way of knowing if this journal will even survive my own death, considering the violence accompanied by my profession. But as I mentioned, I am a historian.

My story begins on the world of Oerth; if it seems odd that I point this out, I must add that I have no way of knowing where this journal will come to rest. Perhaps it shall be found on other worlds, of which I have heard in many travels. Oerth is the home of the Circle of Eight (now reduced).

I was born in the Flanaess, in a village called Hommlet. My father was Erakson, a priest of St. Cuthbert, a deity of wisdom and goodness. My mother was Wylana, a weaver. Neither were adventurers, just ordinary people. I have no siblings. They had high hopes for me, and at the age of eight, they had an augury cast, to see what my future would hold.

They were less than pleased at the scrying. I am told that it predicted that I would always be on the fringes of great events. I would meet great people, live in great times, and even possibly become great in my own personal might. But I was never to be a main player in this game we call life. I would only be able to lend my power, learning, and wisdom to those who were.

Insult was added to injury a month later. A mage named Arstantauth took a dislike to my attitude. I recall making comments on the pitiful nature of mere magic against the vast might of the gods. The mage, being decidedly unamused, put a curse upon me. The curse changed my appearance to its present form. My parents did not take it well. They attempted to remove the curse, but to no avail. But I learned from it. Specifically, I learned of the power of mortal magic, and vowed to learn it myself.

I often wonder what would have occurred if I had never met Arstantauth. I suspect I would have taken up priestly duties, and even become a cleric, powerful in holiness. But the curse set my feet upon the path of magic, and I would never again be the same.

For several years, I studied under the tutelage of the Great and Powerful Cardoon. I learned much from him in that time, and I was grieved to eventually see him die of heart failure. His heart had burst attempting to cast a spell of a level beyond his ability-to this day, I know not what, but I do know it could not have been beyond the fourth order of magnitude. After years of study, I was ready for 'adventure'.

And what an adventure it was. My first act was to summon magical aid for myself; my companion, Ralfonsus, answered my call, and has been with me ever since. The next was to join a group of would-be heroes. One, a half-orc assassin, had even killed Arstantauth! Some of the spoils he deemed useless, but I took a tattered grey robe, and a dagger with ornate runes upon it.

I later learned of the robe's true power-one of the archmagi! I suspect the evil one attempted to create a black robe, and failed, thus creating a powerful artifact of good. Only recently have I been able to take advantage of the true might of the robe.

As we continued, we cleansed a dark Temple of Elemental Evil, and dispatched a demon called Zuggtmoy. At this point, I discovered an eerie ability to sense magical aura-specifically around spellcasters who could access Fifth Order spells. Unfortunately, it is unreliable, only granting me glimpses at random intervals.

I suspect I will also radiate such an aura, when I reach that point.

I soon left the party, and set up shop in Arstantauth's tower. I claimed twenty one spellbooks there-many were blank, but some had the spells I craved. And Arstantauth, fool that he was, left a ring hidden under a shelf, instead of on his finger where it would have done him great good. For the ring increased the amount of spells that a mind may contain.

For about two years after that, I attempted to set up a college of magic in Hommlet, hoping to teach what I had learned. I knew I could do a better job at it than Cardoon. But due to some side adventures for fund raising purposes, I drew the wrath of drow and slavers alike. I gained a powerful crystal ball in the process, but was forced to shelve my plans for the college for the immediate future.

Now, I have heard of the great battles that rage across Oerth, and of the treachery in the Circle of Eight. I wonder if events are beginning to stretch out here, to Hommlet. I may be called upon to use my magic to aid one side or another.

If so, I do not know what I will do.

Entry Eight

As I read my first entry, I am amazed at my own ability at prophecy. Just two weeks ago now, forces from Pomarj came to Hommlet and attacked it. I was unable to save the village, and only barely able to escape with my life, and my most potent magics-and this journal.

Damn them! Within the tower they have looted was the monies to be used to open the Academy! Even though my rage has dimmed somewhat, I still burn with anger for what they have done to Hommlet. My greatest dream has been at least postponed by that.

Following my escape, my life was saved by a half-elven champion of Pelor, Galan Kane Daystar. We made our way to Greyhawk city, in time to partially witness Rary's treachery, and attempt to destroy the meeting of the treaty. Thus, I found myself meeting many of the remains of the Circle, and began working for Jallarzi Sallavarian.

This was the lowest point of my life. Doing drudgery for the more powerful. Admittedly, that's what the augury had always seemed to point to, but I always thought it would be a bit more meaningful than this! But salvation came in an unexpected manner.

On Jallarzi's request, I rejoined Galan, in a mission for his faith. A party of heroes had gone to attempt to discover the plots of Rary, and had disappeared. Evidence came to light that they had been captured, and not killed. We were to rescue them from their mountainous prison. I did not require much persuasion to agree.

As we arrived at the location that Galan had been told of, we were attacked by perytons, which we dispatched quickly. But freak chance alerted the enemy within the mountain, and we were forced to deal with several types of undead, magical constructs, and quasits from the lower planes. We two managed to triumph over these creatures, and faced down the priest Gaylor.

Curiously, it was at this point where I first learned that there was a magical resistance aura about my robe. It is obviously very weak, but it is useful to know. For it was this enchantment that kept the power of my own lightning bolt from further injuring me. If ever I doubted the dedication to good that this robe had, I do so no longer.

Gaylor was defeated, and we learned of the hidden home of Rary the traitor. After acquiring the spoils of war, in addition to freeing the surviving members of the party, we returned without incident to Greyhawk city. We informed the leaders of our discoveries.

The next moments are burned into my memory. An image of Rary appeared, taunted us, and set a delayed firedisk (as I call it) in our midst. We were lucky-we found cover before the flame struck, but it left several buildings shattered, and hundreds dead. I am convinced that Rary is a murderer of the greatest degree, and must be stopped.

I did not think, however, we would be required to beard the devil in his lair. Galan and I were asked to go into the Bright Desert, and investigate. His plans were unknown, so we were to gather a party and find out what was going on. We decided to call it a day, and we retired to an inn.

I firmly believed that this was another one of those great events that I am to forever be on the fringes of. I accompany a champion of Pelor, and I suspect that it is upon him that this journey hinges. For now, I must put aside any dreams of a magical academy, and instead work to defend Greyhawk from the evil of Rary.

Rumors and Legends

What is known is that the journey to the Bright Desert ended in disaster, but Kontar managed to survive. There are tales that he returned to Hommlet, bereft of spellbooks, but able to recover his library there. There was talk of an encounter in Verbobonc with a sorceress in a pyrotechnic display before vanishing through a magic portal.

Other tales pick up where Kontar was seen in the Sigil,the City of Doors, and they say that he became a planewalker at that point. His enduring legacy is a college of magicians that revere him as its founder.

Trivia

Kontar was, as indicated above, one of the two characters made for that campaign. The other was a fighter/assassin named Torg.