Alkorahil de Behaumis

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Kalashtar Paladin: The reincarnated, thinking warrior of the god of knowledge

Arms_Roger_de_Lacy.pngSir Alkorahil de Behaumis is a level 18 Kalashtar Paladin of Oghma.

Quotes:
“I remember reading that somewhere, or was it that I was there?”
“Reality is…..hazy sometimes.”
“Hold up! Let me write all this down.”
“I am ready. I think.”
“I think I have one in my backpack.”
“Just don’t tell the Minotaur.”
“I can handle that thing.”
“Piousness can take on many forms.”
“In a place like this, it is a miracle that miracles even happen.”
“There are old heroes and there are bold heroes, but there are very few old, bold heroes.”
“I have been dead before.”
“It is difficult to discuss death without a common frame of reference.”
“Death is an enlightening experience I do not hesitate to recommend.”
“All sunshine makes a desert.”
“The word “impossible,” is only found in the dictionary of fools."
“Some cause must have created all this, but what caused that cause?”
“A wolf remains a wolf, even if it has not eaten your sheep.”
“A pint can not hold a quart. If it holds the pint is doing the best it can.”
“Rashness is the characteristic of youth, prudence that of mellowed age, and discretion the better part of valor.”
“I do seem to remember a process where you people ask me questions and I give you answers, and then I ask you questions and you give me answers, and that’s the way we find out things. I think I read that in a book somewhere.”
“Look at us and tell me what practical is.”
“Never interrupt an enemy when he’s making a mistake, that’s bad manners.

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Sir Alkorahil de Behaumis is a level 19 Kalashtar Paladin of Oghma.

Sir Alkorahil de Behaumis (Quori name: Nevikhad) is a Kalashar Paladin of Oghma. He is of average weight and build; not huge and strong as most paladins are. Being a Kalashar he appears at first to be human, though careful observation of his movements and stoic observation of others will hint at his true nature as will his cold grey eyes that seem to stare though you. Alkorahil generally tries to appear, dress and pass himself off as human in order to avoid attracting any unwanted attention to himself and blend in with the predominant human population. He has kept his Quori name to himself and very rarely uses it. Not even the closest party members he has been travelling with the past few years know that name.

Alkorahil did not start out as a paladin or a follower of Oghma, but came to it later on. He started as researching and looking for the answers to himself and the fate of his people and a way to save them. Alkorahil realized that Oghma could be a way to answer those questions and pledged to serve in hopes of discovering some answers, thus serving both interests.
With his Quori background, Alkorahil finds his dreams and the dreams of others to be fascinating to listen to. He is also always wary of the Quori, and always sensitive to anything related to them. Like other Kalashtar, he is fearful of the Quori and their dreaming dark but believes they can be overcome with time, study and patience.

Alkorahil is ethically and morally unaligned though he tends towards good. His view is that there is good and bad in the world and such things can come from any action, but knowledge can be gained from either.
Though not opposed to deception when it furthers a cause, as a personal code of conduct he does believe in keeping his own word when given, as lies are a form of misinformation. However he is very careful about giving such promises.
He also believes that the ends can sometimes justify the means and that one must be open to all possibilities.
Though not afraid of a fight, he prefers brains over brawn and believes that diplomacy or careful thought can also yield the desired results. He also suffers from a small latent streak of vanity from his earlier days that can manifest itself from time to time.

As a Kalashtar he has some racially inherent mental powers and skills that he has been working on further training and expanding. He understands that other races such as humans find telepathy unsettling and intrusive, and he generally uses it only when the adventuring company he is with is in dire straits or when the recipients of the communication are receptive. He is also very aware that it might give him away as a Kalashtar or that he might be mistaken for some sort of psion or coming from the Outer Realm.

Alkorahil’s dual soul, death and rebirth in a new body from his god along with the years of reading books, tomes and scrolls has caused him often times to become confused about what is real, or was real and what was not. He often feels that he knows something, or at least thinks he at one time did know it, but the memories are fuzzy or not at all accurate. This makes him out to be a little bit of an eccentric to others.

When deep in thought he is almost in a trance-like state. He also values peace and quiet and will mediate to center himself and sort out his thoughts. He finds other people and their actions fascinating to observe, trying to figure them out.
As a follower of Oghma, he has a deep love of books and maps. In a town or tavern he will often listen to bards tell stories and tales, trying to pick up on any useful information or details.

After Alkorahil perished fighting the pirate, Mertrigan the Mad, his spirit dutifully reported to the House of Knowledge to record everything he had learned. Upon reading this report, Oghma the god of knowledge, was deeply disturbed, for he, a font of learning, had never heard of the entity known as Malrite. Oghma sent Alkorahil’s spirit back in a new body to investigate. Alkorahil woke in his new body with even more vague and distant memories just below the surface.

After being exposed to the spellfire, Alkorahil became an undead. At first the curious paladin found the new experience to be intriguing and interesting. Having been an undead now for over two months, Alkorahil finds he is now struggling to stay focused. He finds the state of being undead to be a little disturbing. Most importantly, he cannot sleep.


Alkorahil is fascinated by rituals and always observes and helps when he can. He particularly finds Bahardim Stonerender’s rune based powers to be particularly interesting. He also finds Bahardim Stonerender to be of a similar mind and view and considers him somewhat of a kindred soul.

Though totally different in nearly every way, Alkorahil considers Urlog to be a great friend, though this relationship is very lop sided at times and usually consists of Urlog playing on Alkorahil’s naivety to get Alkorahil to do something; something usually ethically questionable.

The other longtime party member that Alkorahil feels an attachment to is Draven Silentstep. Both of them come from compatible religious backgrounds and monastic life, and both have the an “axe to grind” against Malrite.

Though they have been adventuring companions for many years, Alkorahil finds he is often frustrated by the Minotaur Tsol Reven’s single mindedness and tendency to just rush in. He finds it difficult and baffling to always understand a minotaur’s way of thinking, but nonetheless recognizes Tsol’s skill and prowess in combat and considers the Minotaur a staunch ally.



The Tale of Alkorahil
Headaches, dreams, exhaustion and more headaches. The combination was enough to make anyone reel, Alkorahil de Beauhaumis thought, massaging his temple with one hand as he downed another cup of cool water mixed with caffer powder into his mouth with the other. Having emptied the cup again, he reached for the large decanter on the table next to him and poured another long drink, then silently began counting to thirty. Twenty –eight, twenty-nine, thirty then swallowed the bitter concoction. He put down the glass, lowered his head, and pressed his palms into his eyes and then waited.
After a little while, half an hour or so, the pain in his head eased. It did not ease as much as in the previous days, however not nearly at all. And he still felt some dizziness. Soon he would have to find another home remedy to use, increase the strength or make a visit to one of the local apothecaries for something else.
Alkorahil sat there at the table with his eyes closed, the curtains drawn over the windows in the room to block out the bright sunlight pouring in over the high east wall of the city. He had been here for over a year now, living as a warrior turned scholar. He listened and could hear the ocean in the distance beyond his window and the city walls. He wondered again about the headaches. He waited, thinking about the previous unsettling night. Then, as they had done before, the previous night’s dreams came back to him in a flood of visions.
As it had been before, the dream he experienced last night was exactly the same, and as before he could clearly see it play out in his conscious waking mind. But this was no dream as he had experienced before, being a Kalashtar he was well aware of dreams and the world of dreams. Dreams rarely repeat themselves in this same fashion, and with such detail and of course, there was that smell. It seemed to almost…linger in a haze, just a hint of it. The kind of smell you catch just a passing hint of, and then smell again and it is gone, but you are sure you smelled it. And as before, it was always the same thing he thought he had smelled. It smelled like faint distant roses. He was sure of that.
With these dreams and visons in his sleep, he had feared at first this was some new manifestation of the Dreaming Dark somehow creeping into this world and his dreams, but after several nights of this happening he dismissed that fear as unfounded. There was no entity or presence in this dream and he could sense no form of psychic contact either. As a Kalashtar, he was always on guard of the Dreaming Dark and the malevolent evil nightmares they caused hundreds of years ago. Though they would not ever tell you or talk about it, even among themselves, the Dreaming Dark was the one thing all Kalashtar truly feared, they feared it in the very souls. And Alkorahil too feared it.
In his mind he could see the outline of a building blanketed by white. From in front of him he could hear the faint sounds of what sounded like some sort of chanting; rhythmic and repeating over and over. In the dream he moved closer to the structure and as he did the building and its walls became much clearer. Looking down he could see that he was walking in snow, though he could not feel the cold on his skin, or feel anything for that matter. Arriving at the walls of the building he could see there was a large black door, but it was closed to him and he could not get in. From the building he could clearly now the chanting that was going on, though the language was unfamiliar to him.
“Enough of this, I am going to at least try to find out where this place I keep seeing is located. I am not getting anywhere enduring this night after night. Perhaps some old book in the library here would have something about this place I keep seeing. If I can find a reference and description that matches what I keep dreaming, maybe it will provide some sort of answer to this and an answer or the meaning to these dreams, if any.” The paladin stood up from where he was seated. As he did the room began to spin for a moment and he reached out to steady himself with one hand on the edge of the table, catching himself. As it had the times before, the moment quickly passed and he began to carefully make his way across the wooden floor slowly to the door of his room.
Into the narrow dimly lit hallway he made his way to the end and to the stone steps leading down below. He placed one foot in front of the other as he descended, making sure to keep to the sidewall just in case he felt the dizziness return again.
Shuffling though the piles of books, scrolls and manuscripts, Alkorahil began to look for a description or even a drawing of the building he had seen in his dream. “This could take some time.” he thought to himself. “At least you know it has snow around it, so it must either be in the north or in some mountains somewhere. “ He paged quickly through the first book he had in front of him. “Of course, you are assuming it is even in Faerun to begin with.” Not finding anything promising in the first book he started to sift through pages of loose parchment. Most of these were short essays, reports or page fragments of old books that had fallen apart. “Nothing here, no not this either.” He thought to himself as he flipped through them one at a time. “Hmmm, look at this, a treatise on the Sea of Stars during the spell-plague. That is interesting.” The paladin carefully opened up the desk drawer and put that particular parchment inside the desk so he could read it later.
It was getting late and the mental toll of continuously reading for hours upon hours was starting to show. All around him were piles of old scrolls laid out over opened and closed books. To his left, two different maps of Faerun he had pulled out for reference points. One book after another yielded no useful real information. “So many of these places I am reading about do not even exist anymore.” He was half way through another old tome that he had pulled from the library shelf earlier that day; he had been flipping casually one page at a time, glancing over the pages in front of him. Alkorahil put the quill pin he had been flipping through his fingers for the past hour down in the middle of his small leather-bound notebook, closed the notebook and put it to the side. The mental exhaustion was indeed filling his head as well as the physical drain on his body. As he leaned back and stretched his arms, he looked at the dark window to his room and it occurred to him that it was now well after sundown, and that meant he had not eaten all day. “Time tends to sneak by you when you are not paying attention to it. Better get some more candles in here lit, this might be a long night of reading.”
Reaching over to the desk drawer he pulled it opened and took two candles out of the desk. As he did he spied the page about the Sea of Stars again and was momentarily tempted to read it. “Stay on task it is getting late you know.” He then closed the desk drawer again, leaned forward and light the two candles off of the others sitting on the desk. As he lit them, the wax dripped on the books and pages haphazardly laid out on the desk. The falling wax caught his eye and he watched it slowly flow down the spine of a book he had previously pulled from the library that was bound in red leather. The faded title of the book caught his eye. Monastic Practices of Illmater. “Hmm, I have not looked at that one yet. Brushing off the pages and scrolls covering that book we picked the book up and inspected it, feeling the quality of the cover and the book’s weight. “That is some nice binding as well.” He thought as he ran his hand over the cover.
He put the book down on the desk, opened it and flipped to the next first casually. The first page had one simple inscription in the middle of the page. Penned by Bede the Blind. He stopped and thought for a brief moment trying to recall anything about this person, quickly determining that the name did not seem familiar. “Never heard of him before, I wonder if he really was blind. If he was blind, it is impressive that he wrote a whole book of this size.” As he flipped to the next page, he admired the artistic penmanship of the page before him. He skimmed over the page then the next, and the next again not finding anything promising. Then he flipped again and read the page heading, as he did he tried to contain his sudden excitement. “Now this looks promising, the Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Looking at the middle of the page he looked over the sketch of the referenced monastery. The illustration here is definitely the closest he had seen so far.” He thought to himself as he began to read line by line the description and entry that accompanied the illustration in front of him.
The tome pages before him stated that the Monastery of the Yellow Rose was a monastery dedicated to Ilmater. Also known as the Disciples of Saint Sollars, this solitary monastery of Ilmater worshipers in the Earthspur Mountains of Damara was known for loyalty to its allies and destruction to its enemies. Greatly respected on matters of truth and diplomacy, the monks work hard to survive in their harsh remote sanctuary. The monks often travel with Ilmataran paladins, particularly from the Order of the Golden Cup. From the peaks of the Earthspur Mountains, a frozen river of ice spills from a high cliff into Moonsea at one end and into Lake Icemelt between Impiltur and Damara at the other. The Glacier of the White Worm is named for the white remorhazes that roam it, often in herds of a dozen or more and reputedly led by a “king” worm of giant size. Adventurers tell of fleeing from snow spiders of gigantic size, or remorhazes whose heads were fringed with long, reaching tentacles. The glacier is also home to many lesser creatures. As to the glacier itself, old histories claim that this glacier was once part of the Great Glacier that covered all these lands. Modern sages warn of something sinister at work in or under this high ice. The glacier is too far south and at too low an altitude to persist without cold-based magic of great power, they suggest, and the safety of all Faerûn might hinge on learning who works such magic, and why – or at least learning the true nature and powers of the “white worms.”
Overlooking the glacier, built into the jagged side of one of the tallest peaks in the Earthspurs, is the Citadel of the White Worm. This sprawling fortress of balconies, windows, and turrets includes tunnels into the rock below it, plus endless rooms, passages, and catacombs of great age. The citadel is better known as the Monastery of the Yellow Rose, a holy house, of Ilmater. Monks here venerate the Suffering God make blueberry wine, keep extensive archives of the Bloodstone Lands, and preserve the work of the Ilmatari faithful in a spectacular museum of art and handiwork. The monks of the Yellow Rose also gather and record local news from Damara, Impiltur, Narfell, and Vaasa.
“Ilmater, well that is good at least.” He thought to himself “Much better than some demon worshiping cult at any rate.” Alkorahil stood up from the book covered desk picked up his longsword, as always its weight and balance felt well in his hands. He slung over his left shoulder and began to pace around the room back and forth while taking in what he had just read and trying to commit it to memory. Muttering to himself periodically he would pause then turn and start the pacing all over again. Eventually he came to a stop in the middle of his room. He hadn’t even realized he had stopped the pacing as he stood there deep in thought. Eventually he snapped out of it, realizing he had been at it for some time. Now thinking on it, he was not sure how long he had actually paced around like this, though he figured it must have been some time. “Not that it matters really”.
Walking across the room to the cluttered desk he had been working at previously he stopped to kneel down on one knee and began to sift through some of the maps lying on the floor. “Hmmm, this one I think” he thought to himself as he picked up a map case with a tab hanging off of it labeled ‘Central Faerun’. Sitting down on a nearby chair away from the desk, Alkorahil leaned back deep in thought, considering what he had just read while looking at the map in his hands. A course of action has beginning to form in his mind.
Despite spending some time lost in thought, contemplating all the scenarios and actions he could think of, he could only see two courses to follow; either continue enduring these dreams and visions night after night, which are intensifying and see what happens, or go to this monastery and see if there is a reason or clue to the meaning of the dreams and visions, if any. “You are free to choose, but you are not free from the consequences of your choice.” He thought.
Pulling the map from the dusty case, Alkorahil carefully unrolled it out on the table. Carefully he began to look over the map, pausing to admire its fine details and brilliant coloring. Impiltur, Damara, Glacier of the White Worm, Earthspur Mountains. In his mind he called out the names of places and geographic features near where he would soon be travelling. His finger traced lines over the various roads and routes he could take. Monastery of the Yellow Rose. Earthspur Mountains. Damara. The fact was that these places were far to the north of Procampur.
He then sighed to himself. “It would indeed be a long walk to this monastery from Procampur in the lands known as the Vast”, the paladin thought to himself. “It has been a long time since I left the Master’s Library in the Iron Mountain and came south to Procampur to be closer to other followers of Oghma. It is too easy to get caught up in the life or study here, for the past year I have been in my own form of self-imposed exile here in these walls. All things must come to an end, and endings are just beginnings. I read that somewhere I think.” He then looked down at his feet. “If I go I am going to need to get some new equipment, these boots I have on are definitely not the kind I would want to walk that far in.” He then walked to the corner of the room and pushed some blankets to the side revealing a wooden chest that had been covered up. He opened the chest up and looked inside at the contents. He began to smile slightly and felt a small thrill of excitement as his eyes darted over the items of the chest. Looking at them memories flooded his mind of his time before coming here. Each piece in the chest had been acquired or used at some point in adventures in the outside world; deserts, dark forests and dungeons, monsters that would make the average peasant farmer run in fear. Reaching inside he pulled out an old worn leather backpack, then more and more items he had kept. “All my old adventuring gear, I must admit I have missed it.”
Many weeks later he arrived at the village of Tomrav. Before heading into the mountains towards the location of the monastery he thought it best to take advantage of one last night of a decent meal and warm dry bed before heading out the next morning. “Such creature comforts tend to be rare in the wilderness; I wonder if there are any good story tellers or bards in these parts….but remember last time you were out like this you were in that village near the coast, what was it called? Remember you stayed up all night listening to him recite that long epic and did not get any sleep at all that night. Tempting as it is you are on your own here, maybe skip the tavern performers this time.”
Alkorahil stood back from the ornate doorway and looked up at it. All that could be heard was the sound of the wind. Standing there he became aware again of the cold chilly air around him. After several minutes of staring at the door and contemplating what to do, the paladin decided to walk the entire perimeter of the monastery to get a better idea of the building layout, and to see if there was more than one doorway to be found. “Perhaps there is an alternate way into this monastery, there usually is if one looks hard enough. Even a hidden passage or door for escape would be fine. A way out is also a way inside.” Alkorahil removed the glove from his right hand with consideration and then touched the stone outer wall of the monastery carefully feeling the cold tactile surface of the ancient weathered stones. Slowly he began to run his bare hand along the stone wall as he walked along slowly. As he walked he remarked to himself that the stone used must have been carefully selected for this locale as there were no cracks in the stone from the extreme cold this place experiences in the middle of winter. “I wonder if dwarves were consulted or a part of its construction.” He thought to himself. “Whoever it was, it is a testament to their engineering and fine choice of building materials.”
Suddenly the paladin felt as if he had been seized by an invisible force, and then came the pain. The pain tore through his head in a blinding, jaggedly excruciating white bolt that made him stagger back from the wall, his eyes wide and bulging, and his hands flying to his temples as if to keep them from blowing apart. Groaning and terrified, he propelled himself forward away from the wall. He could feel that he was falling, falling forward, but it was as if time was slowed, next came the inexorable thud in his ears and he realized he must have finally hit the ground. He was only partially aware that he was horizontal on the ground as his eyes finally gave up their own struggle and slowly lost focus. The last feeling he could remember was the feeling of the cool ground pressed on his cheek. Then came the blackness….

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Quotes:
“I remember reading that somewhere, or was it that I was there?”
“Reality is…..hazy sometimes.”
“Hold up! Let me write all this down.”
“I am ready. I think.”
“I think I have one in my backpack.”
“Just don’t tell the Minotaur.”
“I can handle that thing.”
“Piousness can take on many forms.”
“There are old heroes and there are bold heroes, but there are very few old, bold heroes.”
“I have been dead before.”
“It is difficult to discuss death without a common frame of reference.”
“Death is an enlightening experience I do not hesitate to recommend.”
“All sunshine makes a desert.”
“The word “impossible,” is only found in the dictionary of fools."
“Some cause must have created all this, but what caused that cause?”
“A wolf remains a wolf, even if it has not eaten your sheep.”
“A pint can not hold a quart. If it holds the pint is doing the best it can.”
“Rashness is the characteristic of youth, prudence that of mellowed age, and discretion the better part of valor.”
“I do seem to remember a process where you people ask me questions and I give you answers, and then I ask you questions and you give me answers, and that’s the way we find out things. I think I read that in a book somewhere.”
“Look at us and tell me what practical is.”
Never interrupt an enemy when he’s making a mistake, that’s bad manners.


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scroll.jpgDogma: Knowledge is most supreme, particularly in its raw form, the idea. An idea has no weight but can move mountains. It has no height but it can dominate a nation. It has no mass but it can push aside empires. Knowledge is the greatest tool of humankind, outweighing anything made by mortal hands. Before anything can exist, the idea must exist.

Knowledge is power, and must be used with care – but to hide it away from others is never a good thing. At least once within the passing of each moon, the clergy of Oghma should copy some information of import in written or inscribed form so that the records multiply and knowledge is not lost. Oghmanyte clergy are to stifle no new ideas, no matter how false or crazed they seem, but to let them be heard and considered freely. They must never slay a singer, nor stand by while others do so. They are to listen to new bards when they meet them and sponsor bards when they can.

A typical Oghmanyte charge to novices is: “Spread knowledge whenever it is prudent to do so. Keep no secrets for their own sake. Curb and deny falsehood, rumor, and deceitful accounts and histories whenever you encounter them. Write or copy some lore of value and give it away freely at least once a year. Hide some writings away while distributing others widely so that the written knowledge of Faerûn is larger when you leave life than when you entered it. Sponsor, assist, and teach minstrels, bards, scribes, and recordkeepers whenever you encounter them and perceive a need. Spread truth and knowledge throughout the Realms so that all folk may know more. Never deliver a message falsely or incompletely, but always just as you receive it. Teach any folk who ask how to read and write or as much of these crafts as time and tasks permit – and charge no fee for this teaching.”

Kalashtar look similar to humans, but their outward appearance masks an inner demeanor that is at once serene and wild—cerebral and mad. The kalashtar fled Dal Quor, the region of dreams, eighteen centuries ago and came to Eberron. Today, they are strangers in Khorvaire, seeking refuge from agents of the Dreaming Dark in temple-keeps in the mountains of Adar.Kalashtar.png

Play a Kalashtar if you want…
• to play a wise and contemplative character who is capable of momentary madness.
• to be a stranger in a strange land, where every place you visit is full of wonder.
• to be a fugitive on the run from enemies that could be anyone, anywhere.
• to be a member of a race that favors the bard, cleric, paladin, and warlock classes.

PHYSICAL QUALITIES
Kalashtar, which in Quori means “wandering dreams,” first came to Eberron 1,800 years ago. They came as a renegade group from Dal Quor that sought to escape religious and philosophical persecution. Agents of Dal Quor known as the Dreaming Dark hunted them until finally the group’s leader, Taratai, found an audacious way to escape Dal Quor. She convinced Adaran monks to accept a permanent fusion of their own souls with those of the renegade quori. From that synthesis came kalashtar, and as a result, kalashtar today look similar to the monks who served as the first willing vessels.
The monastery where the sixty-seven humans became kalashtar was a place of refuge, so the humans who lived there were diverse. Kalashtar have thus retained a diversity of appearance, possessing the same variety of skin, hair, and eye colors found among humans. They are usually slimmer and taller than humans, although short or stocky kalashtar exist.
Kalashtar physically develop at the same rate as humans do and have similar life spans. A kalashtar child passes for human at first glance, but a few minutes of observation reveals the key difference. All kalashtar have a manner that is graceful, serene, and serious because of the fragment of quori soul bound within them. While human children run, laugh, and play, kalashtar children engage in the same meditative exercises, martial training, and telepathic conversations as adult kalashtar. For a kalashtar, growing up is a physical process, not a mental or emotional one.

PLAYING A KALASHTAR
Most kalashtar remain in the temple-keeps of Adar, so any kalashtar traveling around Khorvaire probably has a good reason for doing so. A kalashtar might be driven by a desire to break the Riedran siege of Adar, or could be on the run from the Dreaming Dark.
The typical kalashtar is contemplative and serene. They are compassionate and friendly, but in a cerebral way. Perhaps due to the turmoil within their conjoined souls, kalashtar keep a tight rein on their emotions. A kalashtar demonstrates camaraderie with a wry grin and an offhand remark rather than with a backslap or a ribald joke.
The fragment of quori soul in a kalashtar recalls the escape from Dal Quor. Kalashtar on the run from the Dreaming Dark are wary, although they still try to maintain polite and kind behavior. Kalashtar struggle to integrate the thoughts and sensibilities of their human halves with the strange, intangible memories of their quori souls. Kalashtar flirt with madness. Occasionally, a Kalashtar’s serene countenance drops to reveal crazed and baffling behavior that is inappropriate or even dangerous.

Kalashtar Characteristics: Balanced, commanding, compassionate, contemplative, disciplined, graceful, insightful, intellectual, spiritual, thoughtful

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Alkorahil de Behaumis

HEROES OF IMPILTUR gimpboy0