Soul of Cinder (5e Creature)
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Soul of Cinder
Large undead, neutral
Saving Throws Dexterity, Strength
First Flame Awakening. Upon death, the Soul of Cinder stands one last time for battle, regaining half of its original health pool and gains the following new actions.
First Flame Great Sword In the First Flame Awakening, The Soul of Cinder now makes a strike with the First Flame Great Sword dealing 1d12 slashing damage and 4d12 fire damage.
Fury of the First Lord In the First Flame Awakening, The Soul of Cinder calls upon it's lost memories and begins a savage 5 hit attack. Any creature within 15 ft must make an acrobatics saving throw of 24 or higher or take 5d10 slashing damage and 5d12 fire damage before being knocked back 10ft and set on fire.
Back flip Strike. The Soul of Cinder performs an acrobatics check. On a successful save the Soul of Cinder deals 1d8 bludgeoning damage and moves back 5 ft. This movement does not trigger an attack of opportunity.
Coiled Sword Strike. The Soul of Cinder makes a strike with it's Coiled Sword dealing 1d10 bludgeoning damage and 8d4 fire damage
Soul Wave. The Soul of Cinder takes a full turn to charge a Soul Wave and marks a target. That target then must make a dexterity check of DC 19. The target then takes 12d6 damage or half as much on a successful save
Coiled Sword Spear. The Soul of Cinder transforms his sword into a spear making a swipe with it. Any target within 5ft takes 1d10 piercing damage and 5d12 fire damage.
Poison Cloud. The Soul of Cinder summons a toxic cloud in a 10 ft radius around it's self. Any target beginning their turn in the cloud must make a Constitution save of 25 or take 4d8 poison damage.
The memories have long been forgotten and have faded with the passing of time, the once sturdy armour you wear has already fallen into disrepair and blackened by immolation from the flames, as for your trusty weapons, they have been marred by age, remaining both unused and unremembered by your side, yet despite all this, you feel as though they have never failed you, and that, in all their years, never have they betrayed you when times were tough and the stakes were dire, that they will fight with you until the very end.
That is the only thing you are sure of, for everything else seems distant and dreamlike, something from a past long ago, a past that belonged to someone else, perhaps a brave hero remembered for their valiant deeds and actions, perhaps an unknown stranger who took it upon themself to do what no others would or could do, you don't remember.
These thoughts drift through your ever-crumbling mind, and all the while disquiet and mental unrest looms ever closer, will these thoughts, will these possessions that once occupied another person's thoughts, in another age, in another time, even be of significance to you?
The end approaches now, you see the figure coming through the fog-filled archway facing the place you have waited and pondered all this time, they are here for something, they are here to meet you, for no one has visited this place for several lifetimes.
They draw their weapon, it is of an unusual design, as is their garments, but no matter, they are here to fight, for whatever reason, you no longer remember nor do you care, the answers have long lost their importance.
As they walk toward you with their guard up in a readied stance, their face filled with equal amounts of awe and defiance, you try to stand, it takes several long minutes, your armour clatters together as you shake off the thick layer of ash that has covered you for as longer than you can fathom.
You draw your weapon, it creaks and groans like an old beast nearing the end of its life, you try to flourish it, the movements embedded into your body, but your grip fails you, it has been too long since you last wielded it, the weapon falls to the ground weakly, for a long time you stare at it, trying to remember from whence it came from, out of the corner of your vision you see the figure relax and walks calmly, confidently towards you. Still looking at the ground, you await the your inevitable fate.
They pick up the dropped weapon, testing its weight, you look up in surprise, grasping your hand, they place the weapon in your palm, you try to find the words to express your thanks, however having not spoken for so long you only manage a raspy groan, already the figure is taking their position a distance away, once again getting ready to fight you.
Now armed, you call up the last vestiges of strength in your body, the final traces of concentration and sanity to aid you in this battle, now blazing with old energies, you charge stone-faced towards your opponent, and they to you.