William West

Once a hero, now a broken shell of a man, William West has the chance to rediscover all he's lost as the White Knight.


Str 14 (12 in normal form)
Con 14 (8 in normal form)
Dex 10 (6 in normal form)
Int 12 (8 normal)
Wis 12 (8 normal)
Cha 10

Attack: +2; 1d8 + 2

HP: 12
Ac: 16

Fort +2
Will +1
Ref +0

Speed: 30ft (5ft in normal form)
Initiative: +0

Climb: +4 (-10 in normal form)
Diplomacy: +5
Tumble: +0 (-10 in normal form)
Heal: +4
Appraise: +0
Balance: +0 (-10 in normal form)
Bluff: +2
Concentration: +2
Move Silently: +0
Hide: +0
Escape Artist: +0
Craft: +0 (-4 normal)
Disguise: +0
Handle Animal: +2
Intimidate: +2
Jump: +4 (-10 normal)
Open Lock: +0 (-10 normal)
Search: +2
Spot: +2
Listen: +2
Sense Motive: +2
Ride: +0 (-10 normal)
Sleight of Hand: +0 (-10 normal)
Survival: +2
Use Magic Device: +2
Use Rope: +0

Wonderland Breastplate (+4)
Heavy Steel Shield

Line of Duty – Adjacent allies get +1 AC. If an adjacent ally is hit with any attack, William may choose to take half their damage instead.


It has been five years since your life ended. Everything you think of now, everything that exists, exists only as an imprint of what once was. There is a badge on your wall- a badge that shines with honour and pride, for duty and law. But for you it is a shadow of a career that has long since fallen. It has been five years since you hung up that badge. Slowly, certainly, it has sunken into place; a symbol only of failure.

The bed where you sleep is a little too large for you. It is an imprint of a love long gone. Four years since your wife left you. She tried to stay. That’s what she said, anyway. You forgive her. You’re not sure why.

Three years since the court cleared his case. The man who shot you in the line of duty. You know it was him. You were sure of it. But no one else knew. No one else saw. And there just wasn’t enough to hold a twenty year old honours student with his whole life ahead of him. But you know the truth. And while he lives free, you have withered. The newspaper headline lies on your desk where it has for three years. It is an imprint, a sinking hole.

Two years since your last operation to remove a part of your skull. The bullet that passed into your head has left its curse on you. Your tissue swells and swells. It will not stop. The doctors gave you four years to live that day. They explained to you how the situation had changed. They called it a toxic cascade- it wasn’t just your motor cortex and memory that was damaged anymore. Damage was slowly spreading. You said you understood. They called you brave.

One year, and nothing has happened. You sit in silence and feel your brain die, but you hold on to your senses. You read what you can to keep your intelligence up. You practice your motor tasks. You talk with your nurse, who comes every second day. You don’t know why you don’t just give up. Maybe you don’t have it in you. Maybe you just aren’t built like that. Because maybe, just maybe- you’ll get a chance at glory again. One chance to feel the adrenaline again. That’s all you’d ever want.

William West

Said the Tortoise to the Dormouse DoctorKenneth