Mystic (3.5e Prestige Class)

Mystic
"I am the whisper carried on the wind, I am the mist in the night, I am the eyes gleaming in the dark, but above all, I am here."

Mystics are spellcasters who have focused their minds unto a certaint way of thinking, turning themselves inward into potent forces of magic. There are 9 ways of thinking that a mystic can follow, and each is best represented as a paticular object, the book, the chalice, the chain, the coin, the key, the mask, the mirror, the orb, and the ring. Each path presents different gifts to the mystic, but no one path can be truely called the "correct" path.

Playing a Mystic
Combat: Mystics are magnificently powerful spellcasters who have it within their power to alter the flow of battle in a single moment. In battle Mystics rarely involve themselves in close range battle, instead choosing to stand away from danger and manipulate the battlefield with arcane energies.

Advancement: Mystics most often try to further their understanding of magic after a time, often taking levels in loremaster or archmage at one point or another. Though certaint mystics may also be drawn to other classes, a mystic of the mask may seek to take levels in rogue for example.

Resources: Mystic do not often organize into groups, instead choosing to watch the world and deepen their understanding in solitude. If the situation arrises that mystics do in fact organize into a larger group, then this group is often treated with respect and sometimes even fear, for an organized group of mystics is bound to be terrifyingly powerful.

Mystics in the World
"This world is a wilderness that only the wise can map."

Mystics are most often people who are renown for their prowess, yet who seek to live by themselves. Mystics tend to be hard to find and unwilling to help if they are found, instead wanting to remain alone and watch the world from afar. Of course there are also Mystics who are the exact opposite, yet exceedingly odd, sometimes following people around and offering help at the most inordinate moments, other times skipping through a forest full of dangerous creatures. These mystics are strangely still hard to find, yet much more willing to help.

NPC Reactions: When an NPC encounters a mystic for the first time, they probably will not react differently than they would to any other member of the mystics race, seeing as being a mystic does not actually change the beings physical appearance. But when an NPC discovers the power a mystic holds, they may react in any number of ways, apprehension, fear, skeptism, or maybe even indifference.

Mystic Lore
Characters with ranks in Knowledge (Arcana) can research mystics to learn more about them. When a character makes a skill check, read or paraphrase the following, including information from lower DCs.

Mystics in the Game
Mystics are often mysterious strangers who speak in riddles and lend help to the party at certaint crossroads. The intentions of a mystics are rarely ever revealed, and if they are, then are even more rarely understood. PC's who take levels in mystic start to become distant from the other members of their party and begin to find themselves thinking about the world more as they progress down a certaint path of the mystic, until eventually new power awakens within them, and they realize something about the world around them. PC mystics do not necessarily change their standing in the world when they become mystics, but their personality will undoubtedly change.

Adaptation: Mystics are highly adaptable characters, a mystic could be the wizened hermit living deep living within a series of ancient, abandoned, dwarven tunnels that the players must seek out. A mystic could also be the cloaked and hooded figure that appears in the streets of a city a week before it falls. A mystic could even be the secret adviser to the king of a hidden nation. Mystics can truly be molded to fit any story or situation.

Sample NPC: Tural Remiel was once a young child. He lived with his grandmother in the largest house in the town where he grew up, and he didn't care for anything but his grandmother, his friends, and his toys. But then something changed one day, the sky bled. A lot of people left, they said it was an evil omen, but not Turals grandmother, she said that that town was her home, that she wouldn't leave even if the world shook her house to the ground. So Tural and his grandmother stayed, none of Turals friends were left behind, so Tural talked with his grandmother most of the time, she talked about odd things lately, preparations, dark things, sometimes she'd be quite and tell Tural that she loved him, other times she'd tell him stories of when she was younger. A year passed, and then Turals grandmother told him to lock himself in the pantry on the ground floor, and to not leave it until everything was quite, no matter what he heard, not until it was quite. He wanted to ask why, but he knew better, not when she had that tone in her vioce. He locked hismelf in the pantry and sat down in the corner, he heard the world around him, the house creaking, the whispering of the wind, and he heard his grandmother climb up the steps to the second floor, straight up to the window that she always stared out of, directly above him. He heard her unfurl a scroll, and at the same time a distant sound, like thunder, but only anrgy, he heard his grandmother shout out to the world in some odd language, heard the thunder sweep forward into the town. The world outside went black, no light entered through the cracks in the walls, the house creaked as hellish winds crashed through the world around it, Tural still thought he could hear his grandmother shouting in that strange language, then there were sounds like cannon blasts and wood splintered, then something changed, his grandmothers vioce wasn't a vioce anymore, it was a roar, that drowned out all other sounds and made the world tremble around the edges. Then the light was back, and the sounds were gone. Tural sat there terrified for a few moments, afraid to move, but then a single drop of blood hit his forehead, and he looked up, blood was falling from the ceiling, just like when the sky had bled, Tural rushed out of the room and ran up to his grandmother, barely registering that half of the building was gone, blown backwards a few hundred feet, he just wanted his grandmother to be all right. She wasn't, her body was white, and there was a hole in her chest the size of a fist, blood was still pouring out of the wound, and her eyes starred blankly forward, but, strangely enough, she was smiling. Tural fell to his knees, tears running out of his eyes, eyes that wouldn't look away from what they saw. He knelt there a while, until his neighbor, Mr. Wisp, who had decided to stay with the town too, came up to the building, shouting out Tural and his grandmothers name, then he found Tural, kneeling there, weeping, and he picked him up. Tural didn't remember much after that, only bits and pieces of different years and journeys, but to this day, Tural hasn't spent a single day where he didn't stop and remember his grandmother, the way she died, the smile on her face after she died, and he has come to the conclusion that, whatever she was doing, she had succeeded, and this thought has helped calm his spirit.

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