Fenix

Dawn of Others

Fire Ape CR: 1

Medium humanoid / zombie, unaligned
Armor Class: 15
Hit Points: 38 (5d8+7)
Speed: 30 Feet , climb: 20 Feet

STR

15 +2

DEX

16 +3

CON

12 +1

INT

3 -4

WIS

10 +0

CHA

10 +0

Saving Throws: VIG +5 and DEX +5
Damage Resistances: Fire
Damage Immunities: Own fire magic
Senses:

Senses Passive Perception 10

Languages: Zombie
Challenge Rating: 1 ( 200xp XP)
Proficiency Bonus: +2

Fire

Ranged Weapon Attack: +5 to hit 1d20+5, range 100/400 ft., one target. Hit: 5 1d6+3 fire damage.


VIGOR 16 and SANITY 10

Actions

Multiattack

Make two fire attacks.

Punch

Melee Weapon Attack: +4 to hit 1d20+4, one target. Hit: 4 1d4+2 bludgeoning damage.

Crouched amid the desolate remnants of a forgotten world, the creature is a haunting fusion of beast and mage, its simian features twisted by the burden of arcane power. Its fur, matted with soot and ash, bristles around sorrowful eyes that shimmer with a flickering light of fading hope. Wrapped in ragged, scavenged robes and bound with straps of leather and metal, it clings to the remnants of a lost purpose. Cradled in one hand is a flicker of fire, not wild and raging, but controlled—almost reverent—like a sacred memory of something purer. Its presence is unsettling yet magnetic, as if it has glimpsed truths no mind was meant to endure and carries that unbearable knowledge in its very posture, torn between wisdom and ruin.

Suggested Environments

Camp Hope area

Alignment
Unaligned
Species
Children
Pronouns
He/His/Him
Sex
Male
Gender
Male
Presentation
Male
Eyes
Black
Hair
Brown
Skin Tone/Pigmentation
Light Brown
Height
5' 6"
Weight
140#

History

Fenix was once a brilliant and ambitious arcanist, obsessed with understanding the Dark. Driven by a desire to harness its hidden truths, he isolated himself in the ruins of a forgotten museum, surrounding himself with decaying texts and feverish research. As his mind unraveled, he began crafting a new form of magic—powerful, beautiful, and deeply corrupted. The glowing liquid he conjured in the basin was his crowning achievement, a font of stolen knowledge drawn from the River that flows through the Dark. But the cost was his mind. In time, the whispers became screams, and Fenix lost the ability to tell dream from reality. When his sanity finally shattered, the magic he had bound to his flesh turned inward, hollowing him out and reshaping what remained. Now, Fenix lingers in the shadows as a twisted zombie, a husk of his former self, his once-great mind consumed by the very power he sought to master.


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