The Burning Man

9th level Straw Golem (Medium-sized Construct), Chaotic Neutral

2nd edition stats :
The Burning Man (straw golem): AC 11; MV 15; HD 9; hp 41; Str 18, Dex 20, Con 20, Int 6, Wis 9, Cha 4; # AT 2; Dmg 2d6/2d6; AL CN; SA Raven Flock; THAC0 11, Morale 20;

"Come this way, good people, and I promise you a show the likes of which you have never seen before!" A few of the carnival-goers stopped and regarded the barker; most just continued on, ignoring him; even those who stopped and looked seemed about to think the better of it.
Damn, the barker thought. Straight to the hard sell again.
"BURNED ALIVE!" he shouted with all of his considerable vocal might. Just about everyone in earshot stopped then, their interests suddenly peaked. The barker forced his rising grin to subside. He had them.
"That's right, in this very tent that stands behind me, a young man shall, in just a few moments, be burned alive, not for heresy, not for witchcraft, and not for some heinous crime, but merely for the entertainment of you, our valued patrons!" People began to enter the tent now, carefully dropping a few coppers each into the bucket held by the large, menacing doorman.
Others hesitated, and the barker continued his spiel.
"What kind of man could possibly agree to such a thing? Is he simple? Is he mad? Well, perhaps, but I can assure you that he has a far more compelling, mysterious reason than those.
The truth, ladies and gentleman, is that this man, this Burning Man," the barker pointed toward the placard behind him, depicting a humanoid figure shrouded in flames, with the title
"The Burning Man" in large letters at the top, "is a wicked, wicked soul the likes of which has rarely walked the earth." A few patrons murmured at this and joined the growing line to enter the tent. "So wicked, and so devious, that he outsmarted the very powers of Hell themselves. He sold them his soul, yes, his immortal soul, in return for complete, total and utter immunity to the hottest of flames. Thus, the lords of Hell gained that which would have been theirs anyway, and the Burning Man gained eternal protection from the worst punishment the Hells have to offer! Come inside and see him demonstrate his ill-gotten fiendish power!"
The line was now considerable, and the barker let his self-satisfied grin start to show.

The patrons filed into the large tent and began to seat themselves in the staggered benches lining the interior perimeter. The center of the tent was dominated by a huge square cage, its iron bars reaching nearly to the top of the tent. The top was open, but the bars stretched so high it could hardly have mattered. The cage had a single door, facing the back of the tent and swung wide open.
Three men stood in the center of the cage. Two appeared to be nothing more than typical carnival workers, one holding a jug and the other a lit torch. The third appeared to be even less, dressed in soiled clothing and wearing a large, tattered hat, and standing completely motionless. The patrons began to murmur; this was hardly an impressive beginning, and the bars of the cage made it somewhat difficult to see those inside.
The barker walked into the tent behind the last of the patrons, pulling the flap shut behind him and waving his hand as a signal. The jug-bearer began dousing the hat-wearing individual with liquid, and the torch-bearer took several large steps back. Workers around the tent perimeter shut the flaps that were meant to provide light, and the tent was suddenly draped in the shadows provided by the torchlight.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure, the Burning Man!" the barker shouted.
The jug-bearer began sprinting toward the cage door, while the torch-bearer took a deep breath, and tossed the torch at the now-dripping figure before turning and running himself. The figure in the center of the cage burst into flames as the torch touched him, and the crowd gasped. The torch-bearer dashed out of the cage and the jug-bearer locked it securely behind him, just as the Burning Man began to dance.
"Dance" wasn't exactly the proper word for it; rather, the Burning Man seemed to cavort around the interior of the cage, leaping and spinning and twirling in seeming ecstasy from the kiss of the flames, each leap leaving a tail of fire trailing behind him. His movements were characterized by an eerie, almost instinctual grace, wholly unlike that of a true dancer but rather more akin to a great cat stalking prey. The audience watched his every step, mesmerized, their only sound a unanimous gasp when the Burning Man would periodically leap at the bars of the cage, reaching incredible heights, grasping the bars and holding himself aloft before dropping smoothly down to the tent ground again; the reason for the cage was now clear, as those prodigious leaps could have easily carried him into the midst of the stands.
Finally, the flames began to die, and as they did the Burning Man's movements became slower and more languid, seemingly less born of ecstasy and more of a sensual pleasure at the hot but faltering touch of the fire.
Soon, the last spark sputtered and died, and the Burning Man returned to total immobility. The tent flaps were opened, light returned once more to the tent, and the patrons slowly exited, the barker regarding each one as they passed. Some were clearly shocked, some seemed truly impressed, and others even seemed to be moved, touched in some way by the feral beauty of the performance, but each was speechless. Especially noteworthy was that not a single customer demanded their coppers back. The last patron left, and the barker turned his gaze to the Burning Man, standing alone in the center of his "stage." "It's a rare and amazing gift you have", the barker whispered as he regarded the lone figure, and then a contemptuous smirk crossed his lips. "For a freak."

The Burning Man is rarely seen outside his performances, even by his fellow freaks, as he prefers solitude. When not performing, he appears to be a typical farming bumpkin, wearing dusted and soiled clothing, and a brimmed hat drawn down, drowning his face in shadow. The grace of his movements belies this simple appearance, but there is no immediate evidence that he is anything more than human.
Coming a little closer, one will notice the strange cloth mask he wears, which covers his entire head. It is completely featureless, yet it does not appear to hinder his vision. He is never seen without this mask, and theories and rumors regarding his true appearance are eagerly shared between the rest of the freaks.
The truth, known only to a few within the Carnival, is that the Burning Man's cloth "mask" is actually his face, for he is not human at all. He is a construct of straw, hay and discarded clothing, born of a madman's obsession: a straw golem.
During performances, the Burning Man wears loosely fitting tabards and breeches over the straw-stuffed clothing that comprises his body. These clothes are always of exceedingly poor quality, for their only purpose is to be burned; The Burning Man's straw body is immune to fire and cannot beset alight, so, during his bizarre "dances", the Burning Man is not actually burning at all. The performance clothing is usually doused in cheap, flammable alcohol, to make for a more spectacular show, and to allow for a longer burn.
When The Burning Man moves, a strange, soft clacking can be heard by those who listen closely. This nearly inaudible and wholly unassuming noise hints at the most gruesome aspect of The Burning Man, and the origin of his remarkable agility and speed. His cloth and straw body is built around a specially articulated framework: the scorched and blackened skeleton of the man who was once known as Robin Grayle.

Robin Grayle was born in the Tepestani village Kellee in the year 730. He was by nature a curious child, and the more dangerous or more forbidden something was, the more likely Robin was to be found playing with it. Fire captured the majority of his attention in his early childhood, and several times he very nearly burnt down his and his father's home. Robin's mother had died a few days after his birth due to complications, and Robin's father was left alone to care for both the struggling farmstead and the troublesome boy.
Although he loved his son dearly (in no small part because he had so much of his mother in his looks), Robin's father was too busy to directly supervise the child much of the time. In an attempt to make up for his frequent absence, Robin's father tried to parent through fear, telling Robin story after story of what happened to bad little children and of the creatures that were just waiting to snatch him away at the earliest opportunity. Unfortunately, but perhaps predictably, stories like these only served to advance Robin's curiosity. In 740, when the Grand Conjunction came and went and took with it the lands of G'Henna and Markovia, leaving behind the Shadow Rift, Robin's curiosity drifted completely away from mundane dangers like fires and knives and toward the more fantastic. While the Tepestani people began girding themselves against assaults from the fey, Robin, only 10 years old, grew determined to learn more about them.
A clever lad, Robin began visiting with the local "witch", seeking to learn from her what he could. This "witch" was nothing more than an older peasant woman, widowed and alone and suffering from a slightly deformed hand, guilty of nothing but the passage of time and the touch of fate. Needless to say, this lonely soul was only to happy to have a young child around to talk to, and Robin became an eager listener as she told him fairy tales and sung him songs of feycraft, the kind of stories and songs he loved best.
Robin's father eventually found out about Robin's visits, and forbade them, beating the child bloody to emphasize the point. A superstitious man, like many of his countrymen, Robin's father felt that this was the best way to impart to his son the gravity of the situation. When the beating was done, Robin's father warned him that another visit to the "freaks" and "witches" would get him more of the same.
Rather than knuckling under to his father's commands, Robin learned to be more careful about where he went and when. As he grew older and spent more and more time gathering stories and even reading, a skill his older friend was only to happy to teach him, Robin grew determined to become more than a simple authority on folk tales; he wanted to become a true mage.Unfortunately, Robin never got the chance to pursue that dream.
The Inquisition in Tepest had stirred the people into a fever-pitch, and anyone out of the ordinary became a target if their wrath. Robin's elderly friend was taken from her home to face the Inquisitors. Under severe torture, she told them that Robin had been visiting her home frequently. She soon died under their knives, just as other Inquisitors were dragging Robin forth from his home to face those same knives. Under their ministrations, Robin, only 17, admitted to witch-craft, devil worship and human sacrifice. The next morning, Robin was burnt at the stake in the center of Kellee before a throng of shouting villagers, preaching Inquisitors and one weeping father.
Robin might have counted himself blessed had that been his end, but sadly it was not to be. A heavy rain began to fall as the last of his body's flesh was burning away and his bones were starting to melt, and it soon graduated into a full storm. The crowd dispersed, and the flame sputtered and died, leaving Robin's charred skeleton still tied to the stake. After the rain stopped, Robin's remains were given to his father to dispose of, at his request.
Despite frequent appearances to the contrary, Robin's father had dearly loved his son; hearing that Robin had succumbed to the temptations ofevil, despite his "best efforts" to steer him straight, combined with the loss of the last of his family and the fact that he had never been entirely stable to begin with to drive him mad with grief and guilt. Blaming the old witch-woman and "freaks" like her for corrupting his son, Robin's father set about rebuilding his son's body and seeing to revenge. Over the next two weeks, Robin's father managed to painstakingly assemble a body of cloth and straw, using Robin's skeletal remains as a framework. During this time, he never left his small house, leaving his crops towither and his affairs to disintegrate.
On the night his son's new body was completed, the famous Carnival passed through Kellee on their way to Nova Vassa. They had no intention of staying; the Tepestani were never particularly hospitable, and even less so after the cataclysm of 740. Thus, it was either fate or the grandest of coincidences that led them to be there in their wagons the night Robin awoke.
Working by lamplight, Robin's father finished sewing together his son.The fact that it looked nothing like Robin had in life, lacking even facial features, seemed not to bother him one bit, for when the straw form sat upright on the bed he gave out a cry of joy, flinging his arms around the pathetic creature. He held it, whispering his love for it and his plans for revenge, but the golem seemed to pay little attention. Instead, it focused completely on the lamp and the tiny flame flickering inside. Finally, it darted forward, wrenching free of its 'father's" grasp and stretching its leather hands toward the lamp. Grabbing the lamp from its stand, it rubbed its hands over the glass surface.before smashing it to thefloor, releasing the lovely flame within. Fueled by lamp oil and the dry wood and thatch of the house, the blaze spread quickly through the room. Robin's father screamed as the spray of flaming oil spattered onto his clothing and skin, setting him ablaze. The golem paid him no mind, too enraptured by the spreading fire to care about anything else.
The rest of the village was awakened by the sounds of screaming and the smell of smoke, and a throng of people stepped out into the night and gathered to watch the burning house. Even a handful of the Carnival folk left their wagons to watch the spectacle.
It wasn't a long show. The house burned quickly, leaving nothing but a blackened and skeletal framework of wood behind. The local militia finally arrived with buckets of water, and began to douse what was left of the flames.
Just then, a lone figure stepped out of the burnt interior of the house, small flames licking from its arms and legs as what was left of the lamp oil continued to burn away. Seeing this unfamiliar figure walking so calmly out of the blaze, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that his own limbs were alight, sent a panic through the assembled crowd, and they scattered back to their homes, chanting every prayer and signing every protection they knew.
Even the militiamen were sent to flight, for they were close enough to see that the horrid creature had no face. The Carnival folk, on the other hand, stayed behind. Better than anyone, they knew a great act when they saw one.

With nowhere to go and nothing in particular to do, the Burning Man, as he is now known, accompanied the Carnival in their travels, and has become a popular part of the freak show. He is not particularly close to anyone in the Carnival, but he trusts Isolde and Hermos. They have managed to calm some of his more dangerous inclinations, but everyone is still a little bit wary around him.

The Burning Man is something of a dullard. The spirit of Robin Grayle is bound to the Burning Man's body through the skeleton, but it is an imperfect binding at best. Nothing of Robin's creativity or sense of purpose is to be found in the Burning Man. He lacks much in the way of personal volition, and tends to acquiesce to the wills of those around him. It is only in the presence of an open flame that he appears focused. Why the Burning Man is so obsessed with flame is not known for certain, but it is possible that, since it was flame that resulted in his first death, he subconsciously sees fire as something that can potentially free him from this accursed fate.Unfortunately, it can't.
Despite his lack of a mouth, the Burning Man can speak, but he rarely does.
His vocabulary is limited to simple words and phrases, and speech is difficult for him, so he never uses words when a gesture or head movement will suffice.
The Burning Man is uneasy around his fellow freaks; being around them gives him strange, angry feelings that he doesn't understand. This is actually the echo of his father's influence; his father had intended to use him as a weapon against "freaks" such as the one he felt was responsible for Robin's death. The Burning Man's lethargy makes it unlikely that he would act on these urges, but the possibility is frightening to consider.

The Burning Man has the standard combat abilities of a straw golem, with the following exceptions.
Firstly, the Burning Man is incredibly quick, even quicker than most other golems. Although he is unlikely to initiate combat in most cases, once combat has begun the Burning Man always wins initiative. The Burning Man also has a faster move rate than the standard golem, and has the ability to leap impressive distances.
Fire is the Burning Man's zeitgeber. Though he has learned to restrain himself from reacting significantly to most fires (with the help of Isolde and Hermos), an unusually large flame (a burning house, for example) will draw him like a moth. He will seek to immerse himself within the fire,and will not leave until the fire dies down. If someone attempts to remove him he will fight them off.
Should the Burning Man actually be set alight (for example, during his performances), he will be compelled to dance as described above under The Act. These dances could be extremely dangerous to bystanders if the Burning Man is not properly restrained.

Comments and suggestions regarding this site be sent to:
gomez@gryphonhill.com