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Aurum Kegfinder, The Ironclad Blacksmith
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Description
Aurum stands a little taller than the average dwarf, towering over some of his brethren at an imposing 4 feet (1,23 meters). Ever since he could think, he stood behind an anvil or something similar, resulting in his incredibly burly build and thus making him far heavier than his initial height would lead one to believe.
Red, long braided hair covers most of the few features that are still visible once he has donned his full armour. Outside of combat, he appears a tidy and solemn man, maintaining at least a decent appearance at all times. Having spent a lot of time in human society, he now dresses the part, though mostly not to stick out too much. The blacksmith is not a particularly confrontational sort and will not get rough unless pressed to do so, however, should one push him to fight, then things tend to end swiftly in his favour as he is an expert in the items he creates.
Only the emblem on his right bicep, matching the insignia on his helmet and chest plate tell of a different past, one that he has never opened up to anyone before. People versed in runes, especially the dwarven kind, would perhaps see the resemblance to the signets of known dwarven strongholds. However, most strangely, this one seems slightly different from all known runes.
Aurum stands a little taller than the average dwarf, towering over some of his brethren at an imposing 4 feet (1,23 meters). Ever since he could think, he stood behind an anvil or something similar, resulting in his incredibly burly build and thus making him far heavier than his initial height would lead one to believe.
Red, long braided hair covers most of the few features that are still visible once he has donned his full armour. Outside of combat, he appears a tidy and solemn man, maintaining at least a decent appearance at all times. Having spent a lot of time in human society, he now dresses the part, though mostly not to stick out too much. The blacksmith is not a particularly confrontational sort and will not get rough unless pressed to do so, however, should one push him to fight, then things tend to end swiftly in his favour as he is an expert in the items he creates.
Only the emblem on his right bicep, matching the insignia on his helmet and chest plate tell of a different past, one that he has never opened up to anyone before. People versed in runes, especially the dwarven kind, would perhaps see the resemblance to the signets of known dwarven strongholds. However, most strangely, this one seems slightly different from all known runes.
NPCs
Main cast
Nieven Miawraek: Elf, Male, 150, Assassin/Problemsolver, N, lightly scarred, a few creases from his age, light blonde hair, green eyes.
Personality: Enigmatic, secretive, trusting and loyal once a friend, guilt-free, enjoys a good drink, mourning for his pupil Mitabar Philar.
Not much is known about Nieven. He does not appear in any records and has always worked in his field as far as he can remember, though he is not certain whether his memories are real or not. He has seen others have their minds altered for his kind of work, so he has his doubts that the fond moments with his mother ever existed.
Ever since his twentieth birthday, he worked under orders from a union of multiple villages, getting rid of threats and potential dangers before they became too big to handle. Most of the time, this involved murder but he still takes pride in having managed to sometimes work things out through solving the problems of the opposing party rather than the usual ... less caring approach.
In recent times, the lines seemed to have hardened and this kind of naive approach has become less viable - so he has accumulated more blood on his hands and dagger than he could bother to remember.
Woolchaser Goldenclaw: Taxabi/Catfolk, Male, 35, Bard/Assassin, CN, grey-ocher fur, orange eyes, no scars to speak of (hidden under his fur.
Personality: Very much appears to be a yes-man though he never reveals what he really thinks unless it is necessary, charming, thinks he is a talented musician but is pretty average at best though his music is perhaps best described as Avant-Garde. Hates condescending people and musicians better than him. Aside from his loyalty being questionable at most times, he is a good sport to be around and will jest with anyone willing to have some light-hearted conversation.
Woolchaser Goldenclaw joined Nieven on his travels at a fairly young age, right after he had lost the last kitten fluff. Though he initially was used as an innocent intel gatherer as people trusted the eloquent young feline more then they should have - he eventually grew too old to work in that manner and had to find different avenues to still fulfil his role in the team. He has never received formal training on his lute but what he lacks in musical knowledge, he makes up for in charm. Most of the time, at least.
Anton Lumieran: Human, Male, 42, Paladin, LE, tall, handsome, short brown hair, trained physique, bearing multiple scars across his arms and back, though the latter seem self-inflicted.
Personality: Devout, charming, uncompromising, xenophobic, straightforward, despises intrigue, prefers to hit first to get his point across.
Anton is probably the best enforcer the Red Morning could have hoped for in it's early days. Uncompromising and deadly, he is just the imposing figure they needed to take advantage of the lurking misgivings of the human population of Galt. Whereas others made decisions, he was the spearhead for their movement, collecting more people under his banner than anybody could have dreamed of. Though he was certainly the most influential in the early days of the church, he still remains a powerful figure to this day, mostly thanks to his incredibly devout and fanatical followers that would follow his every command without questioning it. If he wills something, it will be done, no matter the cost. Others in the church have conspired against him but for now, his position seems practically unshakable.
Nieven Miawraek: Elf, Male, 150, Assassin/Problemsolver, N, lightly scarred, a few creases from his age, light blonde hair, green eyes.
Personality: Enigmatic, secretive, trusting and loyal once a friend, guilt-free, enjoys a good drink, mourning for his pupil Mitabar Philar.
Not much is known about Nieven. He does not appear in any records and has always worked in his field as far as he can remember, though he is not certain whether his memories are real or not. He has seen others have their minds altered for his kind of work, so he has his doubts that the fond moments with his mother ever existed.
Ever since his twentieth birthday, he worked under orders from a union of multiple villages, getting rid of threats and potential dangers before they became too big to handle. Most of the time, this involved murder but he still takes pride in having managed to sometimes work things out through solving the problems of the opposing party rather than the usual ... less caring approach.
In recent times, the lines seemed to have hardened and this kind of naive approach has become less viable - so he has accumulated more blood on his hands and dagger than he could bother to remember.
Woolchaser Goldenclaw: Taxabi/Catfolk, Male, 35, Bard/Assassin, CN, grey-ocher fur, orange eyes, no scars to speak of (hidden under his fur.
Personality: Very much appears to be a yes-man though he never reveals what he really thinks unless it is necessary, charming, thinks he is a talented musician but is pretty average at best though his music is perhaps best described as Avant-Garde. Hates condescending people and musicians better than him. Aside from his loyalty being questionable at most times, he is a good sport to be around and will jest with anyone willing to have some light-hearted conversation.
Woolchaser Goldenclaw joined Nieven on his travels at a fairly young age, right after he had lost the last kitten fluff. Though he initially was used as an innocent intel gatherer as people trusted the eloquent young feline more then they should have - he eventually grew too old to work in that manner and had to find different avenues to still fulfil his role in the team. He has never received formal training on his lute but what he lacks in musical knowledge, he makes up for in charm. Most of the time, at least.
Anton Lumieran: Human, Male, 42, Paladin, LE, tall, handsome, short brown hair, trained physique, bearing multiple scars across his arms and back, though the latter seem self-inflicted.
Personality: Devout, charming, uncompromising, xenophobic, straightforward, despises intrigue, prefers to hit first to get his point across.
Anton is probably the best enforcer the Red Morning could have hoped for in it's early days. Uncompromising and deadly, he is just the imposing figure they needed to take advantage of the lurking misgivings of the human population of Galt. Whereas others made decisions, he was the spearhead for their movement, collecting more people under his banner than anybody could have dreamed of. Though he was certainly the most influential in the early days of the church, he still remains a powerful figure to this day, mostly thanks to his incredibly devout and fanatical followers that would follow his every command without questioning it. If he wills something, it will be done, no matter the cost. Others in the church have conspired against him but for now, his position seems practically unshakable.
Side cast
Mitalar Philar: Elf, Dead pupil of Nieven. Lost his arm during an assassination attempt on Anton Lumieran. Died of infection as he was left behind in the old smithy.
Evan: Human, Dead son of a local lord in Galt
Ellabelle: Human, Missing lover of Evan.
Red Morning Carriage Driver: Dead AF
Red Morning Minion 1-5: also pretty dead.
Mitalar Philar: Elf, Dead pupil of Nieven. Lost his arm during an assassination attempt on Anton Lumieran. Died of infection as he was left behind in the old smithy.
Evan: Human, Dead son of a local lord in Galt
Ellabelle: Human, Missing lover of Evan.
Red Morning Carriage Driver: Dead AF
Red Morning Minion 1-5: also pretty dead.
Backstory
The Three and the Smith
No matter who one attempts to ask - his story begins sometime in the past somewhere in Galt. Life was good as far as he had been concerned. The instability of the region led to an influx of customers every odd decade, filling his pockets and keeping his almost rural shop running without problems. He had few people he called acquaintances and even less he called friends but he was not one to force these kinds of things and it was not like he needed people to talk with. Dwarves living on their own away from the strongholds were odd-balls and he was no different. Everyone had their reasons for their path in life - he was no different. If anything, he was content with the way things were going. The actual fighting usually happened away from the forge he called home at the time and he lived quite comfortably as a result.
It was between conflicts that he would usually make the most acquaintances. Assassins, spies, emissaries, bandits, brigands... he did not scrutinize his customers as long as they paid well and kept him out of their affairs. Most usually got killed in the next conflict. This was so common that he did not bother remembering faces or names unless they lived through their first succession dispute or war. This, ultimately, was the main reason he barely knew anybody. Those that he did, came for his skills and were equally skilled in their work, people that he could call equals in a strange, twisted manner.
A particular group of three men was no different from this select group. They consisted of two elves and a taxabi. The cat was the talkative type, able to say a whole lot of nothing ... Wool... wool something was his name. Years later, he would know the name by heart but at the time he could just barely match the face to the nickname. There was just something about the dodgy nature of the oversized kitten that made him keep his distance. He would have shared a drink with someone he had known as long as the taxabi but that bundle of fur was an exception. No matter whether the cat named him a coward behind his small back - at the time, Aurum knew better than to trust it. Later, much later, he would count eventually giving in to the offer as one of the two big mistakes during his lifetime - but also that he would not have it any other way.
The elves were much easier to understand. One had the aura of a killer... the other was not as easily identified though the dwarf was sure that they both worked in the same field, the older one with perhaps more finesse than pure skill with a blade. As to their purpose in the conflict-ridden Galt, he simply assumed they were there to make sure nobody troublesome came to power for longer than necessary. They had alluded to something along those lines over a few glasses of dwarven and elven spirits at some point. Given how he stayed neutral and had miffed all powers in the area by refusing to aid them exclusively, the elves, Nieven Miawraek, the older of the two and Mitabar Philar, had become far less wary of the dwarf that supplied them with all their weapon and armour needs. Be it traps, fixing blades, or setting armour properly after a fight, the small craftsman did it all without asking what they were doing or where their gold came from.
This dynamic continued on for well over five years if one counted from the day they first met in Aurum's forge. The men would come and go, do whatever they were tasked to do, come back for a drink or two and maintenance before going back into hiding. In fact, their visits became so regular that the blacksmith set everything they needed aside a good two or three days in advance. Special stashes of hard liquor, premium materials for their equipment as well as the odd smithing experiment that he had them test out for its properties were the most common things to find amongst this preparation.
It only took so much to figure out a general modus operandi even for the most disinterested person. Their targets seemed to mostly be open figures that followed Norgorber or Shelyn, though the latter, seemed to be less related to religion than the egotistical nature of many of its believers. The people that died were potential future threats, after all, nipped as buds before their dangerous ideas began to bloom and spread among the population. Once such dangerous seeds were planted in the wide populous, things were too late to correct on such a small scale. The two elven men were fine tools that carried out the will of their masters with surgical precision but they could only hunt so many targets at the same time.
As such, as long as one stayed out of the way, there was nothing to fear from the two. Their taxabi companion was a different beast. He was not honour-bound in the same manner from what Aurum could tell and this was the main reason for his distrust in the feline and no amount of sweet words could change this opinion of him.
No matter who one attempts to ask - his story begins sometime in the past somewhere in Galt. Life was good as far as he had been concerned. The instability of the region led to an influx of customers every odd decade, filling his pockets and keeping his almost rural shop running without problems. He had few people he called acquaintances and even less he called friends but he was not one to force these kinds of things and it was not like he needed people to talk with. Dwarves living on their own away from the strongholds were odd-balls and he was no different. Everyone had their reasons for their path in life - he was no different. If anything, he was content with the way things were going. The actual fighting usually happened away from the forge he called home at the time and he lived quite comfortably as a result.
It was between conflicts that he would usually make the most acquaintances. Assassins, spies, emissaries, bandits, brigands... he did not scrutinize his customers as long as they paid well and kept him out of their affairs. Most usually got killed in the next conflict. This was so common that he did not bother remembering faces or names unless they lived through their first succession dispute or war. This, ultimately, was the main reason he barely knew anybody. Those that he did, came for his skills and were equally skilled in their work, people that he could call equals in a strange, twisted manner.
A particular group of three men was no different from this select group. They consisted of two elves and a taxabi. The cat was the talkative type, able to say a whole lot of nothing ... Wool... wool something was his name. Years later, he would know the name by heart but at the time he could just barely match the face to the nickname. There was just something about the dodgy nature of the oversized kitten that made him keep his distance. He would have shared a drink with someone he had known as long as the taxabi but that bundle of fur was an exception. No matter whether the cat named him a coward behind his small back - at the time, Aurum knew better than to trust it. Later, much later, he would count eventually giving in to the offer as one of the two big mistakes during his lifetime - but also that he would not have it any other way.
The elves were much easier to understand. One had the aura of a killer... the other was not as easily identified though the dwarf was sure that they both worked in the same field, the older one with perhaps more finesse than pure skill with a blade. As to their purpose in the conflict-ridden Galt, he simply assumed they were there to make sure nobody troublesome came to power for longer than necessary. They had alluded to something along those lines over a few glasses of dwarven and elven spirits at some point. Given how he stayed neutral and had miffed all powers in the area by refusing to aid them exclusively, the elves, Nieven Miawraek, the older of the two and Mitabar Philar, had become far less wary of the dwarf that supplied them with all their weapon and armour needs. Be it traps, fixing blades, or setting armour properly after a fight, the small craftsman did it all without asking what they were doing or where their gold came from.
This dynamic continued on for well over five years if one counted from the day they first met in Aurum's forge. The men would come and go, do whatever they were tasked to do, come back for a drink or two and maintenance before going back into hiding. In fact, their visits became so regular that the blacksmith set everything they needed aside a good two or three days in advance. Special stashes of hard liquor, premium materials for their equipment as well as the odd smithing experiment that he had them test out for its properties were the most common things to find amongst this preparation.
It only took so much to figure out a general modus operandi even for the most disinterested person. Their targets seemed to mostly be open figures that followed Norgorber or Shelyn, though the latter, seemed to be less related to religion than the egotistical nature of many of its believers. The people that died were potential future threats, after all, nipped as buds before their dangerous ideas began to bloom and spread among the population. Once such dangerous seeds were planted in the wide populous, things were too late to correct on such a small scale. The two elven men were fine tools that carried out the will of their masters with surgical precision but they could only hunt so many targets at the same time.
As such, as long as one stayed out of the way, there was nothing to fear from the two. Their taxabi companion was a different beast. He was not honour-bound in the same manner from what Aurum could tell and this was the main reason for his distrust in the feline and no amount of sweet words could change this opinion of him.
The Mine
Their anonymous cooperation had lasted well over seven years at this point. Victims came and went and Aurum had long lost any resemblance of interest in keeping up with local politics. Everything was in perpetual motion but ultimately, it neither affected him nor his three regulars though for fairly opposite reasons.
It was not until the four met aside of their usual, predetermined visits that things began to change. Aurum had been on his way back from an illegally operated, re-opened mine where he had stuck a nice deal with the locals when he met the three men at the edge of the small village. They were conversing with some of the men he had idly nodded at in passing but their interaction seemed a lot more... intentional for the lack of a better word. However, that was not even the strangest bit. The elves had disguised themselves as human, hiding their features almost perfectly. The taxabi was playing to some folk at the other side of the small settlement, entertaining and distracting as best as he could. He was in disguise as well, sporting a different fur and getup but whether out of laziness or some other reason, he had not attempted to change his voice - one that he had heard talking literal books into his ears during their time together. The dwarf was sure that he'd recognize the tone in a crowd of a thousand.
Frankly, if it had not been for the feline, he would have never managed to make the connection but as he gave the scene a second, and then a third look, he could spot the small things that gave them away, the worst offenders obviously being the parts of their casual equipment he had seen and repaired over the years. Aurum's known clients were but a few and he knew every item he had made for these by heart.
In a moment of clarity, he decided not to greet them but rather go the long way around the village, making a detour to not be involved in their plans more than he already was. As far as the smith was concerned, the elves were something akin to friends and he was not keen on souring their relation by being inconsiderate. Everyone had their secrets. Nobody liked those being dragged to the surface involuntarily, especially when lives were on the line. If he placed any value in their oblivious times drinking into the night, he would have to avoid them finding out about their barely avoided encounter.
Thus it came to nobody's surprise that, rather than taking the direct route home which lead him right through the village, Aurum steered into the surrounding forest, walking parallel to the road for a good twenty minutes before turning back to the main road, the latest in a slew of fateful decisions that ended him up in his current situation. The time he had spent peacefully trekking through the quiet forest where barely a bird made itself known as every creature sought cover and shade from the scorching afternoon sun had made the dwarf less attentive for a while as he enjoyed the green scenery on his, admittedly convoluted, way home. If asked, he would agree that he was ultimately a simple soul, enjoying his profession and the time between the heated fire and glowing metal but this trip had been a nice change of pace. There was something almost supernaturally soothing about a silent forest where one could only hear the sounds of one's own feet which even affected the most honest, earth-dwelling dwarf from time to time - and Aurum was as honest as one could get before openly revealing everything one did. Oh, he was honest, perhaps not always to everyone or at any given time but in general, he did not bother with lies unless they were necessary, like, for example, where he sourced his iron from despite the hold experiencing shortages, due to, in no small part, the ever-hungry machinations of bloody strife that tore through the entire country. Cold Iron spilt hot iron which then turned to cold iron. It was a cycle of perpetual violence but also how he made his coin and the reason he resorted to less than legal ways to keep his forge running from time to time.
...
The sound of his boot stepping on something rather alien ultimately pulled the smith out of his daydreaming. Whether his thoughts had revolved around the surrounding forest, his latest project or, perhaps, how the latest batch of honeyed ale he had set up a good two months ago was coming along for a proper taste test soon, they were replaced by mild curiosity as to what he had actually found. A pair of small, blue eyes gazed onto the forest floor below, past roots, half-rotten leaves of the prior fall, and a myriad of critters that lived in this compost layer until they locked onto a vaguely humanoid shape. Vaguely as in it was not in one piece anymore but rather scattered in the nearby vicinity. Half decomposed appendages laid strewn in a rough ten-foot radius, the torso lying a bit to the side, cracked open and riddled with all kinds of critters. An unlucky victim of a beast? Alerted by his find, the smith placed one hand on the masterfully crafted warhammer that never left his side and glanced around. The forest seemed far less inviting all of a sudden despite it being as quiet as it had been since he had entered. Yet, there was no sign of a single animal in the area, so he kneeled next to the corpse to study it, taking in the first whiff of the stench that had been carried away by the wind before. There was not particularly much left to identify the person but he was fairly sure it had been a man. The shoulders were quite broad, perhaps too much for it to have been an elf but it was hard to tell for sure. A few inches from the remains of the torso laid a drawn blade, the scabbard tossed to the side a few feet away. The dwarf's eyes idly ran over the still almost rust-free blade before recognizing the symbol on the hilt as his own. Given the, for his standards, shabby quality he concluded it to have been one of his earliest works. The issue was... he had not worked anywhere close to Galt at the time. So how had it made its way into the hands of such an inexperienced man in the middle of absolutely nowhere?
Furrowing his brows, he pondered on the issue for a while before deciding to take it with him. He did not have a shovel with him, so he did not bother trying to bury the remains but offered a prayer nonetheless.
Shaking his head, he continued on his way home. What had the man been doing out here in the wild? Hunting, perhaps? Nobody could tell for sure given the state of the corpse. Perhaps he would find the answers to the questions that popped into his head one by one eventually but he doubted it. Given the state of the body, there was a good chance nobody had bothered to search or long given up. Either way, he would not waste more time on a long-dead man unless it concerned him somehow.
Unbeknownst to him, he had barely missed the discovery of a much greater secret. His aloof disinterest in investigating the scene further did not allow for further conclusions at the time, something that nearly cost him his life later on.
The remainder of his journey went by without a hitch, allowing him to arrive back at the smithy a sword and a good contract for decent, albeit illegal, ore richer. Given that the three were in the area, it would probably be best to restock on their favourite alcohol. Surely it would only be a few days until they visited his shop again.
....
Their anonymous cooperation had lasted well over seven years at this point. Victims came and went and Aurum had long lost any resemblance of interest in keeping up with local politics. Everything was in perpetual motion but ultimately, it neither affected him nor his three regulars though for fairly opposite reasons.
It was not until the four met aside of their usual, predetermined visits that things began to change. Aurum had been on his way back from an illegally operated, re-opened mine where he had stuck a nice deal with the locals when he met the three men at the edge of the small village. They were conversing with some of the men he had idly nodded at in passing but their interaction seemed a lot more... intentional for the lack of a better word. However, that was not even the strangest bit. The elves had disguised themselves as human, hiding their features almost perfectly. The taxabi was playing to some folk at the other side of the small settlement, entertaining and distracting as best as he could. He was in disguise as well, sporting a different fur and getup but whether out of laziness or some other reason, he had not attempted to change his voice - one that he had heard talking literal books into his ears during their time together. The dwarf was sure that he'd recognize the tone in a crowd of a thousand.
Frankly, if it had not been for the feline, he would have never managed to make the connection but as he gave the scene a second, and then a third look, he could spot the small things that gave them away, the worst offenders obviously being the parts of their casual equipment he had seen and repaired over the years. Aurum's known clients were but a few and he knew every item he had made for these by heart.
In a moment of clarity, he decided not to greet them but rather go the long way around the village, making a detour to not be involved in their plans more than he already was. As far as the smith was concerned, the elves were something akin to friends and he was not keen on souring their relation by being inconsiderate. Everyone had their secrets. Nobody liked those being dragged to the surface involuntarily, especially when lives were on the line. If he placed any value in their oblivious times drinking into the night, he would have to avoid them finding out about their barely avoided encounter.
Thus it came to nobody's surprise that, rather than taking the direct route home which lead him right through the village, Aurum steered into the surrounding forest, walking parallel to the road for a good twenty minutes before turning back to the main road, the latest in a slew of fateful decisions that ended him up in his current situation. The time he had spent peacefully trekking through the quiet forest where barely a bird made itself known as every creature sought cover and shade from the scorching afternoon sun had made the dwarf less attentive for a while as he enjoyed the green scenery on his, admittedly convoluted, way home. If asked, he would agree that he was ultimately a simple soul, enjoying his profession and the time between the heated fire and glowing metal but this trip had been a nice change of pace. There was something almost supernaturally soothing about a silent forest where one could only hear the sounds of one's own feet which even affected the most honest, earth-dwelling dwarf from time to time - and Aurum was as honest as one could get before openly revealing everything one did. Oh, he was honest, perhaps not always to everyone or at any given time but in general, he did not bother with lies unless they were necessary, like, for example, where he sourced his iron from despite the hold experiencing shortages, due to, in no small part, the ever-hungry machinations of bloody strife that tore through the entire country. Cold Iron spilt hot iron which then turned to cold iron. It was a cycle of perpetual violence but also how he made his coin and the reason he resorted to less than legal ways to keep his forge running from time to time.
...
The sound of his boot stepping on something rather alien ultimately pulled the smith out of his daydreaming. Whether his thoughts had revolved around the surrounding forest, his latest project or, perhaps, how the latest batch of honeyed ale he had set up a good two months ago was coming along for a proper taste test soon, they were replaced by mild curiosity as to what he had actually found. A pair of small, blue eyes gazed onto the forest floor below, past roots, half-rotten leaves of the prior fall, and a myriad of critters that lived in this compost layer until they locked onto a vaguely humanoid shape. Vaguely as in it was not in one piece anymore but rather scattered in the nearby vicinity. Half decomposed appendages laid strewn in a rough ten-foot radius, the torso lying a bit to the side, cracked open and riddled with all kinds of critters. An unlucky victim of a beast? Alerted by his find, the smith placed one hand on the masterfully crafted warhammer that never left his side and glanced around. The forest seemed far less inviting all of a sudden despite it being as quiet as it had been since he had entered. Yet, there was no sign of a single animal in the area, so he kneeled next to the corpse to study it, taking in the first whiff of the stench that had been carried away by the wind before. There was not particularly much left to identify the person but he was fairly sure it had been a man. The shoulders were quite broad, perhaps too much for it to have been an elf but it was hard to tell for sure. A few inches from the remains of the torso laid a drawn blade, the scabbard tossed to the side a few feet away. The dwarf's eyes idly ran over the still almost rust-free blade before recognizing the symbol on the hilt as his own. Given the, for his standards, shabby quality he concluded it to have been one of his earliest works. The issue was... he had not worked anywhere close to Galt at the time. So how had it made its way into the hands of such an inexperienced man in the middle of absolutely nowhere?
Furrowing his brows, he pondered on the issue for a while before deciding to take it with him. He did not have a shovel with him, so he did not bother trying to bury the remains but offered a prayer nonetheless.
Shaking his head, he continued on his way home. What had the man been doing out here in the wild? Hunting, perhaps? Nobody could tell for sure given the state of the corpse. Perhaps he would find the answers to the questions that popped into his head one by one eventually but he doubted it. Given the state of the body, there was a good chance nobody had bothered to search or long given up. Either way, he would not waste more time on a long-dead man unless it concerned him somehow.
Unbeknownst to him, he had barely missed the discovery of a much greater secret. His aloof disinterest in investigating the scene further did not allow for further conclusions at the time, something that nearly cost him his life later on.
The remainder of his journey went by without a hitch, allowing him to arrive back at the smithy a sword and a good contract for decent, albeit illegal, ore richer. Given that the three were in the area, it would probably be best to restock on their favourite alcohol. Surely it would only be a few days until they visited his shop again.
....
An unexpected offer
Rather than the few days he had expected, his regular trio popped in at nightfall almost a month after his deal at the mine. However, that was not the only thing that differed from their usual visits. Uncouth, unkempt, and tattered, they were a far cry from their regular appearance. The smith stopped his efforts of cleaning the forge before heading to bed to get a closer look at their condition. Most of their wounds seemed superficial but the younger elf seemed to have ended up the worst amongst them. Bloodied rags were tightly wrapped around his chest, his left arm was missing entirely and the grimace he wore could only be described as terrible indeed.
"What do you need?", Aurum inquired, pointing at them with the handle of his broom. Swooping the wooden end over to Mitalar, he added, "I fix weapons, not people."
Before anyone else could intervene, the taxabi had already opened his mouth, "Need to hide him for a day or two. Got careless, we did. Ran right into the trap like silly mice." The older elf nodded though he seemed more inclined to fill out some blanks, "We offer you good coin for it. I know you have a secret room in your cellar where you keep your illegal brew and other things. All I ask is to let him lie there for a few days so we can fix him up."
"I'm no innkeep.", the dwarf grumbled, shaking his head. It irked him that anyone knew of his secret cellar but then again, he was no expert in such things. For a man like Nieven, it must have been painfully obvious to spot but the smith did not want to face such a reality in such an abrupt manner.
"Neither are you interested in us failing our current mission, believe me.", The Nieven sighed, "Come, help me carry our patient and I'll explain everything that concerns you."
A set of grumbled curses followed this suggestion but ultimately, the smith conceded, grabbing the wounded elf's legs and carrying them down the flight of stairs into his cellar and through the fake back pane of one of his ore storages. If it had been about anybody else, he would have sent them out on the spot but Nieven was about as trustworthy as one could be in his eyes. The older elf barely spoke an unnecessary word, was always straight to the point and never bothered people unless it was urgent. Overall, the man was more dwarf than elf and that was about the best compliment Aurum could give a man. Once Mitalar had been set on whatever straw and filling they could find to cushion his temporary resting place, the two returned upstairs, leaving him with a jug of water for now.
"So... what is this about?", Aurum inquired after he had sat down at the table near the forge, enjoying the residue heat emanating from it. With his folded arms resting on the table, he stared intently at the elf seated opposite to him.
"Yes... well.", Nieven began, somewhat unsure where to start. They had never formally explained what they did, who they followed, or what their intentions were but he simply decided to skip over those things for now. "We were tasked with getting rid of a cult called "The Red Morning." Pausing for a moment, he explained further, "Human supremacists intent on taking over Galt through fear and order. Intimidation, basically. They are barely a few hundred but already have a rather surprising amount of influence. Most of their power comes from picking up war veterans and forming strong gangs of thugs. It's submission or wishing you were dead."
The dwarf seemed rather unfazed by the revelation. "Doesn't make them all that different from the average lord in the area. Galt is a shithole, but one that keeps my pockets lined up." A hearty chuckle escaped the comparatively small smith. "Surely that is not all? There has to be more to the story. Hating our kind and buying out desperate souls alone does not make you the kind of force you'd be worried about."
"It is the speed at which they are growing that is worrying.", the old elf reiterated, attempting to get the gravity of the situation across, "They band together, attack people like us, take their everything, enslave them and force anyone else to comply. They hit hard and fast, then rule through fear and control. Unless they are stopped from the root, I fear they are well on their way to unify Galt and look elsewhere for targets."
Aurum could not hide his surprise at this assessment, his eyes widening to an almost normal size for a moment before they almost fully disappeared behind his bushy eyebrows again as he furrowed them in thought.
"They are so stable? Hatred unifies far better than I expected then. So... you attempted to cull the heads of this ... group. How'd it go?"
The elf only shook his head in response. Somehow their targets had all been expecting them to the minute. Of course, the leaders of such a cult were paranoid, and reasonably so. Their tactics made them more enemies than followers, and more followers than friends. Yet, it had almost seemed as if they had been tipped off somehow yet the only people that knew of their plans were their superiors and the three of them. Both of these options were above any form of doubt in his mind. Naturally, that left him at somewhat of an impasse at the moment. As frustrating as it was, he did not have a good way to move forward. Either he betrayed the trust of his comrades by investigating them and possibly ruining their future or he stayed put and risked there being another failure. Nieven could not bring himself to do either of these things. "We killed one - but by the time we arrived at the second location, the Red Guard had already assembled in force. Their numbers and experience made it impossible to move forward, so we retreated, though not without letting some blood escape the encirclement.
A mildly worried sigh escaped the dwarf as he took the story in at face value. This kind of blunder with witnesses would only give the group further validation and support. While Aurum was not certain whether the cult had already become an unstoppable force or not, it certainly gave off the impression that it was late, if not too late to stop them with minimal bloodshed.
"Seems like I may have to move shop soon then.", he eventually stated, having taken an unusually long amount of time to think matters through and weighing his options. The elf probably expected him to aid their group which Aurum would agree to but it did seem rather unlikely they would make it the second time now that their enemy was even more on guard. Sometimes, it was better to move with the current rather than to blindly force one's will against it. The dwarf had learned this the hard way back in his youth, a lesson that had carried into his thoughts all the way up to this day.
"Perhaps that is a hasty conclusion but not one I can disagree with.", Nieven nodded, not faulting the dwarf for reaching this conclusion. If he had not done so himself, the elf would have been sure to attempt to persuade the smith to flee. Things were shaping up to become rather dire for non-humans in the area in the near future and the taciturn smith had grown on him over the years. They had shared many glasses of good spirits between them, and despite never prying into the other's business, had reached what he considered an amicable friendship.
"Before we leave the country, I will leave the Red Morning with one last farewell gift - and I need your help to do so."
"What do you need?" Aurum inquired, straight to the point. There was no doubt in his mind that he would help to leave these unsavoury humans with a parting gift, preferably a deadly one.
The elf paused for a moment before replying, "They are collecting artefacts from throughout the country. A carriage of those will pass through the area in a week's time. If we interrupt this shipment, we could take them for ourselves and then lay a trap for those investigating the cause. A matter of this importance would likely cause their best men to move. Dealing with them could land a good blow to their plans before we leave."
Without skipping a beat, Aurum held out his hand to seal the arrangement. "Stopping a carriage is no hard feat if given the time to prepare the road it is travelling on. When it comes to the men following it - as long as you can roughly explain the traps you want to set, I am sure I can make those with the time we have. But first, let me fix up your gear. At least the furball and yours. Doubt your other friend will be in any useful shape by then."
"That is all I could have hoped for.", Nieven smiled tiredly, grasping the dwarf's hand and already taking out the last flask of his favourite elven spirit to share a cup or two with the small but incredibly drink-proof smith.
Rather than the few days he had expected, his regular trio popped in at nightfall almost a month after his deal at the mine. However, that was not the only thing that differed from their usual visits. Uncouth, unkempt, and tattered, they were a far cry from their regular appearance. The smith stopped his efforts of cleaning the forge before heading to bed to get a closer look at their condition. Most of their wounds seemed superficial but the younger elf seemed to have ended up the worst amongst them. Bloodied rags were tightly wrapped around his chest, his left arm was missing entirely and the grimace he wore could only be described as terrible indeed.
"What do you need?", Aurum inquired, pointing at them with the handle of his broom. Swooping the wooden end over to Mitalar, he added, "I fix weapons, not people."
Before anyone else could intervene, the taxabi had already opened his mouth, "Need to hide him for a day or two. Got careless, we did. Ran right into the trap like silly mice." The older elf nodded though he seemed more inclined to fill out some blanks, "We offer you good coin for it. I know you have a secret room in your cellar where you keep your illegal brew and other things. All I ask is to let him lie there for a few days so we can fix him up."
"I'm no innkeep.", the dwarf grumbled, shaking his head. It irked him that anyone knew of his secret cellar but then again, he was no expert in such things. For a man like Nieven, it must have been painfully obvious to spot but the smith did not want to face such a reality in such an abrupt manner.
"Neither are you interested in us failing our current mission, believe me.", The Nieven sighed, "Come, help me carry our patient and I'll explain everything that concerns you."
A set of grumbled curses followed this suggestion but ultimately, the smith conceded, grabbing the wounded elf's legs and carrying them down the flight of stairs into his cellar and through the fake back pane of one of his ore storages. If it had been about anybody else, he would have sent them out on the spot but Nieven was about as trustworthy as one could be in his eyes. The older elf barely spoke an unnecessary word, was always straight to the point and never bothered people unless it was urgent. Overall, the man was more dwarf than elf and that was about the best compliment Aurum could give a man. Once Mitalar had been set on whatever straw and filling they could find to cushion his temporary resting place, the two returned upstairs, leaving him with a jug of water for now.
"So... what is this about?", Aurum inquired after he had sat down at the table near the forge, enjoying the residue heat emanating from it. With his folded arms resting on the table, he stared intently at the elf seated opposite to him.
"Yes... well.", Nieven began, somewhat unsure where to start. They had never formally explained what they did, who they followed, or what their intentions were but he simply decided to skip over those things for now. "We were tasked with getting rid of a cult called "The Red Morning." Pausing for a moment, he explained further, "Human supremacists intent on taking over Galt through fear and order. Intimidation, basically. They are barely a few hundred but already have a rather surprising amount of influence. Most of their power comes from picking up war veterans and forming strong gangs of thugs. It's submission or wishing you were dead."
The dwarf seemed rather unfazed by the revelation. "Doesn't make them all that different from the average lord in the area. Galt is a shithole, but one that keeps my pockets lined up." A hearty chuckle escaped the comparatively small smith. "Surely that is not all? There has to be more to the story. Hating our kind and buying out desperate souls alone does not make you the kind of force you'd be worried about."
"It is the speed at which they are growing that is worrying.", the old elf reiterated, attempting to get the gravity of the situation across, "They band together, attack people like us, take their everything, enslave them and force anyone else to comply. They hit hard and fast, then rule through fear and control. Unless they are stopped from the root, I fear they are well on their way to unify Galt and look elsewhere for targets."
Aurum could not hide his surprise at this assessment, his eyes widening to an almost normal size for a moment before they almost fully disappeared behind his bushy eyebrows again as he furrowed them in thought.
"They are so stable? Hatred unifies far better than I expected then. So... you attempted to cull the heads of this ... group. How'd it go?"
The elf only shook his head in response. Somehow their targets had all been expecting them to the minute. Of course, the leaders of such a cult were paranoid, and reasonably so. Their tactics made them more enemies than followers, and more followers than friends. Yet, it had almost seemed as if they had been tipped off somehow yet the only people that knew of their plans were their superiors and the three of them. Both of these options were above any form of doubt in his mind. Naturally, that left him at somewhat of an impasse at the moment. As frustrating as it was, he did not have a good way to move forward. Either he betrayed the trust of his comrades by investigating them and possibly ruining their future or he stayed put and risked there being another failure. Nieven could not bring himself to do either of these things. "We killed one - but by the time we arrived at the second location, the Red Guard had already assembled in force. Their numbers and experience made it impossible to move forward, so we retreated, though not without letting some blood escape the encirclement.
A mildly worried sigh escaped the dwarf as he took the story in at face value. This kind of blunder with witnesses would only give the group further validation and support. While Aurum was not certain whether the cult had already become an unstoppable force or not, it certainly gave off the impression that it was late, if not too late to stop them with minimal bloodshed.
"Seems like I may have to move shop soon then.", he eventually stated, having taken an unusually long amount of time to think matters through and weighing his options. The elf probably expected him to aid their group which Aurum would agree to but it did seem rather unlikely they would make it the second time now that their enemy was even more on guard. Sometimes, it was better to move with the current rather than to blindly force one's will against it. The dwarf had learned this the hard way back in his youth, a lesson that had carried into his thoughts all the way up to this day.
"Perhaps that is a hasty conclusion but not one I can disagree with.", Nieven nodded, not faulting the dwarf for reaching this conclusion. If he had not done so himself, the elf would have been sure to attempt to persuade the smith to flee. Things were shaping up to become rather dire for non-humans in the area in the near future and the taciturn smith had grown on him over the years. They had shared many glasses of good spirits between them, and despite never prying into the other's business, had reached what he considered an amicable friendship.
"Before we leave the country, I will leave the Red Morning with one last farewell gift - and I need your help to do so."
"What do you need?" Aurum inquired, straight to the point. There was no doubt in his mind that he would help to leave these unsavoury humans with a parting gift, preferably a deadly one.
The elf paused for a moment before replying, "They are collecting artefacts from throughout the country. A carriage of those will pass through the area in a week's time. If we interrupt this shipment, we could take them for ourselves and then lay a trap for those investigating the cause. A matter of this importance would likely cause their best men to move. Dealing with them could land a good blow to their plans before we leave."
Without skipping a beat, Aurum held out his hand to seal the arrangement. "Stopping a carriage is no hard feat if given the time to prepare the road it is travelling on. When it comes to the men following it - as long as you can roughly explain the traps you want to set, I am sure I can make those with the time we have. But first, let me fix up your gear. At least the furball and yours. Doubt your other friend will be in any useful shape by then."
"That is all I could have hoped for.", Nieven smiled tiredly, grasping the dwarf's hand and already taking out the last flask of his favourite elven spirit to share a cup or two with the small but incredibly drink-proof smith.
Preparations
[side story, setting up traps, some character development for npcs]
The following day, Aurum set off to smelt down the ore he still had in stock while exchanging single sentences with the taxabi troubadour. He was mainly interested in what the cat needed to be fixed or fitted but, as he had feared, it went on quite the tangent once it got rolling.
"My iron claw does not hurt them.", The feline began, presenting a badly beat up rapier while putting its failure to hurt the armoured guards on the blade. Its tone was almost accusatory as it recalled the fight two nights prior, how it had put every ounce of experience into each swing and barely scratched the metal it's prey hid behind.
The smith hum-d and hrm-d for a few moments as he inspected the bent blade, realizing he would have to reforge it. "Was it the blade or the wearer who failed to do his job?", he asked back with a hint of offence taken. Many people that used weapons barely cared for them and in the end, blamed them for any failures as well. They expected the world from their equipment but did not put it in a position to do so. From the sound of it, the cat was not much different from those customers.
Taken aback by the defensive, almost retaliatory words, the golden cat eyes blinked for a few moments before answering,
"Sera, I know how a sharp claw is used best. I am famed for my hunting amongst my kin. Kittens hear of my tales before naptime. I am sure it was the blade that was at fault. My companions know of my skill."
"I see.", the dwarf simply said, having placed the rapier into the forge and blowing wind into the coals with a large bellow. In between every few pushes, he continued their conversation. "Though what you do is hardly a hunt. Climbing into bedrooms at night is something else."
"The most skilled hunt brings no harm to the hunter as he catches his prey unaware. Only a kitten tries to gain glory by challenging its prey. It thinks it needs to prove its worth and risks its life for it. It is a parents responsibility to get rid of such fantasies."
"So your last hunt was ... unskilled?"
"Sera... You do not mean those words."
"Hrm..."
The smith continued his work at the forge, bending the glowing hot metal back into proper shape for a good twenty minutes before handing it back to the cat.
"Here - see if it feels like it used to. If you want to hurt through armour, try a hammer.", he stated, turning back to the smelter and pouring out a handful of small, low-grade ingots. If he had more time, he would have refined them further but they were on a tight schedule - and most of what he would make was preferably going to be a one-use object. The taxabi gave it a few test-swings before moving over to a pile of hay and thrusting into it a few times. The blade felt as good as new and as little as he wanted to admit it, he had already known it would turn out this way. Over the years, the smith had not failed their expectations once.
"The blade is good, Sera. Sharpened and it will be as good as new."
"Don't tell me things I don't know. If I had the materials I'd be able to make you something that would carve those steel plates like butter but you can only reliably get bad ore around here." Aurum replied, in a manner, only an experienced craftsman could curse about bad suppliers. He could craft a fine blade from bad materials but the kind of quality the bard needed to reliably hurt the guards required much finer ingots. If they had more time, perhaps he would have told the feline to go out and search him some. It didn't matter how he sourced them after all - and the cat had its ways and he couldn't care less what they involved as long as it got things done.
"Yes, yes. I have no doubt in my mind.", the catfolk purred, flicking its whiskers ever so slightly.
Looking up from the smelter, he shook his head at the agreeable nature of the other. It was if it had no opinion of its own most of the time. He was still a little unsure about what it really thought most of the time but the elves trusted it, so he would have to as well for now. Stroking his beard idly, he spoke up once more,
"Listen, I never asked but, what is your name? I can't be calling you furball all the time now that we are working together for a little."
"Ah, Sera, it is not necessary."
"I insist. It is a matter of respect."
"...My mother named me Woolchaser Goldenclaw, the first so I shall forever enjoy the thrill of the hunt and never have a dull moment. The second so I may never experience the hunger and strife she went through.", the feline purred, telling his name with pride despite his initial reluctance as if wanting to be chased only to give in willingly once enough interest was shown.
Aurum did his best to hold in a grin but he failed spectacularly. He had heard that catfolk tended to incredibly literal names but he had not expected something like this. Somehow... he could not picture a deadly assassin with that kind of name. Still attempting to save some dignity between them in the situation, he inquired,
"I... see. Do you have a shorter name I can call you by?"
"Sera, just call me Hunter."
"Very well, Hunter. Now give me that blade of yours, so I can sharpen it properly."
After a good day behind the forge, Aurum had finally sat back on the porch of his shop, watching the sunset from the comfort of his roughly hewn chair. A small cask of what he only referred to as 'the good stuff' had been placed on the table next to him, which contents he eagerly helped himself to. A lot had happened far quicker than he had been ready for, and things would only get more turbulent in the near future. Sighing audibly, the dwarf sat up and cracked his back before leaning back into his chair. He did not distrust the information he had been told, not even for a second. His customers had been rather tense over the last month or so and reports of attacks on non-human settlements had been getting more frequent so he had no reason to doubt what he had been told. Still, this meant that he did not have a choice but to back down and leave the country, should he want to continue living a free life or a life at all. This did not sit well with the stoic dwarf who preferred to be more like rock than water but even the heaviest boulder tumbled across the country given the right circumstances.
The old elf, Nieven, had returned from wherever and joined the smith with his own mug, filling it up without asking for permission and silently emptying his first serving into his stomach, not uttering a single word until he was done.
"Something bothering you?", he eventually asked, once again proving far too perceptive for the dwarf's taste.
Aurum stayed silent for another while before nodding in agreement. There was no point in hiding it at this point.
"Hrm... yes. I would like to give you a target."
"For silencing? Intimidation? Intelligence?", the other asked back, already having an inkling as to what direction their conversation was headed.
"Hack his arm off - the right one. If that is too hard, just kill him. I'd also like you to leave a message I'd write up at the scene - and one more for a different person."
"That is doable.", Nieven replied, not showing much in terms of feelings on his face. He silently regretted having asked in the first place. Truthfully, he had hoped they would simply enjoy a relaxed evening together, much like they had done quite often in the past.
"Who are these people?"
"The second son of one of the local lords - and his lass. He's been irritating me for a good three months now, trying to pressure me into serving their family exclusively, or else."
Aurum laughed as he remembered the muscular figure trying to intimidate him with a few soldiers and a young thing at his side. It truly had been a comical sight. "Trouble is, I don't like being threatened, nor being forced into some kind of servitude. I've told him off and his parents have promised he would better himself but ... that little shit still has not stopped, even going so far as to boast in front of his little love that I would give in soon enough."
"So you want his arm?"
An evil grin spread across the dwarf's lips as he explained, "He's not in direct line of succession and is impatient for merits. He wants to have a personal sword from me but I refused after he tried to force me. He has nothing in terms of smarts and relies on strength and intimidation. Should he lose his sword arm, he'd be done for. If he's too much of a challenge, just kill him. I'll give you a letter to put on his body, the second is for the lass, my condolences, or something of the sort. She's a good soul and tried to apologize for his actions. I'll give her some gold so she can get out of the country if she wills. Put it with the letter."
"That... is quite petty.", The elf smiled softly, unsure of what to say for a brief moment.
"Just the way I like it.", Aurum laughed heartily before adding, "I'll do the traps and everything for free and give you some money on top if you agree to it."
"I have no reason to say no. Hunter can go after the girl. He can be more sensitive than me."
"Good. I'll wait to hear about your success then."
"That reminds me.", Nieven said, pulling out a few folded sheets of parchment, "These are the plans for the traps. I had some spare time to draw them."
The smith took the offered plans and looked them over for a good minute, nodding to himself from time to time before replying, "This should be done in time, though I'll have to keep a steady pace." Folding the papers away, he sighed, raising his mug, "Not sure if we will get another relaxed evening to sit together like this in the near future, so here's to our plans. Cheers."
"Cheers.", the elf replied with a light chuckle before leaning back into his own chair and gazing into the starry night sky with the dwarf in mutual silence.
[side story, setting up traps, some character development for npcs]
The following day, Aurum set off to smelt down the ore he still had in stock while exchanging single sentences with the taxabi troubadour. He was mainly interested in what the cat needed to be fixed or fitted but, as he had feared, it went on quite the tangent once it got rolling.
"My iron claw does not hurt them.", The feline began, presenting a badly beat up rapier while putting its failure to hurt the armoured guards on the blade. Its tone was almost accusatory as it recalled the fight two nights prior, how it had put every ounce of experience into each swing and barely scratched the metal it's prey hid behind.
The smith hum-d and hrm-d for a few moments as he inspected the bent blade, realizing he would have to reforge it. "Was it the blade or the wearer who failed to do his job?", he asked back with a hint of offence taken. Many people that used weapons barely cared for them and in the end, blamed them for any failures as well. They expected the world from their equipment but did not put it in a position to do so. From the sound of it, the cat was not much different from those customers.
Taken aback by the defensive, almost retaliatory words, the golden cat eyes blinked for a few moments before answering,
"Sera, I know how a sharp claw is used best. I am famed for my hunting amongst my kin. Kittens hear of my tales before naptime. I am sure it was the blade that was at fault. My companions know of my skill."
"I see.", the dwarf simply said, having placed the rapier into the forge and blowing wind into the coals with a large bellow. In between every few pushes, he continued their conversation. "Though what you do is hardly a hunt. Climbing into bedrooms at night is something else."
"The most skilled hunt brings no harm to the hunter as he catches his prey unaware. Only a kitten tries to gain glory by challenging its prey. It thinks it needs to prove its worth and risks its life for it. It is a parents responsibility to get rid of such fantasies."
"So your last hunt was ... unskilled?"
"Sera... You do not mean those words."
"Hrm..."
The smith continued his work at the forge, bending the glowing hot metal back into proper shape for a good twenty minutes before handing it back to the cat.
"Here - see if it feels like it used to. If you want to hurt through armour, try a hammer.", he stated, turning back to the smelter and pouring out a handful of small, low-grade ingots. If he had more time, he would have refined them further but they were on a tight schedule - and most of what he would make was preferably going to be a one-use object. The taxabi gave it a few test-swings before moving over to a pile of hay and thrusting into it a few times. The blade felt as good as new and as little as he wanted to admit it, he had already known it would turn out this way. Over the years, the smith had not failed their expectations once.
"The blade is good, Sera. Sharpened and it will be as good as new."
"Don't tell me things I don't know. If I had the materials I'd be able to make you something that would carve those steel plates like butter but you can only reliably get bad ore around here." Aurum replied, in a manner, only an experienced craftsman could curse about bad suppliers. He could craft a fine blade from bad materials but the kind of quality the bard needed to reliably hurt the guards required much finer ingots. If they had more time, perhaps he would have told the feline to go out and search him some. It didn't matter how he sourced them after all - and the cat had its ways and he couldn't care less what they involved as long as it got things done.
"Yes, yes. I have no doubt in my mind.", the catfolk purred, flicking its whiskers ever so slightly.
Looking up from the smelter, he shook his head at the agreeable nature of the other. It was if it had no opinion of its own most of the time. He was still a little unsure about what it really thought most of the time but the elves trusted it, so he would have to as well for now. Stroking his beard idly, he spoke up once more,
"Listen, I never asked but, what is your name? I can't be calling you furball all the time now that we are working together for a little."
"Ah, Sera, it is not necessary."
"I insist. It is a matter of respect."
"...My mother named me Woolchaser Goldenclaw, the first so I shall forever enjoy the thrill of the hunt and never have a dull moment. The second so I may never experience the hunger and strife she went through.", the feline purred, telling his name with pride despite his initial reluctance as if wanting to be chased only to give in willingly once enough interest was shown.
Aurum did his best to hold in a grin but he failed spectacularly. He had heard that catfolk tended to incredibly literal names but he had not expected something like this. Somehow... he could not picture a deadly assassin with that kind of name. Still attempting to save some dignity between them in the situation, he inquired,
"I... see. Do you have a shorter name I can call you by?"
"Sera, just call me Hunter."
"Very well, Hunter. Now give me that blade of yours, so I can sharpen it properly."
Later that evening
After a good day behind the forge, Aurum had finally sat back on the porch of his shop, watching the sunset from the comfort of his roughly hewn chair. A small cask of what he only referred to as 'the good stuff' had been placed on the table next to him, which contents he eagerly helped himself to. A lot had happened far quicker than he had been ready for, and things would only get more turbulent in the near future. Sighing audibly, the dwarf sat up and cracked his back before leaning back into his chair. He did not distrust the information he had been told, not even for a second. His customers had been rather tense over the last month or so and reports of attacks on non-human settlements had been getting more frequent so he had no reason to doubt what he had been told. Still, this meant that he did not have a choice but to back down and leave the country, should he want to continue living a free life or a life at all. This did not sit well with the stoic dwarf who preferred to be more like rock than water but even the heaviest boulder tumbled across the country given the right circumstances.
The old elf, Nieven, had returned from wherever and joined the smith with his own mug, filling it up without asking for permission and silently emptying his first serving into his stomach, not uttering a single word until he was done.
"Something bothering you?", he eventually asked, once again proving far too perceptive for the dwarf's taste.
Aurum stayed silent for another while before nodding in agreement. There was no point in hiding it at this point.
"Hrm... yes. I would like to give you a target."
"For silencing? Intimidation? Intelligence?", the other asked back, already having an inkling as to what direction their conversation was headed.
"Hack his arm off - the right one. If that is too hard, just kill him. I'd also like you to leave a message I'd write up at the scene - and one more for a different person."
"That is doable.", Nieven replied, not showing much in terms of feelings on his face. He silently regretted having asked in the first place. Truthfully, he had hoped they would simply enjoy a relaxed evening together, much like they had done quite often in the past.
"Who are these people?"
"The second son of one of the local lords - and his lass. He's been irritating me for a good three months now, trying to pressure me into serving their family exclusively, or else."
Aurum laughed as he remembered the muscular figure trying to intimidate him with a few soldiers and a young thing at his side. It truly had been a comical sight. "Trouble is, I don't like being threatened, nor being forced into some kind of servitude. I've told him off and his parents have promised he would better himself but ... that little shit still has not stopped, even going so far as to boast in front of his little love that I would give in soon enough."
"So you want his arm?"
An evil grin spread across the dwarf's lips as he explained, "He's not in direct line of succession and is impatient for merits. He wants to have a personal sword from me but I refused after he tried to force me. He has nothing in terms of smarts and relies on strength and intimidation. Should he lose his sword arm, he'd be done for. If he's too much of a challenge, just kill him. I'll give you a letter to put on his body, the second is for the lass, my condolences, or something of the sort. She's a good soul and tried to apologize for his actions. I'll give her some gold so she can get out of the country if she wills. Put it with the letter."
"That... is quite petty.", The elf smiled softly, unsure of what to say for a brief moment.
"Just the way I like it.", Aurum laughed heartily before adding, "I'll do the traps and everything for free and give you some money on top if you agree to it."
"I have no reason to say no. Hunter can go after the girl. He can be more sensitive than me."
"Good. I'll wait to hear about your success then."
"That reminds me.", Nieven said, pulling out a few folded sheets of parchment, "These are the plans for the traps. I had some spare time to draw them."
The smith took the offered plans and looked them over for a good minute, nodding to himself from time to time before replying, "This should be done in time, though I'll have to keep a steady pace." Folding the papers away, he sighed, raising his mug, "Not sure if we will get another relaxed evening to sit together like this in the near future, so here's to our plans. Cheers."
"Cheers.", the elf replied with a light chuckle before leaning back into his own chair and gazing into the starry night sky with the dwarf in mutual silence.
letter to parents
Evan has proven to be a major nuisance to the people of this hold. As the good samaritan of this area, I have decided to put an end to his foolish behaviour as his parents have been unable to do so themselves.
Evan has proven to be a major nuisance to the people of this hold. As the good samaritan of this area, I have decided to put an end to his foolish behaviour as his parents have been unable to do so themselves.
letter to Evan's lover, Ellabelle (Aurum forgot her name)
Lass, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you like this but it had to be done. You are a good soul and deserve better. Take the gold that came with this message and get out of the country. Things will get ugly here soon. There are very radical powers at play. I hope we may meet again under more favourable circumstances in the future. Godspeed.
Lass, I am sorry to have inconvenienced you like this but it had to be done. You are a good soul and deserve better. Take the gold that came with this message and get out of the country. Things will get ugly here soon. There are very radical powers at play. I hope we may meet again under more favourable circumstances in the future. Godspeed.
The Heist
"Are you sure they will come through here?", Aurum whispered in a huffed voice, though the movement caused his armour to clatter noisily, ruining his efforts to stay quiet.
"If Sera stopped moving, then yes. They have to use this road. The other has been impassable for years. A large boulder blocked it a year ago during a flood."
"I can't see anything.", the dwarf complained as he attempted to peer through the foliage of the bush he was hiding in. The taxabi had placed him in the thickest and densest shrub in the area to make up for his poor hiding skills. It worked out just fine if he didn't move but if he did, the entire bush began to shake. The small thorns were prickling his skin and he was beginning to feel a little upset with his current situation. Highway banditry had sounded a lot more interesting in his head. At least he had learned something while making the traps he had been shown so it had not been without its merit so far.
"Sera! Sit still! Trust your creations. Nieven will not fail. Now... be quiet!"
Much to Woolchaser's surprise, the dwarf seemed to actually listen and stayed silent and unmoving. Now that he finally did, he was a lot harder to spot even for the experienced feline, making him a lot more certain of their imminent success.
Sure enough, only minutes after the impatient smith had voiced his dissatisfaction with his current situation the first sounds of approaching horses echoed from further down the road. Almost inaudible at first, they quickly became louder as the loaded carriage thundered across the hardened dirt road, creaking dangerously under its weight every time one of its wheels got caught in the many bumps in the hardly maintained path.
As it came closer, the dwarf could gradually spot more details - the carriage driver, dressed in a rough coat to keep the worst dirt off him, sitting together with a guard on the driver's seat, two guards sitting on the back. Each adorned a black sceptre with a red sun bursting out of it on top of a white background, barely discernable in the dim light of the early morning. Normally, Aurum was not a fan of fighting in such lighting but it currently worked in their favour, hiding the already well-hidden traps even further.
Five more steps. Three pairs of expectant eyes followed every step of the horses pulling the carriage into its inevitable doom. The tension was beginning to rise though each of them showed it in different ways. The elf's eyes seemed to almost pierce through each of the men. He had two crossbows loaded and ready to finish off any stragglers before moving into melee. On the other side of the road sat the taxabi in a tree, a little closer to the ground behind where the traps laid. The dwarf had been put roughly where the carriage would come to a stop so he would trap the men between the spikes and himself. They were after quick, clean kills - encircling and making the enemy panic was a basic strategy to quickly finish them off.
Four more steps. Aurum readied his hammer and although he had opted for a lighter shield due to all the shrubbery, he did not feel much less protected at all. These humans had no idea what was in store for them. Frankly, he would have felt a little bad for them, had they not been a part of this particular cult.
Three more steps. Both Woolchaser and Nieven began to take aim, ready to shoot the men in the back first.
Two steps.
One.
Zero.
The front hoof of the right horse caught itself in the maze of thin wire that had been spun across the road, it's momentum carrying it further into the trap, the sharp thread burying into its skin, twisting joints and breaking bones in a horrific crunch before both animals came to an abrupt halt, having pierced themselves on the cold iron spears that had shot up from the ground below. Frightened shrieks of pain and confusion followed as they tried to free themselves from the deadly trap, only to widen their wounds and accelerating their demise.
Three broad-shafted bolts hissed through the air, felling one guard in the back and the driver in the front, the force of the projectile pinning the latter to the backboard of his seat.
A burly warcry sounded from the back of the carriage as the geared smith rushed out from his bush and charged towards the remaining guard on his side, swinging his warhammer threateningly.
"YER HEAD IS MINE!", he shouted as he sped forward as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him. Meanwhile, his two companions stepped out from the sides of the road a little in front of the carriage as well, heading towards the last guard that had been thrown off-balance by the sudden interruption of their trip, had he not played dice into the night with the others and used his relatively cosy spot to take a brief nap.
Before either of the remaining guards could mount any meaningful defence, they were slain where they had sat, one ending up with multiple stab wounds, the other with a visibly dented skull.
"That was far less fun than I had hoped.", The smith complained afterwards as he headed towards the carriage door and pulling it open. All this waiting around and barely a fight afterwards left an unsatisfied feeling somewhere in his mouth.
"Perhaps but it got the job done without much risk.", Nieven interjected with a knowing smile. Unlike Aurum, who seemed to very much believe that the way how something was done was just as important as the end goal, he simply looked at the results to evaluate a mission. From his perspective, this was a job done fairly well. Not perfect, but more than good enough.
"Let's have a looksie at this treasure, then.", Aurum boomed with a grin, having already forgotten his other issues.
[may add treasure stuff later]
"How long till they send an investigation into the robbery?", The dwarf asked, lightly tipsy from having had perhaps a few too many victory toasts. Despite his earlier misgivings with their whole ambush shtick, he had quickly changed his mind upon seeing the treasures they had obtained with hardly any work at all. In fact, he had earnestly thought about repeating this a few times before leaving but they knew they were on a tight schedule. They likely had only a few more days before the parents of Evan tracked down his smithy and came for revenge (or justice, depending on how one saw it).
"Half a day, perhaps, Sera.", Woolchaser answered, having had one or two drinks himself. Even though he usually abstained from drinking, the sight of the many gold pieces and artefacts had made him want to share a mug or too as well. "Nieven is watching their movements very closely. We should know of them far in advance. They will be more careful once they see the carriage but we have made the attack look like a normal robbery. Nothing should tell them that we are after the investigators instead."
"Hum... good. I have prepared a cart in the woods should we need to leave the country earlier than expected. You are thorough but it never hurts to have options. Now, you should probably look after your elven companion. His wound fever may be stabilized but it's still quite terrible."
.....
"Are you sure they will come through here?", Aurum whispered in a huffed voice, though the movement caused his armour to clatter noisily, ruining his efforts to stay quiet.
"If Sera stopped moving, then yes. They have to use this road. The other has been impassable for years. A large boulder blocked it a year ago during a flood."
"I can't see anything.", the dwarf complained as he attempted to peer through the foliage of the bush he was hiding in. The taxabi had placed him in the thickest and densest shrub in the area to make up for his poor hiding skills. It worked out just fine if he didn't move but if he did, the entire bush began to shake. The small thorns were prickling his skin and he was beginning to feel a little upset with his current situation. Highway banditry had sounded a lot more interesting in his head. At least he had learned something while making the traps he had been shown so it had not been without its merit so far.
"Sera! Sit still! Trust your creations. Nieven will not fail. Now... be quiet!"
Much to Woolchaser's surprise, the dwarf seemed to actually listen and stayed silent and unmoving. Now that he finally did, he was a lot harder to spot even for the experienced feline, making him a lot more certain of their imminent success.
Sure enough, only minutes after the impatient smith had voiced his dissatisfaction with his current situation the first sounds of approaching horses echoed from further down the road. Almost inaudible at first, they quickly became louder as the loaded carriage thundered across the hardened dirt road, creaking dangerously under its weight every time one of its wheels got caught in the many bumps in the hardly maintained path.
As it came closer, the dwarf could gradually spot more details - the carriage driver, dressed in a rough coat to keep the worst dirt off him, sitting together with a guard on the driver's seat, two guards sitting on the back. Each adorned a black sceptre with a red sun bursting out of it on top of a white background, barely discernable in the dim light of the early morning. Normally, Aurum was not a fan of fighting in such lighting but it currently worked in their favour, hiding the already well-hidden traps even further.
Five more steps. Three pairs of expectant eyes followed every step of the horses pulling the carriage into its inevitable doom. The tension was beginning to rise though each of them showed it in different ways. The elf's eyes seemed to almost pierce through each of the men. He had two crossbows loaded and ready to finish off any stragglers before moving into melee. On the other side of the road sat the taxabi in a tree, a little closer to the ground behind where the traps laid. The dwarf had been put roughly where the carriage would come to a stop so he would trap the men between the spikes and himself. They were after quick, clean kills - encircling and making the enemy panic was a basic strategy to quickly finish them off.
Four more steps. Aurum readied his hammer and although he had opted for a lighter shield due to all the shrubbery, he did not feel much less protected at all. These humans had no idea what was in store for them. Frankly, he would have felt a little bad for them, had they not been a part of this particular cult.
Three more steps. Both Woolchaser and Nieven began to take aim, ready to shoot the men in the back first.
Two steps.
One.
Zero.
The front hoof of the right horse caught itself in the maze of thin wire that had been spun across the road, it's momentum carrying it further into the trap, the sharp thread burying into its skin, twisting joints and breaking bones in a horrific crunch before both animals came to an abrupt halt, having pierced themselves on the cold iron spears that had shot up from the ground below. Frightened shrieks of pain and confusion followed as they tried to free themselves from the deadly trap, only to widen their wounds and accelerating their demise.
Three broad-shafted bolts hissed through the air, felling one guard in the back and the driver in the front, the force of the projectile pinning the latter to the backboard of his seat.
A burly warcry sounded from the back of the carriage as the geared smith rushed out from his bush and charged towards the remaining guard on his side, swinging his warhammer threateningly.
"YER HEAD IS MINE!", he shouted as he sped forward as fast as his stumpy legs would carry him. Meanwhile, his two companions stepped out from the sides of the road a little in front of the carriage as well, heading towards the last guard that had been thrown off-balance by the sudden interruption of their trip, had he not played dice into the night with the others and used his relatively cosy spot to take a brief nap.
Before either of the remaining guards could mount any meaningful defence, they were slain where they had sat, one ending up with multiple stab wounds, the other with a visibly dented skull.
"That was far less fun than I had hoped.", The smith complained afterwards as he headed towards the carriage door and pulling it open. All this waiting around and barely a fight afterwards left an unsatisfied feeling somewhere in his mouth.
"Perhaps but it got the job done without much risk.", Nieven interjected with a knowing smile. Unlike Aurum, who seemed to very much believe that the way how something was done was just as important as the end goal, he simply looked at the results to evaluate a mission. From his perspective, this was a job done fairly well. Not perfect, but more than good enough.
"Let's have a looksie at this treasure, then.", Aurum boomed with a grin, having already forgotten his other issues.
[may add treasure stuff later]
A few hours later, back at the smithy
"How long till they send an investigation into the robbery?", The dwarf asked, lightly tipsy from having had perhaps a few too many victory toasts. Despite his earlier misgivings with their whole ambush shtick, he had quickly changed his mind upon seeing the treasures they had obtained with hardly any work at all. In fact, he had earnestly thought about repeating this a few times before leaving but they knew they were on a tight schedule. They likely had only a few more days before the parents of Evan tracked down his smithy and came for revenge (or justice, depending on how one saw it).
"Half a day, perhaps, Sera.", Woolchaser answered, having had one or two drinks himself. Even though he usually abstained from drinking, the sight of the many gold pieces and artefacts had made him want to share a mug or too as well. "Nieven is watching their movements very closely. We should know of them far in advance. They will be more careful once they see the carriage but we have made the attack look like a normal robbery. Nothing should tell them that we are after the investigators instead."
"Hum... good. I have prepared a cart in the woods should we need to leave the country earlier than expected. You are thorough but it never hurts to have options. Now, you should probably look after your elven companion. His wound fever may be stabilized but it's still quite terrible."
.....
Red Morning Symbol
Investigations
[Nieven side story - will finish later.]
[Nieven side story - will finish later.]
Confrontation
A day after their successful heist, the three had found themselves at the scene of the crime once more, waiting in the thick foliage as four riders approached the carriage very carefully.
[basically, they encounter Anton Lumieran and have to dip. Mitabar dies from his wound without being found. They end up with the others. Will write this out once I feel like it c: ]
A day after their successful heist, the three had found themselves at the scene of the crime once more, waiting in the thick foliage as four riders approached the carriage very carefully.
[basically, they encounter Anton Lumieran and have to dip. Mitabar dies from his wound without being found. They end up with the others. Will write this out once I feel like it c: ]
[placeholder]
Urah, Ifrit commander
Character Sheet
Character Sheet
Abilities
Class Features
Combat Training: A commander may combine combat spheres and talents to create powerful martial techniques. Commanders are considered Adept combatants and use the higher of their Charisma or Intelligence as their practitioner modifier.
Commander: A commander gains the Warleader sphere as a bonus sphere at 1st level.
Lingering Commands: The commander is an expert at commanding troops, even under the most difficult of conditions. Whenever the benefits of a shout or tactic the commander initiated would end, their benefits persist for a number of rounds equal to the higher of his Intelligence or Charisma modifiers. Instantaneous effects are not affected by this ability, nor are tactics that end because the commander used a swift action to activate a different tactic.
Enhanced Tactics (Ex): Starting at 2nd level and every two levels thereafter, the commander may select an enhanced tactic. Enhanced tactics are special bonuses and abilities that can affect any ally currently benefiting from one of the commander’s tactics or shouts granted by the Warleader sphere. The commander may start an enhanced tactic as part of the same action used to begin a tactic or initiate a shout, and the commander may switch to any enhanced tactic he knows as a free action once per round. The commander may only have one enhanced tactic active at a time.
Some enhanced tactics allow an ally to make a free action even when it isn’t their turn. A single creature cannot make more than one such free action in a round, no matter how many enhanced tactics it might be benefiting from, even from multiple commanders.
Command Attack: The commander may use a standard action to allow any one creature currently benefiting from one of his shouts or tactics to immediately use an attack action as a free action that can be taken even if it’s not their turn. If the granted action is not taken immediately following the commander’s use of this ability, this effect is wasted (the benefiting target cannot “store” the action for use at a later time).
Troop Upkeep: By haranguing and encouraging his troops, the commander can enable them to draw on inner reserves of strength and fortitude they didn’t realize they possessed. Each round at the start of the commander’s turn, each ally currently benefiting from one of his tactics or shouts gains a number of temporary hit points equal to his Charisma or Intelligence bonus (minimum 1), whichever is higher. These temporary hit points disappear immediately if the ally ceases to benefit from at least one of the commander’s shouts or tactics.
Battlefield Specialist (Ex): At 3rd level and every 6 levels thereafter, the commander may select a specific terrain he excels at coordinating battles in. The commander chooses one terrain and its associated benefits each time he gains this ability.
Urban: City streets, rooftops, cobbled roads, and grimy sewers are the ideal battlefields for some commanders. When fighting or traveling in urban terrain the commander and any ally affected by one of his tactics or shouts gain a competence bonus to Acrobatics checks made to cross a rooftop or traverse a sewer and to Diplomacy checks made to direct a crowd equal 1/2 the commander’s class level. In addition, the commander and any ally affected by one of his tactics or shouts increase any AC bonuses from cover by +2 while fighting in urban environments.
Group Focus (Ex): Starting at 5th level, the commander may fly into a strenuous and exhausting flurry as a standard action, shouting out commands, redirecting attention, calling out threats, and generally imposing his will and order upon the battlefield, restoring the martial focus of all allies who can see and hear him. If an affected ally would not benefit from regaining martial focus, they instead gain a morale bonus to their attack rolls, damage rolls, saving throws, AC, and CMD equal to the higher of the commander’s Charisma or Intelligence bonus for 1 round. The commander may use this ability 1/day at 5th level, and gains an additional use every 6 levels thereafter.
Logistic Specialty (Ex)" At 7th level and every 6 levels thereafter, the commander learns a logistic specialty from the following list:
Call In A Specialist: The commander makes many contacts over the course of his career, including individuals with unique skill sets capable of turning the tide of a critical battle or provide crucial information. Once per week, the commander may spread the word in any small town or larger settlement that he is looking for such a specialist to aid in a particular task.
The specialist appears within 24 hours, minus 1 hour for each level the commander possesses (minimum time until appearance of 1 hour). The specialist stays until their task (as described in their entry) is completed, or for a number of days equal to 1/2 the commander’s class level, whichever comes first.
Specialists whose services are acquired in this way generally will not become directly involved in combat; if forced into a situation where combat is inevitable, they will fight to protect themselves but will otherwise avoid conflict. If a specialist is killed in the course of performing their services as defined in this ability, the commander must wait 1 month before another specialist will work with him again. Each time the commander uses this ability, he chooses a particular type of specialist from the following list:
Equipment Specialist: The commander gains the services of a blacksmith whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This equipment specialist will use his maintenance class feature for the commander and up to 5 other individuals in preparation for the following day. In addition, the blacksmith can use his reforge ability to repair or reforge one magic weapon in the commander’s possession.
Information Specialist: The commander gains the services of a bard or rogue whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This information specialist can perform one of two services; first, they can provide the commander with a detailed map of the local town or city, including hidden passages, sewer passageways (if any), guild hall locations (both legitimate businesses and illicit organizations such as thieves guilds), and other relevant points of interest. Secondly, they can spend 5 days studying a single city block, or one major figure in their town or city; if they study a city block, they provide basic information about all traffic that moves in or out of this area, including what races and in what numbers, any traps or particularly dangerous individuals who frequent the area, and any other major points of interest. If they study a particular individual or citizen they gain detailed information about the figure including their friends and contacts, any significant abilities possessed by the individual (such as martial prowess or spellcasting), any weapons or possessions of particular note or value, and any addictions, habits, or other social weaknesses the individual possesses.
Medical Specialist: The commander gains the services of a cleric or scholar whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This medical specialist will provide medical treatment to the commander and up to 5 other individuals, using any abilities they possess to heal the injuries and negative conditions affecting these targets. The commander must still pay for any expensive material components necessary for spells or abilities the medical specialist performs.
Scouting Specialist: The commander gains the services of a hunter or ranger whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This scouting specialist can perform one of two services; first, they can provide the commander with a detailed map of nearby wilderness territory, including pathways, dungeons, and the lairs of dangerous beasts. The scouting specialist can successfully map up to 1 square mile of territory each day. Secondly, they can spend 5 days studying a wilderness area of 1 square mile or less, or a single creature; if they study a particular creature, at the end of this period they provide detailed information about it to the commander, including its current condition, weaknesses, spell-like or supernatural abilities, and its habits and daily routine (where it goes and why).
If they study a particular area, they provide basic information on all creatures that move through that territory, including species and approximate number, any hazards or pitfalls in the area, and any other items of particular interest.
Call In the Cavalry: Over the course of his career, the commander makes friends and earns favors with all manner of individuals whose careers intersect with the military and adventuring lifestyles. Once per week, as long as the commander is in a small town or larger center of civilization, the commander may call in such a favor to gain temporary access to specially trained mounts for himself and his allies. These mounts may be camels, hippogriffs, sharks, or any type of animal as appropriate to the local environments, but mounts gained through use of this ability never have more than 5 HD. The commander gains access to a number of mounts equal to his class level; these mounts are typically well-equipped to deal with local terrains, whether that entails swimming, flying, or another form of movement, and have a 60 ft. movement speed appropriate to any of their modes of movement; generally, mounts should not have more than two movement modes (such as a land and fly speed), and may only have one if appropriate, such as a shark only having a swim speed.
Regardless of the exact type or nature of these mounts, they know that they are on loan and consider their own safety to be of utmost importance; if the party is attacked or otherwise comes under fire from an enemy source, the mounts will immediately deposit the commander and his allies in the nearest safest location before retreating to a safe distance until the danger ends. The mounts will also not allow themselves to be sold, and generally have prominent markings declaring their ownership, such as branding or dyeing in the design or colors of the rightful owner. In addition, the mounts will not follow the commander or his allies into obviously dangerous situations, including into dungeons, active volcanoes, extra-planar rifts, etc. The commander has access to these mounts for 1 week, plus 1 additional week at 11th level and every 4 levels thereafter.
Field Feeding: The commander can make a single DC 20 Survival check to move at full overland speed while foraging and supply enough food to feed himself and up to 10 Medium humanoids per class level for 1 day. If the commander is not traveling overland, he can instead scavenge the same amount of food with an hour’s time. For every 5 points by which the commander exceeds the DC for this check, each creature fed by this ability gains a +1 morale bonus to damage rolls and Fortitude saves (maximum +5) for the next 24 hours.
Mercantile Connections: Whether supplying an army or a small group of adventurers, the commander always knows how to find the best supplies at the lowest price. Whenever he buys an item that costs 500 gp or less, he can buy it at 90% of the market price. If the commander buys multiples of such an item in units of 5 or more, he may instead buy it at 70% of market price.
Overland March: The commander and any ally who can see and hear him double the maximum distance they can travel in an hour when walking, running, or hustling during overland movement. Creatures with overland flight speeds benefiting from this ability have their overland flight speed doubled. In addition, anyone benefiting from this ability can make a forced march for up to 16 hours before needing to make a Constitution check to avoid nonlethal damage and fatigue.
Secret Ways: Once per day, the commander can use the gather information function of the Diplomacy skill over an hour’s time to discern the locations and pass phrases (if any) of secret portals, tunnels, tears between planar locations, and similar effects in urban areas, or in ruins and cemeteries near urban areas; the commander cannot take 10 or 20 on this check. These passages are not necessarily permanent fixtures; they may be planar or astral convergences that only happen during particular times of the year, abnormal rifts created by recent events in the area, or any number of other possible occurrences. While passages uncovered using this ability are always reliable to the degree determined by the commander’s gather information check, there are no assurances that the events that created the passage will be still viable for longer than 48 hours past the travel time to reach them. The function and reliability of this ability is determined by his gather information check, as detailed on Table: Secret Ways.
Advanced Tactician: Commanders of at least 10th level may have two enhanced tactics active at a time, and may activate or switch both enhanced tactics using the largest same action, as long as it is the largest activation action from among the two (for example, the commander could activate two enhanced tactics that both require a move action as a move action, but an enhanced tactic that requires a standard action and an enhanced tactic that requires a move action would require a standard action to activate together).
Expert Tactician: At 20th level, the commander may have up to three enhanced tactics active at a time, and may activate or switch all three enhanced tactics using the same action as long as he uses the largest activation action.
Class Features
Combat Training: A commander may combine combat spheres and talents to create powerful martial techniques. Commanders are considered Adept combatants and use the higher of their Charisma or Intelligence as their practitioner modifier.
Commander: A commander gains the Warleader sphere as a bonus sphere at 1st level.
Lingering Commands: The commander is an expert at commanding troops, even under the most difficult of conditions. Whenever the benefits of a shout or tactic the commander initiated would end, their benefits persist for a number of rounds equal to the higher of his Intelligence or Charisma modifiers. Instantaneous effects are not affected by this ability, nor are tactics that end because the commander used a swift action to activate a different tactic.
Enhanced Tactics (Ex): Starting at 2nd level and every two levels thereafter, the commander may select an enhanced tactic. Enhanced tactics are special bonuses and abilities that can affect any ally currently benefiting from one of the commander’s tactics or shouts granted by the Warleader sphere. The commander may start an enhanced tactic as part of the same action used to begin a tactic or initiate a shout, and the commander may switch to any enhanced tactic he knows as a free action once per round. The commander may only have one enhanced tactic active at a time.
Some enhanced tactics allow an ally to make a free action even when it isn’t their turn. A single creature cannot make more than one such free action in a round, no matter how many enhanced tactics it might be benefiting from, even from multiple commanders.
Command Attack: The commander may use a standard action to allow any one creature currently benefiting from one of his shouts or tactics to immediately use an attack action as a free action that can be taken even if it’s not their turn. If the granted action is not taken immediately following the commander’s use of this ability, this effect is wasted (the benefiting target cannot “store” the action for use at a later time).
Troop Upkeep: By haranguing and encouraging his troops, the commander can enable them to draw on inner reserves of strength and fortitude they didn’t realize they possessed. Each round at the start of the commander’s turn, each ally currently benefiting from one of his tactics or shouts gains a number of temporary hit points equal to his Charisma or Intelligence bonus (minimum 1), whichever is higher. These temporary hit points disappear immediately if the ally ceases to benefit from at least one of the commander’s shouts or tactics.
Battlefield Specialist (Ex): At 3rd level and every 6 levels thereafter, the commander may select a specific terrain he excels at coordinating battles in. The commander chooses one terrain and its associated benefits each time he gains this ability.
Urban: City streets, rooftops, cobbled roads, and grimy sewers are the ideal battlefields for some commanders. When fighting or traveling in urban terrain the commander and any ally affected by one of his tactics or shouts gain a competence bonus to Acrobatics checks made to cross a rooftop or traverse a sewer and to Diplomacy checks made to direct a crowd equal 1/2 the commander’s class level. In addition, the commander and any ally affected by one of his tactics or shouts increase any AC bonuses from cover by +2 while fighting in urban environments.
Group Focus (Ex): Starting at 5th level, the commander may fly into a strenuous and exhausting flurry as a standard action, shouting out commands, redirecting attention, calling out threats, and generally imposing his will and order upon the battlefield, restoring the martial focus of all allies who can see and hear him. If an affected ally would not benefit from regaining martial focus, they instead gain a morale bonus to their attack rolls, damage rolls, saving throws, AC, and CMD equal to the higher of the commander’s Charisma or Intelligence bonus for 1 round. The commander may use this ability 1/day at 5th level, and gains an additional use every 6 levels thereafter.
Logistic Specialty (Ex)" At 7th level and every 6 levels thereafter, the commander learns a logistic specialty from the following list:
Call In A Specialist: The commander makes many contacts over the course of his career, including individuals with unique skill sets capable of turning the tide of a critical battle or provide crucial information. Once per week, the commander may spread the word in any small town or larger settlement that he is looking for such a specialist to aid in a particular task.
The specialist appears within 24 hours, minus 1 hour for each level the commander possesses (minimum time until appearance of 1 hour). The specialist stays until their task (as described in their entry) is completed, or for a number of days equal to 1/2 the commander’s class level, whichever comes first.
Specialists whose services are acquired in this way generally will not become directly involved in combat; if forced into a situation where combat is inevitable, they will fight to protect themselves but will otherwise avoid conflict. If a specialist is killed in the course of performing their services as defined in this ability, the commander must wait 1 month before another specialist will work with him again. Each time the commander uses this ability, he chooses a particular type of specialist from the following list:
Equipment Specialist: The commander gains the services of a blacksmith whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This equipment specialist will use his maintenance class feature for the commander and up to 5 other individuals in preparation for the following day. In addition, the blacksmith can use his reforge ability to repair or reforge one magic weapon in the commander’s possession.
Information Specialist: The commander gains the services of a bard or rogue whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This information specialist can perform one of two services; first, they can provide the commander with a detailed map of the local town or city, including hidden passages, sewer passageways (if any), guild hall locations (both legitimate businesses and illicit organizations such as thieves guilds), and other relevant points of interest. Secondly, they can spend 5 days studying a single city block, or one major figure in their town or city; if they study a city block, they provide basic information about all traffic that moves in or out of this area, including what races and in what numbers, any traps or particularly dangerous individuals who frequent the area, and any other major points of interest. If they study a particular individual or citizen they gain detailed information about the figure including their friends and contacts, any significant abilities possessed by the individual (such as martial prowess or spellcasting), any weapons or possessions of particular note or value, and any addictions, habits, or other social weaknesses the individual possesses.
Medical Specialist: The commander gains the services of a cleric or scholar whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This medical specialist will provide medical treatment to the commander and up to 5 other individuals, using any abilities they possess to heal the injuries and negative conditions affecting these targets. The commander must still pay for any expensive material components necessary for spells or abilities the medical specialist performs.
Scouting Specialist: The commander gains the services of a hunter or ranger whose class level is equal to the commander’s class level -3. This scouting specialist can perform one of two services; first, they can provide the commander with a detailed map of nearby wilderness territory, including pathways, dungeons, and the lairs of dangerous beasts. The scouting specialist can successfully map up to 1 square mile of territory each day. Secondly, they can spend 5 days studying a wilderness area of 1 square mile or less, or a single creature; if they study a particular creature, at the end of this period they provide detailed information about it to the commander, including its current condition, weaknesses, spell-like or supernatural abilities, and its habits and daily routine (where it goes and why).
If they study a particular area, they provide basic information on all creatures that move through that territory, including species and approximate number, any hazards or pitfalls in the area, and any other items of particular interest.
Call In the Cavalry: Over the course of his career, the commander makes friends and earns favors with all manner of individuals whose careers intersect with the military and adventuring lifestyles. Once per week, as long as the commander is in a small town or larger center of civilization, the commander may call in such a favor to gain temporary access to specially trained mounts for himself and his allies. These mounts may be camels, hippogriffs, sharks, or any type of animal as appropriate to the local environments, but mounts gained through use of this ability never have more than 5 HD. The commander gains access to a number of mounts equal to his class level; these mounts are typically well-equipped to deal with local terrains, whether that entails swimming, flying, or another form of movement, and have a 60 ft. movement speed appropriate to any of their modes of movement; generally, mounts should not have more than two movement modes (such as a land and fly speed), and may only have one if appropriate, such as a shark only having a swim speed.
Regardless of the exact type or nature of these mounts, they know that they are on loan and consider their own safety to be of utmost importance; if the party is attacked or otherwise comes under fire from an enemy source, the mounts will immediately deposit the commander and his allies in the nearest safest location before retreating to a safe distance until the danger ends. The mounts will also not allow themselves to be sold, and generally have prominent markings declaring their ownership, such as branding or dyeing in the design or colors of the rightful owner. In addition, the mounts will not follow the commander or his allies into obviously dangerous situations, including into dungeons, active volcanoes, extra-planar rifts, etc. The commander has access to these mounts for 1 week, plus 1 additional week at 11th level and every 4 levels thereafter.
Field Feeding: The commander can make a single DC 20 Survival check to move at full overland speed while foraging and supply enough food to feed himself and up to 10 Medium humanoids per class level for 1 day. If the commander is not traveling overland, he can instead scavenge the same amount of food with an hour’s time. For every 5 points by which the commander exceeds the DC for this check, each creature fed by this ability gains a +1 morale bonus to damage rolls and Fortitude saves (maximum +5) for the next 24 hours.
Mercantile Connections: Whether supplying an army or a small group of adventurers, the commander always knows how to find the best supplies at the lowest price. Whenever he buys an item that costs 500 gp or less, he can buy it at 90% of the market price. If the commander buys multiples of such an item in units of 5 or more, he may instead buy it at 70% of market price.
Overland March: The commander and any ally who can see and hear him double the maximum distance they can travel in an hour when walking, running, or hustling during overland movement. Creatures with overland flight speeds benefiting from this ability have their overland flight speed doubled. In addition, anyone benefiting from this ability can make a forced march for up to 16 hours before needing to make a Constitution check to avoid nonlethal damage and fatigue.
Secret Ways: Once per day, the commander can use the gather information function of the Diplomacy skill over an hour’s time to discern the locations and pass phrases (if any) of secret portals, tunnels, tears between planar locations, and similar effects in urban areas, or in ruins and cemeteries near urban areas; the commander cannot take 10 or 20 on this check. These passages are not necessarily permanent fixtures; they may be planar or astral convergences that only happen during particular times of the year, abnormal rifts created by recent events in the area, or any number of other possible occurrences. While passages uncovered using this ability are always reliable to the degree determined by the commander’s gather information check, there are no assurances that the events that created the passage will be still viable for longer than 48 hours past the travel time to reach them. The function and reliability of this ability is determined by his gather information check, as detailed on Table: Secret Ways.
Advanced Tactician: Commanders of at least 10th level may have two enhanced tactics active at a time, and may activate or switch both enhanced tactics using the largest same action, as long as it is the largest activation action from among the two (for example, the commander could activate two enhanced tactics that both require a move action as a move action, but an enhanced tactic that requires a standard action and an enhanced tactic that requires a move action would require a standard action to activate together).
Expert Tactician: At 20th level, the commander may have up to three enhanced tactics active at a time, and may activate or switch all three enhanced tactics using the same action as long as he uses the largest activation action.
Spheres/Talents
Tactics: Tactics are coordinated battle plans that require continuing direction from the practitioner to maintain. A creature must have line of sight to, and be able to see, the practitioner to benefit from a tactic. Beginning a tactic is a move action, and it can be maintained each round as a move or swift action. Once activated, you may switch between any tactics you know each time you use a swift action to maintain an ongoing tactic. Tactics affect all allied creatures within a radius of 10 ft. + 5ft. per rank in Diplomacy you possess, and may be centered on any square you have both line of sight and line of effect to. You may recenter an ongoing tactic at a new location as part of the swift action used to maintain it. The benefits of your tactics end immediately if you are helpless, killed, paralyzed, rendered unconscious, or stunned.
When you first gain the Warleader sphere, you gain the following tactic:
Aggressive Flanking: While within the affected area of this tactic, allied creatures are considered to be flanking as long as they both threaten the same creature, regardless of their comparative positioning.
Shouts: Shouts are sound-based effects centered on the practitioner that affect creatures in an area of effect centered on the practitioner with a radius of 10 ft. + 5 ft. per 2 ranks in Diplomacy the practitioner possesses. The practitioner may choose whether or not to include himself in the effects of his shout. The effects of shouts last for a number of rounds equal to 1 + 1 for every 4 ranks in Diplomacy you possesses, and use your ranks in Diplomacy instead of your base attack bonus when determining any saving throws. Unless otherwise noted, using a shout is a standard action. Deaf characters or characters otherwise lacking the ability to hear gain a +5 bonus on all saves against shout effects, and must attempt a saving throw against a shout even if its effects would be beneficial. Practitioners in the area of a silence spell or otherwise unable to make a sound cannot use shouts until they are once more able to be heard.
While some shouts only affect allies or enemies, others affect all targets within their area of effect. When performing such a shout, you may spend a move action to warn your allies to cover their ears and negate the effects, but doing so gives enemies within the area of effect a +5 bonus to their saving throw against the shout’s effects. Some shouts may require you to expend your martial focus, as described in their entry.
When you first gain the Warleader sphere, you gain the following shout:
Fierce Shout: When you use this shout, you and all affected allies gain a +1 morale bonus on damage rolls on their first attack each turn. For every 2 ranks in Diplomacy you possess, this morale bonus to damage is increased by +1. This is a mind-affecting emotion effect.
Tactics: Tactics are coordinated battle plans that require continuing direction from the practitioner to maintain. A creature must have line of sight to, and be able to see, the practitioner to benefit from a tactic. Beginning a tactic is a move action, and it can be maintained each round as a move or swift action. Once activated, you may switch between any tactics you know each time you use a swift action to maintain an ongoing tactic. Tactics affect all allied creatures within a radius of 10 ft. + 5ft. per rank in Diplomacy you possess, and may be centered on any square you have both line of sight and line of effect to. You may recenter an ongoing tactic at a new location as part of the swift action used to maintain it. The benefits of your tactics end immediately if you are helpless, killed, paralyzed, rendered unconscious, or stunned.
When you first gain the Warleader sphere, you gain the following tactic:
Aggressive Flanking: While within the affected area of this tactic, allied creatures are considered to be flanking as long as they both threaten the same creature, regardless of their comparative positioning.
Shouts: Shouts are sound-based effects centered on the practitioner that affect creatures in an area of effect centered on the practitioner with a radius of 10 ft. + 5 ft. per 2 ranks in Diplomacy the practitioner possesses. The practitioner may choose whether or not to include himself in the effects of his shout. The effects of shouts last for a number of rounds equal to 1 + 1 for every 4 ranks in Diplomacy you possesses, and use your ranks in Diplomacy instead of your base attack bonus when determining any saving throws. Unless otherwise noted, using a shout is a standard action. Deaf characters or characters otherwise lacking the ability to hear gain a +5 bonus on all saves against shout effects, and must attempt a saving throw against a shout even if its effects would be beneficial. Practitioners in the area of a silence spell or otherwise unable to make a sound cannot use shouts until they are once more able to be heard.
While some shouts only affect allies or enemies, others affect all targets within their area of effect. When performing such a shout, you may spend a move action to warn your allies to cover their ears and negate the effects, but doing so gives enemies within the area of effect a +5 bonus to their saving throw against the shout’s effects. Some shouts may require you to expend your martial focus, as described in their entry.
When you first gain the Warleader sphere, you gain the following shout:
Fierce Shout: When you use this shout, you and all affected allies gain a +1 morale bonus on damage rolls on their first attack each turn. For every 2 ranks in Diplomacy you possess, this morale bonus to damage is increased by +1. This is a mind-affecting emotion effect.
Talents
Call Attention (shout): When you use this shout, your opponents’ attention is drawn to you for its duration, making it hard for them to focus on your allies. Allies within the shout’s affected area may make a Stealth check to hide even if they do not have cover or concealment for the duration of the shout, but you automatically fail any Stealth checks for the shout’s duration.
Verbal Commands: Creatures may benefit from your tactics even if they cannot see you, as long as they can hear your instructions; this allows creatures who are blind, but not deaf, to benefit from your tactics. You must still be able to see affected creatures and the area within your tactic’s radius to issue commands, but need not have direct line of sight or line of effect; for example, if you are watching an area through a magical viewing device and have a method of communicating verbally with affected allies in the area each round, you can maintain a tactic and grant its benefits to your allies without being physically present.
Call Attention (shout): When you use this shout, your opponents’ attention is drawn to you for its duration, making it hard for them to focus on your allies. Allies within the shout’s affected area may make a Stealth check to hide even if they do not have cover or concealment for the duration of the shout, but you automatically fail any Stealth checks for the shout’s duration.
Verbal Commands: Creatures may benefit from your tactics even if they cannot see you, as long as they can hear your instructions; this allows creatures who are blind, but not deaf, to benefit from your tactics. You must still be able to see affected creatures and the area within your tactic’s radius to issue commands, but need not have direct line of sight or line of effect; for example, if you are watching an area through a magical viewing device and have a method of communicating verbally with affected allies in the area each round, you can maintain a tactic and grant its benefits to your allies without being physically present.
NPCs
Rupert: Human, Male, 45, Fighter, CN, adorned with several battle scars, gray hair, rough looking, only has his right eye as he lost the other during battle.
Personality: Stoic, mistrustful of strangers, cautious, calm, collected, observant, strong
Rupert has served under Urah for many years. Together they have shared many laughs and drinks. While Rupert may seem severe on the outside he has a soft side that only a small handful of people have ever seen. They have fought in many battles together saving each other from death and defeat. He is a grisly man who few words but his actions speak loudly. It is hard to gain his trust but he is extremely loyal after you earn it. Rupert trusts only a few people to watch his back and ensure his safety. He has great respect for Urah and would follow him anywhere.
Giselle: Undine, female, 60, Bard, CN, blue skin with blue green hair, tall and slender
Personality: supportive, protective, fierce, outgoing, outspoken, opinionated, headstrong, belligerent
Giselle is the jilted lover of Urah. She had strong feelings for him at one time but he did not return those feelings. All he wanted from her was pleasure but she wanted something deeper and more meaningful. This caused a rift to form between them. While they can still work together, with some difficulty, she is silently plotting her revenge against Urah. Giselle is outspoken about her opinions and can be rather headstrong and belligerent.
Denat: Ifrit, male, 55, Magus, NE, red hair, red eyes, short and stocky, younger brother to Urah
Personality: fairly timid, easily cowed, smart, introverted, observant, cunning, ruthless in battle, uncaring, aloof, clear headed, not easily provoked
Denat has always been a little jealous of his older brother Urah for his people skills. It was never enough to affect their friendship. While Urah was better with people, Denat was able to see situations more clearly. He excelled when working in the shadows. When he works with his brother the two form a formidable party. Urah may be the face of their family but Denat wields a certain power from behind his brother.
Rupert: Human, Male, 45, Fighter, CN, adorned with several battle scars, gray hair, rough looking, only has his right eye as he lost the other during battle.
Personality: Stoic, mistrustful of strangers, cautious, calm, collected, observant, strong
Rupert has served under Urah for many years. Together they have shared many laughs and drinks. While Rupert may seem severe on the outside he has a soft side that only a small handful of people have ever seen. They have fought in many battles together saving each other from death and defeat. He is a grisly man who few words but his actions speak loudly. It is hard to gain his trust but he is extremely loyal after you earn it. Rupert trusts only a few people to watch his back and ensure his safety. He has great respect for Urah and would follow him anywhere.
Giselle: Undine, female, 60, Bard, CN, blue skin with blue green hair, tall and slender
Personality: supportive, protective, fierce, outgoing, outspoken, opinionated, headstrong, belligerent
Giselle is the jilted lover of Urah. She had strong feelings for him at one time but he did not return those feelings. All he wanted from her was pleasure but she wanted something deeper and more meaningful. This caused a rift to form between them. While they can still work together, with some difficulty, she is silently plotting her revenge against Urah. Giselle is outspoken about her opinions and can be rather headstrong and belligerent.
Denat: Ifrit, male, 55, Magus, NE, red hair, red eyes, short and stocky, younger brother to Urah
Personality: fairly timid, easily cowed, smart, introverted, observant, cunning, ruthless in battle, uncaring, aloof, clear headed, not easily provoked
Denat has always been a little jealous of his older brother Urah for his people skills. It was never enough to affect their friendship. While Urah was better with people, Denat was able to see situations more clearly. He excelled when working in the shadows. When he works with his brother the two form a formidable party. Urah may be the face of their family but Denat wields a certain power from behind his brother.
Backstory
Urah had grown up and spent his entire life in Galt. While the city was ruthless and unforgiving Urah never had issues with how the city was run. There was a certain beauty in the chaos of the streets. He found that while growing up was tough it better prepared him for his future. It helped to shape the man he became. His future was one where he could command respect and have people follow him. Urah was gifted when it came to oratory skills. Which he learned early on to use to his full advantage. Many would say that he had a silver tongue. However, all he wanted was to accomplish his goals through any means necessary.
Urah had joined up with the military when he was able to and went through the ranks. He showed promise as a leader that his superiors took advantage of. However, that was to their own detriment as Urah began to command more respect from the soldiers. They were afraid of Urah but also respected the power he asserted over them. It was not long before Urah was able to take control of more and more men. It was not long before he was a commander of his own lethal force.
With his skills he went in search of more men to control. This lead him towards some of the roaming bandit clans within the city. Seeing the opportunity he joined ranks with one of the local bands. Taking on dangerous jobs he started to build his own reputation. A reputation of ruthlessness and ambition. He wanted more for the people in Galt and for himself. Making sure he always got just a little more from each successful job than the others. His greed is what drove him forward and to keep his reputation growing.
Urah was willingly to work with others to accomplish his goals. Which was to accumulate vast amounts of wealth. People were only useful if they were making him money. Otherwise he had little to no use for them. If people became useless there was only one thing left for him to do. Dispatch of them in some cruel and harsh manner. Sometimes death claimed them quickly other times it was drawn out but death always found those who displeased Urah.
His current companions were holding their own weight as of now. Urah was not fond of any of them personally. There was no real personal attachment. However, he had no reason to seek to harm them. As long as they obeyed his commands and followed his lead there would be no problems. He had no problems telling people off or using threats against them to get them to comply.
Urah had grown up and spent his entire life in Galt. While the city was ruthless and unforgiving Urah never had issues with how the city was run. There was a certain beauty in the chaos of the streets. He found that while growing up was tough it better prepared him for his future. It helped to shape the man he became. His future was one where he could command respect and have people follow him. Urah was gifted when it came to oratory skills. Which he learned early on to use to his full advantage. Many would say that he had a silver tongue. However, all he wanted was to accomplish his goals through any means necessary.
Urah had joined up with the military when he was able to and went through the ranks. He showed promise as a leader that his superiors took advantage of. However, that was to their own detriment as Urah began to command more respect from the soldiers. They were afraid of Urah but also respected the power he asserted over them. It was not long before Urah was able to take control of more and more men. It was not long before he was a commander of his own lethal force.
With his skills he went in search of more men to control. This lead him towards some of the roaming bandit clans within the city. Seeing the opportunity he joined ranks with one of the local bands. Taking on dangerous jobs he started to build his own reputation. A reputation of ruthlessness and ambition. He wanted more for the people in Galt and for himself. Making sure he always got just a little more from each successful job than the others. His greed is what drove him forward and to keep his reputation growing.
Urah was willingly to work with others to accomplish his goals. Which was to accumulate vast amounts of wealth. People were only useful if they were making him money. Otherwise he had little to no use for them. If people became useless there was only one thing left for him to do. Dispatch of them in some cruel and harsh manner. Sometimes death claimed them quickly other times it was drawn out but death always found those who displeased Urah.
His current companions were holding their own weight as of now. Urah was not fond of any of them personally. There was no real personal attachment. However, he had no reason to seek to harm them. As long as they obeyed his commands and followed his lead there would be no problems. He had no problems telling people off or using threats against them to get them to comply.
Red Death Famro
Character Sheet, Current
Name: Feloth (Red Death) Famro
Age: Adult
Gender: Female
Race: Tiefling (Div Spawn)
Height: 5'8'' (6' 2'' with horn)
Weight: 150lbs
Hair: White
Eye: Teal
Size: medium
Class: Unchained Rogue (Talent Thief, Thug)/ 3, Brawler (Snakebite, Brutal Pummeler)/ 2
Level: 5
Spheres: Illusion, Time, Warp. Leadership (Cohort Package), Scout, Open Hand, Boxing.
Magical Talents: Suppression (Illusion), Teleport Beacon (Warp), Augment Healing (Time), Shift Time (Time)
Drawbacks: Disappearance (Illusion), Limited Warp (Warp, must be touching fire), Altered Time (Time, Lose Slow), Personal Time (Time, Cannot select Mass/Ranged Time).
Magical Tradition: Draining Casting, Prepared Caster, Somatic Casting
Boons: Easy Focus, +1 spell point, +1 spell point per 6 levels.
Physical Talents: Rogue Weapon Training, Find Gap (Scout) Dreadmaster (Change Diplomacy to Intimidate for Leadership Sphere), Lurker (Scout Sphere)
Alignment: NE
Languages: Common, Abyssal
Handedness: Right
Deity: None
Homeland: Galt
Speed: 30 feet
Initiative: +7 (+1 for Bloody Minded)
Hero Points:
Resistances: Fire 5, Cold 5, Electricity 5
Smite Good, 1/day. Add Charisma bonus to attack and damage if target is good.
Skilled: Tieflings gain a +2 racial bonus on Bluff and Stealth checks.
Darkvision: Tieflings can see perfectly in the dark up to 60 feet.
Traits: Bloody Minded (+1 Initiative, +1 Intimidate)
Magical Knack: Unchained Rogue (+2 spell caster level, as long as doesn't increase past class HD)
Strength: 10 (+0)
Dexterity: 22(+6)
Constitution: 14 (+2)
Intelligence: 8 (-1)
Wisdom: 14 (+2)
Charisma: 14 (+2)
Hit Dice: 2d10+3d8
Total HP: 41
Current HP: 41/41
Spell Points: 5/5, Casting Stat Wisdom.
Base Attack Bonus (BAB): +4
Fortitude: +5 (Cloak of Resistance, +1)
Reflex: +7 (--)
Will: +2 (--)
CMD: 20
CMB: 4
AC: 19
Touch: 15
Flat-foot: 14
Skills: 4+int (x2), 8+int (x3) = 27 points, Background Skills: Sleight of Hand, Handle Animal
Acrobatics [dex]: 5, +14
*Appraise [int]: -1
*Bluff [cha]: +2
*Climb [str]: 0, +0
*Craft [int]: 0, -1
*Diplomacy [cha]: +2
Disable Device [dex]: 5, +11
*Disguise [cha]: 0, +2
*Escape Artist [dex]: 5, +14
Fly [dex]: 0, +6
*Handle Animal [cha]: 5, +10
Heal [wis]: 0, +2
*Intimidate [cha]: 5, +11 (5 for Leadership Sphere, +1 for Bloody Minded)
Knowledges: -1
*Linguistics [int]: -1
*Perception [wis]: 5, +11
Perform [cha]: 0, +2
*Profession () [wis]: 0, +2
*Ride [dex]: 2, +11
*Sense Motive [wis]: 5, +10
Sleight of Hand [dex]: 5, +14
Spellcraft [int]: 0, -1
Stealth [dex]: 5, +16 (5 for Scout Sphere, +2 for Tiefling racial bonus)
*Survival [wis]: 0, +2
*Swim [str]: 0
Use Magic Device [cha]: 0, +2
Class Abilities:
Armor and Weapon Proficiencies
Rogue weapons, light armor, bucklers.
Feats: Knockout Artist, Weapon Finesse (Bonus), Sap Adept (Combat Trick), Enforcer, Sap Master
Weapons: Shortbow, +10 (+6 for nonlethal), 1d6+6
Unarmed Strike, +11, 1d6+10 (1.5 for Finesse training, +1 for Mighty Fist Amulet)
Sneak Attack Damage: 3d6 lethal, 6d6+12 nonlethal.
Armor: MW Studded Leather, +3 AC, +5 DEX.
MW Buckler, +1 AC
Items:
Amulet of Mighty Fists: +1 4k.
Belt of Dexterity: +2 to Dex, 4k
Cloak of Resistance: 1k
10 alchemist fire. 200 gp
MW. Studded leather. 175 gp.
MW. Buckler. 155
Kit, Rogue's: 50gp
This kit includes a masterwork backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, caltrops, chalk (10), a flint and steel, a grappling hook, an iron pot, a mess kit, a mirror, pitons (10), rope, soap, thieves’ tools, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin.
Lantern, Hooded 7gp.
Crowbar, 2 gold
Everburning Torch, 110 gp
Ink, 8gp, Inkpen 1 silver
Journal, 10gp
Thieve's Tools, Masterwork 100 gp
Manacles, Masterwork 8, 400
Lure, Fake Coins 5gp
Shortbow, Blunt Arrows
Currency: 189 gold, 9 silvers.
Character Sheet, Current
Name: Feloth (Red Death) Famro
Age: Adult
Gender: Female
Race: Tiefling (Div Spawn)
Height: 5'8'' (6' 2'' with horn)
Weight: 150lbs
Hair: White
Eye: Teal
Size: medium
Class: Unchained Rogue (Talent Thief, Thug)/ 3, Brawler (Snakebite, Brutal Pummeler)/ 2
Level: 5
Spheres: Illusion, Time, Warp. Leadership (Cohort Package), Scout, Open Hand, Boxing.
Magical Talents: Suppression (Illusion), Teleport Beacon (Warp), Augment Healing (Time), Shift Time (Time)
Drawbacks: Disappearance (Illusion), Limited Warp (Warp, must be touching fire), Altered Time (Time, Lose Slow), Personal Time (Time, Cannot select Mass/Ranged Time).
Magical Tradition: Draining Casting, Prepared Caster, Somatic Casting
Boons: Easy Focus, +1 spell point, +1 spell point per 6 levels.
Physical Talents: Rogue Weapon Training, Find Gap (Scout) Dreadmaster (Change Diplomacy to Intimidate for Leadership Sphere), Lurker (Scout Sphere)
Alignment: NE
Languages: Common, Abyssal
Handedness: Right
Deity: None
Homeland: Galt
Speed: 30 feet
Initiative: +7 (+1 for Bloody Minded)
Hero Points:
Resistances: Fire 5, Cold 5, Electricity 5
Smite Good, 1/day. Add Charisma bonus to attack and damage if target is good.
Skilled: Tieflings gain a +2 racial bonus on Bluff and Stealth checks.
Darkvision: Tieflings can see perfectly in the dark up to 60 feet.
Traits: Bloody Minded (+1 Initiative, +1 Intimidate)
Magical Knack: Unchained Rogue (+2 spell caster level, as long as doesn't increase past class HD)
Strength: 10 (+0)
Dexterity: 22(+6)
Constitution: 14 (+2)
Intelligence: 8 (-1)
Wisdom: 14 (+2)
Charisma: 14 (+2)
Hit Dice: 2d10+3d8
Total HP: 41
Current HP: 41/41
Spell Points: 5/5, Casting Stat Wisdom.
Base Attack Bonus (BAB): +4
Fortitude: +5 (Cloak of Resistance, +1)
Reflex: +7 (--)
Will: +2 (--)
CMD: 20
CMB: 4
AC: 19
Touch: 15
Flat-foot: 14
Skills: 4+int (x2), 8+int (x3) = 27 points, Background Skills: Sleight of Hand, Handle Animal
Acrobatics [dex]: 5, +14
*Appraise [int]: -1
*Bluff [cha]: +2
*Climb [str]: 0, +0
*Craft [int]: 0, -1
*Diplomacy [cha]: +2
Disable Device [dex]: 5, +11
*Disguise [cha]: 0, +2
*Escape Artist [dex]: 5, +14
Fly [dex]: 0, +6
*Handle Animal [cha]: 5, +10
Heal [wis]: 0, +2
*Intimidate [cha]: 5, +11 (5 for Leadership Sphere, +1 for Bloody Minded)
Knowledges: -1
*Linguistics [int]: -1
*Perception [wis]: 5, +11
Perform [cha]: 0, +2
*Profession () [wis]: 0, +2
*Ride [dex]: 2, +11
*Sense Motive [wis]: 5, +10
Sleight of Hand [dex]: 5, +14
Spellcraft [int]: 0, -1
Stealth [dex]: 5, +16 (5 for Scout Sphere, +2 for Tiefling racial bonus)
*Survival [wis]: 0, +2
*Swim [str]: 0
Use Magic Device [cha]: 0, +2
Class Abilities:
U. Rogue
Evasion: On successful Reflex saves, avoid all damage instead of half.
Rogue Talent: Combat Trick.
Finesse Training: Weapon Finesse bonus feat, select weapon to be Dex based damage instead of Strength: Unarmed Strike.
Thug:
rightening (Ex)
Whenever a thug successfully uses Intimidate to demoralize a creature, the duration of the shaken condition is increased by 1 round. In addition, if the target is shaken for 4 or more rounds, the thug can instead decide to make the target frightened for 1 round.
This ability replaces trapfinding.
Brutal Beating (Ex)
At 3rd level, whenever a thug deals sneak attack damage, she can choose to forgo 1d6 points of sneak attack damage to make the target sickened for a number of rounds equal to 1/2 her rogue level. This ability does not stack with itself—only the most recent duration applies.
This ability replaces trap sense.
Talent Thief:
Class Skills
The talent thief loses Knowledge (dungeoneering) (Int) and Perform (Cha) as class skills and gains Knowledge (arcana) (Int) and Spellcraft (Int) as class skills.
Casting
At first level a talent thief may combine spheres and talents to create magical effects. A talent thief is considered a Low-Caster. (Note: All casters gain 2 bonus talents and a casting tradition the first time they gain the casting class feature).
This replaces rogue’s edge.
Spell Pool
At first level a talent thief gains a small reservoir of energy he can call on to create truly wondrous effects, called a spell pool. This pool contains a number of spell points equal to his class level + his casting ability modifier (minimum 1).
Evasion: On successful Reflex saves, avoid all damage instead of half.
Rogue Talent: Combat Trick.
Finesse Training: Weapon Finesse bonus feat, select weapon to be Dex based damage instead of Strength: Unarmed Strike.
Thug:
rightening (Ex)
Whenever a thug successfully uses Intimidate to demoralize a creature, the duration of the shaken condition is increased by 1 round. In addition, if the target is shaken for 4 or more rounds, the thug can instead decide to make the target frightened for 1 round.
This ability replaces trapfinding.
Brutal Beating (Ex)
At 3rd level, whenever a thug deals sneak attack damage, she can choose to forgo 1d6 points of sneak attack damage to make the target sickened for a number of rounds equal to 1/2 her rogue level. This ability does not stack with itself—only the most recent duration applies.
This ability replaces trap sense.
Talent Thief:
Class Skills
The talent thief loses Knowledge (dungeoneering) (Int) and Perform (Cha) as class skills and gains Knowledge (arcana) (Int) and Spellcraft (Int) as class skills.
Casting
At first level a talent thief may combine spheres and talents to create magical effects. A talent thief is considered a Low-Caster. (Note: All casters gain 2 bonus talents and a casting tradition the first time they gain the casting class feature).
This replaces rogue’s edge.
Spell Pool
At first level a talent thief gains a small reservoir of energy he can call on to create truly wondrous effects, called a spell pool. This pool contains a number of spell points equal to his class level + his casting ability modifier (minimum 1).
Brawler
Brawler’s Cunning (Ex)
If the brawler’s Intelligence score is less than 13, it counts as 13 for the purpose of meeting the prerequisites of combat feats.
Martial Training
At 1st level, a brawler counts her total brawler levels as both fighter levels and monk levels for the purpose of qualifying for feats. She also counts as both a fighter and a monk for feats and magic items that have different effects based on whether the character has levels in those classes (such as Stunning Fist and a monk’s robe). This ability does not automatically grant feats normally granted to fighters and monks based on class level, namely Stunning Fist.
Snakebite Striker:
Class Skills: The snakebite striker gains Bluff and Stealth as class skills, but does not gain Intimidate as a class skill.
Sneak Attack (Ex): At 1st level, the snakebite striker can make a sneak attack. This is as the rogue ability of the same name. At 1st level, her sneak attack damage is +1d6. This increases by 1d6 at 6th, 10th, 12th, and 20th levels. If she gets a sneak attack bonus from another source, the bonuses on damage stack. This ability replaces martial flexibility.
Brutal Pummeler:
Proficiencies: Brutal pummelers are proficient with simple weapons, as well as light armor and bucklers. In addition, if this is this character’s first level in any class, they may select a martial tradition of their choice.
This modifies weapon and armor proficiencies.
Combat Training (Ex): A brutal pummeler is considered an adept practitioner, gaining spheres and talents as appropriate. Brutal pummelers use Wisdom as their practitioner modifier.
This ability replaces the unarmed strike class feature and the bonus feats gained at 2nd, 8th, 14th, and 20th level.
Close Combat: At 1st level, the brutal pummeler gains the Boxing and Open Hand combat spheres as bonus talents. If the brutal pummeler already possesses one of these base spheres, she may instead choose any one combat talent she qualifies for from either sphere.
This replaces the AC bonus class feature.
Brawler’s Pummel (Ex): From 2nd level on, whenever the brutal pummeler uses the attack action to attack with an unarmed strike, a weapon from the close fighter weapon group, or a weapon with the monk special feature, she may make one additional attack with an unarmed strike, a weapon from the close fighter weapon group, or a weapon with the monk special feature as a free action, but both attacks take a -2 penalty.
The brutal pummeler must decide whether or not to use this ability before making the first attack roll for her attack action. Attacks made using this ability apply the brutal pummeler’s full Strength bonus to the damage roll, regardless of whether the weapon is wielded with two hands or with an off-hand. This extra attack cannot be used with the extra attack granted by the Dual Wielding sphere or similar abilities such as the street fighter monk archetype’s flurry strike.
This replaces all instances of brawler’s flurry.
Brawler’s Cunning (Ex)
If the brawler’s Intelligence score is less than 13, it counts as 13 for the purpose of meeting the prerequisites of combat feats.
Martial Training
At 1st level, a brawler counts her total brawler levels as both fighter levels and monk levels for the purpose of qualifying for feats. She also counts as both a fighter and a monk for feats and magic items that have different effects based on whether the character has levels in those classes (such as Stunning Fist and a monk’s robe). This ability does not automatically grant feats normally granted to fighters and monks based on class level, namely Stunning Fist.
Snakebite Striker:
Class Skills: The snakebite striker gains Bluff and Stealth as class skills, but does not gain Intimidate as a class skill.
Sneak Attack (Ex): At 1st level, the snakebite striker can make a sneak attack. This is as the rogue ability of the same name. At 1st level, her sneak attack damage is +1d6. This increases by 1d6 at 6th, 10th, 12th, and 20th levels. If she gets a sneak attack bonus from another source, the bonuses on damage stack. This ability replaces martial flexibility.
Brutal Pummeler:
Proficiencies: Brutal pummelers are proficient with simple weapons, as well as light armor and bucklers. In addition, if this is this character’s first level in any class, they may select a martial tradition of their choice.
This modifies weapon and armor proficiencies.
Combat Training (Ex): A brutal pummeler is considered an adept practitioner, gaining spheres and talents as appropriate. Brutal pummelers use Wisdom as their practitioner modifier.
This ability replaces the unarmed strike class feature and the bonus feats gained at 2nd, 8th, 14th, and 20th level.
Close Combat: At 1st level, the brutal pummeler gains the Boxing and Open Hand combat spheres as bonus talents. If the brutal pummeler already possesses one of these base spheres, she may instead choose any one combat talent she qualifies for from either sphere.
This replaces the AC bonus class feature.
Brawler’s Pummel (Ex): From 2nd level on, whenever the brutal pummeler uses the attack action to attack with an unarmed strike, a weapon from the close fighter weapon group, or a weapon with the monk special feature, she may make one additional attack with an unarmed strike, a weapon from the close fighter weapon group, or a weapon with the monk special feature as a free action, but both attacks take a -2 penalty.
The brutal pummeler must decide whether or not to use this ability before making the first attack roll for her attack action. Attacks made using this ability apply the brutal pummeler’s full Strength bonus to the damage roll, regardless of whether the weapon is wielded with two hands or with an off-hand. This extra attack cannot be used with the extra attack granted by the Dual Wielding sphere or similar abilities such as the street fighter monk archetype’s flurry strike.
This replaces all instances of brawler’s flurry.
Armor and Weapon Proficiencies
Rogue weapons, light armor, bucklers.
Feats: Knockout Artist, Weapon Finesse (Bonus), Sap Adept (Combat Trick), Enforcer, Sap Master
Weapons: Shortbow, +10 (+6 for nonlethal), 1d6+6
Unarmed Strike, +11, 1d6+10 (1.5 for Finesse training, +1 for Mighty Fist Amulet)
Sneak Attack Damage: 3d6 lethal, 6d6+12 nonlethal.
Armor: MW Studded Leather, +3 AC, +5 DEX.
MW Buckler, +1 AC
Items:
Amulet of Mighty Fists: +1 4k.
Belt of Dexterity: +2 to Dex, 4k
Cloak of Resistance: 1k
10 alchemist fire. 200 gp
MW. Studded leather. 175 gp.
MW. Buckler. 155
Kit, Rogue's: 50gp
This kit includes a masterwork backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, caltrops, chalk (10), a flint and steel, a grappling hook, an iron pot, a mess kit, a mirror, pitons (10), rope, soap, thieves’ tools, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin.
Lantern, Hooded 7gp.
Crowbar, 2 gold
Everburning Torch, 110 gp
Ink, 8gp, Inkpen 1 silver
Journal, 10gp
Thieve's Tools, Masterwork 100 gp
Manacles, Masterwork 8, 400
Lure, Fake Coins 5gp
Shortbow, Blunt Arrows
Currency: 189 gold, 9 silvers.
Backstory
Bred to a bandit chief outside of wedlock, the child that would become One Horn, lived a life among bandit kind. She played with swords and moved around a lot. There were always new faces and the occasional blood spilling. Her father tried to intimidate others first, as fighting was usually life or death. He carried a large sword just to scare peasants and unprepared merchants.
When she was older, her father used her as a pickpocket in city limits. She was small, dexterous, and had an innocent charm. Sometimes, she had to tell others that her daddy was very sick and they needed all the coins they could get to fix him. She learned that biting coins was the way to tell the good ones from the bad ones.
In her early teens, she was able to participate in raids. Which were long moments of sitting around waiting for a wagon to appear, and short spurts of excitement when persons rolled up. Merchants, peasants, nobleman if they could get their hands on them. Guard patrols were just watched and were deemed too dangerous to attack, even for weapons and rations.
After collecting enough road tolls and strong-arming villages into supplying them, her father had revealed that he's been stashing away coins from the others' shares. Even among others, always look out for number one, he had said. There's no one going to tell your tale, no glory to be had dying. Then why do we work with them? Because without them, we get a quick hanging. When your enemies start piling up, you have to make some friends.
Where are we going? We're going to live in the city. You'll love it, place called Galt. We'll buy you new clothes and have our food delivered right to our door. It's the dream, while being a bandit is just a way to achieve that dream. You take until you can live comfortably and let the wind blow over, move out when you're out of coin and start again.
Galt was an alright place. There weren't many friends to be had, but there were enough taverns to get drunk at and an underground boxing club that soon caught this one's attention. She spent most of her nights in the makeshift ring, not afraid to fighting dirty to get lay her opponent flat. A poke to the eye, a knee to the groin, and so many elbows. A few interested parties taught her many things around the ring.
Upon one voracious night, she returns late to her household. Sore and a little tipsy, she finds her house had been sacked. The door lay kicked in on the floor and her father holding his blade and slumped on the floor. Dragging him to his bed, she tried her best to bind his wounds. But he was old, his body growing ill in the next few days as he tried to recover. He said that they were old colleges of his looking for what he owed them.
Naturally one goes towards the clerics for healing. Bruised and bloody knuckled, she tries to convince the priests to see to her father's wounds. She couldn't risk dragging him into town, as the denizens of Galt were starting to become irate at each other and at their government. The priest said that their church was full and their priests were seeing other patients. She said that she could pay, but the priest looked at her hands and the coin, said that they wouldn't support illegal activities and couldn't accept her coin.
She got mad. She may have hit the priest out of frustration. The paladins had to gather her swearing, struggling self and dumped her into the streets. But that was okay, she could always dust herself off, flip off the church, and find another one. News spread quickly and soon none of the churches would see her. She had no one and her father grew closer to death everyday.
The Red Morning Cult appeared at her repaired door, just like they had done with many others. They said that they could heal her father, but in return, they wanted to have her do a few jobs. They would teach her all sorts of things. She was quick to agree with whatever the Norgorber whack-jobs wanted. They brought in their own priests and healed her father. She was grateful.
He died a week later, at the start of the revolution between interested parties and the cult. She buried him in the backyard of the house, taking his blade so that he may travel with her always. While working for the cult, she scouted, convinced others to join, even worked with a counter-espionage group. It was fine, since the movement was pro-human and benefitted her quite nicely. Her tasks started becoming more bloody. It was always hunting down one non-human or participating in small scaled scrimmages between guards or other revolutionists.
These were exciting times and she was able to keep whatever she took from non-humans. Breaking into their houses, threatening them or beating them, leaving with blood and valuables. Plenty of sweat and some tears if she let the family members watch. A hedonistic and wild time. But a bump appeared on her head. It wouldn't go away no matter how hard she pushed or how much the cult priests cast their spells. Eventually, she covered it up as it grew worse.
It jutted upwards and her skin became a pale blue. Her face paler still, as it became partially bone white. She must have contracted a disease from her activities. Maybe she was cursed, a divine retribution of sorts. She stopped going outside. Bone curved its way out of her cheeks and formed two small loops along her mouth. Her ears stretched outward into fine points. Her hair lost its color and fell out around her listless form. She didn't eat, didn't leave, and only slept against her bed. She was lost in a fever brought upon by her changing body.
The cult noticed her disappearance however. They sent a few collectors to her house. When they came in, uninvited, they noticed her changed self. They drew weapons, moving to put an end to her. But she stood up quicker than they were anticipating and threw a sloppy punch. Sent one man's jaw spinning to the floor, skittering and the blood followed after. Just as shocked as the other cultists, she woozily followed after the other would be murderers.
But they ran out and turned to throw bottles of fire at her house. The burning didn't hurt as much as it should have. The same couldn't be said for her clothes as she walked outside. Casting aside the flaming garments, her skin rippled from her feet to her horn and her wounds began to close. The cultists were gone. She stopped by to part some dead fool with his breeches and pulled them up. His tunic was blooded but it was better than walking half-nude through the streets. Corpses lined the streets or formed small piles in the middle.
A small battalion of guards were searching the streets for survivors and she appeared dazed and bloodied. They caught her as she collapsed, taking her to some lord's castle. He was trying to gather up as many non-humans as he could, for the Red Morning was cutting all ties with non-humans, no longer caring about wanting tribute or strong-arming. She rested in a maid's bed for a few days and came to. She was safe, enclosed in stone.
It was a welcomed change of pace. If only she could have kept her hands off of the lord's son, a handsome young man waiting for the revolution to end so that he may continue on with his planned betrothal. Her new body had uncontrollable demands! It wasn't her fault, he was asking for it, wearing those finely tailored breeches and buttoned vests. How good it felt to tear into him, but how poorly the young master (and upon hearing of it, the lord himself) took to this small incident.
She had to escape and found that her new body was capable of stepping back and slowly vanishing. She walked out the front gate with those who watched it none the wiser. That was several months ago. She's been rolling with a few bandits since. They're alright. Leader is likely one bad job away from being hanged.
Bred to a bandit chief outside of wedlock, the child that would become One Horn, lived a life among bandit kind. She played with swords and moved around a lot. There were always new faces and the occasional blood spilling. Her father tried to intimidate others first, as fighting was usually life or death. He carried a large sword just to scare peasants and unprepared merchants.
When she was older, her father used her as a pickpocket in city limits. She was small, dexterous, and had an innocent charm. Sometimes, she had to tell others that her daddy was very sick and they needed all the coins they could get to fix him. She learned that biting coins was the way to tell the good ones from the bad ones.
In her early teens, she was able to participate in raids. Which were long moments of sitting around waiting for a wagon to appear, and short spurts of excitement when persons rolled up. Merchants, peasants, nobleman if they could get their hands on them. Guard patrols were just watched and were deemed too dangerous to attack, even for weapons and rations.
After collecting enough road tolls and strong-arming villages into supplying them, her father had revealed that he's been stashing away coins from the others' shares. Even among others, always look out for number one, he had said. There's no one going to tell your tale, no glory to be had dying. Then why do we work with them? Because without them, we get a quick hanging. When your enemies start piling up, you have to make some friends.
Where are we going? We're going to live in the city. You'll love it, place called Galt. We'll buy you new clothes and have our food delivered right to our door. It's the dream, while being a bandit is just a way to achieve that dream. You take until you can live comfortably and let the wind blow over, move out when you're out of coin and start again.
Galt was an alright place. There weren't many friends to be had, but there were enough taverns to get drunk at and an underground boxing club that soon caught this one's attention. She spent most of her nights in the makeshift ring, not afraid to fighting dirty to get lay her opponent flat. A poke to the eye, a knee to the groin, and so many elbows. A few interested parties taught her many things around the ring.
Upon one voracious night, she returns late to her household. Sore and a little tipsy, she finds her house had been sacked. The door lay kicked in on the floor and her father holding his blade and slumped on the floor. Dragging him to his bed, she tried her best to bind his wounds. But he was old, his body growing ill in the next few days as he tried to recover. He said that they were old colleges of his looking for what he owed them.
Naturally one goes towards the clerics for healing. Bruised and bloody knuckled, she tries to convince the priests to see to her father's wounds. She couldn't risk dragging him into town, as the denizens of Galt were starting to become irate at each other and at their government. The priest said that their church was full and their priests were seeing other patients. She said that she could pay, but the priest looked at her hands and the coin, said that they wouldn't support illegal activities and couldn't accept her coin.
She got mad. She may have hit the priest out of frustration. The paladins had to gather her swearing, struggling self and dumped her into the streets. But that was okay, she could always dust herself off, flip off the church, and find another one. News spread quickly and soon none of the churches would see her. She had no one and her father grew closer to death everyday.
The Red Morning Cult appeared at her repaired door, just like they had done with many others. They said that they could heal her father, but in return, they wanted to have her do a few jobs. They would teach her all sorts of things. She was quick to agree with whatever the Norgorber whack-jobs wanted. They brought in their own priests and healed her father. She was grateful.
He died a week later, at the start of the revolution between interested parties and the cult. She buried him in the backyard of the house, taking his blade so that he may travel with her always. While working for the cult, she scouted, convinced others to join, even worked with a counter-espionage group. It was fine, since the movement was pro-human and benefitted her quite nicely. Her tasks started becoming more bloody. It was always hunting down one non-human or participating in small scaled scrimmages between guards or other revolutionists.
These were exciting times and she was able to keep whatever she took from non-humans. Breaking into their houses, threatening them or beating them, leaving with blood and valuables. Plenty of sweat and some tears if she let the family members watch. A hedonistic and wild time. But a bump appeared on her head. It wouldn't go away no matter how hard she pushed or how much the cult priests cast their spells. Eventually, she covered it up as it grew worse.
It jutted upwards and her skin became a pale blue. Her face paler still, as it became partially bone white. She must have contracted a disease from her activities. Maybe she was cursed, a divine retribution of sorts. She stopped going outside. Bone curved its way out of her cheeks and formed two small loops along her mouth. Her ears stretched outward into fine points. Her hair lost its color and fell out around her listless form. She didn't eat, didn't leave, and only slept against her bed. She was lost in a fever brought upon by her changing body.
The cult noticed her disappearance however. They sent a few collectors to her house. When they came in, uninvited, they noticed her changed self. They drew weapons, moving to put an end to her. But she stood up quicker than they were anticipating and threw a sloppy punch. Sent one man's jaw spinning to the floor, skittering and the blood followed after. Just as shocked as the other cultists, she woozily followed after the other would be murderers.
But they ran out and turned to throw bottles of fire at her house. The burning didn't hurt as much as it should have. The same couldn't be said for her clothes as she walked outside. Casting aside the flaming garments, her skin rippled from her feet to her horn and her wounds began to close. The cultists were gone. She stopped by to part some dead fool with his breeches and pulled them up. His tunic was blooded but it was better than walking half-nude through the streets. Corpses lined the streets or formed small piles in the middle.
A small battalion of guards were searching the streets for survivors and she appeared dazed and bloodied. They caught her as she collapsed, taking her to some lord's castle. He was trying to gather up as many non-humans as he could, for the Red Morning was cutting all ties with non-humans, no longer caring about wanting tribute or strong-arming. She rested in a maid's bed for a few days and came to. She was safe, enclosed in stone.
It was a welcomed change of pace. If only she could have kept her hands off of the lord's son, a handsome young man waiting for the revolution to end so that he may continue on with his planned betrothal. Her new body had uncontrollable demands! It wasn't her fault, he was asking for it, wearing those finely tailored breeches and buttoned vests. How good it felt to tear into him, but how poorly the young master (and upon hearing of it, the lord himself) took to this small incident.
She had to escape and found that her new body was capable of stepping back and slowly vanishing. She walked out the front gate with those who watched it none the wiser. That was several months ago. She's been rolling with a few bandits since. They're alright. Leader is likely one bad job away from being hanged.
NPCs
Krevver, Ratfolk, late 40's, Merchant, NE, greying whiskers, balding head, impeccable clothes.
Personality: Coward, Sniveling, Backstabbing, Conniving
One Horn and her father use to visit this particular merchant when they needed to fence items. Though Krevver never gave them a fair price, he could always be convinced. But that was years ago and he's done quite well for himself in outsourcing to Galt's rather unstable state. He sold each side weapons and reaped the rewards, using the coin to buy out or eliminate his competition. He once flooded a village's marketplace with food sales so that he may purchase all of their supplies at once. With the sudden shortage, he turned around and sold their bread back to them for golds instead of coppers. Out from underneath her father's boot, he likely runs around destroying people's lives for profit. But to get back at One Horn, once he connects the dots, would be joyous indeed.
Brother Dennis, Human, early 40's, Priest of Cayden Cailean, NG, shaved head with ring of hair, simple clothes, owns his own tankard.
Personality: Caring, Charitable, slow to anger but furious when he snaps, Righteous.
During her stay at Galt, she was ever only angry at one priest. Brother Dennis was working the temple floor during the rise of the revolution. Several others were injured, more were sick, and they kept coming in and flooded his church beds. And then she came along. Some ruffian from the slums of the city. No matter how many times he had tried to calm her, she wouldn't listen. She couldn't. She demanded that he send a cleric to help her father. He told her that the gods' blessings were limited and that they were already taxed beyond their limits. She told him that it was her right to treatment for her father and that their full beds weren't her problem.
He still denied her so she lashed out in anger, punched him. He could have turned the other cheek, but she floored him. Paladins had to step in from both sides to stop them from tearing each other apart. As divine luck would have it, the head of his church was replaced due to racial tension. Brother Dennis was promoted.
Around the same time that she tied Brother Dennis's dwarven drinking friend to his household table and forced his small dwarven family to watch her rape him...the good Brother Dennis may still be mad about that.
Prince Janvier, Human, Late 20's, inheritor and questing knight, LG, short blond hair, dressed in fine clothes of purple and red. Has a two-headed boar for his family crest.
Son of Lord Stantlen, one of the ruling families of Galt before the revolution. His father attempted to save as many non-humans as he could from the cult's clutches, for they were certainly dead if caught. She was one of those lucky few to be sheltered inside their keep. The young prince was to be wed to an elven princess to ensure an alliance that likely would have saved Galt from being overthrown. But it became too dangerous too quickly and due to racial hatred, the wedding was postponed. It was a minor setback, they only had to weather out the storm. But what they didn't know was that they had saved one particular monster. She was brought out of her fever through the care of her host's hired help. Eating well for the first few days, she began to notice the prince walking around.
He never looked at her or tried not too. Despite his father's teachings, he felt a little strange sheltering those with demonic/devil blood. He was right to question her being there. She used her new powers to sneak into his room when the maids delivered his fresh coals and set his bed. She only had to wait and sit nicely, and eventually the prince slept soundly. But his night would become a nightmare as he awoke, bound and gagged. It went from bad to worse and she had some choice words for pillow talk. After sneaking out and leaving the prince to be found in the morning, she was satisfied and left Galt for good. Prince Janvier left the keep, driven by their faithful night together and her taunting, to becoming the best knight of the kingdom and to strike down any and all evils. For the good of the realm, no one should suffer as he has.
Krevver, Ratfolk, late 40's, Merchant, NE, greying whiskers, balding head, impeccable clothes.
Personality: Coward, Sniveling, Backstabbing, Conniving
One Horn and her father use to visit this particular merchant when they needed to fence items. Though Krevver never gave them a fair price, he could always be convinced. But that was years ago and he's done quite well for himself in outsourcing to Galt's rather unstable state. He sold each side weapons and reaped the rewards, using the coin to buy out or eliminate his competition. He once flooded a village's marketplace with food sales so that he may purchase all of their supplies at once. With the sudden shortage, he turned around and sold their bread back to them for golds instead of coppers. Out from underneath her father's boot, he likely runs around destroying people's lives for profit. But to get back at One Horn, once he connects the dots, would be joyous indeed.
Brother Dennis, Human, early 40's, Priest of Cayden Cailean, NG, shaved head with ring of hair, simple clothes, owns his own tankard.
Personality: Caring, Charitable, slow to anger but furious when he snaps, Righteous.
During her stay at Galt, she was ever only angry at one priest. Brother Dennis was working the temple floor during the rise of the revolution. Several others were injured, more were sick, and they kept coming in and flooded his church beds. And then she came along. Some ruffian from the slums of the city. No matter how many times he had tried to calm her, she wouldn't listen. She couldn't. She demanded that he send a cleric to help her father. He told her that the gods' blessings were limited and that they were already taxed beyond their limits. She told him that it was her right to treatment for her father and that their full beds weren't her problem.
He still denied her so she lashed out in anger, punched him. He could have turned the other cheek, but she floored him. Paladins had to step in from both sides to stop them from tearing each other apart. As divine luck would have it, the head of his church was replaced due to racial tension. Brother Dennis was promoted.
Around the same time that she tied Brother Dennis's dwarven drinking friend to his household table and forced his small dwarven family to watch her rape him...the good Brother Dennis may still be mad about that.
Prince Janvier, Human, Late 20's, inheritor and questing knight, LG, short blond hair, dressed in fine clothes of purple and red. Has a two-headed boar for his family crest.
Son of Lord Stantlen, one of the ruling families of Galt before the revolution. His father attempted to save as many non-humans as he could from the cult's clutches, for they were certainly dead if caught. She was one of those lucky few to be sheltered inside their keep. The young prince was to be wed to an elven princess to ensure an alliance that likely would have saved Galt from being overthrown. But it became too dangerous too quickly and due to racial hatred, the wedding was postponed. It was a minor setback, they only had to weather out the storm. But what they didn't know was that they had saved one particular monster. She was brought out of her fever through the care of her host's hired help. Eating well for the first few days, she began to notice the prince walking around.
He never looked at her or tried not too. Despite his father's teachings, he felt a little strange sheltering those with demonic/devil blood. He was right to question her being there. She used her new powers to sneak into his room when the maids delivered his fresh coals and set his bed. She only had to wait and sit nicely, and eventually the prince slept soundly. But his night would become a nightmare as he awoke, bound and gagged. It went from bad to worse and she had some choice words for pillow talk. After sneaking out and leaving the prince to be found in the morning, she was satisfied and left Galt for good. Prince Janvier left the keep, driven by their faithful night together and her taunting, to becoming the best knight of the kingdom and to strike down any and all evils. For the good of the realm, no one should suffer as he has.
Side Characters
Greyskale, Lizardfolk, Late 30's, bandit, NE, has grey scales with yellow frills around the neck and head. Wears medium armors with a shield and a jagged, tribal blade.
Greyskale is part of the strike team with One Horn and has gone one a few missions. Their own neutral terms, more towards coworkers than friends or enemies. Rumor has it they gave each other nicknames when they first met, neither party asking for real names in the bandit gathering. Greyskale's goals are mostly unknown, but she delights in cutting down humanoids and consuming their corpses for dinner. In the swamps, the tribes live off of whatever they can, including each other when they pass. For her, this is just a different swamp, and her tribe of misfits will have to do.
Father of the Red Morning, Human, Age Unknown, cult leader, LE, wearer of red robes and a black face masks.
An enigma leading a movement that bears fruit in its cultists' hearts. He is the leader, the one who hides behind all the others. Elusive and unforgiving, he believes that once a member of the Red Morning, always a member. With her turning, she is no longer sanctioned within the cult and should be purged on sight. His numbers grow daily and the power offered to him in Galt is just the beginning.
Charles White: Human, Male, Early 30's, Boxer CN, good footwork, strong physique, impressive qualities.
Personality: Controlling, loud-mouthed, boastful, fragile ego, paranoid.
A fun fling in her boxing years, the first man One Horn hooked up with inside the ring and outside. He started off as a mentor-type, teaching her how to throw punches and lay out other combatants. He seemed nice enough, handsome too. But after a few heated nights, he started trying to control who One Horn hanged out with and who she talked too, when it wasn't any of his business. They had many arguments and day by day, his words worsened. He accused her of cheating with a particular opponent or someone she happened to glance at while in the marketplace. Eventually she had enough and made his words come true. For a week straight, she went out of her way to lay with as many men as possible and send them all to tell Charles that she was the best they had ever had. Didn't hear from him since the 7th day, so he probably left Galt. Who knows.
Grimchest Wallowgart, Dwarf, late 80's, Brewmaster of Galt, LN, Great big beard with golden rings and golden mugs tied into the strands, has a tattoo of a mug on his right shoulder, wears sleeveless garbs.
A prominent, by the book Brewmaster from south of Galt. A family man and a traditionalist, Wallowgart and his kin weren't in favor of the radical views purposed by the revolutionists. As far as he was concerned, the current nobility dealt fairly to its people and between the royals themselves. So he openly opposed the different revolutionary groups and especially the Red Morning Cult. The cult didn't appreciate this and wanted the dwarf's coin to go towards their operations over anyone else's. But they tried to intimidate him. They tried to threaten him and his family. They tried staging boycotts of his brew to damage his sales. It wasn't until she made a suggestion to attack him personally that he was finally broken.
She had broken into his household late at night and beat him close to unconsciousness, dragged him from his bed. His wife and two sons were just returning from a rally to stop the violence against non-humans when they found Wallowgart tied to his kitchen table and this stranger mounted upon him. She threatened with her knife to his throat and forced the others to watch. When she was finished, she ran into the night pantless. Wallowgart couldn't face his family after the incident and left to sob his sorrows to his best friend, Brother Dennis, before leaving town. It's uncertain as to whether his family survived the revolution's peek.
Greyskale, Lizardfolk, Late 30's, bandit, NE, has grey scales with yellow frills around the neck and head. Wears medium armors with a shield and a jagged, tribal blade.
Greyskale is part of the strike team with One Horn and has gone one a few missions. Their own neutral terms, more towards coworkers than friends or enemies. Rumor has it they gave each other nicknames when they first met, neither party asking for real names in the bandit gathering. Greyskale's goals are mostly unknown, but she delights in cutting down humanoids and consuming their corpses for dinner. In the swamps, the tribes live off of whatever they can, including each other when they pass. For her, this is just a different swamp, and her tribe of misfits will have to do.
Father of the Red Morning, Human, Age Unknown, cult leader, LE, wearer of red robes and a black face masks.
An enigma leading a movement that bears fruit in its cultists' hearts. He is the leader, the one who hides behind all the others. Elusive and unforgiving, he believes that once a member of the Red Morning, always a member. With her turning, she is no longer sanctioned within the cult and should be purged on sight. His numbers grow daily and the power offered to him in Galt is just the beginning.
Charles White: Human, Male, Early 30's, Boxer CN, good footwork, strong physique, impressive qualities.
Personality: Controlling, loud-mouthed, boastful, fragile ego, paranoid.
A fun fling in her boxing years, the first man One Horn hooked up with inside the ring and outside. He started off as a mentor-type, teaching her how to throw punches and lay out other combatants. He seemed nice enough, handsome too. But after a few heated nights, he started trying to control who One Horn hanged out with and who she talked too, when it wasn't any of his business. They had many arguments and day by day, his words worsened. He accused her of cheating with a particular opponent or someone she happened to glance at while in the marketplace. Eventually she had enough and made his words come true. For a week straight, she went out of her way to lay with as many men as possible and send them all to tell Charles that she was the best they had ever had. Didn't hear from him since the 7th day, so he probably left Galt. Who knows.
Grimchest Wallowgart, Dwarf, late 80's, Brewmaster of Galt, LN, Great big beard with golden rings and golden mugs tied into the strands, has a tattoo of a mug on his right shoulder, wears sleeveless garbs.
A prominent, by the book Brewmaster from south of Galt. A family man and a traditionalist, Wallowgart and his kin weren't in favor of the radical views purposed by the revolutionists. As far as he was concerned, the current nobility dealt fairly to its people and between the royals themselves. So he openly opposed the different revolutionary groups and especially the Red Morning Cult. The cult didn't appreciate this and wanted the dwarf's coin to go towards their operations over anyone else's. But they tried to intimidate him. They tried to threaten him and his family. They tried staging boycotts of his brew to damage his sales. It wasn't until she made a suggestion to attack him personally that he was finally broken.
She had broken into his household late at night and beat him close to unconsciousness, dragged him from his bed. His wife and two sons were just returning from a rally to stop the violence against non-humans when they found Wallowgart tied to his kitchen table and this stranger mounted upon him. She threatened with her knife to his throat and forced the others to watch. When she was finished, she ran into the night pantless. Wallowgart couldn't face his family after the incident and left to sob his sorrows to his best friend, Brother Dennis, before leaving town. It's uncertain as to whether his family survived the revolution's peek.
Nerine Aeichloros Reseda
Anne's Bag Of Character Holding
Snapshot Description
Edna Higgins was older than dirt and she had absolutely no compunctions about the idea of reminding anyone. If the remains of her snowy white hair and gnarled, arthritic fingers weren’t enough to announce it to any passers-by, she was also never seen anywhere without her worn old walking stick, leaning heavily on it as she made her way from one end of camp to another.
Oh, she seemed nice enough on the surface. She’d had a great many years to perfect the art of being old. She could pull out a smile as bright as a midsummer’s day, the creases in her face doing much to add a sense of kindliness to the expression. She seemed too, to have a knack for knowing which of the young, impressionable lads in the crew would bend the easiest under such a smile; which looked at her and saw a mirror of their own granny or their mothers, gods help them. Which she could cajole into “helping” with whatever task it was she thought them most suitable for. And the rest? Well, there was nothing quite so fearsome as a wise old crone wrapped in icy anger or worse—one seeking revenge. There was more than one tale circulating around the edges of camp describing what sort of creatures a woman like Edna could turn you into for refusing a request.
Age had great advantages for those who chose to embrace them.
Full Backstory
The old woman who totters about camp will often give a shake of her head or a shrug of her shoulders if asked about her earlier years. She’ll claim not to remember them all that much or sometimes she’ll feed those who ask too many question the most outrageous of tales in response. The truth of it, though, is that Edna remembers very well how she got her start in this world and her experiences over the years have taught her the value of holding her cards close to her chest.
It’s not all that surprising, really. The eldest of eight mewling brats, Edna was thrust into the role of responsible adult far too early in life to come out of it unscathed. Her parents and two of her siblings suffered early ends in a very messy raid on the settlement they called home just outside of Daggermark’s borders some time in her twelfth year, leaving her responsible for five young mouths to feed and very few options for how to get that done. A harsh winter and a couple wet summers killed her already-pitiful chances at breathing life back into the farm and left her impressionable young mind desperate for solutions. Desperate enough to pack up and head for the city in hopes of finding more readily accessible coin.
It was something of a minor miracle that Edna hadn’t ended up in a whorehouse or a tavern in the end; a stroke of fate, perhaps, that led her to exactly the right place at exactly the right time. She’d been foolish enough to try and set up a stall in the beggar’s market in the slums of Daggermark, selling teas and shoddy little salves and tinctures of the kind often used in the farming community. It was, at the time, the only skill she thought she had that anyone in the city might be willing to pay for and though her goods weren’t nearly high enough quality to fetch any decent amount of coin, they were enough to catch the eye of one of the lower ranking members of the Poisoner’s Guild, which became the turning point in Edna’s life.
It was there that she met Vernon Hylia, a half-elf alchemist of some skill who saw in young Edna the drive and determination to excel. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly out of the goodness of his heart to take in what was barely more than a child-apprentice when he knew that it would lead her into a life of questionable morality but Edna was the perfect balance between eager and desperate and her youth made her imminently mouldable. It was a match made in heaven—or perhaps in hell, depending on who you asked. Vernon was only too happy to claim Edna as apprentice and Edna was only too happy to soak up every little bit of knowledge he tossed her way.
For many years the two of them plodded, slid and plotted their way up the ranks until their working relationship eventually fell apart over Edna’s accusations that Vernon was withholding trade secrets that she ought to have known and Vernon’s disapproval of over her willingness to use her fair face and feminine wiles to pull the wool over on the odd merchant or other herbalist. Vernon firmly believed in maintaining a sort of thieves honour and Edna felt no such restraint was really necessary in pursuit of whatever it was she wanted or needed. By the time she was thirty, Edna had struck out on her own into the wilds of the River Kingdom in search of more knowledge than what she felt Vernon was possible of giving her. Her intent was to search out one of the local elven tribes and learn whatever they would share of herbal lore and alchemy and then return to Daggermark with secrets of her own.
Secrets she didn’t intend to share.
It went rather better than she’d dared to hope. Edna found her way to the village of Mimere, in the heart of the territory belonging to the Hymbrian elves where she managed to seduce her way into the good graces of their best alchemist, Ruvyn Faelar. It was—in hindsight—perhaps not the wisest decision she made. Seduction was, as she learned later, better used on those one wasn’t actually attracted to. It did lead to some of the happiest times in her admittedly difficult life. Ruvyn and Edna were well suited for each other as far as anyone could tell. Both loved their work, spending weeks and months at a time out in the woods gathering ingredients and sharing their knowledge freely back and forth. The cracks didn’t really start to show until her elven lover started to suspect she was selling poisons to the trade caravans that came through Mimere, even against his wishes and the laws of his people—using his recipes. In the end, her own dishonesty destroyed any hope of continued welcome in the area and forced Ruvyn’s hand when she was ordered to leave. He chose his people over the woman who had been his closest companion for nearly a half dozen years.
A return to Daggermark seemed in order; a safe and familiar place in which she could lick the wounds left by twisted love gone wrong and so Edna returned to the guild only to find Vernon now sitting at the right hand—and in the bed—of the current guild-mistress. Her return was a quiet thing, Edna making do with a much lower position in the guild hierarchy than her skill level would have suggested. It was enough. For a while. And when she became bored and angry at her lack of position she began to undercut her competition. It was a subtle thing at first, careful not to draw too much attention to herself or make too much use of the skills she’d learned from the Hymbrian elves. In time she grew careless, pushing for power within the guild that drew resentment from those above her.
In the end it cost her nearly everything. The guild threw her out into the cold for her political and financial meddling and Edna found herself back in the wilds of the River Kingdom, hawking her wares in every flea-bitten hamlet from Daggermark to the outskirts of Liberthane where she ended up doing brisk business with what started as a small band of outlaws just inside Embeth Forest. They were forever in need of poultices, bandages, tinctures and potions and Edna was only too happy to supply them—for generous compensation, of course. It wasn’t long before the bandit camp was pretty much Edna’s only significant source of income—and a lucrative one, at that—and she managed to convince their leader that she could serve better from behind their lines rather than outside. It was a wonderful pairing, in a way. The bandits had secured themselves a healer, alchemist and woman of surprisingly varied skills and in return they gave her shelter, provided her with young legs to do her gathering work when she needed it and a measure of respect that she’d struggled to attain elsewhere. At least… for now.
The old woman who totters about camp will often give a shake of her head or a shrug of her shoulders if asked about her earlier years. She’ll claim not to remember them all that much or sometimes she’ll feed those who ask too many question the most outrageous of tales in response. The truth of it, though, is that Edna remembers very well how she got her start in this world and her experiences over the years have taught her the value of holding her cards close to her chest.
It’s not all that surprising, really. The eldest of eight mewling brats, Edna was thrust into the role of responsible adult far too early in life to come out of it unscathed. Her parents and two of her siblings suffered early ends in a very messy raid on the settlement they called home just outside of Daggermark’s borders some time in her twelfth year, leaving her responsible for five young mouths to feed and very few options for how to get that done. A harsh winter and a couple wet summers killed her already-pitiful chances at breathing life back into the farm and left her impressionable young mind desperate for solutions. Desperate enough to pack up and head for the city in hopes of finding more readily accessible coin.
It was something of a minor miracle that Edna hadn’t ended up in a whorehouse or a tavern in the end; a stroke of fate, perhaps, that led her to exactly the right place at exactly the right time. She’d been foolish enough to try and set up a stall in the beggar’s market in the slums of Daggermark, selling teas and shoddy little salves and tinctures of the kind often used in the farming community. It was, at the time, the only skill she thought she had that anyone in the city might be willing to pay for and though her goods weren’t nearly high enough quality to fetch any decent amount of coin, they were enough to catch the eye of one of the lower ranking members of the Poisoner’s Guild, which became the turning point in Edna’s life.
It was there that she met Vernon Hylia, a half-elf alchemist of some skill who saw in young Edna the drive and determination to excel. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly out of the goodness of his heart to take in what was barely more than a child-apprentice when he knew that it would lead her into a life of questionable morality but Edna was the perfect balance between eager and desperate and her youth made her imminently mouldable. It was a match made in heaven—or perhaps in hell, depending on who you asked. Vernon was only too happy to claim Edna as apprentice and Edna was only too happy to soak up every little bit of knowledge he tossed her way.
For many years the two of them plodded, slid and plotted their way up the ranks until their working relationship eventually fell apart over Edna’s accusations that Vernon was withholding trade secrets that she ought to have known and Vernon’s disapproval of over her willingness to use her fair face and feminine wiles to pull the wool over on the odd merchant or other herbalist. Vernon firmly believed in maintaining a sort of thieves honour and Edna felt no such restraint was really necessary in pursuit of whatever it was she wanted or needed. By the time she was thirty, Edna had struck out on her own into the wilds of the River Kingdom in search of more knowledge than what she felt Vernon was possible of giving her. Her intent was to search out one of the local elven tribes and learn whatever they would share of herbal lore and alchemy and then return to Daggermark with secrets of her own.
Secrets she didn’t intend to share.
It went rather better than she’d dared to hope. Edna found her way to the village of Mimere, in the heart of the territory belonging to the Hymbrian elves where she managed to seduce her way into the good graces of their best alchemist, Ruvyn Faelar. It was—in hindsight—perhaps not the wisest decision she made. Seduction was, as she learned later, better used on those one wasn’t actually attracted to. It did lead to some of the happiest times in her admittedly difficult life. Ruvyn and Edna were well suited for each other as far as anyone could tell. Both loved their work, spending weeks and months at a time out in the woods gathering ingredients and sharing their knowledge freely back and forth. The cracks didn’t really start to show until her elven lover started to suspect she was selling poisons to the trade caravans that came through Mimere, even against his wishes and the laws of his people—using his recipes. In the end, her own dishonesty destroyed any hope of continued welcome in the area and forced Ruvyn’s hand when she was ordered to leave. He chose his people over the woman who had been his closest companion for nearly a half dozen years.
A return to Daggermark seemed in order; a safe and familiar place in which she could lick the wounds left by twisted love gone wrong and so Edna returned to the guild only to find Vernon now sitting at the right hand—and in the bed—of the current guild-mistress. Her return was a quiet thing, Edna making do with a much lower position in the guild hierarchy than her skill level would have suggested. It was enough. For a while. And when she became bored and angry at her lack of position she began to undercut her competition. It was a subtle thing at first, careful not to draw too much attention to herself or make too much use of the skills she’d learned from the Hymbrian elves. In time she grew careless, pushing for power within the guild that drew resentment from those above her.
In the end it cost her nearly everything. The guild threw her out into the cold for her political and financial meddling and Edna found herself back in the wilds of the River Kingdom, hawking her wares in every flea-bitten hamlet from Daggermark to the outskirts of Liberthane where she ended up doing brisk business with what started as a small band of outlaws just inside Embeth Forest. They were forever in need of poultices, bandages, tinctures and potions and Edna was only too happy to supply them—for generous compensation, of course. It wasn’t long before the bandit camp was pretty much Edna’s only significant source of income—and a lucrative one, at that—and she managed to convince their leader that she could serve better from behind their lines rather than outside. It was a wonderful pairing, in a way. The bandits had secured themselves a healer, alchemist and woman of surprisingly varied skills and in return they gave her shelter, provided her with young legs to do her gathering work when she needed it and a measure of respect that she’d struggled to attain elsewhere. At least… for now.
NPC Info
Vernon Hylia
Relationship Status: Rival
A half-elf alchemist from Daggermark. Previously Edna's teacher and then mentor in the Poisoner's Guild. Currently the spouse of the leader of the Poisoner's guild.
* * *
Ruvyn Faelar
Relationship Status: Ex-lover/It's Complicated (Edna's status with the Hymbrian Elves is "enemy")
An Hymbrian elf from the woods outside of Mimere and a master herbalist. Previously Edna's lover. Currently still holds position as master herbalist among the Hymbrian elves.
* * *
Robert Hanson
Relationship Status: Whipping boy/pseudo-apprentice
A young male human living within the bandit camp. Has been functioning as an apprentice to both the camp's cook and to Edna when she can stomach tolerating his incessant optimism. He's often sent out by Edna to do the work of gathering items from the forest while he's out foraging wild edibles or hunting. She pays him for the service (though it's a pittance of what she probably should be giving). She still charges him full price for her potions and poultices as well on the grounds that she wouldn't want to see him bullied by the other young fellows for favouritism, you see?
Andaran Firetree aka Bloody Blade
Character Sheet
Backstory: Growing up Andaran wanted to do one thing and one thing only; become the best swordsman in the world.
Unfortunately he came from a long line of elven wizards who scoffed at his notions of becoming a warrior.
He practiced in secret while he dragged his feet through wizard college. Once graduated, he resumed his quest for perfection in martial dominance. Unfortunately, his travels landed him with the wrong crowd and as he continued being obsessed with his perfect fighting technique, he soon realized that morality itself was holding him back in his path for total warrior enlightenment.
Andy is the quintessential fallen hero, what has been known of his past says that at some point he used to believe in the good of the world and was genuinely good at heart. However, currently he is a shadow of his former self. A brooding, pensive warrior, Andy hardly talks to others, is incredibly untrustworthy and makes a habit of never turning his back on anybody if he can help. He indulges a lot in wine and when he is sufficiently drunk he'll mumble a few bits about his past. Namely that he went to a really ritzy wizard's college when he was younger, but after graduation something went terribly wrong and the violence in his life definitely escalated. He seems to be perpetually on edge about something, and though he's very reserved, when he's in combat he always screams at the top of his lungs and attacks with seething hatred as if he had a personal vendetta with the person he's attacking. He does have his honor, such as never attacking children or unarmed people, essentially leaving those that don't appear to be a threat alone, but everything else is fair game after that and he's been known to waste time brutalizing corpses, hitting them with his sword and stomping them over and over again to ensure his foes are dead. He has a bad habit of attacking the person that hit him last, and will only ever retreat unless specifically ordered to do so.
He also mumbles to himself every once in a while, the mumbles are always the same, some kind of mantra apparently.
NPCs: None
Side-Characters:
Zurdok Greenaxe: Race: Dwarf, Gender: Male, Age: 89 years. Job: Fighter. Lawful Evil.
Traits: Greedy, Ruthless, Merciless, Cruel, Oddly jovial.
Andaran served under Zurdok for a long time, his mentor, trainer, commander, Andaran saw an absurd amount of combat under the mercenary leader as he dragged him around to every warzone around. Zurdok is mostly responsible for teaching Andaran almost everything he knows about sword fighting.
Quat Mep: Race Hobgoblin, Gender: Male, Age: 53 years. Job: Slaver. Neutral Evil
Traits: Sadistic, Manipulative, Amoral, Perverted, Hedonistic.
Andaran doesn't talk much about Quat, but apparently he used to be an old employer of him. The elf served as the Hobgoblin Slaver's enforcer for many years and it was in his service that he really fell into the darkness. Something truly changed in Andaran's heart in his years of servitude and the once noble elf was no more. Something traumatized him and his idealism shattered completely.
Dark Angle: Race: Male, Race: Unknown, Age: Unknown. Job: Vigilante. Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Traits: Prankster, Selfish, Vain, Proud, Self-Absorbed, Edgy, Chauvinistic, Manwhore.
In his years of vigilantism, attacking anyone that looked like a challenge, Andaran ran into something of a copy cat. Dark Angle was a fellow vigilante that stated that yes, his hero name really is Dark Angle and not Dark Angel, as that was already taken. Often completely masked and cloaked, nothing is really known about Dark Angle other than he fights with a two handed sword similar to Andaran. Often times they worked together, others they were rivals and enemies. Andaran hasn't seen nor heard of Dark Angle in a long time, but its clear he does not like the man and his very name makes the elf twitch in anger.
What little Andaran knows from Dark Angle is that he seems to have no innate skill of his own, all his power comes from magical items he carries. Likely, as far as Andaran can guess, he's a rich kid having some fun. Whereas Andaran took up his quest to become the best swordsman the world has ever seen, Dark Angle took the vigilante path purely because he wants to impress people, specifically women. He'll hit on every comely woman he saves and has a number of female followers which he calls his harem, he always flaunts this fact to Andaran in an attempt to stir some jealousy, though if Andaran is affected by it he doesn't seem to show it.
Character Sheet
Backstory: Growing up Andaran wanted to do one thing and one thing only; become the best swordsman in the world.
Unfortunately he came from a long line of elven wizards who scoffed at his notions of becoming a warrior.
He practiced in secret while he dragged his feet through wizard college. Once graduated, he resumed his quest for perfection in martial dominance. Unfortunately, his travels landed him with the wrong crowd and as he continued being obsessed with his perfect fighting technique, he soon realized that morality itself was holding him back in his path for total warrior enlightenment.
Andy is the quintessential fallen hero, what has been known of his past says that at some point he used to believe in the good of the world and was genuinely good at heart. However, currently he is a shadow of his former self. A brooding, pensive warrior, Andy hardly talks to others, is incredibly untrustworthy and makes a habit of never turning his back on anybody if he can help. He indulges a lot in wine and when he is sufficiently drunk he'll mumble a few bits about his past. Namely that he went to a really ritzy wizard's college when he was younger, but after graduation something went terribly wrong and the violence in his life definitely escalated. He seems to be perpetually on edge about something, and though he's very reserved, when he's in combat he always screams at the top of his lungs and attacks with seething hatred as if he had a personal vendetta with the person he's attacking. He does have his honor, such as never attacking children or unarmed people, essentially leaving those that don't appear to be a threat alone, but everything else is fair game after that and he's been known to waste time brutalizing corpses, hitting them with his sword and stomping them over and over again to ensure his foes are dead. He has a bad habit of attacking the person that hit him last, and will only ever retreat unless specifically ordered to do so.
He also mumbles to himself every once in a while, the mumbles are always the same, some kind of mantra apparently.
NPCs: None
Side-Characters:
Zurdok Greenaxe: Race: Dwarf, Gender: Male, Age: 89 years. Job: Fighter. Lawful Evil.
Traits: Greedy, Ruthless, Merciless, Cruel, Oddly jovial.
Andaran served under Zurdok for a long time, his mentor, trainer, commander, Andaran saw an absurd amount of combat under the mercenary leader as he dragged him around to every warzone around. Zurdok is mostly responsible for teaching Andaran almost everything he knows about sword fighting.
Quat Mep: Race Hobgoblin, Gender: Male, Age: 53 years. Job: Slaver. Neutral Evil
Traits: Sadistic, Manipulative, Amoral, Perverted, Hedonistic.
Andaran doesn't talk much about Quat, but apparently he used to be an old employer of him. The elf served as the Hobgoblin Slaver's enforcer for many years and it was in his service that he really fell into the darkness. Something truly changed in Andaran's heart in his years of servitude and the once noble elf was no more. Something traumatized him and his idealism shattered completely.
Dark Angle: Race: Male, Race: Unknown, Age: Unknown. Job: Vigilante. Alignment: Chaotic Evil
Traits: Prankster, Selfish, Vain, Proud, Self-Absorbed, Edgy, Chauvinistic, Manwhore.
In his years of vigilantism, attacking anyone that looked like a challenge, Andaran ran into something of a copy cat. Dark Angle was a fellow vigilante that stated that yes, his hero name really is Dark Angle and not Dark Angel, as that was already taken. Often completely masked and cloaked, nothing is really known about Dark Angle other than he fights with a two handed sword similar to Andaran. Often times they worked together, others they were rivals and enemies. Andaran hasn't seen nor heard of Dark Angle in a long time, but its clear he does not like the man and his very name makes the elf twitch in anger.
What little Andaran knows from Dark Angle is that he seems to have no innate skill of his own, all his power comes from magical items he carries. Likely, as far as Andaran can guess, he's a rich kid having some fun. Whereas Andaran took up his quest to become the best swordsman the world has ever seen, Dark Angle took the vigilante path purely because he wants to impress people, specifically women. He'll hit on every comely woman he saves and has a number of female followers which he calls his harem, he always flaunts this fact to Andaran in an attempt to stir some jealousy, though if Andaran is affected by it he doesn't seem to show it.
Eirwen's Sheet
Backstory: From the Crown of the World, a half-elf was born. A Snow Elf, white snow-white skin. Magic seemed to bleed off of her, powerful notes that rung from her voice that seemed to find some aberrant life. Yet, the Ilverani didn't know she was a half-breed until her father returned from a long trip to get her and her mother. In vengeance, they were exiled from the Ilverani and the Crown of World, and started to travel south.
...Where the bandits claimed them. The halfbreed's lips were stitched almost shut to prevent her from singing her songs of magical power. She was to young to do the more backbreaking labor, so the bandits forced her to be a chef. Yet, her food found its charms around camp. She did her work, and always provided for as best as she could. Be it Stockholm syndrome, or some desire to inflict pain on the world that birthed her, she slowly worked her way in with the bandits.
Eirwen has been sent ahead of the bandits, flying in on giant vulture to infiltrate settlements the bandits were intending to raid. She has managed to manipulate her way to a rather wealthy position, and seems to be saving enough gold to retire in case things go sourly for her.
Backstory: From the Crown of the World, a half-elf was born. A Snow Elf, white snow-white skin. Magic seemed to bleed off of her, powerful notes that rung from her voice that seemed to find some aberrant life. Yet, the Ilverani didn't know she was a half-breed until her father returned from a long trip to get her and her mother. In vengeance, they were exiled from the Ilverani and the Crown of World, and started to travel south.
...Where the bandits claimed them. The halfbreed's lips were stitched almost shut to prevent her from singing her songs of magical power. She was to young to do the more backbreaking labor, so the bandits forced her to be a chef. Yet, her food found its charms around camp. She did her work, and always provided for as best as she could. Be it Stockholm syndrome, or some desire to inflict pain on the world that birthed her, she slowly worked her way in with the bandits.
Eirwen has been sent ahead of the bandits, flying in on giant vulture to infiltrate settlements the bandits were intending to raid. She has managed to manipulate her way to a rather wealthy position, and seems to be saving enough gold to retire in case things go sourly for her.
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