Westcrown and Down (Inactive)

Game Master Jib916

Born to a whore and some random customer, Phaedra didn't have much chance for a happy life. She had even less chance when her mother developed a drug and alcohol addiction that she couldn't support. Her mother's solution was to sell her daughter to Lamm in exchange for more drugs.

Phaedra proved to be completely useless at the various tasks she was assigned no matter how often she was beaten. She was just completely useless at pickpocketing and stealing and wasn't even stealthy enough to be any kind of decent spy. Finally Lamm decided there wasn't any other use for her but to be one of his whores.

That didn't end up well for Phaedra either. She feared ending up just like her mother and refused to service her "client". Having already paid for her, the client didn't care what she had to say and beat her into submitting to him. Afterwards he complained to Lamm about the service and he beat her again and had her seemingly lifeless body tossed out onto the trasheaps by the street.

Her body was collected by a group of clergy belonging to the Pharasmin temple who would collect the dead to perform last rites for them and give them the proper burial that the dead deserve. They were quite surprised to see a spark of life left in the young girl when they attempted to prepare her for burial and rushed her off to their temple's infirmary to recover.

After her recovery and with nowhere else to go, Phaedra decided to pledge herself to the service of Pharasma.

She typically wears somber robes in varying shades of grey and prefers to keep a veil over her head and face. Phaedra is rather self-conscious of the faint scars that are still visible on the side of her face that were the result of various beatings.

Born to a disowned branch of a Brevoy noble family, Doran grew up in much harsher conditions than most of his Aldori swordlord constituents. Bullied by the sons of nobles who had been told of his family's fall from grace, Doran began to teach himself swordsmanship. Practicing with sapling branches until he was strong enough to lift the heavy wooden practice sword, he eventually caught the eye of an aging instructor of the Aldori style. Taking the name Quickstep, in hopes of not being recognized by those who tormented him when he was young, Doran worked with the man to sharpen his skills. Proving fast and accurate with the blade, his instructor ingrained all the knowledge he could to the boy, eventually sponsoring him to officially join the swordlord's school.

Taking to the training and dueling with great will and enthusiasm, he worked hard to become an accomplished student, eventually making it into the top ten of his class, in not only swordsmanship, but also academics. After graduating from the swordlord's academy, Doran spent the next four years working as a city guard in Brevoy's capital, New Stetven. Realizing that he would never get anywhere with such a profession, he quit on the eve of his twenty-fifth birthday. Now free to do as he pleases, the man's travels to find work as an adventurer have brought him to Westcrown.

Realizing the people of Westcrown have been tormented, debased and oppressed by the society and ruling class of the city, much like he was as a child, Doran hopes to join up with other free-thinking individuals to try and bring beneficial change to the city. Something must be done quickly, because the citizenry of Westcrown have suffered for far too long!

He wears a roughly-made traveler's outfit of brown leather, with a chain shirt over it. His blade is lovingly cared for, and certainly is his most prized possession. The weapon's sheath is belted across his torso, with five daggers held in the strap, for easy access.

Killarny Johnson was the son of the Captain of the Guard. With no mother and a workaholic father he split his time between the streets and the guard barracks, occasionally being forced to go to social gatherings with the nobles his father served.

The city slowly declined and his father refused to bow to the syndicates, slowly becoming the last honest cop around. Predictably, it cost him his life.

Killarny is now out for blood. He is clever, resourceful, dangerous and driven by both a desire for revenge and a deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong. He understands that as just one man there isn't a lot he can do, but a good trick can fool a lot of people. The best tricks practically create their own truths.

So he's looking to con the city back into some sense of goodness, and kill anyone who doesn't want to be part of the joke.

Killarny is a clean shaven young man with close-cropped hair standing about 5'10'. His eyes are a clear blue and his face is almost perpetually serious.

It's clear he's lived a hard life. His nose has been broken more than once, but he was lucky enough to be able to have it straightened. Small scars dot his face and scalp.

He carries no obvious weapons and dresses in simple but well made clothes. Everything about him seems unremarkable. He'd probably be just another face in the crowd to most people, but if you happen to catch his eye you might notice a manic gleam that is deeply unsettling.

The Rhys family has long enjoyed the limelight of the Chelaxian Theater circuit. Under the previous golden age of Cheliax, before the death of Aroden and the rise of the Thrice-Damned House Thrune, they were famed for turning the traditional morality play into a form of high art, using the stage and the libretto to socially progressive ends. Those in the extended family who were not thespians or musicians themselves were composers, instrumentalists, wealthy patrons or simply enthusiasts in the arts. With the fall of Aroden and the rise of Asmodean worship, the theater became a sensational, marketable, propagandized and morally bankrupt instrument of the ruling class. And for the Rhys family, life began to imitate art.

It began with a matron of the Rhys family who committed adultery and ultimately left her husband for one of the first openly Asmodean noblemen. Then several cousins were accused of embezzling coin through low-rent street corner theaters and their doe-eyed patrons. Extravagance led to libertine living led to the family's crumbling foundations upon which Shannon was born.

His mother was a renowned operatic soprano and his father a marginally successful composer. As such, Shannon grew up in the grand opera houses and theaters of Korvosa, Magnamar, Egorian, and his family's traditional home, Westcrown, inspired and challenged to perform not only better than his contemporaries, but better than those who have come before. His first appearance on stage was in the Egorian Opera at the age of 7 in a production of Abrogail Ascendant, wherein he performed the haunting elegy sung by Abrogail I's childish handmaiden at her funeral (Abrogail I's role was played by none other than his mother). Shannon's soprano was so beautiful that a month later he was taken for a vacation to a family cottage in Avistan and castrated. Hence, he has possessed a coveted countertenor range.

But that is all that anyone covets of Shannon's life. His father died of syphilis only a few years after their summer stay in Avistan, and most recently Shannon's mother was arrested on charges of high treason and publicly beheaded after being implicated as a doyenne who prostituted her chorus girls to powerful nobles and traded in royal secrets. Now Shannon is in Westcrown, picking up the last remains of his household and on the cusp of deciding what to do with his life and his career. Though valued in the limelight of the theater, he is regarded as a laughable eunuch in the public sphere. But as he handles the remains of his family estate, he learns not only of his family's noble history, but of the noble history of Westcrown. It may be too late for his own masculinity, but perhaps Shannon can restore something of the ancient vigor of Westcrown if given the right opportunity...

He bears his father's ruddy gold hair and his mother's piercing dark eyes, wide and enchanting, a feature he emphasizes with makeup and his somatic gesturing for enchantment spells. Having been maimed before puberty, his fame has remained slight and androgynous. When angered, he flushes an overdramatic crimson.

In the Dottari, his commanding officers did not single him out more or less than the other green recruits. Sure he was the spawn of some passing fiend but he was also another warm body to throw at the ever increasing problems of the city. The healthy sense of suspicion and distrust Guy had grown up with served him well during his time with the Dottari. Eventually he began to think that he might be able to make a difference in Westcrown, maybe turn it into a place where people like his mother would not be abandoned by the rest of society.

That was until he got burned. After a public embarrassment, the public was out for blood and wanted certain corrupt factions within the Dottari rousted. Those factions had no intention to let the public have their way so they arranged for scapegoats. Guy, being a tiefling, was a perfect target. His career in the Dottari cut short, he took his skills to the private sector.

If you wanted something looked into, and need a touch of discretion or violence, you could find Guy in any number of bars around Westcrown. He is pretty hard to miss. Just do not lie to him. He still nurses the ember in his heart, the remote possibility that he could find a way to improve the city in some respect.

A man kneels in a church, in front of an alter to Iomedae. A sword and shield lay out in front of him. As he stares at them, flashes of memory enters his mind. A young boy, him, being bullied every day, not being able to stand up for himself. A paladin of Iomedae showing up to save him from who he thought was his friends. The paladin becoming the boys mentor, showing him the man he should become and to stand up for what he believes. The paladin turning from Iomedae and slaughtering the clerics in the name of Angazhan. The boys tears and pain, as he wonders what the point of his life was, for the one he had looked up to turned from everything he had taught, and was now dead. Another man, a humble cleric, who showed him that life isn’t that easy, and that others make mistakes, believe other things, and that we cannot judge them. The boy swearing to never become that paladin, and taking up and becoming everything that paladin wasn’t.

That man focuses back on the present. He looks up at the statue of Iomedae. “I swear unto thee, that I will never betray thy trust. That I will always be loyal and fair, to meet out justice where justice is due, but to know that people have faults, and that I cannot hold that against them. This I do swear.”

He stands. He picks up his sword and sheathes it, picks up his kite shield and straps it to his arm. He turns to see the humble monk standing there, the man who showed him the truth of life. He opens his mouth to speak but his mentor stops him with a raised hand. His mentor speaks one simple word.

“Go.”

And he went.

Since his day of becoming a paladin, Ravishar found himself in the city of Westcrown. Rumors of evil that stalks the night was more than enough to get him to go there. He has since found that it was more than rumors. Ravishar finds no fear in the darkness, wading into it sword shining, banishing back those that would dare threaten the night.

He wields an ordinary longsword, however he was given a shield from his church. It was the shield used by his old mentor, before he went evil. It’s a red trimmed kite shield, emblazoned with the symbol of Iomedae. Ravishar keeps it as a reminder of his oath, and what pride and hate can do.

Kara’s mother, Tiara was a slave bought and sold through several houses, her small stature tended to make her less than desirable. When she was with child she became even more of a burden to any master she would belong to.

Finally while nearing full term Tiara was to be put to death she was rescued and brought into the dark shadows of the underworld of Westcrown. A small group of gnomes living in the sewers of Rego Cader who called themselves the Shadow Avengers determined to one day restore freedom to Westcrown. It was here that Kara was born.

Kara was raised among the shadow gnomes of Westcrown’s dead sector studying, experimenting and learning the arts of shadow magic. Kara learned the ways of this part of Westcrown. Learning how to find the Dusk market when she needed to; Learning what parts to avoid and what parts were safe. Kara always had a knack for languages and found it to her advantage quickly learning the various dialects of the city to interpret plans of those that would bring ruin to her family.

Kara’s magical talent far exceeded others of her age some claimed that her Nidal blood was the reason, yet others believed that she was touched by ancient powers. But truth be told, Kara’s mother was a student of the ancient rune magic of the Thassilonians. And it was Tiara that taught Kara all that she had learned as a child.

One evening before the curfew Kara was hiding in an ally following some strangers that she had never seen before. She heard their conversation about a meeting of others that had the same ideals as her.

Kara returned to the Shadow Avengers safe house in the sewers to inform them of this discovery. Tiara told her that it was time for Kara to go and discover on her own. She had learned all she could from those here. Kara’s first mission as a Shadow Avenger is to find out about these people and represent the shadow gnomes of Westcrown.

Because a picture is worth so much more:
Kara Deepshadow

1d20 ⇒ 7

At fourteen, Breleth recommended to Ronwn's parents that Ronwn also take instruction from Faed, Ronwn's distant cousin and proprieter of an alchemy shop in Westcrown proper. Breleth and Faed had done business in years past, which had diminished as Breleth's mobility decreased. With Ronwn as go-between, Breleth gained access to the broad array of herbal and alchemical items from Westcrown, and Faed gained access to Breleth's specialty potions, elixirs, and herbal items - and an additional pair of hands in the shop and laboratory several days a month.

This fresh arrangement dramatically expanded Ronwn's horizons. Her errands punting through the Dhaen and in the near reaches of the Rifardona had introduced her to a broad variety of local hunters, farmers, fishermen, and bargemen. In Westcrown, Ronwn met the spectrum of human experience. Her naturally retiring disposition served her well inititally - she avoided troublesome run-ins with the city watch or any local street toughs.

Faed nurtured her alchemical inclinations. Breleth continued to develop her arcane capacities. And the streets of Westcrown taught her lessons of cruelty and oppression that she found enlightening and appalling. She had not had a strongly articulated sense of morality before Westcrown - just a basic level of religious observance at home and with Breleth. On the streets of Breleth, that diffuse sense of 'rightness' was hammered against a growing sense of 'wrongness', galvanized in teenage absolutes and romanticism, and tempered by fear of the repressive authorities. As an outlet for her growing sense of outraged injustice, Ronwn pursued legend and rumor of a resistance to the Chelish Diabolist regime. This was not at all her forte, and subverted by the backwoods impression she conveyed and her native shyness. These attributes also probably kept her from serious negative attention.

Almost unnoticably, in the last five years Ronwn has advanced from apprentice to journeyman. Her father passed away. Her mother lives with the family of one of Ronwn's older brothers. Though her brothers are not hostile, they are obviously uncomfortable with Ronwn's position of 'witch's girl', or increasingly, 'junior fen witch'. Breleth remains a mentor, and Ronwn still has call on the sleeping-nook near the old witch's hearth. But Breleth has settled into the late autumn of her years. Cousin Faed still values Ronwn as an occasional collaborator, and affords Ronwn a small room in the back of the shop and access to his compounding facility. But he does not command her time.

Cousin Faed occasionally attempts to introduce Ronwn to 'suitable young gentlemen'. He is a respectable shop owner, and he feels a vague filial guilt at her unattached status. Ronwn is interested enough - her playmates of youth are largely married, and most with several children. Ronwn feels the passing of marriagability with vague regret. None of Cousin Faed's well intentioned meetings was any great success - from either end. Cousin Faed's crop of 'suitable gentlemen' are consistently moderately successful Westcrini in the Chelish mold, and were put off by Ronwn's gentility, rusticism, and lack of enthusiasm for Chelish pursuits. For Ronwn's part, she has found them cold, arrogant, and gratuitously cruel. Perhaps more importantly, none of these 'dates' resulted in a major disaster. Ronwn has not considered this explicitly, but has been reticent to accept more of Cousin Faed's oblique suggestions.

Campaign Trait: Conspiracy Hunter

In build and dress, Ronwn walks the same borderline - striking, but not well enough favored to be stunning. Ronwn is slightly tall among women, without overtowering the menfolk. She is wiry and broad across the shoulders. At the same time, the curves of womanhood have not passed her by. As long as the current fashion in gowns can accomodate her shoulders, she attractively fills out bodice and bustle.

Ronwn does not, however, normally wear a gown. Her much more usual wardrobe includes stout knee-high boots, leather gauntlets (against poling and rowing), woolen or cotton blouse, leathern jerkin, and calf-length leather skirt. In cold weather, she will add woolen tights, woolen scarf, and a fur-lined leather cloak. Punting on the bay, on the river, or in the fens, and walking the fens searching exotic herbals and other ingredients, she dresses for utility. She keeps her hair shorter and tied back from her face for the same reason. Though she knows how to clean up, and when it's appropriate, her daily wear, both in and out of town is a rustic paen to utility for hard use in rough conditions.

Background
Originally from Korvosa, Phaedra is a cleric of Shelyn who came to work at the temple in West Crown as an excuse for looking for her sister. Her sister (a merchant captain) went missing along all the contents of her vessel which had been carrying fine silks and spices.

Over the course of a few years, Phaedra's done her best to make contacts in order to try to learn her sister's fate. In her searching, she has uncovered rumors of more disappearances and vague rumors of a master criminal organization who may be responsible for those disappearances.

Her favorite colors to wear are greens and blues since they go so well with her hair and eyes.

Yuron was born and raised in Isger, entertaned as a child by the stories that his parents told of their family's history. In the days before Aroden's death, the Issen family, had made a name for themselves as pirate hunters. Yuron doesn't know what it was that turned the family's fortunes, if they were victims of Aroden's fall, or if it was the fact that Yuron's great grandmother was born a half-orc. On the other side, Yuron's mother regaled him with tales of her ancestor's piracy, though her stories always focused on swashbuckling adventures rather than cutthroat business. His favorite story was the one about the Sylph (or maybe it was something else) ancestor that caused sorcerers to appear every few generations.

Shortly before he was born, Yuron's parents moved from Westcrown to Augustana, in Andoran, not wanting their son to grow up in a place dominated by devil worship. Once there, they took to the family trade, one parent staying with Yuron while the other was gone. When he was old enough, they would leave him alone, trusting him to look after himself, and to keep his sorcery in check.

Yuron never believed that his parents would be gone, until they were. They had gone out on a ship together, and the ship was attacked and sunk, with all hands lost. That is what he was told, anyway; Yuron isn't quite sure it was true. He didn't know what he was to do after that, except that he didn't want to be in his parents house anymore. He used the money he got from his parent's death to book passage to Westcrown, not really knowing what his aim was, but wanting to somehow find the truth behind the stories he was told as a child. To that end, he's decided to start by looking into the local criminal element.

Campaign Trait: Conspiracy Hunter

He seems deceptively muscular, but that is more a factor of his lack of body fat. His skin is a slightly more green shade of olive. Unlike many of his kind, he doesn't have much body hair, in fact, he seems less hairy than the average human. Yuron fights the temptation to wear flashy, ornate robes, and instead favors simple peasant clothes, making him look more like a farmer than sorcerer. In fact, the only real hint as to his nature is the small pouch he carries with him.

Backstory: Fizzy came to Westcrown after arriving in the Pathfinder lodge in Absalom, ready to live the life of a pathfinder. Unfortunately, upon arrival his very first act was to prank the the Venture Captain Drendel Dreng and he was promptly thrown out. Not to be deterred he made his way towards the local taverns assuming that with his incredible abilities as a performer that he would very shortly be filthy rich, then he would be able to show those Pathfinders.

He got the filthy part right. He soon found himself performing in the most squalid tavern in the city, and sleeping on the street. Temporarily brought down a couple of pegs he met and fell in with a various locals and finally met another fallen Pathfinder. After his mugging on the street the Pathfinder lay dying. Fizzy took the time to speak with him, and learned that there was a fallen lodge in Westcrown, and perhaps he could use what he found there to weasel his way into the good graces of the Decimverate.

After Arriving in Westcrown Fizzy sought out the lodge, only to find a whole lot of...nothing. Not only that soon after he himself was victim to multiple muggings himself. Now it is time for payback, as only a Gnome with the amazing talents of Fizzwiddle Glockenfleffor the XXII can deliver.

Fizzy is just a hair over 3 and half feet tall, though with his bright blue hair he is actually closer to 4 feet tall. He thinks that the height of his hair pulls focus from his embarrassing belly that pushes against his armor and tunic. He has deep tanned skin and ridiculous mutton chops down the side of his face. His Green eyes sparkle with a mischievous glint. His appearance causes most to underestimate his abilities until it is too late.

The next night, at the midnight hour Erliana was a approached by a small raccoon, who nuzzled the young girl while she slept. She woke with him still at her side. As she has grown through the years, the raccoon, who she gleefully accepted as a friend and pet in the times of hardship with the loss of her mother, has stayed as her companion. She stayed with the troupe, as it was the only home she'd ever known, and has become nearly as well known a dancer as her mother had been before her. That said, her mother has become more famous in death than she had ever been even in life, news of her horrific end spread from town to town, often by the lips of her lovers in each town. As such in every town they visited, Erliana was plagued by whispers, and sometimes even snickers from passing common folk on the streets, and secluded tables in the taverns. Throughout her youth, a single face has risen to the front of her conscious time and again, as if brought to the surface by some unknown force. The face is that of a pale Chelaxian, with stringy black hair, balding on the top, and a pencil thin mustache. She remembered having seen her mother with this man shortly before her death, and every so often his face would haunt her nightmares.

As she grew older, her dances grew more and more complex, exotic, even supernatural. She performed in such a way that left most people amazed, at the grace and agility of her dances. The cause would become clearer to her on her eighteenth birthday, as that was the first time she discovered that she could harness arcane energies through her long time companion Rickard, a common partner in her dances, and the longest lived raccoon any in the troupe had ever heard of. That night, the face of Pavo Crispin again haunted her dreams, and the next morning Erliana set off on her own to Westcrown, guided by some higher power to the home of her mother's killer. (Child of Infamy campaign trait)

She often wears the clothes that her mother had left, beautiful raiments designed for flowing Varisian dances, often leaving her midriff bare. Her body is often decorated with the jewelry of many suitors, though still haunted by her mother's death she has never taken any of their offers beyond the dazzling gold that adorns her wrists, fingers, neck, forehead, ears and navel.

The piece took several months of diligent work to complete. All other projects were largely put on hold. Finally the pistol was complete, and it was a masterpiece. Pierre sent word to the gangster that his piece was finished, but when the time came to pay the reckoning, the thug refused. He offered a price one tenth the worth of the pistol. Refusing to be robbed after such hard work, Quentin's father stood up to the man. The enforcer stabbed Pierre to death in front of Quentin, and took the pistol anyway. Quentin and his mother were crushed with grief, but without Pierre to support them were at a loss. Quentin had been apprenticed to his father, but he was not nearly as skilled. Leosa's brother helped to support them, while one of Pierre's former colleagues Martin Tangrecht took Quetin on as his new apprentice.

After several weeks of grief, Quentin was consumed by rage. What had his father ever done to deserve such a death? He vowed he would one day avenge his father and retrieve the pistol. In the evenings and on his rest days, he began to walk a couple miles outside the city and spend all his freetime and his entire disposable income firing pistols he "borrowed" from the smithy. Quentin buried himself in his work, quickly advancing to the rank of journeyman and beyond to become a gunsmith in his own right. On the day he turned eighteen Quentin finished forging his first pistol. That night he sewed a crude mask from a piece of one of his mother's red velvet dresses. Donning a low wide-brimmed hat and a dark cloak he strode out into the night armed with his new weapon. He was burning with desire for revenge, on the man who killed his father, and on everyone like him. He would single handedly bring the criminals of the city to their knees if need be, he was the Red Mask.

He made his way toward where rumors stated the infamous Dusk Market was located that night. He bid his time, sticking to the shadows and hiding in the alleys nearby. He was waiting for corruption to show itself, that he might cut it from the body of his beloved city. His opportunity came when he witnessed a woman being set upon by several large brutish men. She had propositioned them, and they figured why not just have it for free. Seeing his chance, he strode from the darkness firing and reloading as fast as he could. Before he knew what had happened, two of the thugs lay dead and the rest were scattering like roaches before a flame. A surging feeling of power ran through him, followed by a wave of horror at what he'd just done. He ran off, barely managing to hold back his sick until he was out of sight of the woman. But then the anger returned burning away the guilt, and he remembered the relieved look on the prostitute's face. He stood tall knowing he was doing what no one else would, he was doing justice.

Quentin is now a gunsmith by day, the Red Mask by night and a tavern dweller in the evening. He knows he cannot be the only one in this great city willing to fight back against corruption. He keeps his ears peeled for anyone else who might feel the way he does, and is always willing to bad mouth the corrupt guard, the criminals they serve and anyone dumb enough to not care about it.

Westcrown Firebrand Trait

When disguised as his alter ego Red Mask, he wears a raggedy opera style red mask, and a low wide brimmed hat. He wears a long black hooded cloak, and black wool tunic, breeches and doublet over his armor. He carries a well used looking pistol at his side.

With their sometimes deserved reputation for thievery tengu in Westcrown mostly stay quiet and keep thier heads down, but that doesn't stop trouble from finding them. The miniority status of Tengus has made them a frequent target for extortion and intimidation from Westcrown's criminal element, and they find little sypmathy from the authorities. The tengu are not helpless however, they have
a history of martial training, and one tengu has chosen to emulate their god of wind and thunder with gunpowder.

Clever artisans in the rookery have restored a junked musket to
a mostly working condition and entrusted it to keen-eyed young Dakka to protect their community. Dakka hopes that by thinking bigger and working to push back crime everywhere in Westcrown he might be able to help establish a legitimate postion for the tengu in the society at large.