Init: +4, Senses: Perception +4; low light vison
AC: 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (3 armor, 3 dex)
Fort:0 Ref:6 Will:1; +2 vs. enchantment; +4 vs. bardic performance, sonic and language based effects
BAB: +1, CMB: +4, CMD: +17
ACP -1; Acrobatics +6, Climb +6, Diplomacy +6, Escape Artist +7, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (geography) +6, Knowledge (local) +6, Knowledge (religion) +6, Perception +4, Perform (Sing)+6, Perform (string) +6, Profession (gambler) +4, Sleight of Hand +6 , Spellcraft +5, Stealth +6, Swim +5,
Versatile Performance: Bluff +6, Sense Motive +6
Point Blank Shot
Focused Mind, Looking for Work (Profession:Gambler),
mwk. longsword, mwk. composite shortbow (+1), dagger, studded leather, traveler's outfit, pouch (belt), The Book of Joy (as travelling spellbook),elixir of love, potion of cure light wounds (3), potion of protection from arrows (10), holy symbol of calistria, lyre, wineskin(empty), mirror (small steel), keros oil, acid (3), tindertwig (3), cards (marked), bag of dice with Calistrain insignia, silver ring worth 5pp, 109gp, 31sp , 5cp
Personality: Iscarel is bitter, caustic and slow to make friends, openly disdainful of the city and it's people, though the cruelty and corruption of Riddleport seem to have rubbed off on him. He knows the city like someone who's lived here for a whole human lifetime, but there is little wonder why he hasn't achieved any power or prestige.
Content to sing for his meals and waste away his evenings overindulging on wine, the elf seems to chafe under any commitments. Often preferring to lock himself in his chambers and think back than enjoy the companionship of his co-workers.
He bears a great love for his people, surrounding himself with as many reminders of his heritage as he can, and often mingling elvish into the common-tongue. Those who know him well know that he is just as often pensive and melancholy as he is bitter, seeing to fly between the two at the drop of a hat.
Raised in the Village of Crying Leaf on the edge of the Mierani Forest, Iscarel led a charmed life. A talented swordsman and archer, and blessed with good looks, he never had to try for anything in his youth. Groomed as a ranger to defend the City of Emerald Rains, Iscarel was a model soldier, if a little overfond of wine and song.
That all changed 35 years ago. Mere weeks before he left his home village to join the elite contingent of rangers guarding Celwyvinian, Crying Leaf was attacked by the green dragon Razorhorn. Seeing his brothers burnt alive by acid, the ranger lost his nerve and abandoned his post. In the following weeks, he was a shadow of the elf he once was, losing himself to the wine and alienating his friends and family. When it came time to march to the defense of Celwyvinian, the elf fled by cover of night.
In his travels, he of course found nothing that could match the joys of his homeland, and while learning much about different human cultures and cities, he found something to despise in almost all of them. He's lived in Magnimar, Egorian and Greengold (but has steered clear of Kyonin proper) before having to skip town over acts of petty revenge that get him into trouble (often against the children of those who slight him). In recent years, his self-imposed isolation has become almost too much, and for the past 16 years, he has lingered, unable to bring himself to stray too far from Crying Leaf, but too ashamed to return.
Iscarel actively loathes Riddleport, finding solace where he can in the House of Silken Veils and the few elves that visit the city (confident that they've long since forgotten his face). He's managed to stake out a comfortable living in the city, his growing bitterness making him better suited to the criminal life than most. With his otherworldly looks and unnerving stare, Iscarel has developed an aura of mystique that's let him live out twenty three years in Riddleport relatively unmolested. He favours acid, guile and his caustic tongue as his weapons, and has worked for both Shorafa Pamodae and Clegg Zincher in the past, although considerably afraid of both of them.
With twenty years worth of favours saved up, a talent for singing of better men and a small pouch of silver, he lives more or less free of commitments, and is content to waste his not-so-hard-earned coin away on elven wine until he finds the courage to return home.