Keegan Cawley's page

Keegan Cawley
CN male human scout 2
Abilities: Str 12, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 13
HP (2d8+2+X): 19; BAB +1/Grapple +2; Fort +1; Ref +5; Will +3
AC: 16 (+4 chain shirt; +2 Dex), check penalty -2
Attacks: morningstar +2 melee (1d8+1 b/p) or dagger +2 melee / +3 ranged (1d4+1 p / p/s)
Feats: Iron Will, Telling Blow (PHBII)*
Languages: Common, Varisian, Goblin, Orc, Elven**
FX: Skirmish +1d6; Uncanny Dodge; Battle Fortitude
Skills (56+4 points): Acrobatics (4 ranks) +2, Appraise +4, Climb -1, Craft (mapmaking) (5 ranks) +9, Craft (visual art) (5 ranks) +9, Diplomacy +1, Disguise +1, Heal +1, Intimidate (5 ranks) +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) (4 ranks) +8, Knowledge (geography) (4 ranks) +8, Knowledge (nature) (5 ranks) +9, Linguistics (4 ranks) +8, Perception (5 ranks) +6, Perform +1, Profession (cartographer) (5 ranks) +6, Ride +2, Stealth (5 ranks) +7, Survival (5 ranks) +6, Swim (4 ranks) +1
Possessions: clothing (2lbs), chain shirt (25lbs), morningstar (2lbs), dagger (1lb), belt pouch (1lb), parchment, ink, quills, compass, 1 day’s rations (1lb), full waterskin (3lbs), wolf pelt (?), wolf jerky (?), pouch of fingers/dead bugs/dirt (?), flint (-) – total: 35 + X lbs. Light load: 43 lbs. Med. Load: 86 lbs. Max load: 130 lbs

*Add skirmish damage to critical hits.
**This is using “Int modifier = number of bonus languages” rules.

Born the illegitimate son of a lumberjack's wife and a tiefling bandit, Keegan Cawley spent much of his childhood in the wilderness avoiding his spiteful mother and his hard-drinking surrogate father. He soon discovered that he had a talent for sketching, as well as an unerring sense of direction, and set himself up as an apprentice to an elderly cartographer. Following his master's death, as well as the deaths of his parents in a mysterious fire, Keegan decided to hire himself out as a freelance artist and explorer.

Being something of a professional lurker, he picks up on little bits of everything- languages, skills, talents (he plays a mean harmonica), anything, really. One fateful day, the crew boss of the logging company noticed Keegan's sketches of scenic vistas- company land. Not good. The logging company snatched up the unpredictable young man before all of the good sites were lost to rival tree-cutting firms. Since his impromptu hiring, Keegan has begun to rue the attachment to a steady job, preferring to live on his own terms, rather than to be a slave to the weekly paycheck.

His only friend is Raphael d'Adarrin, an arrogant logging company clerk. They can often be found drinking at the Rouge Lady, a local establishment. Like attracts like, in this case.

Keegan is of moderate height and weight, standing around five feet, ten inches, and weighing in at a modest 160 pounds. His dark brown hair is unruly, forming a thick tangle on the crown of his head. Keegan's skin is pale, and is often covered in a slight patina of dirt and woodsmoke. However, there is something slightly odd about his appearance. Maybe it's the odd serrations on his teeth (of which there seem to be rather too many for one mouth). Or his smoldering amber-colored eyes. Or even the reek of ashes and sulfur that wafts from his person when he's angry...

He speaks in a thick, nearly incomprehensible back-country Chelish accent, spattered with bits of Varisian gypsy talk and rhyming slang. Overall, his appearance and manner of speech do an excellent job of masking his genius-level intellect and lightning-fast reflexes. One thing's for sure: he's no country simpleton.

Keegan's dress is simple and functional: leather trousers and boots; a rough linen shirt; and a heavy chainmail shirt (painted a matte black to blend in with the shadows), which he rarely removes. He carries his mapmaking supplies and sketchbook in a large pouch on his belt, opposite his heavy steel morningstar.

Keegan keeps up an upbeat facade in public, but his underlying personality is mercurial, and more than a bit vindictive. While he holds a respect for the natural world, he has no overarching love for it, and more than a few times a hapless woodland creature has been forcibly acquainted with the business end of his morningstar. Oh, and never touch his art supplies. He hates that.