DM Alexander Kilcoyne's Sargavan Saga

Game Master Alexander Kilcoyne

Tebati, Mwangi (Bonuwat) human cleric of Shimye-Magalla

Tebati was born in Nantambu in the Mwangi Expanse and grew up happily in that bastion of safety and civilization among a large extended family. Like most Bonuwat, she took to the water, fishing with her family in small boats in the Vanji river from her childhood, but she always seemed to have an instinctual bond to Shimye-Magalla and her family was unsurprised when she left the fishing life to apprentice to a local priestess of the goddess of water and freedom.

The shamaness taught Tebati all she could, but as her apprenticeship neared its end, she told the young woman that she would never understand the goddess's full nature without experiencing her most wild and unfettered form on the waves of the ocean. Tebati's love for her home was strong, but her desire to serve Shimye-Magalla was stronger. Tearfully, she bade goodbye to her parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins and began her journey down the Vanji to the coast, her neck draped with multiple colored glass charms as keepsakes of her home.

Her arrival in Bloodcove was Tebati's first real encounter with the foreigners from the north and their incursion into her homeland. Expecting the same sense of openness and peace that pervades Nantambu, she found that this city was based not on beauty and knowledge like her home, but on power and money. She was in Bloodcove only for a short time, as ocean-bound ships recognized the value of having not only a healer but a cleric of the local ocean-deity on board, to please the native sailors, if nothing else, but the experience left its mark on her in a bad impression of Avistani colonials, an impression her time on board the Aspis Consortium ship and the various ports of call it visited did little to erase.

She served out the term of her contract on the ship, enjoying at least her growing acquaintance with Shimye-Magalla's unbound side, but refused to sign on for another voyage, preferring to return to her home than to spend any more time with the profane and uncouth ship's officers. Angry at her refusal to continue to serve, the captain refused to let her stay on board until the ship returned to the mouth of the Vanji, insisting that no native whore would cadge free passage on his watch. Instead, she was let off at Eleder, her glass charms glistening around her neck, to find another ship or her own way back north to Nantambu. As she is more picky about what ships she will agree to serve on now, and as land caravans north are few and far between, she could well have been in and around the capital of Sargava for several seasons.

Tebati is a striking young woman, with a pretty face and an air of confidence. While neither an overt rebel nor a condoner of violence, she is a strong advocate of the Mwangi civilizations and way of life over and against that of the colonizers. She bears no particular ill will toward individual colonials, but they have their work cut out for them convincing her of their virtue and/or competence. While she is willing to share her continent with the foreigners, she firmly believes that they have more to learn from the natives than to teach them.

If any of the other party members were rescued from Smuggler's Shiv, her ship could have been the one to pick them up. Her motivation to enter the Baron's contest would be to demonstrate that a native Mwangi can achieve anything a colonial can try for. She hopes eventually to return to Nantambu, hopefully with any party members in tow, to show them how a real Mwangi city should look and behave. She would also be motivated to uncover relics or remains of any Mwangi civilization as proof that her continent has housed greatness at least as far back as Avistan can claim.

Name: N'bellocq
Alignmen: Lawful Neutral
Gender: Male
Race: Human (Ijo)
Classes: Zen Archer Monk

N'bellocq Details:

Campaign Trait
Laughing Jungle Hunter- a perfect fit, as it is the inspiration for the character.

Background/Ethnicity
N'bellocq was born to Ijo fisherfolk but taken by Ombo slavers in his early teens. He was sold to Captain Trasker, a member of the Rivermen's Guild. The Captain trained N'bellocq to assist piloting boats along the Korir River. Chained at the front of the boat , N'bellocq would call out obstacles such as sand bars, dead falls, and exposed rocks. From early on, he carried rocks and sticks to try to drive off or scare river creatures, such as snakes, crocs, and hippos away from the boats. When the Captain judged N'bellocq to be adequately broken in as a slave, spears and a bow were allowed to help ward off animals.

With the spear, N'bellocq channeled his pent of pain and rage into the moment he threw the weapon. Momentarily satisfying, but the thrill was too short lived. But with the bow, he developed a place in his mind that he could escape to. With an arrow notched, he could stand on the prow and see the whole river unfold in front of him. With the spear, his senses went out only as far as he could effectively throw it. But the bow, allowed his mind to roam from bank to bank, assessing, cataloging, and remembering. All this took him away, he could forget the chain on his ankle, the whip marks on his back, the bow connected him to every point on the river, in a sense, setting him free.

N'bellocq never saw the hippo that crippled the Captain. The monster rose from the bottom of the river, underneath the barge. It first capsized the boat, before smashing the stern and Captain Trasker. Chained to the sinking craft, N'bellocq used a pole, to reach the unconscious captain. He gained the key to his shackle and with it his freedom. Able to leave to captain to his likely deserved fate, N'bellock instead carried him ashore.

No longer chained and whipped, N'bellocq nursed the wounded pilot back to health. Once back at Port Freedom, the captain rewarded N'bellocq for his loyalty with his official freedom. Free, N'bellocq left his river life behind. Knowing Sargava needs those who can fight, N'bellocq figured his bow skills would be of value there.

Appearance
N'bellocq is a tall, lanky Ijo man. Denied a razor, his hair is long and braided, tied together midway down his back with a strip of leather. Colorful knotted cloth in his hair was his only allowed expression of personality. His eyes large and dark and no facial hair grows on his face. He is bare-chested, but wears a colorful paisley vest. The vest covers a network of old scars across his back from when he was stubborn as a new slave during his 'training'. His pants, red and white striped and voluminous, in a style similar to the pirates of the area. His feet are bare. His only possessions are his bow and quiver, a sack holding food and a water gourd, and a scroll tube containing his Official Writ of Freedom.

Personality
Despite a strong powerful voice, N'bellocq says little. He is stoic and never seems to rush. But his eyes are large and seem to take in everything around him. He bears the physical and mental scars of having been a slave. Over the years he had built mental barriers that have kept away the pain and anguish. Only recently, after having earned his freedom, has he begun to come out of this shell. He is extremely self sufficient as he never had anyone he could count on.

Motivations
N'bellocq had matured on his own, but had never really been alone. Never having a friend, he lives a lot in his own mind. Spending most of his time on the river or in small Port Freedom, the crush of people, the noise, and smells of Eleder are very strange to him, and thus make him retreat just a little more into his own world. It is not that he is afraid of the world, it is that is a lot to assess and process in his mind like he is always doing. He has learned of expeditions and caravans that have need of warriors and figures such a job will keep him employed and out of trouble. He had friends as a child and a family, but all that seems so long ago, it will be hard to ever have that amount of trust again.

Aspirations
Just being free is such an overwhelming rush, as that was his aspiration for the last six years. But he is discovering that a part of him misses his time on the prow...the search, the shot, the kill. He won't go back to the river or the pirates and guild that operate there, but he figures overland caravans can perhaps offer an equivalent experience. Or especially, whatever these games might be. A chance to shine at these games might land him with a prestigious group that defends the city or caravans.

Name: Kieran Markavien
Alignmen: Chaotic Good
Gender: Male
Race: Half-elf
Classes: Fighter/rogue/duelist
Archetypes: Free Hand Fighter, Swashbuckler
Trait: Reactionary
Array of Choice: 15, 14, 14, 12, 12, 12
Time Zone: GMT +3 (Athens, Greece)

Campaign Background:
Crown's End Smuggler

Appearance:
Raven-haired and silver-eyed, Kieran stands five feet and ten inches tall, his slender build and somewhat pointed ears serving as proof of his elven heritage. He tends to dress in comfortable fitted clothes of midnight blue and light grey, usually complemented with short gloves and knee-high boots made of soft black leather.

Personality:
Kieran is easy-going and relaxed, the smile gracing his features more often than not a clear enough indication of his nature. A well-spoken man, he is quick with a joke or a witty retort, a trait that seems to stay with him even during a fight, as much a weapon sometimes as the Aldori blade in his hand.

Motivations:
The thrill and challenges of adventure and the promise of honing one's skills that comes with it would seem good enough motives for the free-spirited half-elf, and indeed they are. They are not the only things spurring him onward, however. A certain falling out with a group of smugglers, people who would gladly cause him considerable harm were their paths to cross, definitely plays its part to his desire to travel and, if circumstances would allow it, surround himself with comrades who will support him if -or when- a 'meeting' with his former 'associates' occurs.

Aspirations:
Although not a particularly ambitious person, Kieran is not one to say no to material rewards. However, becoming a swordsman of considerable skill and renown, preferably after having his fill of adventure, is probably as close to a goal as the half-elven duelist will ever admit to having.

Background:
Born the bastard son of a minor noble from Brevoy and an elven dancer and part-time thief from Varisia, Kieran was raised by his mother. Unlike the way such a story usually goes, however, with the noble parent staying as far away from his illegitimate offspring as possible, in this case the man proved to be the exception. He kept in touch with both the elven woman and her son, sending her money and visiting the pair as often as possible; that is not to say, of course, that he went so far as to speak about them to his family and he did manage to keep them a secret for quite some time. Like most secrets, though, this one too eventually remained a secret no longer.

Once the half-elven boy was old enough, his father visited once again, this time with a proposition. He asked to take Kieran with him to Brevoy, not as his son, but as a squire of sorts. He wished to spend some time with his son, play a more active role in his upbringing. One might say that his feelings had clouded his judgement and, considering what followed, one would be correct. At first, everything seemed to be going well. The noble did indeed succeed in spending time with his son, even if he could not call him that, and started training the boy, now old enough to use a sword, in the art of dueling with an Aldori blade, something the young half-elf seemed to enjoy immensely. It was a good time. And, like most good times, it did not last very long. Soon enough people started noticing how alike the two of them looked and remembering how often the man would travel away from his home on unknown errands. Thus, as is often the case, it did not take long before thoughts and ideas turned to rumors and rumors turned into a scandal. Kieran had no choice but to leave and return to Varisia, a decision made by the young man in an attempt to at least spare his father, who still stood by his intention to care for his son, further disgrace. There was no warm welcome waiting for him when he reached his home, though. His mother was nowhere to be found and the young half-elf's search for her or for clues as to what had happened to her met with failure again and again. After a while, with nothing keeping him there anymore and thinking his mother gone one way or the other, Kieran decided to leave, to start a new life, even if he was not sure how to go about doing such a thing.

His travels eventually led him to Crown's End, where he found himself as the newest member of a smugglers ring. Alone and down on his luck, this seemed like a good way to earn both money and reputation, while at the same time training skills the basics of which had been taught to him by his parents. After all, what was the harm in moving some contraband now and then? And so he thought and so it went for some time. Until the items being smuggled started leaving a sour taste in his mouth, until his 'associates' started trading in weapons and drugs and people. That was that for him. Unfortunately, one cannot simply resign from such a 'business', especially when one knows a bit too much about its comings and goings and has told certain people of authority about them. Anonymously, of course, but there are ways to find out the names of even the anonymous, especially when a lot of money is involved. Unwilling to stay and just wait for such an inevitable event to take place, Kieran chose to leave, taking with him some of his earnings and putting some distance between himself and his former comrades.

Ansha Saeralyan, elf enchanter

Appearance:
Ansha is a delicate-featured young elflady, six feet tall and slim with almond-shaped emerald eyes and long platinum-blond hair. Achingly beautiful, she is quick with a disarming smile and comes across as something of a flirt. Obviously proud of her appearance, her porcelain skin is unmarred but for a pair of piercings through each ear, and she wears her hair down almost to her knees, a bright blue hair-ribbon binding it loosely into a long, elegant ponytail. She walks with the grace and poise of a noble and with the confident air of someone used to getting what she wants.

She dresses primarily in green and black, and her most common attire consists of a low-cut green corset and matching full-length skirt. Black half-gloves that end above her elbows cover her arms and similarly-dyed knee-high leather boots adorn her feet. A finely-crafted black choker adorns her throat and a slender silver necklace rests just beneath it.

Background:
Ansha Saeralyan is the only daughter of an elven noble family corrupted into the worship of the demonlord Nocticula. Raised in a family that prized the arts of magical and mundane manipulation, Ansha had a fairly unhappy childhood--right up until she discovered the family secret and fled home. Pursued by demonic agents of her family, she was briefly captured and traumatized before being rescued by a pair of married elven adventurers. The trauma was enough that she developed a form of amnesia called dissociative fugue, and she came to believe that her rescuers were her parents--in fact, the only thing that she remembered from her old life was her name, Ansha.

The married pair, for their part, took the elf in and cared for her much as if she were their own daughter, right up until they met their end on an expedition south into the Mwangi Expanse at the hands of smugglers.

Ansha was taken prisoner by these smugglers, but over time managed to work her way into their confidence and joined the smuggler band herself--right up until she betrayed them all in retaliation for her "parents'" deaths. In the wake of her adoptive parents' deaths, she has slowly had her memories return, and she realizes that in addition to the fact that she can never go home again, she has been living a lie for years. As a result, she has taken to wandering and adventuring on her own, trying to find a place for herself in a world that she doesn't quite trust.

Personality and motivations:
Ansha is a flirt who uses physical and magical charms to get what she wants out of life, but behind the facade she is a very lonely, scared young elf who feels like she doesn't belong anywhere. She is prone to bouts of depression, but has learned to deal with it by throwing herself wholeheartedly into whatever she does. Physically and mentally running away from her past, she can be very subdued and quiet at times, and forces herself to put on a coy and sociable front at others.

More than anything, she wants to belong--and is terrified that she will lose everything should her real family ever find out where she is.

Jakob Mulle. NG Human (Sargavan of Cheliax decent) Haunted Nature Oracle.
Campaign background trait.
I was thinking Laughing Jungle resident to represent a childhood spent up country, or Native Sargarvan to reflect growing up the square peg. But Noble of Eleder looks good. Scion of peace would fit and be an unusual choice for a fighter. Yes, not the most combat optimal but the most flavorful, Noble of Eleder to represent the sheltered, upper-class child hood, Scion of Peace to reflect his personal attitude.
Flesh.
Baqckground.
The Mulle family is well established in Sagava. They are a trading family with interests from the inner sea to the deep interior. They do not have the best reputation. They are known to deal with the Apsis consortium and are closer to several leading shackled pirates than the Sagavan government likes. Most suspiciously they pay their taxes on time and correct to the copper.
Jakob is not an ornament to the family. He is not a drunkard, or a womanizer or incompetent or trying to sell his soul to demons. The family could deal with that, Gorzeh knows they have in the past. No Jacob is honest, upright, friendly and has no head for business.
Luckily the family noticed this flaw and kept him from becoming aware of anything too upsetting, but Jakob was getting brighter. He was asking questions. Something had to be done.
So they sent Jakob to a school in Magimar. They hoped it teach him how the world works, or at least keep him quiet while he learned something useful. The reports sent back by the investigator the family hired to keep an eye on Jakob were exactly what the family had hoped for. Jakob was doing well in classes, making friends and contacts, even getting in a squabble with the local law. The family was happy. But in the last year the reports changed. They told of Jakob focusing more on his studies following a relationship gone sour. They told of him starting to excel at history , ethics, and Natural philosophy. They even mentioned private tutelage under Abraxes, a prominent thinker and powerful druid.
That was the last straw. The family would not have one of theirs hanging around with those green blooded rabble rousers. They were the cause of half the security and labor problems up country. Jakob was pulled home fast. Not knowing what to do with him the family sent him to Kalabuto to inspect a date plantation the family was buying.
Jakob enjoyed the trip. It was good to get out of the city. More and more of what Abraxes had spoken to him about on their long walks was making sense; the need for a balance between the urban and the wild, between different peoples, between the parts of the self.
The date plantation was in a bad shape. The orchards were salvageable with work but the buildings were badly overgrown the guide who led him to the remote station warned him to stay out of the main warehouse but Jakob felt he needed to make a full inspection. The rotted floor gave way. Jakob never felt himself hit the ground because the cellar was a breeding ground for dream spiders. It took two days for the guide to smoke out enough of the spiders to get Jakob free. It was a clear week before Jakob could talk again.
Since then Jakob has taken to wandering. Taking long walks in the forest surrounding the city; meeting with tribal people in strange taverns and road houses. At least he seems disinterested in family business but he is becoming an embarrassment.
The Trials of Gallus were an answer to the family’s prayers. They are applying some gentle persuasion to see Jakob is chosen. If he dies, it is unfortunate but an acceptable loss. If he wins he may yet make a profit.
I see the family as something like a proto-mob. Closed, conservative to fascist politically, profit oriented, prone to violence but under strict internal rules. Jakob is someone with strong liberal ethics who received half a druidic education and a massive dose of hallucinogens. He is a hippy raised by the Cosa Nostra.
Appearance.
Average height. Not bad looking more supporting cast than leading man if you know what I mean. Skin tan from the sun. Favors dusty reds and browns. You could pass him on the street except there is something that catches your eye. He always seems relaxed .
Attitude and Motivations
Attitude.
Jacob is not as stupid as his family thinks he is. He is aware that his family business is frequently well over any conceivable line. He has even started to do something about it. Some of the people he meets work for the government or have ties to the more active resistance movements. The information he is passing is not very important but it is useful.
Jakob knows that Sargava has problems. The 'fees' paid to the Shackles pirates make normal commerce and government very difficult. Jakob sees this as the main force driving the exploitive relations with the native population and the rising role of crime families in the government. Up until now though he didn't know what to do about it. He hopes the Trials will open up more options. Jacob knows the government has an agenda in sponsoring the trials he just hopes it is an agenda he can agree with.
Motivations.
Long term.
Jacob wants to see a strong Sargava.; one not as dependent on the shackles for defense and not as fearful of, nor as rapacious towards the interior. He knows this is an ideal and like all ideals something that can never be reached but he hopes in spite of that. He sees adapting to the land as key to the future. The government is trying to force the jungle to act then way they want it to. This is dooming the former colony. Only by living with the jungle can Sargava prosper. Northern methods can be adapted to these southern climes but they cannot be imposed.
Short term.
Jakob wants to complete the Trials and whatever real mission lies behind it. He hopes this will be a quick path to influence or at least a way out from under the families thumb.
To do this he will need help. So his first priority is to find friends and comrades among the others competing in the trials or among those he knows in the adventuring community. His family contacts with the Apsis might be useful here or they might lead him to the wrong kind of people.
Once the trials begin though Jacob's main goal will be to see that everyone survives. He will work with people he disagrees with in pursuit of long-term goals.
Personality.
Friendly. Open. Outgoing. Jakob actually enjoys helping people. He can take a joke and prefers to trust people until they betray him.

Qhude (meaning Rooster)
Human (Mwangi – Bas’o) Fighter (Free-Hand Archetype)

Fluff:

Personality:
Qhude is an open book, though the pages to date are mostly filled with dark words and deeds. Growing up among the tribes he lacks the subtlety of city folk and tends to be blunt and direct. While he drinks deeply of the draught that is life, his outlook is currently bitter due to his life experiences. He enjoys wide open spaces and gets uneasy when in a city or the jungle.
He has cast off the shamanistic roots of his tribe, and is currently not in worship of any single god.
When raised to anger or during combat his demeanour changes. His eyes take on an analytical hardness and he fights ruthlessly to win – deriding his opponent with words and assaulting common decency with his actions.

Appearance:
Qhude is a muscular yet wiry man of five feet and nine inches. His skin is darkened to almost black due to long hours spent in the sun. Hair is cropped short, cut remains in tight curls against his head. A jagged scar across his cheek is the key feature of his face, but when turned to anger his eyes also take on a noticeable hardness. He is garbed in a pair of shorts in the colonial style, but his upper body is left uncovered bar a simple amulet hanging round his neck. The right side of his chest also sports three jagged scars. His feet are bare, as his years of walking the plains has built up impressive callouses.

When garbed for combat, he cuts a different figure. Dropping into fighting stance his left hand is held forward and upward, palm facing the enemy. Though the hand is free, his arm bears leather armor along its length culminating in a pauldron that is secured by a leather strap across his chest. A wide leather belt studded with rivets offers some gut protection. Combined effect of armor would be studded leather

His right hand is held drawn and ready to punch, making a fist while wrapped tightly in rope covered cloth Cestus. His left leg is wrapped is also wrapped in knotted rope, and he occasionally raises it before him as though a shield. His right leg is uncovered and held back, used as a pivot.
Fighting style was inspired by Dambe

Background:
Qhude was born into the Bas’o tribe to a mother who died in childbirth, leaving him as his father’s only child. His father was a butcher, low in the caste structure of the tribe due to his handling of dead flesh. Growing up among the tribe the children held no prejudice and he has happy memories of his early wanderings along the plains of Sargava. His youth spent wrestling, running and sparring helped him grow into a muscular yet wiry frame of five foot nine.

It was in his early adulthood that his caste began to make a difference. When hunting parties were sent, he was not selected and was held from claiming his first scar (Bas’o ritually scar when they kill an antelope or worthy enemy). Qhude would spend the time during the hunt sparring with his father, before being put to work butchering the antelope carcasses during the evening when the hunters returned. Despite being overlooked due to his caste, Qhude was still comfortable in tribal life and enjoyed the days spent with his father.

At the age of twenty, Qhude first competed in his tribes’ annual combat tournament. Fighters were paired off in elimination bouts of wrestling and striking with hand and foot. Bouts were settled through submission or unconsciousness. His first tournament saw him survive only one bout before he was knocked out by the son of an elder with a kick to the head. He let out a womanly cry of pain as he collapsed, which is where he gained the derisive nickname Qhude (or rooster) due to his sign of weakness.

Shame grew from that experience and each day he endured the taunts of those returning from the hunt. Growing bitter as he was repeatedly kept from any opportunity for glory, his thoughts became darker. He spent all his spare time over the year training for the event. Honing his body and fighting style as much as he could to put in a better showing.

When the event arrived he went well through the first few rounds and had to luck to be drawn against the same opponent as the year before. As they faced each other, Qhude settled into his fighting stance while the other man mocked him and insulted his family. In action born out of pure rage, Qhude crippled his opponent with a kick to the groin before launching an uppercut into the other’s chin snapping his head back with a sickening crack. The opponent crumpled to the ground silently as Qhude lived up to his namesake and crowed in victory.

As his foe failed to rise, a medicine man came to his side and tried to rouse him. As Qhude continued to cock and crow, the shaman declared the elder’s son dead. In the aftermath that followed, much was made of the dishonour shown by Qhude in combat and in victory. The bitter elder successfully lobbied to have Qhude and his father banished from the tribe as penance – an act that broke his father’s heart. An unrepentant Qhude took a knife and gave himself his first scar across his cheek at the same time that the elder delivered the tribe's judgement.

As they were nearby Katabuto at the time, Qhude gravitated there to attempt to find safe harbour. However the prejudice against Mwangi weighed against him, and he could only find work at a slaughterhouse in the slums of the city. His father, spirit broken by the exile, became ill soon after their arrival. Unable to raise enough money to pay for his father’s care from butchery, Qhude turned back onto his fists and began fighting in shady taverns and rinks set up in dark corners. His practiced hand and killer instinct brought him some measure of success, but despite the additional care it bought – his father still passed on.

Qhude continued to fight in the alleys after his father’s death. Without the guidance his father offered his outlook on life has become even more bitter and twisted. He fights without rules and without honor, but three more scars have been added to his tally. The tail of his story can be filled in as required to mesh in with the party if chosen. I’d imagine that someone saw him during a pit-fight and gave him a better offer.

Aspirations:
Banished from his tribe and his father recently dead, Qhude has no ties to bind him and no moral centre to guide him. He seeks personal glory at all costs, but under the bitter exterior yearns for a sense of family that he has lost.

Full Name Rurlick Blackhammer II
Race Dwarf
Gender Male
Class Witch (Elements Patron and Monkey Familiar)
Traits Scholar of the Great Beyond , *Crown's End Smuggler (Shackles pirate flavored of course)
Array of Choice 16,14,14,14,12,8
Zone of Time EDT (Eastern US)

Appearance
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Is that thing even a dwarf?
The first thing you should know about ol' Picklebeard is that he isn't old. In fact, he looks like a rather youthful dwarf. He is quite an unkempt naturalistic dwarven fellow. Not naturalistic in the sense his manhood is typically on display, but he has a preference for simple garments of brown, dull blue, green, or gray. His current motley seems to be a patchwork of all of these colors. He has sort of short brown hair that is all wild and hangs on his head like wet shaggy dog fur. His big eyebrows seem to give him the appearance he is always squinting. Some say that is a typical dwarven trait, but I figured it needed noting. His long, dark, wiry beard is where half his nickname comes from. His beard is a strange color of brown. So strange that most wouldn't even call it brown. It most of the time, in most lights, looks more green than brown. Like I said, his greenish colored beard is only half of why he is known as Picklebeard. The other half of the reason stems from the fact he smells of sea. Rather strongly, I might add. Legend has it that his clan of Dwarves have been on the sea so long they SWEAT sea water. He is typically seen with a gnarled driftwood-esque stick a little bit taller than himself in on hand and his monkey, Sasha, perched on his shoulder.

Sasha is an Emperor Tamarin. It looks exactly like the wikipedia article image of one.

Background
-------------------------
The history of the Blackhammer clan is a long one, indeed. Legend has it that the Blackhammers were miners who shipwrecked in the Shackles long ago who took reaving and raiding out of desparation. It turned out they were good at it and even more so... they liked it. Others say they were miner slaves from Ghol-Gon. What is certain is that, although relatively small in number, Blackhammers are reputable fellows. Picklebeard's father was no different. Except for the fact he was particularly cruel. Not as cruel has his grandfather had been, but still not a nice guy. He was always pictured adorned in gold chains and rings on every finger.
Keep in mind that the Blackhammers have a custom: dwarven men of the Blackhammer clan wear no jewelry unless they bought it "in iron." Meaning they killed the person for it.

It was the first night Rurlick was of age to reave the seas with his father. Boy he was eager to leave Bloodcove and be like his pops. Actually, he wished to better than him. His father was no captain. First mate to a future Free-Captain sure enough, but no captain himself.

"I'll be a captain un' day. Fer shure. Or I'm a bearded gnome!"

Rurlick was never the best fighter, but he was tough and smart. Traits that meant he wasn't the best at combat but not a dead man, neither.

This was the night he would prove himself. They had the ship in their sights. The winds and rain were almost constant since they left port. They soaked Rurlick to the core. It didn't matter to him, though. He felt his muscles tighten and ready for combat. What a feeling. That's all he remembered of that night. It was told an explosion from below deck knocked the dwarf unconscious and flew him to the other ship! Unarmed and badly injured, he awoke briefly to see the carnage around him. The sounds of fires burning, swords clashing, men dying, and animals screaming. The last thing he saw was a small monkey,a small black little thing, darting around fires, barrels, swords, arrows, and feet. It jumped and landed on his chest looking at him right in the eyes. The pain of this tiny creature jumping on him knocked him out again.

He awoke again on his ship. This was not the same dwarf that was launched from his ship via firey explosion, though. Something changed in him. He grew up.

Back in port, he made preparations to avoid being a raider. He declared he was interested in magic and seeked to become a magewright. This was true enough. He always thought he had the smarts for it. He seeked out the ship's mage, a witch named Sasha Greyjoy. That black tamarin following him all the time. He didn't mind.

He found magic much more appealing than swordplay. Mages were not frowned upon by the swordsmen, in fact they were somewhat afraid of their power, but they certainly did not treat them the same as swordsman. This was fine for Picklebeard (a nickname he was given while recovering). He was trained in history, geography and the arcane arts and was ready to once again board a ship.

Only this was not what his father said. Something was wrong. This ship was not going north, but south. To Sargava. Afraid and scared, he was put in the brig. A few weeks later, he was in Eleder.

Unbeknownst to Picklebeard, his father sent him away for his own saftey in secret. The captain of his father's ship (The Free Captain) had come under allegations of selling out routes to Cheliax or Rahadoum or maybe even both. The Free-Captian fled before he could be questioned. A few days later, although the crew was innocent, Picklebeard's father and the rest of the crew were killed. Such is justice in the Shackles.

Poor Picklebeard had not a clue about what was going on when he got to Eleder. He was thrown in jail and awaiting trial for some charges... he was never told what they were. Questions meant less food for dinner.

"Wake the f*c4 up, saltsh%1t. Visitor."
"Whaa?"
The visitor was a dwarven woman. Short and small. Her back was to him when he entered. The door locked and it was just them. She seemed familiar though.
"Mum is that you? Well shave me beard!"

The figured turned around. It was the magehand, Sasha Greyjoy!

Picklebeard was silent. He didn't know how to react.

"Notta werd ye weasly gnome!" Said she in her accent. She also always used to call him a weasly gnome.
"It so good to see ye......" He stopped. His mentor shhh'd him, smiled and vanished. Left behind were a few papers explaining the previous events, how she and her father died not long ago. Also there were signed offical papers of pardoning. The notes also said as far as anyone in the Shackles knows, you're dead. This is good because if they knew he fled he'd be craven and be put to death if he returned anyways.

Picklebeard was a free dwarf again. Confused, sad, and angry sure, but free!

Returning to him were his meager supplies and his monkey. Until then he had no name for the beast. He referred to it as monkey. But now, he'd call the thing Sasha after his instructor. He liked the name, missed his mentor, and half believed her powers were somehow tied to the beast itself.

With no hope of returning home and a rather decent fortune in his pocket, he did what any dwarf would do: Drink and gamble.

Now risking being in debt to some not-so-nice people, he entered the Trials of Grallus to get out of debt and prove to everyone what a true dwarf is made of.

His muscles clenched as he registered like that first night reaving. He felt the adrenaline again. He missed it.

Motivations
-----------------------
His primary motivation is getting out of debt.
His secondary motivation is glory.
He'd also like to, one day, track down the Free-Pirate captain.

Personality
----------------------
Picklebeard is a dwarf true and true. He drinks, spouts gruff remarks, and is loyal as a dog. He is ok with most morally dubious activities but will be the first one to help out a friend or companion needs it.
"I donnae why yer pickin a fight with this town official, but I'd be damned if ye take him just by yerself!"
"This is what ye beardless fairies call BEER?"

Jakob was walking back to your house after a meeting with some tribals in a run-down tavern.
Not paying enough attention you drifted into an alley and were accosted by a thug.
Qhude was on his way back to his hovel after a pit fight - still in armor and with a blood covered cestus.
Qhude stared down the thug, then bludgeoned him to unconsciousness when he wouldn't turn away.
Then you either recruit him for the trials at that point, or hire as bodyguard / muscle and we have a little history prior to the trials?

The history of the Blackhammers is a long one.They are well known for being great miners, brewers and having a curious approach to the arcane arts. They have relations and connections to the Deeptreasure Mining Company. These connections got strained after the dissappearance of Picklebeard's great-great grandfather and the increased use of Xorns to mine out gems but more on that later.

The Blackhammer clan were salt miners and damn good ones at it. His great-great-grandfather, Brannidar, was legendary with a pick-axe. One day, while mining, Brannidar went too deep and a cave-in occured. He got trapped and cut off from the tunnels out and from his comrades. For almost a year, he remained trapped in the deepest niches of earth. Alone. Or so everyone thought.

While trapped, he was visited by the earth itself which took shape and offered him these exotic, tasty purple mushrooms called Plump Helmets. This creature taught Picklebeard's great-great grandfather the secrets of these mushrooms and how to ferment them into wine. When he was finally rescued, Brannidar taught his son (Picklebeard's great-grandfather) the secrets as well. Then his great-grandfather taught Picklebeard's grandfather. All the while this earth beast remained at the side of Brannidar. When it was time for his grandfather to teach his father, the legendary Brannidar dissappeared! To this day no one knows what happened to him. Some say it had something to do with the pit he was trapped in. All that was left was a ultra-smooth rock with a strange symbols engraved in it. It remains undeciphered to this day. The creature also was gone.

These events estranged the Blackhammer clan. Their strange arcane magical abilities combined with the dissappearance of the legendary Brannidar led Clan Blackhammer to relocate to Eleder instead of staying with the Deeptreasure Mining Company. Clan Blackhammer also had a problem with the use of Xorns for mining purposes. They viewed it as slavery. Although still reknowned miners, they are primarily brewers now who sell wines made from these purple helmet mushrooms and of course regular ol' dwarven brewskis.

Like his father before him, Picklebeard, adopted a pet- a bearded dragon lizard. Like his father always said: "Us dwarves find it easier ta forma empathic bond witta creature that's bearded too!"
He named his lizard, Verithrex after an ancient dragon of dwarven tales. It was a custom to name one's bearded dragon lizard after dragons from stories. He exceled at his arcane practices and began learning the secrets to brewing thanks to his familiar and father.

When clan Blackhammer settled down in Eleder and tried to set-up shop, the city guard told them to close down because they lacked proper permits. They went to the magistrate to apply for permits but were denied again and again. They began asking questions. The magistrate, backed into a corner, said they would sign off on the proper permits and waive all fees necessary for the founding of the Blackhammer Brewing Company in Eleder if one representative would win the Trials.

Picklebeard wasn't going to stand by and his family not be able to sell their brews. No sir. He signed up for the Trials the next day.

"Its arr goshdurn livelihood and i'd bea bearded gnome if I diddunt win this for me clan!"

--optional extra plot twist--
This didn't stop the threats though. A polite dagger stabbed through a piece of paper was found on the bedside of Picklebeard's father saying, "Watch yerselves or next time this dagger won't be lodged in yur table." Someone or something still doesn't want their Brewing Company to get going.

Racial Requirement: Dwarf

Your time spent working with the Deeptreasure Mining Company in the Bandu Hills have made you more in touch with your senses and the magical resistances in the Barkskin Lake toughened your dwarven soul.

Select either Steel Soul or Improved Stonecunning as a bonus feat.

1. He doesn't talk about his past much
2. Only possession he overtly cares for is his amulet
3. His rage is a bit like NSFW, and you'll see Jango Fett in a whole new light
4. Only goes armored / armed when fighting is in the offing, otherwise only wears shorts with a dagger in the belt
5. Bit of a death-seeker tendency in conflict situations, more likely to inflame rather than defuse
6. Currently godless, and presently looks down on religion
7. Flayleaf user - specifically in smoked form
8. His four scars so far have come from: 1 - the elder's son, 2 - first antelope kill en-route to Kalabuto, 3 - half-orc killed in a pit fight, 4 - Sargavan mugger in backstreet of Kalbuto