Do What You Want 'Cause a Pirate is Free! [[S&S PbP]] (Inactive)

Game Master Rorrix

Regardless of living at sea and therefore in the open air, Ancalinza has always had typical Varisian dusky skin. With large, expressive golden eyes and jet-black hair, her genes and profession have provided her with a lithe and long-limbed body. The only blemish on an otherwise perfect skin is a minor scar — just below her bottom lip – that is essentially cosmetic.

She wears practical but flowing and beautifully embroidered garments of red, green, blue, and purple, and these are often adorned with strings of coins and tiny bells – as is her braided hair.

She wears typical pirate clothes – a bright linen shirt, colourful canvas knee-breeches, cotton stockings and tall leather boots (although she sometimes prefers to go barefoot at sea). She also wears a crimson cape when practical (and always when ashore) and tops it off with a brown suede tricorn.

She sometimes wears an eye patch – especially if she wants to look more intimidating, or to keep one eye covered and thus retain her night vision when transitioning from the relative darkness below decks to the sunlight above.

Like most Varisians, she has a number of tattoos –and a large skull and crossbones across her back is the prize of her collection.

Despite her parent’s more mundane careers – they were musicians in a travelling show – piracy was in her blood (even though she didn’t know it then). Travelling satisfied part of her longing for freedom, but the scent of salt air and the sounds of the sea were always enough to have her dreaming of running away to sea. She tried to stow away on board a ship every time they stopped at a port and her parents had to keep a sharp eye out for her every time they reached the coast.

Music and dance are a significant part of Varisian culture – and with her parent’s profession it was only natural that she followed suit. Her mother had a song for every occasion, grand and mundane, even for tasks such as washing the dishes or building a fire. Ancalinza developed dances to accompany the song to the point that even walking on deck looks sensual and rhythmic when Ancalinza does it. Added to her natural beauty, Ancalinza finds that too many men are manipulated to her way of thinking just with a smile and a tilt of the hips – not that she’s complaining.

One rainy day, Ancalinza managed to slip the leash and signed up for a rather mundane vessel, plying its trade trading along the larger rivers. But at least it was no longer on dry land. Quickly Ancalinza learned the seas of Golarion hold as many dangers as the land, with once-civilized humanoids who now ply the seas, preying on the innocent and loading their ships down with stolen treasure and weeping slaves.

Ancalinza was not ignorant of the ways of the pirates. She had no romantic fantasy in her head about what they did – but then she also knew that there are almost as many different types of pirates as there are fish in the sea and she felt it odd to condemn them the way her fellow sailors did.

She may have had no time for slavers but yearned to sign up to one of those icons of traditional tavern stories, sailing enormous galleons and robbing ships of their loot, murdering anyone who opposed them. This was, of course, a dream she kept to herself.

A rolling stone gathers no moss. That would be a perfect summary of Ancalinza’s philosophy in life. She lives for today. She embraces the elements (the analogy to being a sailor isn’t lost on her) and so she allows herself to be like the sails, taken wherever fate sees fit. Fighting fate causes folly – but she’s keen to remind herself that sailors invented the rudder for a reason.

She never accepts anything at face value and will always look to makes up her own mind rather than blindly accepting what others tell her to do or think.

She thinks nothing of speaking up and giving her opinion, particularly when it comes to selecting targets or planning attacks. And she wouldn’t last five minutes on a ship where her input was not encouraged.

Ancalinza pays respects to Besmara, but might go days or months without a prayer or thought to her. But when trouble strikes and she’s got her back to the mast, prayers to the Pirate Queen come bubbling from her lips.

Like Besmara, she’s slow to take sides and quick to abandon them, and cares little for laws and justice (although revenge is always an idea she can get behind). In a conflict, what matters is not who is right, but rather who has the best loot!

Ancalinza found she was a natural leader on board any vessel she worked. She worked well with a variety of people and in a variety of roles. Finally she was on a ship that was attacked by some low-level pirates and found herself the only crew member alive once the smoke cleared. Her only injury was a cut under her lip caused by the whip of a man she immediately cut down. The captain of the pirate’s vessel knew talent when he saw it and enlisted her. She found she was able to organise and direct a crew with ease.

And then that fickle lady called fate intervened. She was on a ship that captured, amongst others, some members of the travelling musicians her parents were part of. Rather than being shocked at Ancalinza’s presence, they told her a truth her parents had never dared share. Ancalinza’s grandfather was apparently an infamous Free Captain of the Shackles, whose very name struck fear in the hearts of those who sailed the seas in search of an honest living.

So she signed on for specific voyages, working from ship to ship to learn her trade and move closer and closer to the Shackles. And Ancalinza fully embraced the philosophy of Besmara – to stir up strife and conflict where she could, the better to plunder all sides. She knows The Pirate Queen is vicious, temperamental, and greedy – but then, who doesn’t want riches and would stand on anyone that gets in their way?

Finally she arrived at Port Peril and made her way to the tavern called the Formidably Maid, a notorious pirate hangout, eager to start her career as a buccaneer. Catching the eye of a dashing and handsome corsair Ancalinza decided that her career could be delayed for a day and so after a whirlwind night of booze and romance, she found herself drugged and stuffed in a sack, carried off to who knows where.

(Varisian) Female Ranger (Freebooter) 1
CN Medium Human / Humanoid (Human)
Init +8; Senses Perception +4
==DEFENSE==
AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +4 dex)
hp 11 (1d10)
Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +0
Armor Leather, Light
==OFFENSE==
Spd 30 ft/x4
Melee Rapier +5 (1d6) 18-20/x2
Melee Melee Dagger +5 (1d4) 19-20/x2
Ranged Thrown Dagger +5 (1d4) 19-20/x2
Ranged Heavy Crossbow +5 (1d10) 19-20/x2
Ranged Light Crossbow +5 (1d8) 19-20/x2
==STATISTICS==
Str 10, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 14
BAB +1, CMB +1, CMD +15
Feats Armor Proficiency (LIGHT / MEDIUM) (PFCR 118), Improved Initiative (PFCR 127), Shield Proficiency (PFCR 133), Weapon Finesse (PFCR 136)
Skills Acrobatics +4, Appraise +2, Bluff +2 [w/ persons attracted to you +3], Climb +4, Diplomacy +3 [w/ persons attracted to you +4], Escape Artist +4, Intimidate +7, Knowledge (geography) +6, Knowledge (nature) +6, Perception +4, Perform (act) +2, Perform (dance) +3, Profession (sailor) +5, Ride +4, Stealth +4, Swim +4, Track +1
SQ
Wild Empathy (PFCR 65)
- Change animal attitudes in a way similar to Diplomacy. Check bonus equals 3. Animal must be within 30 ft. (PFCR 65)
[b]Freebooter’s Bane
- The freebooter can, as a move action, indicate an enemy in combat and rally her allies to focus on that target. The freebooter and her allies gain a +1 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against the target. This ability applies only to allies who can see or hear the freebooter and who are within 30 ft of the freebooter at the time she activates this ability. The freebooter's bane lasts until the target dies or the freebooter selects a new target. (PFCo: PoIS)
MC Track (PFAPG 40)
Traits Buccaneer's Blood (Campaign: Skull and Shackles) (PFAP: SkSh PG 5-6), Charming (Social) (PFAPG 330)
Languages Azlanti, Common, Polyglot, Varisian

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Zovan has been on the material plane since he was a boy. His father a servitor to an Umbral Dragon, stayed on the shadow plane, while his mother was a successful merchant who stayed on the Material Plane. Raised by his mother on the Material Plane, but visiting his father in the Shadow, Zovan grew to love different things about each of his homes. At ten he and his mother moved to the island of Mediogalti and settled in the pirate port of Ilizmagorti.

Zovan began to fall in love with the sea, to wish for a life as a pirate. A man named Uzul Undi had other plans. Uzul befriended young when the kayal was 17 and for five years, he listened to the young man’s dreams of piracy. All the while, honing the boy’s natural talent for wet work and stealth. Finally he told Zovan that his true calling was to join the Red Mantis Assassins of whom Uzul was a member, and help rule the town and the island. Unwilling to give up his dream, Zovan fled to port peril and celebrated his safe escape with a drink at a tavern, the formidably maid.

Zovan is fatalistic and a secret worshipper of Dagon, lord of the deep. The ocean water at night reminds him of the cold dark of the Shadow Plane. He tends to keep quiet, preferring actions to words. His merchant family background instilled a love for wealth and plunder is the sweetest kind of wealth. Zovan is quick witted and sharp tongued when he does speak and has some of the trademark Kayal haughtiness.

”Low, high, parry, low, high thrust.” Uzul’s nasally voice droned on around the stem of his whale bone pipe. Zovan flew through the forms again and again, spinning with a sword in each hand, exotic blades that his mentor had given him when the lad had showed promise.

”When will I actually get to fight someone.” the pale skinned youth asked the middle aged man who sat watching him from a barrel, his back leaned against a tree.

”Whenever I think you could without dying.” the fair haired man replied tamping out his pipe on the side of the barrel. Uzul’s hair was near white from the sun bleach. Zovan dyed his with pitch. Waves crashed from the beach that was only about fifty feet from the pair and every now and then, Zovan would slow and watch as a ship sailed into view. ”Pirates have the life, I’m telling you Uzul.” the boy scowled, returning to his practice. His mentor didn’t like pirates and Uzul returned the scowl. ”Oh yes they’re free and fearsome and dirty and stinky and all to full of themselves.” the older man retorted.

Zovan ignored him, Uzul wasn’t a wealthy man, what would he know about the benefits of being a pirate. Zovan looked out at the water again. Send enough men to the deep and people would stop fighting back, just handing over their goods to a legendary pirate captain and his crew, that was the best way.

Hide shirt 20gp 18lbs
Rapier 20gp 2lbs
Shortbow 30gp 2lbs
20x common arrow 1gp 3lbs
Dagger 2gp 1lbs

Backpack, common 2gp 2lbs
Signal whistle 9sp --lbs
Alchemist fire, flask 20gp 1lbs
Totals: 95gp 9sp, 28lbs

Money start
Money left: 104gp 1sp

The candle flickered in the lantern as the seas pitched under the ship, causing shadows to dance and jump in the small cabin as Iogorian entered. Fool man, this captain. To think he could skirt the Shackles unmolested...if that storm hadn't come up when it had, I'd be looking for a new employer now. Or, more like, swimming, living off fish for days, and hoping to find land soon. I'm not ready to start over again. Aloud, he said to the man on the table, "Good evening, good evening, good evening. Miserable night, eh? Well, more so for you than me, I suppose." Seizing a skin of liquor from the table, he took a deep, gulping swallow. "Feh! Everything stinks on this ship, even the alcohol. No great hygiene, either--all damp and filthy, filthy, filthy." As he spoke, he gathered his tools from the table, dumped them into a wooden bowl, and doused them with the remaining liquor, taking a final swallow himself. "Just going to make sure we're all nice and sterile now, oh yes, nice and sterile...it's got to be. Unless, of course, you're curious to see what's happen if it's not." A whimper from behind him. "Oh, don't worry. You don't interest me in that way. Not now. There. Tools ready." He pitched the liquor into a corner of the cabin. "Now then..."

Turning, he whipped the grimy cloth off the man, and gazed coolly down at it, and his exposed patient. "Gah. Awful cloth, probably already working on giving you an infection, eh. Well, we'll get started, then. Wouldn't want that. No indeed..."

The tall Garundi man, his dark skin gone ashen, suddenly seized Iogorian's wrist. "Can you fix it?" he whispered hoarsely.

The surgeon's eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. "Fix...? Oh, no no no no no. Oh, my, no. No, the leg's got to come off, no question of it!" The man on the table groaned, and Iogorian smiled reassuringly. "Now, now, remember, if it's a leg or your life, most men choose the leg! And I can kit you out with a wonderful peg in its place. You'll be just the man you used to be. Just slightly more wooden. If you survive. Bite this." A wooden dowel, about as thick as a thumb, was thrust into the patient's face.

"What..."

"Keeps you biting your own tongue off, fool, and choking on your own blood," the gillman said impatiently. "Bite. BITE!!" He shoved it roughly into the man's mouth. "Here, have some--dulls the pain." Grabbing another skin, he squirted liquor liberally into the side of his patient's mouth, until the man choked and sputtered. "There. Swallow it all. Good. Now, just hold on..." As he talked, he quickly looped several lengths of rope around the man, tying his arms, legs, and torso down to the table, the monologue going on all the while. "You know, I'm honestly quite wounded by your apparent fears. I suppose you have no way of knowing this, but I've spent over thirteen summers on shipboard now, so I think I have some idea what I'm doing. Not all of those were spent as surgeon, of course, but many were. You're in good hands, is what I'm saying. The best! Few men know the workings of a body like me, and humans are my specialty." Straightening up, he pulled small razor out of his pocket, flipping it open with a *snick*. "Onward, then!" The blade flashed, and a muffled scream of pain came from the man. "Oh, don't be a baby. That's just to mark where the infection is likely to have spread to so I have a nice clear place to make a cut. Don't worry, I'm quite the capable sawbones." He turned away, and picked up a small hatchet, smiling as he tested the head, felt the weight of it. "Not that I use a saw, of course. Far too tedious. I hate waiting. Right then!"

Screams filled the cabin--though not for long.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the man awoke, the tall, thin surgeon was bent over the space that his leg had once occupied, working quickly with his razor and other tools. The background roar of pain was punctuated by sharp staccato notes periodically, as the razor flashed and dipped.

"Ah, good, you're awake!" Iogorian said. "Your odds of survival are much better if you've woken up so soon. I'm just patching you up--" *snick* *scream* "--you know, closing the blood vessels, that sort of thing. What's this in here? Eh, I doubt you were using it. I've gotten a good chunk of your muscle off above the cut, so I should be able to tie these flaps of skin--" *tug* *groan* "--down around the bone to get you a good stump. Almost there!"

As he busied himself with needle and thread, Iogorian glanced up at the man's face and smiled darkly. "You know...we haven't yet discussed payment." *tug*

The man shrieked. "Hmmmmm, no need for all that," the surgeon murmured. "Do you have gold? Yes? No? What about gems?" *snick* *scream* "No gems either? Dear me, you're not much of one for liquidatable currency, are you? Hmmmmm...all done. Let's see...there must be some way we can work out remuneration. The drugs I've used are expensive, you know!" Deftly snatching the dowel from the man's mouth, he thwacked him lightly on the forehead with it. "So then: you have no valuables?"

The man shook his head slowly. Iogorian smiled.

"Well, you really should have mentioned that before I got to work! But I think you do. I think you've got something we can liquidate quite easily, no?" The surgeon leaned forward, his face hovering next to the man's on the table. "Do you not have with you on this trip your son? And...your daughter? A strapping boy of about thirteen, as I recall, and a beautiful, buxom young lass some four, five years older? One thinks perhaps some payment could be made from...that."

Nearly unconscious with the pain, the man stared into the surgeon's face, rage growing dimly in his half-shut eyes. "You want...you want...to bed...my daughter?"

"To be--" Iogorian looked visibly shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. He had a high, reedy, damp sounding laugh. "Eheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee--gick! Gack! Glah! Apologies," he panted, reaching under his high collar and stroking the sides of his neck rapidly with his long fingers. "Oh, I'm sorry. Too much air. And I shouldn't laugh at you. It's a reasonable leap. But no, I have no interests that way. I don't want to bed your daughter. Or your son." He smiled earnestly at the man. "I want to sell one of them."

"You...you..."

"Hush now," Iogorian said, almost absentmindedly stuffing the dowel back into the man's mouth. "Yes, yes, yes. I need to make a living somehow, no? And the trade in flesh is very lucrative. I have no desire to bed your daughter, but I'm sure that not everyone's as squeamish as I am--there are plenty of brothels in the Shackles would be glad to have her, and not too fussy about where she's been. And there are always traders looking for strapping young lads to ship up to Port Godless in Rahadoum. The mines there are constantly expanding. Yes, either of them will fetch a pretty price, given to the right buyer. I'm not greedy--I'll let you figure out which one you think is more fair, and hand them over when we land in Drenchport. Tell their sibling that they've gone off to be my apprentice! Or tell them the truth. Or tell them--true or not--that you love them more. Whatever helps them sleep at night. Or--if you care most for yourself--whatever helps you sleep at night." The surgeon smiled beatifically down at the man strapped to the table. "I'll leave you now to make your decision."

As he was headed out the cabin door, Iogorian paused. "Oh--and lest you should think of trying to escape without payment--or you think of telling the good captain about me--know that I've been developing an interest in poisons, lately. While I was stitching you up, I gave you a little free bonus: an extract I developed from the blue-ringed octopus that haunts these waters. It's in your stump! A present. In a little container that your blood will slowly dissolve, unless, of course, someone takes it out first. If you don't know exactly where it is, though, you're likely to rupture it as soon as you try to look for it. That would lead to a very, very, very painful death for you." He smiled. "Not to worry--we should make Drenchport in three days, if the sea god's willing and the hull holds strong. That capsule won't dissolve for four, unless you do a lot of strenuous exercise. So as long as we have an agreement, there should be no trouble getting rid of it! Have a good night--I'll see you, and hear my answer, in a couple hours." He ducked out the door and exited, whistling, into the night.

A few minutes later, Iogorian, grave-faced and sorrowful-looking, stood before the captain. "Sir, I've done my best for the poor man. We had to take the leg off, but I think he should live at least till Drenchport. Fever's a tricky beast, though--we'll have to keep an eye on him." The gillman paused slightly as the captain, relieved and still concerned, expressed his thanks. "Now, then...I'm afraid I was forced to use some extremely valuable drugs in my treatment, so, as to remuneration..."

The gillman alchemist currently known as Iogorian Seascream was born Iogorian Hianciti, the only child of a rare gillman merchant, Erodel, and his wife, Iomae. Sadly, his father was never a particularly talented merchant; over the years, his trade moved farther and farther south, and by the time Iogorian was ten they found themselves stuck, penniless and indebted, in the Shackles--last stop in Golarion's sealanes before drowning.

Fortunately, Erodel had other skills, among which he numbered carpentry and shipbuilding. Together, he and his young son managed to scrape a living by working as repairmen in the docks of Port Peril, their unique physiology allowing them to inspect and work on even the still-submerged sections of the ship. They had enough to get by, but neither man was ever content; they could both recall (even if only dimly, in Iogorian's case) the happier, more prosperous days further north, and their destitution, and the daily humiliations of being powerless in the Shackles, wracked their minds, turning them bitter and cold toward each other and strangers. Only Iomae was able to weather their downfall with relative equanimity.

When Iogorian was 18, though, everything changed. He was press-ganged onto a pirate ship and ended up far north of Port Peril, forced to work first as a cabin boy and then, when his talent for woodworking and steady hands were discovered, as the ship's sawbones. Slowly, he managed to work his way out from under the thumb of that captain, and made his way back south over the course of years, working from ship to ship and developing his skills as a medic. He gained a perverse fascination for his messy work: trying to figure out who would live, who die, and which wounds would rot appealed to his powerful intellect.

When he was 21, he finally made it back to Port Peril, only to find tragedy: his father had died in a drunken brawl a year before (not a loss he mourned) while Iomae was, even as he rushed to her, dying from filth fever. He watched his mother, uncomprehending, slip into death with a detachment that surprised even him; and he vowed, deep in his heart, that from now on he, and he alone, would control the forces of disease, of poison, of the body's inner workings in his life.

He joined up with a small-time pirate queen named Ysmeralda the Bloody, and served on her ship for 8 years, abandoning himself to his own cold, calculated version of piracy: a kind that cared nothing for crew, nothing for most forms of debauchery, and nothing for any code, but only for his own advancement. When Ysmeralda was captured by the Bonefist, Iogorian slipped over the side and dove into the waves, escaping from the wrath of Filthy Lucre and swimming for days, subsisting on fish, until he was able to hail down a smaller-league ship. Since those days, he's continued his work as a surgeon, never staying in one place for too long, working on both legitimate ships (which are easier to scam) and pirate vessels, where his horrifying interests raise fewer objections, if no fewer eyebrows. Roaming on constant circuits of the Shackles, and occasionally south into Garund and north toward old Osirion, he's returning even now to Port Peril, where he hopes to find another, still more-lucrative position. After all, the more power he or his captain has, the easier it is to find rare ingredients...and test subjects.

Iogorian is tall, thin, and long-fingered, as all of his kind are; his skin also has a grayish-green cast to it, though not out of the realm of human possibility. He has sloe-black eyes and a scruff of brown hair that's beginning to recede from his forehead. He dresses well for a pirate, in loose white shirts, good trousers, sturdy boots, and a vest (though he keeps a suit of armor ready should combat threaten). He favors shirts that have high collars, the better to hide his gills should he choose to. Though he has few valued personal possessions, he is never without the folding, eight-inch-long steel razor he carries in his pocket. He is articulate and, in fact, sometimes speaks too much; but he is also clearly possessed of a cold and dispassionate intellect, and many come away from conversations with him feeling slightly slimy themselves.

Iogorian Seascream
Gillman Alchemist (Vivisectionist) 1
Favored class: Alchemist
NE Medium Humanoid (Aquatic)
Init +1; Senses Perception +2 (0 to avoid surprise)
XP: 0
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 ( +1 Dex, +3 armor)
HP 10
Fort +3, Ref +3 (+1 to avoid traps and hazards), Will -2 (0 against non-aboleth enchantments; -4 against aboleth sources)
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Offense
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Speed 30'
Melee War razor +1 (1d4+1/19-20/x2), Punching Dagger +0 (1d4+1/x3)
Ranged Blowgun +1 (20'/1d2/x2), Crossbow +1 (120'/1d10/19-20/x2)
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Statistics
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Str 13 Dex 12 Con 12 Int 18 Wis 6 Cha 12
Base Attack +0; CMB +1; CMD 12
Feats Weapon Proficiency: War Razor
Traits Ship's Surgeon, Tireless Logic, Ambitious, Sentimental (drawback)
Trained Skills Craft (alchemy) +8, Knowledge (nature) +8, Swim +4 (armored; +12 to perform a special action or avoid a hazard), Heal +3, Craft (carpentry) +9, Perception +2 (0 to avoid surprise), Diplomacy +3 (+7 if target has at least 5 HD more than Iogorian), Sleight of Hand +4
Languages Common (Taldane), Aboleth, Draconic, Polyglot, Osiriani, Azlanti
Gear Healer's kit (10 uses), war razor, punching dagger, blowgun, 20 blowgun darts, studded leather armor, formula book, alchemy crafting kit, backpack, belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, mess kit, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), waterskin, silk rope, heavy underwater crossbow, 20 bolts
Cash 10 gp
Encumbrance: 60 lbs. (medium load, but rarely carries more than light)
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Special Abilities
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RACE
Enchantment Resistance: The strain of old aboleth domination in Iogorian's blood gives him a +2 bonus to saves against non-aboleth enchantment spells and effects, but he takes a -2 penalty to aboleth ones.
Water Dependent: Iogorian's body requires constant submersion in fresh or salt water. If he spends more than one day without fully submerging himself in water, he risks internal organ failure, painful cracking of the skin, and death within 4d6 hours.
Amphibious: Iogorian can live indefinitely both in water and air.

TRAIT
Ship's Surgeon: The skills that Iogorian's (relatively) honest shipbuilding father taught him were twisted by the pirates he first worked for, starting the first time one of them needed a hand amputated. Over time, he got used to the job of untrained but de facto medic, and now cheerfully operates on any who need it. Or look like they might soon. He gains a +1 bonus to Craft (carpentry) and Heal checks (already included), and heal is a class skill.
Ambitious: Ever since his mother's death, Iogorian has been driven by a relentless pursuit of both knowledge and personal power--driven (though he would never admit this) by a deep fear of his own mortality. His drive to succeed manifests clearly in his interactions with those who are currently in power; he gains a +4 bonus to Diplomacy checks against creatures with at least 5 HD more than him.
Tireless Logic: Iogorian's cold and calculating worldview is unimpeded by religion, ethics, morality, or basic decency--and as a result, it's much clearer. Once per day, when he makes an Intelligence-based skill or ability check, he can roll twice and take the better result.
Sentimental [drawback]: In recent years, Iogorian has become attracted to the stories he hears of ancient Azlant; in particular, he lusts after the days in which his people held power, and his dreams are a bizarre confusion of noble Azlanti men and women who, nonetheless, turn into slimy horrors when he doesn't look at them. The Azlanti had the glory, but, he suspects in his heart, the aboleths wielded true power. Regardless of his shaky grasp on the history, his mind often wanders there at inappropriate times, giving him a -2 penalty to Perception checks to avoid being surprised, and on Reflex checks to avoid traps and hazards.

CLASS
Alchemy
Sneak Attack
Brew Potion: Iogorian has Brew Potion as a bonus feat.
Mutagen
Throw Anything (bonus feat): Life on the seas is rough-and-tumble, and Iogorian knows it; he's used to improvising. He takes no penalty for using an improvised ranged weapon, and gains a +1 circumstance bonus to attack rolls using splash weapons.

FEAT
Weapon Proficiency: War Razor

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KNOWN FORMULAE
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1st-level (2/day, DC 15): Polypurpose Panacea, Cure Light Wounds, Vocal Alteration, Shield, Enlarge Person, Expeditious Retreat

Prepared formulae:

Serenna was born the daughter of Ricael Stanthrop, an Andoran trader who owned a fleet of ships that sailed throughout the Inner Sea. The family was rich, very rich, and Serenna and her much older half-brother, Ristren (the illegitimate product of an affair in her father's youth), were provided with the best education, clothes and food that money could provide, though of course, for reasons of taste, it was obvious that Ristren would not inherit their father's wealth. It was when she was still very young, only eight years old, that Serenna for the first time, set foot on a ship, on a trip to see family trading partners in Varisia. As she watched her home, the city of Almas, disappear over the horizon, she had no idea that she would not return for years.

During the journey there was an "accident". One day whilst Ristren and Serenna were crossing the deck, Ristren tripped, knocking Serenna to the rail and pitching her overboard. Serenna struggled in the waves, shouting for help and feeling herself being pulled underwater by her heavy dress, when suddenly, as if from nowhere, she felt an explosion of pain and passed out....

When she awoke, Serenna found herself on her cot in her cabin, her blankets were bathed in sweat and her leg felt strange. As she stirred, her mother, cheeks stained with tears, quickly leant in from her seat at the bedside and wiped her brow, breaking into uncontrollable sobbing. Serenna pulled back the sheets to discover that her left leg was gone, severed below the knee. She would soon learn that it had been severed by a shark attack.

For days Serenna stayed below deck, crying to herself and refusing to see anyone. She was only drawn from her malaise when the sound of fighting from above decks alerted her that something was wrong. Her mother burst in, shouting that they were under attack by pirates. Together they huddled against the cabin wall as the sounds of fighting grew inexorably closer. Just as the hammering started on the door, Serenna's mother pushed the young girl under the cot to hide. It was from that vantage that Serenna saw her mother die, cut down by a pirate's cutlass.

Serenna remained hidden below the cot for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the sound of fighting and watching her mother's blood spread in an ever-growing pool. Eventually she was roused from her rivière by voices. The first was gruff and his words were coarse. " Nah, we ain't found no bloody girl, 'Red' reckons there was only 'yer mam in the cabin, but I'm sure we'll get 'er soon enough. There're only so many places to hide on a ship."

"Just so long as you kill her," came the clipped reply, "or else I won't be able to pay you. Will I? Now, make it look like I put up a fight, or no one will believe the story."

Moments later there was a thud and Serenna followed by footsteps drawing closer. Then a bearded and scarred face appeared in front of her. "There, there, little miss. I won't be 'urting you, no matter what yer brother wants. I always like a bit of insurance."

Serenna was kept aboard the pirate ship in chains. Until, three years after her capture, it was attacked by another ship - The Vixen's Kiss, and Serenna was taken captive again. These new pirates, a group of bloodthirsty villains, though not without their own code of honour, did not chain her, instead letting her join the view, eventually coming to see her as a mascot. She was looked after most of all by the ship's cook, an old lady called "Mum" by the crew. The carpenter "Thumb" even made her a peg-leg to help her get around. Aboard the ship, Serenna soon became known as "Peggy". She helped with the cooking, and was even allowed to join the quartermaster's hunting trips when they found small islands (it wasn't one of these trips that she found an Osprey nest from which she stole the egg that would hatch into "Pipsqueak". Eventually Peggy was accepted as part of the crew - never forgetting her past, but eventually accepting her fate.

Several weeks ago, whilst on shore leave, Peggy, now a nineteen year-old woman, heard that her brother was getting married, having taken over the families' business after the murder of her parents. She abandoned the Vixen's Kiss at Port Peril, hoping to find her way back to Andoran to confront her brother, and hopefully, to take revenge.

Peggy no longer resembles the rich girl who was captured by pirates so many years ago. Gone is her refined accent and fine clothes, replaced by the clipped tones of a shackles pirate and the cast-off clothing of the buccaneers who took her prisoner. Over the years Peggy has developed into a pretty young woman with long legs, a small frame and narrow hips,

No longer the innocent girl she once was, Peggy stands a mere 5ft. 4in. tall. She has dark brown hair long, held back by a blue silken sash (all that remains of the dress she was wearing when she was captured). Her skin is tanned from her years of shipboard life and bears several distinctive tattoos, most of which depict various sea animals.

Peggy wears a white shirt that bares her right shoulder. Over the shirt she wears a black leather corset, which is specially designed to cover her left shoulder and her left arm, ending in a sturdy leather glove, providing a simple perch for Pipsqueak. Peggy's short grey skirt is split on the right-hand side , revealing a long red stocking and knee-high leather boot. Her right leg ends in a simple wooden peg-leg.

Peggy always keeps her composite longbow nearby, and arrows in a quiver across her back. At her wrists she keeps two daggers in spring-loaded sheathes, always ready to quickly respond to danger.

Always somewhere nearby, either perching or silently circling in the sky above is Peggy's closest friend - the male Osprey she raised from an egg "Pipsqueak" (a reference to both his smaller than average size, and the sounds he makes as he circles the ship high above.

"Grar."

They say that you can catch the terrible ones early. For every tyrant, madman, and murderer, there is an elder fellow or lady who can say without a doubt that they saw it coming. That’s probably being a little harsh on Morphia Root, niece of Cheliax’s so called “powder mage” Leopaldon Root. But let any neighbor, schoolmate, or distant relative tell her story and you would have little choice but to condemn good ‘ol Leo’s niece to a life of depravity. When she was seven, she overheard a local glassmaker complaining about slow business, so she gathered rocks in her dress and ran down the street breaking windows. When she was ten, she threw on her brother’s britches before beating up a boy that teased her. She said she didn't want him to forget she was more man than him

Brash, fickle, and greedy, Morphia often got under the skin of her more conservative family. In particular she was an embarrassment for her uncle, who was a well respected scholar at Egorian Academy. Her transgressions came to a head when she was caught trying to steal candy from a noble’s son. The resulting rampage ended with three injuries, five dead horses and a burning carriage. Her parents threatened boarding school, and in retaliation she married a local sweetheart of hers, a boy five years older than her, to gain semi-autonomy. When her family threatened to block the marriage, she eloped with him to his family’s ancestral estate in Sargava, a plantation he inherited and had planned on repairing. This was all before she was thirteen.

Their young marriage was fraught with arguments, accusations and name calling. Unfortunately for Morphia, most of the charges her husband levied against her were true. She would often leave him alone on his family’s modest plantation for days or weeks on end to consort with the pirates, buccaneers, and the lowlifes who lined Eledar’s port and harbor. They took to calling her Half-Cocked Molly after a former lover decided to spread a nasty rumor about her, but she embraced the name and found Molly to be a lot more endearing than Morphia. Barely two years after arriving in Eledar, her husband decided he had had enough, and told her he was going back to Egorian. He thought threatening to abandon her would scare her into cleaning up, but she cheered his boat off as it lurched out of the harbor.

While living in Eledar, for all intents and purposes single again, Molly began mingling with pirates in local taverns. It was there she met Joao “Black Jack” Ballinash, priest-captain of the pirate ship Godless. A pirate of moderate fame who daringly raided Chelish ships throughout the inner sea and had a few famous battles under his belt, Molly was almost immediately smitten with him. In short time she worked her way onto his ship and became his. For the next seven years she was his lover, pupil, and shipmate. He taught her of Besmara, and how all the pirate goddess asked for was for her faithful to plunder, pillage, and pirate every port and harbor they came into. If she wanted it, she should take it. There was no sense in longing for what she didn't have (Saudade, he called it, in some tongue she never picked up). Under his tutelage she became skilled with a rapier and learned to harness the divine gifts of the Pirate Queen to raid ships and .

As time went on she fell out of love with Ballinash. Though he preached freedom and piracy to all who would listen, she felt increasingly stifled under his thumb, and began longing for the freewheeling life she had before joining the Godless’s crew. She found herself stuck, and grew tired of Jack’s fatherly place in her life. Eventually she slipped away from her lover under the cover of night and bartered passage to Port Peril. She now resides there, taking odd jobs and living a life of near endless partying until she figures out what her next move is.

Dark eyes and wavy black hair betray her Chelish origins. Her skin is darker than most who share her ethnicity, but that can be expected. She has numerous tattoos, most of which are in half-sleeves extending from her wrist to just above her elbow. She prefers darker make up and usually wears pants over skirts, but the latter is not so uncommon when on shore. She has a distinctively raspy voice that almost breaks into a cackle when she laughs.

### Night Before

“You’re a liar…” Molly says. In front of her a turbaned scoundrel sits bemused despite his best attempts to look serious. “Oh am I?” he replies, shuffling some. Molly shifts in her seat, eyes averting downward at the strange plant before her. Reluctantly, she slips him a small bag of coin, saying seriously “This better be the good stuff”.

The pesh peddler’s mustache curls in on itself, revealing a smile full of crooked teeth, some missing. She watches him count it, trying to read his face for a sign that would justify her acting on her impulse to pin him down and cut his ugly unibrow in two for him. Sadly, either he was a good actor or she’d had too much to drink and without even a goodbye, the honest drug peddler stands and leaves her with her new purchase. As he makes his way toward the door, Molly picks up the pesh he’s left her and sniffs it. It at least smells right.

As he leaves she takes the small ball and, while holding her nose, eats it. It goes down hard, and its prickly skin clings to the inside of her throat like a spider would a wall. Molly hadn’t had pesh in quite some time, and knew she needed to find a quiet place to trip in peace. So she gathers herself up to pay her tab, but just as she was stands, the door flings open and in walks someone she’s not ready to see right now. She’s so surprised she utters his name. “Jack…”

Questions abound and through her mind as she races into a nearby latrine and out of a window. She can’t answer them now, not while she’s running from an ex-boyfriend. Not while she’s on the verge of tripping balls. Arms folded she moves briskly, avoiding drunks and revelers, skipping over bodies laid out on the ground. “Why are people laid out in the street?”[b] she asks no one, realizing its suddenly hard not to avoid anyone. As she watches her step, hopping from one crevice between bodies to the next, she loses sight of whats in front of her and bumps into someone with a full bag, making them drop everything, including their arse, onto the ground. Luckily no bodies were on the ground [b]“My apologies.” she says, reaching down to help the passerby up, ignoring the sudden emptiness of the street. The hand she grabs is rough, scaly almost; and its attached to a feathery arm, and that arm is attached to some kind of bird. Molly eeps, dropping the bird man to the ground once more. She begins backing away, scared. “Rude!” it cries at her, almost squawking. She continues backing away, slowly at first, but then cuts and runs, finding shelter in a nearby hut.

Inside she stops moving, breathing heavily more out of fright than exhaustion. In an attempt to calm herself, she closes her eyes and counts. She remembers she’s not in her right mind. She remembers that she needs to find the inn she’s staying at. She remembers that there is a Tengu quarter in Port Peril. She’s never come here before, that’s why she’s so shocked right now. Its not everyday, even in Port Peril, that one sees a bird man.

“Excuse me!” comes a voice from deeper within the home. From the tone Molly can tell it isn’t asking for pardon, but demanding explanation. Molly peers in the direction of the voice, seeing a female tengu, so far as she can tell, on its knees looking back at her.

“Pardon me, I just had a… Spell.” Molly says, hesitating as she notices a pair of legs in front of the tengu. Human legs. As she steps back toward the door, the rest of the man shoots into visibility. As he sits up to see what’s going on, and reveals himself as someone very familiar with her. Molly freezes, because the man isn’t a stranger, but Jack.

Her moment of confusion gives way to rage. “And what’s this you bastard?!” she yells, walking forward with her hand clutching the hilt of her rapier, “This is how you get your jollies off without me, huh? Shacked up with some bird cunt? She ought to bite it off with that beak of hers you two-timing bastard!”

Minutes later Molly’s on the move again. Stray feathers littering her hair and clothes as she stomps away from the tengu quarter. She feels the tears welling up in her eyes and wonders if she’s more hurt finding Jack or the surprisingly adept bird she had to de-feather. She glances back toward the quarter and to her surprise sees Jack fully clothed and now following her. She turns and starts walking backwards. “You might as well stop following me. You did what you did and don’t go looking for forgiveness from me you scurvy shit-for-brains sea dog.” she turns and begins walking more confidently, imagining herself showing off to him, reminding him that some tengu whore will never give him what she could. She pulls a particularly prominent feather from her hair, the most visible relic from her scuffle, and tosses it behind her.

She turns around one more time to shout more obscenities to him only to find him gone. She bumps bump into yet another person. Spinning around with a fist cocked and ready, she finds a girl dressed like a pirate, a scantily clad one at that. Molly stares at her for a moment, watching her scamper up and continue on her path right into a brothel. Outside of it girls coyly smile at Molly, inviting her in with their eyes. She glances again down the path she came from, seeing Jack once more in the crowd. A devilish grin plays across her face and she stomps right up to the brothel, overrunning the girl she knocked down earlier and taking her by the back of the neck into a private room.

Two hours later Molly emerges from the brothel smelling like sex, perfume, and maybe a little shame while holding a nearly depleted bottle of rum. She downs it and throws the empty bottle into an alley. As she does so, she looks out into the street and sees him again, in multiple places at that. She frowns and approaches the nearest Jack, drawing her rapier and pointing it straight at him. He looks surprised to see her. If she didn’t know any better she’d say he didn’t even know her. Their duel is quick and ends with him on the ground with her blade at his throat. “Getting rusty, Jack?” she mocks him, only for Jack to nod his head nervously. “Awww, Didn’t think your girly could put you at the end of a blade like this?” she takes off her bicorne and throws it on the ground, laughing. She tosses her head left and then right, letting her long dark hair flow over her face. “Remember when you used to put me on my back? Tell me I’d feel the end of your sword?” she asks, seductively, moving in close to Jack. Her beloved Jack. She feels the urge to kiss him, remembering how much she loves him. Her sweet Jack.

“Lady I don’t know you!” he cries.

“What?” Molly asks, the man in front of her looking less and less like Jack with each second. Her face contorts into a scowl and she con. Lucky him he escapes before she can make him pay for tricking her. “And don’t come back!” she yells after him, almost vomiting out the words. She stands for a moment, struggling to regain her composure, trying to remember that she doesn’t have a clear grasp on reality.

As she recovers she stumbles into a tavern, the fimblewick mermaid or something, and takes a seat at the bar. Ordering a tank of ale she looks around seeing Jack again, everywhere now. All of him begins to approach her, cornering her at the bar. She turns toward them, face showing her exhaustion. “Oh alright,” she says, getting down from the stool, “maybe we can talk about-” as she turns her foot gets caught on the stool and with a bang her head hits the floorboards, then everything goes black.

walking into the Maiden I smile and see a couple of familiar faces and some not so familiar. I strut to the bar and look around.
seeing some drunken people at the bar, I start moving around them listening and learning what they have to say going up to a Pretty lass, wearing a white shirt that bares her right shoulder. Over her shirt she wears a black leather corset, which is specially designed to cover her left shoulder and her left arm, ending in a sturdy leather glove,

Miss, excuse me? have you ever been with a lady of Calistria? I am always looking for a good rumble in the sack or if I am not your type, I am sure that I can find you a suitable substitute, after all our church is just down the road, we're always looking for a new worshiper if you're interested?

grabbing the arse of the next closest person
Excuse me? did you want to join me and this lass here in temple for a romp around the bed? hmm?

The sloop Ancalinza was on was transporting fine cloth as well as salt, dates and some tropical fruit. Sailing this close to Ilizmagorti was high risk – but with that danger came greater rewards. Fresh produce brought far more coin than spoiled fruit.

Ancalinza spotted the white sawtooth sabre on a red-green-red field before any of her crewmates and immediately shouted the alarm.

”Pirates Captain. Looks like a caravel and she’s out of Mediogalti by her colours.”

The following twenty minutes flashed by. The pirate ship closed easily, despite the sloop’s efforts to evade her and no sooner had the vessels touched than the pirates had boarded en masse.

Ancalinza fired a good many crossbow bolts and men fell from the ropes they were swinging on – but before long she was engaged in hand to hand.

She cut down a few before she lost control of her rapier. Scrabbling on the deck, she was aware of a man with a peg-leg stomping towards her. She looked up at the same time as he let his whip flick out at her.

The sting of pain from below her bottom lip was sharp and warm simultaneously. She licked at the blood with her tongue and the metallic taste galvanised her into action.

”Well my pretty. What a tasty morsel we have here.” His voice was raspy and his breathing ragged, as if excited. She could smell the rum on his breath from six-feet away.

Without taking her eyes from the pirate, she grabbed her rapier and immediately closed the gap between them. ”You may take this vessel, but you’ll not take me.” Her words were more than bravery. He would die for his arrogance, if nothing else.

She feigned to his left – her dancing moves morphing with her fighting style to great effect – before dropping her shoulder and ramming the sword deep into his gut.

”Tasty perhaps – but your lips will never find out.” She head-butted him and he slide off her sword slowly, the flesh squeaking as it parted company with the steel.

It was only now that Ancalinza realised that the ship was silent – save for the sound of someone clapping. Slowly and quietly at first and then louder and faster. She looked around to see all of her crewmates had fallen and only half of the pirates were still alive. The clapping was coming from a man in a scarlet velvet jacket, with large brass buttons and a plumed hat.

”I have need of a new second-mate and I fancy you’d fit the bill. I haven’t seen such skill since I sailed on the Monsoon. Ditmara was destined to become captain sooner or later. But that’s a story for later.”

Ancalinza stepped over the body of the former second-mate, making sure she snapped his peg-leg in two as she did.

Edward had arrived at Port Peril after his uncle's ship docked for resupplying. From what he'd heard, his "father" used to frequent this place from time to time.
"Well, this place is just as charming as it was described at Riddleport.", as he walked up to the tavern named The Formidable Maid. A tavern referred to sometimes as the start of adventure. Heading up to the bar he observes the rest of the nearby patrons.
"I'll have a good ale my good man, i'll be at that table over there."
He barely turns around as he feels a firm grab on his backside. Turning around he sees a young woman in a daring outfit asking him a direct indiscrete question.
"My, the barmaids here are quite lovely. I hope this backroom you call a temple isn't too occupied?"

Contrary to his sarcastic comment, he sits down at the table instead.
After a few drinks a more modest woman sits down in front of him.
<Well there, you're a new face, one of the more pleasant type to boot.>
"Dear madam, if you are looking to kick in a new head to satisfy some awkward fetish, there's plenty of others."
The woman smiles, seemingly waving off the weird dismissal of her words.
<Now, i'm just saying such a face is a waste in this establishment, there are plenty of places i would picture you to be at than here.>
The smalltalk went on for a bit, Edward didn't keep exact count of his tab. His resistance wasn't as strong as his wordplay....as his vision blurred and he felt really sleepy and sank onto the table. The last words he vaguely heard......He's all yours...