GM Helio's Ballad of the Stolen Lands

Game Master Helio

Brinn Potts
Female Ifrit Oracle(Dual-Cursed) 1
CG Medium outsider (native)
Init +11; Senses Darkvision 60ft; Perception -1
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Defense
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AC 20, touch 13, flat-footed 17
hp 10 (1d8+1+1)
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +2;
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Morning Star -3 (1d8+1 20 ×2)
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Statistics
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Str 13, Dex 16, Con 12, Int10, Wis 8, Cha 18
Base Atk: +0; CMB +1; CMD 14
Feats: Improved Initiative
Traits: Issian, Dangerously curious
Skills:
+8 Diplomacy (Cha)
+4 Knowledge (Religion) (Int)
+4 Spellcraft (Int)
+9 UMD (Cha)
Languages: Common, Ignan
SQ:
Spell-like: 1/day Burning Hands.
Misfortune (Ex) 1/day per target.
Gear: Morning Star, Heavy wood Shield, Scale Mail, Oracle’s kit(This includes a backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, a flint and steel, iron pot, mess kit, rope, trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin.) 31gp.
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Special Abilities
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Misfortune (Ex): At 1st level, as an immediate action, you can force a creature within 30 feet to reroll any one d20 roll that it has just made before the results of the roll are revealed. The creature must take the result of the reroll, even if it’s worse than the original roll. Once a creature has suffered from your misfortune, it cannot be the target of this revelation again for 1 day.
Racial Traits:
+2 Dexterity, +2 Charisma, –2 Wisdom: Ifrits are passionate and quick, but impetuous and destructive.
Native Outsider: Ifrits are outsiders with the native subtype.
Medium: Ifrits are Medium creatures and receive no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Normal Speed: Ifrits have a base speed of 30 feet.
Darkvision: Ifrits can see in the dark up to 60 feet.
Spell-Like Ability: Burning hands 1/day (caster level equals the ifrit's level).
Alternate Racial Trait:
Wildfire Heart: Ifrits with this trait are as swift and dangerous as a blazing wildfire. They gain a +4 racial bonus on initiative checks. This racial trait replaces energy resistance.
Traits:
Issian: You were raised northern Brevoy, a land of misty shores and harsh hill lands, of snowy vistas and violet-hued mountains. You are descended from an able and intelligent people, and you have grand ambitions, a mind alert for opportunity, and the tenacity to fight for your goals no matter the challenge. You care for little more than achieving your aspirations and opportunities to win wealthy and grandeur, for which few costs prove too great. You see yourself as a citizen of Brevoy through and through. The call for champions willing to help take back your country’s rightful holdings in the Stolen Lands has inflamed your dreams of profit and possibilities, so you have joined an expedition to quest south. Your agile mind grants you a +1 trait bonus on all Will saves made to resist mind-affecting effects.
Dangerously Curious: you have always been intrigued by magic, possibly because you were the child of a magician or priest. You often snuck into your parent's laboratory or shrine to tinker with spell components and magic devices, and frequently caused quite a bit of damage and headaches for your parent as a result.
Benefits: You gain a +1 bonus on Use Magic Device checks, and Use Magic Device is always a class skill for you.

Curses: Haunted, Blackened.

Brinn…Brinn…Brinn!

She woke startled. Brinn was used now, hearing those strange voices in her head. Ever since she could remember, they always were there. Always calling, never stopping.

But those last days was a lot worse. The voices were stronger now. She had trouble sleeping. Things started to move mysteriously whenever she was near. Brinn agile fingers were having trouble to get once easy items. And the voices grew louder each day.

Another morning, she went to clean herself. Taking morning baths was her personal joke.
Her red skin and fiery hair, prove enough of her ancestry.

Another day at the shop! Lots of things to see and learn!

She loved to help the master creating his magic items. Since long ago, she always were curious about his life style.

He told her that he once was an adventurer, in a proper adventuring party! But that had to be a joke! No way that fatty would have done anything else than sit in his studio all day. Even then, she liked his histories. They were one and all exciting!

It was then, when she heard about the expedition quest to the south. Interested she was, really and deeply. But her life style was good. She had friends.

That same day, they were gathered at the meal table, eating lunch, while the owner told one of his hilarious histories, she had already heard this one, but it was fun nonetheless…

He is lying expose him!…

”Expose… him?” she looked startled to the owner, the one telling the history.

Everyone else startled looking at her. What was happening? Who said that?

What are you waiting for! Do it!

That… isn’t possible! Until now, the voices only called her name! Not even once it spoke anything else than her name!

Without giving any other explanation, she ran out, looking herself in her room, ignoring all questions and surprised looks.

Brinn… You can’t run… You can’t hide…

”No! You are not real! You can’t be real! Go away! Leave me alone!” she cried

Brinn… You can’t run… Your life is ours…

”My life is mine alone! Go away!” she plead.

Outside her door, voices called, she ignored them, as she tried to ignore the voices in her head.

You cannot escape. You cannot ever escape!

Later that same day, strange powers started to manifest within her.

At night, she still was locked in her room, when her arms burst in flames. Such pain as she never felt in her entire live, it was impossible to scream; only pain was real. In her mind, laugher, not only one but several of them. Mocking.

That same night she fled, to join the expedition south. She had no courage to show up in front of her friends with her haunted face and blackened arms.

Brinn is crazy, or at least she thinks she is. She must keep her secrets at all coast.
Even then, she is a charming person, despite her blackened hands. Brinn is a smooth talker and ambitious person, but she is loyal to her friends, and whiling to risk herself for those she love.

Bright red hair that flickers and waves as if it were aflame, slight red skin. Red eyes, pointy ears. She wears revealing and ostentatious clothing in bright oranges and reds colors.

It was morning, Brinn was waiting for her chance to convince the officer she was the right person to this quest. Conquering the south would help Brevoy get back on it’s track and possible end the eminent conflict between the noble families.

What are you doing here? Why are you wasting your time?

Brinn ignored the voice, doing her best to remain smiling. After some more time, it was finally her time.

”Hello Miss, I’ll give you this document, you are to fill it with your most relevant skills, and tell us why you think you are the right person for the job.” said the busy looking man

Ignore him. No, don’t ignore! Look, he has some nice eyes, tell him that…

”Ah, thanks for the opportunity good sir!” she said happily ”I’m sure you’ll see there’s no one better than me, to see Brevoy interest at it’s best!”

Surprised with her enthusiasm the officer asks ”And why is that young lady?”

Why are you doing this? If you do as we say, the world will be yours!

”Because there’s one thing you can be sure about! Nothing is going to stop me!”

Type: Aasimars are outsiders with the native subtype.
Size: Aasimars are Medium creatures and thus have no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Base Speed: Aasimars have a base speed of 30 feet.
Languages: Aasimars begin play speaking Common and Celestial. Aasimars with high Intelligence scores can choose from the following languages: Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, Halfling, and Sylvan. See the Linguistics skill page for more information about these languages.
Celestial Resistance: Aasimars have acid resistance 5, cold resistance 5, and electricity resistance 5.
Skilled: Musetouched have a +2 racial bonus on Diplomacy and Perform checks.
Spell-Like Ability (Sp): Musetouched can use glitterdust once per day as a spell-like ability (caster level equal to the aasimar's class level).
Darkvision: Aasimar have darkvision 60 ft. (they can see perfectly in the dark up to 60 feet.)

Most paladins dedicate their lives to the task of bringing destruction or redemption upon evil, whatever the path chosen, or the oath sworn. But some embrace the virtue of mercy and charity, their talents in arms and insight lack in comparison to their peers, but they show a natural talent in healing the mind and soul; such paladins are called purifiers, militant healers who providing warmth, comfort, and health to the innocent. While purifiers lack the sheer destructive power of their fellows against evil forces, their ability to cure ailments, their compassion, and their ability to punish violence with a righteous fury makes them shining celebrities among the population.

Weapon and Armor Proficiency
A purifier is proficient with all simple weapons, the longsword and warhammer. A purifier is proficient with all types of armor and shields.

Aura of Good (Ex)
The power of a paladin's aura of good (see the detect good spell) is equal to her paladin level.

Detect Evil (Sp)
At will, a paladin can use detect evil, as the spell. A paladin can, as a move action, concentrate on a single item or individual within 60 feet and determine if it is evil, learning the strength of its aura as if having studied it for 3 rounds. While focusing on one individual or object, the paladin does not detect evil in any other object or individual within range.

Lay On Hands (Su)
A purifier gains the lay on hands ability at 1st level. She may also use it on another creature as a move action, but such a use does not impart any mercy the purifier possesses onto the creature, and only heals hit points. A purifier may sacrifice 5 hit points as part of a use of the lay on hands ability to add this amount as a bonus to the healing provided. A purifier may sacrifice additional hit points, but they must be in 5 point increments.
This ability modifies and replaces the lay on hands gained at 2nd level.

Rightful Retribution (Su)
As a swift action, or a free action if the paladin is using lay on hands only on herself, the purifier may affect the next creature that benefits from her lay on hands ability with an aura of heavenly fire. For a number of rounds equal to the purifier's Charisma modifier, any opponent that successfully makes a melee attack against the creature the purifier used her lay on hands ability on suffers 1d6 fire damage, plus half the purifier's Charisma modifier as divine bonus damage. This divine bonus to damage results directly from divine power, and as such, it is not subject to energy resistance or damage reduction; it is doubled against evil-aligned creatures, and negated against good-aligned creatures. The divine bonus to damage increases by +1 at level 4 and every three levels later (7, 10, 13, 16, 19), up to a total damage of 1d6 fire + (half the purifier's Charisma modifier + 6) at level 19.
This ability replaces smite evil.

Pioneer
You have long lived along the southern border of Brevoy, in the shadow of wilderness known as the Stolen Lands. Life has been hard, but through hunting, trapping, trading, and coaxing crops from the freezing earth, you’ve learned how to survive on the rugged frontier. With the wilderness ever at your door, you’ve also learned much about its denizens and the wild creatures that lurk in that unwholesome land. Your family might even claim holdings in the Stolen Lands, with elders telling stories of being driven from or robbed of a lost ancestral homestead, fertile farmlands, bountiful orchards, or a hidden mining claim. Whether because of your personal expertise and familiarity with the borderlands or in order to reclaim your family’s land, you’ve joined the expedition into the Stolen Lands. You begin play with a horse. Also, choose one of the following skills: Climb, Handle Animal, Knowledge (nature), Perception, Ride, Survival, or Swim—you gain a +1 trait bonus on this skill.

Seeker
You are always on the lookout for reward and danger.
Benefits: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Perception checks, and Perception is always a class skill for you.

Adrift: You never felt like you belonged in your family. You were different, an outsider, and you grew up unable to bond with the people around you. Now, as an adult, you are still a little odd and others have a hard time understanding what makes you tick. You receive a +1 trait bonus on saving throws made to resist charm and compulsion effects.

Overprotective
In your youth, you saw a younger friend or loved one suffer a grievous injury or die, and you blamed yourself for not having been there to help, even if there was nothing you could have done.
Effect: If one of your allies should fall unconscious from hit point damage, you take a –2 penalty on attack rolls and skill checks as long as you are farther than 10 feet away from your fallen ally.

Revered Guidance
You were selected by your celestial ancestor to be a guide for a chosen people, and serve as a beacon of hope in times of despair.
Prerequisites: Aasimar, must be taken at 1st level.
Benefit: Select one of the following creature subtypes: dwarf, elf, gnome, halfling, human, or orc. You gain a +4 racial bonus on Diplomacy checks made to influence creatures of the selected subtype.

Moons ago one dreary brume filled morning the priests and priestesses of Reymenda were just starting their daily routine when they made a discovery, that for them, was all too uncommon. Left on their doorstop was basket with a newborn infant swaddled inside, the child had unfortunately succumbed to the elements. Taking him inside they gave a short prayer on his behalf as he was no doubt on his way towards a meeting with The Lady of Graves. Halfway through their solemn prayer there was an interruption, crying. Quickly checking the basket they found instead of what had been on their doorstop a healthy and very much alive, if very pale baby boy whose crying ceased when he soon saw the happy faces staring down at him. Happy faces that would go on to belong to happy family members.

Tall and well toned from a life of living in the border between civilization and the wilderness, this Musetouched’s pale hair and body seem to speak in contradictions at his apparent state of health, a telltale sign of the blessing he may or may not have received from Reymenda that saved him from an early end. Whether related to this or his (lack of) sleeping habits have produced noticeable Raccoon like dark spots surrounding his deep sunken eyes. As he walks he seems to not be all there at times, slowly staggering about in state akin to half-sleep or drunkenness.

Growing up in a Temple whose sole purpose was to help others even at the cost of ones’ self has instilled in Syksy a deep sense of altruism and loyalty, making him somewhat atavistic in regards to his heritage, he has a love for freedom and life and would rather avoid violence if it can be but is trained well to defend himself and others if the need arises for it. When not checking on other’s well being or helping them with errands he usually practices with his Cello or sleeps, possibly a more favorite past time than using his instrument.

Horse
Kit, Paladin's
Price 11 gp; Weight 30 lbs.
This kit includes a backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, a cheap holy text, a flint and steel, an iron pot, a mess kit, rope, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), a waterskin, and a wooden holy symbol.

Heavy Wooden Shield 7g
Reinforced Leather Armor 25g
Longsword 15g
Cold Weather Outfit
Cello *

DEFENSE
AC 13, touch 10, flat-footed 13
hp 10
Fort 3, Reflex 0, Will 5

OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft
Melee: Longsword +2 (1d8+3/19-20/x2) or Morningstar +2 (1d8+3/x2) or Dagger +2 (1d4+2/19-20/x2)
Ranged: Sling +0 (1d4+2/x2)
Space 5, Reach 5
BAB 0, CMB 2, CMD 12

STATISTICS
STR 14 DEX 10 CON 12 INT 15 WIS 16 CHA 10

Feats Fast Learner

Racial Traits
Alternate Racial Traits: Ancestral Arms
Elf Blood: Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.
Elven Immunities: Half-elves are immune to magic sleep effects and get a +2 racial saving throw bonus against enchantment spells and effects.
Keen Senses: Half-elves receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception skill checks.
Multitalented: Half-elves choose two favored classes at first level and gain +1 hit point or +1 skill point whenever they take a level in either one of those classes.
Ancestral Arms (APG 17): You receive Exotic Weapon Proficiency or Martial Weapon Proficiency with one weapon as a bonus Feat at 1st level.
Jump Modifier (Core 88): You gain a -4 to jump checks.

Campaign Traits
Pioneer (Perception) (APKM 11): You begin play with a horse. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Perception checks.
Magical Knack (APG 329): Pick a class when you gain this trait your caster level in that class gains a +2 trait bonus as long as this bonus doesn't increase your caster level higher than your current Hit Dice.
Skills Acrobatics -1, Appraise 2, Bluff 0, Climb 1, Craft (Alchemy 6, Armour 6, Weapons 6), Diplomacy 0, Disguise 0, Escape Artist -1, Fly -1, Heal 3, Intimidate 0, Knowledge (religion) 6, Perception 6, Ride -1, Sense Motive 3, Spellcraft 6, Stealth -1, Survival 3, Swim 1
Languages Elven, Common, Draconic, Celestial

Gear: Leather Armour, Buckler, Longsword, Sling, Morningstar, Dagger, Bullets - Sling (10), Bullets - Sling (40), Kit - Cleric's , Kit - Dungeoneering, Kit - Cooking (AA), Kit - Grooming , Kit - Gear Maintenance, Kit - Scrivener’s, Kit - Riding, Acid (flask) (2), Artisan's Tools - common, Explorer's outfit

Naralesh first came to the cold fields of Brevoy in the spring, traveling in the company of some family members and friends down the wide Sellen River to the elven nation of Kyonin. Held up in Restov for some days by the necessity of repairs to their ship, Naralesh somewhat reluctantly joined his more worldly kin in socializing with the locals. The brash, vivacious, and boisterous humans and their loud, quick lives fascinated the young elf, barely a century old and inexperienced with cultures beyond his own. He readily warmed up to the welcoming townsfolk, joining the humans in drink and friendship. He might not have stayed, but on the third night of the elves' stay, Restov was having a festival...

Brightly-colored pennants, tents, and merchant stalls were erected throughout Restov as preparations for the festivities, and even the most reclusive of the elves' party couldn't help but be curious about the event. Villagers and farmers alike poured into the town, swelling its size as the fair drew nearer. The repairs to the ship were nearly completed, but the elves decided they would wait at least another day, and join the humans in their celebration. When the fairgrounds opened, Naralesh was among the first of the elves to venture into the surging crowds, and enthusiastically participated in what he might once have considered "silly human games." These contests entertained him, but they were nothing compared to what he encountered at that night's festive dance in the town square.

As the events of the day wound down, Naralesh joined the throng as they moved to the wide open town square, where musicians and performers provided lively music for a happily dancing crowd. Among the twirling and jumping masses, Naralesh spotted a figure whose very sight burned itself into his soul. A young maiden, the daughter of a farmer, danced alone with a smile on her face as she moved, watching the bright bonfire that had been erected nearby. Naralesh had never seen a woman like this - the elves he had been used to were slow and precise, formal and cold by comparison. Something about her ignited a fire within him, and he rushed to her side. That night, the pair danced, talked, drank, and shared each others' warmth in the chill nighttime air, alone together on a hillside outside the town.

In the morning, the elves's ship was scheduled to depart. Naralesh was nowhere to be found, and inquiring where he had been the night before led them to the girl's father, furious at the discovery of his daughter's misconduct. The young elf and his paramour returned in time to weather the father's rage, and Naralesh declared his intention to court the farmer's daughter. His elven family was shocked, but they quickly saw that they would not change the stubborn youth's mind, now that it had been filled with the energy and excitement of the human pace of life. Upon his decision to remain with the humans, Naralesh's family bid him a loving farewell, and parted ways as they continued on their journey.

In a few short months, Naralesh had married Rebeccah, the farmer's daughter. As he settled contentedly into his new life, he dismissed the fox familiar who had accompanied him so far on his journey, freeing her to travel into the wild. His spellbook and magical components became a hobby, an afterthought, and he lived for many decades with his loving human wife. As must always be the case with love between humans and elves, however, Rebeccah grew old and frail, while Naralesh remained as youthful and strong as the day they met. It slowly broke his heart to see her wither away before him, but he stayed beside her until she passed away during a hard winter in the harsh northern climate.

With Rebeccah gone, Naralesh had nothing tying him to Restov or the farmlands nearby, and the sight of the cottage the two shared together was like a spear piercing his heart. The pair had never been able to produce children, so Naralesh gathered what he would need for travel, sold his farm and livestock except for his favorite horse, and joined an expedition south, hoping to find new direction and life in exploring the untamed wilderness.

Naralesh is a patient man by any human standard, and despite his age in years, is still young and new to the wider world. Wounded by the passing of his wife, he travels now into the Stolen Lands searching for new purpose and comfort. He is very close to his fox familiar, Nora, whose distinctive markings have made him certain she is a descendant of the original fox familiar he released into the wild decades earlier. He is not quick to anger, and is friendly, if reserved, with new acquaintances. Nearly sixty years living among humans has done little to dull his fascination with them, and despite so much time among them, never ceases to be intrigued by the energetic and purposeful humans and other races.

Standing at 5 feet, 8 inches tall, with a slight build, Naralesh appears much like a human's typical image of an elf, graceful and slender. Despite this, however, his hands are calloused from the work of farming, and his green eyes show a warmth and familiarity not shared by most of his kin toward outsiders. He wears his auburn hair long, tucked behind his pointed ears, and smiles at strangers readily. He appears to be in his physical prime, and few would otherwise guess he had passed the midpoint of his second century of age.

The sale of his farm settled and the purchase of equipment he would need for his journey finalized, Naralesh stepped out into the autumn air, inhaling a deep breath of the brisk night breeze coming across the nearby Sellen River. Swinging up astride his horse, he set off for the closest woods to perform the final task he would need for his journey. Night had fallen by the time he made it to the clearing he sought, and the moon and stars shone brightly overhead. Tying the horse to a nearby tree, he traced a large circle in the smooth dirt, and sprinkled a mixture of arcane powders into precise shapes on the ground, symbols he hadn't looked at in decades.

The circle complete, he settled into the center, seated with the crescent moon shimmering overhead. Closing his eyes, he began to intone soft words. "Minatath soleil incanta... Minanath soleil fortuna..." The chant settled him, summoning the trance of spellcasting he had once spent so many years performing. He reached out with his mind's eye, sending forth a summons into the roots and trees and brush surrounding him. As the call rippled forth, he finished the incantation with a forceful statement of power. "Minanath notores everin familia!" In the sudden silence which followed, a tiny shape padded out of the darkness, approaching the wizard without fear. The sight of it made Naralesh's eyes grow wide.

"Nora?" he intoned as he stared at the strikingly familiar form of the white-coated fox. No, it's not her, he thought to himself. She was larger than this, and growing old when I last saw her. Still, the markings are nearly identical... He held out his hand invitingly, the final step of the ritual. If the familiar approached, and touched his palm, the bond between them would be complete. The fox sat in place, and looked up at him, as though examining him. She's beautiful... those markings leave no question. She must be a grandchild of the fox I once let go. After several long moments, the fox leaped forward into his arms, and the pair of them felt a sensation like an electric shock as their souls bonded together. With a smile, Naralesh stroked her soft fur, pleased to have found a connection to his former partner once again.

Male Angelkin Aasimar Dual-Cursed Battle Oracle 1
NG Medium Outsider (Native)
Init +4; Senses Darkvision 60'; Perception +8
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 11, flat-footed 15
HP 10/10
Fort +3, Ref +1, Will +2
CMD 13
Resistance Acid 5, Cold 5, Electricity 5
Alter Self 1/day
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee
Halberd +2 (1d10+3/X3)
Range
Javelins +1 (1d6+2)
BAB +0
CMB +2
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 11, Cha 18
Skills Diplomacy +8, Knowledge(Religion) +3, Perception +8, Sense Motive +4,
Feats Warrior Priest
Languages Common, Celestial
Traits Reactionary; Seeker; Pride(Drawback); Rostlander
Curses Haunted(Doesn’t Advance); Legalistic(Advances)
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Spells-CL 1st, Concentration +6
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Cantrips
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Light; Detect Magic; Detect Poison; Read Magic; Mage Hand; Ghost Sound
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Lvl 1 Spells
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4/4
Bless; Cure Light Wounds
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Special Abilities
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Skill at Arms (Ex): You gain proficiency in all martial weapons and heavy armor.
Oracle’s Curse: A dual-cursed oracle must choose two curses at 1st level. One of these curses (oracle’s choice) never changes its abilities as the oracle gains levels; for example, an oracle with clouded vision never gains darkvision 60 feet, blindsense, or blindsight. The other curse comes with its normal benefits.
Haunted Curse: Retrieving any stored item from your gear requires a standard action, unless it would normally take longer. Any item you drop lands 10 feet away from you in a random direction. Add mage hand and ghost sound to your list of spells known.
Legalistic Curse: Whenever you break your word (either purposefully or unintentionally), you become sickened for 24 hours or until you meet your obligation, whichever comes first. However, once per day, you can make a vow to yourself that grants a +4 morale bonus on any one roll you make while trying to fulfill a promise made to another individual.
At 5th level, you gain a +3 competence bonus on Diplomacy, Intimidate, and Sense Motive checks while talking to an individual one-on-one.
At 10th level, you can make a new saving throw each minute to resist mind-affecting effects as your subconscious searches for loopholes.
At 15th level, any creature that violates its freely given word to you takes a penalty to AC, to spell resistance, and on saving throws against your attacks and abilities equal to your Charisma modifier (minimum 1) for 24 hours.
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Gear
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Scale Mail
1 Halberd
10 Javelins/Ammentum
1 Vial of Acid
1 Bedroll
1 Backpack
1 Waterskin
1 Belt Pouch
6 Trail Rations
1 Cape
5 Gold
9 Silver

Nobody truly knows where Toran came from. With no surname other than what he has called himself, Fate-Touched, it is difficult to trace his origins. What is known about him is that he appeared one day at a small village in the northern part of Rostland when a small group of highway robbers were preventing travelers from entering the town. He walked into their lair, and after a conversation with their leader, slew him with a single thrust from his halberd. Nobody knows for sure what happened after that, but legend says that he talked the entire band of brigades into laying down their weapons and following him. Just as soldiers arrived to attack the robbers, they were met by Toran, leading a group of disheartened men who surrendered themselves into the surprised soldiers arms. When the marshal turned to thank the mysterious, silver-cloaked man, he was gone.
This is just one of the many stories that trails the strange man. Although he appears as a blonde, handsome man, a streak of pure white in his hair is the only indicator of his angelic heritage. Toran has moved from town to town, helping those who need it and establishing his reputation. Known for always keeping his word and for his strict honor, he has become almost a figure of folklore in Brevoy. Therefore, it was quite a shock to the poor city guard who was approached by Toran, his silver cloak gleaming even in the dark of night, to be told to find one of the Swordlords, for Toran Fate-Touched wished to explore the Stolen Land.

Unbeknownst to him, Wetscale's history began in the Sodden Lands, far from his current location.

A few decades ago, a group of traveling delvers out of The Shackles happened across a marsh inhabited by many creatures, the lizardfolk most of all. They resided along the Terwa River, pushed out of their homeland adjacent to Lake Ocota, the polyglot pioneering pygmies pushing them out of their original location. Constantly driven back by this expansion, the primitive beast-men of this lizardfolk tribe developed a seething hatred for them and like-seeming humanoids, attacking on sight. Unfortunately for the tribe, one of the vendors was an arcanist; he burnt them to a crisp. The same heat from his spells which cooked the grown defenders served to complete the incubation of a batch of their eggs, hatching as the group scoured the area for material gain. One of the more innovative tradeswomen took the hatchlings, hoping to sell them as exotic creatures for a noble's menagerie. That she did, and one of the offspring ended-up in the River Kingdoms - Mivon, to be precise.

In his early years, Wetscale didn't remember everything, but a few details stood out to him. He got his name from the numerous fishing errands the servants sent him on - after all, he was but an animal to them, a spectacle at best. They taught him how to speak - but not read - the common tongue to communicate, and even with none of his native tongue or culture known to him, he was content. Wetscale knew no other life, after all, and it wasn't as if the servants had it that much better; at least as the exotic pet, he needed to be kept well for show purposes to the haughty guests of import which reared their heads from time to time.

The tradition of the swordlords being strong in the region, one of the young scions in his family - Fondel - got into a squabble with another and decided to settle it with a blade. Not a stated duel, Wetscale took the clashing of steel as a mortal threat - and it would've been. The challenger gouged the Lizardfolk's young master between the ribs, and he defended the wounded teen as he was taught to; his claws ripped through the aggressor's throat, and the cold-blooded creature was covered in warmth for once. Fondel, seeing the lack of a living future for Wetscale once the opposing family discovered what happened, bid the creature away, telling him to swim as far as he could. Wetscale wasn't dumb, just uneducated; he swam.

*******

After a few weeks living on the wild, he reached a new large civilization. Fortunately for Wetscale, his tribe's generations in the Sodden Lands had favored lineage with thicker blood to retain warmth, so he did not perish outright in cold Brevoy's wilds, but his sluggishness meant he was barely getting enough food to survive. His muscles had dwindled, and his frame was laughably overkill for the meat on it. He came ashore on the docks of New Stetven, shivering, hungry, and utterly weak. At first meeting him at swordpoint, the guards were astounded to learn the beast could speak. Sentience upgraded him to a jail cell, apparently, but he at least got old bread to eat while his fate was decided, and it was no colder than the waters of the river.

To his great fortune, there was a trademeet in the city, and history repeated itself once again: A certain minor member of House Orlovsky decided the family at the roof of the world would show its affluence best with a beast from so far away when news came to him about Wetscale. A few coins and a week later, the malnourished Lizardfolk found himself at Skywatch. This time, however, he found under the watchful gaze of more than simple mirth-seekers. Speaking a human tongue earned the reptile a certain amount of unspoken respect among the more learned of the house, and some took more than a dabbling interest in him. Each had their own motives - train the beast to be better at sums than the lady's son to snub her, teach him how to outcook the servants to threaten the servants' job security and make them work harder - the list went on. Wetscale saw he was being used for their gain, but his past experience in Mivon told him not to get invested - it would only cause trouble.

One day, a visiting arcanist who'd seen the lizard once or thrice before returned with a proposition: He would teach the orphan about his true culture in return for besting a swordsman in a duel, and he must agree to keep the arrangement a secret. The vast political web of the unstable nation wasn't fully known to Wetscale, a young adult at this point, but he knew keeping his mouth shut was often a good idea. Not rocking the boat with the Orlovsky family, he'd been well-fed, well-warmed, and even taught to read. He towered above all men in stature now. However, his heart yearned for nourishment. He had no friends, was treated like a thing more than a person, and had no sense of self. His emotions won over his logic, and he accepted the man's proposal, the memory of his past experience with a duelist returning to him. The bearded man smiled and handed him a book. "I'll be back to see how you're doing planning for that duel." He left with a hint of haste. Not bothering to ask him the details, Wetscale opened the book. It was ... a lingual text. A note scribbled on the side read: "Start with your real tongue, and we can discuss more in it when you've learned."

Each night after his duties were complete, he tried his hardest to learn the alphabet, the phonics, the grammar. The structure was so much more complex than the human language, but it felt so ... right with his own tongue, as if he were born to speak it. Excitement took over him, almost as if he made his first friend with the parchment. In a way, he had; the learning in (relative) secret gave him a sense of self, and it gave Wetscale confidence in his abilities to do something besides fetch and kill.

*******

The better part of a season later, the man returned, looking somewhat older than last time. Using German for Draconic for flavor. Wetscale's eyes shone with happiness when he saw the man, who bid off the servants which were usually around the reptile. "Wie finden Sie das Buch?" Did you like the book?

"Esss war Ssspitzzze!" replied the Lizardfolk, his long tongue and lengthy respiration drawing out the consonants. "Ich habe sofort angefangen, weil es mich freute, über meine Leute zu lernen." It was fantastic! I began it immediately as it filled me with joy to learn about my people. The man nodded, and looked about. "Sind Sie für den Zweikampf fertig?." Are you ready for the duel? Not having completely forgotten his end of the pact, Wetscale was a bit taken aback by his contact's abruptness. "J ... Natürlich," replied the reptile in affirmation, showing his vocabulary. "Wenn?"

"Morgen." Tomorrow. The man's smile disappeared, his face deadly serious. "Good luck." His last words in common, he spun on his heel and walked out. He was left to dark confusion as sleep took him hours later. How would it happen? Where? With whom?

Roused from his sleep by a couple of the house guards, he was marched out of the residence to the town square. Dawn had come not long before, but a crowd was gathered. The headsman was present ... his axe sharp and waiting. On a platform sat the lord, lady, and a few of the family - including his purchaser and the arcanist, their eyes deadly serious. "Wetscale, you stand accused of murdering Lady Medvyed's youngest daughter. What say you?" The visiting lady happened to be on the platform as well.

Stunned with the suggestion, he didn't know how to respond initially. "...No," came from his mouth slowly.

"YOU BUTCHERED HER!" screamed the woman. "Her throat cut overnight to shreds by those claws, her bosom with teeth marks all the way to her ribs. THAT BEAST KILLED MY BABY!" Their family had been visiting that week, Wetscale recalled. She pointed a condemning finger at him with the last yell, appealing to the crown with a wild cry, tears, and a sweep of her head.

Lord Orlovsky shut his eyes, sitting straight in his chair. Clearly, he did not enjoy this. "It seems there could be no other killed in my own keep. You are sentenced to death by steel in, combatant or coward alike." The traditional pronouncement cut through his surprise-paralysis. It had only happened twice that Wetscale had seen, but the convicted were allowed to duel for their lives with a champion of the lord's choice; most chose the silent death instead without putting up a fight. As the guards restraining him attempting to force his head to the block, the lizard spoke up. "I choose combat! Gasps of surprise took over the crowd.

The lord stood up after a moment's pause. "Silence! Trial by combat it is. Let victory be the judge," He glanced around, his eye falling on someone. "My new swordsman from the South, exact my justice this morning in my name." The crowd gave way between them.

It was Fondel.

Either the now-adult dandy didn't recognize him, or his new loyalty was more important, for he drew his blade - the same one he'd had as a youth, judging by the markings - saluted his lord, and approached. A sword was handed to Wetscale by a servant, and he palmed it absentmindedly. He'd seen enough of the fights to know how they went, but he wasn't skilled in them at all - or with any weapon for that matter.

"Master Fondel, don't -"

"HEATHEN!" yelled the scion as he took a thrust at his old companion, Wetscale dodging the jab just in time. "How dare you soil my name with that filthy tongue of yours!" Another two swings came, both wide, arcing - perhaps for the public, which now was cheering the young man.

Whatever empathy Wetscale had for Fondel evaporated in the moment though, and he began to defend himself in earnest, treating him as one of the wild beasts he'd felled on the hunts. Luring him into range seemingly, then darting away, looking for an opportunity to pounce. Such an opportunity occurred. The Lizardfolk tossed his useless sword at Fondel, his overconfidence getting the best of him; it tore through his ornate clothing and gave him a gash on the swordarm. This shocked the crowd back into silence.

First blood must have activated the man's adrenaline, for he flew into a flurry like Wetscale had never seen. His face was red with fury, his arms moving with superhuman strength, the bloody arm seemingly forgotten. Like a bear, an unstoppable force. Wetscale could not hope to stand against him with that fatally-sharp blade butchering the air; he wove left and right, hopping over a cut to his waist. Then his opening occurred; Fondel righted himself with a garish upswing, throwing his balance off in the other direction. Wetscale seized the opportunity, charging his opponent, a claw wedging itself in between the ribs as another's sword had done years ago, his other grabbing the man behind the shoulders, culling his swordhand's mobility.

"Fondel, stop this!"

"What did I tell you, beast?!" The man was seemingly impervious to pain and memory, giving one last futile stroke with his hindered arm; the slash scraped along Wetscale's armored skin without harm.

"Finish it," a familiar, but just-out-of-recognition voice whispered in his mind. It wasn't Fondel's. Heeding his id and its bidding, history repeated itself as the Lizardfolk sunk his teeth into the exposed throat of his former master. As the duelist dropped to the ground, the rage faded from his eyes, and his mouth opened slightly as if to say Wetscale's name. A chill ran up his spine as silence deafened the area.

What seemed like hours passed before Lord Orlovsky broke the spell. "Gorum's grace has declared you innocent." The god held much sway in these lands. Wetscale turned to see a sobbing Lady Medvyed run from the scene. "Approach." Queerly, Wetscale did not see the arcanist - or his seat - upon the platform anymore.

His voice merely a whisper between them, Orlovsky quickly relayed to the exonerated reptile. "I will not have a war because of this. You'll die anyway if you stay around the Medvyed's lands. Understand that." He took a step back and raised his stentorian voice, a thing not often down by the ambivalent lord. "You are hereby exiled, Wetscale. You will have a weapon and a flask of mead. Out of my land with you!"

And so it was Wetscale wandered South along the river, through the lakes, skirting the forests the slain daughter had called home. Why wouldn't he stop? Did he not recognize me? The day haunted him endlessly. The Stellen River met him at its Eastern end, and he swum along its path until he reached the place where he was sold. Stronger now than in his youth, he weathered the trip better, but still was cold and hungry.

A forceful hand on the back took him by surprise. "If it isn't the the Dripping Dragon!" Wetscale turned to see a ... jolly follower of Gorum's, judging by the symbols on his belt, surely a couple of pints in him. His puzzled look must have transcended even the stark racial difference between them. "Tales of you besting a swordlord in single combat - unarmed - are known to us even here. Come! Let us drink spar, and talk."

*******

And so it was the temple took him in, attempting to train him in the ways of steel, scolding him for letting his gifted sword rust. An odd man - nearly an outcast by the standards of the temple - got along much better with him though. He came from the South, looking for famed warriors that matched "his expertise," as he put it. Using no armor or sword, he invoked the ire of the temple, but they revered his prowess in battle, moving as fast as the wind, staying out of harm's way. Though he didn't much harm his sparring partners, he tired them out. If only I could've done that to Fondel instead of .... The two shared tales and trained together, two outcasts making a friendship far from their homes.

One day, an opportunity arose. Land in the South, a way to leave the ever-present threat of a Medvyed assassination in retribution. Wetscale sought out the chance, seeing were fate would take him...

Intense but aloof, the lizardfolk has an insatiable curiosity of his kind, wanting to know more about the people from which he was torn. Diligent and predictable, he is objective-oriented and smart enough to find the shortest path, metaphorically-speaking, from A to B. However, he is often beset by bouts of loneliness, thoughts of what could have been in his life, and haunted by the memories of him slaying his former master.

With those he does associate with, he may be off-putting because of his wandering eyes, seldom starting at the subject of his speech, looking instead around for potential threats. This not-unjustified paranoia comes from a lifetime of being treated as a thing instead of a person.

As is a part of his kind, the taste for meat is strong with Wetscale, particularly fish as he caught so many in his claws over the years. His teeth, lacking molars, make grinding lettuce and such difficult, but he also enjoys more homogeneous mixtures of foods, especially spiced dishes. Not able to have much in the way of ale in his younger days, he's developed a bit of a taste for it now - and its effects on the circulatory system help him stay warm in the cold climate.

A scaly tower, the reptile's overbearing physical presence must be sustained with a ponderous amount of food. A large, webbed, teal fin forms a crest from his forehead to where his neck ends at Wetscale's shoulders, symmetrically halving his head. Angular bone features push out from where eyebrows might be on men. His scales themselves lack the blue tint of his fin, though the teal manifests itself mildly once more in his claws - on hands and feet both. Giant carnivorous teeth adorn his mouth, a lengthy tongue resting inside.

His scales a faded green, they blend slightly better with the foliage in lands a bit to the South of Brevoy, though the average eye would take a moment to tell them apart from the pines. The eyes are orange, savage but alert - darting about with the instincts of both predator by nature and prey by nurture. Bare, clawed feet leave distinct prints in his wake.

Unlike most of his kind though, Wetscale wears substantial clothing. Modest, thick, and warm - his cold-blooded nature doesn't assist him in the chilly North. Winning temple garments from the Lord in Iron's sparring contests, some may mistake him as a cleric of the war-god.

Thomas was born of a young elven woman. Due to him having human blood, he found he was ostracised from the other elven youths as he was growing up. His mother supported his decisions that he made, but he never knew his father. To make up for the fact that he was not popular, he turned to the study of materials, and alchemy, but this did not keep his attention for long.

When he came back from hunting, one day, his entire elven family and friends had been killed by bandits. Shortly thereafter, a warrior of Iomedae met up with him, and took him under his protection. The two of them, in their travels, witnessed his rebirth into the spiritual realm of Iomedae followers, as the principle was easy for him to understand. Hunt down evil and stop it, and upon his vow to do this, Iomedae’s power started to flow through him.

When he got old enough, he parted ways with the older warrior, who provided him with his gear and equipment, and proceeded to Rostov, where he offered his sword to help tame the riverlands.

Kingdom roles
Councilor: Wisdom, or
Grand Diplomat: Intelligence, or
High Priest: Wisdom, or
Treasurer: Intelligence or Wisdom

Thomas looks over at the young lady that offering the charter, ”Miss, it would be my honour to provide my sword to help reduce the evil in the land. I am therefore honoured to accept a part in the charter, as a method of reducing it. As well, I hope that I will be with several other like minded people.”

My bloodline (Tarn Linnorm) is 3rd partyish don't know if you consider wayfinder magazine 3rd party or not. Thought I would bring it to your attention anyways. It's found in the pfsrd if you want to take a look at it yourself.

Scar the Silent
Male Halfling Druid 1
NG Small
Initiative +3; Perception +9
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, Touch 14, Flat-Footed 12
HP 9
Fort +5, Ref +4, Will +5
Speed 30 ft.
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Scythe +2 1d6+2 20 *4
Sling +4 1d3+1 20 *2
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 12 Dex 16 Con 13, Int 12, Wis 15, Cha 10
Base +0; CMB +0; CMD 13
Feats
Mounted Combat
Traits
Frontier-Forged, Pioneer
Skills
Acrobatics 0+3=3, Appraise 0+1=1, Bluff 0+0=0, Climb 0+1=1, Diplomacy 0+0=0, Disguise 0+0=0, Escape Artist 0+3=3, Fly 0+3=3, Handle Animal 1+5=6, Heal 1+5=6, Intimidate 0+0=0, Knowledge Nature 1+6=7, Perception 1+8=9, Perform 0+0=0, Ride 1+9=10, Sense Motive 0+2=2, Spellcraft 0+1=1, Stealth 0+7=7, Survival 1+8=9, Swim 0+1=1
Languages
Common, Druidic, Halfling, Sylvan
--------------------
Equipment
Backpack, small, Bedroll, small, Blanket, winter small, Bullets, sling (20), Chalk, Leather, small, Pouch, belt small, Rations, trail 5 days, Rope, silk(50 ft.), Scythe, small, Sling,small, Waterskin
--------------------
Spells
Create Water, Mending, Spark
Cure Light Wounds, Entangle
--------------------
Special
Outrider: Some halflings specialize in mounted combat. Halflings with this racial trait gain a +2 bonus on Handle Animal and Ride checks. This racial trait replaces sure-footed.

Erik was born 24 years ago, third child to two loving parents. He grew up on the outskirts of a small rural village where his parents had a small farm. From a young age Erik and his siblings worked on their parent’s farm, life was harsh but good. The years went on and Erik grew into a young man, sharing his mother’s interest for nature, he frequently explored the surrounding woods. It was on one of these trips he would find trouble with a capital T. Being out and about Erik had wandered a bit too far and found himself in a forbidden part of the woods. Recent rumors told of disappearances in this part of the woods. Gathering some herbs for his mother Erik came face to face with 3 kobolds. Not really armed, besides a small dagger, Erik decided to flee. He run as fast he could and thought he had outrun the kobolds when a he turned round the corner to come face to face with a ‘big’ kobold holding a large blade. Unable to dodge the coming attack, Erik felt the blade cutting him across the throat. Feeling the blood flow from the apparent mortal wound Erik put both is hands on his throat to stop the bleeding. Last thing he remembered while he lost consciousness was the ugly grin on the kobolds face.
He must be dreaming, on his way to his forefathers, when a wet sensation came over him. It was more of someone was washing his face and throat with a sturdy cloth. Opening his eyes Erik got the scare of his life. A small black bear was licking his face and the wound on his neck. Cursed I must be to almost die at the hand of that kobold, to survive by a miracle, then to get eaten by a bear Erik thought to himself. Please Erastil make this painless and quick.
After half a minute he still hadn’t been killed so Erik opened his eyes again to look straight into the bears eyes. He was pleasantly surprised to see not bloodlust or hunger but intelligence and kindness.
A friendship was born that moment between Cuddles, bear and Erik, halfling.
Cuddles protected Erik while he nursed himself back to life using the skills his mother had told him. After a week he was strong enough to travel and he set out for his home.
Devastated he was when he came upon the burned out ruins of his parent’s farm. No sign of any survivors Erik grieved for 2 days. Having no family left and without a home Erik decided to leave this place full of painful memories and he went deep into the forest.
That day Erik died and Scar the Silent was born. He taught himself, with some help from Erastil what he knows today.
Hearing of the chance to explore The Greenbelt Scar sees this as an opportunity to test his skills.
Riding on the back of Cuddles he looks around at the 5 other he shared this charter with…..

Harobrothum, or Haro for short, was raised just like any other gnome of the Sellen River Basin. He was taught of the First World and warned of the times that the planes merge into one. His young years were spent playing and learning the stories of his people. He learned that his heritage was a magical one, and they he was different from the humans around him.
Being raised in a largely human community, however, he learned tolerance, equality, and harmony when it came to dealing with the other races. He learned to embrace the brashness of humans, the reservations of elves, and everything in between. He found that people are more than their race, profession, or birthright. He learned that people are made up of languages and stories and histories rather than height, color of skin, or title of profession. He intended to learn all about the languages and people of the world, but he was still very small.
It was about this time that everything changed. He was ripped away from his family and community in an instant. A rift opened not far from his home, and it let dozens of dark fey cross into the material plane.
Haro, along with any valuables they could find, was taken back across the rift as plunder by the dark fey. He spent years trapped in the First World. The fey treated him as a housepet. At first he resisted. He fought wildly against his captors, all rage and anger. When his rage failed him, Haro accepted his fate. When he eventually, when he stopped resisting the fey, they game him freedoms. They lost interest in him, and while he was their prisoner, they left him mostly to his own devices. He would do his tasks when needed, and when noone was looking, he would steal away to the library. He would read of the swordlords or of the powerful wizards. He dreamed of freedom and returning home. At the same time, the twisted magics of the First World tore at him. They gave him dreams of revenge, deep depressions of sorrow, but also, the strength to push forward. Over time he learned all the books had to teach. He knew it was his time to seek his freedom. After many years of planning, he was in a position to steal a dueling sword fit for his size. Armed with this new weapon and his newfound knowledge, he managed to to catch a guard buy surprise. Although he knew the motions and stances of the swordlords, his body was unfamiliar with the motions. The guard landed a mighty blow, and Haro flew into a fearless rage. He swiftly overcame the defenses of the guard and made his way from the keep that had been both his home and prison for many years. He had timed his escape so that it coincided with another rift between the worlds and returned to Golarion.
By this time, 30 years had passed in his homeland. Haro was, by all rights, an adult. He had mastered the sword and he found strength in his rage at being captured. When he returned home, he found that his parents were killed trying to protect him. What friends he had as a child were dead, or had moved away long ago. He was an orphan in his own homeland. He was from another time and felt out of place. He decided to become an adventurer, and this brings him to where his story begins in Kingmaker...

Full Name : Furnok of Ferd

Race: Human(Taladin)

Classes/Levels : Ranger (Skirmisher)1 (hp favored)

Gender M

Size M

Age 18

Special Abilities :

Alignment: NG

Deity : Eristal

Location Stolen Lands

Languages Common.Elf,Orc

Occupation : Bounty Hunter

Strength 16 (+3)
Dexterity 14 (+2)
Constitution 14 (+2)
Intelligence 14 (+2)
Wisdom 10
Charisma 10
Height: 6'3" Weight: Hair: Black Eyes: Grey
Favored Class: Ranger(hp)
EXP:
Hit Points: 13
Spd: 30
Init: +6
AC: 17 ( 5 armor shield)/Touch 12 /FF15 )
BAB: +1
CMB: +4
CMD: 15
Saves: Fort +4 Ref +4 Will +0

Weapons:
Lucerne Hammer +4 1d12+4 BP Brace,Reach
Longbow +3 1d8/x3 100 ft
Falchion +4 2d4+4 18-20

Skills: (9 level)
Perception (1+2+3+1)7
Survival (1+2+3)6 +1 Tracking
Stealth (1+2+3) 6
Know-Geography (1+2+3) 6
Know-Nature (1+2+3) 6
Climb (1+3+3) 7
Swim (1+3+3) 7
Ride (1+2+3) 6
Handle Animal (1+3) 4

Feats:Improved Initiative, Combat Reflexes
Traits: Pioneer(+1 Perception),Axe to Grind(+1 damage against threatened foes)
Special Abilities: Favored Enemy(Humans) +2 Hit/Damage,Bluff,Knowledge,Perception,Sense Motive,Survival. +1 Tracking,Wild Empathy(+1)
Equipment:
Lucerne Hammer
Logbow
20 Arrows
Falchion
Scale Mail
Backpack
Waterskin
4 days rations
Silk rope
Bedroll
Manacles
Flint&Steel
Horse
1 gp 9 sp

Description: Furnok is a rough looking young man who has a small scattering of scars on his tanned features and looks somewhat older than
his 18 years. he keeps his hair in a short mop in order to keep it out of combat and makes sure his weapons and armor are spotless.
Background:Furnok grew up near Standpoint and had a simple and hard life as a lad whose parents encouraged him to join the militia at
a young age and he took well to the scouts but loved the up-front life of a frontline battler and melded the skills of scout and soldier
together. Instead of joining the army, he decided to become a bounty hunter for a while and see what the world has to offer. Currently his
motivations are simple; get better with his skills and increase his reputation as a bounty hunter. It remains to be seen if he can
achieve these goals and move on to other things.

Background: Illegitimate child and orphan. Grew up in Pitax in the River Kingdoms moving from charity house to charity house because of the taunts and fighting over her half-elven heritage. At about eight years old she fell in with river pirates. For the next three years she learned about river navigation, lock picking, and running cons. She was all for stealing and the occasional kidnapping for ransom, but when their group killed some sailors, she knew they had gone too far and decided to start over. Boche escaped from the river pirates and decided to atone for her crimes. While embarking on her new life, she met a wandering half-orc monk, Skelburt, who was hunting the pirates. Boche lead the monk to them and helped bring them to justice. Skelburt convinced her that life would be easier in the long term if she turned himself in to the authorities. They gave her a year of labor and fifteen lashes. At the end of her prison term, Skelburt was waiting for her. He claimed her as his ward and took her into the wild for to train her mind and body as well as improve her character. Twenty-one years later, she returned to the area and learned of the effort to explore the Stolen Lands. She petitioned the swordlords of Rostland to join a chartered company.

Personality: Friendly and outgoing. She has compassion for others and always attempts to give people the benefit of the doubt, but she knows there are evil and cruel people in the world, so she will look for signs that she is being lied to or getting conned. This manifests itself as sometimes being slow to answer questions or provide information as she subtly searches the person’s face and body language for clues.

Appearance: Patched second-hand clothes, faded from washing and wear, under a well made cloak. She has a sturdy walking staff, soft leather boots. Her elven features are prominent under short, light brown hair.

Goals: Survey the Stolen Lands and remove the threat of bandits; Establish a monastery.

Leadership Role: Treasurer (or anything Wisdom based, to be honest)

Boche
Half-elf Monk (Flowing Monk) 1
LN Female Medium Humanoid (half-elf)
Init +2 Senses low-light vision; Perception +8
--------------------
DEFENSE
--------------------
AC 16 (10+2+2+1+1), touch 16, flat-footed 11 (+2 Dex, +2 Wis, +1 dodge, +1 Snapping Turtle Style)
hp 9 (d8+1)
Fort +3 (+2+1), Ref +4 (+2+2), Will +4 (+2+2)
--------------------
OFFENSE
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee Unarmed +2 1d6+2 x2
Dagger +2 1d4+2 19-20/x2
Ranged Dagger +2 1d4 19-20/x2 10’
Short Spear +2 1d6 x2 20’
--------------------
STATISTICS
--------------------
Str14, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 13, Wis 15, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB +4; CMD 14 (16 without armor and encumbered)
Age: 32 Height: 5’5” Weight: 115
Feats Dodge, Snapping Turtle Style (+1 AC when one hand free)
Traits Brigand, Orphaned
Trained Skills Acrobatics +6 (+1+3+2), Perception +8 (+1+3+2+2), Sense Motive +6 (+1+3+2), Survival +7 (+1+3+2+1), Swim +10 (+1+3+2+4)
Untrained Skills Diplomacy +2 (+1+1)
Languages Common, Elven, Orc
Favored Class: Monk. 1st level +1 skill point
Gear

--------------------
CLASS ABILITIES
--------------------
Weapon and Armor Proficiency: Monks are proficient with the club, crossbow (light or heavy), dagger, handaxe, javelin, kama, nunchaku, quarterstaff, sai, shortspear, short sword, shuriken, siangham, sling, and spear.
Monks are not proficient with any armor or shields.
When wearing armor, using a shield, or carrying a medium or heavy load, a monk loses his AC bonus, as well as his fast movement and flurry of blows abilities.
AC Bonus (Ex): When unarmored and unencumbered, the monk adds his Wisdom bonus (if any) to his AC and his CMD. In addition, a monk gains a +1 bonus to AC and CMD at 4th level. This bonus increases by 1 for every four monk levels thereafter, up to a maximum of +5 at 20th level.
These bonuses to AC apply even against touch attacks or when the monk is flat-footed. He loses these bonuses when he is immobilized or helpless, when he wears any armor, when he carries a shield, or when he carries a medium or heavy load.
Flurry of Blows (Ex): Starting at 1st level, a monk can make a flurry of blows as a full-attack action. When doing so, he may make on additional attack, taking a -2 penalty on all of his attack rolls, as if using the Two-Weapon Fighting feat. These attacks can be any combination of unarmed strikes and attacks with a monk special weapon (he does not need to use two weapons to use this ability). For the purpose of these attacks, the monk's base attack bonus from his monk class levels is equal to his monk level. For all other purposes, such as qualifying for a feat or a prestige class, the monk uses his normal base attack bonus.
At 8th level, the monk can make two additional attacks when he uses flurry of blows, as if using Improved Two-Weapon Fighting (even if the monk does not meet the prerequisites for the feat).
At 15th level, the monk can make three additional attacks using flurry of blows, as if using Greater Two-Weapon Fighting (even if the monk does not meet the prerequisites for the feat).
A monk applies his full Strength bonus to his damage rolls for all successful attacks made with flurry of blows, whether the attacks are made with an off-hand or with a weapon wielded in both hands. A monk may substitute disarm, sunder, and trip combat maneuvers for unarmed attacks as part of a flurry of blows. A monk cannot use any weapon other than an unarmed strike or a special monk weapon as part of a flurry of blows. A monk with natural weapons cannot use such weapons as part of a flurry of blows, nor can he make natural attacks in addition to his flurry of blows attacks.
Unarmed Strike: At 1st level, a monk gains Improved Unarmed Strike as a bonus feat. A monk's attacks may be with fist, elbows, knees, and feet. This means that a monk may make unarmed strikes with his hands full. There is no such thing as an off-hand attack for a monk striking unarmed. A monk may thus apply his full Strength bonus on damage rolls for all his unarmed strikes.
Usually a monk's unarmed strikes deal lethal damage, but he can choose to deal nonlethal damage instead with no penalty on his attack roll. He has the same choice to deal lethal or nonlethal damage while grappling.
A monk's unarmed strike is treated as both a manufactured weapon and a natural weapon for the purpose of spells and effects that enhance or improve either manufactured weapons or natural weapons.
A monk also deals more damage with his unarmed strikes than a normal person would, as shown above on Table: Monk. The unarmed damage values listed on Table: Monk is for Medium monks.
Bonus Feat: A flowing monk replaces the normal monk bonus feats with the following: Agile Maneuvers, Combat Reflexes, Deflect Arrows, Dodge, Improved Reposition, Improved Trip, Nimble Moves, and Weapon Finesse. At 6th level, the following feats are also available: Acrobatic Steps, Bodyguard, Improved Disarm, Improved Feint, Ki Throw, Mobility, Second Chance, and Sidestep. At 10th level, the following feats are added: In Harm's Way, Repositioning Strike, Snatch Arrows, Spring Attack, and Tripping Strike
Redirection (Ex): At 1st level, as an immediate action, a flowing monk can attempt a reposition or trip combat maneuver against a creature that the flowing monk threatens and that attacks him. If the combat maneuver is successful, the attacker is sickened for 1 round (Reflex DC = 10 + 1/2 the monk's level + monk's Wisdom modifier to halve the duration), plus 1 additional round at 4th level and for every four levels afterward (to a maximum of 6 rounds at 20th level). The monk gains a +2 bonus on the reposition or trip combat maneuver check and the save DC for redirection increases by 2 if the attacker is using Power Attack or is charging when attacking him. The benefit increases to a +4 bonus and an increase of the saving throw by 4 if both apply.
At 4th level, a flowing monk can use redirection against an opponent that the flowing monk threatens and that attacks an ally with a melee attack. At 8th level, a flowing monk can make both a reposition and a trip maneuver as part of a single immediate action with this ability. At 12th level, a flowing monk can use redirection against any opponent that attacks him in melee, even if the flowing monk is not threatening the opponent who attacks him. A flowing monk can use this ability once per day per monk level, but no more than once per round. This ability replaces stunning fist.

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RACIAL TRAITS
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+2 to One Ability Score: Half-elf characters get a +2 bonus to one ability score of their choice at creation to represent their varied nature.
Medium: Half-elves are Medium creatures and have no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Normal Speed: Half-elves have a base speed of 30 feet.
Low-Light Vision: Half-elves can see twice as far as humans in conditions of dim light. See Additional Rules.
Elf Blood: Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.
Elven Immunities: Half-elves are immune to magic sleep effects and get a +2 racial saving throw bonus against enchantment spells and effects.
Keen Senses: Half-elves receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception skill checks.
Water Child: Some half-elves are born of elves adapted to life on or near the water. These half-elves gain a +4 racial bonus on Swim checks, can always take 10 while swimming, and may choose Aquan as a bonus language. This racial trait replaces the half-elf's adaptability and multitalented racial traits.
Languages: Half-elves begin play speaking Common and Elven. Half-elves with high Intelligence scores can choose any languages they want.

Born to a whore Bryseis's heritage was obvious from birth curved horns, pure golden orbs for eyes and even as babe a look of grim, hell forged determination. Cast out onto the streets by her mother Bryseis somehow survived, she drifted from orphanage to orphanage, subsisted on food that would have made most ill and generally survived.

Then the day that would define her came, she was always a curious child. Indeed she was surprisingly intelligent and when she heard that the local wizard wanted an apprentice she lined up with the rest of the children... She was summarily brought before the wizard and rejected, his guards subsequently threw her out bodily. That day she broke her first few bones and that day the burning drive and cynicism that characterized her crystallized like the fires of Hell.

Bryseis's focus turned to the other field that attracts so many tieflings besides the arcane, the battlefield. She learned from old military manuals, drunken mercenaries and her own brutal experience. From this mishmash emerged a brutal mercenary who made her way onto the battlefield for the first time...

The battle of the Fields was in full swing, mercenaries engaged soldiers of a renegade noble and Bryseis was right in the middle of it.

Seeing her opponent becoming frustrated at her seemingly impenetrable defense Bryseis decided to goad him, your lord ain't nothing copper head! Nothing but the damn whoreson who screwed yer mother!

His face flushing at the insult the idiot charged in and Bryseis batted his blade aside with her own, then she rammed her spiked shield into his belly... The spikes pierced deep into his stomach and blood poured forth from the puncture wounds like a swollen river.

Kicking the dying boy to the ground with her iron clad boot Bryseis moved to oppose the greatest threat upon the battlefield, the damn lord of these renegades himself. Using her spiked shield like a battering ram Bryseis took his two body guards by surprise, smashing into one's back with her spiked shield. As he staggered forward screaming in pain Bryseis brutally deflected the axe strike of the second retainer and then feinted with her shield while she raised her iron clad boot to smash the man's kneecap...

With a sickening crack the man's kneecap broke and he fell to one knee, as he fell Bryseis masterfully used the momentum of her shield to smash his face in. Dodging the inept strike of the injured guard she had smashed into first, Bryseis plunged her foe's weapon upward with her shield and then using the leverage stepped back... Using her reach she thrust with the longsword, plunging it right through the belly of the first retainer.

The cowardly lord had already run off on his horse and Bryseis watched as the battle reached it's bloody conclusion...

Bryseis is a coarse individual she is rude, cynical and utterly amoral. Despite this she is also a genuinely good tactician and she does not understand the meaning of the terms "surrender" and "give up". If she goes through with something she goes through with it, life has taught her that only through iron and blood is anything gained.

Bryseis despite her uncouth appearance and mercenary manner is genuinely intelligent, although her intelligence is less book smarts and more "tactical" then anything else. She won't be solving matters of high arcana any time soon, she will however be devising the battle plans that win the next damn war...

Above all else Bryseis wants to be a noble, she wants the "perks" (e.g good food, servants, manor houses etc..) and this is the reason she signed on for the expedition. This is a good time to try for nobility when it will not be determined by blood but by bloodshed.

Bryseis would probably take the role of General, Royal Enforcer or Treasurer (although she could make an unconventional spymaster).

Tiefling Warder 1
LN Medium humanoid (outsider)
Init +1; Senses Perception +0, Darkvision 60 ft.

DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +1 Dex, 2+ shield)
hp 15 (1d12+3)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +3
Stances Known Snapping Turtle Stance
cold resistance 5, electricity resistance 5, fire resistance 5

OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee Longsword +4 (1d8+3/19–20)
Ranged
Maneuvers Readied Iron Shell, Hunting Party, Tactical Strike

STATISTICS
Str 16, Dex 12 (10+2), Con 14, Int 16 (14+2), Wis 10, Cha 8 (10-2)
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Extra Traits, Combat Reflexes (bonus)
Skills Sense Motive 5+, Intimidate 7+, Bluff 5+, Knowledge (martial, history) 7+, Survival 4+, Profession (Soldier) 4+
Traits Bastard, Bruising Intellect, Axe to Grind, Cynic
Languages Common, Infernal, Elven, Abyssal, Draconic
Favored Class Bonus 1 extra hitpoint per level
Maneuvers Known
1st Angering Smash, Iron Shell, Encouraging Roar, Hunting Party, Tactical Strike
SQ Defensive focus, aegis +1 (10 ft.) Racial traits (Prehensile Tail)
equipment Scale Mail (50 gp), Spiked Shield, heavy steel (30 gp), Longsword (15 gp), 80 gp.