Kingmaker [PbP] (Inactive)

Game Master Jeff Przybylo

Peasant-born in Restov, Vors has looked forward to few options in life beyond working hard and living honorably among his fellow Rostlanders. When he came of age, Vors entered into service with the Restov city guard. After completing his vigorous training, he finds that he has taken well to the job, focusing his martial training in the use of the longsword and shield.

Vors loves the stories of the Swordlords and their single-minded focus on developing their mastery of bladed weaponry. While he doesn't dream too big - he'd be happy to be guard officer someday - he wonders what it would be like to be counted among their number. For now, he is trying to set aside all he can to marry his beloved, a serving girl named Reinala who grew up in the same neighborhood as he, hoping that in a year they might have enough to begin their life together.

Vors knows that he can be somewhat large and imposing, and lacks the refined social graces of the upper class. His good common sense keeps him from being brutish or nasty due to his size, and tends to favor careful observation over snap judgments.

Vors stands just over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and lank black hair. He looks quite used to wearing his scale armor, and carries both sword and shield with well-practiced ease. His clothes are plain but well maintained, and when his gauntlets are off you see a trio of intertwined blue and green threads forming a bracelet around his left wrist.

"Captain, do you have a minute, sir?" Vors enters and sits carefully where gestured, the bench creaking under his bulk. "Sir, I've seen three years now in service, from cadet to duty, and I think I've done much good for our city in that time. It is my honor to give back to my people, and I think I can do yet more."

The young man pulls out a slightly crumpled handbill and smooths it before showing it to the officer. "You are not unaware of this call for explorers to the Stolen Lands, I'm sure, Sir, and I believe that I could represent our city and the Guard with honor out in the wilds. Those who are going will need a strong defense against the harsh beasts and bandits in that land, and I have readily proven my ability to defend those in need here in the city." Vors clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with asking for something for himself.

”And so, Sir, I seek your recommendation to put forth my name to the Swordlords for this expedition. This is a great opportunity for our great city, and I look forward to the opportunity to serve Restov in this new venture."

When he is dismissed, Vors stands to attention, salutes, and says, "Thank you, Sir, for your time," and proceeds out the door to the guard barracks.

Human Fighter 1
LN male humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +2

DEFENSE
AC 19, touch 11, flat-footed 18 (+5 armor, +3 shield, +1 DEX)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +1

OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee longsword +6 (1d8+3/19–20) or warhammer +4 (1d8+3/x2) or spiked gauntlet +4 (1d4+3/x2)
Ranged throwing axe +3 (1d6+3/×3, 20')

STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 8
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 16
Feats (3) Power Attack, Shield Focus, Weapon Focus (Longsword)
Skills (4) Climb +1, Intimidate +3, Perception +2, Survival +5
Traits (2) Sword Scion, Militia Veteran (Profession(Soldier))
Languages Common

Gear longsword, warhammer, spiked gauntlet, throwing axe, scale mail, heavy wooden shield, mule, pack saddle, compass, fighter's kit, small tent, cold weather outfit, traveler's outfit x3, signal horn, shield sconce

Coins: 8 gp

Favored Class: Fighter
L1) Skill

Fenrir Last-Laugh
Male Human (Ulfen) Barbarian 1
CG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +4
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +2 shield, +1 Dex)
hp 15 (1d12+3)
Fort +5, Ref +1, Will +0
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee bastard sword +4 (1d10+2/19-20) and
dagger +3 (1d4+2/19-20)
Ranged throwing axe +2 (1d6+2)
Special Attacks rage (7 rounds/day)
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 12, Con 16, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 13
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 14
Feats Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bastard sword), Weapon Focus (bastard sword)
Traits indelible ire
Skills Climb +0, Intimidate +5, Perception +4, Ride -1, Survival +4, Swim +0
Languages Common, Skald
SQ fast movement
Other Gear scale mail, heavy wooden shield, bastard sword, dagger, throwing axe (2), backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, blanket, winter, flint and steel, trail rations (5), waterskin, whetstone, 10 gp, 8 sp, 8 cp
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Special Abilities
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Fast Movement +10 (Ex) +10 feet to speed, unless heavily loaded.
Indelible Ire +1 trait bonus on attack rolls for 1 round when a critical hit is confirmed against you
Rage (7 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged.
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Fenrir has lead a hard life. His father was a drunk and a gambler and unable to pay his debts he sold Fenrir as thrall to a reaver captain to whom he owed heavily. At 6 years of age Fenrir became cabin boy on an Ulfen longship, raiding along the coast of Varisia and beyond. The work was long, hard and grueling and failure was met with brutal beatings by the captain yet Fenrir endured . As he grew Fenrir would often draw his master's wrath on purpose, taking the abuse with relish. He grew more rebellious, often calling out the captain or the crew, until the captain finally thought to teach the upstart a lesson. Before the rest of the crew the captain announced that if the boy could defeat him he would win his freedom. The battle was ridiculously one sided, with the captain repeatedly driving Fenrir to his knees or laying him out on his back, much to the amusement of himself and the bloodthirsty reavers watching. At last, bloody and dazed Fenrir was pulled to his feet and held by two crew members whilst the captain cut two deep lines from either corner of Fenrir's mouth, curving upwards in a vicious looking bloody grin. "Now perhaps you'll keep a better humor dog" the captain laughed as he let Fenrir drop to the blood slick deck. Thinking his lesson well taught, he turned to his crew, barking orders to get back to work. To his and the crew's great surprise a voice bellowed out "we are not done yet!!" Turning back in disbelief the crew and captain saw Fenrir on his feat, swaying, bloody, yet a fire burned deep in his wild eyes. Fear clutched at the captain's heart as he looked on this specter of hatred and rage that stood before him, suddenly no longer the meek thrall. With a savage yell Fenrir surged forward, fists raining savage blows, driving his long time tormenter to the ground, not relenting until the captain was no more than a bloody pulp laying on the deck. After witnessing this display the crew left Fenrir be the rest of the voyage home. Upon reaching port he was allowed to leave and never once looked back. Since then Fenrir has wandered, earning a living by the sword wherever he can. The scars on his face healed into a wicked, macabre grin and due to this and the story of his winning his freedom he became known as "Last-Laugh"

Despite the cruel years spent in thralldom, Fenrir is possessed of a rather cheerful demeanor, boisterous, brash and good natured. He is fond of strong drink, good company and crude jests. He takes the view that any day can be his last so he lives deliberately and enjoys himself as much as he can and his means allow. He can however suddenly become grim, particularly when witnessing bullying or slavery and in these moments he becomes quite dangerous.

Fenrir is lean, tall and well muscled like many Ulfens. He wears his red hair long and in braids the same as his beard. The grim scarred grin stands out all the more as the hair on his face does not grow along the scars. In addition to these Fenrir bears many other marks on his chest, arms, back and legs both from beatings he received while a thrall as well as more recent ones from various battles he has been involved in. To add to his somewhat savage appearance he is covered in tattoos done in traditional Ulfen style.

"come, sit, fill your horn to the brim and drink with me you stodgy bastard. Let us get deep in our cups and while the night away with jest and bold tales"

Gavriil
Human (Ulfen) Swashbuckler 1
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +4
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Defense
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AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 10 (1d10)
Fort +0, Ref +5, Will +1
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee rapier +3 (1d6+1/18-20) and
. . war razor +1 (1d4+1/19-20)
Special Attacks deed: opportune parry and riposte, panache
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Statistics
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Str 13, Dex 17, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +1; CMD 16 (16 vs. disarm, 16 vs. steal, 16 vs. sunder)
Feats Combat Expertise, Combat Reflexes
Traits bastard, fencer
Skills Acrobatics +6, Bluff +6, Diplomacy +6, Knowledge (nobility) +4, Perception +4, Perform (dance) +6; Racial Modifiers bastard, deed: derring-do
Languages Common, Skald
SQ deed: dodging panache, swashbuckler finesse
Other Gear studded leather, rapier, war razor, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, trail rations (5), waterskin, 91 gp, 4 sp
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Special Abilities
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Bastard -1 CHA skills vs. Brevic Nobility, +1 Will save.
Combat Expertise +/-1 Bonus to AC in exchange for an equal penalty to attack.
Combat Reflexes (4 AoO/round) Can make extra attacks of opportunity/rd, and even when flat-footed.
Deed: Derring-Do (Ex) Spend 1 panache to add 1d6 when making Escape Artist, Fly, Ride, or Swim check.
Deed: Dodging Panache +2 (Ex) When attacked, spend 1 panache to step 5 ft. and gain +2 to AC vs. attack.
Deed: Opportune Parry and Riposte (Ex) 1 panache and 1 AoO to attempt to parry a melee attack, then counterattack.
Fencer +1 to hit with dagger or sword AoOs.
Panache (Ex) Gain a pool of points that are spent to fuel deeds, regained on light/piercing crit/killing blow.
Swashbuckler Finesse At 1st level, a swashbuckler gains the benefits of the Weapon Finesse feat with light or one-handed piercing melee weapons, and she can use her Charisma score in place of Intelligence as a prerequisite for Combat Expertise. This ability counts as having Weapon Finnese for the purpose of meeting feat prerequisites

I guess it's time I tell you a little about myself. The name's Gavriil, just Gavriil, no surname because my Da', gods curse his soul, couldn't loose face claiming an illegitimate son. According to ma', I'm the son to some duke or baron (I don't really care what his real title is) named Dimitry Surtova. That's right, mama's bouncing baby boy is a bastard child of freakin royalty! Except for the fact that the small-peckered prick wouldn't even claim me and left my mother to live out her days as a serving wench in the local tavern. He didn't even send her money to get by on!
My mother (gods bless her kind-hearted soul) did the very best to get by. We didn't have a lot, but we had each other. Eventually, she did marry to a merchant on the Sellen River when I was about six. The man was nice enough and kept us off the streets, but he was gone for months at a time on runs. Which left my mother to take care of myself and the little brat the merchant and her sired. Imagine that! A man who actually takes credit for what he dipped his beanstalk into.

We went on like that for a couple of years. My mother did the best she could with the money my step-da' sent us, while I helped by doing small jobs at the marketplace and watching the kid. Eventually, though, I found another way to start making some money. A lot of the merchants going in and out of New Stetven didn't exactly like paying the taxes on the goods they moved along the Sellen, and not all the goods moving through the docks were strictly legal. So when a man approaches me one day offering me 200 gold just to move some crates at night, I says to the man, "For that kinda money I'll do flips while I move it."

The job was simple. All I had to do was meet with a couple of guys in a back alley-way, follow them to a warehouse, and help them move some stuff onto a ship. Sure it was a bit sketchy, with a couple of guys armed with axes just watching out for guards while we moved the merchandise, but hey! two hundred gold is two hundred gold! Plus, it went off without a hitch! So I didn't see any harm in helping out my fellow man. I pulled an operation like that almost twice a month for a couple of years, and I only got pinched once! A couple of weeks in the stocks and I was back out on the streets wheelin' and dealin'!

Times were good then. The family had money in their pockets, ma' didn't have to work as many shifts at the tavern, and the brat was actually not so annoying once he could do more than eat, sleep, and poop in his drawers. I even had enough money to start carrying a one of those fancy swords all the nobles wore on their hips and a few lessons to know where to stick the pointy end (found out a little late that the pointy end should never be pointed towards me... but that's a story for another time)

Yeah, times have been pretty good to me lately. That is until I got drunk about a month ago. I was out drinking with a few of my buddies and I was going on and on about how I was royalty. So one of my friends turn to me and says, "Yeah? Well if you's is royalty, why are you hanging out with us?" and I says, "Because the prick left me ma' high and dry!" and that's when my friend tells me he heard that the noble prick who made my life so difficult like to go for walks in the nice part of town in the evenings. So of course I go to confront the bastard!

The problem was, he wasn't strictly alone. See he had a couple of guards with him and his daughter. Now there was a girl unlike any I'd ever seen. Long blonde hair, beautiful porcelain skin, and blue eyes you could swim in. Seeing her made me forget all about confronting her da'. So I walk up to her and say, "C'mon, we're only half related." Yeah, I know, probably not the best thing to say to a lady, especially when her prick of a father was standing right there, but I was under the influence! So, her da' sicks his guards on me and I have to make a run for it. Luckily, I knew those streets a little better than those pricks who just sat around dear ole' da's house all day "protecting him." Pshhh... more like knocking back ale and sitting on their asses. I give them the slip down by the warehouses and make a break for home.

I tried laying low for a few days, thinking it would all blow over, but it was very clear that da' had finally had enough of his least favorite person in the city. So, I tell ma' and the brat that I have to get out of town. Of course ma' is blubbering and crying and the brat's rubbing it in my face, but I'm on a strict time schedule, so I tell ma' that I'm heading to Restov and I'll send her money when I can. I even leave her most of what I had saved up, just taking enough to get by on. Then I high-tail it straight out of the city of my youth and head straight for the free city.

And that's where I've been for the past few weeks, only now I've got some job working for the mayor. Can you believe that?! The freaking mayor himself has me on his little payroll. He says he'll pay big for people to head south and scope out the Stolen Lands. I would like to be able to say that this is me turning a new leaf, but I don't think what the mayor has us doing is legal in the strictest sense of the word. But hey! I can't say no to a pretty copper!

Gavriil is basically the scum you scrape off the bottom of your boots after a long day of gutting fish, but he has a big heart. He is loud, boisterous, and quick to voice his opinion even when no one wants it. This often leads him into trouble with all sorts of people. From the town constable to tavern wenches everywhere, his antics have gotten him in trouble. But looking past that, he really is a diamond in the rough. He has a soft spot for bastards, orphans, and animals. He sees them all as helpless and would go out of his way to help any of them, even if the way he goes about doing it gets him in trouble. While he isn't very book smart, years of growing up with barely anything to get by on has made his street smart beyond your wildest dreams. Carefree and easy going, Gavriil is not hard to befriend, but it is hard to gain his trust. Once you have it though, there's virtually nothing he won't do for you.

Alright, so for records, I'm 6'1" and 160 lbs, which means I'm skinny, but I'm wiry. (For you uneducated folks that means I can still kick your arse.) I've got dark-brown har that I like to keep short and swept back. Nothing is more annoying than not being able to see because you have hair in your eyes. Speaking of eyes, I've got two of them like most people and they're green. Not "they're the color of a deep emerald sitting majestically on the bottom of a blue-green ocean" like I'm some kind of annoying poet, just green. I'm a simple man who likes to keep his clothing just as simple as the modest man they cover. Brown slacks, brown boots, and brown vest over a white shirt, but what I'd like to do some day is get some of those nice duds the nobles always walk around in. That'll be a big middle finger to daddy-dearest. Oh, and one more thing, for all those ladies reading this, I like to think I have a rugged charm to my looks.

Gavriil sat on the back of the wagon that was supposed to be heading for a place called "Oleg's Trading Post" in the stolen lands. Apparently, that was supposed to be his first stop along the way. He had a half-eaten apple in one hand and the document stating that he was officially reporting for the Mayor of Restov in the other. A cheesy, apple-ridden smile spread across his face as he read the document over and over again. Pinch me I must be dreaming He thought as he stared at the seal of the mayor on it. A small dribble of saliva and apple fell from his grinning mouth and slopped down on the letter. He quickly snapped out of his revelry and wiped his mouth with the back of the hand holding the apple. Whoops, I guess I was dreaming.

Snapped out of his day-dreaming, he looked around himself when he heard a man yelling at someone in a heated tone. Not seeing anyone immediately, he layed back in the wagon to rest while he waited for the others. But the yelling continued as a nice background noise, ruining the perfect day. He sighed heavily with his eyes closed and thought, I guess no matter what city you're in, it's always the same s$@+ He was just about to nod off when he heard a dull thwack of a fist meeting flabby skin and the sound of a young boy crying out. He sat bolt upright and hopped out of the back of the wagon, straining his ears to hear. Yup, the bastard is definitely hitting a kid...

He followed the sound of the shouting man until he came to an alley behind a butcher's shop. There a tall, muscular butcher with a balding head and a thick moustache was red in the face screaming at a plump little boy wearing rags, while he kicked the poor boy in the ribs. Gavriil frowned and said to the man, "What seems to be the problem, baldy?"

The butcher turned around, his face the deepest shade of red Gavriil had ever seen on a man before. He waved a long butcher's knife in Garviil's direction and yelled, "None of your damned business!" He stood, glowering at Gavriil as Gavriil nonchalantly took a few steps forward and placed his hand of the pommel of his rapier.

Gavriil smiled at the butcher and said, "Well, normally I would agree with ya, but you did interrupt my nap, so it is part of my 'damned business'." He took one final bite of his apple and dropped it to the ground before kicking it down the alley towards the butcher. His hand still lay easily on his pommel, ready to draw it out in a moment's notice. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He had just gotten his new job and he doubted it he'd be kept on if he stabbed someone in the mayor's city, but he wasn't about to let this guy beat this child to death.

The butcher continued to glare daggers into Gavriil, without getting so much of a response from the swashbuckler. Finally, he broke his glare off and said, [b]"If you must know, I caught the boy stealing from my storage! I'm just teaching him a lesson. This is generous. If I had stolen something when I was a child I would have had my hands cut off."

Gavrill gave a slight frown and nodded before saying, "Yes, times were very different in the time before Earthfall, baldy, but I think the boy has had enough."

The butcher turned an even deeper shade of red than before and started closer to Gavriil, still waving the knife around like it was a pointer and not a lethal weapon. "I don't know who you think you are bu-" was all the butcher was able to get out before Gavriil got sick of having the knife waved around in his face.

Gavriil grabbed the butcher's arm with the knife in it at the wrist and swept his leg as he was stepping forward, sending the man tumbling backwards on his arse. Gone was the face red was anger. It was replaced with a look of stunned surprise followed by a look of pain as Gavriil twisted the man's wrist, causing him to drop his knife. He drew his razor out and pressed the blade to the man's throat and said, "You really shouldn't wave sharp objects in people's faces, it makes them a little hostile." He looked from the butcher to the boy, who was sitting up with s shocked expression on his face, then back to the buthcer and continued, "Now, you're going to apologize to the-"

"LIKE HELL I-" started the butcher before he was silenced by Gavriil twisting his arm in an awkward position.

Now it was Gavriil's turn to glower. "Don't interrupt me again or I'll break your arm." He gave a slight pause to make sure the butcher heard him. "Now, as I was saying, you're going to apologize to porky over there for the excessive amount of force you used on him. Then, he's going to take what he took from you so he doesn't go hungry tonight and I'm going to pay you for it. And you, well, you get payed and you don't get your arm broken. So everybody wins." He put a little more pressure on the man's arm to drive home the point that he really would break the man's arm.

The butcher glowered at Gavriil, and for a moment the rogue thought he was going to have to put the bastard out of business for a while. Finally, the butcher lowered his head and agreed to the terms. Gavriil looked at the boy and nodded towards the meat, letting him know it was ok to take. Once the boy was out of sight, Gavriil released the man's arm and dropped a ten gold pieces on the ground as the man rubbed his shoulder. "That should be plenty to cover what he took," and he turned to walk away.

Just as he was almost out of the alley, the buthcer called out to him, "I'll make sure the guards string you up for this!"

Gavrill paused and looked back at the man. He flashed a smile at him and said, "Tell them to get in line," before laughing at his own joke and walking back to the wagon to continue his nap. Yup, every city's the same..."

Asha Beltrice Medvyed
Human Cleric of Erastil 1
LN Medium humanoid (human)
Hero Points 1
Init +2; Senses Perception +3
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 8 (1d8)
Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +4
Resist noble born - medvyed
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee club +2 (1d6+2) and
. . unarmed strike +2 (1d3+2 nonlethal)
Ranged shortbow +2 (1d6/×3)
Special Attacks channel positive energy 3/day (DC 10, 1d6)
Domain Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 5/day—calming touch (0d0 nonlethal damage)
Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3):
. . 1st—bless, calm animals[D] (DC 13), obscuring mist
. . 0 (at will)—create water, light, stabilize
. . D Domain spell; Domains Animal, Community, Feather
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 15, Con 10, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 14
Feats Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Traits beast bond, noble born - medvyed
Skills Diplomacy +4, Heal +6, Knowledge (religion) +5, Perception +3, Ride +4, Spellcraft +5; Racial Modifiers +1 Perception, noble born - medvyed
Languages Common, Sylvan
SQ aura, eyes of the hawk, hero points
Other Gear leather armor, arrows (20), club, shortbow, cleric's kit, riding kit, light horse, 2 gp
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TRACKED RESOURCES
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Arrows - 0/20
Calming Touch (5/day) (Sp) - 0/5
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (3/day, DC 10) (Su) - 0/3
Club - 0/1
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Special Abilities
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Aura (Ex) The Cleric has an aura corresponding to his deity's alignment.
Calming Touch (5/day) (Sp) Heal 1d6 nonlethal damage and cure conditions by touch.
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (3/day, DC 10) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Cleric Domain (Community) Granted Powers: Your touch can heal wounds, and your presence instills unity and strengthens emotional bonds.
Cleric Domain (Feather) Add Fly to your list of class skills. In addition, whenever you cast a spell that grants you a fly speed, your maneuverability increases by one step (up to perfect).
Eyes of the Hawk (+1 Perception/+2 Init.) (Su) +2 Initiative during a surprise round.
Hero Points (1) Hero Points can be spent at any time to grant a variety of bonuses.
Noble Born - Medvyed +2 Diplomacy vs. Fey, +1 will save vs. fey spells and supernatural abilities.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee.

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Horse, light
Horse
N Large animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 11, touch 11, flat-footed 9 (+2 Dex, -1 size)
hp 15 (2d8+6)
Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +1
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Offense
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Speed 50 ft.
Melee 2 hooves -2 (1d4+1) and
. . unarmed strike +3 (1d4+3 nonlethal)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 14, Con 17, Int 2, Wis 13, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 (21 vs. trip)
Feats Endurance, Run
Tricks Come, Heel, Riding, Stay
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+6 to jump with a running start), Perception +6
SQ riding
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TRACKED RESOURCES
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. . -none-
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Special Abilities
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Endurance +4 to a variety of fort saves, skill and ability checks. Sleep in L/M armor with no fatigue.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Riding [Trick] The animal has been trained to bear a rider.
Run Run 5x your speed in light/medium armor or 4x speed in heavy armor and keep Dex when running.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ feet by sense of smell.

Asha grew up in Brevoy along the East Sellen river. She took to the teachings of Erastil at a young age as her father, a minor noble of House Medvyed, was a follower himself. When she was 13 some fey creature attacked her and her friend Kieran while they were out in the woods exploring. She only survived the encounter because of her childhood friend Kieran. Kieran and Asha had been great friends ever since they could remember, sneaking off to play prince and princess, or have imaginary battles against some icky goblins. It wasn't until the fey attack that Erastil's blessings shone through Asha. Her best friend slowly slipping away she called on Erastil to help her save her friend, bringing just enough of Erastil's warmth into the world to save Kieran.

While the two still had each other Kieran grew bitter at the fey while Asha found strength and respect in her new found deeper connection with her god. Eventually the two split ways, Kieran off to the River Kingdoms while Asha stayed in Brevoy teaching the ways of Erastil, tending to the land and the creatures of the forrest. Now, with a little experience under her belt she's decided it is time to make a place in this world for herself, while also spreading the word of Erastil

Asha is pretty easy going. Even with some rough aspects in life her faith has always served her well and she generally has a sunny disposition. She is calm and patient, slow to anger but fierce if pushed over the edge. She follows her own code, but doesn't like breaking rules.

Asha is young, maybe in her 20s. She is pretty but it is a simple beauty. Vibrant brown hair hangs down to a little past shoulder length and makes a perfect frame for hypnotizing green eyes, a playful grin and her button of a nose. You can tell by the shade of her skin she is no stranger to the outdoors. While only standing a little over 5 feet tall, her athletic build is very apparent. She wears leather armor over an earthen toned blouse that stops at her shoulders. Her arms are very toned and she wears an arm guard on the underside of her lower left arm. The rest of her clothes are very utilitarian and while clean are well worn.

The sun shines in the eastern sky, its approaching midday and there is no one else around. Luckily Asha enjoys the wilderness, but with her stomach grumbling she knows it’s time for a break. Asha sits down on a nearby stone to rest a moment, offloading her pack and quiver then carefully leaning her bow against the side of the rock. She looks both ways down the road and lets out a brief sigh and shakes her head as she stares down the way she came.

Hrmph... I really should have gotten myself a horse. This is quite the trek. She shrugs to herself and then smiles as she reaches into a pocket pulling out a small parchment. Reading over it, now for the 20th time, she rolls it back up and stows it back in her pocket. At least I’ll be able to do some exploration and possibly garner some favor with the Swordlords of Restov.

Rummaging through her pack she finds a small parcel and opens it carefully. She takes the hardtack and smoked venison jerky out making what somewhat resembles a sandwich and begins to eat in hopes of satisfying her overly noisy, rumbling tummy. A moment later she retrieves her waterskin, shaking it a moment she un-quarks it, brings it to her lips and lets the few drops of water remaining fall into her mouth. Once there is no more water she holds it between her hands and recites a small prayer to Erastil as the waterskin begins to fill with water. After finishing her meager lunch she packs everything up, hoists her pack and quiver over her shoulders then picks up her bow and continues on her way.

Name: Magnitofera Skeller
Race: Dwarf
Classes: Paladin 1 (Holy Tactician)
Hit Points: 12
Experience: 0 / 2000
Alignment: Lawful Good
Vision: Darkvision (60 ft.)
Speed: Walk 20 ft.
Languages: Common, Dwarven
Stat Score Mod
STR 14 (+2)
DEX 10 (+0)
CON 12 (+1)
INT 10 (+0)
WIS 12 (+1)
CHA 14 (+2)
Traits: Dangerously Curious (Magic); Pioneer (Ride - Kingmaker)
-------------------------- Skills --------------------------
Ranks in: Craft (Blacksmithing), Ride
Skill Total
Acrobatics -6
Acrobatics (Jump) -10
Appraise 0
Bluff 2
Climb -4
Craft (Blacksmithing) 4
Craft (Untrained) 0
Diplomacy 2
Disguise 2
Escape Artist -6
Fly -6
Heal 1
Intimidate 2
Perception 1
Perception (Notice unusual stonework) 3
Perform (Untrained) 2
Ride -1
Sense Motive 1
Stealth -6
Survival 1
Swim -4

-------------------------- Feats ---------------------------
Power Attack

-------------------------- Combat --------------------------
AC: 17 Touch: 12 Flat-Footed 17
Initiative: +0
BAB: +1
Melee to hit: +3
Ranged to hit: +1
Fortitude: +3
Reflex: +0
Will: +3
Unarmed attack (Gauntlet): +3; 1d3+2
Dwarven Waraxe [Power Attack (Two-Handed)]: +2; 1d10+6 (x3)
Lance: +3; 1d8+2 (x3)
Special properties: One Handed when mounted, Two Handed otherwise. Double damage from a charging mount.

------------------------- Equipment ------------------------
Name QTY LBS
Waraxe (Dwarven) 1 0 lbs
Shield (Heavy/Wooden) 1 10 lbs
Vestments (Cleric's) 1 6 lbs
Scale Mail 1 30 lbs
Holy Symbol (Wooden) 1 0 lbs
Pouch (Belt) (1.74 lbs.)
Coin (Copper Piece) 20 0 lbs
Coin (Gold Piece) 22 0 lbs
Coin (Silver Piece) 20 0 lbs
Horse (Light) (900 lbs.)
Saddle (Riding) 1 25 lbs
Saddlebags 1 8 lbs
Bit and Bridle 1 1 lbs
Blanket 1 3 lbs
Waraxe (Dwarven) 1 8 lbs
Saddlebags (71 lbs.)
Backpack 1 2 lbs
Bedroll 1 5 lbs
Feed (Per Day) 2 20 lbs
Flint and Steel 1 0 lbs
Holy Text (Cheap) 1 1 lbs
Mess Kit 1 1 lbs
Pot (Iron) 1 4 lbs
Rations (Trail/Per Day) 5 5 lbs
Rope (Hemp/50 ft) 1 10 lbs
Soap (per lb) 1 1l bs
Torch 10 10 lbs
Waterskin (Filled) 1 4 lbs
Backpack (2 lbs.)
Pot (Iron) (4 lbs.)
Total weight carried: 57.74
Current load: Light
Encumbrance
Light: 58
Medium: 116
Heavy: 175

Magnitofera's family always wanted for her to become one of Torag's chosen, a virgin shieldmaiden devoted to the community of Brunderton in eastern Rostland. All her life she was groomed and prepared for it.
The problem was her childhood friend, Krieger.
The handsome and charismatic Krieger (Magna - as she is called - don' t realize she is even more charismatic than he is) has always caused feelings and ideas in her that are not adequate or correct for her, and she has always fought to have those feelings in check, trying to quell the flame that can destroy her predestined future...
So her family has asked for her to go away, into the Stolen Lands, as a way to preserve her honor. She took the chastity vows, got her equipment, mount her new horse given to her by her family, and left her home to start anew in the Stolen Lands.

She has, as a good dwarven daughter, always look for exceed the hopes of her family, clan and community. She was grommed to lead, to guide, to be a reference for her people. A Mother and protector.
But, inside, she has a broken heart. She has left the love of her life behind, and she has to grow to become what is expected from her.
So he goes to the forge, and start hammering away, building items for the community. She knows every hit of the hammer makes the metal take shape. Every hit purifies it. Every hit makes it better, more useful, more perfect. She will take her heart and hit it once and again, until it is perfect. Even if it pains as much is it is now.

The first time people, specially Dwarves, see Magnitofera, they know this is one of the most beautiful Dwarven girl they have ever seen. And when she starts to talk to them, they can't believe she can be so charming too. Her hair crop short (not good idea to have it long in the forge), normally dressed in a long well-used blacksmith apron. A simple ring hangs from her ear lobe. No one knows it was given to her by Krieger. A last remembrance of the life she will not live.

"I hope the heat doesn't bother you. A forge should always be hot. I will finish these horseshoes in a minute. What? Why I am doing this? This is the better way to worship Torag. To help build a better world, one horseshoe at a time. A life well lived is a life spend making a better tomorrow. Build better horseshoes, better families, better communities and better kingdoms. A better world. And there will be need for a lot of hammering for that..."
She puts the last horseshoe in a barrel of water, and after taking it out she puts it away and dives her own head in the water. She takes it out a second after, dipping water around, smiling, her hair soaking wet and her face glowing with the forge fires reflected on the water on her face.
She looks beautiful, in a rough dwarven kind of way.
"It is warm. I love to feel it warm on my face. So my mission on the Stolen Lands is to make a better tomorrow."
She takes her hand to her only earring, an iron simple circle.
No one notices the tears masked by the smile on her lips and the water already on her face.

Stats
STR: 13
DEX: 15
CON: 10
INT: 12
WIS: 10
CHA: 16
Skills

• Acrobatics (Bonus = 7)
• Bluff (Bonus = 7)
• Craft: Weapons (Bonus = 7)
• Diplomacy (Bonus = 7)
• Knowledge: Local (Bonus = 5)
• Perform: Dance (Bonus = 7)
• Sleight of Hand (Bonus = 6)

Feats
Weapon and Armor Proficiencies: A dervish dancer is proficient with all simple weapons, plus the longsword, sap, short sword, shortbow, scimitar and kukri (these last two replace rapiers and whips). Dervish Dancers are also proficient with light armor and shields (except tower shields), and they can cast spells while wearing light armor and shields without incurring the normal arcane spell failure chance (excepting spells received from other classes).
Scorching Weapons (Combat): Elemental fire stirs within your body, boiling your blood and redering you resistant to flame. Gain a +2 bonus on saving throws against fire attacks and spells with the fire or light descriptor. As a swift action she can make up to two held manufactured metallic weapons become red-hot for one round, dealing 1 additional point of fire damage with a successful hit (does not stack with other effects that add fire effects to weapons).
Traits
Sword Scion: She begins with a longsword or an Aldori dueling sword (longsword chosen) and a +1 trait bonus on all attacks and combat maneubers made with such weapons. This is due to having lived all of her life in and around the city of Restov, growing up on tales of Baron Sirian Aldori and the legendary swordlords. Dreaming of joing since childhood, she has idolized the heroes, styles, and philosophies of the Aldori, seeking to mimic their vaunted art. She feels, however, that she needs to prove herself prior for petitioning for admission, and what better test than this expedition into the Stolen Lands?
Reckless: She has a tendancy for rash behavior, often disregarding her own safety as she moves across the battlefield. She gains a +1 bonus on Acrobatics checks and Acrobatics is always a class skill.
Class Feats & Features
Spells: A Dervish Dancer casts arcane spells from the bard spell lists. She can cast any spell she knows without advance preparation, each one has a verbal componenant (song, recitation or music). Must have a CHA score equal to 10 + the spell level. DC for saving throws against equals 10 + spell level + dervish's CHA modifier.
Can only cast a certain amount of spells per day, as alotted in the Bard Spells per day tables, modified by CHA score. Known spells are not modified by CHA.
Bardic Performance: Trained to use her Perform skillto create magical effects on those around her for 4 rounds per day plus her CHA modifier (increases by 2 rounds each level after first). Starting a performance is a standard action, but it can be maintained each round as a free action after. If audable, subjects must be able to hear her to take effect (20% chance to fail if she is deaf). If visual, must be in line of sight to take effect (50% chance if she is blind).
Distraction (Su): May use performance to counter magic effects that require sight. Makes a perform (dance) skill check for each round, any creature within 30 FT (including the bard) that is affected by an illusion (pattern or figment) may use the check instead of its saving throw, if the saving throw proves to be lower. If already under the affects of a non instantanious illusion (pattern or figment) it gains another saving throw against the effect each round it sees the distraction, but must use the Perform skill check for the results of the save.
Fascinate (Su): Can use performance to cause one or more creatures to become fascinated with her. Each creature to be fascinated must be within 90 FT, able to see and hear her, and capable of paying attention to her. She must also be able to see and hear them. Combat or dangers nearby prevent this from working. Each creature to be affected receives a will save (DC 10+ 1/2 bard level + CHA modifier), if sucessful, cannot be targeted again for 24 hours. If fails, sits quietly and observes the performance as long as teh bard continues to maintain it, taking a -4 penalty on all skill checks made as reactions, though any potential threats to the target allow it to make a new saving throw (and obvious threats automatically break it). Fascinate is an enchantment (compulsion) mind-affecting ability, relying on audible and visual components to function.
Battle Dance: Dervish Dancers are trained to use the Perform skill (especially dance) to create magical effects on herself. This works like bardic performance, except the dervish dancer only affects herself, and does not need to be able to see or hear her own performance. All feats, abilities, effects that normally affect bardic performance affect battle dancing (except Lingering Performance or any other ability that allows a bardic performance to grant bonuses after it has ended). Battle dancing only applies benefits when the dervish dancer is wearing light or no armor, and cannot be maintained at the same time as other performance abilities.
Starting the battle dance is a move action that can be maintained each round as a free action, though changing the effect requires the previous one to stop and the new one to begin as a new move action. The benefits end immediately when the dervish dancer is killed, paralyzed, stunned, knocked unconscious, or otherwise prevented from taking a free action each round. Only one type of battle dance can be performed at a time.
Dervish dancers begin with the ability to perform the inspire courage affects. Inspire Courage (Su) bolsters the dancer against fear and improves her combat abilities, granting a +1 morale bonus on saving throws against charm and fear effects, and a +1 competence bonus on attack and weapon rolls.
Fleet (Su): While performing a battle dance, a dervish dancer gains a +10 enhancement bonus to land speed, increasing every four levels gained after the 1st. to a maximum of +30 feet at 19th level. (Replaces bardic knowledge and lore master.)
Cantrips: Bards learn a number of cantrips, or 0-level spells. These spells are cast like any other but they do not consume slots and can be cast again.
Race Specific
+2 DEX, +2 CHA, -2 WIS: Ifrits are passionate and quick, but impetuous and destructive.
Native Outsider: Ifrits are outsiders with the Native subtype.
Medium: Ifrits are Medium creatures, thus they neither suffer any penalties nor gain any bonuses due to size.
Normal Speed: Ifrits have a base speed of 30 FT.
Darkvision: Ifrits can see in the dark up to 60 FT.
Forge-Hardened: Some Ifrits are not decended from efreet, but instead have azer or salamander blood in their veins. Instead of a spell-like ability, such ifrits gain a +2 racial bonus to Crafting armor and weapons checks, as well as saves to resist fatigue and exhaustion.
Energy Resistance: Ifrits have fire resistance 5.
Fire-Starter: Some Ifrits derive a sadistic satisfaction from watching others burn. Anytime the ifrit causes a creature to catch fire, she gains a +1 morale bonus on the next single attack roll, saving throw, skill check or ability check she makes in the next round. She only gains this bonus the first time she catches a particular creature on fire; subsequent ignitions do not provide this bonus. (Replaces Fire Affinity racial trait.)
Languages: Ifrits begin knowing Common and Ignan. Ifrits with a high INT score can choose from the following languages: Aquan, Auran, Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, Halfling, and Terran.
Random Crunch
Hit Points: 9
Hit Dice: 1d8
Armor Class: 16
Touch Armor Class: 12
Flat-Footed Armor Class: 14
Saving Throws:
Fortitude: +0
Reflex: +4
Will: +2
Initiative Bonus: +2
Base Attack Bonus: +0
MAB: +1 (+2 with Longswords)
RAB: +2
CMB: +1 (+2 with Longswords)
CMD: +13
Spell Resistance: 5 vs. fire
Spells per Day:
Level 0: Infinate
Level 1: 2
Level 2: 1
Level 3: 1
Speed:
Base Speed: 30 FT
Armored/Encumbered Speed: 20 FT
Lift/Push:
Light Load: 50 LB or less
Medium Load: 51-100 LB
Heavy Load: 101-150 LB
Lift Over Head: 150 LB
Lift Off Ground: 300 LB
Drag or Push: 750 LB
Experience Points: 0
Spells
Level 0:
Mending
Mage Hand
Spark
Open/Close
Level 1:
Comprehend Languages
Cure Light Wounds
Items Equiped
Armor
Studded Leather: Armor Bonus: +3; Max DEX Bonus: +5; Armor Check Penalty: -1; Arcane Spell Failure Chance: 15%; Max Speed: 30 FT; Weight: 20 LB
Light Steel Shield: Armor Bonus: +1; Armor Check Penalty: -1; Arcane Spell Failure Chance: 5%; Weight: 6 LB
Weapon
Longsword: DMG: 1d8; Critical: 19-20/X2; Type: S; Weight: 4 LB
Longbow: DMG: 1d8; Critical: x3; Type: P; Range: 100 FT; Weight: 3 LB
Other
Entertainer's Outfit: Patterned after the Varisian dancing garbs, these bright red and yellow dancing garments are designed to accentuate the curves as she dances. Bells and cymbles are attached to the wrists, feet, and the belt to provide an audible element to the dance.
Items Owned
Name*****Weight*****Value
Studded Leather Armor*****20 LB*****25 GP
Light Steel Shield*****6 LB*****9 GP
Longsword*****4 LB*****15 GP
Longbow*****3 LB*****75 GP
Entertainer's Outfit*****4 LB*****3 GP
Arrows (20)*****3 LB*****1 GP
Bard's Kit (Modified)*****20 LB*****26 GP (Includes a backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, a flint and steel, ink, an inkpen, an iron pot, a journal, a mess kit, rope, soap, 10 torches, 5 days of trail rations, and a waterskin.
Spell Component Pouch*****2 LB*****5 GP
Artisan's Tools (Weapons)*****5 LB*****5 GP
Artisan's Outfit*****4 LB*****1 GP
Total Weight & Value: 71 LB / 165 GP
Wealth 0 PP 3 GP 0 SP 0 CP

Early Childhood
Alayi, as she likes to be called, was born in the city of Restov to a blacksmith father and his entertainer wife. Both were human, but the father had elemental blood somewhere buried in his veins that decided to express itself with her birth. Had she been born in another town or another kingdom her looks might have been enough to brand her as a permanent outcast or a mark of shame to her family. In Brevoy, however, it is adherance to local customs and laws that grants acceptance, not physical looks. As such, she was welcomed as much as can be expected, though whispers did sometimes pass about the... virtue... of her mother, Hashara.
From a very young age she was bred on tales of Baron Sirian Aldori and his legendary swordlords. She would run around with her friends play acting battles and pretending to be fighting the various foes of the kingdom. When she wasn't, she would be learning dance moves by imitating her mother. As she grew older, she started combining the two, implementing her dancing moves into her fighting style.
Adolescence
As she grew into her adolescence, Alayi began apprenticing for her father as a weaponsmith. Her blood made her a quick study, allowing her to withstand hot temperatures and craft the raw metal as if it spoke to her. The fact that she could super heat metal she was touching for a minute or two made her invaluable when it came to finishing iron into steel. Still, her heart was only partially in her work. She still wanted to be a swordlord, or at least a dancer like her mother.
She convinced her father to train her in the use of the longsword properly. Combined with her skills in dancing and her natural grace and acrobatic skills, she developed a style of combat all of her own.
Adulthood Until Now
Now, twenty two, she has decided to achieve her lifelong dream of becoming an Aldori swordlord. Yet how could she, a blacksmith's daughter, be taken seriously if she submitted an application?
The local lords have put forward a call for adventures and heroes to retake the stolen lands. Just the feat of bravery she would need to seriously submit an application to join their order and be trained in their ways. Should she succeed anyway.

Alayi is a good natured, firey person. Not one to shy from a fight if necessary, and almost reckless in battle, she combines her dancing grace with her swordsmanship in a fluid, artful form.

Physical Description:
Height: 5"4'
Weight: 125 LB
Eyes: Solid black with orange cores.
Hair Color & Length: Black but shimmering as if burning, waist length.
Skin Color: Bronzed, but can pass for tanned in low light conditions.
Other Features: Her ears are partially pointed, she has ridges going from her eyebrows to the back of her head, framing her hair and causing it to flow up before flowing back.
Description in a nut shell: Small in stature, lithe in body type, with a too bronzed completion and a ridged forehead, Alayi is graceful and deadly. Her black hair perpetually shimmers as if it were made of lit coals. The centers of her eyes glow as if smoldering. Yet despite (or perhaps because) of this, she is often considered to be extraordinarily beautiful, a fact she takes advantage of in her dance performances.

Alayi looks at the various dueling schools on her path. Hmph. Taldoran dueling. As if anyone would want to learn such a lower form of swordsmanship.
She stops into her destination, the local inn where she occassionally dances for a few extra coins. "Menas, I'm here!" she calls absently to the barkeeper. Though hopefully for not much longer.
Setting down her pack, she begins her dancing routine, a combination of Varisian and Taldan forms, gracefully dancing among the patrons to applause and laughter.
Once she finishs her routine, she gratefully takes a glass of water from Menas. "Thank you. So, have you heard the news? The lords are recruiting people to retake the stolen lands at last. I know you enjoy my dancing, and I enjoy dancing here. But I think the time has come at last for me to make my mark on the world. And this is the way I will do it."
She sips the water reflectively. "Oh don't be so glum old man. Shelyn willing the next time you see me I will be an Aldori Swordlord, teaching new recruits in our own little kingdom to the south, keeping bandits and theives from raiding our lands." She smiles warmly at him. "And besides, I am not leaving just yet. I still have to finish my routine after all."

Godwin Artifice and his mighty steed Anselm.

Godwin was born out of wedlock to a Tian woman by a noble of Brevoy. He was named after his father, but was unable to take the surname due to the illegitimacy of his birth. Rather than take his mother's surname, he adopted the name "Artifice" as a standby and reminder of his artificial nobility. As if this was not enough of a cruelly dealt hand of fate, his mother left him on the doorstep of a Calistrian temple and fled out of shame. He was raised by the temple's matrons until he grew old enough to fend for himself, at which point he had to leave. He found a hard life on the streets, and found out quickly that trying to claim his nobility would only get him in trouble. He eventually found home and work in a local stable where he learned to care for and ride horses. Seeing this as his chance to claim his rightful title, he began training in mounted combat with his personal horse. If he would not be given his knighthood, he would earn it himself, and open that path to anyone who dared to defy the current structure of nobility.

Growing up as a half-Tian orphan bastard in the hands of poverty, Godwin has grown into a hardened young man who seeks true justice for those who are weak, underrepresented, and cast aside. He is not vengeful, however, and seeks only to make those in power aware of the injustices served and gain equal footing for those like himself. If anything, he has learned that mercy and forgiveness are the strongest tools one can use to correct a wrong, rather than bloodshed and blind hatred. He is calm but terse in the face of adversity, and tends to speak with action when words are not enough.

Godwin's hair is dirty blonde like his father's, but straight like his mother's. He has earthy brown eyes and sharp angled features that ostensibly identify him as Tian, though his build and culture seem to deny his heritage. Standing at six feet, he is rather imposing, though his gentle grace gives ground to the softer side of his nature.
Picture

"You mean he's mine to keep?" Godwin asked the stablemaster in awe. After receiving a nod of confirmation, the boy who had so little in this world suddenly had much, much more. "I'll do everything I can for him!"

Racing out to the stables, he quickly located the stall with the large black warhorse in it. "Anselm," he said with awe, looking up at the massive beast. Its rider had been lost to brigands, and after running off it had ended up here. Nobody was able to approach the dark horse without it rearing in protest, and no heir could be found to retrieve it. Godwin had spent many weeks working with the horse in his freetime in order to retrain it, however, and after several hoofs to the chest it finally took to him. The stablemaster must have noticed, because instead of selling off the stallion for breeding, he gifted it to Godwin instead.

"We're going places, boy. Just you and me. I'm a dark horse too, you know." The horse seemed to scoff with its snort in return, and Godwin laughed as he patted its snout. "Come on, let's go for a ride." He opened the door, led Anselm out, and geared up to ride off into the night. This would be their first adventure as rider and steed, and certainly not their last.

Dregan's is married to the daughter of Oleg and Svetlana from the trading post. My idea with that was to tie him into the story, but if you don't like that it would be easy to rewrite AMry into the daughter of another pioneer family.
The previous application I wrote Dregan for ask for some NPCs Dregan knew, I have left them in as I think they add rather than detract.
I have included some goal, I always write goals for my characters.[/spoilers]

[spoiler=Statblock/Sheet]
Male Human Ranger (Guide) 1
Neutral Good Medium Humaniod/Human

Init +4

• Defence
AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14
hp 10 (10 Level 1, +0 favoured class, +0 Con)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +2
BAB +1

• Offence
Spd 20 ft.
Melee
Dagger + 3 (19-20x2 1D4 + 2)
Unarmed + 3 (20x2 1D3 + 2 provokes)
Ranged
Longbow + 4 (20x3 1d8 (+5, 1d8+1 if within 30ft))
Rapid shot +2/+2 (20x3 1d8 (+3/+3, 1d8+1 if within 30ft))

• Statistics
14 Str, 17 Dex, 10 Con, 8 Int, 14 Wis, 10 Cha
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 15

• Feats
Point blank shot: You get a +1 bonus on attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at ranges of up to 30 feet.
Rapid Shot: When making a full-attack action with a ranged weapon, you can fire one additional time this round. All of your attack rolls take a –2 penalty when using Rapid Shot.

• Skills (6 -1 from Integence +1 from being human = 6 ranks per level +1 from favoured class)
Knowledge (Local) 1 rank = +0
Knowledge (Geography) 1 rank = +3
Knowledge (Nature) 1 rank = +3
Perception 1 rank = +7 (+1 from trait)
Ride 1 rank = +8
Stealth 1 rank = +8
Survival 1 rank = +6 (+7 for tracking)

• Languages Common

• Racial Traits
+2 to One Ability Score: Human characters get a +2 bonus to one ability score of their choice at creation to represent their varied nature.
Medium: Humans are Medium creatures and have no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Normal Speed: Humans have a base speed of 30 feet.
Bonus Feat: Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.
Skilled: Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.
Languages: Humans begin play speaking Common. Humans with high Intelligence scores can choose any languages they want (except secret languages, such as Druidic)

• Traits
Pioneer (Preception): 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.
Benefit 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.

Resilient: Growing up in a poor neighborhood or in the unforgiving wilds often forced you to subsist on food and water from doubtful sources. You've built up your mettle as a result, and gain a +1 trait bonus on Fortitude saves.

• Special abilities
Ranger's Focus (Ex): At 1st level, once per day, the guide can focus on a single enemy within line of sight as a swift action. That creature remains the ranger's focus until it is reduced to 0 or fewer hit points or surrenders, or until the ranger designates a new focus, whichever occurs first. The ranger gains a +2 bonus on attack and damage rolls against the target of his focus. At 5th level, and every five levels thereafter, this bonus increases by +2.
At 4th level, and every 3 levels thereafter, the ranger can use this ability one additional time per day. This ability replaces favored enemy.
Track (Ex): A ranger adds half his level (minimum 1) to Survival skill checks made to follow or identify tracks.
Wild Empathy (Ex): A ranger can improve the initial attitude of an animal. This ability functions just like a Diplomacy check to improve the attitude of a person (see Using Skills). The ranger rolls 1d20 and adds his ranger level and his Charisma bonus to determine the wild empathy check result. The typical domestic animal has a starting attitude of indifferent, while wild animals are usually unfriendly.
To use wild empathy, the ranger and the animal must be within 30 feet of one another under normal visibility conditions. Generally, influencing an animal in this way takes 1 minute, but, as with influencing people, it might take more or less time.
The ranger can also use this ability to influence a magical beast with an Intelligence score of 1 or 2, but he takes a –4 penalty on the check.

• Equipment
Carried on Dregan
Travelers outfit free
Longbow 75g
Arrows & quiver (40) 2g
Dagger 2g
Hide armour 15g
Pouch, Belt 5gp
Containing 0 gp, 5 sp and 20 cp
Bargriv Free with Trait
Horse, light

Carried on Bargriv
Saddle, Riding 30g
Horse feed (10 days) 0.5g
Saddle bags 4g
Bedroll 0.1g
Tent 10g
Fish hooks (3) 0.3g
Flint and steel 1g
Clay tankard 0.02g
Iron pot 0.8g
Waterskin 1g
Gallon of Ale 0.2g
Loaf of Bread (4) 0.08g
Hunk of cheese (3) 0.3g
Rations, Trail 4 days 2g

Dregan has always thought of himself as his mother said a down to earth lad, practical, hard-working and good natured. Others would disagree, most recently his wife, Mary, calling him a pig headed idiot.
To a certain extent it was true, he’d been called an idiot by the other students and his brother when the traveling teacher came through. He’d never been good at book learning and remembering facts and really it didn’t interest him. He could read, if given enough time, but they only owned two books one his father kept and said was too important for Dregan to get his hand on, and the other ‘The Parables of Erastil’ wasn’t very interesting. But he didn’t feel entirely stupid, he knew a lot of the land within a few days ride and animal’s habits and how to stalk them. To be sure there were plenty that knew more than him but plenty that knew less too.
Calling him pig headed was a little unfair given he didn’t have anything like a pig nose. When he said this she sighed and explained it meant he was being stubborn. Which he though was also a little unfair. He knew right from wrong and letting the bandits and robbers taking your winter supply of food isn't right. Particularly now Mary and he was married and she pregnant. His parents might be cowards, and a dishonour to their ancestors but Dregan wasn't about to let his child starve in his… or her first winter.
He'd gone to the local priest of Erastil for help and had received some food, while there he learnt that agents of Brevoy were putting together groups of heroes to drive the bandit and recapture the stolen lands again. It was this news that had caused Mary to get so angry or more correctly the news that Dregan was going to join them.
Dregan new on his way to Restov to join that group regretted that conversation but when he become a hero for his son and wife to look up to all would be forgiven. His dad had always rambled about how their family were important, had noble blood, hundreds of years ago their ancestor had lead an expedition and claimed the stolen lands for some emperor or another. So if the stolen lands were stolen they had been stolen from his family so we should help reclaim them.
His farther had claimed that something had gone wrong and they had been slowly pushed out of their lands until they were on the small shack on the edge of Brevoy. Always sounded odd to him, he didn't feel like he had noble blood, but dad did have one of those fancy rings, with the head of a stag on it, that nobles used to write letters, so maybe there is some truth in it, maybe his father’s book had some evidence. Either way his father was a coward letting the himself be pushed around, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes.
NPCs
Close friend: Mary – He has always been friends with Mary; she was the only girl for him, quite literally for much of his life. The Daughter of Oleg and Svetlana Leveton (proprietors of the trading post a few hours ride away) and the day she agreed to marry him was the best day of his life. Right now however he is hurting because the last words she said to him as he left was ”You're a pig head idiot, you're going to go get yourself killed and then who will your son learn to be a man from?.”
Friend: Mum (or Bethany) – His mother has been the only person never to insult or belittle him. She told him not to go, but not out of concern for his well-being but because killing the bandits would be wrong, and she was afraid that he might cross paths with his brother, Ulric. She had heart for everyone and everything, she was a city girl but loved nature and wilderness, Dregan guessed that was why she was with his father. It is her faith in Erastil and knowledge of right and wrong that she taught to Dregan and he now holds close to his heart.
Acquaintance: Puck – Puck is gnome or something. He likes to have a good laugh at other expense, including Dregan's and his father’s. He is another hunter, and lays traps rather than using a bow and he is very good at it. Sometimes those traps are aimed at amusing Puck more than catching prey. Dregan’s favourite was when his dad stepped on some sort of trigger a wet fish on a branch swung out and hit him in the face. Puck was laughing so hard that Dad almost caught him.
Rival: Ulric – He had always fought with his older brother, but it became serious when it was about Mary. While smart Ulric was also a violent, arrogant, jerk and she could see that and didn’t want anything to do with him, but he couldn’t accept that. Ulric used to fight with their father too, on one occasion Dregan remembers him shouting”What would our ancestor’s think knowing you are a slave to bandits!”. If it was Dregan's engagement to Mary or Ulric’s pride that drove him away Dregan isn't sure, but he has heard rumours that Ulric is now a bandit himself.
Enemy: Hamish – Hamish is what the leader of the group of bandits that have been harassing my parents. Hamish not only takes from those that have nothing to give but is particularly brutal as well.
Goals
Short: Deal with the Bandits, Survive, Restore pride to his father and rest of his family.
Medium: Be a Hero. Be a great father and husband.
Long: Make the Stolen lands a place to proud to grow up in.

Dregan believes in doing the right thing no matter the cost. He is a naïve and proud young man, while he'll claim not to believe he is descended from greatness, he wants it to be true and to make his family great again. He really wants to be a hero that people will talk about for generations to come, unlike his brother who has been gone a two years and no one talks about anymore, it's like he never existed. He is practical man, using whatever is at hand and not wasting anything. While he knows little of Bravoy’s laws, he has a respect it them, in most cases the law tells you to do what is right. When what is right contradicts the law Dregan believes in doing what is right. For example stealing food to feed your family if they are going to starve, as long as doing won’t cause others to stave. Additionally, practicality sometimes trumps the law, for example if the Judge is going to hung the bandit, why bother taking him all the way to the Judge you might as well kill him now, better for him and you.

Dregan seems at ease as he rides down the road on the back of horse. His horse has been heavily loaded for a long trip by someone used to being away from civilisation for extended periods of time. In comparison he is carries little, a bow, some arrows and a knife. He wears simple but well made tunic and breaches which reveal a simple wooden pendant around his neck. Dregan is shorter than average and wiry but has the muscles of a man that works hard for his living. His movements are very controlled and quick when needed. His hair has been cut neatly recently but poorly kept since then and while he smiles at has companions those smiles often look forced.

As the group neared the trading outpost Dregan starts to fall behind and pulls his hood forwards to cover his face. He knew he couldn’t avoid the outpost but maybe he wouldn’t be noticed or at least not until after his new companions had made friends with Oleg and Svetlana. They were going to need their help in this unforgiving land and by now Mary would have visited or at least got word to them about him leaving to fight the bandits. Then a worse thought hit him. What if she had stayed, without him at the cabin what was keeping her? He had always pictured her going to his parents for help but she might well have come back to stay with her own parents, in fact with the baby coming, it was likely she would want her mum’s help.
Dregan pulled up Bargriv frozen in on the road. There was so much he wanted to say, sorry, I’m doing this for you but nothing more important than that he loved her but if he saw here again would he have the determination to do what was right.
It was a bit before one of his companions noticed he’d stops and called out to see if anything was worng.
”Don’t worry about me, I’ll camp outside. There won’t be enough beds inside and I’m used to being out doors.” Dregan called back. If Mary was there did he trust his companions with her? You would have to be in a fairly desperate come on a mission like this, the kind of desperate men who should not be near Mary alone, or even Sventlana. Forgetting his earlier concerns he spurs Bargriv into a canter, as he catches up he simply says ”Changed my mind.”

Krisztina Tereskovna
Half-orc (Arena-Bred) Slayer 1
N Medium humanoid (human, orc)
Init +6; Senses Perception +3

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DEFENSE
--------------------
AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 10 (1d10)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will 0
Defensive Abilities sacred tattoo

--------------------
OFFENSE
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee greatsword +4 (2d6+4/19–20)
Ranged dart +3 (1d4+3)
Special Attacks favored target +1

--------------------
STATISTICS
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 12
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 15
Feats Improved Initiative
Traits Brigand, Friend in Every Town
Skills Bluff +5, Diplomacy +6, Disguise +5, Intimidate +7, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +6, Knowledge (local) +9, Perception +3, Sense Motive +3, Stealth +6, Survival +3
Languages Common, Draconic, Giant, Orc
SQ city-raised, orc blood, track +1
Combat Gear none
Other Gear leather armour, greatsword, cold iron darts (10), masterwork backpack, bandoleer, bedroll, belt pouch, blanket, canteen, cheap holy text (The Birth of Light and Truth), chronicler's kit, compass, explorer's outfits (2), flint and steel, manacles w/ simple lock, mess kit, signal horn, silk rope (50 ft.), trail rations (3), wrist sheaths (2), 4 gp, 2 sp

Krisztina is the daughter of a half-orc stonemason and a human glazier. She was born nineteen years ago in the town of Mivon, in the River Kingdoms, the younger of two children. For twelve years she enjoyed the comforts of Mivon's prosperous middle class, her parents both being talented artisans and the swordlords keeping the city safe from bandits. Unfortunately for Krisztina, however, her first romance was with the equally young son of one of Mivon's Swordlords.

Though normally such a dalliance might not have been given a second thought, her love had already been betrothed, and his future bride was scandalized. She demanded Krisztina be tried for adultery despite the wedding still being a couple years off. Scared, desperate, and certain that justice would be perverted, Krisztina fled the city, barely managing to survive in the wilderness north of Mivon.

Indeed, she would not have survived the winter if not for being taken in by a small band of brigands who found her glib tongue to be of great use in disarming otherwise wary travellers right before an ambush. Much of her adolescence was spent in the company of the thieves she'd fallen in with, and she quickly came to realize that she could never again return home and face her parents, even if the spurious charges against her were no longer an issue.

The event which truly changed Krisztina's life forever was the day she inveigled her way into a caravan of Qadiran merchants. The husband of the caravan's leader was a wise priest whose piercing eyes saw right through her ruse. However, rather than demand she be put to death as a bandit, he invoked the goddess Sarenrae and demanded she be given a chance to repent.

It has been a year since that day, and she feels as though a great weight has been lifted from her shoulders. She has spent the past months working at an orphanage in Restov, the first step in paying off the debt she owes to that priest for showing her the true way. Now she has heard that the Swordlords of Restov, distant cousins to those in Mivon, are seeking adventurers to explore the Stolen Lands and bring law and order to the wild territory. Most of her ill-gotten gains have been funnelled into the orphanage, paying for clothes, food, proper bedding, all the comforts the children might not otherwise have. With what was still left, she has equipped herself as an adventurer and sought out one of the charters being offered, certain that this is her chance to take the next step in her redemption. She shall bring to the other bandits of the Greenbelt the forgiveness of Sarenrae... or the justice of a clean death should they reject atonement.

Krisztina aspires to become a good person and atone for her past misdeeds, but remains haunted by the knowledge that she may very well have been responsible for many children ending up in the orphanage in Restov. She believes that, just as she received a second chance, so must others, especially when their crimes are far less than those of her own sordid past. She fears that the Swordlords of Restov will be far less forgiving of those who have led a life of crime in the Stolen Lands, yet she is no fool, and knows that many are simply cruel men and women who will never repent of their evil ways.

Between the disastrous end to her first relationship and witnessing far too many rapes while she was still a brigand, Krisztina has given up any thoughts of romance, much as she has abandoned her former tendencies to gamble and indulge in flayleaf. Instead, she finds joy in helping pair orphans with craftsmen in need of an apprentice, lest they be trapped in a life of begging or grifting.

Her years as a brigand have aged Krisztina beyond her nineteen years, and she bears a long scar from her forehead down along her right cheek which almost cost her one of her amber-toned eyes. She keeps her black hair cropped relatively short, lest it be used against her in a fight, and her skin is tinged a lighter green than most half-breeds, indicative of the stronger human blood in her veins. Though she still has poor posture from years amongst brigands and then amongst orphans, she keeps herself well-groomed, enjoying a long bath and keeping her clothes regularly laundered. Her leather armour appears brand new, but she wears it quite comfortably, accessorising with a long, dark grey cloak and a bandoleer full of darts. She carries a large greatsword which looks rather more well-worn than her armor, and her high quality backpack seems stuffed near to bursting.

Krisztina clutched the rolled-up parchment to her chest and then bowed deeply, forming her words carefully and enunciating lest she slip into the crude cant she had once been so accustomed to, "I am honoured, noble swordlords. I shall bring justice to the Stolen Lands in your name and do my best to chart those lands." She suppressed a smile when none of the well-dressed lordlings attempted to pry the charter back from her, and quickly exited to the streets of Restov, a new lightness to her steps.

Still holding the scroll close and furtively glancing this way and that as if expecting a pickpocket to snatch it away from her, Krisztina made her way across the town to the warehouses closest to the river. It had been only a day since she had last checked on her carefully hidden cache, and she'd never before approached it by the light of day, but she breathed a sigh of relief when she found everything still in place. A massive greatsword she'd been practising with for months and a small pile of trade goods. The pile had once been larger, as evidenced by a few empty sacks, but there was still enough to purchase a suit of armour and the supplies she would need for a long expedition through the Stolen Lands.

As Krisztina traded the last bolt of wool cloth for some trail rations, she inquired of the shopkeep, "By the way, do you know an Oleg Leveton? I'm told he runs a small trading post on the border west of here, and I'm headed that way."

Brinn Potts
Female Ifrit Oracle(Dual-Cursed) 1
CG Medium outsider (ifrit)
Init +10; Senses Darkvision 60ft; Perception -1
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 19, touch 12, flat-footed 17
hp 10 (1d8 +1)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +2;
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 20 ft.
Morning Star -4 (1d8 20 ×2)

--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 10, Dex 14, Con 13, Int10, Wis 8, Cha 18
Base Atk: +0; CMB +0; CMD 12
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.
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
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.

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 her, 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…
Kill him…
”Kill… him?” she looked startled to the owner, the one telling the history.
Everyone else startled looking at her. What was happening? Who said that?
Kill them…

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 fairly 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 familes.
You should just lay waste to them.
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. Burn him down and you’ll get their attention…
”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?”

Don’t waste your time with him, burn him, burn this place!
”Because there’s one thing you can be sure about! Nothing is going to stop me!”

Eegan Fark
Male Gnome Sorcerer (Wildblooded) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 0)
CG Small humanoid (gnome)
Init +1; Senses low-light vision; Perception +0
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 11 (+1 Dex, +1 size)
hp 6 (1d6)
Fort +0, Ref +1, Will +0 (+1 trait bonus vs. mind-affecting effects); +2 vs. illusions
Defensive Abilities defensive training (+4 dodge bonus to AC vs. giants); Resist issian
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 20 ft.
Melee dagger +0 (1d3-1/19-20) and
. . longspear +0 (1d6-1/×3) and
. . unarmed strike +0 (1d2-1 nonlethal)
Ranged light crossbow +2 (1d6/19-20)
Gnome Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +6)
. . 1/day—dancing lights, ghost sound (DC 16), prestidigitation, speak with animals
Sorcerer (Wildblooded) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +6):
. . 1st (5/day)—grease, mage armor
. . 0 (at will)—daze (DC 15), detect magic, drench[UM] (DC 15), mage hand
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 9, Dex 13, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 7, Cha 20
Base Atk +0; CMB -2; CMD 9
Feats Boon Companion, Eschew Materials
Traits animal friend, issian
Skills Bluff +9, Climb +1, Handle Animal +9, Knowledge (nature) +6, Perception +0; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Gnome, Sylvan
SQ mutated bloodlines (sylvan)
Combat Gear acid, alchemical grease, thunderstone; Other Gear dagger, light crossbow, longspear, grappling bolt, silk rope (50 ft.)
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Animal Companion Link (Ex) You have a link with your Animal Companion.
Animal Friend +1 to Will saves when you are within 30' of an animal, Handle Animal is a Class Skill.
Boon Companion (Animal Companion) +4 levels to calc familiar/animal comp abilities (max of your HD).
Defensive Training +4 Gain a dodge bonus to AC vs monsters of the Giant subtype.
Eschew Materials Cast spells without materials, if component cost is 1 gp or less.
Issian +1 Will save vs. Mind-affecting.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Share Spells with Companion (Ex) Can cast spells with a target of "you" on animal companion, as touch spells.
Sylvan Your magic shows a kinship to that of the beast-talkers and shapechanger fey.

--------------------

Nelly
Female Horse
N Large animal
Init +1; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +5
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 10, flat-footed 17 (+4 armor, +1 Dex, -1 size, +4 natural)
hp 23 (+7)
Fort +5, Ref +4, Will +1
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 50 ft.
Melee bite +3 (1d4+3) and
. . 2 hooves -2 (1d6+1) and
. . unarmed strike +3 (1d4+3 nonlethal)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 16 (20 vs. trip)
Feats Toughness
Tricks Attack, Attack Any Target, Come, Down, Heel, Stay, Track
Skills Acrobatics +5, Perception +5, Ride +1 (+3 to stay in the saddle)
SQ attack any target, come, down, heel, stay, track
Other Gear gnome trail rations (10), military saddle, saddlebags, sorcerer's kit
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Attack Any Target [Trick] The animal will attack any creature on command.
Come [Trick] The animal will come to you on command.
Down [Trick] The animal will break off combat on command.
Heel [Trick] The animal will follow you.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ feet by sense of smell.
Stay [Trick] The animal will stay where it is.
Track [Trick] The animal will track a scent.

Glenton, a small town North of Restov in which Eegan last resided, had a saying: “There’s weird, there’s crazy, and then there’s Fark.”

Eegan had shown up one day out of the blue with a few gold pieces and a horse much too large for his size. When Chuck Valens the Stablemaster asked if Eegan wanted to trade in his horse for a pony, Eegan spat on Chuck’s shoe and shouted “FARK YOU, YOU MOTHERFARKING SLAVER! FARK YOOOOOU!” and then chased the man out of the room, beating him around the knees with a ripe zucchini. 

Eegan began renting a space in a barn. He didn’t inquire after any other rooms or leases, but instead immediately asked where he could get “Stable or barn space in this bustling borogrove.” He slept there, with the animals, and every night the people could hear him shouting for about a minute or less something about “Emancipation!” or “Down with the Sapiarchy!

It was through these actions that the gnome was branded as an absolute lunatic, and depending upon the citizen, the townspeople either steered clear of him or followed him around to see what he would do next. Often, this yielded extremely entertaining results, such as seeing Fark shaking the paw of every dog and cat in town, or demanding “PRIVACY!” when hens were laying their eggs from their bewildered farmers.

Fark’s behavior culminated into one fell incident. He somehow, through several years of work, trained an entire flock of crows to open every barn door and pet owner’s house at the same time. Before anyone could do anything, animals were roaming the streets, eating food right of the shelves of groceries and bakeries, and creating general mayhem. It was only suggested that Fark was responsible when a young boy said he’d seen the gnome addressing a tree-full of black birds over in the apple orchard.

The townspeople were furious, demanding that Fark leave immediately. He complied, but only after about 25% of the town’s livestock and pets had escaped. He exclaimed as he left, “I will be back for you, my brothers and sisters! I. WILL. BE. BACK.” And with that, he rode off into the distance to gods-know-where.

It was a beautiful, but harshly sunny day upon the road to Restov. From far away on the dirt road, an oncoming traveler could see what appeared to be a lone horse, beset with saddlebags, trotting along the road. From any other angle, they’d see a small red-headed creature running at full tilt behind it.

“I KNOW I SAID I WANTED TO LOSE WEIGHT BUT THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT”

After some time, Eegan caught up with his companion and gave him a good talking to, none of which the horse understood. Astride his (or as he’d correct, not his but “the”) steed, Eegan made it the restov the way to Restov without much trouble, other than a large dragonfly that seemed inclined to make Eegan’s ear his new home.



Upon entrance to the city, the Gnome went to buy supplies (“Stay here and try not to cause trouble. I’ll be- OUCH! DAMN THIS DRAGONFLY!”). Eegan caught many eyes, not only due to his strange hat, bright red hair, and stature, but the strange behavior that he elicited towards every animal he passed. He bid best wishes to birds, curtsied to cats, halted at horses for hellos, and even saluted a snake. It was when he related his regards to a raven that he had quite a start! The creature spoke back!



“Hello, Gnome. Not many people greet me without me speaking first, and then they usually shoo me away. Are you a Wizard? Druid?”



“No, gracious me! It is my pleasure to meet you Monsieur Raven, I am Eegan Fark, Emancipator of Animals, Facilitator of Ferality, The Gnome on the Roam. May I ask, sir Raven, your task in this city?”



“I am delivering a message for my master, a hedge wizard of some renown. He has declined an offer by the Lord of Restov, and I am to relay his refusal.”



“You don’t say, Monsieur Raven, you don’t say. Another animal slave to the whims of a human. If only we-”



“My master’s a half-orc.”



“Whims of a half-human. Don’t interrupt, it’s rude. As I was saying… I don’t know what I was saying. Fark it all. Anyway, what did you say you were here for?”



“I was relaying my master’s refusal to the Lord of Restov in reference to this charter.” 

The Raven released a piece of paper from one of its talons. By this time, the two creatures had gathered quite a following of onlookers. For a gnome to be talking to a bird was out-of-the-ordinary, but for the bird to talk back was unheard of. Several eavesdroppers were questioning their sanity at this point.

Eegan Fark had caught the paper and was reading it voraciously.

“I see. Be it so known… blah blah blah acting upon the greater good and authority vested… exploration and travel in the Greenbelt… strive against banditry AND OTHER UNLAWFUL BEHAVIOR TO BE ENCOUNTERED. By the slythy toves! This is so… so… OPEN TO INTERPRETATION! I have to go! Can I take this?!” The small gnome waved the charter around frantically.



“I suppose so. I don’t really need it. The clerk will know what I’m talking about.”



“EXCELENTI'LLBEOFFTHANKYOU!”

 The gnome sprinted away through the marketplace with what items he had already purchased and threw them into Nelly’s saddlebags. Eegan then closed his eyes tight and concentrated. It was never easy to use his magic, “But once used, it’s quite useful,” he would say. When he opened his eyes, he could hear Nelly’s sigh.



“Can you hear me now, Nelly?”



“Can always hear, can't always listen. What you need?”



“Look at… this!” Eegan rummaged around for the charter and held it in front of the Horse’s face.


“I can’t read, Eegan.”

“Right. No matter. This piece of paper says that we can punish animal slavers all we want as long as we’re south of this Oleg’s Trading Post! This is where we can establish our Animaltopia, where men and beasts can live side-by-side... as equals!” A look of pure bliss overtook Eegan’s face, with tears of pure joy welling up in his eyes. The enthusiastic gnome scurried onto the horse’s back and yelled, “Nelly, WE MUST GO SOUTH!”



“Eegan, which way’s South?”



“We’ll figure that out later! There’s no time to waste! ONWARDS!”

The horse began to trot... West. It was a full hour before a roadside stranger corrected their course towards Oleg's.

Eegan Fark stands at 3’6”, weighing approximately 41 lbs. Under an unusual combination of a stovepipe hat and a coxcomb, he sports a slicked back head of shiny red-orange hair. It isn’t the red hairs that are shiny, though, but the silver strands mixed in which are so reflective. He tends to wear some sort of facial hair at any given time, and at the moment he sports a well-combed van-d$%#. The rest of his clothes are relatively flashy, currently a green and purple plaid sport coat and crimson trousers. 



Like most gnomes, Fark appears a little mad to most creatures. His boundless energy and sense of justice are his best qualities. His worst qualities usually stem from his lack of common sense and his tendency to follow his sense of justice too far. Eegan’s biggest defining feature is his politics: he believes every animal should have human rights, that domestication is equivalent to slavery, and that hunting for sport is as bad as mass-murder. As such, he has a tendency to go far outside the rules in order to accomplish his goals of animal emancipation. He also tends to yell. A lot.

Human Cleric 1
NG male human
Init -1; Perception +2

DEFENSE
AC 16, touch 9, flat-footed 16 (+5 armor, +2 shield, -1 DEX)
hp 14 (1d8+6) *i'm assuming the favored class bonus*
Fort +4, Ref -1, Will +5

OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee: Heavy Mace +1 (1d8+1)
Ranged: Heavy Crossbow -1 (1d10/19-20)
Channel Positive Energy 1d6; 5/day [(4+CHA)/day]

Domain Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)

5/day—rebuke death (1d4+(1/2 lvl) heals to dying only)
5/day-inspiring word (+2 on most rolls for 1/2 lvl rounds)

Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3)

1st—bless, cure light wounds(D), command (DC:13)
0th (at will)—Virtue, light, detect magic

Domain: Heal, Nobility (Or Leadership subdomain if posible, note that everything is written down as Nobility domain)

STATISTICS
Str 13, Dex 8, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 15, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 10
Feats: Scribe Scroll, Toughness
Traits: Bastard (limited by human characters) and Exalted of the Society
Skills: Sense Motive +6, Knowledge (religion) +4, Spellcraft +4
Languages: Common

Gear: Scale Mail, Heavy Wooden Shield, Heavy Mace, Heavy Crossbow, Cleric's Gear (a backpack, a bedroll, a belt pouch, candles (10), a cheap holy text, a flint and steel, an iron pot, a mess kit, rope, soap, a spell component pouch, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), a waterskin, and a wooden holy symbol.), 14 gp

Raised by the ecletic population of Brevoy, Finnick discovers it's noble heritage at young age. Almost falling into madness, the poor kid adopted by the church of Erastil tried to find it's "stolen" life. With his search foiled by the lack of faith, Finnick focused in other ways (specialy, divine ways) to achive his findings.

While not loyal to a particular God, his abilities to channel more positive energy than usual made him able to join the clergy of Erastil.
And so, he finished the basic training for being a Cleric, and his mission to find his past begins with divine power in his hands.

Finnick has a number faces, for one, when in the company of Nobility and Aristocracy members, he tries to always praise and compliment them for any reason he has. For another face, he has his church, and his cleric brethen and high priests, he tries to be calm and blessed. And finally, his more disgusting face for anyone else, rude and gives looks above the shoulder, like if he were an actual noble.

Even though all this faces, he always tries to get the greater good, he dislikes evil and sufering above anything else. He doesn't like to people suffer what his childhood was. And he always tries to get the Truth of every single lie he encounters. For that reason, he made a simbolic oath to never say a lie to anyone.

Finnick is 21 years old human, standing 5ft 10in and weighting 180 lbs.
With his armor and shield showing the Erastil crest, Finnick tanks himself on his helment, and he takes it off only on few occasions. When he does, he sports a short black hair and a pair of face scars.

-My good lord, high ruler of the sophiticated people, how can I be of your service?- Finnick talking to a high class Aristocrat, while taking a hand on his back and bowing down.

-Brother Arthur, i'm glad to hear that you got your own Silver Holy Symbol. I'm proud of you.- Finnick just grins slightly while his arms are crossed. His tone of voice sounds so calm, that it looks obviously boring.

-So tell me, peasant, why are you trying to hide there, huh? It's not like it's a stolen goods, right? But I know that you know that I hate lies. So please, hand it over to me and begone before I lose my temper and I have to tell the autorities-

-Uhmm, you don't have to scream, you know. I have this for you right away- Finnick when asked for healing and aid spells

Vaclac Urqual
Male Human Wizard (Conjurer: Teleportation) 1
N medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +2
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex) CMD 11 (10 + 2 dex - 1 str)
hp 9 (1D6 + 2 con bonus+1 favored class)
Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +3
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee -1 dagger, 1D4 piercing (19-20 x2)
Ranged +2 acid splash, 1D3 acid damage (20 x2)
Wizard Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +):
. . 1st (3/day)—mage armor, mount, silent image, burning hands, magic missile, enlarge person
. . 0 (at will)—all known
Wizard Spells Prepared
. . 1st (3/day)—burning hands, burning hands, silent image
. . 0 (3/at will)—detect magic, light, acid splash.
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 8, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 16, Wis 12, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 11
Feats Spell Focus Evocation, Spell Specialization (Burning Hands)
Traits Rostlander (+1 Fortitude saves), Magical Lineage (Fireball)
Skills Spellcraft +7, Knowledge Arcana +7, Knowledge Nature +7, Knowledge Planes +7, Perception +4, Linguistics +7
Languages Common, Sylvan, Draconic, Celestial, Infernal.
Combat Gear dagger
Other Gear explorer’s outfit, belt pouch, spell component pouch.
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Arcane School Evocation
Versatile Evocation (Su) When you cast an evocation spell that does acid, cold, electricity, or fire damage, you may change the damage dealt to one of the other four energy types. This changes the descriptor of the spell to match the new energy type. Any non-damaging effects remain unchanged unless the new energy type invalidates them (an ice storm that deals fire damage might still provide a penalty on Perception checks due to smoke, but it would not create difficult terrain). Such effects are subject to GM discretion. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Intelligence modifier.

Intense Spells (Su) Whenever you cast an evocation spell that deals hit point damage, add 1/2 your wizard level to the damage (minimum +1). This bonus only applies once to a spell, not once per missile or ray, and cannot be split between multiple missiles or rays. This bonus damage is not increased by Empower Spell or similar effects. This damage is of the same type as the spell. At 20th level, whenever you cast an evocation spell you can roll twice to penetrate a creature's spell resistance and take the better result.asses/wizard/arcane-schools/paizo---arcane-schools/classic-arcane-sc hools/evocation

Opposing Schools Enchantment, Necromancy.

Arcane Bond: Familiar Raven, +3 on appraise checks.

--------------------
A’ruld
Male Raven
N Tiny animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +6
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 15, touch 10, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +2 size, +1 natural)
hp 4
Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +4
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 10 ft., fly 40ft. (average)
Melee bite +4 (1d3-4)
Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 2, Dex 15, Con 8, Int 6, Wis 15, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 6
Feats Skill Focus (Perception), Weapon Finesse
Skills Fly +6, Perception +6
Language Common
--------------------
Special Abilities
Improved Evasion When subjected to an attack that normally allows a Reflex saving throw for half damage, a familiar takes no damage if it makes a successful saving throw and half damage even if the saving throw fails.
Share Spells The wizard may cast a spell with a target of “You” on his familiar (as a touch spell) instead of on himself. A wizard may cast spells on his familiar even if the spells do not normally affect creatures of the familiar's type (magical beast).
Empathic Link The master has an empathic link with his familiar to a 1 mile distance. The master can communicate empathically with the familiar, but cannot see through its eyes. Because of the link's limited nature, only general emotions can be shared. The master has the same connection to an item or place that his familiar does.

Vaclac laid in his bed, but sleep wouldn’t come to him. Two grey globes stared at the ceiling, but his mind’s eye was somewhere else: the past. A loud crack echoed in his head and instinctively he rubbed his right wrist. It hadn’t been fair. It had happened during the second week of his training under the swordlords of Rogarvia in New Svetven. A harmless exercise where he had to block an overhead slash while stepping forward. The other kid had done the same, but frustrated by his attack being blocked, had hooked Vaclav’s leg and tripped him. Caught between the practice mat and his body, Vaclav’s wrist had snapped and his future as a fabled duelist had come to an end before it had even started. The memory caused a flare of raging anger to sear through his mind, body and soul and it wouldn’t be for another hour that the young man could find sleep.

Born and raised in Rostland, Vaclav Urqual is the son of a brewer and his wife. The art of brewing a strong stout is a respected craft in Brevoy, but nothing compares to the honor one can gain through becoming a swordlord. This dream was taken away from him at a young age thanks to a wrist injury and Vaclav’s parents didn’t know where to look to find a suitable replacement career for their son. The idea of becoming a lawyer, merchant or priest abhorred the boy. Fate ever pushed and pulled the Brevoyans and one day a group of mercenaries came by the brewery for provisions: a couple of smaller barrels with proper beer and a couple of bigger barrels with watered-down beer to see them through the months ahead. Among them was a battle wizard, one of those trained in the art of calling down fire upon the enemy. Instantly there was a click and before long the boy was off with the mercenary group to be trained under the tutelage of the wizard. While he couldn’t wield a sword, he could hold a spear and that was good enough for the captain.

During the second campaign, his mentor took an arrow to the knee and was forced to retire. Healing magicks fixed the wound, but the dull throbbing ache returned to him every morning. The boy became a teenager and his apprenticeship came to an end: the man had taught him everything he possibly could. Vaclav had reached the age of 19 and was now old enough to venture forth into the world and practice his craft, honing it through actual combat experience – that, his mentor had told him, was the true learning school for a battle wizard.

And an opportunity for honor, glory and adventure presented itself: the Stolen Lands beckoned.

Easily frustrated by setbacks, stubborn and ambitious: it is no wonder Vaclav ended up being an evoker. His magick is an extension of his desire to meet obstacles head-on with brute force. He is easy-going, but has a glowing bead of jealousy when dealing with aspiring duelists and swordlords. This he tries to keep hidden, but when others point out his lack of strength, his temper flares.

A sturdy outfit of leather and fur cannot hide his scrawny figure – Vaclav is a good 6 feet tall, but does not sport the impressive shoulders of his father nor the muscles of those who perform physical labour. A sharp hooked nose flanked by unforgiving eyes paint the image of a hard man, one who won’t shy away from violence. Hair the color of wet hay is kept short, a habit he picked up during the campaigns. Long elongated fingers show neatly kept nails, an indicator of the man’s profession.

A fire flickered in the palm of his hand. The sudden quiet screamed that there was trouble ahead and only those who had their heads up their asses didn’t notice it. One look to his side told him that the farmer’s boy wielding the oversized spear, pretending to be a tough soldier but fooling no one, was such an individual. A fiery glare got the boy’s attention and the boy mouthed an annoyed “what?!” before realizing that everyone else had readied their weapons. Have to watch that one, because he’ll be the first one gone if no one watches his back..

The long journey had completely exhausted his patience. Mile upon mile of nothing but soggy wilderness had drained every bit of energy out of Vaclav and he wanted nothing more than to take off his mud-stained boots. A proper beer, some meat to sink his teeth into and the prospect of a warm bed that wasn’t ridden with fleas – now that’s the stuff. Sadly that wasn’t his reality for tonight. The party had managed to find a decent camp spot, but the ground was too wet to ensure a pleasant night’s rest. The question why he was mastering the arts of wielding the elements yet was unable to keep a small piece of land dry plagued him. Oh, adventuring, how it fueled the creative process of the scholars of the arcane: it wasn’t the foes they encountered, but the bothersome circumstances that pushed them onwards to becoming better mages.

Naralesh
Elf Wizard (Conjurer) 1
NG Medium Humanoid (Elf)
Init +8; Senses Low-Light Vision, Perception +4, Sense Motive +2
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 8 (1d6+2)
Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +2
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee Longsword -1 (1d8-1 19-20/x2)
Ranged Shortbow +2 (1d6 x3), ranged touch +2
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 8, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 11
Feats Improved Initiative, Scribe Scroll, Alertness (Familiar)
Traits Pioneer, Warrior of Old
Skills Knowledge (Arcana) +8, Knowledge (Local) +8, Knowledge (Nature) +8, Profession (Farmer) +4, Ride +4, Spellcraft +8
Languages Common, Elven, Sylvan, Celestial, Orc, Goblin
Combat Gear Armored coat, longsword, shortbow, arrows (x20)
Other Gear Spellbook, wizard's kit (backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, iron pot, mess kit, soap, spell component pouch, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and waterskin), saddlebags, riding saddle, arrows (x20), horse feed (5 days), 18 gp, 8 sp, 5 cp
--------------------
Spells
--------------------
Spellbook: All 0-level spells except Enchantment/Necromancy, grease, color spray, silent image, snowball, mage armor, enlarge person, obscuring mist
Spells Prepared:
0-level (DC 14): detect magic, dancing lights, prestidigitation
1st-level (DC 15): color spray, enlarge person, obscuring mist
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Pioneer +1 to Ride skill checks
Arcane School Conjuration (Teleportation Sub-School)
Shift (Su) At 1st level, you can teleport to a nearby space as a swift action as if using dimension door. This movement does not provoke an attack of opportunity. You must be able to see the space that you are moving into. You cannot take other creatures with you when you use this ability (except for familiars). You can move 5 feet for every two wizard levels you possess (minimum 5 feet). You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Intelligence modifier.
Summoner's Charm (Su): Whenever you cast a conjuration (summoning) spell, increase the duration by a number of rounds equal to 1/2 your wizard level (minimum 1). This increase is not doubled by Extend Spell. At 20th level, you can change the duration of all summon monster spells to permanent. You can have no more than one summon monster spell made permanent in this way at one time. If you designate another summon monster spell as permanent, the previous spell immediately ends.
Arcane Bond Fox Familiar named Nora. Grants +2 to Reflex saves.

Nora, Fox Familiar
N Tiny animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent, empathic link; Perception +8
--------------------
DEFENSE
--------------------
AC 15, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +2 Size, +1 Natural)
hp 4 (half of master)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +2
--------------------
OFFENSE
--------------------
Speed 40 ft.
Melee bite +1 (1d3-1)
Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
--------------------
STATISTICS
--------------------
Str 9, Dex 15, Con 13, Int 6, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 9 (13 vs. trip)
Feats Skill Focus (Perception)
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+10 when jumping), Perception +8, Stealth +10, Survival +1 (+5 scent tracking); Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics when jumping, +4 Survival when tracking by scent
--------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
--------------------
Familiar The master of a fox familiar gains a +2 bonus on Reflex saves.
Empathic Link (Su) The master has an empathic link with his familiar to a 1 mile distance. The master can communicate empathically with the familiar, but cannot see through its eyes. Because of the link's limited nature, only general emotions can be shared. The master has the same connection to an item or place that his familiar does.
Share Spells The wizard may cast a spell with a target of “You” on his familiar (as a touch spell) instead of on himself. A wizard may cast spells on his familiar even if the spells do not normally affect creatures of the familiar's type (magical beast).
Improved Evasion (Ex) When subjected to an attack that normally allows a Reflex saving throw for half damage, a familiar takes no damage if it makes a successful saving throw and half damage even if the saving throw fails.
Alertness (Ex) While a familiar is within arm's reach, the master gains the Alertness feat.

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.

Talia Khavortorov

human Brevic female bard 1 (court bard)
N medium human
Init +1; Senses Perception +3
-------------
Defense
-------------

AC 15, Touch 11, Flat footed 14, (10 +2 armor +1 dex, +2 shield)
Hp 9
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +2
-------------
Offense
-------------
Spd 30 ft
Melee +2 Longsword (1d8+2 19-20/x2)
Melee +2 Whip (1d3+2/x2; disarm, non-lethal, 15' reach, trip)
Ranged +1 Sling (1d6+1 20/x2; Range 50')
SA disarm +4 (+6 with whip); trip +2 (+4 with whip); satire; spells
-------------
Stats
-------------
Str 14 Dex 12 Con 12 Int 13 Wis 8 Cha 16
BAB +0, CMB +2 CMD 13
Feats: combat expertise (-1 attack, +1 dodge to AC); improved disarm (+2 disarm attempts, no AoO)
Traits: bastard (+1 will saves, -1 charisma checks vs. Brevic nobility); inspired (1/day roll twice and take better result on any skill or ability check)
Skills (9 - 6 Base, 1 human, 1 int, 1 favored class): Acrobatics -1; Climb +0; (1) Craft (writing) +5; (1) Diplomacy +8; Escape Artist -1; (1) Intimidate +7 (1) Knowledge (local) +6; (1) Knowledge (nobility) +6; (1) Linguistics +5; (1) Perception +3; (1) Perform (Act) +7; Ride -1; Stealth -1; (1) Sense Motive +3
Languages Common, Elven, Sylvan
SQ: Bonus Feat; Skilled; Favored Class (Bard); Bardic Performance [7 rounds/day; class skill: Perform; Standard action to start; free action to maintain; countersong; distraction (Perform: act) and creatures in 30'uses perform check in place of save for illusion (pattern) and illusion (figment) effects; fascinate DC 13; satire (-1 attack and damage rolls, and saves vs, fear and enchantment to creatures that can hear performance;language-dependent, mind-affecting ability that uses components];heraldic expertise [+ 1/2 bard level to diplomacy, kno (history, local, royalty), minimum of 1; reroll 1/day]; cantrips

-------------
Spells
-------------
Spells Known: 4/2
0 (DC 13) - daze, ghost sound, light, message
1 (DC 14) - grease, sleep
Spells Per Day: cantrips/2
-------------
Gear
-------------
24.9 gp

longsword (4#), sling (-#), bullets (10; 5#), lamellar cuirass (8#), whip (2#), bard's kit [backpack (2#), bedroll (5#), belt pouch (0.5#), flint & steel (-#), ink (-#), inkpen (-#), iron pot (4#), journal (1#), mess kit (1#), mirror (0.5#), rope (50'; 10#), soap (0.5#), torches (10; 1# ea.), trail rations (5; 1# ea.), waterskin (4#); 30.5#]; traveler's outfit (5#); disguise kit ("makeup artist supplies" 10/10 uses; 8#); Jackass named Noleski

-------------
Carrying Capacity
-------------
Light load: 58# Medium Load: 59-116# Heavy Load: 117-175#

When in the wilderness, Moira carries her longsword, sling, bullets, lamellar, whip, backpack, belt pouch, flint & steel, ink, inkpen, journal, 2 trail rations, traveller's outfit and waterskin. Everything else is on Noleski.

Total load: #33.5
-------------
Companions
-------------

Noleski, adult male jackass

-------------
XP
-------------
0

Talia watched from the west side of the stage as the final scene of The Tender Heart came to a close, the brother-sister queen and king couple, hanging from twin rope nooses, entwined in a deathly embrace, a transparent analogy to the sibling Surtovas to anyone with a basic understanding of Brevic politics. Behind the hanging actors, there lowered a painted backdrop of the landmarks of Brevoy, all in ruins. Talia cast Ghost Sound and concentrated on swirling the sounds of conflict around the theater-goers - wails of anger and horror, the clanging of weapons, and the sobbing of children.

During the play's opening week in Restov, a city with much anti-Surtova sentiment, the crowd sat in stunned silence at the performance’s closure, slowly rising to their feet and clapping as the message of the work sunk in. Here in New Stetven, the news of this satire from the south's arrival in town had stacked attendance to the rafters, but the last scene brought no clapping - just theatergoers sitting in stunned silence, trying to figure out how to respond to this attack on the Surtova family.

Perched in the east balcony was Noleski Surtova, whispering in the ear of his councilor, seated in the row before the king. The two women in the balcony really caught Talia's attention, however. To the king's right, Talia's own half-sister, Elanna, sat staring at the balcony's floor, terribly uncomfortable. To the king's right, with a vantage-point allowing for their gazes to meet, the king's sister, Natalya, stared directly at Talia. Her look could only be interpreted as pure, unbridled, white-hot hatred.

Perhaps I shouldn't have brought The Tender Heart to New Stetven after all. Talia quickly backed out of sight.

=============

Talia Khavortorov is the bastard daughter of the deceased Lord Alfred Lebeda and the third daughter of a minor noblewoman from Restov, Svetlana Khavortorov - now the Lady Svetlana Orlov via marriage – an open secret known by anyone who knows anything about the intrigues of Brevic nobility.

Talia's position in a family of minor nobility and the affections of her father guaranteed Talia a childhood free of any wants, despite her bastard status, and she was raised in court as any other lady, with a focus on etiquette and the arts. Even as a young child, Talia showed a real ability for the arts, creating and acting in her own plays. Upon adolescence, the young woman attended Restov's finest Bardic College, where she attained high marks, with an aptitude particularly with drama and magic. The young lady also took to the dueling style common among the Rostlanders, although as she aged Talia spent more time perfecting the style with a whip than the more commonly used sword. In addition, the young noble's time at college and at court afforded Talia a sense of purpose and assurance that translated well into social situations.

After graduation, Talia worked in and around the Restov arts scene, acting in small productions. As tensions between Rostland and Issia continued to escalate, the young noblewoman was drawn to comment on them, a fertile time which gave birth to The Tender Heart, a rough if enthusiastic play satirizing the excesses of Surtova rule and the risk of civil war. The play was warmly received in Restov - warmly enough that Talia decided to take it to the seat of Surtova power in Brevoy’s capital, New Stetven. At the play's conclusion that first night in New Stetven, the look that Natalya Surtova gave Talia told the young playwright all she needed to know. Talia left first thing in the morning for home, while The Tender Heart's run was cancelled, and the Acoustic Nightmares Playhouse shuttered. Within a month, the leads of Talia's play were found dead, hanged in an apparent lovelorn suicide pact, and the playhouse burned to the ground under mysterious circumstances. Talia, may have suffered a horrible fate as well. However, was long gone from Brevoy, headed south into the Stolen Lands at the behest of her mother, with the hopes of keeping young Talia alive and the dreams of expanding House Khavortorov’s ambitions.

==============

As a young noble house with large ambitions, House Khavortorov has a large and important role for Talia to play in its machinations; Talia has a claim - if weak - as a noble of the House Lebeda. And if the rumors are true and House Lebeda's plans to marry Talia's half-sister to the crown come to fruition, then Talia would even have a claim on the crown. However, once Talia's father died in a seemingly drunken tumble down his castle stairs, his wife the Dame Sarrona Lebeda took over as regent of the house - a severe woman who has never hid her dislike of Talia, for reasons completely understandable. Talia, and House Khavortorov lost a lot of influence with House Lebeda the day that Lord Lebeda took his tumble down the stairs.

As befitting their motto "We will not be saddled", the House Khavortorov has an often antagonistic relationship with other Brevic nobility, a position that causes them to close ranks around each other and stress loyalty and duty as the most important qualities a Khavortorov can give his or her family. Talia's free spirit has often come into conflict with this expected sense of duty - the most recent conflict being Talia's decision to take her play out of Restov to New Stetven, which the House Khavortorov feared (rightly) would stir up too big a hornet's nest.
Talia's relationship with her mother is complicated. Once Svetlana married Talia’s stepfather, a minor noble of House Orlovsky, Svetlana bore two more daughters. Svetlana has given Talia a great education and support, but there is little love shown between mother and daughter, unlike the love shown Talia’s younger siblings, all proper scions of the House Khavortorov. Talia believes her mother's coldness comes from a deep-rooted shame about her out-of-wedlock pregnancy to Lord Lebeda - a shame that has not abated with time.

NPCs:

Svetlana Orlov (formerly Khavortorov) - Talia's mother
Dimitri Orlov - Talia's stepfather, minor noble of House Orlovsky
Dame Sarrona Lebeda - Regent of House Lebeda, widow of Talia's father
Lord Lebeda - deceased leader of House Lebeda, Talia's father
Natalya Surtova - sister of King Noleski of House Surtova
Elanna Lebeda - daughter of Dame Sarrona Lebeda, Talia's half-sister

Talia is generally a pretty optimistic and sure person, as those who have grown up comfortably often are, though recent events have shaken her greatly. She is quick to smile and offer her hand in friendship, and has often been told by her mother that Talia is too trusting. Once someone proves him or herself to Talia, she is a friend for life, and like her house she values loyalty and duty above most other qualities. The young noblewoman is quick to act without thinking of the consequences, and stubborn enough to stick to a plan even when it becomes apparent the plan may be a bad idea. Like most Rostlanders, Talia is somewhat obsessed with honor and personal standing, and insecurity about her birth and place in the world, coupled with heavy ambitions both for herself and her house, means that Talia is easy to provoke, if one knows the right buttons to push (her bastard status, insults to family, high praise of Issia in general and the Surtovas in particular).

Talia has the red hair and pale skin common to those from House Khavortorov. Her green eyes are her most striking feature, and they are used to very expressive effect when the young noblewoman acts. Of average height, Talia uses her acting skills to change how she presents herself based upon the situation at hand, using stances, voice projection, and such to make herself appear more intimidating, lowborn, or demure, for example. Without any acting, Talia carries herself as someone who is well-trained in the ways of etiquette, and prefers to dress in fancy clothes and jewelry. Recent turns of events have denied her the possibility, much to the young woman's chagrin.

Talia looks out at the overgrown, barely noticeable trail, a trail that stretches almost imperceptibly into the tall grasses, which themselves stretch off into the distance, separated only now and then by a scrub brush or a juniper tree, as far as Talia’s eye can make out. Girl, you are out of your world out in this world. Stay close to your new companions – they’ll have much to teach you. Turning to the woodsman, she says, ”Truly, I’m glad you’re with us. I can barely make out the trail, and we’re still in Brevoy. I’ve no doubt it will be invisible to my eye once we’re into the Stolen Lands.”

The woodsman, a rough and silent sort, simply grunts, and walks on a bit in silence, before saying, without looking in Talia’s direction, ”I’m sure you’ll have the chance to prove yourself at some point. One can’t expect a cityborn child to follow a game trail the first time she’s on one.”

Not sure how to take the woodsman’s comment, Talia simply smiles her most charming smile, overly-exaggerated and full of gleaming teeth – a smile reserved for the exaggerated style of delivery popular in Taldane comedies. Even though the woodsman isn’t looking at her, Talia hopes that smile will project some warmth towards the grizzled man. ”I’m thankful for your patience, kind sir, and I promise I will get better at this – I’ve always been a sharp study.”

The woodsman simply grunts again, perhaps the slightest grin crossing his lips. If there is one, it is gone in an instant – motioning behind him for the group to stop, the woodsman holds out his hand and lowers it towards the ground, signaling everyone to get down. Talia notices just how gnarled and calloused the woodsman’s hand is – a hand shaped by a lifetime of toil outdoors. Doing as the woodsman says, Talia crouches low and slinks up next to the woodsman, who simply points and whispers, ”Ahead, maybe 50 feet, in the scrub grass. Four men.”

And sure enough, following the woodsman’s pointed finger, Talia can see them – four men crouched in the grass, no doubt highwaymen. Well, we’re the only people for miles. Obviously, they’re waiting on us. The hairs on Talia’s arm go up, as she thinks again, The only people for miles - except them, of course. Turning to the woodsman, Talia whispers, her voice high-pitched and quivering in fear. ”They know we’re hear – that much is obvious. Stay close and I’ll prove myself now.”

Standing and stepping forward a few feet, hand on her whip’s handle, and puffing herself up to her fullest height, Talia summons her finest stage voice, confident and clear. ”You can see us and we see you, so there’s no advantage here. Know this though – I travel with a grizzled woodsman, many years in the wild, one who has caught more dangerous prey than impoverished and desperate bandits. And behind me, don’t be fooled by the crone – she can whisper powerful curses and call down fell magic on those she displeases. The priest is a priest of Desna – most aren’t fool enough to cross the goddess of luck. And lastly, me. I’m a playwright by trade, but if you hear nothing else, hear this: I’m also a child of the house Khavortorov, lieges of his land! You commit any crimes here, and I will have the authority to put you to death, and the will of my house to hunt you through the Stolen Lands themselves, if need be. Sheath your weapons and walk away, and no one need die tonight!”

Turning to the woodsman, Talia whispers, ”Well, either they’ll go – or decide I’m worth the fight to ransom. We’ll know soon enough!”

Sheet

Robin Lived the life of a con, using her music, she would draw in crowds and keep them entertained and blissfully unaware of her partners helping themselves to the onlookers coin purse.
She made enough to sustain a comfortable lifestyle, Not exactly the life she wanted but it was a living.

This living however was very risky as Robin soon learned, after watching one her friends be caught in the act, arrest, and executed for his crime. This struck fear into Robin, she took what she thought was her share of the money they had collected and fled with the goal of turning her life around, she went into the protection of the church.

Robin seems to only have two main obsessions music and food, She seems eager to please the church she works under and anyone tied to it. She refuses to use her music to harm anyone or anything.

Robin has long,light blue hair; dark blue eyes, and a soft face she stands at about 165 Cm tall and 60 Kg Heavy, She is rarely seen without her Guzheng instrument.

Robin sat outside the church gently strumming her Guzheng as she waited, lost in thought. "Are churches truly accepting of any that claim to want help? Seems foolish. She spoke to herself, as she had grown used to with the new surrounding. "I'm sure they have good reason." She nodded, this was her family now she had to trust them.

Level 1 Ranger with Iomedae Combat Style

Ary Bishop was born to a tiny homestead amongst the stolen kingdoms, she grew to the age of 8 learning how to hunt alongside her father, and taming the land for the various crops that her family could manage.

As was the case with dozens of other families, one day bandits decided it was time to take advantage of the local populace. Ary's father set her upon their only horse and ushered her away before the thieves could close in, allowing her to ride to safety, along the route she had learned to follow for the sake of trade. This resulted in her survival, though she never learned what became of her parents.

Now ostensibly an orphan, Ary tried to raise herself on the streets, but always managed to make it to listen to the stories told by the prophet on the corner, not a doomsday crier, but instead a man well-versed in the religious stories, especially of the good and noble gods. Ary was fascinated by the Eleven Miraculous Acts of Iomedae. Not only had Iomedae stood against impossible odds, but she had thrived against them.

The story of the true hero's rise to greatness flavored everything that Ary did from then on, seeking to become a hero of the common people so that one day she too could claim greatness. After hearing the final story of Iomedae, she approached the prophet and was directed to the nearest church where she trained to hopefully one day become a paladin.

Now, trained in the arts best suited to protecting others, taught to craft implements designed for the same, Ary has been chosen for her unique skills amongst the church. She is being sent back into her homeland to help retake the lands from chaos, and tame the wilds in the name of the Goddess of Valor. She readily answers the call as one of Iomedae's chosen.

Ary is self-assured, and while aware of her shortcomings, she follows the path of sacrifice and valor, as would be expected of her as a worshipper of Iomedae. She seeks to find the reason for conflict before stepping into it, but won't hesitate to defend any she perceives as innocent, even risking herself to do so. Most importantly, she recognizes that those who are capable of sin are also capable of regret, and of seeking forgiveness.

Ary is large amongst the human population, coming in at six feet, and weighing in at 180 pounds. She has bright blonde hair and deep brown eyes. At the age of nineteen, she's still youthful enough to carry her naivete with her. She carries a longsword enchanted by her church to burn with shining light and wields a small steel shield on the arm opposite. Iomedae's crest is barely visible amongst the shield that she made for herself. She dresses in studded leather which allows her to retain much of her mobility in the wilds. Her horse, a palomino daughter of her father's horse is never far away, and carry's much of her supplies, including several extra water skins, her bedding, as well as her rope and tent. She maintains several trail rations, and a mapmaker's kit in her backpack and belt pouches. She typically keeps the long sword sheathed at her side, and her shield within ready reach of either arm.

"Not any," came the resonant, husky voice of Ary, a smile playing across her lips. "The upper order of the church is able to see through the subtle trickeries of those who don't truly seek aid but only to spread dissent or harm. Regardless, if there is doubt, it is better to reach out with a hand than to raise a sword, wouldn't you agree?"

Ary stretched out her sword arm to the newcomer, offering her hand. "My name's Ary Bishop. A pleasure to meet you." She gave the musical instrument a slightly dubious look, "And I have no idea what that is, but it's very pretty."

Rondel Medvyed
Male LN Half-Elf Rogue 1
Init +2; Improved Initiative +4 (+6)
-------------------
Defense
-------------------
AC 14, Touch 12, Flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +2 Dex)
HP 10 (1d8+2)
Fort -1, Ref +4, Will +1
-------------------
Offense
-------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +1 (1d3+1/19-20) (2gp)
Ranged shortbow +2 (1d4/1d6+2/x3) (30gp)
Special Attack sneak attack (1d6)
Special Attack trapfinding
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 13, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 11
Base Attack +1; CMB +1; CMD 13
Feats
- Improved Initiative (+4)
- Skill Focus (Survival)
Traits
- Fencer (+1 Melee AoO)
- Noble Born (+2 Diplomacy versus Fey creatures; +1 Will versus Fey spells and supernatural abilities)
Skills
- Climb +5
- Diplomacy (Racial) +4
- Disable Device +6
- Knowledge (Geo) +6
- Knowledge (His) +6
- Knowledge (Loc) +6
- Knowledge (Nat) +6
- Perception +6
- Sense Motive +4
- Stealth +6
- Survival +3
- Swim +6
- Use Magic Device +6
Languages: Common, Goblin, Elven
Other Gear
- Horse (from Trait)
- Rations (5sp/day x 10 days = 50sp) (.5gp)
- Waterskin (1) (1gp)
- Flint & Steel (1) (1gp)
- Lantern, hooded (1) (7gp)
-------------------
Special Abilities
-------------------
Half-Elf
- +2 Dex
- Immune to magical sleep
- Two favored classes
- Skill focus as bonus feat at L1
- +2 racial saves versus Enchantments
- +1 racial bonus on Perception checks
- +2 racial bonus on Diplomacy and Gather Info checks
Rogue
- Sneak Attack 1d6
- Trapfinding (½ level to find traps, minimum of 1)
- Evasion (L2; no damage on successful Reflex saves)
- Rogue talents (+1 at every even-numbered level; 10+ advanced talens available)
- Trap Sense (L3; AC and Reflex bonus versus traps)
- Uncanny Dodge (L4; cannot be caught flat-footed; keep Dex bonus to AC if attacker is invis.)
- Improved Uncanny Dodge (L8; cannot be flanked)
- Master Strike (L20; each Sneak Attack paralyzes, kills, or puts into a coma)
Gold remaining
100.5

Hailing from House Medvyed near the East Sellen River in Brevoy, Rondel was adopted by a noble-born family when he was young, following the death of both of his parents in a raid by bandits from southern Rostland. After a long period of grieving, he chose the rogue lifestyle as a means of escape and self medication.

The death of his parents often plays a central role in his morality, impacting heavily his decision making and personal choices. Somewhat cynical, he has lost much of a sense of “good” in the world, and therefore personally doesn’t feel there many lawful, upstanding people. He desires revenge for his parents, be that in form of finding the bandits, or in rediscovering a sense of “good” in the world and contributing to it as best as he can. But for now, he remains cautiously optimistic.

It is because of this desire to rediscover the good that inspired Rondel to take interest in this adventure. Maybe the companions he’ll go forth with will rekindle his faith in society. And maybe he’ll make friends, learn to rely on others, and find out just what kind of person he really is.

Rondel is often quiet at first. Cautious. Given his childhood and history with death, he tends to trust slowly. Once trust is obtained though, it’s hard to break and Rondel will likely be one of the more trusted companions. He often roams alone, but is capable and helpful in smaller groups. Anything too large though, and he’ll become less helpful.

His silver-blue eyes are deep set, often hidden behind tassels of brown hair. His brow bone is very defined, further shading his eyes from light. As his eyes are sensitive to bright light, he feels his deep-set eyes and strong brow bone is some evolutionary quirk. He gravitates towards muted, darker colors and prefers the shadows to the spotlight.

His hands are slightly larger than an average elf of his height and weight, and they are strong and well-worn. Veins can often be seen wiring his forearms to his fingertips. His shoulders are broad and decently wider than his lower torso, creating sort of a "V" shape. He wears a worn, black leather wristband on his left wrist, given to him by his father, Rondolan Elanmeir the Foundation.

Though not overly muscular, his body is tone and firm, with strong definition. He has powerful legs from a decade of Eastern training, yet has the agility of a cat. He is fairly quick and has above average endurance.

The sun was beginning to set on the plains as the small band of companions began to make camp for the night. The site was mostly secure, with one side against a tall ravine wall which allowed for some protection. Rondel made a fire for the group. He kept it small - just large enough to allow for some light cooking and a little warmth, but small enough to avoid attention and to be seen from a distance. His father taught him that. “I’ll take the early watch,” Rondel announced. A so-called “early bird”, Rondel was often awake before well before dawn, packing his things, preparing for the day ahead. The early morning, Rondel found, was the most peaceful. Quiet, still, calming. It was his element.

It’s just before dawn and there’s a rustle in the brush nearby. Rondel, alert and dedicated, checks the dagger at the side of his hip. Ready. The rustle, again, but ninety degrees turn from where it was before. “This creature is fast,” he thought, gripping his dagger, removing it slowly - quietly - from its leather sheathe.

He glances over. The rest of the camp is sound asleep, undisturbed. To investigate or to remain still and watchful? Rondel decides to investigate, but slowly. He moves towards the brush where the rustling last occurred, dagger drawn in his right hand; lantern in the other. His footsteps are deliberate. Quiet. Careful not to disturb a frail leaf; feeling for dried twigs and sticks. Closer he approaches, quietly. Deliberately. Carefully…

“Is all well?” a voice whispered quietly from camp behind him.

A pause. Rondel thought it best not to speak. If it was nothing, he didn’t want to startle the group in their sleep. “Aye,” he replied, hoping the noises were just nocturnal, woodland creatures. Hoping his repsonse was sufficient, Rondel moves closer towards the sound...

Zan Dawnbringer
Male Human Ranger 1
CG Medium Human, Age 26
Init +3; Senses Perception +5
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 15, touch 13, flat-footed 12
Hit Points 11 (1d10+1)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +1
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Ranged +3 Composite Longbow 1d8+3 (20/x3) 110ft
Melee +2 Battleaxe 1d8+2 (20/x3)

--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14(+2), Dex 16(+3), Con 13(+1), Int 10(+0), Wis 13(+1), Cha 8(-1)
BAB +1; CMB +3; CMD 16
Feats: Point Blank Shot, Rapid Shot
Traits: Bastard, Bounty Hunter
Skills (6): Heal 5, Knowledge (Nature) 4, Perception 5, Stealth, 7, Survival 5, Climb 6
Languages Common

--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Favored Enemies: Magical beast +2
Track: Adds half level to Surrival checks
Wild Empathy

Point Blank Shot: +1 attack and damage on targets within 30 feet
Rapid Shot:One extra arrow/round, all at -2 to hit

--------------------
Equipment
--------------------
Wealth: 19 gp, 9 sp, 8 cp
Composite Longbow 1d8+3 (20/x3) 110ft
Arrows (20) x 2
Battleaxe 1d8+2 (20/x3)
Backpack
Outfit (Traveler’s)
Cloak
Pouch (Belt)
Rations (6 days)
Torch (2)
Flint and Steel
Hunting Knife

A scream. Eyes open. A dream, maybe? The moonlight doesn’t reach far through the canopy above and the campfire is all but a faint orange glow. Zan stares at the smoldering flame, listening closely.

Again, a scream. His heart beats faster and he sits up to let his eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding the camp. Alec, a childhood friend and fellow hunter, is not on his bedroll and nearby dirt and broken branches lay disturbed. He fears the worst.

Zan, 17 years of age at the time, grabbed his bow, but he knew his skills lacked. Alec was more of the fighter, Zan the tracker.

A blood-gurgling scream rings out from the west.

At first, he thinks of the fear and loss of his mother, and wants to run back home to the only family he has left: his father, Rodan. But is Alec not more than a friend? A brother?

He musters the courage and begins his walk into the darkness, making sure to step lightly with eyes wide open.

The screams have stopped but he’s sure that he’s on track and the thick smell of blood confirms his direction.

As he reaches a clearing the smell becomes unbearable, it’s not the smell of a corpse but that of a beast. He would have moved forward if it were not for the bright yellow eyes staring at him a mere 20 yards away.

The darkness envelopes the beast save for its eyes. Zan readies his bow, shaking softly as he raises it, aiming for the only part of the beast he can see: the eyes.

The beast huffs through its nostrils and lets out of a fearful roar, and Zan’s courage is lost.
With a regret that will stay with him for many years, Zan lets loose an arrow with a shoddy aim, and runs, never looking back. He runs for hours until he reaches a familiar riverbed.

That night was the last time he had seen Alec.

Ever since that night he saw Bright Eyes in the Gronzi Forest, Zan has been determined to avenge the death of his friend. He lost his innocence then and vows to better himself so that when he comes face to face with the beast again he’ll be ready.
This motivation has led him to lead a stoic life, focused on training and always searching. At times he’ll remain quiet until he has something to say and he’ll say it with force. When he travels with a band on a hunt, his companions often think he’s daydreaming, quietly staring off into the forest. But he’s always watching and listening.

As a human whose family come from Taldan, Zan has a pleasant appearance with bronze-colored skin and dark brown hair cut short and clean. A light beard covers the bottom half of his face, the color matching his dark eyes.
Zan is often seen wearing a dark blue hood and cloak that covers his family leather, which is nicked and scratched for years of use. If you look closely as he walks - his slow and calculated steps - you might catch the glimpse of a axe attached close to his hip.

Zan burst through the wooden door, sweat pushing the dirt down his face. He had been running for two hours with only his bow in hand, and the bright yellow eyes in his mind. Oh Kelethia, the eyes!
Breathlessly he looks to his startled father, who seems to have been preparing lunch at the dining table.
“What is it, boy? Why are you home so early? asks his father
“Bright eyes,” Zan replies before he crumples to the wooden floor. Darkness.

--
When Zan awakes his eyes takes a moment to focus, he sees the familiar ceiling marked with scratches of his bedroom. With a slight tilt of his head, he notices a surprised boy sitting next to his bed.
The boy scrambles to his feet and rushes out of the door, knocking over his wooden chair.
Zan takes a moment to look at his surroundings. The world outside the window is dark, but he’s not sure how long he has been asleep. Hours? Days?
The candlestick on the nightstand flickers as he sits up and swings his feet onto the floor.
Suddenly, two men and his father, now dressed in family leathers come into the room. Oh Alec, how will I tell them?

Zan’s father takes uprights the wooden chair and takes a seat. The two men, who Zan now recognizes as Alec’s father Merius and the town constable, push further into the room.

Unable to hold out, Merius asks: “Zan, what has happened to my son?”
Bright Eyes. “I do not know. We were hunting game overnight in the Gronzi Forest as we were told to do. I awoke to screaming in the distance, and Alec was gone.”
The memories begin to shake Zan, his hands trembling slightly.
His father lays his rough hands on Zan’s shoulder.
“Tell me son, what is ‘bright eyes’?”
Yellow, blood gurgling screams. No…
“I...I can’t say.” Zan looks to Merius with fear in his eyes. “It was a beast with eyes as bright a flame in the night. I’m sorry Merius, but there was nothing I could do but run.”
“Coward,” Merius replies.
Yes, coward.