Rise of the Runelords (Inactive)

Game Master inara14

I have been roleplaying for approximately 8 years in the real world and was part of the executive team of our roleplaying society (around 180 people). I started out with D&D 3.5 but fell in love with Pathfinder 2 years later. I have played and GM'd in the real world with large groups all the way down to solo campaigns with my husband. I am currently playing in my first ever PbP (Ruins of Azlant) but wanted to GM a game as well. I'm a completionist in all walks in life, so I am looking to play with other players who would also like to see the campaign through. I have played a section of Rise of the Runelords in a solo game, but knew it would be better with a group so here it is!

1. I am a big fan of Role-play and not roll-play and luckily PbP is great for that.
2. Post Rate - I try to post 5-10 times per week and expect players to do the same. I am a teacher which means sometimes I have a parents meeting in the evening so cannot post whereas in the school holidays (UK) I can post more regularly.
3. Timezones do not bother me but FYI, I am GMT.

I am going to use the Grouped Combat style to speed combat rounds up.
Please roll for actions in the order that they occur.
I will ask you to put certain information in you race line etc so they are available each post.Please do keep this up to date.

Players Guide Please read the players guide for the anniversary edition found here: http://paizo.com/products/btpy8tgl?Pathfinder-Adventure-Path-Rise-of-the-Ru nelords-Anniversary-Edition-Players-Guide
Character background This is the most important point of a character submission to help me work out how a party will gel together. I will choose 4-6 characters with good backgrounds rather than choosing particular builds.
Character appearance and personalityPlease describe this succinctly alongside your character background.
Level 1
Races: Core or Featured only. No uncommon.
Classes: Paizo classes only and use Unchained if available.
Ability scores:20 point buy
Skills: As normal with background skills in addition.
Hit Points:Full at first level and then rolled in the discussion thread for each subsequent level (1s to be rerolled once)
Alignment:Any non-evil
Traits: 2 traits, one of which must be a campaign trait. You may take a drawback to pick an extra trait.
Wealth:Full at first level.

Marissia Quink
Female Human Wizard (arcane physician) 1
LG Medium Humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +1

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DEFENSE
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AC 11, touch 11, flat-footed 10 (+0 armour, +1 Dex, +0 shield)
hp 7 (1d6+1)
Fort +1, Ref +1, Will +3

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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +1 (1d4+1/19-20)
Ranged ray of frost +1 (1d3 cold)
Spells Prepared (CL 1st, Concentration +5)
1st—Colour Spray (DC 15), Mage Armour
0—Detect Magic, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost

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STATISTICS
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Str 12, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 12
Traits Dangerously Curious, Erastil’s Speaker, Scholar of the Ancients
Drawbacks Dependent
Feats Brew Potion, Scribe Scroll, Skill Focus (knowledge (history))
Skills Diplomacy +6, Heal +2, Knowledge (arcana) +9, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +8, Knowledge (history) +12, Knowledge (local) +8, Profession (teacher) +5, Profession (medic) +5, Spellcraft +8, Use Magic Device +6
(10 points; 2 class, 4 INT, 2 background, 1 race, 1 favoured class)
Abilities Arcane Bond, Cantrips, Medicinal Alchemy
Languages Common, Draconic, Giant, Shoanti, Thassilonian, Varisian

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Arcane Bond (Ex or Sp): Melisandra formed a powerful bond with an object. A bonded object is an item a wizard can use to cast additional spells or to serve as a magical item. She begins play with one at no cost. Objects that are the subject of an arcane bond must fall into one of the following categories: amulet, ring, staff, wand, or weapon (amulet). These objects are always masterwork quality. Weapons acquired at 1st level are not made of any special material. If the object is an amulet or ring, it must be worn to have effect, while staves, wands, and weapons must be wielded. If a wizard attempts to cast a spell without his bonded object worn or in hand, she must make a concentration check or lose the spell. The DC for this check is equal to 20 + the spell's level. If the object is a ring or amulet, it occupies the ring or neck slot accordingly.

A bonded object can be used once per day to cast any one spell that the wizard has in her spellbook and is capable of casting, even if the spell is not prepared. This spell is treated like any other spell cast by the wizard, including casting time, duration, and other effects dependent on the wizard's level. This spell cannot be modified by metamagic feats or other abilities. The bonded object cannot be used to cast spells from the wizard's opposition schools (see arcane school).

A wizard can add additional magic abilities to her bonded object if she has the required item creation feats and if she meets the level prerequisites of the feat. The magic properties of a bonded object, including any magic abilities added to the object, only function for the wizard who owns it. If a bonded object's owner dies, or the item is replaced, the object reverts to being an ordinary masterwork item of the appropriate type.

If a bonded object is damaged, it is restored to full hit points the next time the wizard prepares her spells. If the object of an arcane bond is lost or destroyed, it can be replaced after 1 week in a special ritual that costs 200 gp per wizard level plus the cost of the masterwork item. This ritual takes 8 hours to complete. Items replaced in this way do not possess any of the additional enchantments of the previous bonded item. A wizard can designate an existing magic item as his bonded item. This functions in the same way as replacing a lost or destroyed item except that the new magic item retains its abilities while gaining the benefits and drawbacks of becoming a bonded item.

Dangerously Curious (trait): 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. You gain a +1 bonus on Use Magic Device checks, and Use Magic Device is always a class skill for you.

Erastil’s Speaker (trait): You understand the importance of keeping the peace in your community, and you have learned how to speak to the faithful in ways that they understand. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Diplomacy checks, and Diplomacy is always a class skill for you.

Focused Study (alternate human trait): All humans are skillful, but some, rather than being generalists, tend to specialize in a handful of skills. At 1st, 8th, and 16th level, such humans gain Skill Focus in a skill of their choice as a bonus feat. This racial trait replaces the bonus feat trait.

Dependent (drawback): You are dependent upon the acceptance of others. Whenever you fail a Diplomacy check, you become shaken for 1 hour.
Medicinal Alchemy: The arcane physician treats all spells of the healing subschool on the alchemist extract list as if they were on the wizard spell list for the purpose of activating magic items.

Additionally, she can expend a spell slot of the appropriate level to meet the spell requirements for magic item construction (including potions) as if the expended spell slot contained any alchemist spell that belongs to the healing subschool. If the spell is on both the wizard and alchemist lists, the arcane physician may expend a slot equal to the spell’s alchemist level instead of the spell’s wizard level. At 8th level, the arcane physician can expend a spell slot of 1st level or higher as a standard action to alter a potion or alchemical remedy held in hand. An alchemical remedy can become any other alchemical remedy of the same or lower price of the arcane physician’s choice. A potion can change to contain any alchemist extract of the arcane physician’s choice that belongs to the healing subschool and is of the same level as or lower than the expended spell slot. The extract must have no material component costing more than 1 gp, and it must be one that it is possible to make into a potion. This ability replaces arcane school.

Scholar of the Ancients (trait): Growing up with your nose in books, you’ve had a great interest in past cultures and ancient history. Furthermore, having grown up in Varisia, you know the monuments dotting the landscape belong to an ancient civilization known as Thassilon. From your life of study and dogged research, you’ve pieced together the language and partial history of this once-great empire. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (arcana) and Knowledge (history) checks, and begin play able to speak and read Thassilonian.

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Spells Known
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1st— charm person, colour spray, endure elements, mage armour, magic missile, monkey fish, shield
0th— acid splash, arcane mark, bleed, dancing lights, daze, detect magic, detect poison, disrupt undead, flare, ghost sound, light, mage hand, mending, message, open/close, prestidigitation, ray of frost, read magic, resistance, scrivener’s chant, spark, touch of fatigue

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Combat Gear dagger, potion of cure light wounds, scroll of monkey fish
Possessions Arcane bonded amulet (belonged to her mother, a pair of intertwined birds, on silver and one gold on a gold chain), backpack, belt pouch, cauldron, ink, inkpen, scroll box, spellbook, spell component pouch
Carrying Capacity
Light 0-43 lb. Medium 44-86 lb. Heavy 87-130 lb.
Current Load Carried 14 lbs.
Money 5 GP 8 SP 10 CP

Marissia was born to Brodert Quink, Sandpoint’s local crack-pot and self-proclaimed ‘expert’ on Thassilonian history. She’s not sure who her mother is and her father never talks about it, but she does have an amulet that once belonged to her—a pair of intertwined birds, one gold and one silver, on a gold chain. Her Dad gave her a poor education—all focused on Thassilon and archaeology—not math, current events or, most importantly, reading common. When she tried to interact with other children and adults she never got along with them—either because of her dad’s crazy reputation and antics, or because of something he taught her (or neglected to). She was teased often, and was an outsider.

When she was young she loved her dad and was insatiably curious. She found Thassilon fascinating. But, by her early teens she had grown embarrassed of her dad, his work, and her life in general. She demanded entry into a proper education at Turandarok Academy. After a year of ingratiating herself to other kids and parents, distancing herself from her dad and self-depreciating humour (and with the help of a few well-placed charm person spells), Marissia finally figured out how to fit in with her peers and be accepted in Sandpoint.

Even as a grown woman, Marissia rejects her dad and distances herself from his theories and work. She cares about people, and what they think, not dusty old tomes and ruins and junk left behind by dead people. She works as a teacher at Turandarok Academy, teaching literacy, math, history, basic wizardry and potions and, though her dad thinks she’s wasting her talents, she enjoys it very much. She refuses to teach Thassilonian history, despite her expertise.

Marissia works really hard to be normal and accepted. She is not flashy or materialistic. She’s part of the crowd, and has plenty of distant friends, but no close friends or soul mates. Despite her scholarly pursuits she’s not a bookwork or into research. She’s sociable, fit, healthy, and well-groomed. She worships Erastil, but also pays homage to the other gods in Sandpoint’s pantheon. She believe’s that faith is important, but it’s what we do that matter most.

Marissia lives in a flat between Bishop Street and Prickleback Lane (placing her home near the theater, carpenter’s guild, Madame Mvashti’s and the grocery store). She is relatively close with Ilsoari Gandethus (her boss) and Hannah Velerin (the herbalist).

She has yet to realize she can’t please everyone, and her father’s not as crazy as everyone thinks…

Marissia has short red hair, and green eyes. She’s pale, and freckled, but tall, fit and healthy. She wears well-tailored cotton shirts, brocade vests, and leather pants with comfortable boots. She never goes anywhere without her mother’s amulet tied around her neck.

Theron Istral
Male Human (Varisian) Ranger (Infiltrator) 1
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +5

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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 11 (1d10+1)
Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +1

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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee longsword +3 (1d8+2/19-20)
Ranged longbow +5 (1d8/x3)
Special Attacks humanoid (goblinoid)+2

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STATISTICS
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Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 17
Feats Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Skills Handle Animal +4 , Intimidate +4 , Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +4 , *Knowledge (Geography) +4 , Knowledge (Nature) +4 , *Linguistics +1 , Perception +5 , Stealth +7 , Survival +5 , Survival (Follow or identify tracks) +6 , Swim +5
* indicates background skills
Traits giant slayer, magical knack (ranger)
Languages Common, Giant, Varisian
SQ track +1, wild empathy +1
Gear/Possessions studded leather, longsword, longbow, outfit (traveler's), arrows (60), backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, trail rations (5 days), rope (hemp/50ft), waterskin

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Giant Slayer Your family's village was plundered by giants in the wilds of Varisia, leaving nothing but a smoldering ruin. After the destruction of your village, your family trained for combat against giants to prevent such a tragedy from ever happening again. Since hearing of giants mobilizing throughout the countryside, you ventured to Sandpoint to help the town prepare for a possible incursion. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Bluff, Perception, and Sense Motive checks and +1 trait bonus on attack rolls and damage rolls against creatures of the giant subtype.

Humanoid (Goblinoid) (Ex) You gain a +2 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks when using these skills against goblinoids. Likewise, you get a +2 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against such creatures. You may make Knowledge Skill checks untrained to identify such creatures.

Magical Knack (Ranger) You were raised, either wholly or in part, by a magical creature, either after it found you abandoned in the woods or because your parents often left you in the care of a magical minion. This constant exposure to magic has made its mysteries easy for you to understand, even when you turn your mind to other devotions and tasks. Your caster level in Ranger gains a +2 trait bonus as long as this bonus doesn't raise your caster level above your current Hit Dice.

Track (Ex) You gain +1 to Survival checks made to follow tracks.

Wild Empathy (Ex) You can improve the attitude of an animal. This ability functions just like Diplomacy check made to improve the attitude of a person. You roll 1d20+1 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, you and the animal must be within 30 feet of one another under normal circumstances. Generally, influencing an animal in this way takes 1 minute, but as with influencing people, it might take more or less time. You can use this ability to influence a magical beast with an Intelligence score of 1 or 2, but you take a -4 penalty on the check.

Theron’s memories of his little village are often quite distressing. There are pleasant memories of festivals, family, and friends. But alongside those are less pleasant ones. Homes engulfed in flames. Panicked voices desperate to escape. Massive, brutish figures running amok. Loved ones being cut down.

Theron was born in a small, quiet hamlet in a rather remote part of Varisia. He and his twin sister Adara had a fairly typical upbringing for most of their early childhood. At about nine or ten, though, life as he knew it came crashing down around him. A roving group of giants descended upon the village, taking what they could and torching the rest, killing indiscriminately all the while. While Theron managed to escape with his father, his mother and sister were not as fortunate. His mother was cut down during the attack, and his sister became separated from him during the chaos and vanished. Adara’s body was never found during the aftermath, and for a long time Theron held out hope that Adara had made it to safety somewhere, somehow. As the years went by, though, that hope dwindled to almost nothing.

For years after the destruction of their village, Theron and his father flitted from caravan to caravan, settlement to settlement, spending extended periods of time living in the Varisian wilderness. Theron’s father made it his purpose in life to teach his son not only how to survive, but how to fight. He became obsessed with learning how to kill giants and prevent a repeat of what happened to their family, and every bit of knowledge he found he passed on to his son. This obsession changed him, though, and his behavior would at times confuse Theron. He would often disappear for days at a time, even weeks, leaving Theron to fend for himself wherever he was, be it in a town or at a campsite at the edge of a forest.

And so it was that Theron Istran spent his adolescence, wandering Varisia. Years later, upon reaching the age of adulthood, he was gifted a kapenia by his father. Shortly thereafter he disappeared once more, only this time he didn’t come back. Theron attempted to track his father, but to no avail. He was simply gone. Without any other options, Theron continued with his current lifestyle living on the fringes of civilization. He would hunt and explore, sell goods when money was needed, and aid travelers braving the dangers of the Varisian wilderness when the opportunity arose. In recent months rumors had begun circulating through the countryside of giants on the move again. Eager to help whoever he can against something like that, Theron made his way to the town of Sandpoint, offering his services in whatever capacity would be most useful.

Theron is a fairly typical young Varisian man in physical appearance. He has bronzed skin, brown hair that hangs down just above his shoulders, and dark, intense eyes. A bit taller than average, Theron is lean and nimble in his bearing and movements. His clothing is different from the usual Varisian fare, though. He generally shuns bright, flashy colors and ostentation in favor of a rough mix of darker greens and browns, even when not moving through the countryside.

Having spent his life on the fringes of civilization, Theron has learned to depend on himself and his own abilities. While not averse to working in groups or accepting help, he prides himself on his drive and self-sufficiency.

He has moved from place to place without any set community for several years, and while he can socialize well enough -- even if he comes across as a bit odd at times -- he has struggled to find any person or group of people with whom he can truly become personally invested. Friendly enough, but aloof and a bit rough around the edges. There are still scars leftover from childhood, however, and his attitudes toward giants and their kind are considerably less charitable.

Hermea, island of mysteries. Home of the new and improved humanity, the perfect society. Under the protection of a golden dragon who wishes to guide humanity into a new age of enlightenment and perfection.

But no one inherits a place there. Even the children must be tested when they reach adulthood, to see if they are fit to enter the new world.

Valerie failed the tests. It was the worst day of her life, and she doesn't know why. (No one is ever told why; it keeps outsiders from trying to game the tests.) She had to leave in the spring. The Council gave her gear and clothing and weapons from the common treasury, and a voucher for passage across the Steaming Sea. Her mother wished her well. Her father, born in Magnimar, told her that some Hermean children in the past had gone out into the world and come back home as heroes, having earned a place.

The first night on the ship, she vowed that she would be a hero, and return one day to the Golden Isle and the beaches where she grew up. She would join her parents as a disciple of Mengkare.

When the ship docked at Sandpoint, she disembarked, got down on shore, and stood there wondering what to do. Everything in Hermea had been planned and organized; this small town was chaos.

"It's not so bad," said a bird perched on the dock railing beside her. "There's always a need for heroes."

"I didn't think birds usually talked," Valerie said dubiously. They certainly hadn't at home.

"Well, most of us don't", the bird said, "but there was a nice lady somewhere who thinks you could be beautiful, Silverhair. Really beautiful, soul as well as body. Follow me, and see!" It fluttered off.

And Valerie followed.

Valerie is tall and athletic, with blue eyes and dark hair streaked with silver. She is quick to react, fast and nimble on her feet, and quite charming. Of course, she ends up putting her foot in her mouth a lot, because nothing is familiar and everything is strange. She was well-taught, but Hermean philosophical training is somewhat lacking in practical skills.

She loves art and beauty, and has begun to follow Shelyn's path. (You'd think Iomedae's, but by this time Valerie is used to life throwing her curveballs. Certainly she means to be a hero.

There's more than one way to be a hero. It isn't all about the athletics, or the feats of arms. It might be about the spirit.

My name is Igmutanka, son of Napayshni, and I’m a Shoanti from the Lyrune-Quah. Or I was, once.

I was born in a small settlement in our ancestral territory, the Cinderlands. My father was one of the chieftain’s closest warriors, and so we were an important family in the village. We were as happy as we could be, though it all changed when the Guardian of the Night, our chieftain, got married.

At first, everything was fine, Shadi seemed a good wife and woman. But as time went by and fire-water started to take its toll on the Guardian, she began to put her eyes on other men, and she put them on the most cruel, envious and vile men of them all: Tahoma the Cutthroat.

For many moons, they were both developing their plan. They poisoned other villagers’ minds, slandering the Guardian’s name and convincing them that their once proud and brave chieftain was now just a useless old drunk. On a night of new moon, they set everything in motion – such was their cowardice, that they feared our Mother-Totem would witness it.

They killed the Guardian and his family. They killed his warriors, and everyone that supported Napayshni or didn’t believe Shadi’s lies. My father was among the first fallen.
At the time, I was already fifteen, so I was old enough to realise what would happen to me. I had to flee. I only took the first weapon I could find with me - a bow and some arrows. Nobody noticed, and I fled through the night till I fell exhausted. My last thought before fading was about my parents and the treachery suffered that night.
I wandered alone for several days. I didn’t want to go to other Shoanti settlements, in case Tahoma had informants there, so I tried to live off the land and look for a place to stay inhabited by Varisians. And so I found Master Alonso.

Master Alonso was travelling through Varisia with a group of adventurers at the time. They found me and gave me shelter and food. They treated me well, and they cared for me. Through the following days and weeks, Master Alonso became the closest I could aspire to a fatherly figure. He taught me the Varisian language, helped me find my strong and weak points, showed me about Our Lady Iomedae’s faith and nearly made me forget about the dreadful night when my world was torn to pieces.

In time, Alonso left the adventuring group and took me to a place where more devotees were training. I missed my home, but I knew there was no turning back and accepted my new life as a servant of the Inheritor. Though I never managed to reach hundred percent of the zeal other recruits had, feeling useful to the world made me advance and mature, and I was comfortable enough for some time. Just up to when Master Alonso died of old age.

On his last moments, he thought about me, and told me to go to Sandpoint and claim in his name a favour he had pending for a long time. After that, he said, I would be free to do whatever I felt was right. Call me whatever you want, but the first thing that came to mind was my village and Tahoma. ”Thank you, Master” was all I was able to say, tears choking my throat, and after everything ended I set way for Sandpoint to honour the Master’s last will. What will I do after that only Our Lady knows…

Igmutanka is a healthy and fit young man. He doesn’t shave his head or keep any other Shoanti custom, but he still feels himself a Shoanti. However, he has embraced his new life willingly, knowing that’s that for now. In the future, he will probably try to avenge his parents, but this is something he must do when he feels confident enough.

It seems quite obvious that he is not the perfect follower of Iomedae - he is a good lad, but not as rigid as the archetypical paladin or priest. After all, he’s been raised by the Shoanti! Seeking revenge will become a difficult matter, confronting his duty with his heart.

Igmutanka has a birthmark in the shape of a lion - roughly. That’s why he was given that name (big cat), and that’s what Alonso discovered that made him train the youngling in Iomedae’s ways - the lion being Iomedae’s chosen animal.

I am a long time gamer (redbox) that takes gaming seriously. I am an avid poster capable of multiple posts per day, and have been PbP for 3 years now. My lack of activity on the Paizo boards is due to my regular gaming group moving to Myth-Weavers. I will finish Reign of Winter next month - the first 3 books were played on PbP before we went to live gaming. I am currently involved in a Kingmaker game (PbP) that is just over a year old and still going strong. Thank you for your consideration.

Honani, barely able to stand on his chubby toddler legs, looked up at his mom's face. Hehewuti was still in the flower of youth, smooth skin, long luxurious black hair, and the toned physique of one who worked hard every day to stay alive. The other women often whispered behind her back, 'She is not pure Shoanti. Too pale.' 'One day her breasts will sag and no one will like her.'. Yet the young Honani had never seen words bring water to his mother's eyes like today.

He turned his gaze to the man before him, his father, in his clean clothes made from plants. All the other men he knew make their clothes from animals they hunted and killed. He looked at his father's hair, shoulder length and straight like a woman's. All the other men shaved the sides of their head, and pulled their long hair into a braided ponytail, like true warriors of Sklar-Quah, or the Sun Clan as his father referred to them. His father was as different from the other men as a badger was from a hawk.

Then his father spoke the sing-songy language that Honani barely understood. All he knew is that the words made more water run from his mother's eyes. He did not understand the words 'noble sacrifice' 'defend Lastwall', 'demons in the Worldwound' or 'slay orcs from Belkzen' but he knew that his father looked so tall and strong and proud.

His father slowly took his hand off his mother's cheek, kissed her passionately on the lips, then squatted down so that his deep brown eyes were on level with Honani's. "And you my son, you will grow up to accomplish great deeds. You are my son, how could you not?!" he chuckled. "Take care of your mother, work hard, and learn how to use this. It's magical." he unhooked a small sword from his belt. It was encrusted with shiny jewels, and etched along the blade was a beautiful design of dragons and unicorns. It looked the sword of kings.

"Now I am off, dry your tears, save your goodbyes, but remember me forever." Swinging his leg onto his packed horse, he kicked the steed and rode out of the village never looking back. Now the water ran from his mother's eyes like the waters of the Yondabakari River, but Honani never saw. He only had eyes for his new shiny sword.

I will young Honani thought.

------
Two days later

Even though he did not know what was going on, Honani knew something was going on. Instead of the normal hustle and bustle of daily village chores, gathering water, clearing the traps, beating the dust out of clothes, everyone was running to the center of the village. He knew it was not a feast day. He knew there were no large hunting parties due back. Maybe it is a wagon full of goods from Kaer Maga. he thought grandly.

Honani had never seen one, but he had heard the stores. Iron pots and pans, shiny clothes like his father wore, weapons make for kings like the sword strapped to his belt. He followed the mass of Shoanti rushing to the village center. The murmurs of the crowd amplified into a cacophony of indistinguishable sound. In the center Chief Rowtag proudly stood facing a handful of men on horseback. Honani could see those closest to the center listen as the strange men spoke to the chief, then peer at the scroll the strangers unrolled, and turn towards the crowd. First they pointed, then they laughed as they spoke quickly to each other. Honani turned to spy the subject of their mirth only to see his mother looking around wide eyed. Her normally soft expression hardened as a storm cloud of anger washed over her. She elbowed her way through the crowd, pushing those that would not voluntarily shift left or right. Honani ambled forward to meet her.

The men peered at Hehewuti as she approached them. The one holding the scroll presented it to her. "You know this man?" As Honani reached his mother's side, he looked at the scroll only to see a charcoal sketch of his father. Before Hehewuti could answer, Honani piped in, "How do you have a picture of my dad?"

All the men turned to look down at Honani as if seeing the toddler for the first time. "Father?" one man laughed from the back. "Yes father." defended Hehewuti. "That is my husband. Explain your purpose for carrying his likeness."

A pocket of laughter was clearly audible to the nearest Shoanti bystanders. The man holding the sketch responded, "You and every pretty lass in every village from here to Magnimar. Your husband is a thief, wanted for high crimes, and carries a death sentence. You are the eighth, no ninth wife we have met. And not a one without a bastard on her breast or waddling after her, though you are the most comely. His taste seems to have improved the further east he gets. Look boys, this one has the king's sword too. Boy, give me your sword." the man commanded.

Unsure of what to do Honani did nothing.

"Now boy, we have not the time." Still Honani did nothing, as Hehewuti's face shattered into a thousand pieces of sadness.

"Honani, do as the outsider commands." came the venerable Rowtag.

Taking a step forward, Honani looked up at the man on horseback who bent down and unsheathed Honani's king's sword. "Look boys, colored glass, brittle metal, just like all the others. Boy, your father is one of the worst men we have ever met, every word he told you is a lie, and once we find him we will string him up from the nearest tree until he's dead. Let me give you a bit of advice, something a real man should have told you long ago, this is a miserable world, full of cruelty, pain and death. Learn how to be strong so no one can take what is yours. Seems like you have many able warriors in your tribe. Best learn all you can. And when you have the desire to follow in your father's footsteps and break the law, don't, or I will find you and string you up too.

"Chief Rowtag, water and feed for our horses, point us in the direction that scum went, and we shall compensate you justly. We hold no animosity for you, your tribe, or the Shoanti people." By the time the man finished demanding, many of the warriors of Sklar-Quah had approached. Hearing the tone in which Chief Rowtag was spoken to, hands reached for weapons as the warriors shifted from one foot to another.

"You have pretty picture and good tale, but what proof this man do what you claim?" asked the chief.

Exchanging glances with each other, the lead man turned once again addressed Chief Rowtag. "I know not what weight you give this, but here is a writ for his arrest and punishment from the sheriff of a dozen settlements, as well the court of Magnimar. Will that suffice?" unbuckling his saddle bag, the man pulled a leather attache out.

"Hmmph." groaned Chief Rowtag. "Papers mean more to you than us. But Chief Rowtag can read. Surprise you?" he queried as he grabbed and scanned the documents.

"Not all." lied the man.

"Hmmph." groaned Chief Rowtag again. "You know this, Hehewuti?" the chief questioned the forgotten woman.

"Chief. No. You know Hehewuti feelings. You know her devotion. You know she good wife and good Sklar-Quah."

"Hmmph." he groaned for the third time. Fixing Honani with a knowing look, the chief handed the papers back to the men. "You." the chief addressed a warrior standing near. "Take care of horses. You, get food for travel. You, get pony." as soon as it was said one, two, three Shoanti turned to finish the task assigned. Once more addressing the men on horseback, "You Chelaxian. No Varisian. Papers made up, but much truth in what you say. Boy's father guilty of many crimes. Him no honor. You take boy, Honani. He watch what you do to father. Then you bring boy back. Boy then be true Shoanti, true Sklar-Quah. You never come back." He points his finger at the mounted men. At the chief's deceleration Hehewuti turned to speak, and stepped forward to grab Honani her son. "HOLD, Hehewuti. You good mother. Try to do best. But you fooled by man. Must be done."

Hehewuti seemed to shirk with every word. The mounted men listened to the Chief, careful not to make any threatening movements or gestures, but clearly they did not like what the chief had to say. "Chief, come now. You know how dangerous it is out there. You sure you want us to take the boy? We can't be responsible for what could happen to him."

"No, you responsible for him. Him no come back, we find you. Make what you want to do to boy's father seem like good quick death." Every Sklar-Quah warrior hooted in agreement.

"Very well chief. We ride within the hour. Can you ride boy?" The men stared at Honani.

Face an unreadable mask, the boy just nodded.

The mounted man swung the king's sword, Honani's most precious possession, the sword his father had given him, against his shield. The brittle steel cracked into scores of tiny metal shards. The gems Honani thought so precious crumpled into colored dust. Honani just looked on, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

---------
Eight days later

Pain. Placing both hands on the worn leather saddle, Honani pushed himself up a few inches to relieve the pain in his buttocks. No matter how he shifted, how he moved, it was pain everywhere. The inside of his thighs were raw, he had slept poorly with these new men, uncomfortable without the familiarity of his mother's smell and the sounds of the village. But he would be dammed if he showed any weakness in front of them.

Accustomed to long stretches with little food, they youth broke his fast on some dried meat and nuts while they rode. The men laughed and joked and generally had a gay time in their pursuit of his father. They sang songs, retold tale upon tale of their glory years, so much so that Honani felt he could recite them verbatim. It was an odd sensation to feel so sad in the company of such mirth. It was an emotion that he long remembered.

It came as a shock that as they descended the latest rise in the sea of tall grass that they saw a lone man on horseback in the distance. All thought of pain, all jokes died on the tellers' lips, as they kicked their horses' sides and galloped down the hill. Dirt colds flew to their apex, hovered for a second then plummeted to the ground as the horses ate up the distance. Honani gripped the reins as hard as he could, thinking each moment would be his last if he relaxed his grip a fraction. He was sure he would fly to his death. Somehow, some way he managed to bounce his way up and down into a rhythmic pattern and mostly kept up with the gang of men. All thoughts they had for the youth evaporated as a drop of water in the Osirion desert. Revenged burned deep with in them.

The longer strides of the horses quickly outpaced Honani's pony, and even though he rode as well as most men he quickly trailed even the dust storm of the horses. His mind a flutter, Honani had not given a thought to what would happen if they actually caught his father. Would he be able to speak to him? What would his father say? Maybe his father, the great warrior that he is, would cut down these men bent upon apprehending him. Seeing his son would remind his dad of all the wonderful times he and his mother had. His dad would scoop him in his arms and they would ride back to the village.

These pleasant daydreams could not distract the physical pain he felt nor the emotional turmoil that rippled through him. It was only moments but felt a lifetime before Honani caught up to the group of men. They had his father surrounded and were hurtling insults as his father backed away from them. Pushing himself off the ground, his father scuttled backwards like a crab with arms outstretched behind him shaking his head vigorously. All Honani could understand his father say in their sing-songy language was "NO NO NO"

The men laughed as their circle tightened around Honani's father. One made as if to rush in, and his father kicked a leg into open air as the man pulled back in the nick of time. But the men behind him jumped on him, pinning his arms to the ground, while the other secured his legs. The leader of the group walked up to Honani's father, smiling like a cat with a bowl full of cream, and kicked his father across the jaw, spraying a trail of blood and broken teeth. The men guffawed loudly as the ones pinning him pressed down even harder.

"Didn't think you'd ever see us again, did you? Thought you just steal from us, and we'd let you go? Fool! Maybe if you hadn't left a trail of bastards brighter then a will-o'-wisp in the swamp it might have made it a bit harder." the leader began to taunt. "But that is you, isn't it? Always one for the easy, pleasurable route. No hard work, no sacrifice. Just as easy and as profitable as you can make it. Doesn't matter who or what, just as long as you come out ahead. Well today is the day. The day you pay for what you done, for the work you should have put in, the pain you caused." the others shook their heads in agreement.

His father opened up his ruined mouth, "Don't! Don't you dare talk to me like you are some sort of holier than thou cleric of Sarenrae. You did just as bad as me, if not worse. I won't stand for you talking to me like that."

"Right!" the leader laughed. "You won't be standing at all. Turn him over boys."

The seconds passed like hours, the minutes days, the hours a life time. All that was left of his father was an unrecognizable bloody mess. Animals that had been field dressed looked better. As the slow, almost unnoticeable rise and fall of his father's chest finally stopped, Honani couldn't stop staring at him. Thinking of him and the experiences they shared. His father's bright smile, the way his parents looked at each other, the anger in his eyes when Honani did wrong. There was a finality to life that Honani didn't comprehend yet, but in time would be ever present. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many questions he never knew he would have, so much lost. And why? What had his father done that warranted this?

One of the men, they all looked alike to Honani, waked up to him cleaning his blade that he used so expertly on Honani's father. "Boy, this is a day you'll never forget. I hate that you had to be a part of it, but your chief said so and we ain't gonna fight your whole tribe. Your dad was a bad man, and got what he deserved. You don't know it but this was for the best. You ever grow up, and need, I mean really need like you can't sleep at night 'cause this is all you see, all you dream about, you come see me in Sandpoint. Most days you can find me near the the glassworks. Pappy was a glass blower and I live nears there. Just ask for me by name, Ratan Besom. Now come on, we best be leaving before the scavengers come in. Pack o' wild dogs come in and we might be joining him." The man put a hand on Honani's shoulder and walked him to his pony. Not for the last time, Honani was the recipient of tutelage from a would be adoptive father, a stand in, a foster parent, but never his real father. Never again.

-----------------------------------------------
Fifteen years later

The long, lithe youth vaulted from the horses back and dropped the stag to the ground. Standing just over six feet, the youth was as rippled with muscle as a young lion. His long braided black hair reached the midpoint of his back, while the sides where shaved almost down to the scalp in Shoanti fashion. "Food for weeks mother. Dress this animal while I bathe please." Opening the pouch draped across his horse's back, he drew fresh breeches and a cake of soap before heading towards the river. He never looked twice at his mother. Once a great beauty, time had not been kind to Hehewuti. After the disgrace of being duped by an outsider, a criminal no less, no man would touch her. Her sorrow at losing her husband, the ghosts in her sons eyes as he withdrew from her on his path to manhood, had isolated her more severely than any of the gossipy women could. "Yes son." was her only dejected answer.

At the river Honani stripped naked and waded waist deep in the water, washing the blood and dirt of a long hunt. The dirt spread along the surface of the calm water like the roar of an elephant. Emerging dripping wet, his mind flashed back to his father, and the hunt to kill him. Honani had been accepted into the warrior caste, had proven himself an adept hunter, a skilled warrior, and a natural leader of men. No matter his dubious lineage, the Shoanti were a pragmatic peoples, and they recognized the potential in Honani. Though skilled, his introverted sensibilities prevented him form the close comradarie of the other warriors. Well liked, he could count his friends on one hand and needed nary a finger to count his close friends. He knew that his time with the Sklar-Quah was nearing an end, yet he wondered if he had the courage to leave. It was one thing to desire a change, it was another to actually place all your belongings in a bag and leave what you have always known for something you only dreamed about.

As he exited the water and began to dry the rivulets of water streaming down his body near his cast off gear, he heard a soft rustling in the tall grasses. Rowtag emerged from the swaying stems with his normal contingent of warrior-leaders. Honani sheathed his hunting knife and bowed his head in respect. "Chief Rowtag, may the sun shine on your days."

"And let the moon set when your all your deeds have been sung." came the standard answer. "Honani, it is time. You hunt well, fight well, make friends poorly, and have not yet found a mate. You must leave the Sklar-Quah. You may go where you heart wants to, though I'd advise you to avoid the Skoan-Quah." a murmur of approval could be heard from the warriors behind Rowtag. "You are today, and truly have always been Sklar-Quah. No matters your father's crimes, or your mother's passions, you are true Shoanti. If you leave and find the world is not what you think, if you miss the stories by the fire and the simple life we lead, you can come back. For you are always Sklar-Quah."

[b]"SKLAR-QUAH" came the roar from the warrior-leaders with Rowtag.

Standing silently, Honani looks at each warriors in turn impassively, searching for any signs of emotion in their eyes. Seeing none, he responded "Sklar-quah." Thank you for what you have done. Accepting me. For making this my home. For teaching me." the you man ends as abruptly as he started. A long, tense time goes by as both parties look upon each other, neither flinching, neither blinking before Rowtag and his contingent depart. Honani quickly dressed and made his way back to the village.

On his return trip, Honani took the time to noticed the unnoticed everyday around him. The rock he used to turn over to find worms for fishing, the trail he used to stalk deer as they moved towards the salt lick. Growing up in such a small world cataloged his short lifetime of memories. There was scarcely a direction he could look with reminiscing. The village appeared before him as his mind shill reeled in the past. He knew what must be done but did not know if he possessed the courage to do so. His soft foot pad falls obscured his approach.

Hehewuti was still hanging strips of flesh over the small cook-fire, drying strips into jerky. As she turned to greet her son, one look at his face and she knew. Just like when his father left them, he knew this would be one more dagger to his mother's heart that she would not recover from. "When." was all she said in her mousey voice.

"Tomorrow." She nodded at her son's answer.

"Where?"

"I don't know." came Honani's flat response.

"Really, you don't know? How will you know what to pack, what to bring, and what to leave behind?" the worry creeping into her mother voice. Not matter how old, or how strong, he was and will always be that helpless pink babe suckling on her breast.

"Sandpoint."

The look of confusion spread across her face. Her eyes downcast, she shook her head back and forth, "Why Sandpoint?" she looked up and at him, trying to read something, anything really at this new and unexpected news.

"Ask no question you don't want the answer to. If it is important to you, then I will tell you. But I warn you, if it is not really important, you should be wary of the answer." came his unemotional response.

Eyes widening she looked closer at him, still reading nothing. "You cannot say that. By saying that you doom me to ask, and know, or forever wonder 'What if?'. I do not think that I can live with the 'what if', but I have seen many perils in my life. I feel it is better to know, than not know. Tell me." this time she moved forward a step but made no movement to reach out to him.

"Justice. I seek an answer to the question of why my father was killed, to know what his crimes were, and if the punishment fit the crime." he spoke matter-of-factly.

"And why do you think Sandpoint will yield these answers?"

"Because they do. I was told they do by the people that killed him."

Hehewuti reeled back as if she had been slapped. "You dare speak of him, of that. I told you we would never speak of it. Why have you chosen to disobey me as you leave my house and abandon me? Have you no love left for me? For anyone? I thought that I raised you to care for me, to love me as a mother. Did your warrior friends not tell you the same, show you how they care for their family?"

Slowly shaking his head, Honani was also slow to respond. "Yes to all of your questions. And I will speak no further on this matter. What I do I do for love of you. With respect mother, for what you have done for me, I ask you once more to care for your son. Please gather what provisions we have, I depart on the sunrise."

"Then this conversation is over. There is much I wish we had talked about, what you know about your father, but that life is over. I pray to Desna that your road is safe, and the answers to your questions shall make you whole." Hehewuti took another step closer towards Honani.

Stepping towards her one hand raised, palm facing Hehewuti. "Stop. I cannot say goodbye to you. Not yet. One more night we shall spend as mother and son. And I shall cherish every second."

---------------------
The next morning Honani unwrapped his mother from their last embrace, nodded to Rowtag and his warriors, and mounted his horse that was tethered to a pack animal with his weapons, survival gear, and scant provisions. "Thank you, Sklar-quah."

"SKLAR-QUAH" came the roar from the assembled tribe.

Honani kicked the mare and rode as far away as he could.

-------------------------------------
Three months later

Honani could just make out the ruined lighthouse as he approached Sandpoint. After trekking though the wilds of Varisia he was looking forward to some basic creature comforts. But the thought of answers to those questions, those questions after all these years, he could not wait another second.

After passing through the gates, and asking a local or two for directions, he pointed his mare right towards the Glassworks. He passed through the crowd like a shark skimming through water until he found the large stone-building. Gratefully there were no large plumes of smoke come out of the massive furnace chimney.

He found the doorway to the apartments above. He knocked on the first door. A man came to the door, dirty from the days work, he looked Honani up and down. "Wadda ya want?"

"Ratan Besom." came the Shoanti's reply.

"Third door on the right." the man spoke before quickly closing his door and locking it.

Honani smirked to himself and he went to the third door down, and knocked. Once the door opened, Honani immediately recognized Ratan Besom, albeit much aged. "Knew you'd come one day. We talking or fighting?"

"Talking first. Depends on what you have to say after that."

"Drink? I'm having one or five."

"No." Honani pushed his way into the man's scarcely furnished apartment. Ratan was pouring a smoky liquid into a dirty mug.

"So what do you want to know?" Ratan started.

"Everything." came Honani's detached answer.

"Who doesn't? Ratan responded. "No going back now. So we were young, and dumb, and it all began ...."

Many hours later, Honani stepped out into the moonlight of Sandpoint. It would be days before anyone even cared that Ratan Besom had gone missing, and more days before anyone would bother to ask any questions. Honani planned to be well away by then.

"Now it is time to live." the young man declared. And smiled for the first time in memory.

Depending on how things go, I am thinking about dipping into Barbarian for Rage to showcase his inner anger.

Honani
Human (Shoanti) fighter 1
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +1
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+4 armor, +2 Dex, +2 shield)
hp 13 (1d10+3)
Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +0; +1 trait bonus vs. fear
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee glaive-guisarme +4 (1d10+6/×3) or
. . klar +5 (1d6+4) or
. . spiked gauntlet +5 (1d4+4)
Ranged shoanti bola +3 (1d4+4) or
. . shortbow +3 (1d6/×3)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with glaive-guisarme)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats Combat Reflexes, Shield Brace, Shield Focus
Traits shoanti tattoo, totem spirit - sklar-quah (sun clan), vengeful
Skills Acrobatics +1, Climb +5, Craft (traps) +2, Diplomacy +0 (-2 vs. creatures of a different race or culture), Handle Animal +4, Intimidate +4, Perception +1, Sense Motive +0 (-2 vs. creatures of a different race or culture)
Languages Common, Shoanti
SQ xenophobic
Other Gear lamellar (leather) armor[UC], arrows (20), glaive-guisarme[APG], klar[UE], shoanti bola[ISWG], shortbow, spiked gauntlet, trapmaking tools, 11 gp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Combat Reflexes (3 AoO/round) Can make extra attacks of opportunity/rd, and even when flat-footed.
Shield Brace Can use 2 handed spear/polearm with shield, but take the ACP of shield as pen to attack.
Xenophobic -2 diplomacy and sense motive vs. those of a different race or culture

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Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.

The boy is lets out a little yelp and took a step back as a dwarf, looking like nothing so much as a pile of metal and hair, stepped out from behind the building. The lad was not sure if that was a smile behind the beard of just a grimace and so took another step back.

Vok was use to this Again they see me and take a step back. What do I expect I guess, not many dwarves around Truneau and even less armed like me. Still best be prepared.

Clearing his throat but unable to dislodge the rasping hoarseness he addresses the lad. "Names Vok. Father George sent me, yer da hurt himself in the field? Let me see what I can do."

Still unsure the boy turns and runs. That be about right I guess. At least he probably will run to his injured da.

Vox Fold came to Truneau shortly after turning 60 and has spent the last few years living in the town trying to bring the word of Desna and helping travelers as best he can. Having some martial skill he also helps out with the town guard from time to time, a steel wrapped dwarf is often enough of a sight to dissuade some folks.

Vox has not shared a lot of his back group with the town though preferring to focus on lending a hand to others as needed. There is not a lot to do in a frontier town save patch people up here and there and he has grown board.

One night he has a dream of a multitude of butterflies. They appear and fly around him, darting this way and that even landing on the end of his nose. He carefully sits down, letting them have their fun and feeling the presence of his mistress Desna. Time passes, it’s a dream and no longer fills linear. There is a scream behind him, he spins and in his carelessness, scatters the butterflies. Another scream behind him and all he can see is fog and darkness then a flash of green and a knife. Blood on the ground and he wakes up shaken and talking to himself.

“A sign for sure. There is a festival in Sandpoint one month off, I should go.”

He packs his things, arms himself and walks out of town late at night. He is a travel, on foot, with a mission on a long walk ahead of him.

By the time he arrives he has little more then the shirt on his back but Desna has always provided and he feels he is in the right place.

Vok Fold
Male dwarf cleric of Desna 1
CG Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +2 (+4 to notice unusual stonework)
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 19, touch 11, flat-footed 18 (+6 armor, +1 Dex, +2 shield)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +3, Ref +1, Will +4; +2 vs. poison, spells, and spell-like abilities
Defensive Abilities defensive training
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +2 (1d4+2/19-20) or
. . warhammer +2 (1d8+2/×3)
Special Attacks channel positive energy 5/day (DC 13, 1d6), hatred
Domain Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 5/day—bit of luck
Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1st—bless, expeditious retreat[D], ray of sickening[UM] (DC 13)
. . 0 (at will)—create water, light, purify food and drink (DC 12)
. . D Domain spell; Domains Travel (Exploration[APG] subdomain), Luck
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 15, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 13 (17 vs. bull rush, 17 vs. trip)
Feats Selective Channeling
Traits ease of faith, student of faith
Skills Appraise +0 (+2 to assess nonmagical metals or gemstones), Diplomacy +7, Knowledge (religion) +4, Perception +2 (+4 to notice unusual stonework); Racial Modifiers +2 Appraise to assess nonmagical metals or gemstones, +2 Perception to notice unusual stonework
Languages Common, Dwarven
SQ door sight
Other Gear breastplate, heavy wooden shield, dagger, warhammer, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, holy text (Desna)[UE], mess kit[UE], spell component pouch, trail rations (5), waterskin, wooden holy symbol of Desna Amulet, 6 gp, 1 cp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Bit of Luck (5/day) (Sp) Target takes the higher of 2d20 for a d20 roll.
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (5/day, DC 13) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Cleric Domain (Exploration)
Cleric Domain (Luck) Granted Powers: You are infused with luck, and your mere presence can spread good fortune.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Defensive Training +4 Gain a dodge bonus to AC vs. monsters of the Giant subtype.
Door Sight (5/day) (Su) By touching a door for 1 minute, use clairvoyance on the other side.
Greed +2 to Appraise to determine price of nonmagic goods with precious metals or gemstones.
Hatred +1 Gain a racial bonus to attacks vs. Goblinoids/Orcs.
Selective Channeling Exclude targets from the area of your Channel Energy.
Stonecunning +2 +2 bonus to Perception vs. unusual stonework. Free check within 10 feet.
--------------------

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.