Ruins of Pathfinder: Reign of Winter (Inactive)

Game Master Robert Brookes

Ar’Zarrcal (Einfar Yunst)

Born 68 years ago, Einfar came into a world full of promise. He was the second son of a unusually large brood of brothers from the well-to-do merchant clan of Yunst. His family had been upstanding members of the dwarven community of Janderhoff for only three generations, but they were good centuries. A merchant’s life was not for Einfar however. While gregarious enough to deal with other races, his grandfather Herin “the brash” Yunst called in favored nursed for three decades and placed Einfar under the tutelage of the Priesthood. From age thirteen to his thirtieth birthday, Einfar was instructed in the many mysteries of the Dwarven Pantheon and the ancient faith of his people. In the following years he traveled sometimes with members of his family on trade expeditions and sometimes alone to the various settlements of Varisia. In this instances he would led his hand aiding the faithful and helping to foster the faith of his people and by extension good will toward the dwarves of Janderhoff. This all changed with the rise of Karzoug the Claimed. Einfar was in Magnimar at the time of the Rune Lord’s coming. Foolish courage and honor took hold of the noble dwarf then and he joined with the cities defenders, seeking to hold off the giants and fell magic that assaulted the city. Needless to say he failed.

But death was not rewarded to Einfar. His fate was that of a prisoner. For months he stewed in a common cell with others, likely food for the giants or worse. Torture was not uncommon during those months, for their captors were cruel and vicious in temperament. Defeated, but not broken Einfar managed to channel some of the blessings of his gods by fashioning crude symbols to the dwarven pantheon. He drew runes in the dirt and mud and closed wounds on those punished. This act of kindness ultimately doomed Einfar. He caught the attention of more powerful servitors of the Rune Lord and eventually Karzoug himself. Pulled from his cell, Einfar became an experiment – applying thassalonian sorcery to dwarven runes.

For over a year Einfar was subjected to the worst tortures Xin-Shalast had to offer. He resisted as best he could but eventually he was broken. His spirit was shattered and reassembled like a twisted jigsaw. Einfar Yunst was buried and Karzoug built up his new servant upon the ruined foundations. A new creature was born called Ar’Zarrcal, a dutiful minion of the Rune-lord. Engraved and branded with Thassalonian runes across his form, Ar’Zarrcal proved a success as he can still channel the divine power of the dwarven deities and fashion powerful runes. Originally Karzoug sought to bend his new servant’s purpose toward the capture of Janderhoff, but the climate change and challenges elsewhere proved too dire to ignore. Rather than trust this mission to one of his human minions, who by their very nature are ambitious and treacherous, Karzoug has sent Ar’Zarrcal, ever obedient and dutiful, to represent him. It is hoped that Ar’Zarrcal’s very presence will be a testament to the power of Karzoug and an example that resistance to him is useless.

Ar’Zarrcal has been molded to be the perfect servant of the Rune Lord Karzoug. He is discerning and intelligent, ambitious but loyal. He has little distinction for good or evil, but understands fully right and wrong within the dictates of his master. Yet for all Karzoug’s power and all his torture, Ar’Zarrcal is far from a perfect creation. The scars of torture run deep and are obvious when one looks into his eyes. Confusion and pain are apparent beneath every stitch of obedience. Fragments of the dwarf he used to be lie buried, but not destroyed. Then there is also the mystery of his divine blessings. He is still able to call upon the power of the dwarven panatheon which leaves only two possible answers… either a) Karzoug’s experiment was wildly successful and he is somehow stealing the power of the dwarven gods without their consent or b) for reasons yet unknown the gods of the dwarven pantheon have not yet forsaken their former priest.

Tall for a Dwarf, he stands at 4’6 an example of the power of the rune lords. His flesh is darkened by fire and sorcery, branded with an assortment of ancient runes originating in the days of the old Thassalonian Empire. His face in pinched, with a sharp nose and deep sunken eyes. His once bright blue eyes have paled and become almost milky, seeming less like the azure of the Western sea and more like the surface of a frozen pond. His coal black hair and beard have become tattered. His hairline has all but receded to the crown of his skull, leaving what remains to hang long and limp. His beard is greased into a sharp, twisting point but appears ragged and unhealthy. He is usually dressed in whites or blacks or a combination of the two, often favoring a cape or cloak fashioned for his size.

<Inner Sea, 100 miles northwest of Diobel : 17 Erastus, 4715AR, Midnight>

The salty waves lapped over Rasso's face and eyes, his head barely poking out of the cool water of the Inner Sea. The silvery light of the full moon was reflected in the blue-black mirror of the waves as the merman's powerful tail propelled him quickly through the water. He'd been swimming circles around the Chain Breaker and their mission, the Shifting Sands for hours. The Shifting Sands was out of Sothis, bearing Osiriani refugees and a hold full of precious relics. Captain Bryce had received a magical communique from a Twilight Talon agent in Diobel who told him that the Aspis Consortium pirate-slaver, Imperion, was going to be watching the route to Almas. The Aspis agents knew that a ship bearing Osiriani relics would be passing through that way.

The Chain Breaker was the closest of Andoran's fleet, so they were assigned to protect the refugee ship. Bryce hoped to use Rasso as an early warning system, and secret weapon, should they encounter the Imperion. His ability to exist in the water as easily as on land enabled him to be the perfect naval scout. Small, and instantly submersible, the chances of him being spotted were minuscule, while he could easily spot another ship from much further away than the lookout aboard the Breaker. The ship's quartermaster and resident alchemist, a grippli named Wigggit, had given him a waterproof flare to signal with should he see anything. Rasso had been in the water almost the whole time since they'd met up with the Shifting Sands half a day out from Diobel. That was three days ago. Since then he'd only returned to the Breaker to sleep.

I haven't spent this much time in the water since I was back in Outsea. He mused as he cut through the glittering, moonlit sea. A faint creaking sound echoed quietly across the waves, and Rasso looked up to see a black hulled, black sailed warship on the horizon, flying the red and black colors of Cheliax. It was closer than he would have liked, he'd failed to spot it against the night sky. He quickly turned tail and headed back for the Breaker. Swimming as fast as he could, he pushed himself to the point of exhaustion. After several minutes of furious tail strokes, he saw the Chain Breaker and the Shifting Sands silhouetted on the horizon. Luck was with him, and the wind was in their favor. He'd beaten the Imperion there.

Pulling the flare from a pouch on his belt, he angled it low over the sea and pulled the ignition string. Like a shooting star the bright white light streaked over the water towards the Andoran galley. Hope that fat little frog is payin' attention. Rasso thought, continuing to swim at a rapid pace towards the Chain Breaker. The plan was that if the Imperion discovered them, Rasso would plant a delayed-blast, waterproof bomb on their hull, evening the fight with the better armed Chelish craft. By the time he reached the hull of the Breaker, Rasso could see the Imperion behind him, only a couple minutes from cannon range and closing fast. "Oi, toss us the baby!" He called up to the ship. A chubby frog face appeared over the railing, holding a wax covered bundle. One webbed, green flipper smacked a button on the side of the object. The grippli called back down in its croaky voice, "Hurry up fish brains, you've got less than a minute."

The little bundle plopped down into the water like a coconut cast adrift by the winds. Rasso swam over near it and began a series of complicated hand gestures. A moment later there was a white flash and an alabaster dolphin appeared in the waves next to him. "Carry this ball to the bottom of that ship." he instructed the creature in the celestial tongue, handing it the bomb. The porpoise nodded its head in consent and zoomed off, swimming even faster than Rasso himself could have. Whelp, here goes nothin'. He mused, as he began another series of complex gestures and incantations. This one was much longer and more complex, leaving him no metal power to wonder if the dolphin would succeed in its mission. His nagging worries were assuaged by the resounding BOOM! that was simultaneous with the completion of his summoning ritual. As Rasso's translucent eidolon-suit clanked into place magically around him, he saw the Imperion smoking and blazing from a hole in its hull at the water line.

Bingo! Rasso thought, Now the real fun begins. The Imperion was nearly within range of their cannon. The slave ship's oars beat the water with fearsome regularity as the wounded craft attempted to maneuver for a broadside. The Chain Breaker was busy using the favorable wind to arrange itself similarly behind him. Swimming much more awkwardly now that he was 'suited up', Rasso began threading his way towards the Imperion. The night blossomed with fire and smoke as the two ships began to fire their cannon at each other. The whistling shriek of cannon balls was followed by a rain of splinters and debris plunking into the water around Rasso's head. He swam straight for the hole created by his dolphin-bomb. Thanks Whitey. I'll make sure to give you an extra fish next time we meet. He thought, as he slithered into the ship's hold along with an ever increasing amount of sea water.

Inside he found himself in the bilge, the four slaves working the pumps cried out in terror as they saw him enter. Their overseer turned and with a shout lashed at Rasso with his long cruel whip. The merman laughed as he grabbed the weapon with one claw, tearing it from the man's grasp. "None o' that now bucko. Time ter die!" His other claw found the slaver's neck, and clamping down, clipped it like the head of a wildflower in the fingers of a child. "Well, what're ya waiting' for?" He asked the stunned slaves. "Haul arse, follow me!"

Skittering up the stairs, Rasso slammed his shoulder through the trap doors which would lead him to the upper levels of the Imperion. Passing through the hold, he burst into the rowing galley, which was lined with a couple dozen slaves chained to benches and rowing in time to the beating of a huge drum at the far end of the chamber. There were four Chelish crewmen there as well, two bearded men, a half-orc and the red-skinned, horned tiefling drummer. They shouted an alarm as Rasso came bursting into the room. Drawing cutlasses and pistols, they attacked. The thunder of small arms in an enclosed space joined the storm of cannon fire outside to create a deafening cacophony. A bullet tore through Rasso's upper arm as he went to work on the slavers, biting and clawing at them like Fenbill had taught him so many years ago. Moments later he was panting heavily and covered in their blood. He crouched to the retrieve the keys he'd spotted on one of the sailor's belts. "Here!" he said, tossing them to one of the unchained bilge slaves. "You're all free, and fighting for your lives. Unhook your buddies and get upstairs. We've got a battle to win." The wordless cry of affirmation from the slaves shook the rafters as Rasso headed for the deck. He grimaced as the pain of the gunshot wound began to filter through the red haze of battle. No time for that now. he thought, coming up into the moonlight.

The scene on deck was organized chaos, the Imperion's captain shouting orders to the crew as they feverishly worked the cannon. The two battling ships were just coming around for a second round of bombardment. A mere twenty yards of water separated them now. Rasso ducked as cannon blasts announced the imminent arrival of death. Buzzing iron wasps cut railings and men to ribbons as they streaked across the deck. The slaves began streaming forth from the galley below, joining the melee with the Chelaxians on deck. Rasso headed straight for the Captain, a huge human man with long, wild, black hair. The man held a huge wicked looking axe-musket in both his meaty hands. Bellowing a unintelligible challenge in his native tongue he charged Rasso. The two met with the force of bull elephants, the Captain's axe cutting into the merman's tail as Rasso's shark-like teeth clamped down on the brute's shoulder. The Captain reacted by kicking Rasso back and raising his axe defensively. Stumbling backwards Rasso crouched on the pitching planks beneath him, and coiling his sinuous body like a striking adder, propelled himself forward to meet his foe. Clamping both claws onto the mans waist, he bit deep into the human's throat. The Captains's last act was to pull the trigger of the musket now jammed into Rasso's belly. As the bullet tore into the merman's guts, he released his grip on the dead Chelaxian.

Bleeding from several wounds, and his head reeling with pain Rasso looked around the deck. Through the smoke he saw slaves ganging up on the crew. Without the Captain shouting orders many of the pirates appeared to be panicking. Clamping one claw over his bleeding gut, Rasso channeled the pain into his roar, "Drop your gods damned weapons and hit the mother f*cking deck! Surrender now, and I WON'T EAT YOU!!!" The last part of his command is accompanied by streams of bloody saliva being propelled from his huge fangy mouth. The Imperion was sinking quickly, and no one seemed to want to face the insane shark man. Dropping their weapons, the Chelaxian soldiers lay down on the deck. One of the slaves grabbed and quickly started waving a white signal flag. That piece of flapping white cloth was the last thing Rasso saw before he passed out from the pain.

When he awoke he was in his cabin in the Chain Breaker. Wigggit was sitting on a small stool by his side. The chubby little frog smiled as he woke up. "Hey fish brains. How ya feeling?" The pain streaming in from various parts of his body answered the question for Rasso. "Like a dart board." he grumbled, trying to sit up. "Take it we whooped 'em?" he winced, regretting his decision to sit immediately. "Just so." Came the croaky reply, "Our plan worked perfectly Rass'. You're a hero." The merman squinted at the grippli suspiciously, "Great. Just what I always wanted." If the sarcasm were much thicker in his voice it could be spread across bread. "Do us a favor, give me one of those flasks of that white lighting you brew." The frog's grin grows a little wider as he draws a small glass bottle from one of his vest pockets. "A request I anticipated good sir." Taking the outstretched flask, Rasso downed it in one gulp. The warming effect of the alcohol was accompanied by the tingle of the healing magic hidden inside. His wince fading in a satisfied sigh, Rasso sat the rest of the way up. "Where are we?" He asked the alchemist. "Not a few hours from Almas" the frog replied. "You've been out for a while buddy." Rasso nodded in reply, "Think I'd like some time alone if you don't mind Wiggy." The fat grippli's nod sent his ample chins waggling as he stood up to to leave. "Thanks." Rasso said to his back, as Wigggit left the cabin.

Hero. Fagh! I aint done nothing' special. Can't they see none of this matters? Gods damned world is freezing solid and they're still worried about selling mummified jewelry? Bloody hell. I nearly died out there. For what?... Fishing his own flask out from under the bed, he tipped it back losing himself in the depths of the bottle.

Upon their triumphant return to Almas, Rasso was awarded the rank of Special Operations Petty Officer Second Class, and the Golden Eagle medal for valor in battle. He used the bonus money they rewarded him to set up the freed slaves who survived the battle with paying jobs in Andoran, letting them know they owed him a favor. He continued to serve aboard the Chain Breaker until summoned back to the Aerie a year later.

A stern-looking, leanly muscled man, Marek dresses practically (and wisely), giving no outward indication of his allegiance or ideology. He keeps his sandy hair close-cropped in a slightly grown-out military style, and often hides it beneath a wide-brimmed hat while traveling.

Marek's strong features, high cheekbones, and cut jawline would almost make him a handsome man -- if not for the ugly scars along his left cheek, his prominent, aquiline nose, and the unmistakable glint of fanatacism in his eyes. He seems oddly comfortable in his chainmail armor, and his fingers are often unconsciously dangling above the hilts of the wickedly serrated swords hanging at either hip.

"These are dire times for Golarion. Where are your precious gods when we need them?"

Make no mistake -- Marek is a fanatic; however, he is certainly wise enough to hide his beliefs unless he feels comfortable enough avoiding a pyre or hanging by divulging them. He views blind devotion as a disgusting weakness, and always insists people think their actions and convictions through. He is not an unkind man, and is fiercely loyal to those few he eventually calls friends. Marek is glib in the extreme, an unmatched public speaker, persuasive debator, and more than capable of delivering fiery speeches from any makeshift pulpit. In battle, he is a fearsome sight indeed, for all of his pent-up energy, frustration, and zealousness suddenly have a soft and yielding outlet.

Marek was orphaned at a relatively young age by circumstances he never learned, and it wasn't long before members of a minor Sczarni crime family in his native Varisia noticed the obvious talents the boy possessed while fending for himself on the streets. A man named Kastryn took a particular interest in young Marek and made him his protoge, teaching him everything he knew about using his silver tongue to get his way.

Unfortunately for the boy, his new mentor was also a religious fanatic with the warped notion that the gods were collectively torturing and testing mortals, and responsible for every calamity that has befallen the world. Man was not meant to possess such power, and clearly those who have ascended to godhood (Aroden, Cayden Cailean, Iomedae, Norgorber) are ill-equipped to wisely wield such power. The gods once made a privision for this travesty: Achaekek, the Mantis-God, the Divine Assassin. Though Kastryn believed the gods were selfish in making anyone above demigod status beyond Achaekek's reach, he acknowledges the wisdom of having such a being in existence. Perhaps with enough devotion, the Mantis-God could even grow in power to keep the greater gods themselves in check.

Marek learned, trained, prayed, and let his hatred for the world's organized religions fester in his heart. Golarion's repeated failures to save itself from the recent cataclysmic events only serve to reinforce the point that the gods have no sense of responsibility for their progeny and have abandoned us to our fates. If given the chance, Marek decided, he would gleefully expose worshipers and the gods themselves as the frauds and cowards they were.

When the Sczarni families fell under heavy scrutiny, Marek fled with Kastryn to Ustalav -- and they were completely blindsided by the Whispering Tyrant's armies. Marek escaped with his mentor's body and a very tenuous grasp on his own life. As he tossed the last spadeful of turned earth onto Kastryn's grave, he vowed to fight Tar-Baphon's forces and bring the wrath of the divine assassin down upon the presumptuous mortal who dared to try to wrest godhood for himself.

Marek was called from the front in Lastwall where he was throwing himself into battle after battle with the undead hordes when he was contacted by Knight-Commander Reinn in Andoran and summoned to the council meeting with the other PCs.

1) Talavuc wants to find a way to combat the encroaching winter that all of Avistan is experiencing. She assumes that her vision has something to do with this. She hopes to save her home from the terrible morozkos and the frozen undead. The concept of it impacting more of the world is not something that she’s wrapped her head around and it may just overwhelm her.

2) Pavius’ wayfinder feels incomplete, empty in her hands. The small stone that he kept socketed in the slot on the center of its surface. Finding an ioun stone to fill that slot symbolizes somehow her filling the hole in her heart created by his death. Almost an unformed desire, she is only hazily aware of the symbolic nature of her desire.

1) She was secretly grateful for her mother’s death, but the thought of feeling such horrifies her. Caring for the woman had long since generated bitter feelings, ones that she repressed. Although she misses her parents from time to time, a part of her is grateful for being free from her parents’ shackles.

2) Pavius once managed to convince her to join the Pathfinder Society. The initial mission that they went on went horribly awry, resulting in the death of another Pathfinder. She left the order voluntarily and still blames herself for that failure and although she still loves the Society, the prospect of trying to join again is something she cannot bring herself to do.

3) Her paternal grandfather, an erutaki half-elf by the name of Niisik, was a werewolf and still lives. He fled to Avistan long ago, but has recently rediscovered the descendants of the family he left behind. His feelings at rediscovering his family are deeply mixed and he is unsure as to what to do about them.

1) Naasvit, male giant mink: Talavuc’s constant companion and most loyal friend. The mink has weathered the last two years with her. He’s a mischievous and curious short, with a hunger that is typical of such animals. He frequently sneaks away with meat when he thinks he can. He’ll defend Talavuc to the death, but she’d never want that.

2) Storjek Cloven-Horn, male half-orc: A Pathfinder that Talavuc encountered in her last trip through the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. His orc ancestry is as evident as his ulfen parentage, giving him an immense stature and blonde hair that seems strange against his olive skin. His mother talks little of his father and he leaves such alone. Talavuc and he have spent a great deal of time sharing stories and she considers him a friend.

3) Niisik, half-elf werewolf: Talavuc’s paternal grandfather. His blood is the source of her beastial urges. The only survivor of a hunting expedition in his youth, he soon found himself afflicted with lycanthropy. He learned to keep the beast caged inside him, only letting it out when he must. He long kept his condition hidden, even from his wife, until he lost his temper after a particularly difficult hunting trip in which his secret was almost revealed. He nearly killed Talavuc’s grandmother, but upon realizing what he had done, he fled in shame and horror from the Crown of the World. He has tried in the past to look in on his family, but only until recently did he finally make the trip. He saw Talavuc for the first and last time nearly two years ago and has since learned much about her through the people of Aaminiut.

4) Saalit, female undead erutaki: Talavuc’s mother and source of both love and tragedy. She grew up as a proper erutaki woman and stayed by the side of Talavuc’s slightly distant father for many years. After his death, she found it impossible to come to terms with his passing. As Talavuc cared for her, she noticed the bitterness in Talavuc’s eyes and Saalit came to feel shame for it. When her husband came to her as a frozen corpse, she saw her chance to die in her love’s arms and free her daughter. As her life fled though, a hiding hatred for her daughter’s bitterness that drove her to die as such bloomed. This was for her, but why should she? The thought came too late, and the unanswered question kept her from passing on properly. Her spirit wavered in between this world and the next, troubled by such emotions when the deathly magic growing in the Crown brought her back. Love fled and the hatred began to consume the undead woman. It was her daughter’s fault. All her fault…

1) Nightmares of the night that she lost her family and her lover still haunt her. Many times, she sees the undead faces of her mother and Pavius accusing her of causing her deaths. Her undead father stares on impassively, providing neither love nor hatred, only judgement. She awakens screaming as they reach for her hungrily, tearing at her flesh. Sometimes, she bears scratches from where she tore at her skin as she dreamed. Naasvit will often bite her lightly to try and wake her.

2) Talavuc has a taste for raw or very lightly cooked meat. Some of this comes from her time in the wilds, but more so from her grandfather’s tainted blood. She doesn’t indulge it often, typically only in times of great stress or deep depression. The meat will sometimes leave her with an upset stomach if it has been a while she has eaten as such, but her druidic magic prevents disease.

3) When distracted, bored, or lost in thought, her hands often wander to the wayfinder she carries on her belt, sliding over the intricate surface. A slight smile sometimes plays across her face while doing as such, but the moment she touches the empty socket, it disappears.

Joral Hin en' i' benerel
Male Half-Elf Cleric 2
NG Medium Humanoid (elf, human)
Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +9
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 14 (2d8)
Fort +4 (+4 vs. fatigue, exhaustion, running, forced marches, starvation, thirst, and hot or cold environments), Ref +3, Will +6; +2 vs. enchantments
Immune magic sleep; Resist elven immunities, resistant touch (5/day)
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee Dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20/x2) and
. . Masterwork Glaive +5 (1d10+4/x3)
Ranged Revolver +3 (1d8/x4)
Spell-Like Abilities Bit of Luck (5/day), Resistant Touch (5/day)
Cleric Spells Prepared (CL 2):
1 (3/day) Divine Favor, Shield of Faith (x2), True Strike
0 (at will) Stabilize, Create Water, Purify Food and Drink (DC 12), Guidance
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 17, Dex 14, Con 11, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 12
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 16
Feats Cosmopolitan (Perception, Diplomacy), Elven Spirit (Strong Heritage (Elf))
Traits Child of the Streets, Sacred Conduit
Skills Acrobatics +2, Climb +2, Diplomacy +6, Escape Artist +1, Fly +1, Knowledge (religion) +7, Perception +9, Ride +1, Sense Motive +6, Sleight of Hand +6, Spellcraft +6, Stealth +1, Swim +2
Languages Common, Elven, Gnome, Orc, Skald, Varisian
SQ aura, cleric channel positive energy 1d6 (4/day) (dc 13), desert runner, domains (luck, protection), elf blood, spontaneous casting, strong heritage (elf)
Other Gear Masterwork Lamellar (leather) armor, Dagger, Masterwork Glaive, Metal cartridge (30), Revolver, 35 GP
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Aura (Ex) The Cleric has an aura corresponding to his deity's alignment.
Bit of Luck (5/day) (Sp) Target takes the higher of 2d20 for a d20 roll.
Cleric Channel Positive Energy 1d6 (4/day) (DC 13) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Cleric Domain (Luck) Granted Powers: You are infused with luck, and your mere presence can spread good fortune.
Cleric Domain (Protection) Granted Powers: Your faith is your greatest source of protection, and you can use that faith to defend others. In addition, you receive a +1 resistance bonus on saving throws. This bonus increases by 1 for every 5 levels you possess.
Desert Runner +4 Con checks and Fort vs. fatigue, exhaustion, running, forced marches, hot or cold environments.
Elf Blood You are counted as both elven and human for any effect relating to race.
Elven Immunities +2 save bonus vs Enchantments.
Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Resistant Touch (5/day) (Sp) May donate Protection Domain's Resistance bonus to ally by touch for 1 minute.
Spontaneous Casting The Cleric can convert stored spells into Cure or Inflict spells.
Strong Heritage (Elf)
--------------------
The earliest time Joral remembers, is one involving cold weather, warm fires, and he face of his mother. He recalls living in a place of ice and snow in a community of people like his mother. He was just beginning to learn to speak at that time, and only understood that the community was one for 'elves'. The next couple of years, he thought of himself as an elf. These were happy years, but a bit tough as hunting and gathering parties returned with less and less each year. Even though there was the difficulties, these were still happy times however, but they were not to last. Before he knew it, he and his mother were journeying south and east, in search of (as his mother told him) his father. For months they travelled, through all manner of terrain until they crossed the Mana Wastes and arrived at the city of Alkenstar.

It was not long after their arrival that Joral, at the age of six, found himself alone on the streets. His mother had been killed by thugs and dumped in the streets. They had ignored him, thinking he wouldn't be long for the world. He managed to survive though, and managed to thrive. The daily struggle met it end on the day he managed to steal some fresh food from a blacksmith's family. While he was devouring his treasure, several other thugs surrounded him to take it. He began fighting, but the numbers were a bit much and he felt blow after blow. Just before he passed out, he saw the female gnome blacksmith fire a shot from a gun into the ground next to the leader's head. Without hesitation, the gang fled, leaving the smith to kneel beside Joral and check on the young man.

When he awoke, amazingly it was to a new life. The smith hadn't held it against Joral for taking the food, only admonished him that if he'd asked the smith would have given him that and more. Feeling guilty, Joral asked to stay to help the woman out with chores for a few days. In the end, Joral stayed for years. Over the time, he learned about smithing and metals as well as how to construct the guns that made Alkenstar a place for business. However, not only did the smith teach him to make the weapons, she taught him to use them. The entire relationship made Joral feel like he actually did have a mother again, and the feeling of mother to son also was the feeling of the smith to Joral.

The family feeling ended as abruptly as it began however when the smith left to meet an associate in the city of XXX. The smith was to meet several associates to investigate a series of attacks on caravans nearby. As the woman had been doing the same previously, Joral didn't think much of it. When he was awoken by the feeling of tragedy his mind changed. Unsure of what he was feeling, he spent days in a bit of a mood. When a package was delivered to him from the smith, he knew what put him in a mood. The package contained a letter and a journal partially covered in blood. The last entry in the journal was talking about an ambush on the smith's arrival in XXXXXX. The entry was ended in the hand of someone else, with notations of the inn where the event occurred at and the name of the bartender who apparently retrieved the journal after the smith met her demise in the ambush.

Devastated, Joral turned to the church of Shelyn for comfort. He discovered that he excelled in the churches teachings.....

<TBD>

Joral has since taken on the title "Hin en' i' benerel" or "child of the city" to acknowledge that he basically grew up on the streets of Alkenstar..

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 Publishing, LLC®, and are used under license.