Skull & Shackles: Glittering Riches and Bloody Blades (Inactive)

Game Master DancingShadow

I’m usually good with anything from Paizo, but I’m typically leery of 3rd party stuff. That said, feel free to ask about anything. I reserve the right to veto anything.
Point-Buy: 20 points
Races: Core, APG, UM, UC, ARG, BoA, BoF.
Classes: Core, APG, UM, UC, ARG.
Hit Points: Max at 1st, Average + 1 after 1st
Starting Level: 2nd
Traits: 2, 1 must be a campaign trait
Alignment: Any, although see above about teamwork. Alignment cannot be used as an excuse to not get along with the party and contribute.
Backgrounds: I expect a well-written background that ties the character into the AP. At least a paragraph in length, although what I’m looking for is an entertaining read

on the Man's Promise.

Randall McNally
Male Human (Varisian) Bard (Sea Singer) 2
CN Medium Humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +3
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 15 (2d8+2)
Fort +1, Ref +5, Will +2; +4 bonus vs. air and water effects, or being knocked prone
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee Net -2 () and
. . Rapier +2 (1d6+1/18-20/x2) and
. . Scorpion whip +2 (1d4+1/x2)
Ranged Shortbow, Comp. (Str +0) +3 (1d6/x3)
Special Attacks bardic performance (standard action) (9 rounds/day, bardic performance: distraction, bardic performance: fascinate (1 targets) (dc 14), bardic performance: inspire courage +1
Bard (Sea Singer) Spells Known (CL 2):
1 (3/day) Sleep (DC 14), Grease (DC 14), Cure Light Wounds
0 (at will) Read Magic, Detect Magic, Mending, Prestidigitation (DC 13), Light
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Statistics
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Str 13, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 17
Base Atk +1; CMB +2 (+4 Tripping); CMD 14 (16 vs. Grapple, 16 vs. Overrun, 18 vs. Trip)
Feats Combat Expertise +/-1, Improved Trip
Traits Barroom Talespinner (1/week), Fast-Talker
Skills Acrobatics +5, Appraise +6, Bluff +8, Climb +4, Diplomacy +8, Escape Artist +1, Fly +1, Knowledge (geography) +7, Knowledge (local) +7, Knowledge (nature) +7, Perception +3, Perform (oratory) +8, Perform (sing) +9, Profession (sailor) +3, Ride +1, Sense Motive +3, Sleight of Hand +5, Spellcraft +6, Stealth +5, Survival -1 (+1 to avoid becoming lost when using this), Swim +0, Use Magic Device +8
Languages Common, Elven, Polyglot, Varisian
SQ +3 to acrobatics checks, bardic performance: sea shanty, empathic link with familiar, sea legs, share spells with familiar, world traveler (1/day)
Other Gear Studded leather armor, Arrows (20), Net, Rapier, Scorpion whip, Shortbow, Comp. (Str +0), Belt pouch (1 @ 0.4 lbs), Compass, Mirror, Signal whistle, Spell component pouch, Waterproof bag (empty), Waterskin, 5 GP, 5 SP, 10 CP
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Special Abilities
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+3 to Acrobatics checks You gain the Alertness feat while your familiar is within arm's reach.
Bardic Performance (standard action) (9 rounds/day) Your performances can create magical effects.
Bardic Performance: Distraction (Su) Counter magical effects that depend on sight.
Bardic Performance: Fascinate (1 targets) (DC 14) (Su) One or more creatures becomes fascinated with you.
Bardic Performance: Inspire Courage +1 (Su) Morale bonus on some saving throws, attack and damage rolls.
Bardic Performance: Sea Shanty (Su) Allies use your perform for saves vs. Exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, or sickening, or can reroll.
Barroom Talespinner (1/week) Make DC 15 Knowledge (Local) or Int to gain +1 to influence Wormwood NPCs.
Combat Expertise +/-1 Bonus to AC in exchange for an equal penalty to attack.
Compass +2 circumstance for Survival or Knowledge (Dungeoneering) to avoid becoming lost.
Empathic Link with Familiar (Su) You have an empathic link with your Arcane Familiar.
Improved Trip You don't provoke attacks of opportunity when tripping.
Sea Legs (Ex) +4 to saves vs. air & water effects, and against being knocked prone.
Share Spells with Familiar Can cast spells with a target of "You" on the familiar with a range of touch.
World Traveler (1/day) (Ex) Can reroll a Knowledge (geography, local, nature), or Linguistics check.

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Nikima
Male Monkey
N Tiny Magical Beast ((animal))
Init +2; Senses low-light vision; Perception +5
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +2 size, +1 natural)
hp 7 (1d8)
Fort +2, Ref +5, Will +4
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft., climbing (30 feet)
Melee Bite (Monkey) +5 (1d3-4/x2)
Space 2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
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Statistics
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Str 3, Dex 15, Con 10, Int 6, Wis 12, Cha 5
Base Atk +1; CMB +1; CMD 7
Feats Weapon Finesse
Tricks Come [Trick], Fetch [Trick], Heel [Trick], Perform [Trick], Seek [Trick], Stay [Trick]
Skills Acrobatics +14, Appraise -1, Bluff -2, Climb +14, Diplomacy -2, Fly +6, Perception +5, Sense Motive +2, Sleight of Hand +3, Spellcraft -1, Stealth +14, Swim +2, Use Magic Device -1
Languages
SQ come [trick], fetch [trick], heel [trick], improved evasion, perform [trick], seek [trick], stay [trick]
Other Gear You have no money!
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Special Abilities
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Climbing (30 feet) You have a Climb speed.
Come [Trick] The animal will come to you on command.
Fetch [Trick] The animal will get a specific object.
Heel [Trick] The animal will follow you.
Improved Evasion (Ex) No damage on successful reflex save; half on failed save.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Perform [Trick] The animal will perform tricks.
Seek [Trick] The animal moves into an area and looks around for anything that is obviously alive or animate.
Stay [Trick] The animal will stay where it is.

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Born the son of a fisherman, Randall grew up in Riddleport, listening to the other men spin their tales while mending their nets. At the age of thirteen Randall joined the crew of a ship as cabin boy. Once at sea the vocation of his ship became apparent as it came upon another merchantman and raided it.
Arriving in Magnimar with more money in his pocket than he had ever seen in his life Randall joined another crew and then another taking on all manner of maritime activity, some honest, some...not.
As he grew older Randall matured into a ruggedly handsome man with a quick wit and an even quicker tongue. He was often able to talk his way out of many situations and talk others, mostly ladies, into still others.
Life was good for Randall until an incident with his latest ship's owner over his daughter came to light. Unable to talk his way out of it and unwilling to kill the man for protecting his daughter's "honor" (although Randall was sure he wasn't her first) He decided discretion was the better part of valor and abandoned ship. Although this wasn't good enough for the disgraced father who soon had the Harbormaster's Watch out after him.
One step ahead of the law Randall signed with the first ship he could find, leaving port the soonest, heading for he didn't care where. As luck would have it the ship was sailing for The Shackles where he was sure he could shake off this latest setback and be back at sea again soon. Sitting in a dockside tavern called the Formidably Maid, Randall sits nursing his drink and making plans to get out of Port Peril as soon as possible. Heading out the door for the privies Randall began to feel light headed and the world began to spin. The last thing he felt was the cool sensation of the cobblestones as his face hit the ground and then...nothing.

While his fellow tribesmen would sing song and praise the cold breezes and open plain of his homeland, Strom yearned for the ocean. As often as his hunts would allow he'd run the many days and nights needed to bring him to the blue plains of water. Swimming near the shore, hunting fish and bigger game under the water, taking whatever driftwood he could find to go out as far into the blue plains as he could, rolling with the mountainous waves, feeling the power of the blue plain beneath him. This, this is the true wilderness, he'd often think to himself in these moments. Until one day, drifting on the waves, eyes closed in bliss, a net was thrown over him and he was dragged aboard a passing whaler which happened to be short on slaves. My lucky day he thought, as he was beaten again and again, the sailors trying to force him into submission. He took the beatings, and still he fought and tries to escape many times, ripping his manacles from the wall on more than one occasion. It wasn't till the Captain himself intervened, giving Strom a choice, he could work willingly and without trouble for the remainder of the journey, or he could patch sails with a needle and thread... and minus a leg. After that things became easier for Strom and his love of the sea only grew. He also grew about eight inches and gained a good forty pounds, finally coming into manhood. Not a few of his 'friends' told him it was a good thing he wasn't this big when they first fished him from the water, or they'd have had to cut his throat right off.

He was also introduced to piracy, a part-time occupation of the Murky Gull, the name of the whaler, when easy targets were available and whet the captain's fancy. Soon enough swinging a weapon on a rolling deck felt like second nature to the young Barbarian, and his great strength and natural seamanship soon earned him the respect, and fear, of the rest of the crew. More than once Strom dove into a stormy sea to save a fellow sailor, for while he was strong, he knew to take care of those that took care of him, and understood ships required more than just sails, but hands to set them.

Everyone on board, even the captain, was happy to see the retreating mans broad back, now criss-crossed with old scars gained during his 'education', walk away from the Murky Gull that day. Standing on the docks of Port Peril, Strom reached down and jingled the small purse at his belt, remembering the advice of his fellow sailors and keeping the rest in a hidden portion of his pack. Striding forward people melted out of the way, and if they didn't move quickly enough they were sent flying. He had learned many things on the Murky Gull, and he knew what his assets were, and his wouldn't soon forget the harsh lessons of that pungent ship of death, the resting place of his youth, and subsequent rebirth as... something more.

Due to the cut-throat nature of his 'education' and general life-style of his early days on board a ship, he keeps his opinions quiet. In his heart he pities the slaves and desires their release, but voicing thoughts like that end with a knife at your throat in the dead of night. He feels a kinship with them, figuring himself to be a slave or at best in 'forced labor'. So he tries to lighten their loads when he can, and doesn't use violence to encourage them like the others. He bides his time, and waits for a time he can do something to make a difference for the slaves.

Tigalio Galvash
Male Human (Varisian) Cavalier (Standard Bearer/Musketeer, Order of the Cockatrice) 2
N Medium Humanoid (human) Init +2; Senses Perception +0
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 12, 16 flat-footed (+6 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 22 (2d10+4, +2 favored class)
Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +0; +2 bonus vs. fear
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee Greatsword +5 (2d6+4/19-20/x2) and
. . Dagger +5 (1d4+3/19-20/x2)
Ranged Musket +4 (1d12/x4) (40 ft.) and
. . Dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20/x2) (10 ft.)
Special Attacks challenge (swift action) (1/day), tactician (standard action) (1/day), dazzling display, banner, braggart
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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 14
Base Atk +2; CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats Intimidating Prowess, Amateur Gunslinger (Deadeye), Shake It Off, Dazzling Display, Gunsmithing
Traits Buccaneer’s Blood, Masterful Demeanor
Skills Appraise +4, Bluff +6, Climb +7, Craft (alchemy) +1, Diplomacy +6, Intimidate +12, Profession (sailor) +5, Sense Motive +4, Swim +7
Languages Common
SQ +2 to DC vs demoralize
Other Gear masterwork agile breastplate, gunsmith’s kit, alchemical cartridges (50), tindertwigs (30), cigarillos (30), belt pouch, compass, mirror, signal whistle, crowbar, grappling hook, rope (200 ft.), waterproof sack, torch (3), lamp, oil (2 pints), hardtack (14 days), manacles and key, winter blanket, flint and steel, whetstone, waterskin, backpack, greatsword, dagger (2), boarding axe, cat-o’-nine-tails, 187 GP, 12 SP, 15 CP
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Special Abilities
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Challenge (swift action) (1/day) +2 damage on melee attacks vs. the target of the challenge, additional +1 morale bonus to damage on melee attacks when the cavalier is the only creature threatening the target. -2 AC vs. all creatures except the target.
Tactician (standard action) (1/day) All allies within 30 ft. gain the benefit of the teamwork feat Shake It Off for 4 rounds
Banner All allies within 60 ft. gain +2 morale bonus on saving throws vs. fear and +1 morale bonus on attack rolls as part of a charge.
Order of the Cockatrice +2 to DC of demoralize attempts vs. the cavalier. Appraise and Perform are class skills.
Braggart May perform Dazzling Display as a standard action. +2 morale bonus on melee attack rolls vs. demoralized targets.
Masterful Demeanor +3 trait bonus on Intimidate checks vs. non-human humanoid races.
Buccaneer’s Blood +1 trait bonus on Profession (sailor) and Intimidate checks. One-time +1 trait bonus on Disrepute and Infamy scores.
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Tigalio could not take the shame anymore. Day after day, watching his father stumble home from the dice game, having squandered more of the family fortune. All the locals knew that Valentio, Tigalio’s father, was the easiest to cheat in all of Port Peril. After his first two flagons of mead his senses, never sharp, were dulled past the point of awareness. And the first two flagons were empty before his morning bacon, more often than not.

For Valentio lived lavishly off the wealth of his father, Boro Galvash. Now there was a Galvash who Tigalio could be proud of. The famed Free Captain from the Shackles, Boro Galvash was a name that still struck fear in the hearts of seasoned sailors, whether they be the honest type or not. Boro Galvash was the man who, facing mutiny, drew his scourge and ripped the swords from their hands, then whipped them so bloody that the rest of the mutineers dove into shark-infested waters rather than face his whip. Boro Galvash was the man who, now missing half his crew, robbed four carracks in three days, plundered their holds and recrewed his ship by pressing the fortunate into his service. That was how a real Galvash acted. Not as some drunken lout whose only ambition was to get lucky on a handful of dice, whose only celebrated skill was belching.

What was worse was that his father still acted like he was better than Tigalio. He acted like Tigalio deserved the beatings his father dealt out after another night of lost coin. His father saw the hatred in Tigalio’s eyes, those burning, intense eyes so reminiscent of Boro himself, and struck back against that hatred with an empty bottle or a clenched fist.

But Tigalio didn’t let that faze him. Far worse than any thrashing his father could dole out was the knowledge that every day, the name Galvash became less of a thing to be whispered in fear and awe, and more of a punchline to finish the joke of some prancing bard. His birthright was being robbed from him with every swig of ale, with every throw of a loaded die. His name, the thing he cherished most, was being tainted, and he had to watch in slow motion as the legacy his grandfather left behind disintegrated.

Tigalio had had enough. It was time to take back what was rightfully his. While his father was in town drinking his way out of a fortune, Tigalio made his way to the wooden chest where his father kept his Boro’s heirloom musket. Not knowing where his father kept the key, he grabbed a sledge and furiously but carefully pounded on the chest until it shattered to splinters. There it was, the musket with which Boro had slain Commodore Willet, the musket with which Boro had built the family name. Tigalio admired it briefly, then set about loading it with powder and lead. “In my new life, I’ll need be prepared for who may try and stop me.” As he exited his father’s room into the hearth room, he stopped to dislodge his grandfather’s banner from above the fireplace.

Leaving the house he had grown up in for the final time, Tigalio had never felt more elated. His days of vicarious living through stories of his grandfather were over - now his fate was his own to forge. “It’s time to do or die,” he thought. With that, he set off to the Formidably Maid, where he knew for sure there would be marauders looking for fresh bodies. “Today begins the story of the notorious corsair, Tigalio Galvash.”

He smiled.

Corbin Cray -- or simply "Cray", as he prefers to be called -- was born a bastard, the only son of a prostitute in Riddleport. His mother did her best to raise him, but poverty forced Cray to grow up quickly, and the boy was not above pickpocketing if it meant he and his mother could eat another day.

Cray's childhood wanderings frequently took him to the docks, and there he spent many an afternoon watching in fascination as all manner of massive, exotic ships came and went. One fateful day still stands out in his memory, when he was twelve years old: As he was sitting on a hill by the pier, a bald, wiry man called out to him, "Ey, boy, wanna make a few coppers?" Cray jumped at the chance, and spent the next hour unloading crates. Exhausting as it was, he was excited to actually be aboard a ship -- and even more excited still when the bald man asked if he wanted to join the ship's crew as a swab boy.

The next morning was when Cray told his mother that he was leaving home, determined to make an honest wage as a sailor so they both could have a better life. She protested fiercely at first, but made no attempt to physically stop him, perhaps acknowledging that it was as good an opportunity as he would get.

Now, over twenty years later, Cray is a seasoned sailor, having undertaken countless ventures, legal and otherwise, and made sure to make good on his promise to his mother. Yet despite his successes, and now far from home in the exotic lands of the Shackles, he still doesn't quite feel at ease with himself, as though he was meant for greater things. He keeps a keen eye out for an opportunity to satisfy his greatest ambition: To have a ship -- or more -- under his command.

"Aye, you see, sir it wasn't the Lionfish's Captain, Marcus Cay, that I ran afoul of but rather the ships owner, one Abel Strand and his daughter, 'Tessa (short for Countessa, as she told me)".

"Pirate, sir? No, I don't consider myself a pirate at all. More of an...opportunist, yes opportunist sounds about right. I mean, I'll take honest work when it comes along but will resort to other means to fill my pockets when it don't".

"I understand, perhaps we could come up with something dark and mysterious. The ladies like a mysterious stranger, there's something "romantic" about it."

Doran Tidelock looks every inch a sailor, albeit a very small one, as he is a halfling. He has roughly-cut, brown hair lightened by salt and sun, and pale green eyes in a sun-darkened face. Doran is quite young, but his wind-burned, tan skin, and a dark blue tattoo of three waves on the right side of his neck, suggest many leagues of travel lie behind him. Two small shortswords are crossed on his back, their faded leather handles just visible over his shoulders, and a horn bow protrudes over his right shoulder. He wears worn and salt-streaked leathers of an indeterminate black-brown, his bare feet nearly as dark and hardened by the elements. He stands only as tall as a human child of 5 sailing seasons, but moves with the sure grace of someone born to the rigging of a storm-tossed ship.

The Tidelock family of Westpool has served as mates and lesser officers on Chelish trading ships for generations, and Doran expected to follow in the family tradition, first serving as a ship’s boy at the age of ten. His career as a sailor began hopefully enough, and he loved the sea and the experiences and freedom it offered. Fate began to frown on him just after his 16th birthday, when the Black Wind, the ship on which his eldest brother served as first mate, went down on the homeward leg of a voyage of many months. The ship ran over an uncharted reef in the night, and all hands perished save Doran, who managed to struggle to shore and make his way overland to home, to tell his parents of their loss.

Doran returned to the sea soon after, and all went well enough until his 20th year, when his ship was set upon by Andoran privateers and sunk after inadvertently being set ablaze. Again, he was the only survivor, managing to stay afloat for most of a day before finding a piece of floating wreckage and clinging to it until a fishing boat picked him up. Upon returning home this time, his father cast him out and named him cursed, ensuring that he would not be welcome in the crew of any Westpool ship worthy of the name. Desperate to return to the life he loved at sea, and unable to find a place on a decent ship, Doran turned to piracy, joining a ragged band with a derelict ship that harassed the coasts near his home. Doran learned a great deal about survival and treachery during his time with this crew, but eventually could not tolerate the needless cruelty and murder of the pirate’s life. He fled the ship in Absalom, and took to surviving on the streets there, using the skills picked up from his pirate crew-mates to protect himself and eke out a living.

After several months in Absalom, struggling to make ends meet with his skills ill-suited for a life on land, Doran decided to risk all and take to the sea again. He fears he is truly a “Jonah” cursed by a cruel sea-god, as his family and friends have said. At the same time, he knows himself to be an exceptionally skilled sailor, by dint of birth and years at sea, and knows he will not be happy on land. In either case, his innate halfling good spirits keep him hopeful enough. He has signed onto a ship sailing to distant Sargava, in the hopes that the sea-god’s eye will not follow him there, and that he may make a new life on a new sea.

Doran Tidelock looks every inch a sailor, albeit a very small one, as he is a halfling. He has roughly-cut, brown hair lightened by salt and sun, and pale green eyes in a sun-darkened face. Doran is quite young, but his wind-burned, tan skin, and a dark blue tattoo of three waves on the right side of his neck, suggest many leagues of travel lie behind him. Two small shortswords are crossed on his back, their faded leather handles just visible over his shoulders, and a horn bow protrudes over his right shoulder. He wears worn and salt-streaked leathers of an indeterminate black-brown, his bare feet nearly as dark and hardened by the elements. He stands only as tall as a human child of 5 sailing seasons, but moves with the sure grace of someone born to the rigging of a storm-tossed ship.

The Tidelock family of Westpool has served as mates and lesser officers on Chelish trading ships for generations, and Doran expected to follow in the family tradition, first serving as a ship’s boy at the age of ten. His career as a sailor began hopefully enough, and he loved the sea and the experiences and freedom it offered. Fate began to frown on him just after his 16th birthday, when the Black Wind, the ship on which his eldest brother served as first mate, went down on the homeward leg of a voyage of many months. The ship ran over an uncharted reef in the night, and all hands perished save Doran, who managed to struggle to shore and make his way overland to home, to tell his parents of their loss.

Doran returned to the sea soon after, and all went well enough until his 20th year, when his ship was set upon by Andoran privateers and sunk after inadvertently being set ablaze. Again, he was the only survivor, managing to stay afloat for most of a day before finding a piece of floating wreckage and clinging to it until a fishing boat picked him up. Upon returning home this time, his father cast him out and named him cursed, ensuring that he would not be welcome in the crew of any Westpool ship worthy of the name. Desperate to return to the life he loved at sea, and unable to find a place on a decent ship, Doran turned to piracy, joining a ragged band with a derelict ship that harassed the coasts near his home. He took to the life well enough, enjoying the greater freedom than he had found on merchant ships, and wondered if he would end his days a pirate, a strange fate for a Tidelock of Westpool.

Sadly, the Fortune’s Bride, the floating wreck that the pirates used to ply their trade, also sank, in the waters off the Isle of Kortos. The Bride was doomed to sink soon enough, old and battered as it was. But Doran’s crewmates, or at least those who survived and made it to Kortos, blamed him for its loss, having heard a bit of his tale from Doran, and more of it from idle ships’ hands gossiping about the cursed halfling sailor. Doran managed to evade the vengeful crew long enough to make his way to Absalom. Even so, aware that his former mates would find him soon enough, Doran knew he had to risk all and take to the sea again.

He fears he is truly a “Jonah” cursed by a cruel sea-god, as his family and friends have said. At the same time, he knows himself to be an exceptionally skilled sailor, by dint of birth and years at sea, and he knows no other trade. In either case, his innate halfling good spirits keep him hopeful enough. He has signed onto a ship sailing to distant Sargava, in the hopes that the sea-god’s eye will not follow him there, and that he may make a new life on a new sea, whether as an honest merchantman or a bloodthirsty pirate, he cannot say.

Doran looks every inch a sailor, albeit a very small one, as he is a halfling. He has roughly-cut, brown hair lightened by salt and sun, and pale green eyes in a sun-darkened face. Doran is quite young, but his wind-burned, tan skin, and a dark blue tattoo of three waves on the right side of his neck, suggest many leagues of travel lie behind him. Two small shortswords are crossed on his back, their faded leather handles just visible over his shoulders, and a horn bow protrudes over his right shoulder. He wears worn and salt-streaked leathers of an indeterminate black-brown, his bare feet nearly as dark and hardened by the elements. He stands only as tall as a human child of 5 sailing seasons, but moves with the sure grace of someone born to the rigging of a storm-tossed ship.

Doran was born a slave in Cheliax, property of House Jenidar, a prosperous Westpool trading family who owned a fleet of ships that sailed the Inner Sea and beyond. His owners set him to work as a ship’s boy by the age of eight and, though many halflings in Cheliax suffer miserably, Doran loved the life at sea. His work was hard, no doubt of that, and the sight of free folk in the many ports he visited caused him pain, but he loved seeing new places, people and wonders of the world, as only a sailor could.

His career as a sailor began hopefully enough, as he showed himself to be a natural sailor and a hard worker, but fate began to frown on him just after his 16th birthday. The Black Wind, the ship on which the eldest Jenidar son served as captain, went down as it neared home after a voyage of many months. The ship ran over an uncharted reef, off the western coast of Cheliax, and all hands perished save Doran. He managed to struggle to shore, and was picked up by local guardsmen who had seen the wreck from the coast. They ascertained the name and owner of the ship, and returned Doran to House Jenidar under escort. As the messenger bearing the news to Lord Jenidar of the loss of his son and heir, Doran was fortunate to escape with his life. He was beaten and questioned repeatedly, but in the end it was decided that he was too valuable as a skilled sea-slave to kill him for merely surviving the shipwreck.

Doran returned to the sea soon after, and all went well enough until his 20th year, when his ship was set upon by Andoran privateers and sunk after inadvertently being set ablaze. Again, he was the only survivor, managing to stay afloat for most of a day before finding a piece of floating wreckage and clinging to it until a fishing boat picked him up. Doran knew that to return to Cheliax this time would mean his death for certain, and he asked the fishermen to take him with them to Andoran. They did so, but sailors are an intensely superstitious lot, and on bringing Doran to Augustana they spoke freely about how he had been rescued, and said he was surely cursed by Gozreh. As a result, no Andoran sailors would tolerate his presence on their ships, and he struggled to make ends meet, his skills ill-suited to a life on land.

Desperate to return to the life he loved at sea, and unable to find a place on a decent ship, Doran turned to piracy, joining a ragged band with a derelict ship that harassed the coasts near his home. He took to the life well enough, the occasional cruelty and treachery greatly offset by his freedom from slavery, and wondered if he would end his days a pirate.

Sadly, the Fortune’s Bride, the floating wreck that the pirates used to ply their trade, also sank, in the waters off the Isle of Kortos. The Bride was doomed to sink soon enough, old and battered as it was. But Doran’s crewmates, or at least those who survived and made it to Kortos, blamed him for its loss, having heard a bit of his tale from Doran, and more of it from idle ships’ hands gossiping about the cursed halfling sailor. Doran managed to evade the vengeful crew long enough to make his way to Absalom. Even so, aware that his former mates would find him soon enough, Doran knew he had to risk all and take to the sea again.

He fears he is truly a “Jonah” cursed by a cruel sea-god, as his family and friends have said. At the same time, he knows himself to be an exceptionally skilled sailor, by dint of birth and years at sea, and he knows no other trade. In either case, his innate halfling good spirits keep him hopeful enough. He has joined the first ship he could find, a trader sailing to distant Sargava, in the hopes that the sea-god’s eye will not follow him there, or that different gods hold sway, and that he may make a new life on a new sea, whether as an honest merchantman or a bloodthirsty pirate, he cannot say.

Valentio was not so much driven to drinking, so much as he was never driven to do anything else. By the time Valentio was born his father was a very wealthy man, and by the time Boro died, Valentio's part of the inheritance was just shy of 30,000 gp. As such, Valentio never had to work a day in his life. As a boy, he preferred to wrestle and chase girls rather than put his mind to anything of consequence. His unflagging appetite for self-indulgence never left him, leaving him to spend his days and nights drinking, gambling, and whoring in Port Peril.

It was the whoring that eventually drove Edra, Tigalio's mother, to leave Valentio for good. Valentio didn't mind, as over the years her nagging about the drinking and gambling had gotten worse, and her body had gotten no better. Tigalio has not seen her since, and although he understands why she did what she did, he still blames her for leaving him behind with Valentio.

The only thing that could be said to have intensified Valentio's drinking was the loss of his two brothers, for he although he had few cares in the world he did love his brothers deeply. Unlike Valentio however, Rafeel and Bentaro had ambitions, and tried to emulate the successes of their father. Rafeel followed Boro's footsteps most closely, using wit and words to turn the minds of men to his cause. Rafeel had the unflagging respect of his crew, who were especially fond of his abilities to talk the merchant captains into surrender without shots being fired. However, his self-assuredness ended up leading to his downfall, when he tried to board a heavily-armed spice trader's galley and had his hip pulverized by a well-aimed cannonball.

Bentaro, on the other hand, lived for the fury of combat. He used terror to keep his crew in line, and never offered the enemy a chance to surrender, as his greatest pleasure was watching the blood spray in the thick of a fight. While Rafeel's favored weapon was the hackbut, which he leveled at his enemy while dictating the terms of their surrender, Bentaro fought with a greatsword, as he rejoiced in watching up close the look on his foe's faces as they saw their own intestines slip from their bellies, or their arm spouting blood after being severed at the elbow. His joy was also his bane, when his crew, led by his own first mate, Horld Frottinger, mutinied in response to his sadistic rule. Out of respect, they left him a rowboat (although didn't deign to spare him any food or water,) and stranded him alone on the high seas.

After the deaths of his brothers, Valentio inherited their shares of Boro's fortune, making him an exceedingly wealthy man. However, the years have whittled down his fortune, and he now retains only 10,000 of the original 90,000 gp. No one knows where he keeps it.

Todin is as tall as a Tiefling can be, towering a full 6'6" of goldish scale and dirty brown hair. He hardly ever shaves or cuts his hair, and tends to wear very little on his upper body to show off his musculature. His horns have also grown long, though they have no real use due to their upward angle and brittle nature. Should one break, it causes little to no harm to Todin, but takes a long while to grow back. His hands have only three fingers and a thumb while his feet each have four toes, another indication of his Kuwa Oni ancestry.

Todin is extremely reliant on his strength to get himself out of situations, using his words as a last resort. He will, however, always follow his intuition. It has served him well in the past, and he fully expects it to keep him alive to have a future. Todin is not opposed to crime in order to further his goals, but will not actually harm others unless it means significant gain for himself (if they're bad people that helps too). He's learned to work well with others through his time as a pickpocket as well as partnering up with other thugs as muscle for more prestigious underworld elements.

Todin Lael was born to a lady of the night in Port Peril, fathered by a client of hers with a particularly potent bloodline. To her, he had seemed nothing more than a Tian smuggler, looking to have a good time while selling or acquiring wares in the Shackles. No such luck. This man was, in truth, a Kuwa Oni, an evil outsider cloaked in human flesh.

Motivated solely by its greed, the Oni had initiated an incredibly profitable smuggling trade indeed: the slave trade. trafficking exotic races such as Tengu, Samsarans, Wayang and Nagaji out of Tian Xia and voyaging to such locations as Cheliax and even selling wares in the Shackles. Slavery is not popular in the shackles, and thus the Oni not only had to hide his true form as usual, but his wares as well from the public eye.

Nine months after her Tian customer knocked her up, Kardi Lael bore a monstrous son. His scaly yellow-gold skin glistened in the lamplight, and what seemed like stubby horns were sprouting from his forehead. Last but not least, his hands and feet only had 4 flanges each, the final mark that this child was not human.

Kardi tried to push the child onto anyone she could: her mother, her ex-husband, her siblings, but no one would take the monstrous Todin from his mother. Thus, Todin grew up in a den of whores and drug-addicts, irrevocably stunting his social skills and providing no semblance of education for the boy.

During the day he would spend most of the time playing by himself in back-alleys, avoiding the eyes of those who might cause him harm. This was not possible for long, as Todin grew quickly through his teenage years, reaching a height of 6’4” by the age of sixteen. This combined with his unusual appearance made him a target, a big one. He gained the attention of a team of pickpockets who used him as a distraction on the streets while they silently took the money of merchants and customers alike. Todin became a sort of mascot for the group, and the began to teach him a few things such as how to scale walls, hide objects on his person, or pick pockets himself. This arrangement went on for several years until the leadership of the group changed and decided that Todin was a bit too dim-witted to be part of the gang after a particularly embarrassing incident: Todin mistook a highly valued gemstone for an object that would be less missed. The merchant’s personal guard quickly captured the Tiefling and he was incarcerated for 20 years. By the time Todin returned, the band of thieves had decided they wanted nothing to do with the jailbird, and abandoned him with no food or money to his name.

Those years in prison were not wasted, however. It was there that Todin had learned how to defend himself: the hard way. He was a bit tougher and faster than a few of the other inmates, but not enough, apparently. He was beaten and spat upon by the prisoners, excluded even by the half-elf and half-orc factions within the prison walls. Todin kept his mouth shut, but his hands open. One day he was fortunate enough to “acquire” a weapon, a single set of brass knuckles, that another inmate had smuggled in. In the land of the blind, the man with one eye is king and it was no different for Todin. With his new weapon in hand, Todin set out to conquer the inmates who had beaten him to unconsciousness before. It was through this meat-grinder of fighting experience that he began to see telltale signs of blows, and started to use his instincts as well as his agility to dodge incoming blows. Soon enough for a creature with such a long lifespan, Todin left the prison a stronger man with new skills to wreak upon the world.

Unfortunately, the “wreaking” never came. Despite his talent and intuition, Todin had no mind for larger scale plans or tactics. Instead, he squandered what coin he could make as hired muscle on ale and women, usually taking down a few bar patrons as well. This cycle carried on for decades, as more and more brain cells of Todin’s died due to alcohol abuse. One night, when he was particularly drunk, that cycle ended.

The Formidable Maid was a bar that Todin often frequented, and was thus treated like a regular. They tolerated the brawls and blood that he tended to cause as long as he paid for the damage afterward out of the wallets of those he beat. One night, Todin was just a little too drunk, starting a fight with a stranger whom he’d never seen before. The stranger had friends. Lots of them. Quite a few of them fell to their knees at the hands of mighty Todin and his steely knuckles, but eventually the group surrounded and overwhelmed him, knocking him unconscious. And after that is where our story begins...

Todin Lael
Male Oni-Spawn Tiefling Martial Artist (Monk) 2
CN Outsider (Native)
Init +2
Senses:
Darkvision 60 Perception +6
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Defense
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Defense AC 19 , flat-footed 16. Touch 13. (2 Dex, 2 natural, 4 Wis, 1 Dodge)
hp 14 (2d8+2 favored class)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +7
Resistances: Electricity, Fire, and Cold 5
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee: Flurry of Blows +4/+4 (1d6+4), Unarmed Strike +5 (1d6+4)
Ranged: Javelin +3 (1d6+4) 30 ft.
Special Attacks 
 Flurry of Maneuvers, Stunning Fist, Unarmed Stk.,

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Statistics

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Str 18 
Dex 14 
Con 10 
Int 7 
Wis 18 
Cha 7
Base Atk +1 
CMB +5 
CMD 20

Feats: Improved Unarmed Strike, Stunning Fist, Dodge, Improved Grapple, Armor of the Pit,

Traits: Dockside Brawler: +1 bonus to dmg w/ brass knuckles and improvised weapons

Child of the Streets: +1 to Sleight of Hand and is a class Skill

Skills: Climb +8, Perception +8, Sleight of Hand +7, Stealth +6


Languages: Common, Abyssal

Alternate Racial Traits:
Fiendish Sprinter: Some tieflings have feet that are more bestial than human. Whether their feet resemble those of a clawed predator or are the cloven hooves common to many of their kind, tieflings with this trait gain a 10-foot racial bonus to their speed when using the charge, run, or withdraw actions. This racial trait replaces skilled.

Soul Seer: Rare tieflings have a peculiar sight that allows them to see the state of a creature's soul. They can use deathwatch at will as spell-like ability. This racial trait replaces the spell-like ability and fiendish sorcery racial traits.

Spell like Abilities

At-Will: Deathwatch

1/day: Alter Self

Cawin's capture came at a time before he became a proficient flyer. For whatever reason, he had wandered away from his protectors, and a band of slavers happened upon him and realized he could be taken without a fight. Initially, he was kept in a cage, but it quickly became clear that the goblins already in that cage were going to kill him, so Cawin instead had his wings broken and was chained to the wagon.

Since then, Cawin's wings have healed to a point that he can fly, and his various masters over the years have come to realize that letting him do that is the key to securing his loyalty. He realizes that he will likely never see his people again, and that he lacks the skills to survive on his own, and has thus to a certain degree accepted his fate. As for how he a trained, his first master got him when he was dying of an infection in his wings and had him healed of the disease, though his bones still had to heal themselves. During that time Cawin was treated well enough that he was happy to serve even as a slave.

Makris Bonder was a truly second-rate second mate, having secured his position on the Fortune’s Bride through bullying and brutality rather than any great skill as a sailor or leader. As in any large gathering of men, and particularly of pirates, there were some who were drawn to him as a result, and many who swore loyalty to him. Doran was not one of these. He felt that Bonder was a poor sailor and a reckless fighter. There was no doubt that Bonder was strong and brave, and his prowess with cutlass and boarding axe had won many a pitched battle on the decks. In Doran’s eyes, however, Bonder fought where no fight was needed, and made up for his errors as a sailor and navigator only through furious physical effort and the crushing of any who would point out his mistakes.

Being half the size of the human Bonder, Doran had to rely more on wits and skill to show his mettle among the crew of the Bride, and he rose to the task quite well. His intelligence and natural ability as a sailor endeared him to a smaller, more thoughtful part of the crew, and his quick thinking had secured them a prize or two that would surely have escaped otherwise. As one would expect, Bonder saw Doran as a competitor, someone out to overthrow him and take his hard-earned power and position on the ship, and swore to destroy him before that could happen. Doran, meanwhile, was so pleased to finally be free that he had no intent of seizing power from anyone. But his time as a Chelish slave had honed his instincts for who meant him harm, and he sensed right away that Bonder meant him ill.

Bonder began his campaign against Doran in not-so-subtle ways, sending his bully-boys to beat Doran senseless or worse. Doran generally managed to outsmart them, and not be where they expected to find him, or be there with allies of his own, sending Bonder’s thugs slinking away. After some months of this, however, Bonder became slightly more inventive in his approach, though one could hardly call it clever. The Bride had recently taken a small ship, carrying little in the way of cargo, but bearing a wealthy traveler from Almas, in Andoran. A small treasure in coins was taken from him, but the great prize was a gem-encrusted pendant, worthy of a king, which was eagerly claimed by Jak Verling, captain of the Fortune’s Bride. Though Bonder dearly desired the pendant for himself, he also saw in it a tool to rid himself of Doran Tidewrack.

Captain Verling’s cabin boy was a crony of Bonder’s, and Bonder forced him to steal the pendant from the captain’s lockbox and deliver it to him. Bonder then hid the gorgeous bauble in Doran’s kit-bag, and went to tell the captain he suspected a thief among the crew – common enough in a pirate ship, but sorely and violently frowned upon, particularly by Captain Verling. Like many sailors, however, Doran used a knot of his own devising to tie his bag closed, so he could tell if anyone else had opened it. While Bonder was speaking to the captain, Doran happened to notice his bag had been tampered with and he opened it to see what was missing. He soon found the pendant and, at the same instant, heard the heavy footfalls of a group of men moving along the deck towards the gangway leading down to the decrepit crew cabin. In desperation, he hurriedly tossed the pendant into the shadows across the cabin and stashed his gear, heading for the gangway with as innocent a look as he could muster.

Nevertheless, he was seized by a couple of Bonder’s thugs, and Bonder tore open Doran’s bag and dumped it on the ground before the captain, pawing through its contents with an exultant look on his face. His expression soon turned to confusion, then anger and some fear, as he muttered “Where is it? It was here!” The captain looked from Bonder to Doran and back again, his face dark with rage and said ”What’s this? What’s going on here? Throw both of these men in irons and we’ll get to the bottom of it!”

As the captain spoke, however, an urgent cry came from the masthead, “Squall from the starboard quarter! Reef sails! Oh, we’ll never be in time!” and a deep howling could be heard as the sky through the portholes darkened suddenly. The short, sharp storm that followed was more than the aged timbers of the Bride could stand – she was instantly blown over on her port side, masts and spars snapping under the strain, and she soon foundered. Few hands survived, but somehow Doran was one of them, leaving him to wonder whether the sea-gods loved him or hated him.

Doran found a small timber from the ship and held onto it for some hours, though it was barely adequate to keep him afloat. As the sun began to set, he saw a large section of the mainmast bobbing nearby, with something or someone clinging to it, and he felt real hope that he might survive the night. He managed to swim to it, and saw an arm lashed to the wood with a bit of rope, and a sodden head resting on it. His splashing drew the attention of the other man, who lifted his head to reveal he was none other than Makris Bonder, who cried out ”You! Filthy slip! You’re cursed, and you’ve brought an end to us all! I’ll kill you now for good and all!” and began to tug and strain at the rope holding his arm to the section of mast.

The fact that he was a quick swimmer, and that Bonder had lashed himself to the floating debris and could not quickly get free, saved Doran’s life. He got away from the immediate threat of Bonder, but felt sure he would not live to see the dawn. He managed to stay afloat through much of the night, however, and the currents washed him ashore on the Isle of Kortos shortly before dawn. As the sun rose, Doran was happy to be alive, but he felt fairly confident of two things: the curse of the sea-gods was real, and Bonder had likely survived as well, so Doran would forever have to watch his back.