Strange Aeon's

Game Master Freman969

Malugar
Half-orc druid (swarm monger) 1
NG Medium humanoid (human, orc)
Init +6; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +10
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +6, Ref +2, Will +6; +2 racial bonus vs. disease, ingested poisons, nauseated, or sickened, +1 trait bonus vs. aberrations
Resist plagueborn[APG]
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee greataxe +0 (1d12/×3)
Ranged sling +2 (1d4)
Druid (Swarm Monger) Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +5)
. . 1st—cure light wounds, cure light wounds
. . 0 (at will)—create water, detect magic, guidance
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Statistics
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Str 10, Dex 14, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 18, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 12
Feats Alertness, Improved Initiative
Traits foe of the strange, swamp rebel
Skills Acrobatics -1 (-5 to jump), Handle Animal +3, Knowledge (geography) +4, Knowledge (nature) +4, Perception +10, Sense Motive +6, Spellcraft +4, Stealth +5 (+7 in swampy terrain)
Languages Common, Druidic, Orc
SQ fecund familiar, orc blood, shadowy opportunist, wild empathy +0, plagueborn alternate racial trait
Other Gear hide armor, greataxe, sling, 5 gp
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Special Abilities
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Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Empathic Link with Familiar (Su) You have an empathic link with your Arcane Familiar.
Familiar Bonus: +2 to Fortitude saves You gain the Alertness feat while your familiar is within arm's reach.
Fecund Familiar (4/day) (Ex) As a standard action, familiar becomes swarm and gains temp hp.
Orc Blood Half-orcs count as both humans and orcs for any effect related to race.
Plagueborn +2 save vs. disease, ingested poison, nauseated, sickened.
Shadowy Opportunist (Ex) +2 to Knowledge (local) and Stealth.
Share Spells with Familiar Can cast spells with a target of "You" on the familiar with a range of touch.
Wild Empathy +0 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

Favored Class Bonus: 1/3 wildshape natural armor

Toothy
Rat (Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 132)
N Tiny magical beast (animal)
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +5
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+2 Dex, +1 natural, +2 size)
hp 5 (1d8)
Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +3
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Offense
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Speed 15 ft., climb 15 ft., swim 15 ft.
Melee bite +4 (1d3-4)
Space 2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
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Statistics
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Str 2, Dex 15, Con 11, Int 6, Wis 13, Cha 2
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 6 (10 vs. trip)
Feats Weapon Finesse
[b]Skills Acrobatics +2 (-6 to jump), Climb +10, Handle Animal -3, Perception +5, Spellcraft -1, Stealth +18, Swim +10; Racial Modifiers +4 Stealth
SQ improved evasion
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Special Abilities
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Climb (15 feet) You have a Climb speed.
Improved Evasion (Ex) No damage on successful reflex save; half on failed save.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ feet by sense of smell.
Swim (15 feet) You have a Swim speed.

Malugar defies his race--for he is actually only one-quarter orc. He was born to suprisingly normal parents, a human mother named Galia and a half-orc father named Thistok. Both were botanical researchers from Ardis on assignment in Varno to collect and analyze poisonous plant specimens. After a number of years traveling and living together, they were fortunate to claim a series of acres in a farming tenancy cooperative initatied by Versex County. It was attempt to make the pestulent, swampy land between Lantern Lake and Redleaf inhabitable. Although they never married, they steaded a home together and on the third year, Malugar was born.

The farm never quite took off, as is the case in so much of Ustalav, the ground seemed to blighted. but the family was resourceful and learned to live off of the land. To the surprise and delight of both Galia and Thistok, little Malugar was especially atuned to the natural world. Whether it was due to his parents' exposure to unknown toxins and venoms, latent magical talent of prior generations, or even divine intervention, Malugar was a druid. As he grew, he befriended the myriad creatures of the swamp, the insects, leeches, eels, alligators, oh and the rats. His pet rat Toothy (named for its ludicrously large and crooked bucked teeth) followed him everywhere. Even when he began to explore further from home than he should. His parents had warned him to be careful, that there were worse dangers than giant leeches lurking in the swamp, but he believed, foolishly, that his gifts would protect him in the wilderness. He was only seventeen the day he saw his family's cottage for the last time. He had hiked far south, much too far, and the light was growing dim. He had stopped at an algae-coated pond, intending to turn back, but something in the water had caught his attention. He crawled down on all fours and noticed something unusual in the water, something he couldn't quite place. And then...

Malugar is only slightly green, taking much more from his human ancestors than his orcish. His parents' inquisitive and gentle sensibilities have rubbed off on him, and has adopted human customs, aften habitually reaching to shake a stranger's hand or bow as any civilized person would. Like his half-orc father, he is tall and broad, but would much rather read a book than lift a sword.

Mechanically, Malugar will start out as a melee support and healer, but will grow to be a control spellcaster, focusing on battlefield manipulation and debuffs, with cure spells and buffs for backup.

Iron Osprey
Human (Keleshite) vigilante (warlock) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Intrigue 9, 60)
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +3 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +1, Ref +5, Will +3
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +3 (1d4/19-20) or
. . light mace +3 (1d6) or
. . mystic bolt (electricity) +3 (1d6 electricity)
Vigilante (Warlock) Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +4)
. . 1st—shield, sleep (DC 14)
. . 0 (at will)—dancing lights, detect magic, read magic
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Statistics
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Str 11, Dex 16, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 12, Cha 10
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 14
Feats Dodge, Street Smarts[UI], Weapon Finesse
Traits pugnacious, seeker
Skills Bluff +4, Climb +4, Disguise +0 (+20 to appear as part of polite society while in your social identity), Knowledge (arcana) +7, Perception +6, Sense Motive +7, Spellcraft +7, Stealth +7, Swim +4
Languages Common, Dwarven, Hallit, Kelish, Varisian
SQ dual identity, mystic bolt (mystic bolt [electricity][UI]), mystic bolts, social talent (intrigue feats)
Combat Gear potion of cure light wounds, smokestick (3); Other Gear leather armor, dagger, light mace, bandolier[UE], belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, mask[UE], paper (10), scroll case, silk rope (50 ft.), spell component pouch, tindertwig (20), warlock starting spellbook, waterskin, 21 gp, 3 sp
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Special Abilities
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Dual Identity (Ex) Each identity maintains own alignment, can switch over 1 min. Magical means treat an ID as non existant while not adopted.
Mystic Bolt (Electricity) 1d6 (Sp) Sling mystic bolts of energy at your foes.
Mystic Bolts (Su) Make attacks with one or more elements.
Street Smarts +2 bonus on Knowledge (local) and Sense Motive checks

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Male Human Slayer () 1
N Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +4
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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 dex, +0 shield)
hp 13
Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +0
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.

Melee
Longsword +3(1d8+2) 60 arrows
Dagger +3 (1d4+2)

Ranged
Longbow +6 (1d8)
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STATISTICS
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Str 14, Dex 19, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 11, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 17
Traits

Drawbacks

Feats
Point-Blank Shot,
Precise Shot

Skills (7 points; 6 class, 1 race, 0 INT)
ACP -0

*ACP applies to these skills
Non-Standard Skill Bonuses

Languages Common

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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1st studied target
Track

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Spells
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0th (at will)

1st (0/day)

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Backpack
Signal whistle
Bedroll
Rop Hemp
Chalk x2
Flint and steal
Artisan's outfit

Carrying Capacity
Light 0-58 lb. Medium 59-116 lb. Heavy 117-174 lb.
Current Load Carried 58 lb.

Money 1 GP 0 SP 8 CP

Naluria Avalon
Female Half-Elf Wizard (School Void; Archetype Exploiter Wizard)
N Medium Humanoid (Elf, Human)
Init +6; Senses Low-Light Vision, Perception +3
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DEFENSE
AC 13, Touch 12, Flat-footed 11 (+1 Armor, +2 Dex)
HP 7
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +3; +2 Racial bonus vs. Enchantment spells or effects, +2 Insight bonus vs. Spells & Spell-Like Abilities.
Immune Magical Sleep
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OFFENSE
Speed 30ft.
Melee Dagger -2 (1d4-2, 19-20/x2)
Special Attacks Reveal Weakness (-1)
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st)
1/Day — Dancing Lights
Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 1st; Concentration +5)
1st— Ear-Piercing Scream (DC 15), Shield, Sleep (DC 15)
0 (at will)— Detect Magic, Prestidigitation, Read Magic
Oppositional Elemental School Earth
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STATISTICS
Str 7 Dex 14 Con 12 Int 18 Wis 12 Cha 14
Base Attack +0; CMB -2; CMD 10
Feats Improved Initiative, Skill Focus (Linguistics)
Traits Pragmatic Activator (Use Int instead of Cha for UMD); Ritualistic (Gain a 0 level spell as a one/day SLA; +2 on occult ritual skill checks)
Trained Skills Diplomacy +3, Knowledge (Arcana, Dungeoneering, Planes) +8, Sense Motive +2, Spellcraft +8, Use Magic Device +5
Languages Common, Draconic, Elven
SQs Void Awareness
Combat Gear N/A
Other Gear Clothing, Spell Component Pouch, Spellbook (contains prepared spells + Polypurpose Panacea, Charm Person, Keen Senses, and all Wizard cantrips sans Acid Splash), Backpack, Grooming Kit, Dagger, Silken Ceremonial Armor, 50gp

Naluria does not remember much. In fact, she's not even sure 'Naluria' is her actual name; she knows Avalon isn't her real surname, but she knows that most people have surnames so she claimed Avalon as hers.

She vaguely recalls a childhood in Cheliax and a library full of musty old tomes she used to study in.

Male Human Slayer () 1
N Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init +6; Senses Perception +4
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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 dex, +0 shield)
hp 13
Fort +4, Ref +7, Will +0
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.

Melee
Longsword +3(1d8+2) 60 arrows
Dagger +3 (1d4+2)

Ranged
Longbow +6 (1d8)
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STATISTICS
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Str 14, Dex 19, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 11, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 17
Traits
Twitchy:+2 trait bonus on initiative checks and a +1trait bonus on Reflex saves
Traits:Spirit Guide - +2 trait bonus on Knowledge (religion) and Knowledge (religion) is a class skill

Drawbacks

Feats
Point-Blank Shot,
Precise Shot

Skills (7 points; 6 class, 1 race, 0 INT)

Acrobatics +4
Appraise +0,
Bluff -2
Climb +6
Diplomacy -2
Disuise -2
Escape Artist +4
Fly +4
Handle Animal +10
Heal +0
Intimidate -2
Knowledge (Dungeoneering) ,
Knowledge (Geography) +4,
Knowledge (Nature) +4,
Knowledge (Religion) +6,
Perception +4,
Prof: ,
Ride +4,
Sense Motive +0,
Stealth +8,
Survival +4,
Swim +2;

ACP -0

*ACP applies to these skills
Non-Standard Skill Bonuses

Languages Common

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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1st studied target:
Studied Target (Ex): A slayer can study an opponent he can see as a move action. The slayer then gains a +1 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks attempted against that opponent, and a +1 bonus on weapon attack rolls and weapon damage rolls against it. The DCs of slayer class abilities against that opponent increase by 1. A slayer can maintain these bonuses against only one opponent at a time; these bonuses remain in effect until either the opponent is dead or the slayer studies a new target.

If a slayer deals sneak attack damage to a target, he can study that target as an immediate action, allowing him to apply his studied target bonuses against that target (including to the normal weapon damage roll).

At 5th, 10th, 15th, and 20th levels, the bonuses on weapon attack rolls, damage rolls, and skill checks and to the DCs of slayer abilities against a studied target increase by 1. In addition, at each such interval, the slayer is able to maintain these bonuses against an additional studied target at the same time. The slayer may discard this connection to a studied target as a free action, allowing him to study another target in its place.

At 7th level, a slayer can study an opponent as a move or swift action.

Track (Ex): A slayer adds 1/2 his level (minimum 1) to Survival checks made to follow tracks.

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Spells
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0th (at will)

1st (0/day)

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Backpack
Signal whistle
Bedroll
Rop Hemp
Chalk x2
Flint and steal
Artisan's outfit

Studded Leather

Longbow
Longsword
Dagger

Carrying Capacity
Light 0-58 lb. Medium 59-116 lb. Heavy 117-174 lb.
Current Load Carried 58lb.

Money 1 GP 0 SP 8 CP

Malark grew up in the village in Ustalav. His parents were not educated. He was youngest of seven children. He grew up working in the field because his parents were farmers.
As a kid he went hunting occasionally, blood and killing animals would make him totally excited. He used the dad's bow to hunt, so with years he became more skilled with the bow.
One day a cruel man attacked his mother when Malark was alone with her at home. Without thinking he took the bow and with two precision hit he killed the attacker. After that event, people from the village demanded that Malark leave the village because everyone was afraid of him. They forced him to leave his family. He walked to the nearest town Tamrivena where he survived by stealing. In time he started killing for money because the money he earned by stealing was not enough for life.
The last thing Malark remembers is that one misty morning went on a mission to kill a man.

White male, short black hair, blue eyes, six foot three inches, looks fit but he is so ugly that eye hurts when you look him in face. He wears a black cloak on the top of the usual artisan outfit.
He can be unpredictable and he values his own liberty.

Amalthia
Female Changeling Sorcerer 1
NG Medium Humanoid (changeling)
Init +1; Senses Darkvision 60 ft., Perception +1

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DEFENSE
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AC 13, touch 11, flat-footed 12 (+0 armour, +1 Dex, +2 natural, +0 shield)
hp 7 (1d6+1)
Fort +1, Ref +1, Will +3
…+1 vs. Spells and spell-like abilities cast by evil creatures

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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee 2 claws +1 (1d4+2)
…corrosive touch +1 touch (1d4 acid)
Ranged acid splash +1 (1d3 acid)
Spell-like Abilities (CL 1st, Concentration +5)
7/day—entangling ectoplasm
Spells Known (CL 1st, Concentration +5)
1st—4/day—corrosive touch, mage armour
0—At Will—acid splash, dancing lights, detect magic, read magic

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STATISTICS
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Str 12, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 13, Cha 18
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 12
Traits Driven by Guilt, Volatile Conduit
Feats Eschew Materials, Mother’s Gift (surprisingly tough)
Skills Knowledge (arcana) +4, Spellcraft +4, Use Magic Device +8
(3 points; 2 class, 0 INT, 0 race, 1 favoured class)
Abilities bloodline (ectoplasm), bloodline arcana, bloodline power (entangling ectoplasm), cantrips, claws (1d4), hag trait (hulking changeling), natural armour,
Languages Common

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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Bloodline Arcana Incorporeal creatures take 75% of the normal amount of damage from your damaging spells, and when incorporeal creatures attempt saving throws against your non-damaging spells, they roll twice and must take the lower result.

Driven by Guilt You awake after your ordeal with a lingering feeling that you have taken part in something outside the normal bounds of your morals. Whether you were corrupted at one point or compelled to perform some forgotten actions, this guilt drives you to fight against those forces in the world that prey upon the good. You see your present condition as a chance to redeem yourself and banish this unsettling emotion. You gain a +1 trait bonus on saving throws against any spells or spell-like abilities cast by evil creatures. In addition, once per day as a swift action, you can add your Charisma bonus to your attack rolls and deal 1 additional point of damage for each class level you have against evil creatures for 1 round (+4 attack, +1 damage). You must have a good alignment to take this trait.

Entangling Ectoplasm You can create a ball of ectoplasm and hurl it at targets within 30 feet. This ectoplasm acts as a tanglefoot bag that can also entangle incorporeal creatures. The ectoplasm dissipates within 1d3 rounds. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Charisma modifier (7/day)

Hulking Changeling A changeling who was born of an annis hag is much more physically formidable than other changelings. You receive a +1 trait bonus on any damage you inflict with a melee attack.

Volatile Conduit You discovered a secret that enhances the energy of some spells. Once per day as a free action, when you cast a spell that deals acid, cold, electricity, or fire damage, you can enhance that spell with volatile energy. When you do, it deals 1d4 points of extra damage of the same energy type.

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Combat Gear None
Possessions None
Carrying Capacity
Light 0-43 lb. Medium 44-86 lb. Heavy 87-130 lb.
Current Load Carried 0 lbs.
Money 0 GP 0 SP 0 CP

Silver necklace with a butterfly charm, simple silver wedding band, grooming kit, potion of cure light wounds

Amalthia remembers little from her life. The ocean, or perhaps a lake… She was a child then. She remembers laughing. Playing in the sand. Climbing trees. And love. Her mother’s smile, her father’s laugh.

She remembers another man. And his love. A brother? Boyfriend? Lover? There’s a line of pale white flesh on her ring finger. Perhaps a husband?

She can’t remember… Why can’t she remember?

Something happened to her. Something horrible. She can feel it, deep in her gut. The bad things that were done to her, and the bad things that she’d done to others… It’s tainted her soul, like a sickness. An infection. She can’t get it out. She never will. But maybe she can stop it from happening to someone else… Or, at least, she can try.

If she ever gets out of here. If she ever gets… Oh, gods. Where is she?

Desna have mercy.

Amalthia is a pretty woman in her early thirties with one gray eye and one light blue. Her hair is brown and irregularly cut. She’s pale and worn from her experiences, but surprising healthy. Her nails are long and unnaturally sharp.

Amalthia can feel the evil she’s done and it haunts her. She desperately wishes to expunge it from her soul. What haunts her most is that she doesn’t know why she did it. Was it justified? Does it matter?

Amalthia is lost and afraid, confused from her circumstances. She doesn’t recall how or why she can cast magic and has no idea that she’s not human. But when her mettle is tested, she discover just how strong she really is.

Amalthia is a survivor. She just doesn’t know it yet…

Full Name : Trevor Culexis
Race: Half-Orc

Classes/Levels: Fighter (Mutation Warrior) 1

Gender : M

Size : M

Age : 18

Special Abilities :

Alignment: NG

Deity : Gorum

Location : In Trouble

Languages :Common,Orc

Occupation : Foot Soldier

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

Weapons:
Earthbreaker +5 2d6+4 x3
Dagger +4 1d4+3 19-20/x2

Skills: 2/level
Perception (1+2) 3
Climb (1+3+3) 5

Background skills 2/level
Handle Animal (1) 1
Appraise (1) 1

Equipment
Earthbreaker (40)
Dagger (2)
Scale Mail (50) +5 AC +3 Dex -4 ACP
Fighter's Kit (9)
backpack
bedroll
belt pouch
flint and steel
iron pot
mess kit
rope
soap
torches (10)
trail rations (5 days)
waterskin.

Feats:Improved Initiative(+4 Init),Weapon Focus-Earthbreaker,
Traits:,Hard to Kill (hen you are attempting a Constitution check to stabilize when dying, the penalty on the check is only half your negative hit point total instead of your full negative hit point total.)
Pugnacious: +1 to attack when threatoned by two or more enemies, 1/day increase weapon reach or increase size catagory for 1 round
Special Abilities: +2 Intimidate,Orc Ferocity Once per day, when a half-orc is brought below 0 hit points but not killed, he can fight on for 1 more round as if disabled. At the end of his next turn, unless brought to above 0 hit points, he immediately falls unconscious and begins dying.Weapon Familiarity Half-orcs are proficient with greataxes and falchions and treat any weapon with the word “orc” in its name as a martial weaponDarkvision Half-orcs can see in the dark up to 60 feet.

Description: Trevor is a very large half-orc that seems somewhat twisted and has a chemical smell to him. His lank hair is tied in a rough braid and his greyish skin is stretched over his muscles
that seem to bulge in odd places. Perhaps his features don't seem to line up right or his hands are too large and legs to knobby at the knees but he certainly doesn't look
appealing.

Background: Life is rough for a orc half-breed in an industrial town and Trevor had perhaps the narrowest of luck managing toa void getting plucked from an orphanage to slave away at a factory and instead
managed to find work as a stableboy at the army stables. Counting himself very lucky, Trevor kept working around the horses and signed up for the army as soon as he could. Trevor would no
doubt have remained a low-ranking solider for a long time if he hasn't been volunteered to test some new gunpowder in the rifles and the noxious powder blew up, putting Trevor into the infirmary and making his already ugly features even more twisted. Currently, Trevor is wondering if he should try to muster out or keep risking another incident with guns.

Xerxzayas has known much violence in his life. He's been through raids by goblins and orcs, attacks by monsters like manticores and werewolves, rampages by giants and wayward demons, and incursions from devils and darklings. Each time he saw brave men and women throw themselves into harm's way and die at the hands of creatures and beings far more powerful than themselves. They would die by the tens, the hundreds, and even the thousands.

Xerxzayas was determined to be one of those defenders, but he did not want to die. He had to become more than what he was if he was to survive. He had to find a way to surpass his human frailty. While he continued to train his body, he also trained his mind. In addition, he sough the counsel and advice of the wise and the learned. In alchemy, Xerxzayas believes he's found what he's looking for.

Amae Visconti
Female Virtuous Bravo (Shelyn) 1
NG Medium Human
Init +4 ; Senses
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DEFENSE
------------------------------
AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+4 armour, +4 Dex)
HP 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +3
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OFFENSE
------------------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee
Glaive +6 (1d10-1)
Mwk Rapier +5 (1d6-1)
Ranged
Light Crossbow +5 (1d8)
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STATISTICS
------------------------------
STR 8 (-1), DEX 18 (+4), CON 14 (+2), INT 10 (+0), WIS 12 (+1), CHA 14 (+2)
Base Atk +1; CMB +0; CMD 14
Traits True Devotion (no problem anymore with what I did), Well-Provisioned Adventurer (Daring Bravo Package)
Feats Weapon Focus (Glaive), Bladed Brush Combat
Skills Diplomacy +6, Sense Motive +5, Knowledge (religion) +4
(3 points : base 2, favored class 1)
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Aura of Good (Ex)
The power of a paladin’s aura of good (see the detect good spell) is equal to her paladin level.

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

Bravo’s Finesse (Ex)
A virtuous bravo can use her Dexterity modifier instead of her Strength modifier on attack rolls with light or one-handed piercing melee weapons (though if she carries a shield, she applies its armor check penalty to such attack rolls), and she can use her Charisma score in place of her Intelligence score to meet prerequisites of combat feats. This ability counts as having the Weapon Finesse feat for the purpose of meeting feat prerequisites.

Bravo Smite(Su)
Once per day, a paladin can call out to the powers of good to aid her in her struggle against evil. As a swift action, the paladin chooses one target within sight to smite. If this target is evil, the paladin adds her Cha bonus (if any) to her attack rolls and adds her paladin level to all damage rolls made against the target of her smite. If the target of smite evil is an outsider with the evil subtype, an evil-aligned dragon, or an undead creature, the bonus to damage on the first successful attack increases to 2 points of damage per level the paladin possesses. Regardless of the target, smite evil attacks automatically bypass any DR the creature might possess.
When using smite evil, a virtuous bravo doesn’t gain a deflection bonus to AC.
The smite evil effect remains until the target of the smite is dead or the next time the paladin rests and regains her uses of this ability. At 4th level, and at every three levels thereafter, the paladin may smite evil one additional time per day, as indicated on Table: Paladin, to a maximum of seven times per day at 19th level.

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GEAR
----------------------
Backpack
Bedroll
Belt pouch
Bottle of fine wine
(5 pieces) Chalk
Courtier's outfit with 50 gp in jewelry
Flask
Flint and steel
Grooming kit
Mwk violin
Mess kit
Mirror
Perfume
Sack
Signet ring
(50 ft.) Silk rope
(5 days) Trail rations
Waterskin
Whetstone
5 gp

(2) Acid
Alchemist's kindness
(2) Potions of Cure Light Wounds
(3) Sunrods

Armor Mwk chain shirt
Weapons Light crossbow with 10 bolts, glaive, mwk rapier, sap, alchimical silver dagger

Carrying Capacity
Light 26 lbs. or less Medium 27–53 lbs. Heavy 54–80 lbs.
Current load 76-1/2 lbs.

Personality
Amae is a woman with a singular character. Not that she has a stormy personality that would break loose on people, but rather that she has a look which sinks into the eyes of her contemporaries. She likes to think about the nature surrounding her, the sky that glows quietly and that makes her chest curl, while blushing his delicate cheekbones. She is indifferent to the celestial and blue infinity and she lets the stars examining her chaste, tender and virgin nature, yet implacable.

The young woman is inflexible and meditative. Formerly she was overly sweet and sensitive, sometimes to silliness, but now she shows an almost apathetic tranquility. Nothing really reaches her, but the feelings she once cherished sometimes come to caress her and make her shudder. Yet, great as she is, she cannot be swallowed by these. That is her perfect humanity: she understands, cherishes and loves, but nothing can engulf her better than she could do herself.

Let's be clear, this is not inhumanity in a vicious form. The one who can bear suffering without breaking up appears as much greater than her peers: compassion is born and arrives at the edges of the inhuman. Fantastic, but lucid. She is adored by some, but hated by others. Who speaks of light, speaks of his shadow that erupts behind, leaving an ineffable and indescribable mark that fuels envy and lust. We cannot be loved by all for our virtues when they have nothing comparable to the rest of men, although it is by these virtues we should be all judged. This unfailing love, yet made of inflexible hardness, is modesty quietness that wraps itself like a shawl around her. The strong need for glory is foreign to her and the one who knows how to exist as she has no need to exhibit in the face of the world the defects or glories of his mind; discretion is of her pageantry - but not until the disappearance of herself - until serene tranquility. Nevertheless, it would be cruel to understand in this discretion facundity and beautiful protrusions. The simple modesty is to encourage those, because they are proof of a joyful soul, which make heartful people. Piquant joking, perhaps seen as ingenuous from the outside, is a pleasure that she offers herself and she likes to provoke girls' blushing, to intrigue the boys of her age, when these are in a poetic and carnal mood. The game is part of her light character; what would be lighter than a woman who plays with a man at the dangerous, but so enjoyable, game of love?

Besides, Amae can only love beautiful things with beautiful minds. What charms her moves her. She flatters men when she finds them male and superb. She loves sumptuous clothes, full of these charms that make young women vibrate. She loves to give thanks to nature and plays with it in her ecstasies. She loves the quiet vibrations in her, when the twilight sends its last rays on her skin, while repeating to herself that the stars are the eyes of the sky and that the eyes of the men should illuminate the earth as them, which float up, without pride.

Morality
Morality, in the sense we understand it, has no meaning for Amae. There is only to be, and it is unthinkable and absurd to think that the world is running according to an established and forever immutable order. All is movement and this is the trend that follows the young woman, pledging to the generous nature. What about death, then? This is only inevitable and she laughs at it with respect for those who have gone to the other side. Life is a heavy task that makes you smile and work hard.

That she was thought nice and wise - in any case, it is the reputation that one gives to her, or that one gives to her image - she thinks of it with benevolence, but delights to think that it is nonsense. Many think of her that she is stubbornly believing in the invariable goodness of the world? One day that is neither near, nor far, but very present, the world will be nothing, and only nothingness will reign over those who have dreamed of the impossible. Those wise men have more to breathe than to believe in the elaboration of a supreme law or an ideal world.

Appearance
Beautiful as the star of the black horizon,
If you could never match, my muse,
The gentle thrill of the sea,
On the wave like the doves playing on the water's edge,
Amae. O Amae.

If, as the tears do rounds of light,
Your azure eyes exhaled this sublime language,
This Divine secret of heaven,
Would be to see the sky die in them, eyes to eyes,
Amae.

Her mouth half open, she dreams while walking,
Gently caressing a blooming soul,
How not to smile with her!
At the breath of love, in the purple of the day,
Amae. O Amae.

While on the flowers she slumbers, her blond hair scattered,
How not to love the innocence made woman?
Sighs and chords, her din is racket,
But the noise is more beautiful than the antique edges,
Amae.

Open your eyes, would I say, my light!
The shawl around her shoulders, let me read in your eyelid,
O those impassive and charming eyes,
Your languid look is more dear to my soul,
Than the first ray of the heavenly flame, for my eyes deprived of the sun.

Amae.
Amae.
O Amae.

The Words

I remember with great clarity of my existence and a great certainty envelops my memories. It was a sad day of automn. Rainy too and never-ending dying, it was casting on the ground fantastic shadows with complex drawings. Rain covered the air with a shroud; the humidity penetrated the bones and the flesh, freezing to the souls. Until then I had been nothing but a portless mind, a voice without words, a girl without conscience, a woman without a soul. While nothing predicted that it was that day, there was like a spark in me, like a noise that travels the earth, the sky and the world, like an essential and sweet vertigo, and I was tormented, but I was alive: moreover, I thought, I thought and I was mistress of myself. So, now, I am. And at the same time began the long and tragic human experience.

I began to understand quite easily and intuitively the scope of my actions, the mechanics of my body and my mind. I understood what was will, justice and then love. Little by little, the world appeared to me as incredible, in a marvelous goodness, without any end. From the darkness, I gradually passed to the brilliant and sublime light of knowledge that caresses the whole existence. It was as if, emerging from the torpor of nothingness, I inflated myself with the fantastic energy of Life and that it filled me whole, inflated my lungs, colored my cheeks, swarmed in my organs and overflowed me. All in all, I was in the world, as if the whole cosmos, vibrating with my energy and those of all existing beings, was rising towards an unknown but sublime goal to which we should all, without exception, give our approval and our help, in the nature that we are and we have.

Finally, I reached the supreme power, the language and the deceiving Word.

[...]

Ragnar is the son of Ulfen sea traders and in his youth went to many places in the Inner Sea region. It was during these formative years that he was exposed to the faith of the Dawnflower.

Feeling a connection with the teachings of Saranrae he pursued study at the feet of it's faithful rather than pursue his parents' profession. Other acolytes might be smarter or even stronger (though not many) but Ragnar was tenacious and when soundly beaten in sparing would get back on his feet.

Although the servants of Saranrae were generally kind not all were keen on the large Ulfen man who stood out amongst the more typical followers. Ragnar remembers finishing his training and coming away with one good friend.

Ragnar recalls setting out to explore Avistan and spread the word of Saranrae with his confidante Kari a young half elven priestess...
everything after that gets a little blurry.

Amae Visconti
Female Virtuous Bravo (Shelyn) 1
NG Medium Human
Init +4 ; Senses
------------------------------
DEFENSE
------------------------------
AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+4 armour, +4 Dex)
HP 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +3
------------------------------
OFFENSE
------------------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee
Glaive +6 (1d10-1)
Mwk Rapier +5 (1d6-1)
Ranged
Light Crossbow +5 (1d8)
------------------------------
STATISTICS
------------------------------
STR 8, DEX 18, CON 14, INT 10, WIS 12, CHA 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +0; CMD 14
Traits True Devotion (no problem anymore with what I did), Well-Provisioned Adventurer (Daring Bravo Package)
Feats Weapon Focus (Glaive), Bladed Brush Combat
Skills Diplomacy +6, Sense Motive +5, Knowledge (religion) +4
(3 points : base 2, favored class 1)
---------------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
---------------------------
Aura of Good (Ex)
The power of a paladin’s aura of good (see the detect good spell) is equal to her paladin level.

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

Bravo’s Finesse (Ex)
A virtuous bravo can use her Dexterity modifier instead of her Strength modifier on attack rolls with light or one-handed piercing melee weapons (though if she carries a shield, she applies its armor check penalty to such attack rolls), and she can use her Charisma score in place of her Intelligence score to meet prerequisites of combat feats. This ability counts as having the Weapon Finesse feat for the purpose of meeting feat prerequisites.

Bravo Smite(Su)
Once per day, a paladin can call out to the powers of good to aid her in her struggle against evil. As a swift action, the paladin chooses one target within sight to smite. If this target is evil, the paladin adds her Cha bonus (if any) to her attack rolls and adds her paladin level to all damage rolls made against the target of her smite. If the target of smite evil is an outsider with the evil subtype, an evil-aligned dragon, or an undead creature, the bonus to damage on the first successful attack increases to 2 points of damage per level the paladin possesses. Regardless of the target, smite evil attacks automatically bypass any DR the creature might possess.
When using smite evil, a virtuous bravo doesn’t gain a deflection bonus to AC.
The smite evil effect remains until the target of the smite is dead or the next time the paladin rests and regains her uses of this ability. At 4th level, and at every three levels thereafter, the paladin may smite evil one additional time per day, as indicated on Table: Paladin, to a maximum of seven times per day at 19th level.

---------------------
GEAR
----------------------
Backpack
Bedroll
Belt pouch
Bottle of fine wine
(5 pieces) Chalk
Courtier's outfit with 50 gp in jewelry
Flask
Flint and steel
Grooming kit
Mwk violin
Mess kit
Mirror
Perfume
Sack
Signet ring
(50 ft.) Silk rope
(5 days) Trail rations
Waterskin
Whetstone
5 gp

(2) Acid
Alchemist's kindness
(2) Potions of Cure Light Wounds
(3) Sunrods

Armor Mwk chain shirt
Weapons Light crossbow with 10 bolts, glaive, mwk rapier, sap, alchimical silver dagger

Carrying Capacity
Light 26 lbs. or less Medium 27–53 lbs. Heavy 54–80 lbs.
Current load 76-1/2 lbs.

Personality
Amae is a woman with a singular character. Not that she has a stormy personality that would break loose on people, but rather that she has a look which sinks into the eyes of her contemporaries. She likes to think about the nature surrounding her, the sky that glows quietly and that makes her chest curl, while blushing his delicate cheekbones. She is indifferent to the celestial and blue infinity and she lets the stars examining her chaste, tender and virgin nature, yet implacable.

The young woman is inflexible and meditative. Formerly she was overly sweet and sensitive, sometimes to silliness, but now she shows an almost apathetic tranquility. Nothing really reaches her, but the feelings she once cherished sometimes come to caress her and make her shudder. Yet, great as she is, she cannot be swallowedby these. That is her perfect humanity: she understands, cherishes and loves, but nothing can engulf her better than she could do herself.

Let's be clear, this is not inhumanity in a vicious form. The one who can bear suffering without breaking up appears as much greater than her peers: compassion is born and arrives at the edges of the inhuman. Fantastic, but lucid. She is adored by some, but hated by others. Who speaks of light, speaks of his shadow that erupts behind, leaving an ineffable and indescribable mark that fuels envy and lust. We cannot be loved by all for our virtues when they have nothing comparable to the rest of men, although it is by these virtues we should be all judged. This unfailing love, yet made of inflexible hardness, is modesty quietness that wraps itself like a shawl around her. The strong need for glory is foreign to her and the one who knows how to exist as she has no need to exhibit in the face of the world the defects or glories of his mind; discretion is of her pageantry - but not until the disappearance of herself - until serene tranquility. Nevertheless, it would be cruel to understand in this discretion facundity and beautiful protrusions. The simple modesty is to encourage those, because they are proof of a joyful soul, which make heartful people. Piquant joking, perhaps seen as ingenuous from the outside, is a pleasurethat she offers herself and she likes to provoke girls' blushing, to intrigue the boys of her age, when these are in a poetic and carnal mood. The game is part of her light character; what would be lighter than a woman who plays with a man at the dangerous, but so enjoyable, game of love?

Besides, Amae can only love beautiful things with beautiful minds. What charms her moves her. She flatters men when she finds them male and superb. She loves sumptuous clothes, full of these charms that make young women vibrate. She loves to give thanks to nature and plays with it in her ecstasies. She loves the quiet vibrations in her, when the twilight sends its last rays on her skin, while repeating to herself that the stars are the eyes of the sky and that the eyes of the men should illuminate the earth as them, which float up, without pride.

Morality
Morality, in the sense we understand it, has no meaning for Amae. There is only to be, and it is unthinkable and absurd to think that the world is running according to an established and forever immutable order. All is movement and this is the trend that follows the young woman, pledging to the generous nature. What about death, then? This is only inevitable and she laughs at it with respect for those who have gone to the other side. Life is a heavy task that makes you smile and work hard.

That she was thought nice and wise - in any case, it is the reputation that one gives to her, or that one gives to her image - she thinks of it with benevolence, but delights to think that it is nonsense. Many think of her that she is stubbornly believing in the invariable goodness of the world? One day that is neither near, nor far, but very present, the world will be nothing, and only nothingness will reign over those who have dreamed of the impossible. Those wise men have more to breathe than to believe in the elaboration of a supreme law or an ideal world.

Appearance
Beautiful as the star of the black horizon,
If you could never match, my muse,
The gentle thrill of the sea,
On the wave like the doves playing on the water's edge,
Amae. O Amae.

If, as the tears do rounds of light,
Your azure eyes exhaled this sublime language,
This Divine secret of heaven,
Would be to see the sky die in them, eyes to eyes,
Amae.

Her mouth half open, she dreams while walking,
Gently caressing a blooming soul,
How not to smile with her!
At the breath of love, in the purple of the day,
Amae. O Amae.

While on the flowers she slumbers, her blond hair scattered,
How not to love the innocence made woman?
Sighs and chords, her din is racket,
But the noise is more beautiful than the antique edges,
Amae.

Open your eyes, would I say, my light!
The shawl around your shoulders, let me read in your eyelid,
O those impassive and charming eyes,
Your languid look is more dear to my soul,
Than the first ray of the heavenly flame, for my eyes deprived of the sun.

Amae.
Amae.
O Amae.

The Words

I remember with great clarity of my existence and a great certainty envelops my memories. It was a sad day of automn. Rainy too and never-ending dying, it was casting on the ground fantastic shadows with complex drawings. Rain covered the air with a shroud; the humidity penetrated the bones and the flesh, freezing to the souls. Until then I had been nothing but a portless mind, a voice without words, a girl without conscience, a woman without a soul. While nothing predicted that it was that day, there was like a spark in me, like a noise that travels the earth, the sky and the world, like an essential and sweet vertigo, and I was tormented, but I was alive: moreover, I thought, I thought and I was mistress of myself. So, now, I am. And at the same time began the long and tragic human experience.

I began to understand quite easily and intuitively the scope of my actions, the mechanics of my body and my mind. I understood what was will, justice and then love. Little by little, the world appeared to me as incredible, in a marvelous goodness, without any end. From the darkness, I gradually passed to the brilliant and sublime light of knowledge that caresses the whole existence. It was as if, emerging from the torpor of nothingness, I inflated myself with the fantastic energy of Life and that it filled me whole, inflated my lungs, colored my cheeks, swarmed in my organs and overflowed me. All in all, I was in the world, as if the whole cosmos, vibrating with my energy and those of all existing beings, was rising towards an unknown but sublime goal to which we should all, without exception, give our approval and our help, in the nature that we are and we have.

Finally, I reached the supreme power, the language and the deceiving Word.

And far as far as my memories can go, the speech always had an extreme fascination on me. Not because it allowed to play with the concepts and to deceive or lie - although there was a time when the lie became familiar to me - but because I liked to play with its sounds and to hear them peal in my still childish mind. In fact, I should say that I loved stories, tales and everything about the beauty of the language, the prolix profusion of universe it opened and told without ever exhausting the slightest quarter, as far as one wants the half.

To what or to whom do I owe this powerful love, I could not say. Perhaps stories of my mother or adventures of my father have to do with it; perhaps it is only one of the malignant effects of chance or the effect of an unknown and necessary cause, or perhaps even I was born poet by the will of muses and gods and that my character already reveled in the words he was given. What I do know is that since my earliest childhood, I have loved contemplating the Nature, drowning in fantastic words and stories, and that irresistible attraction finally led me to the worst excesses and best repentance.

All this began the nights of my early childhood. My father and my sisters were gathering around my bed, carved out of a dark wood and whose head formed harmonious volutes against the stonewall. He closed the curtains of the room, though he let out a ray of light from the evening moon or, during the winter, rekindled the dying fire in the tired hearth, before sitting down among us. Pensive, he allowed his eyes to linger here and there in the room, like seeking a funny and original inspiration in the sad and obscure reality, and then, with a grave voice, intone ancient tales or happy stories. He told us the history of the world and the wars that had passed through it, as well as the people who lived there and their laws. The gods too. As he spoke, the beings in these stories became tangible, perceptible. I could feel their breath in my neck, imagine the power, the strength of their arms and the manners that were theirs. They had for me the appearance of gentle and sincere demi-gods, animated by a vigor without fear or hatred. Without truly loving or understanding them, I opened to them and learned from everything they did or said. My imagination was entirely impregnated.

When he told us his stories, his eyes were animated by the glimmers of another world and a deep and boundless imagination, sincere, above all else. His whole being seemed to truly live the lives of all these men, warriors among the proudest and bravest that our land has borne. He often punctuated his speeches and narratives with great gestures, pessimistic exclamations, powerful intonations and surprising impersonations, and we all took great pleasure in listening to him and watching him.

My father was particularly good at imitating whimsical creatures that overflow the minds of children. He twisted his mouth in a terrible and exacerbated pout, rolled his eyes in their sockets and uttered hoarse grunts that made me shudder with horror. And, knowing all the fright with which this grimace carried me, he did not hesitate to pursue me in all my room by wearing this frightful mask, while uttering loud cries.

"Eurrr, grow gruhhhhh! Gruik groaaaar! Hurk! Hok hok ... Uuuuuuhrrr! ". It was the kind of dialogue, breathtaking of beauty and love that he whipped all over the house as I ran away screaming in front of his monstrous airs. I, terrorized, I screamed in big "Ahh! Ahhhh! " Running at full speed through the rooms of the house, turning around the furniture and sometimes closing his eyes, hoping to escape a few moments to his frightful ride. Then, the tales began again. I sat down again among my sisters, wrapped in a large warm woolen cloth and listened.

This burlesque practice lasted for some time but, to my regret, one day it was over.

"You have to be serious now," my father told us. "You have passed the age of being afraid for such childishness. "

And never again we saw this in our home. But I learned much later from Benedict's (our butler) words that my mother had threatened my dear father to cease all stewardship activities and, worse still, to end his wife's activities in the secrecy of the bedroom. He had no choice but to give up his wild pranks, for his body needed the comfort of a woman and the secrets of the bed.

Thus my passion for stories, stories and words was born. My father's stories inspired me with heroic and magical dreams, populated by fantastic creatures and unknown places of unknown colors. My imagination was filled with countless images and stories; my soul was exalted at their slightest evocation. Often, in the evening, when the night had covered the roofs of our house and the groves of trees with a dreamy darkness, I leant on the window of my room to dream. The trees rustled under the wind and under my thought; the tender grass sent me its wishes and bowed to my silent greetings, caressing my dreams. The stars responded to my words when I closed my eyes and spoke to them in a language known only to me and that only they could understand.

I was a romantic girl like many others were and my destiny should not have exceeded theirs without the extraordinary events that followed. I would have finished my life as a poet, mad or dead, because the destiny of those who dream often breaks because of the difficult bitterness of reality.

An even more striking example shows the extent of my propensity to dream and melancholy. It was during the month of Lamashan just after my tenth birthday. It was unfortunate that I fell ill for nearly two weeks, so that it was impossible for me to leave my room without shivering pitifully and without feeling dizzy. Nevertheless, I spent those two weeks reading all the books I could find at my disposal, or that they lend me. When I was asked what I was doing, staring at the sky from my bed, I answered, filled with an intense and absurd feeling of profound dereliction:

"I dream. Let me just dream."

Thus passed the first fifteen years of my life. My father and mother raised me with joy, freedom and courage. Indeed, they had denied their origins. Thus, although some of their education remained engraved in them, their character had become accustomed to freedom of thought, elegance, luxury and calm. However, I still had to perceive in my father's remarks a certain rigor that he should not want to show me and, in the ways of my mother, a certain pride enhanced with honor that influenced me without me realizing.

Yet, my education was not made of a fastidious serfdom, as I might have suffered in other countries, nor in the worship of war or of pious and profound faith. No, I was left to my own opinion, although I was asked for great learning and results. It was not a matter of being content with fear, but of achieving excellence and truth. Everything I learned professed this vision of the world and encouraged me in this way. And all this, I was taught in the school that was in the nearest village, which was only a few miles from our large family home, which was itself a league from the capital. There I learned with my sisters the language, the history of peoples, arithmetic and, in the last years of my teaching, some notions of philosophy. This last discipline awakened in me an unlimited taste for learning, because it allowed me to believe in an idea, to dream of it and to be able to apply it according to the great principle of reality. I developed a deep taste for metaphysics and morality, until I was fourteen years old, when my parents had to withdraw from school because of the tension that was starting to increase.

Shortly after my fifteenth birthday, my father summoned me to the great hall. He was resting near the warm hearth, where few embers were glowing, his hands clasped above his knees, his forehead bowed, his expression severe and austere. I approached with a slight step, because the sun was shining outside, filling me with joy and I took her hands exclaiming:

"How grumpy you look this morning, father! "

He then gently raised his head and smiled sadly.

"It's because I realize that time is running out," he replied. "You are already fifteen!"
"Oh, but father!" I cried to these words. "You are stupid. I'm fifteen, but you're still my father and I'm your daughter. "

A small laugh shook his body and he said, his eyes again shining with joy and love that I enjoyed so much:

"You're right, Amae, and I'll always be. But do I not get old? "

My heart clenched at his words, for sometimes I thought of his slightly hunched back, of his eyes, which seemed to be stubbornly closed, as if in a state of immense fatigue, a fatigue I could live. And finally, I sometimes thought about death. I smiled at him tenderly and said:

"What are you saying here, father? You still have many years ahead of you! Let's go train with Eryn and Luciana to ride and fight, it will do you good! "

He looked at me, astonished, and replied:

"Do you think they would still agree to train with their old father? "

Then I burst out laughing and I got closer to him, before exclaiming happily:

"I even think you could throw them down, if you wish! Do not be so sullen about yourself: you're still robust, I know it."
"You are right," he said, looking falsely important. "I can surely teach them how the fighters really fight! "

And we laughed like a father and his daughter could, when they speak openly and have powerful feelings that bind them to each other. I explained to him, at the same time as we were laughing, the wonderful glide that my sister would make under the pressure of his blade and this evocation made us laugh more beautifully.

Then, when our laughs were extinguished, my father looks at me with infinite tenderness and says:

"Listen, if I brought you here this morning, it's because I have a proposal to make to you. "

Surprised, I tilted my head to the side with questioning eyes, as when I usually did when I had to be attentive and looked at him.

"You told me not long ago that you did not want to depend on your mother and me anymore. And I understand your desire: you are now fifteen years old and Luciana is also working for herself, so ... "

Then, hysterical, I jumped on my feet, still holding his big hands between mine and I cried:

"So ... So ... So ?! "

Sounds locked in my throat and I choked on a particularly painful noise that made my father burst out laughing.

"So I was spoken to Alexei," he continued. "He agrees to take you as a waitress in his inn. If you agree, of course. "

It is futile now to recite the following of unwanted and happy cries that I made throughout the room, thanking my father, my mother and even the sky. Suffice it to say that I was particularly pleased with this decision and that it completely satisfied me at the moment. Nevertheless, it might seem extremely strange that a girl like me, born of the aristocracy, could imagine herself in such drudgery. To tell the truth, this had long been no longer a problem for our family who lived outside these considerations, applying the necessary etiquette where it was and offering enjoyable freedom.

Radiant, with a cheeky smile on my lips, I left the house as in a waking dream and I met my sister, Luciana, whose eyes sparkled in the morning sun. With the smile of my face, she understood and congratulated me in her way:

"Try not to get drunk beyond reason, little sister," she said to me with her ironically innocent, eternal smile on her lips, which seemed as much to taunt me as to encourage me tenderly.

I replied by pouting at her, then continued on my way. My joy colored my cheeks, invading my lungs, and rising to my head, intoxicating me with a sweet and pleasant euphoria. I was deeply happy and moved, at the same time with the confidence my father showed me and with the autonomy which the work that was then entrusted to me was going to give me. Not that it was taking me away from my family and that I was particularly happy about it, but on the contrary, because I was going to be able to participate in its expenses and its management in an active and responsible way. I firmly believed in autonomy and individual responsibility. It seemed inconceivable to me that an individual should not feel himself deprived of a part of himself in the framework of a strict and authoritarian hierarchy. The dreamer that I was believed neither in absolute order, nor in the family or social elite. On the contrary, I thought that everyone, freely, could choose the common good out of interest and gentle understanding of the world, and this opportunity to work was a first step for me towards this goal.

Obviously, the thing seems ridiculous given the consequences it generated, which basically only concerned me and had very little impact on the world. But, from my point of view of a girl with great ideals, it was an unprecedented first step in the realization of my thought. In itself, it was not really the value of this work that subjugated me, but the feeling that a new world offered itself to me, where the possible was as vast as my thought was and in which a multitude of tools were at my disposal without restriction, provided that I kept in mind that the right I had on it was commensurate with the responsibility that its use required.

That was the reason for my excessive joy and good mood.

Invaded by the exuberance I have already described, I went near the river that bordered the end of the domain of my forefathers. There, I followed the shore a few hundred meters and stopped at the edge of a tree that leaned lazily and lazily on the water. Its trunk was twisted and darted sickly towards the sky, then bent harmoniously towards the stream, which its branches caressed quietly, like long and soft hair. The contrast between the base of this tree, so convulsed, so horrible to look at, so much one could imagine the pangs that had caused such wounds in him and his thick branches, leafy, fleshy even, was gripping and I often thought of his immemorial history. I saw it as a reflection of my own story without ever guessing why, and I spent hours sitting under its boughs meditating and dreaming.

That day, I did not sit in my usual place, on a mossy rock that nestled between its enormous roots that plunged into the water and mud to anchor, and feed the rest of his stature. I approached the bank, a little away and I contemplated the slow course of the river that forever brought streams and waves of infinite memories. Then, time having passed, I returned to my father's house, a feeling of freedom and happiness having invaded my soul and never leaving me.

After a festive meal given in honor of my new job, I went up to my room, serene, with a clear heart. I slept as people sleep and they are pleased and happy.

My work began the next morning, at dawn. Under the orders of Alexei, the innkeeper, I had to set the table, wash the last glasses and other items of crockery that had not been cleaned the night before, and other heavy housework. However, despite the eternally repetitive nature of the task, I derive a great pleasure from it: that of feeling useful and capable. This intimate pleasure was an incomparable comfort for me and I persevered all morning, then, the rest of the day, I was busy serving the many customers until dusk. So I was able to join the family home where an appetizing meal was waiting for me.

"So, how was he, this first day of intense work?" Luciana asked ironically, as soon as I got home.
"Oh yes ! Tell us !" adds my youngest sister, Eryn.

Finally, my father, then my mother joined the concert of the complaints which overwhelmed me on my return, and I could only reply with a laugh:

"Okay, I'll tell you everything about this adventure. But first, let's eat, because my stomach has been crying for at least two hours! "

To which my father replied that it was quite normal and that he had me a good meal, as long as I told them how my wanderings had been. He also added that he had listened to my advice and that Luciana and Eryn had bitten the dust more than once, that afternoon. At what they said they had simply avoided undermining the "carcass of their old father."

Then we all sat down at the heavy oak table in the hall and we ate with great laughter. So I told them about my day and countless adventures - for there were more than one in a day when we knew how to observe and give small things special attention. The day was over, I found again the softness of my sheets and the refuge of sleep.

Thus passed the first weeks of what could be called my "new existence". I worked all day long, fiercely and without complaint, having the sincere and deep feeling that I was gaining the first stripes of my freedom, which was very rare in that distant time. Then, in the evening, I left with a happy heart. The path that led to my home was the witness of my joy and my happiness. He heard what I murmured, I listened to the song of his trees and the shuddering of the wild grasses that bordered him; I took everything because everything enchanted me and seemed new and wonderful to me. This time seems to me, now again, among the most beautiful, the most innocent and the purest of my existence. It was like a golden age, a kind of wonderful perfection that seemed immutable.

One day, in fact, came to pass a group of men who spoke loudly, sang incessantly and smoked cigar and hashish. They had come there for obscure reasons, which I did not prefer to guess, and spent their time drinking, betting, smoking, and composing, they said. But what did they compose? I did not see a score and I did not hear music. They did not seem to me to know the harmony or some elements of music theory, but they composed. The thing seemed unlikely to me.

It didn't matter. Among them was a young man who was not at all their age and who had, apparently, nothing to do with them. He was a young man of about sixteen, as I learned later. He had honey-colored hair, a little long, but absolutely disordered, which gave his face a singular aspect of poverty and intelligent youthfulness. His face reflected disorder and calm, passion and appeasement, the infinite and the dull and so beautiful everyday, the sublime and the grotesque. I paid particular attention to it, because he was not old enough like the men of his group who were in the flower of the existence. In addition, he had on his back only rags, which suggested a body drawn to long races and hard labor, while they wore these expensive clothes of rich fabrics and worked cuts; they were fashionable.

But above all, he had indefinable eyes, even for me, and an unprecedented aura. There was an inner light in him, a kind of flame indefinable and pure, disturbing, corrupt. So beautiful yet! When I saw it, the smell of cut hay and road dust swept over my nostrils. I felt myself swollen by a kind of inner illumination, as if thrown on the road, surrendered to an immense solitude, boundless and overflowing with peace, serenity, youth, and love. There was in him a sublime and impure ideal which was of the intensity of the divine. No, no, no, I never thought I would meet such a creature in my inn. Not that he really subjugated me, but he exerted a singular fascination on me that horrified me, for I often found him abrupt and impolite with his outspokenness, his mocking airs and his eyes always thrown into the distance, ironic and ironic. dreamers, who seemed to throw in heaven a fabulous challenge.

First, I did not rub shoulders with him. Moreover, I avoided him and those who accompanied him. The fascination they exerted on me, especially him, exasperated me, and had a repulsive effect on me, so that I disgusted myself with the attraction of this unknown universe whose freedom was not restricted but infinite and whose lust was the key word. I just cleaned their table and watched them as I passed by them. For the rest, I was content with the bare minimum as much as I was allowed to do.

But one afternoon, a few days after their arrival, when I had just served their table with alcohol and beer, one of them held me by the arm and shouted:
 
"Hey! Look, gentlemen, ladies! Well, especially gentlemen, ahahah! The damsel will testify in my favor! "

And with a great pressure of the arm, he forced me to sit on his knees. The young man looked at me with a mocking air and said:

"So, what's she going to testify about, your maid, Marco?" From your last night's bake that you have not yet slept off and which still stands out by the nostrils, ahahah ?! "

The table was taken with a big laugh. The drunken breasts rose violently, and the throats gave raucous, jarring grunts, which filled the air with violent and barbarous accents. Moved to tears, I stammered, moaning a few excuses, before trying to tear myself from the arms of the man who had seated me on his lap. This one forced me even more violently to stay in my place and shouted harder.

"Stay there, my pretty. I'm not finished with you. "

Again, the man smiled badly and brought a cigar to his mouth, before letting out a stream of odorous smoke in my direction. The second then spoke again, looking at me:

"I repeat my question, Marco. What are you going to show us? "

An expression of rage crossed Marco's face and he brutally pressed his hand to my bodice.

"I'll show you that I was with this b@+&* last night in my stake!" he cried.

His breath stank of beer, sweat and cum. The nausea invaded my chest: the sounds were blocked in my throat. No one in this room made a single gesture or seemed to interfere in my favor. The young man threw himself back in his chair, smoke in his mouth, folded his hands behind his head, threw his feet on the table and burst out sardonically:

"Do you see that!" he cried. "The good, tall, venerable and honorable Marco claims to have spanked and more if affinity to the young lady here and we should believe it?"
"And why not?" shouted the interested party. "I am a poet after all, who resists the charms of poets, eh? "

Thereupon, he turned his purple, drunkard-faced face towards me and whispered in my ear:

"Hmm, sweetie, how do you like poets? Hmm, last night, he was good the pretty poet, seen how you shouted? Little bawd! "

A new laugh came to cut off the man in his dubious words. It was always the young man who, in his chair, mocked so violently that it was said he had been suddenly taken by the devil.

One of his companions on his left leaned towards him and asked him, half-anxious, half-laughing,

"Hey, Curtis. Curtis? Why do you laugh like that? What is funny? "

Then, the so-called Curtis began to giggle, so much so that it took him ten good minutes to find a semblance of calm; he seemed to be laughing at something absolutely wacky, that could only make him laugh and that we did not understand - not that I was trying to understand him at such a moment. Then, when his body was no longer shaken by convulsions, he finally answered, his face flushed with laughter, and always ready to giggle:

"But it's because he pretended he was a poet! "

And with these words, he laughed again, holding his ribs, his face torn in a burlesque grimace that reflected a deep amusement. He kept repeating:

"A poet. A poet ! And he pretended to be a poet!"

This little carousel continued for a few moments, until Marco understood the reason for the hilarity of his companion. So he froze. His face became hard and his dirty big pogs tightened, overflowing with the fringes of his luxurious clothes. He began imperceptibly to tremble, and suddenly, disregarding his chair, the table, his wine, and even more, he rose in a fit of rage.

"What?" he said. "I will not be a poet, me? I wrote so many verses and so many songs that he could not read the half in a year. And there, I will not be a poet? "

Curtis stopped laughing. A few spasms still shook him, but his companion's anger had cooled his ardor. He gauged Marco, looked at him, then spat. Then, with a supple gesture, he jumped on the table where his group was sitting. He kicked the plates, glasses and cutlery, shouting:

"See, good people! I am Marco, the poet! I brave, intoxicated with wine, thinking of kissing women and girls, and I write verses - splendid verses, yes! - to impress the gallery. Yes! I am Marco, the poet, my good people! "

Saying this, he took a rocky accent, which resembled the thunderous voice of the poet, and thundered with laughter and applause. As for me, I crawled on the ground, in order to extricate myself from this pool of drunkards, fear in my stomach, tears overflowing my eyes and dripping on my cheeks. Meanwhile, Curtis continued his circus act under the dumbfounded eyes of Marco. He screamed, gesticulated horribly and took hysterical and burlesque attitudes. In short, a real drunk dead histrio.

Then suddenly, without warning, he grabbed an empty bottle on the table, had a terrible look and slammed it down on his companion's head, crying:

"Well, sir, your poetry, I piss on it! "

There followed an unspeakable chaos in the hall, a real carnage, an extraordinary scandal. Glasses broke in the middle of a deafening hubbub of screams, howls, broken bottles, blows and inverted tables. Bodies struck each other, jaws were broken, arches were cut into pieces, muscles were wrinkled in the fight. In the space of a few minutes, the inn had become the theater of a frightful battle of points, feet, and dishes of all kinds, which nothing seemed able to stop.

I had taken refuge behind the counter, where I had knelt down, crying and holding my head in my hands, moaning with fear and shame. It seemed to me to be the cause of such a disaster and I was sure that Alexei, the innkeeper, would dismiss me once the order was restored. Waiting for the fateful hour, I trembled in my hiding place, hiding as little as possible so as not to attract any attention and I cried again and again, my sobs and tears spasmodically lifting my poor and weak body.

I had the oppressive and agonizing feeling that the fight never ended, that this horrible roar of voices, cries, and fighting never ceased, that I was going to die there, in the midst of that foolish mess and that the whole world would forget who I was. I was in the throes of great despair.

Yet, the thing did not last long. Alexei came, moments later, armed with a heavy sword at the waist and carrying a horn in his left hand. He rang three times, until everyone stopped, then cried with volume:

"Go! Stop these childish things in my inn! Do not you think the battlefields are already littered with corpses, followed by widows and orphans without hope? Well, I do not think so, no! It misses the corpses of all the scoundrels that you are! "

At the same time he was wailing these last words, he drew his sword and continued:

"So, you'll clean up all this mess and quickly or I'll arrange for your heads to join those of your bastard fathers at the end of spikes! Understood?! And you will all pay me compensation for the damage you have done! And move on! "

After a few moments of hesitation, where astonishment mingled with surprise, everyone hastened to put the inn back in order, grunting, insulting under his cloak or glaring furiously. Less than an hour later, however, the room was clean and Alexei was heavily reimbursed by his customers, most of whom were regulars and were very sheepish to have reacted in this way.

The thing done, Alexei knocked everyone out that night and asked me to wait for him while he closed the inn. Once his task was completed, he came to find me. I was sitting at a table at the back of the room. A boar's head was overhanging me and giving me courage, for I naively thought that the spirit that inhabited it - perhaps -would protect me. I was in such a state of stupor and despair that I was ready to believe anything, as long as it made me feel a little lighter.

Alexei sat in front of me. He remained silent for long minutes, then, taking my hands, said:

"It was a hell of a fight, wasn't it? "

I raised my head in his direction and saw that he seemed sincerely embarrassed. Silencing his question, I answered quickly:

"Listen, I'm sorry for what happened. I did not want to be the cause of such a disaster. I'll refund you as much as you want ... "

Alexei cut me off with a gesture.

"Do not say anything," he said. "I should have reacted faster and sooner. Next time, I will really take care of this bastard child and he will regret having dared to touch you."

After a moment of hesitation, he said:

"In any case, it would be better for me to take care of it, or your father will tear him to pieces - and me too. Go now and try to arrive whole to your home. "

I thanked Alexei with respect and went. On the way, I did not meet anybody: I believe that the world was depopulated before the anger of this honorable innkeeper and I returned home soon. This misfortune disgraced my family and especially my father, who almost went in search of this Marco to "claim justice", according to these words, that is to say, more vulgarly, take his head as retribution. However, I was allowed to persevere in my work, provided that Alexei protected me.

The next day there were no more traces of the man named Marco. His companions had returned, but without him. No doubt they had thrown him out of their company or he had left on his own. Whatever that may be, he was not with them, and I was relieved to find that none of them seemed to want to remember this incident. I resumed my work as seriously as possible, putting the heart to work and trying to forget my woes the day before.

I succeeded perfectly for a few days and I was absolutely quiet and serene during this short period of time. Why, in spite of the newfound peace, did I never stopped thinking of the young man who had provoked the fight and who had saved me? He was always there, among them, and his eyes fascinated me as much as the first days of his arrival.

I met him at the beginning of the afternoon, at the entrance of the inn, while I was taking a break. He was leaning against the wall, his eyes stuck in the landscape, as if he were looking at something incredible, what only his eyes could distinguish, understand and express. Laconically, he carried in his mouth an eternal cigarette that let escape an eternal wave of odorous smoke. His hair smelled of sunshine.

I sat next to him and I crossed my arms under my chest, trying to guess what could so fascinate his eyes. As my eyes searched the horizon, he said without looking at me:

"As I came down from the impassive rivers,
I no longer felt guided by the haulers;
Screaming brawlers had targeted them,
Having them nailed naked to the poles of colors!"

Surprised, I watched him. His expression had not changed. His eyes had the same intense expression that seemed to guess the truth in everything they saw. Eyes pale blue like the moon, sad at the same time and thrown forward in the direction of a "elsewhere".

"What does that mean?" I asked him.

He did not move. His eyes did not blink and he continued, like a litany:

"I was careless of all the crews,
Bearer of golden wheats and flying cottons,
When with my haulers finished these fuss,
The Rivers let me down while having fun."

He was silent again. Nothing seemed to disturb the intense concentration I could guess in his attitude, which seemed so familiar to him. And again, he went on, but this time, just dropped:

"It does not mean anything."

I looked at the expression on his face. He seemed to be appeased, relieved by the appalling tension with which he was the cause and whose whims he suffered.

"So, why do you say it?" I replied simply.

He turned his head towards me and looked at me with a mocking eye.

"Because it's beautiful. Quite simply," he retorted.

With these words, he threw his cigarette away and went back inside the inn without looking at me. I went back to work a few moments later and we did not meet each other anymore.

The next day, however, at the same time, he was waiting for me. Without giving me time to understand anything, he threw me as soon as he saw me, these few verses:

"O Seasons, O Castles,
What soul is flawless?

O Seasons, O Castles,

I did the magical study
Of Happiness, that no one eludes ... "

And others followed.

"That doesn't mean anything either," he added. "Nothing at all. But for me, there is an alchemy in these words. It is a composition of the mind which, neglecting form, reaches the ideal through evocation and sonority. "

I listened in silence, my heart pounding. His words fascinated me, both enchanted and disappointed me at the same time. I perceived something new, that never ceased to charm me and that seemed to me to have no real beginning or true end.

"So, keep talking like that," I told him finally. "Maybe I will understand, by dint of hearing this new language. And better! You only have to speak and I will tell you what your words evoke in me. Then, we will know if your words have the force that you claim. "

He nodded a mocking laugh and began to talk again. When he finished his long tirade, I told him what visions his words had given him and he began to talk again and again. Time seemed to lengthen and have no bounds. Subjugate, I forgot everything, to myself and I drowned in the visions he gave me.

This appointment became daily. Every day he was waiting for me at the same place, at the same time, with the same singular and intense expression which evoked me the evening exhaustion of the summer evenings and the coastal heat. Then he started long diatribes on all possible tones. He went from satire to pamphlet effortlessly and excelled in the art of evocation.

Little by little, he sucked me into him.

Every day, the time I spent in his company was longer and more intense. Every day, I lost myself a little more in him.

First, I stayed with him, in the evening, for a few moments, to listen to him a little more words in the air, which resonated in me like thunderclaps. The moments passed in long minutes, then in long hours and sometimes I spent the night listening to him.

He spoke without stopping, in a deep voice whose accents varied according to the intensity of his speech. He invoked the azure and the waves, depicted the misery with the sad spark of those who grew up with her who knew her thoroughly, but who, by force of habit, had appropriated her paralyzing torpor . He knew the horizons that I had never imagined and that rushed into me, turned me over, burned my mind and sometimes moved me to tears. It was no longer the reason that governed my existence and my choices, but the intuition, the burning passion and the hot heat of poetry.

Slowly, my mind lost its vivacity. He was only obsessed by poetry and by him, Curtis. I became slower at work and less applied. My mind was lost in infinite and futile distractions. I could not think of anything but her eyes, her hair, and most of all, the tone of her voice.

Then I began to compose. I wrote with him long poems in verse and prose, without really knowing why I was writing, but with the intense feeling of touch, writing, what was most essential for men. I was certain, in my visions, to describe a more beautiful, more penetrating elsewhere and to intrude on the secrets of the world. I lived only of bohemian and intensity.

Curtis, however, was not really responsible for my transformation. He had only offered me a choice, opened a door, show me another way. It was me who charged at full speed, without worrying about other things than myself. Curtis was not a bad man; he was entirely devoted to the madness of his art, that he was the only one who could bear without weakening, and of which he was the worthy diviner. For his poetry was mystic and divine.

In a few words, in a few verses, he pointed out the essential, the most natural of the world, and expressed it in a language that seemed eternal in the present. It was not hard work that he was doing, but a grueling, tiring, heavy task, because it was divine, and it was always as if it were a natural thing, which could not be more normal for the mortals.

Every word was always in its place. Each verse was a symphony of meaning. It was a concert of the whole being who lived in his poetry and in which I lost myself.

My family, meanwhile, were afraid of my transformation. None of them said anything, but I saw their eyes and I felt the weight. I felt their anguish and their disapproval, their anger and even their despair. But I did not care. Poetry and Curtis were my only horizons; I mocked the rest laughing and crying all at once. I was crazy, and I lived as such for a long time.

One evening, the fateful event arrived. Alexei came to see me, looking discontented, his eyes boring and told me coldly that he did not want me anymore. I had become flabby, carefree, unpolished and hardworking. I became day by day more and more painful to bear and my work was almost non-existent.

But again, I hardly cared.

The same evening, I went on the road with Curtis and his company, without looking back, without a tear and without regret. So, for almost six months, I traveled from city to city, from fief to fief, and my heart never subsided. I burned within me the acrid poison that passion produces, ravaging even the purest souls. I spent my time dreaming painfully. When that was not the case, I was composing with Curtis, lying on his lap, a naughty smile on his face and when our verses were loud enough for him, we made love.

In just a few months, we crossed the continent from one side to the other. We lived bohemian. We lived in uncertainty. We forgot about ourselves.

I do not regret these adventures because they were marked by the seal of freedom and love. But I regret the poison that I put into my veins without knowing, without perceiving that my cheeks were becoming bland and pale, that my hair was becoming dry and greasy, that my body was withering at the touch of this debauchery of unreason. Great dreams of happiness, moral and righteous, would die with me at the same time as I intoxicated myself with poetry, bitterness and spunk. I became a heck of a poet, a woman of penises and mockery. And my pain, crucified in my veins, resuscitated me in my verses and in Curtis' eyes.

But one night, while we were stopping in a village, Curtis returned unhappy. His features expressed annoyance, anguish, and exhaustion. I approached him, passed my hand over his face and he pushed me away brutally:

" Leave me. You are annoying me. "

I was dazed in our little room as he fell asleep. The next evening, the same scene happened again, as well as the evening after and the thing became a habit. Soon, the idea that everything would be over soon came to haunt me. Not being able to bear it, I frequently burst into tears, tearing my hair or clawing my arms to the point of bleeding. But Curtis did not even notice it. He was devoured by an unspeakable demon who was to lead him to ruin. He suffered an insupportable madness, much worse than mine; he was no longer himself.

One evening, I left. I was now alone forever, alone with myself, with my dark sins and the shadows of my past mistakes, casting a dark color on my future. I left.

I was waking for three days. I do not feed myself I did not think about anything. The world seemed empty to me, as if was in the grip of a terrible pain that I could feel and which overwhelmed me without knowing what to do to relieve it. It was impossible for me to do anything other than tirelessly advance to exhaustion. The poison that burned my veins only subsided in the frenzied flight.

Three days later, I reached the ocean. Spray gently stroked my nostrils, the sea air submerged me and I fell into tears on the warm sand of a deserted beach. Farther to the left, huge waves broke on skiffs. The sky stretched infinitely above me, fine clouds floated quietly in the air, so soft, so beautiful. And suddenly, in me, was born the irrepressible need to look like them, up there, and to be, again, a sweet, beautiful and tender woman. I looked at the sea. I fell in love with his savagery, his infinity, his sweet and eternal beauty.

So, I got up and walked towards her.

The waves licked my feet, but I was still moving. The waves soon reached my calves, my thighs, then my waist. Soon, I immersed myself completely in her, but I kept going. I lost my footing and the current carried me away. I lost myself in her, crying in the depths of myself and begging for forgiveness. The ocean greeted me in her completely, completely and she took my pain and got rid of my poison.

For three days she carried me into her. She purified me of myself, swelled with my sorrow and overcame my tears. It took three days for the ocean to let me die and resurrect in her. Three days later, she put me on the shore, purified of everything. I did not really change. I was again full of joy and filled with appeasement. But if my soul had not changed, my hair was back to their antique blondness and my skin was shining again. The ocean had rewarded my act.

When the ocean left, leaving me on the wet sand, I raised my mind clear and happy mood. The world seemed to me filled with peace; my lungs rose with fierce happiness and filled me with iodine. I swarmed with energy and drive. I left.

A few meters further, perched on a huge rock, someone was waiting for me. It was an old man with white hair and a long beard of the same color. His eyes were extraordinarily pure. Approaching me, I perceived in him an unprecedented strength. A mystical aura surrounded him. But that aura was absolutely different from that of Curtis, because it was of immeasurable purity.

When I was close enough to him, he greeted me with a wave of his hand, stopped eating and motioned me to approach. Calmly, I walked to him. He gave me food. He told me his name and the mission of which he was the depositary from Shelyn and offered me to accompany him. I did not ask him why he chose me, nor how he knew that the ocean was going to throw me on this shore on that particular day. Simply happy, I accepted his proposal. He told me that he would guide me first to my worried family. Astonished, a sweet feeling invades me. I felt at my place. When he put his hands on mine, I could only melt with pure happiness. I promised him to work for justice and peace, whatever happened.

We left.

The heavens were limpid. My soul was serene.

I went running.

I left dancing.

Female Halfling Kineticist (VMC Rogue) 1
NG Small Humanoid (Halfling)
Init +4; Senses Perception +8
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DEFENSE
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AC 17, touch 15, flat-footed 13 (+2 armor, +4 dex, +1 size)
hp 12
Fort +6, Ref +7, Will +2 (+2 vs fear)
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OFFENSE
------------------------------
Speed 20 ft.

Ranged Kinetic Blast +5 (1d6+4)
------------------------------
STATISTICS
------------------------------
Str 8, Dex 18, Con 16, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 9
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 12
Traits Vagabond Child, Sensitive Mind
Feats Point Blank Shot
Skills (7 points; 4 class, 1 INT, 2 Background)
ACP -0
(1) Acrobatics* +8
(0) Bluff +1
(1) Disable Device* +9
(1) Perception +8
(1) Sense Motive +6
(1) Stealth* +14
(1) Survival +5
(0) Appraise +2
(1) Profession: Cook +5
(1) Sleight of Hand +8

*ACP applies to these skills
Non-Standard Skill Bonuses
+2 Bluff (Secretive Survivor)
+1 Disable Device (Vagabond Child)
+3 Perception (+2 Keen Senses, +1 Sensitive Mind)
+1 Sense Motive (Sensitive Mind)
+2 Stealth (Secretive Survivor)
+1 Appraise (Sensitive Mind)

Languages Common, Halfling, Elven

------------------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Fearless: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on all saving throws against fear. This bonus stacks with the bonus granted by halfling luck.
Halfling Luck: Halflings receive a +1 racial bonus on all saving throws.
Keen Senses: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception checks.

Secretive Survivor (Source Inner Sea Races pg. 213) Halflings from poor and desperate communities, most often in big cities, must take what they need without getting caught in order to survive. They gain a +2 racial bonus on Bluff and Stealth checks. This racial trait replaces sure-footed.

Dimdweller (Source Blood of Shadows pg. 4) Characters with this trait are at home in gloomy conditions. Whenever these characters benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light, they gain a +2 racial bonus on Intimidate, Perception, and Stealth checks. This replaces Weapon Familiarity.

Burn (Ex): At 1st level, a kineticist can overexert herself to channel more power than normal, pushing past the limit of what is safe for her body by accepting burn. Some of her wild talents allow her to accept burn in exchange for a greater effect, while others require her to accept a certain amount of burn to use that talent at all. For each point of burn she accepts, a kineticist takes 1 point of nonlethal damage per character level. This damage can’t be healed by any means other than getting a full night’s rest, which removes all burn and associated nonlethal damage. Nonlethal damage from burn can’t be reduced or redirected, and a kineticist incapable of taking nonlethal damage can’t accept burn. A kineticist can accept only 1 point of burn per round. This limit rises to 2 points of burn at 6th level, and rises by 1 additional point every 3 levels thereafter. A kineticist can’t choose to accept burn if it would put her total number of points of burn higher than 3 + her Constitution modifier (though she can be forced to accept more burn from a source outside her control). A kineticist who has accepted burn never benefits from abilities that allow her to ignore or alter the effects she receives from nonlethal damage.

Gather Power (Su): If she has both hands free (or all of her prehensile appendages free, for unusual kineticists), a kineticist can gather energy or elemental matter as a move action. Gathering power creates an extremely loud, visible display in a 20-foot radius centered on the kineticist, as the energy or matter swirls around her. Gathering power in this way allows the kineticist to reduce the total burn cost of a blast wild talent she uses in the same round by 1 point. The kineticist can instead gather power for 1 full round in order to reduce the total burn cost of a blast wild talent used on her next turn by 2 points (to a minimum of 0 points). If she does so, she can also gather power as a move action during her next turn to reduce the burn cost by a total of 3 points. If the kineticist takes damage during or after gathering power and before using the kinetic blast that releases it, she must succeed at a concentration check (DC = 10 + damage taken + effective spell level of her kinetic blast) or lose the energy in a wild surge that forces her to accept a number of points of burn equal to the number of points by which her gathered power would have reduced the burn cost. This ability can never reduce the burn cost of a wild talent below 0 points.

Telekinetic Blast
Basic Telekinesis
Extended Range

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
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Carrying Capacity
Light 0-19.5 lb. Medium 16.6-39 lb. Heavy 40-58.5 lb.
Current Load Carried 9 lb.
Leather Armor (10g)(7.5lb)
Thieves' Tools (30g)(1lb)
Cloth Pouch with assorted stones (.5lb?)

Money 0 GP 0 SP 0 CP

Born in Karcau, Elska Markova was always a quiet child. Her father was a chimney sweep and her mother, a housekeeper for various middle- classed human families. A lot of the time, her mother would bring her along to help, but when Elska was a bit older, she was allowed to stay home if she wanted. She was always a studious and diligent child so she began to take on the responsibilities of keeping the house clean and preparing meals while her parents were working. She was even allowed to go purchase ingredients herself! Elska was very proud of her independence, though she wasn't entirely honest with her parents about what she did with her time during the day. It didn't take long to shop after all and there was lots to see in town!

So she spent most of her teenaged years sneaking out during the day to see what sights she could see. At first, she spent all of this time outside, people watching and enjoying the marketplace. One time she even saw a hanging! That was a little bit jarring for her but she was pragmatic; sometimes people did bad things and there were consequences. She didn't catch what the man had done, but she did hear something about him doing magic. She was glad she wasn't magic. She enjoyed her quiet, normal life.

Eventually, she got bold and started sneaking in to see plays and operas. Sometimes she had to coax open windows to slip inside but she had nimble fingers and people didn't pay her any mind. Elska loved the arts, though she didn't have much of a singing voice herself.

Despite all this, Elska was a good child. She was always back in time to have dinner ready and the only reason she didn't tell her parents about her excursions is that they wouldn't understand. One day, however, she lost track of time and when she got home, her parents were sick with worry. Her mother was in tears and at first, her father was relieved. But when that relief faded, her father grew angry. And when the timid Elska didn't have good enough answers for him, he began to yell. Through stammered, tear-soaked apologies and self-affirmations that she would be a "good girl" from now on, her father's uncharacteristic rage didn't let up and Elska didn't know what to do but scream. There was a sudden loud crash and Elska looked through tear-soaked eyes to see her father slumped in a daze against the wall across the room. She didn't do that. No. No way. In the moment's reprieve, she fled to her cot and hid under the covers, repeating a mantra in her head. I'm not magic... I'm not magic... I'm not magic...

After that incident, her parents left her alone about it, but determined to prove to them that she was a good girl; a responsible, studious, normal, not-magic one; Elska got herself a job as the cook at a nearby inn. And if, on occasion during the course of her work, items were a bit closer at hand than she remembered putting them, she attributed it to her poor memory. She definitely wasn't magic. Nope, not one bit.

That's where her memory ends. At the start of the game, Elska will be able to feel her power like a comfortable, well-used force within her. And though she'll want to, she won't be able to deny it anymore.

Quiet, but not necessarily shy, Elska is above all things, careful. She doesn't draw attention to herself except when she can be sure it is safe to do so. Friendly and compassionate, Elska has the best intentions; and those who her earn her trust find themselves with a thorough, selfless ally. I'm not sure what we'll start the game with but if we find any of Elska's clothing or equipment(or she is wearing them), she likes to stitch little musical notes into everything she owns. And she'll discover that she has a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist with the same design.

Shirin has only the vaguest of memories telling him who he is. Or was. He knows that he has fought strange and unsettling forces in the past. Things that attack the soul and mind as much as the body. Sometimes winning. At the least, not dying. He is pretty sure that he has lost some times and that some of his victories have come at far too high a cost. Who paid that cost? He doesn't remember.

He is clearly intelligent and clearly good at reading people. He seems to be very, very perceptive. He notices details that others miss. He is sensitive to things. What things? Objects, people. He can read them all.

He is certain that he is a devoted follower of . Something. Somebody? A god? A person?

There is a face. A face of a beautiful woman of about his age. He loves her. He is loved by her. Or was loved? Sister, wife, lover? It is all lost.

Shirin is a man of about 30 years old. His black hair and brown eyes mark him as Kelish in origin although he speaks Taldane without an accent. He is a reasonably large man who moves gracefully.

He is always observing his environment, more prone to watching others than talking to them. When he does talk he is quite personable.

He thinks that he is mostly a good person. But he isn't sure others think of him that way.

Shirin
Male human (Keleshite) investigator 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Class Guide 30)
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +5
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Defense
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AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +1, Ref +4, Will +3; +1 trait bonus vs. aberrations
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee short sword +2 (1d6+2/19-20)
Ranged shortbow +2 (1d6/×3)
Investigator Extracts Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +5)
. . 1st—expeditious retreat, heightened awareness[ACG]
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 14
Feats - Custom Feat -, - Custom Feat -
Traits clever wordplay, foe of the strange
Skills Acrobatics -1 (-5 to jump), Appraise +8, Craft (alchemy) +8 (+9 to create alchemical items), Diplomacy +8, Disable Device +2, Heal +5, Knowledge (arcana) +8, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +8, Linguistics +8, Perception +5, Sense Motive +5, Use Magic Device +2
Languages Aklo, Celestial, Common, Kelish, Polyglot, Tien, Varisian
SQ alchemy (alchemy crafting +1), inspiration (4/day), trapfinding +1
Other Gear hide shirt, short sword, shortbow, alchemy crafting kit[APG], backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, investigator starting formula book, mess kit[UE], pot, soap, thieves' tools, torch (10), trail rations (5), waterskin, 30 gp
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Special Abilities
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Alchemy +1 (Su) +1 to Craft (Alchemy) to create alchemical items, can Id potions by touch.
Inspiration (+1d6, 4/day) (Ex) Use 1 point, +1d6 to trained skill or ability check. Use 2 points, to add to attack or save.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.

Tholena doesn't remember much, he has a general feeling of ease about his past. He knows his name and a few of his interests: firearms, animals, and hunting. His pet eagle, Loeth. Doesn't know what brought him to this weird place, thinks maybe it was some kind of deal that may have gone bad or maybe some misbegotten adventure.
Waking up, he's less concerned about his past, and far more concerned of him being in a new predicament.

Sojourn Ravenweird
Male half-elf cavalier (daring champion) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Class Guide 90, Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 32)
NG Medium humanoid (elf, human)
Init +5; Senses low-light vision; Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 13, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +0; +2 vs. enchantments, +1 insight bonus vs. the abilities of the target of your challenge, +1 trait bonus vs. aberrations
Immune sleep
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee sword cane +5 (1d6+1)
Special Attacks challenge 1/day (+1 damage, +1 dodge bonus to AC and insight save bonus when lightly armored and encumbered), tactician 1/day (Precise Strike, 3 rds)
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Statistics
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Str 13, Dex 16, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 11, Cha 14
Base Atk +1; CMB +2; CMD 15
Feats Precise Strike[APG], Psychic Sensitivity[OA], Skill Focus (Perception), Weapon Focus (sword cane)
Traits elven reflexes, foe of the strange
Skills Acrobatics +4, Climb +5, Knowledge (planes) +5 (+6 to checks involving knowledge of the occult or supernatural), Perception +6, Swim +5; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven
SQ champion's finesse, elf blood, order of the eastern star[OA]
Combat Gear oil (5); Other Gear leather armor, sword cane[APG], backpack, belt pouch, candle (2), chalk, hammer, hemp rope (50 ft.), hooded lantern, piton (4), sack (2), tindertwig (4), torch (2), 47 gp
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Special Abilities
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Champion's Finesse At 1st level, a daring champion gains the benefits of the Weapon Finesse feat with light or one-handed piercing melee weapons, and he can use Charisma in place of Intelligence for the purpose of combat feats prerequisites. A daring champion also coun
Eastern Star's Challenge +1 (1/day) (Ex) +1 to damage target, -2 AC vs. others when used, +1 dodge bonus to AC and insight save bonus when lightly armored and encumbered.
Elf Blood Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.
Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Precise Strike +1d6 precision damage for melee attacks if you and an ally with this feat flank the same target.
Tactician (Precise Strike, 3 rds, 1/day) (Ex) Grant the use of one of your teamwork bonus feats to all allies within 30 ft.

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