Through the looking glass

Game Master Lloyd Jackson

The handmaiden's and servants within his families residence were about as close to a friend as he could hope for. Although friendly, they were paid to offer a service, and that is what they did.

Growing up as an Aufwarden was hard. His father, Fauston, was quite a cold man, caring only for his own wellbeing, ensuring anything was done to uphold the reputation of his family name.

Fauston was to the point. A true businessman. He had good judgement and would use this to his advantage. His father was just as cold as he, so it comes as no surprise that Steyaal's father would act similarly to his grandfather. As Treasurer to Grand Prince Stavian III, Fauston understood his role well, having been taught the formalities and responsibilities expected of him, and as such, he excelled within the position.

Fauston was a powerful man. He knew all of the right people, and often used this to accomplish things that otherwise couldn't be achieved.

Upon first meeting Kyreecia through an arranged marriage, Fauston was very formal, speaking to the woman in a respectful but slightly blunt manner. He understood the concept and benefits of an arranged marriage, but had no interest in forming such bonds with people, and would have been much happier to spend his time in the household library, learning of battle tactics, other nations and ways to advise the Prince, in the event of the Grand Councillors death.

Once the closed off man met the woman however, he could appreciate her beauty and intelligence and through her charm, grew closer to the woman.

Through much jealousy and envy, other Noble's of high position grew to hate the man, and although not targeting him directly, would often do things to saboutage and spoil the Aufwarden name.

Kyreecia however, didn't have this problem.

Being a very understanding and compassionate woman, Fauston's wife was a kind and gentle spirit. Aside from taking care of things around the house (when the servants were occupied with other tasks) and making sure the ladies of the residence were well fed, prim and proper, Kyreecia would make her own clothing and often took commissions from other Noble women who recognised her skill as a Seamstress.

The time Fauston spent with his wife changed him considerably, turning him into someone who held compassion and the wellbeing of others highly, while still retaining his professional and strict qualities, as these were the traits he needed to best perform in his position.

Several years after his father died, Lord Fauston and Lady Kyreecia decided it was time to propogate, and nine months later the kind and beautiful lady of the house gave birth to a black haired baby boy, who, with the help of her husband, named him Steeyal.

Born with the same red eye as his father, Steeyal had long black hair with one blue eye and one red eye.

There's no documented reasoning for this trait and change in genetics within the Aufwarden bloodline, but for the past seven generations or so, several males within the family tree have been born with this genetic mutation.

What should be noted is that every relative born with this mysterious Aufwarden trait has achieved greatness in their time alive. This trait is still rare however, and although it's entirely possible for a female born of the Aufwarden name to have this mutation, it hasn't happened yet, and appears to be more prominent within the male gene.

As mysterious as it is, the eye has also been known to hold some power. This power has effected Aufwarden's in many different ways, and seems limited to one power per host.

Recorded effects within different individuals:

No decline in vision through injury or ageing
Time has been perceived differently
Sight has been magnified

Although spoiled a little by his mother, Steeyal grew up within the confinements of his home and was home tutored by his mother, often reading books within the home library when wanting to further educate himself, and verify the truth's of his knowledge.

Steeyal grew to love classical music and always planned to learn how to play piano himself one day, but with his father's intention to have him carry on the family profession upon his father's retirement, didn't have time for such priviledges.

The boy also had a passion for weaponry, armour and advancements of magic and technology within Golarion.

As the years went on, Steyaal got used to his life and had adjusted well to the work required of him. He grew more efficient and as such, had more time to himself. Within this time, he first read books informing him of how magic and weapons worked, and how they worked best. He then went on to read battle tactics at he excitement of one day possibly leaving Taldor to discover what may lay beyond the City walls.

As he got older, he grew tired of being secluded from the outside world, and began to rebel.

He still appreciated the wealth and values of his family name, wearing mostly regal attire and enjoying the finer qualities of life, but having been used to this, he wanted change.

At the age of 16, he decided to take note of patrols within the large Aufwarden residency, so that he could make a break for it. This wasn't his attempt to run away from home, but instead was his first attempt to escape the confinements of his home, so that he could venture out and at the very least, have a look around the City.

As time went on, Steyaal became more agile, learning to climb, to hide and to be watchful at all times, until eventually he could navigate around others with ease, avoiding detection altogether.

He preferred to venture out at night, but occasionally slipped out during the day where he would hide his identity from others (with the use of bland cloaks he had thrown over himself), to gather knowledge of the local areas and other lesser known Nobles within the area.

Eight years on, one night while out, he met a middle classed girl, two years younger than himself. At this point he was 24 and she was 22.

Their meeting was a little embarassing. Steyaal had been climbing and jumping across rooftops to pass the time, still unsure if it was wise to befriend the locals (in case they'd discover his true identity), when he decided he'd had enough and jumped down.

Neither he or the girl were looking where they were going. The girl was looking down, keeping herself to herself, while Steyaal was looking behind him, ensuring nobody saw him jump down from the rooftops. This was when they bumped into each other, both falling over from the force of it. Embarassed, Steyaal rushed to his feet to help the girl up, introducing himself by his first name only.

The woman grabbed his hand as he hoiked her up, brushing herself as she clambered to her feet. "no, no, no. It was my fault. I'm sorry, I'm such a ditz. I wasn't looking where I was going and now look what I've done. Your clothes are dirty and so are mine, and I only bought this today." The girl then got a little frustrated, saying "grrr....my father's going to kill me".

Humoured, Steyaal laughed and said "it's only a dress, and besides, I wasn't looking where I was going either, otherwise I'd have avoided you." He then pauses for a second before realising that sounded terrible. "Do forgive me, I didn't mean it like that. You're a very beautiful girl and I'm sure any boy would be proud to have you by their side."

The woman blushed before holding out her hand. "My name is Cecilia. Cecilia Frangoren. Nice to meet you!"

With his heart racing, having never had such an experience before, the boy went shy and stepped back several steps. "What do I say, what do I do?" He asked himself. Confused, Cecilia lowered her hand and asked if there was a problem. "N..n...no!" he said, raising his hand to the back of his head.

"i...it's just....I".

He then ran off home, flustered, terrified and excited all at the same time.

Speaking to his mum for advice the next day, she briefly looked at him before smiling, knowing full well that he'd been leaving the grounds, as the only places he ever really visited was the garden, library and music room.

She told him to go back out there and find her, and to address her properly, stating his full name to her and her only, and explaining things to her.

"She'll listen to you and keep your identity a secret if she's truly a nice girl", said his mother.

Venturing out the same time the next day, he looked for her but she was nowhere to be seen. He tried again and the same thing happened again. A week passed exactly since their first encounter, and although he hadn't tried for a few days, he visited the location he first met her, and this time she was there. It turned out that because she had made her dress dirty the moment she bought it, her father punished her to stay in and do the housework for a week.

The two got on great and soon fell for one another, courting in a respectable manner for this next two years.

Behind the scenes however, a lot was happening.

Steyaal's father was arranging a marriage for his son to wed into a new family, who seemed to have gained fame and wealth from nowhere. Seeing this as an opportunity to develop relations with another well respected name, Fauston was all for this and arranged for the meeting without conversing with his son.

Steyaal's mother however, had a feeling that this would all end in tears, with the assumption that her son was now dating the girl he met outside. Not wanting to say anything that would cause an argument with her husband however, she remained quiet, thinking it was something Fauston and Steyaal would have to sort out between themselves.

As Steyaal said goodbye to his girlfriend, she gave him a necklace with a small elonagated ruby hanging down from the middle of it. Thinking it was silly, he laughed and put it in his pocket as he thanked her. He then held her hand, kissed her on the cheek goodbye and headed home for bed. It was quite late, but awaiting him was his father who didn't seem at all impressed.

His father raised his voice to him, before calming down slightly when asking

where he'd been. His son then expressed his love for the woman he had found outside of their home, and when Fauston informed him he was to marry someone else, Steyaal refused and starting shouting at his father, who then backhanded the boy and told him to do as asked and to never again question what he says.

As steyaal went to bed, shocked, angry and upset, Cecilia was walking home alone from the point where her and Steyaal regularly met. As she got closer to home, she didn't realise but she was being followed. Little did she know, this would be her last night alive.

While her boyfriend slept, a man stepped out from the shadows, grabbing the girl from behind, where he then repeatedly stabbed her in the back, before throwing her in the gutter for the local guard to find her the next day.

The very next morning, Kyreecia awoke her son and told him to get dressed. She doesn't pry so didn't know the name of his girlfriend, but asked him "is the girl you're seeing called Cecilia?"

Dazed from just waking up, Steyaal replied "uh...yea, why?"

Suddenly tears streamed from his mother's face, from the pain that her son was just about to feel. When he asked what was wrong, she said while sobbing "I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but......." she then turns around the local newspaper where the death of his girlfriend is on the front page, titled "Local girl found lying dead in gutter."

At the news and now in shock and a state of disbelief, Steyaal threw on some clothes and marched straight out of the house, ignoring and pushing aside anyone who tried to stop him, so that he could walk to the scene of the crime, hoping that it would be someone else....it wasn't.

The boy locked himself away for a weak, heartbroken and distraught. The marriage with the other woman didn't happen, and unable to accept her fate, he left his home one night, buying pure black leather armour to represent his mourning, and wearing the ruby necklace that Cecilia gave him with pride.

With a strong feeling of vengeance now in his heart, the boy decided it was time to find a weapon.

Many merchants passed and it took him many weeks to find something that suited him, but he eventually found and old battered gun that he did up and had improved. Now only using his home as an Inn, and no longer bothering to speak, Steyaal would spend every waking day digging for information and training with his gun. This went on each day of the week, for six months.

With no luck in finding any motives behind the love of his lifes murder, he remembered something he read as a young master. Something that stood out to him. Scrying was the name of it. He remembered that there was a spell to see what was going on without actually having to be at a specific location.

Another week passed, and through a desperate search and a lot of questioning with regard to rumours, Steyaal was lead to a shack in the middle of a woodland on the outskirts of Taldor.

Upon entering this shack, there was an old haggered woman waiting at a table. "I've been expecting you" she said, as the 26 year old walked in. "You're here about a murder aren't you?"

Steyaal nods, tapping his feet uncomfortably as he looks around at all of the strange symbols engraved in the wooden walls of this old womans shack.

"Very well" she says. "I can help."

The woman slowly stands up, back hunched over and pulls out what appears to be a metal walking stick, before lifting up a beautiful silver mirror from the side.

Being familiar with the silver mirror component, the boy thinks nothing of it, and waits for her to perform the spell. However, having no documented images of such a spell in practice, he naively does what the woman asks.

After moving her hands around, gesturing and uttering a few words, she slams the rod on the ground when all of a sudden a strong gust of wind brushes over the boy.

Grabbing hold of Steyaal's hand, the woman tells him that a window is about to open, and that by peering through it, he can view any person of his choice, just by thinking about them. "You don't need a face. Just think about who you want to see by what you know, and everything will become clear."

As the portal opens, he looks in, and caught off guard, the woman pushes him forwards, overbalancing him and sending him flying through the gate which closes behind him.

Vehicles can be seen crashed and damaged, the roads are collapsing into sinkholes and the buildings around him are falling apart. Glass windows are smashed all around, and tall narrow buildings surround him for as far as he can see.

"THAT WOMAN! W..WHE..WHERE AM I?"

Looks: Lacks facial hair, left eye is blue, right "Sniper" eye is red, he's tall at about 6'1, skinny and wears black leather boots and armour. On him can be seen a grappling hook with some coiled rope, a musket across his back and a long sword by his side.

Personality: Cold, untalkative (right now), determined, heartbroken, caring, compassionate, diplomatic, analytical, observant and focused.

HP: 23
AC: 16, Touch: 14, Flat-footed: 12

Speed 30ft (20ft due to medium load)
Initiative: 4

Str: 8
Dex: 18
Con: 14 (-15 to die)
Wis: 14
Int: 10
Cha: 12

BAB: 2
CMB: 1
CMD: 15

Fort: 4 (9 to stabilise when dying)
Ref: 9 - Evasion
Will: 2

Combat:

Sneak Attack: Within 40ft of target, deal an extra 1d6 damage.

Musket - +7, 1d12+1 x4, 40ft, capacity 1, misfire 1-3 (5ft), b and p
Two handed weapon – Reload as a move action.

Nodachi - +1, 1d10-1, 18-20x2, p or s

Traits:

Noble Born: +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (Nobility) it’s a class skill for you.
Adopted – Halfling penalty decrease to sniping

Alternate Racial – Heart of the wilderness

Feats/Rogue Talents:

1a. Point-blank Shot
1b. Precise Shot
1c. Gunsmithing
3. Rapid Reload (reload 2-handed musket as a move action)
Talent – Ninja Trick: A ninja with this ninja trick increases the range at which she can deal sneak attack damage by 10 feet. A ninja can take this trick more than once. Its effects stack.

Skills:

Acrobatics*: 10 (4 dex, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Climb*: 5 (-1 str, 2 ranks, 3 class)
Diplomacy*: 5 (1 cha, 1 rank, 3 class)
Disable Device*: 8 (4 dex, 1 rank, 3 class)
Escape Artist*: 8 (4 dex, 1 rank, 3 class)
Knowledge (Local)*: 4 (0 int, 1 ranks, 3 class)
Knowledge (Nobility): 5 (0 int, 1 rank, 4 trait)
Perception*: 8 (2 wis, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Sense Motive*: 6 (2 wis, 2 ranks, 3 class)
Stealth*: 10 (4 dex, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Survival*: 6, 7 to track (2 wis, 1 rank, 3 class)
Swim*: 3 (-1 str, 1 ranks, 3 class)

Gear: Leather Armour (10gp, +2AC, +6 Dex, 16lb’s), +1 Musket (2,300gp, 9lb’s, broken to anyone but me), Nodachi (60gp, 1d10, 18-20x2, brace, 8lb’s, s or p), Gunsmith’s Kit (15gp, 2lb’s), Alchemical Cartridge, Paper (Bullet x50, 600gp)), Grappling Hook (1gp, 4lb’s) and Silk Rope (50ft, 10gp, 5lb’s).

Wealth: 4gp

Light load: 26 lb’s
Medium load: 53 lb’s
Heavy load: 80 lb’s
Lift overhead: 80 lb’s
Lift off ground: 160lb’s
Drag/Push: 400lb’s

Carrying: 43lb’s (Medium Load)

Equipement
Monk’s Outfit
Monk’s Kit

His was called Jonno Quickfeet on some of the streets of Absalom. A young Halfling just beginning to make a name for himself, mostly as a back alley freelance boxer, and earning a living by scrapping for bets. He wasn’t bad, too. His natural Halfling quickness, coupled with a larger than normal frame (at least for a Halfling), made him an opposing opponent for his weight class.

That success is what caught the eye of the Crag gang. They were a small group of petty criminals and thugs that worked the streets of one of Absalom’s Halfling district, or the Dink as the rest of the city called it. The Dink was just outside of the Puddle in Absalom, home to some of the poorest Haflings or any other groups trying to scratch themselves out of the squalor found in the Puddle. The Crag gang had a foothold in the most depressed areas of the Dink (which was a stretch, seeing most of Dink was nearly a slum) through extortion and strong-arm theft.

The young Jonno fell right in with the gang. After a few late night rounds, it was evident he would be an assets to the crew. He picked up various thieving skills; his small hands excelled at pick locks and setting traps. After a particularly successful heist, he was give a fine dagger which he treasured and began learning to use the blade, giving up his natural boxing talents.

During this time, with no substantial law presence provided by the ruling class in Absalom, there were many small gangs roaming the streets of the Dink. They occasionally battled for a little more turf. The Crag gang, led by a young half-elf rogue called Turnleaf, was especially hungry to expand their influence. Their current turf was in the poorest of the poor section, which meant the worst profits. With their growing ranks, they pushed their boundaries and the neighboring gangs resisted in turn.

Turnleaf felt expanding to the west of the port was their best move. It was true that the area was wealthier than the other options, but also riskier. The turf was “owned” by the Treeknot gang and they were one of the bigger organizations in the Dink. They wouldn’t give it up without a fight.

The Crag’s made their move on a moonless night. They planned to knock over a newly opened jewelry shop. The shop hadn’t been touched yet by any other gang and the heist would send a message to everyone that the Crag’s owned the place. Everything was going smooth until the Treeknots showed up.

They came in force with at least twenty and they were ready to fight. It was quickly obvious someone tipped them off, but no one in the Crag’s had time to discuss who the traitor was. The Crag’s only numbered eight, which only gave them one option and that was to run.

The Treeknot’s immediately grabbed Oni, the dwarf and Huck, a burly Half-orc, as the rest scattered. Jonno could hear them fighting for their lives, but it was the last time he would see the two again. Jonno, Timst (a human) and Gerro (a tiefling) took off down a side alley in a group. They ducked around corners as arrows flew passed them.

The bolted into a small courtyard and dove for the shadows, just as a five of the Treeknots rounded the corner. Jonno croutched behind a group of bushes with his trusty dagger in his hand. He could not see his two companions.

Suddenly, an elderly half-elf woman came out from one of the houses. She began to yell at the Treeknots, telling them to get out of here. They began to argue with the woman and soon all five were focused on the irate old half-elf crone.

Timst leapt from the shadow with his sword drawn, plunging it deep into a Treeknot. Pulling the sword, he swung it wildly in a high arc at a second Treeknot and missed, sending him to the ground. A large half-orc spun around and put a heavy foot on Timst’s chest. Before he could do anything else, the remaining three jumped on top of him with daggers drawn.

As the blood sprayed, Jonno began to tremble. He jumped from the shadows in a rage and buried his dagger in a Treeknot’s back. He spun around before the others could react and slashed the throat of a second. He blindly lashing out at whoever was in front of him.

Suddenly, he realized there was no one left standing and looked at the bodies on the ground. At his feet, the old lady lay with blood covering her body and her lifeless eyes staring up at Jonno. Gerro stepped from behind a corner, eyes wide and mouth moving up and down silently in an astonished stupor. Noise could be heard coming from the alley, as a group was running towards them.

Jonno turned and ran. His arms coated in blood past his elbows. His trademark studded leather jerkin stained and wet with fresh blood; the old woman’s blood. He gripped the dagger with white knuckles. He ran as fast as he could. He did not know where he was going. All he could see were the dead eyes of the old half-elf looking up at him.

He slammed into a heavy door at the end of remote alleyway. Thinking he heard someone following, he jumped to a window ledge and broke the glass. He landed on the smooth wooden floor heavily. The room was dark except for the moonlight. Jonno moved to the center, looking for another door to escape.

He found an elderly elf standing motionless in front of him. He moved threateningly toward the elf, but the old man did not move. Jonno waved his bloodied dagger with still no response. He lunged at the old man and was suddenly found himself sliding across the floor, his chest heaving, trying to regain his breath.
This infuriated Jonno and he charged the elf. With a wave of his hand, the elf sent Jonno tumbling across the room. This time his blood poured from his mouth and the side of his face throbbed in pain. A third, fourth and fifth attempt was met with the same consequences.

Jonno flew, rolled or slid across the room. The old man stood motionless in the center. Blood poured from Jonnos mouth, nose and cuts over his eyes. He gasped for breath, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his chest, to the point of almost passing out. His shock of blond hair lay matted with sweat and blood on his head.

He stood and took a few very unsteady steps to the old man. Jonno looked around for his dagger, but it was nowhere to be found. He tried to focus on the elf. The last thing he saw was a fist heading towards his face and then a blinding white light.

“You’re lucky, you know that, right?” Jonno couldn’t see who was speaking. His eyes were swollen shut. He just groaned in pain.

“The master had every right to kill you and has done so in the past. But, you have been given a gift.” The voice sounded closer now, like the speaker was whispering in his ear. “Don’t let it go to waste.” Jonno slipped out of conscious once again.

It was many days before he could sit up and look around. He was in an empty, windowless room that was no bigger than a closet, small even for a Halfling. A young elf with a bald head that made his ears look enormous entered the room with a set of clean clothes. They were barely anything more than a burlap sack stitched into a tunic with pants.

“Where’s my stuff?” he asked, realizing he was naked with the exception of a rough sheet from the cot. The elf was silent, dropping the clothes on the bed and leaving, closing the door behind him. Jonno had little choice other than to put the uncomfortable coverings on.

As he finished and before he could try the door to leave, two large humans, also with shaved heads and simple clothing, but not as simple as Jonno’s, entered the room and grabbed the startled Halfling. He struggled, but was unable to break free from their strong grasp, as they drug him down a hallway. They ignored his protests and threw him into an empty room with the exception of a simple table.

On the table was a bowl of beans and gruel. Jonno assumed this was his and being hungry, quickly ate the food. When he finished, feeling his strength returning from the food, he stood up and looked for an escape. There was none except the door he came in.

Once again, it flew open and the two human’s entered, but this time, Jonno was more prepared. He launched at the first human with fist flying wildly. His action was met with a solid punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him limp. They grabbed his arms and drug him to another area of the compound.

It was a small courtyard with a load of large stones on one side. A dwarf was starting to build a wall on the other side. Jonno was dropped in front of the pile of rocks. He looked around unsure of what to do.

“Don’t just stand there, boy, bring me a stone!” the dwarf barked.

“Get yer own sto…”Jonno started to say. He was suddenly stopped mid-sentence by a sharp slap across the cheek by one of the humans. It wasn’t the worst punch he had taken, but on top of his previous wounds, it sent him to a knee. As he got up, he looked at the stoic faces of the humans.

“Whacha do th..” was met with another blow that sent him sprawling on the rock pile. It took two more times before Jonno decided it was better to just take a stone to the dwarf.

This was his routine for until the wall was built. Eat, carry rocks, eat, sleep, punctuated with the occasional beating.

After the completion of the wall, he was brought to another area and told to move large logs to build a new roof. Anytime he complained or questioned his capturers, a severe beating was received. Eventually, other tasks were intergraded into his routine. Cleaning and polishing the hard wood, moving furniture or containers, which allowed him to see other areas of the building.

He began to realize this was a monastery. He had never heard of its presence before, which surprised him, a compound this big, so close to his turf would have brought some attention, he thought.

After many months of the forced labor, he found his routine begin to change. He was required to sit with the monks for hours of meditation. He ran buckets of water and clean linens for the training sessions. Mended the monk’s clothes. He was taught how to read and write short orders.

All these chores were always accompanied by a regular beating to keep the young Halfling in line.
Eventually, he was made to act as a practice target for the younger monks. They would take swings or make kicks that he was forced to endure. Seldom were these attacks anything worse than the beatings he would receive throughout his regular workday.

The duties of a practice dummy required that he learn a handful of defensive techniques to use against the oncoming attacks for monks to better their skills. The instructors required Jonno to become proficient at these techniques to challenge the young monks. They also worked in basic attacks that would further instruct the monks.

His days on the practice mats, in meditation or some type of other instruction lengthen while his time doing menial labor shortened. As the months turned to years, he began to understand although he was a prisoner, he was no longer slave labor. He was moving from the young indoctrinates punching bag up the ranks and training as one of the monks.

He was now able to read and write, manage teams on work projects, keep up on the practice field and calm himself during meditation. Although he was allowed to wear the traditional monk student uniform consisting of a light weight shirt and pants, instead of the burlap, as an act of defiance, he refused to shave his blond hair. This kept him separated from the other ranks and never allowed the same privileges given to the others, even after many years of training and work.

The day came nearly four years after his arrival that dark night. The old master, the elf that gave him a beating to the inch of his life, kept him trapped inside the compound, never recognizing his existence except to provide another bruise or bloodied lip, died quietly in his sleep.

The younger monks expected something more for his departure, but he left this realm without a sound. A short ceremony was performed in the courtyard and the master’s ashes were scattered in the wind.

In the days after the ceremony, the monasteries new head master entered Jonno’s small room. Surprised by the visit, Jonno stood quickly and bowed as custom.

“Jonno, you have served this monastery well. I did not agree with keeping you a prisoner.” The Half-Elf produced a package. “Here are the items you came with; you are free to follow your own path.”

Jonno’s eyes widened and mouth dropped. He reached out carefully, expecting a trick, and took the package. The new master looked at him briefly and then left him alone. Jonno sat on his cot and opened the package. He found his favorite studded jerkin that he always wore. His pants and boots were clean and mended. His trusty dagger was perfectly polished and sharpened to a razor. Even his small set of lock picks were there, in order and improved in some cases.

It took him awhile before he put on his old armor. It was bulky and did not fit as well as before, loose in some places, tighter in other. Tightening his belt with the dagger, he stepped out of his room. He felt uncomfortable walking down the hallway. No one stopped him, no one was even in building, although he could hear the occasional whisper or footfall of the younger students hiding and watching from a distance.

At the heavy door that served as the gate to the outside, he paused and thought about turning around for one last look, but didn’t and opened the door, stepping out into the sunshine.

It took Jonno a while to remember the way back to the Dink. It had been so long and it wasn’t like he actually knew the way when he arrived at the monastery. It did not matter, every step was a step in freedom and his excitement grew as he got closer to his home. He was nearly running as he closed in on his old neighborhood.

As he rounded a corner from a small alley, he saw four individuals across the street. He instantly recognized Gerro, the tiefling from his old gang and the one that was with him on that fateful night. His sudden appearance made Jonno pause for a moment to collect his thoughts. He did not recognize the other three, a dwarf, half-orc and human, that accompanied Gerro.

He did notice how well they were dressed. Their fine armor and apparel was in top condition and very contemporary. Their weapons were studded with jewels and ornate craftsmanship. Jonno suddenly realized how out of place the four looked, standing in front of a boarded up shop, in their finery. Looking down the street, he saw for the first time how the neighborhood had declined (which was striking being how bad it was to begin with).

Men lay in corners and gutters drunk, women worked street corners selling the only thing they had left for a few coins, children and elderly rummaged through trash and fought for scraps. Most buildings were empty with windows or doors broken.

A single item from one of those four could feed everyone here for more than a day, Jonno said to himself as he backed into the shadows of the alley, watching the four as they casually made their way down the street, laughing loudly.

An old lady came up to the four with a hand out, she was so hunched over, she was nearly crawling. She looked up at the four, pleading with her eyes. They all looked at each other and then the half-orc reached down and lifted the old woman by her tattered clothes. She screeched in pain. The four let out a chorus of laughter at the woman.

“PUT THAT WOMAN DOWN!” yelled a young Halfling with wild sun-blond hair blowing in the wind. She was holding a small baby that she forced into an elderly woman that was accompanying her, pleading for her to stop.

“Shellia!” Jonno said in a whisper as he pressed himself against the wall for concealment. He recognized his sister immediately and she had a child! What pained him even more was his inability to immediately recognize the old woman behind Shellia as his own mother.

“Gerro, put her down and get out of here!” she screamed while pointing a finger at the tiefling. Her blue eyes blazed with anger.

“Oh-oh, boys it looks like we got the dander up on this fine lass.” Gerro said cupping the Halflings chin. She slapped his hand away with force. The four laughed again at the response. Suddenly, Gerro’s demeanor changed and he grabbed the Halfling by the neck, throwing her into an empty area between two stores. The four followed the Halfling, the half-orc dragging the old woman he still had by her collar. Her mother screamed behind tears, looking for anyone she could plead for help.

“Oh, no, no, no!” Jonno paced back in forth in confusion. “This will not do. No, not do at all” He was nearly frantic. He began to dart across the street, but remembered his studded jerkin. He would be recognized and that would be it for him in the Dink.

Whatever Gerro was into obviously gave him some clout and resource, and it didn’t look like whatever it was, was anything good. Even if he left, they would find his family and take his actions out on them.

He quickly took off his jerkin and threw it in the trash. Bounding up a wall and onto a roof, he walked to a beam that allowed him to leap across to a poll across the street. His dagger made a loud clank as he swung on the metal poll. Once steady on the roof, he took off the belt and left it in a corner to prevent alerting the gang.

He could hear the four laughing loudly, his mother screaming on the street and the old woman crying. He ran his hand through his hair. “My hair” he thought angrily. Gerro would easily recognize him, if just by his blonde hair.

A clothes line was stretched between the buildings and a red cloth was hanging to dry in arms reach. He snagged it from the line, cut two holes for his eyes and wrapped it around his head, gathering his hair underneath.

Now fully disguised, he silently walked to the back of the roof and looked down on the group. Gerro had his sister pinned by her neck on the wall. He flashed a fine dagger in front of her menacingly. She struggled with panic in her eyes, as the other three stood and laughed.

He dropped to the ground in the back of large alley without drawing the attention of the four. Raising his fists, as he did so often in these back alleys as a street fighter, he began to dance on his toes. He felt the mask draw his sweat from his eyes and found a peaceful freedom knowing it hid his identity. His dancing became naturally more rhythmic and he stepped closer.

The human was the first to notice Jonno. He alerted the other and they all stopped and looked at the hooded Halfling. What he thought was a simple nimble dance he did so many times in the ring, was not what the four saw. They saw this Halfling swaying back and forth, with fist raised, looking like a snake about to strike. Gerro and the half-orc dropped the two women, all four turned to Jonno.

“What we got here, fellas?” Gerro asked with honest confusion.

“Looks like da lil’ guy wants to fight ya, boss.” The dwarf responded.

“Is that what ya want?” Gerro asked, laughingly, bending over as if talking to a child.

Jonno was going to tell them to just to leave and no one would get hurt, but he knew these thugs weren’t going to leave, at least not leave with him standing. The things that happened next were hard for Jonno to recall. He simply let himself go and his body made all the moves.

“Gork, get em and bring em here.” Gerro ordered. The half-orc took a few steps towards Jonno. He reached out to grab him with a large and meaty hand. Jonno instinctively slid to the right, smack the half-orc’s wrist to the left and placing a punch at the exposed inner elbow, successfully dislocating it. The half-orc wailed in pain as Jonno put a fist into his stomach and then another into his side, sending him staggering to the wall unable to breath and holding his arm.

“What the…” Gerro exclaimed. “Get this guy!” Shellia screamed, making Jonno look at the dwarf as he pulled a small hatchet from his belt and threw it in Jonno’s direction. Jonno spun out of the way the flying axe, into a loaded crouch and then springing at the two. They lay on the ground in twitching heaps before they were able to draw another weapon.

Gerro was backing away while pulling out his sword. Jonno lunged, swatting the weapon out of his hand. He followed it with a cross that landed on Gerro’s cheek, sending teeth flying. Three more punches broke most of the tieflings ribs. A final uppercut sent him flying backwards in the air and landing motionless on his back.

Looking around, he saw three bodies on the ground and the half-orc whimpering helplessly in the corner. Shellia was helping the old woman to her feet. They were both staring at the shirtless and masked Halfling.

“Yo’ Pounder!” Jonno spun around to see a group of wide eye street urchins. “Yous gave these guys a poundin’!” The children all cheered and laughed as they descended on the three bodies to loot whatever they could find.

“Son, you better get out of here.” The old woman said at Jonno’s arm. The half-orc stumbled to his feet and ran past them with the children following him, laughing and chanting “you got a poundin’! you got a poundin’!”.

“She’s right, that thug is going straight to Turnleaf.” Shellia said, still staring at Jonno.

“What?...Who?” Jonno replied, surprised to hear that name.

“Turnleaf. The Crags? You know them, right?” she explained, “They run this place and Turnleaf is the boss. Nothing happens without him knowing about it first and I am guessing he didn’t know about this.” She waves her hand over the scene.

“He’s going to be upset and looking for you.” The old woman concludes. “That’s my guess, anyway.”

Jonno looked out to the street. More people were gathering to see what was happening. He took a few steps back and decided to heed the women’s advice. Leaping back up the wall and to the roof, he left without further notice.

The monasteries new master found Jonno sitting in the courtyard along the wall he helped build years earlier. He sat on a bench, still shirtless, with the red mask in his hands. His belt and dagger were at his feet.

“You’ve returned?” the master asked.

“Something happened, master.” Jonno said and explained the events, especially the clarity he found while fighting behind the mask.

“I believe the mask has helped you put away the things that prevented you from finding your purpose; perhaps your ki. This is important and a lesson you should not forget. What do you plan to do now?”

“The Crag’s have taken over my district and are doing terrible things. I must do something, I must take down Turnleaf.”

“I would be cautious. He is not the common street thug you knew before; he has taken his organization to great power. He is surrounded by some of the most dangerous criminals in the city.” Jonno was a bit surprised by the master’s knowledge of his district.

“Then I will practice and find my way; maybe learn to focus my ki; maybe fix the wrongs I committed.” He said reminiscently.

“What about your family? How will you keep them safe from Turnleaf?” the master asked.

“They called me the Pounder on the street, that name and my mask will keep those I love safe while allowing me to protect those in need.”

“Then you will stay?”

“No, I need to learn my own path and take the fight to them my own way. Perhaps I will find allies on my journey to aid me.”

“Very well, Jonno, but remember, you shall always have allies here, as well.” The master said, putting a hand on Jonno’s shoulder. He then turned and walked out of the courtyard while saying, “Pounder?” with a slight laugh.

Pounder packed lightly, only in his simple clothes and a sling around his waist. He picked up his trusty dagger and looked at it for some time. He saw it covered in blood. He saw that old woman’s face, so long ago; he saw her blood on the blade. Putting the blade in his pack, he swore he would never use it as a weapon again.

He placed the mask in his pocket. At the door, he looked back at the monastery this time before leaving. He saw the mountain motif and the stone wall in the back. Opening the door, he walked out into the night.

He was Pounder and those that look to do others wrong would be right to know that name.

Jonno is a large Halfling, over three feet tall which is pretty big for a Halfling, and a shock of blond hair topped his head. He was an up and coming street fighter and common Thugs in one of the more depressed areas of Absalom.

After a particularly violent night that included botched robbery, Jonno found himself in a mysterious monastery. There he was taught their martial skills and given a new direction in his life. He became a vigilante of sorts that hides is identity behind a mask and has sworn off any blades. This is how he earned his alter-ego, the Pounder.

Now, he spends his days training to hone his skills, routing out evil and oppression, waiting for the day to have the opportunity to free his own neighborhood from a crime boss and possibly find personal redemption.

I have no problem posting daily or even multiple times a day. In short, my schedule is wide open and I am eager to play.

My original plan was to have Jonno become a Martial Artists and branch off into some fighter. I really wanted to explore the unarmed fighter possibilities. But, with this story line, I think it would be more interesting to see if he how he would handle his growing ki pool. As the world discovers magic, so would Jonno seems like a storyline with all sorts of possibilities.

Also, if Jonno is taken away from his home, would he need to use his mask (which focuses his ki)? Would he be able to get back home and finish the business with the mob boss that is oppressing his family? If he feels he can’t get back home, what will he fight for?

These are some good questions that I would like to explore.

When Jonno was asked what he would do in this new world, he responded:

“De’ gots people pushin’ others around, right? Don’t answer that, of course they do. There is always people like that wherever yous go. Probably along one of those big rivers, in a some town that moves a lot of boats, someone tryin’ to get an upperhand and doin’ what ever to get it. I would start there, I guess. Walk the bank and see who needs some help or maybe look for a big city, stay close to the ground and keep my ears open.”

HP: 23
AC: 16, Touch: 14, Flat-footed: 12

Speed 30ft (20ft due to medium load)
Initiative: 4

Str: 8
Dex: 18
Con: 14 (-15 to die)
Wis: 14
Int: 10
Cha: 12

BAB: 2
CMB: 1
CMD: 15

Fort: 4 (9 to stabilise when dying)
Ref: 9 - Evasion
Will: 2

Combat:

Sneak Attack: Within 40ft of target, deal an extra 1d6 damage.

Musket - +7, 1d12+1 x4, 40ft, capacity 1, misfire 1-3 (5ft), b and p
Two handed weapon – Reload as a move action.

Nodachi - +1, 1d10-1, 18-20x2, p or s

Traits:

Noble Born: +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (Nobility) it’s a class skill for you.
Adopted – Halfling penalty decrease to sniping

Alternate Racial – Heart of the wilderness

Feats/Rogue Talents:

1a. Point-blank Shot
1b. Precise Shot
1c. Gunsmithing
1d. Rapid Reload (reload 2-handed musket as a move action)
3. Extra Rogue Talent: Fast Stealth – Take no penalty on stealth moving full speed.
Talent – Ninja Trick: Deadly Range - A ninja with this ninja trick increases the range at which she can deal sneak attack damage by 10 feet. A ninja can take this trick more than once. Its effects stack.

Skills:

Acrobatics*: 10 (4 dex, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Climb*: 5 (-1 str, 2 ranks, 3 class)
Diplomacy*: 5 (1 cha, 1 rank, 3 class)
Disable Device*: 8 (4 dex, 1 rank, 3 class)
Escape Artist*: 8 (4 dex, 1 rank, 3 class)
Knowledge (Local)*: 4 (0 int, 1 ranks, 3 class)
Knowledge (Nobility): 5 (0 int, 1 rank, 4 trait)
Perception*: 8 (2 wis, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Sense Motive*: 6 (2 wis, 2 ranks, 3 class)
Stealth*: 10 (4 dex, 3 ranks, 3 class)
Survival*: 6, 7 to track (2 wis, 1 rank, 3 class)
Swim*: 3 (-1 str, 1 ranks, 3 class)

Gear: Leather Armour (10gp, +2AC, +6 Dex, 16lb’s), +1 Musket (2,300gp, 9lb’s, broken to anyone but me), Nodachi (60gp, 1d10, 18-20x2, brace, 8lb’s, s or p), Gunsmith’s Kit (15gp, 2lb’s), Alchemical Cartridge, Paper (Bullet x50, 600gp), Grappling Hook (1gp, 4lb’s) and Silk Rope (50ft, 10gp, 5lb’s).

Wealth: 4gp

Light load: 26 lb’s
Medium load: 53 lb’s
Heavy load: 80 lb’s
Lift overhead: 80 lb’s
Lift off ground: 160lb’s
Drag/Push: 400lb’s

Carrying: 43lb’s (Medium Load)