Hell's Rebels: An Unkindness in Kintargo

Game Master Branding Opportunity

What few realise is that Shamsi, seemingly, arrived in Kintargo only a handful of months ago with no family, no history, and papers so ordinary they invite no second glance. The truth disappeared just like the smoke of the fire on the night that still haunts her conscience. A night when the Gilded Moth Theatre turned to ash. But that life ended just like the lives of actors and stagehands whose final performance drew the wrong kind of attention. With the doors barred from outside and the watch merely observing from a distance as the small building burned, the fire that consumed the theatre was meant to end a story. Instead, it left behind a survivor, standing in the street with untouched celebration food growing cold in her hands, watching the only home she had ever known burn to nothing.

Since then, Shamsi has learned the value of quiet words, careful lies, and the power of an invisible hand, guiding the mood of the crowd. She does not shout her defiance, nor does she wear it openly. In a city where laughter can be just as dangerous as a memory, she practices a gentler rebellion. Whispers, passing glances, and the hope that fire-starting stories reemerge.

On the day of the protest, Shamsi tells herself she will not go. Public gatherings in Kintargo tend to be dangerous, and she has survived one fire already by being somewhere else. She finishes her work slowly, lingers over small tasks, chooses streets that should lead her anywhere but Aria Park. And yet, step by step, corner by corner, without realising it, she drifts closer instead of farther away. By the time she stops convincing herself, the crowd is already in sight. Time to find a vantage point.

Defense
AC 17, Touch 15, Flat-footed 13
HP 10
Fort 3, Ref 7, Will 3 (3+4 vs Fear)

Offense
Speed 30 ft.
Melee Dagger +5 (1d3-1 19-20x2),

Mesmerist spells known (CL 1; concentration +4)
0th (at will - DC 13)
Dancing Lights
Ghost Sound
Prestidigitation
Touch of Fatigue

1st (2/day - DC 14)
Faerie Fire
Grease

Statistics
Str 8, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 10, Cha 16
BAB +0; CMB -2; CMD 12

Feats Weapon Finesse;

SQ Consumate Liar; Hypnotic Stare; Knacks; Painful Stare;

Skills
Acrobatics +5
Bluff +8
Diplomacy +7
Linguistics +4 - Background
Perception +6
Profession (Barkeep) +4 - Background
Stealth +12;

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

Gifted Satirist (Campaign) - You grew up among Kintargo’s performers and entertainers. Perhaps your parents or older siblings were singers at the Kintargo Opera House, or maybe you simply had to make ends meet as an orphan of the streets by busking. Whatever the case, you’ve long been exposed to the practice of cloaking scathing political commentaries in the form of harmless entertainment. Whether you conceal your satire in the form of novels, plays, screeds, or public letters, you’ve yet to make a name for yourself as a political presence in Kintargo—but in time, you hope to change that!

You gain a +1 trait bonus on Linguistics checks, and Linguistics is always a class skill for you. In addition, your irreverent attitude grants you a +2 trait bonus on all saving throws against fear effects.[/url]

Racials
+2 Dexterity, +2 Charisma, –2 Strength: Halflings are nimble and strong-willed, but their small statures make them weaker than other races.
Small: Halflings are Small creatures and gain a +1 size bonus to their AC, a +1 size bonus on attack rolls, a –1 penalty on combat maneuver checks and to their Combat Maneuver Defense, and a +4 size bonus on Stealth checks.
Slow Speed: Halflings have a base speed of 20 feet.
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.
Sure-Footed: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on Acrobatics and Climb checks.
Weapon Familiarity: Halflings are proficient with slings and treat any weapon with the word “halfling” in its name as a martial weapon.
Fleet of Foot: Some halflings are quicker than their kin but less cautious. Halflings with this racial trait move at normal speed and have a base speed of 30 feet. This racial trait replaces slow speed and sure-footed.

Languages: Common, Gnome, Halfling

Halflings begin play speaking Common and Halfling. Halflings with high Intelligence scores can choose from the following languages: Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, and Goblin.

Gear:
Outfit, Traveller's
Bedroll
Mess kit
Waterskin
Flint and steel
Belt pouch
Bandolier
Leather armor
Dagger

Weight 9.375 | Cost 21.7 | GP left 28.3

Dante Allesverloren
Tiefling unchained rogue 1 (Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 264, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
N Medium outsider (native)
Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +5
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Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +1, Ref +6, Will +1
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
--------------------
Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee cold iron short sword +2 (1d6/19-20) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . light mace +4 (1d6+1) or
. . silver short sword +2 (1d6/19-20)
Special Attacks sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +0)
. . 1/day—darkness
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 12, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 15, Wis 12, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 15
Feats Two-weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse
Skills Acrobatics +8, Appraise +6, Bluff +5, Climb +5, Disable Device +9, Escape Artist +8, Intimidate +3, Knowledge (local) +6, Perception +5, Sense Motive +5, Sleight of Hand +8, Stealth +10, Use Magic Device +3; Racial Modifiers +2 Bluff, +2 Stealth
Languages Common, Draconic, Halfling, Infernal
SQ prehensile tail[ARG], trapfinding +1
Combat Gear caltrops; Other Gear leather armor, cold iron short sword, dagger (3), light mace, silver short sword, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, chalk (5), flint and steel, grappling hook, mess kit[UE], piton (10), silk rope (50 ft.), thieves' tools, waterskin, whetstone, 20 gp, 6 sp, 3 cp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Prehensile Tail Your tail can retrieve small objects on your person as a swift action.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Trapfinding +1 Gain a bonus to find or disable traps, including magical ones.

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I've also gotten into disagreements with some GMs--and chose to leave games as a result--over one of two issues:
1. I advocate for player agency; save for obvious circumstances (e.g., consented-to botting, GMs performing standard issue Perception or Sense Motive checks for PCs, GMs summarizing combat actions already made, mind control), players should describe their own PCs' actions, feelings, and reactions, and neither GMs nor other players should write those things for them.

2. Given we are in a public global forum full of strangers, I do not wish my PCs to engage in scenarios involving flirtation, propositions, romance, affectionate or intimate touching, sex, abuse, or harassment. If someone for narrative reasons wants to go in that direction, I expect the player/GM to reach out to me about it first, out of character, before posting it in game.

II. Freedom and joining the community of Erastil in Rostland
Maybe it was fate or maybe it was Old Deadeye’s plan but one day a concerted strike on the evil sorceress’ hideout by the Bellflower Network led to the freedom of all slaves including Karda and her brother. After the liberation, it was a human follower of Erastil from Molthune, Stan Wol, who took Karda and her brother under his wing. Stan over time became almost like a father, showing them that while Karda still held to the tenets of Asmodeus, there were other deities and communities that valued the bonds of family over the chains of bondage.
In the years after her escape Karda and her brother stayed together with Stan in Molthune. Here, a small group from different races prayed to Erastil and lived off the land. This community raised Karda with the sensibilities that hard work wins well-deserved gains, and that it is important to uphold personal and familial honor. This upbringing created a perspective for Karda to become a follower of Erastil who values the stability and loyalty of a tight-knit community, believing that a true leader protects their flock rather than needlessly slaughtering them.

III. Living the life of a soldier in Molthune and choosing her own path
When Stan decided that it was time for Karda and her brother to start their own life, they complied and eventually decided that it is time for them to receive a formal training in the art of combat. Karda and her brother were lucky to be chosen as Molthuni arsenal chaplains and eventually became warpriests of Erastil. In the Arsenal District in Korholm, Karda was part of an elite force that focused on the militant aspects of the faith.
But Karda realized after some time that she had to start following her own goals. She had a heartfelt desire to return to her mother's birthplace, the city of Kintargo. She remembered her mother’s stories of the "City of Silver," a place of culture and beauty that had been stifled under the boot of House Thrune. Her brother had other plans, and thus they had to say goodbye for the first time.
Karda then arrived in Kintargo and initially was uncertain about what is going on, but she has heard of the "Night of Ashes" and the arrival of the new Lord-Mayor, Barzillai Thrune. To Karda, Barzillai’s chaotic cruelty and his corruption of the law are an insult to her faith. She has come to find her mother's legacy and to support those fighting against the local Church of Asmodeus and to prove that true life does not need the senseless tyranny currently strangling Kintargo.

d100 roll : 1d100 ⇒ 99 =>> 99 You have a natural fly speed of 20 feet (poor)

Oh, that actually fits to a Garuda-Blooded (Plumekith) Aasimar.
~

If you do not allow it, then please disregard.

Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +1
_____________________
Offense h
_____________________
Speed 30 ft (40 base)
Melee Greataxe +4 (1d12+4) x3
Melee [Rage] Greataxe +6 (1d12+6) x3
Melee Dagger +4 (1d4+3) 19-20x2
Ranged Javelin +2 (1d6+3) x2 30ft
____________________
Statistics
_____________________
STR: 17 DEX: 12 CON: 14 INT: 12 WIS: 12 CHA: 10
Base Attack +1, CMB +4, CMD 15
Feats: Power Attack, Improved Sunder
Traits: Fed-up Citizen, Affable
Skills: Diplomacy 4, Knowledge: Local 5, Stealth 5, Disguise 5, Perception 5, Climb 4
Background Skills: Profession: Clerk 5, Knowledge: Nobility 5
Languages: Common, Infernal
Gear: Scale Mail, Greataxe, dagger, javelin (2), backpack, a belt pouch, a blanket, a flint and steel, an iron pot, rope, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), and a waterskin.
Gold: 22gp
____________________
Racial Abilities
____________________
Bonus Feat
+1 skill point/level
______________________
Abilities
______________________
Fast movement, rage (6 rounds)
_________________

The first time Varro felt the pressure behind his eyes—the thing that would later become his rage—it was not during violence, but during confinement.
A troupe of street performers were arrested for “disruptive rhetoric.” No weapons. No rebellion. Just words that made people laugh too freely. Varro processed the orders himself. The paperwork was flawless. The cages were clean. The execution followed every statute.
Watching them die, Varro understood something that Cheliax never taught him:
The law did not exist to protect people from cruelty. It existed to make cruelty efficient.

Still, he complied.
The breaking point came when compliance demanded betrayal.
A magistrate requested confirmation of a single name—quietly, politely. Varro recognized the tactic instantly. Cooperation meant trust. Refusal meant suspicion. He told himself that one name could not matter in a system this vast.
The knock on his sister’s door came three nights later.
Chains. Charges. A warrant sealed in red wax.
In that moment, Varro’s rage did not erupt outward. It turned inward, crushing every instinct that had ever told him to stand aside, to wait, to defer. Something old and fundamental tore free—not anger at Thrune, but refusal of dominion.

When the Hellknights moved to bind her, Varro moved between them.

His first rage was not about killing.

It was about breaking holds.

He remembers snapping a manacle like rotten twine. He remembers the shock on a Hellknight’s face as control simply failed. He remembers dragging his sister free while steel rang uselessly against him, every strike only hardening his resolve.

Later, people would say he fought like a madman.

Varro knew better.

He fought like someone who could no longer tolerate seeing others restrained.

Now, as part of the rebellion, Varro is the one sent when people are:

Shackled

Enspelled

Cornered by authority that refuses to listen

His rage flares when allies are pinned, silenced, or forced to kneel. It burns hottest when someone else’s will is being overwritten—by chains, by fear, by infernal magic dressed up as law.

He doesn’t chase glory. He breaks lines. He opens doors. He stands between victims and systems that claim ownership over them.

Varro still knows the laws of Cheliax. He uses that knowledge ruthlessly—finding the seams, the contradictions, the moments where authority overreaches and exposes itself.

He doesn’t want anarchy.

He wants a world where no one has to ask permission to breathe freely.

And when his rage comes—focused, unrelenting, liberating—it is not because Varro has abandoned civilization.

It’s because he refuses to let civilization become a cage.

He stands a little over six feet, broad-shouldered but not hulking—built from years of lifting cargo manifests’ crates and dockside work rather than battlefield glory. His frame carries strength in the practical way of someone accustomed to labor, not spectacle. There is nothing ostentatious about him at first glance.

His hair is a dark, iron-brown, worn shorter than fashion in Kintargo would dictate—kept neat out of long habit from his clerk days. It curls slightly when damp with sweat, especially at the temples. A faint streak of silver threads above his right ear, not from age, but from a night that changed him.

His face is square and steady, with the kind of features that disappear easily in a crowd: straight nose, firm mouth, strong jaw perpetually set as though he is holding words back. His skin bears the olive tone common among Chelish dockworkers, weathered by sea air rather than campaign dust.

His eyes are what unsettle people.

They are a deep, muted gray—calm, observant, analytical. The eyes of a man who once read contracts for flaws. But when his rage begins to rise, that gray seems to harden, sharpen, like steel catching light. There is no wildness in it—only certainty. The expression of someone who has decided that restraint is no longer required.

A thin scar crosses his left forearm, pale and rope-like—the mark of a Hellknight’s manacle biting too deep before it snapped. He does not hide it. In fact, he keeps his sleeves rolled when among the rebellion, the scar visible as quiet testimony.

His clothing remains practical and understated:
Dark dockworker’s trousers reinforced at the knees

Heavy boots built for cobblestone and ship deck alike

A sleeveless leather coat fitted close to the torso, allowing full movement

Gloves with the fingers cut free—useful for grip, easier to tear away if someone tries to bind him

He wears no jewelry save for a small iron ring on a cord around his neck. It is bent out of shape—once part of a chain. He keeps it not as a trophy, but as a reminder.

When standing at ease, Varro’s posture is controlled, almost formal. Shoulders back. Chin level. A man who once believed in hierarchy.

When danger approaches, that posture changes subtly. His weight shifts forward. His hands open slightly. His breathing slows rather than quickens.

And when he steps between someone and their oppressor, there is nothing theatrical in him—no roar, no bravado.

Only the quiet, terrifying presence of a man who has decided that no one will be taken while he still stands.