Akbar Contanti's page

Akbar finally made eye contact with Naomi. "Supposedly, Cheliax was some great empire once. Something went wrong, I guess. F+~!ers worship the devil. And all halflings are slaves. I ...got out. At great cost. It is ...hard for me to ...trust bal--humans."

Akbar's eyes darted from Boram to the baldfoots and back, with some time left over for staring at something near his shoes. Finally, he said softly, "I trust them now. I ...have not had very good experiences with humans in the past."

Do I dare tell them more? They saved Boram's life ...yes. Yes. Take this chance, Akbar. There is no reason that all humans would be like ...Besides ...they didn't recognize my accent.

"I am from ...Cheliax. Perhaps you've heard how they treat my kind there."

The fight with the scorpions seemed to be over as fast as it started. Scorpions, Akbar had seen before; but he'd never encountered any this size. As the priest and the warpriest rushed to Boram's aid, Akbar's eyes went even wider than when the scorpions appeared.

They ...they help him. They're saving his life ...baldfoots saving a halfling ...I may have found a good group after all.

However there was a new baldfoot, a loud one at that. Someone else from the lottery ...the only survivor of his group it seems. One day and already his party was down to one. Seemed an ill omen, but Akbar said nothing. Though he now knew he could trust his baldfoot companions, this newcomer needed to be thoroughly vetted and watched as well.

Akbar made his way to Boram's side. "An bhfuil tú ceart go leor? Féach ar tú, an Belle ar an liathróid. Gach na cinn ard ag cur cúraim ar tú! Sneaky tú diabhal!"

ooc: please forgive brevity tonight. Sick and comp is down so doing this on my s!$+ty phone

Akbar's eyes go wide at the scorpions and he ducks under cover. stealth: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29

A moment later be pops up to shoot the nearest scorpion.shortbow: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9damage: 2d4 ⇒ (4, 1) = 5

Oh, wow. I really feel like a dumb dumb. OK, I'll get that to you. My brain has been super scattered of late.

"What's it like here? I mean really?" Akbar asked of the patrol. Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22 "Anything we should know?"

Akbar knew that if you wanted the real dirt on a situation, you look for the people lowest on the totem pole. All leaders and lords had were ideas. They didn't observe.

The local ruins always amazed him. Well, once he remembered how old they were. Well beyond what the damn Chels were doing at that point. Akbar didn't know much about architecture, but he knew when someone was built to last. Akbar wasn't familiar with the one they were going to, as it was quite a bit deeper into the necropolis than he felt comfortable going on his solo trips.

He wasn't prepared for what he was about to see. Just the sheer size of it all ...Akbar reflexively shrunk further into himself, back to the extreme furtive creature from when they had all come together.

Here's the character sheet, boss. http://paizo.com/people/AkbarContanti

Oh, wow ...I don't think I fully realized how important the recaps were. I've missed a lot. Apologies. I get it now.

Bluff: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (2) + 10 = 12"Er, my father was from Andoran and my mother from Galt. My accent might be a mix of those and halfling."

Akbar stumbled over his words a bit, cursing himself for an amateur. He knew he was a much better liar than that ...and that no one should know he was from Cheliax, not yet, at least.

Then later ...

"Now, like I said, I'm all for treating the bodies nice, but I'll tell you this, a dead man doesn't need any stuff. They're dead."

Suddenly the small halfling spoke up, louder than any had heard him before. Actually projecting his voice at normal levels! Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27"I'm not a native here, but Wati has been very good to me. I see no profit in dealing with foreign traders. I have watched and listened to these others, and they are very respectful towards the dead and local custom. It seems like they've all been here longer than me, so I'd be your chief concern. And all I have to say about me is I'm not here to cause anyone problems."

Akbar receives the human hospitality with a great deal of trepidation. At first, he makes sure to keep near the other halfling, but after the casual mention of Chelish food, even his fellow humanoid seemed something to be wary of. The food that was served, however, was pretty damned delicious, to the point that Akbar almost let his guard down. The others, if they noticed his exceedingly poor table manners, said nothing of his scarfing, belching, desperate manner of eating. He still hadn't become used to eating like a free man. Nonetheless, he said little throughout the night, as his only idea for a team name was the team name he had always dreamt of, "Akbar and the Other Ones."

The next day at the opening ceremony, Akbar didn't quite notice that he looked for Thane, not any of the others, as his way to find his new group of companions. If he had noticed, he might rationalize it was the damn brute's height. He certainly wasn't starting to trust someone, a damned baldfoot at that.

Akbar and the Other Ones!

This guy has a house? And a wife? Maybe he's not Chelish. Doesn't mean he's trustworthy though," Akbar thought. Then he felt his stomach rumble. Free food is free food, though. And maybe the alchemist is right and these baldfoots are OK. That Cayden guy Maurice keeps talking about supposedly was a baldfoot.

Akbar nodded. "Thank you for the invitation. I will join you for dinner and discussion." His stomach growled even more loudly. And case the joint while I'm at it. If he can afford all those big weapons ...he might not miss some cutlery ...

The drunk was persistent. Akbar considered dropping a dagger into his palm from his sleeve, but decided to see how the big ones reacted first. He reminded himself not every baldfoot was a Chelish slaver or their ilk. He decided instead to wait and watch, unseen, waiting for the drunk to make a wrong move. Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Akbar's body tenses as the large drunk human approaches. As the heavily armed northern human confronts him, Akbar smells violence in the air. He attempts to nonchalantly and quietly make his way behind the drunk, placing the drunk in between himself and the possible Chelish bounty hunter.

Stealth: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (20) + 13 = 33

It was damnably hot, but shade is easy to find if you’re a Halfling well-versed in being overlooked. The still-pale, almost sickly-so Akbar was dressed all in black, loose fitting robes of the style of the area hiding anything on his body he didn’t want obvious, which was pretty much everything he owned. His eyes skitted from place to place as he nervously took in the scene. Bas—er, Akbar listened to the baldfoot priest yammer on and on about rules. Maybe they made sense in his religion, but it honestly just seemed like common sense. Don’t kill people, don’t f~&% with corpses unless you absolutely have to …this wasn’t his first rodeo.
Akbar was apprehensive, anyway. Well, even more apprehensive than normal. As the names of the groups got called, it dawned on him he hadn’t already joined a group. He saw a bunch of his kind all riding dogs, but they didn’t even reply when he spoke to them. Soon enough, every group had been registered, and he was still there. There were four others left, probably losers, three of which were baldfoots. S#&#, he thought.
The light-skinned male baldfoot kept looking at Akbar. He wasn’t a local, though he was dressed as one. Armed to the teeth. A bounty hunter for Cheliax? Why the hell was the son of a b!~$# looking at him? Akbar avoided eye contact but pictured how satisfying it would be if he slit the big idiot’s throat.
His reverie was interrupted by the other four beginning to talk to each other. Akbar sidled up to the Halfling with all the fancy gear. ”Hey . Tá mé Akbar . An bhfuil muid ag dul a bheith greamaithe leis na píosaí ard de cac ?” he asked, subtly gesturing towards the others.