Arden Coralesian's page

Arden Coralesian should have died in the Nirmathi wilderness with his parents and the caravan that they were traveling with. A dwarven patrol from Skelt heard the baby's cries and found him hidden under a damaged wagon. Unwilling to abandon Arden to the wilds, the leader of the patrol, Dargram Coralesian, took the child back to Skelt, presuming that he could be returned to his own kind when the next human caravan came to trade. What he didn't count on however was his wife, Fyora, forming an immediate bond and refusing any suggestion that he be handed over to some human strangers.

Despite the love of his foster parents and the stability that the dwarven town provided, Arden was reclusive, finding escapism in books and stories, rather than the rough-and-tumble games of the other youngsters. Dargram found that his son had a natural aptitude for engineering and design, if not for the more physical requirements of mining and stonecutting, and encouraged him to learn, pointedly remarking that Arden's mind was the sole thing that his real parents left him, but it was as fine a gift as anyone could wish for.

As a teen, Dargram continued to study, learning much from a the loremaster of the town and from a number of tutors that his father was able to afford. His designs for a new water powered ore grinder and a lightweight drawbridge were leading him toward a career as an engineer until his powers began to manifest. The first time he instinctively teleported out of the way of some falling masonry that surely would have crushed him. The next time, his frustration at a beam that gave way unexpectedly, ruining a building, overcame him and he blasted the remnants of the beam in all directions with just the power of his mind.

While he was stunned at these events, the other townsfolk did little to conceal their distrust, particularly when rumors of lights shining from the boy's eyes started to spread. Some whispered of sorcery, others of darker things. Dargram soon realised that the boy's future lay elsewhere. Using the savings that he and Fyora had accumulated, he was able to sponsor Arden to attend the Acadamae in Korvosa, hoping that he would be able to achieve some measure of control over his abilities.

Arden's time at the Acadamae was one of delight mixed with frustration. He was awestruck by some of the experiments at the university and the opportunity for learning that the library offered (such as learning Thassilonian), but his arcane studies did not go as planned. Despite showing initial promise, he was unable to master even simple cantrips and before long it was identified that he was not a wizard, but rather a psionicist, and would be unable to continue. Humbled and guilt-ridden, he turned to the only thing he knew and found work as an engineer, and then architect in order to support himself, while he sought to understand his abilities himself.

In the ten years since, he has found success as an architect, though the majority of the wealth he has made has been divided between sending monies back to his foster parents and setting up a modest orphanage to help those who found themselves in the same situation as he but were not so lucky.

Arden has a strong sense of what is right, supported by a keen desire to help the vulnerable, orphans in particular. He is reserved and modest, despite his breadth of knowledge, as he still fights to reconcile his foster parents' expectations and - what he perceives to be - his failure at the Acadamae. On more than one occasion he has had to intervene as slavers or other ne'er-do-wells have sought to exploit those that he feels protective toward. He still retains an almost child-like inquisitiveness in many subjects and enjoys learning as much as he always has.

That said, Arden has learned to deal with the difficulties of life through a sardonic internal monologue, and while he may display calm and caution outwardly, inwardly he's rather more colorful. Sometimes this manifests as a wry smile to himself or a sparkle in his gray-blue eyes.

1. A description of what your character looks like. What clothes do they wear? What do they do with their hair? Are they clean or dirty? Do they accessorize?
Arden has a talent for always appearing slightly-out-of-place, no matter the company in which he is in. While he may usually dress in expensive clothing, as his position as an artisan - and his clients - demand, he can't hide the social awkwardness that plagues him. His appearance is often for the benefit of others, so while he may have his long red hair fashionably cut, he takes no particular pleasure in it, and while he remembers to wash daily, accoutrements such as jewelry and cologne are beyond him. He hasn't forgotten his roots in the wilderness and would probably surprise himself with how quickly he adjusts back into a more practical way of life.

He is a slight 5'9", around 160 lbs, the dedication to his trade, his responsibilities and research leave little time for exercise and hedonistic excess, even if he had a particular interest.

2. An explanation for why the Korvosan Guard would call on them for help. Are they a local mercenary with a good reputation? Are they a community leader with public goodwill on their side? Are they a guardsman themselves? Are they an informant in the criminal underworld of the city? It's your call!
Arden is known to the guard as someone who has helped with homing orphans and other vulnerable people - as a consequence he learns of many things happening in Old Korvosa and remains fiercely independent from any criminal enterprises. Additionally, some guardsmen are aware, through hearsay, that he possesses some 'mystic' powers which have been used to dissuade certain parties from exploiting those under his protection.

3. Tell me where your character from. Are they a Korvosan native? Are they from Kaer Maga? Are they a Shoanti, or a Chelaxian?
Arden has pale skin and is of clear Chelish stock, despite being raised in Nirmathas. He has been unable to determine who his real parents were, and often identifies as a firstly as a dwarf before he catches himself.

His first language is dwarven and in times of stress he occasionally reverts back to it as an exclamation of surprise or else to make use of the bounty of profanity it offers, while protecting the more genteel ears of other folk.

4. How did your character become whatever character class they are, or learn whatever abilities they have?
Arden's psionic powers manifested during his teenage years when he was under stress. Formal identification came at the Acadamae - just as they were inviting him to leave. Since then he has slowly learned to master the abilities he has through trial and error and research of the few books about psionics he has been able to access.

5. What does your character do for a living? When and why did they start doing that?
He has worked in Korvosa as an architect for almost ten years, having labored upon a range of projects from new dwellings for the rich to fortifications for the city walls and improvements to some of the Old Korvosan bridges. He performs pro bono work at a number of social projects and is slowly extending and developing the orphanage which he founded into a refuge for other vulnerable persons.

Now in his early thirties (32) his thoughts of late have occasionally turned to the importance of family, but at present he sees his ongoing responsibilities as being more important than anything else. This also means that he doesn't have to face his trepidation about changing the situation.

6. Is your character religious? Why? What does faith mean for your character?
Arden still follows Torag, whom his parents followed. While not particularly devout, he still acknowledges the god when he has a spark of creativity or is able to protect the vulnerable. He appreciates the aesthetic values of Saranrae and Shelyn, and the importance of knowledge that Irori advocates.

7. Your character must in some way care about Korvosa. For some, this is because it's their home and the place where their family is from. For others, it's because it's a place of opportunity where you can make a good buck if you're lucky and ready for it. Why does your character care about being a city hero?
Simply, after being raised in Skelt - despite its many engineering marvels - he fell in love with Korvosa the day he set foot in it and saw the light of the setting sun upon the host of magnificent buildings. While he once planned to return to Skelt, Korvosa is now home and he can't envision himself living anywhere else.
He has also, despite his reserved nature, made several friends in the city, be it his dwarven landlady (and her friendly house drake), the half-orc matron of the orphanage or his professional colleagues.

8. What are your character's moral lines? What would they never do? What can they not stand by and watch? What will they always take advantage of?
Arden has a strong moral compass, no doubt in part to him firm, dwarven upbringing. He sees that the capable have a duty to care for the innocent. He supports rules and laws as necessary for civilisation but is also cognizant that they must work for everyone, not the advantage of those that make them. He can't stand by while the innocent or vulnerable are threatened and has surprised himself with the courage that such situations instill within him. He believes that many people deserve a second chance, as misfortune or bad choices can happen to anyone, and consequently would rather subdue than kill people (and other good or neutral, sentient humanoids) if it would be safe to do so.

9. If you have a character who has sworn a code (such as a Paladin or Cavalier, for example) be explicit in what that code entails.
N/A

10. What's your characters economic situation, and the economic situation of their family? A desperately poor character with a rich family tells a very different story than a desperately poor character with a poor family.
Arden should be wealthy, but his various concerns have eaten into that wealth. His foster parents are not poor, but he still feels guilt for failing to graduate from the Acadamae and his payments (which have outstripped their gift to him) have been his way of dealing with it. He rents a couple of modest rooms from a dwarven landlady not far from the orphanage/refuge that he owns (and pours most of his earnings into).

Arden never used to care for those that call themselves 'vigilantes' - acting beyond the righteous authority of the law and dispensing justice as they saw fit. Hiding behind masks was something that footpads and robbers did, a categorization that he felt suited vigilantes only too well.

As if to underline his views, he was working late one spring evening, hurrying to get an architectural model finished in his office on the second floor of the orphanage. His stalled roof repairs had created quite a draft. That'll teach me for ordering the parts from that smooth talking halfling, he reflected. Despite his haste, he was still careful and methodical, as was his way. And this was quite the piece. He'd spent almost twenty hours on this particular work, re-creating the estate of Lord Viskforth in painstaking detail. The mathematically correct dimensions, the curved dome of the hallway, the Lord and Lady themselves, on the balcony overlooking the city. A veritable masterpiece, he proudly thought to himself.

Pausing to add a couple of logs to the fire and stretch his arms, he cocked his head to listen to the sounds of some guards in the adjoining street, shouting and cursing. Is that really necessary at this time of night? he pondered. Then he heard someone softly land upon the roof, right above his head. They were stealthy, no doubt, for if he hadn't been right underneath them at that moment he wouldn't have heard them. Intrigued, he followed each of their steps as they quickly moved from one side of the building, next to the other and then along toward the far end... where the gap was because he was waiting for the replacement rafters. ...and in the darkness outside they won't see the oiled tarpaulin I stretched across the gap in the roof he concluded, as a cold shiver raced up his spine.

His eyes snapped up as, almost on cue, a dark figure came crashing through the ceiling, wrapped protectively in the oiled tarpaulin as their fall was broken, first by his model, and then by the table upon that supported it - the four legs each shooting off in separate directions.

Gah! he choked, his mouth trying to spit out surprise, exasperation and a dwarven expletive at the same time, and then was overcome with a short coughing fit. By the time he stood up straight again, the figure - the woman, was on her feet, initially appearing somewhat sheepish, but then adopting a defensive stance. White tuxedo. Grey gloves. A hooded grey cloak. WTF? he noted, before his rising anger took control of his actions. How dare you! he squealed, his voice hitting an unmanly octave - as it was prone to do around the opposite gender, My roof, my table, my model! You common vandal!.

He balled up his fists in anger, to which the woman's pose subtly shifted to one of disdain. I... was all he was able to say before the woman snapped a rapier from a sheath and had it under his chin, almost encouraging him to try and dare utter another syllable. With an awkward, almost pained look on his face: part shock, part fear, part humiliation, he reflexively teleported away from her, getting some much-needed space between them. It also afforded him time to take a deep breath, and her momentary surprise allowed him to raise his hands protectively and wreath them in light, ready to defend himself, it needs be.

Goodness, she's quick. he thought, Just stop and think. She has a rapier and appears to know how to use it. You're still holding a log for the fire, you prat. As the adrenaline ebbed, he spoke more calmly, I apologize, that was not particularly gentlemanly of me, however I must ask you to leave these premises. She nodded once, and elegantly pounced out through the window, glass spraying everywhere. His jaw dropped, My window! he wailed. But no one was listening.

Surveying the damage of his model, he came across a small, strangely stamped silver coin that the woman had dropped. Thinking it rather curious, he pocketed it and went downstairs to release some his frustrations in complaining to Griselda, the half orc matron of the orphanage. But she would have none of it. After hearing that he had been visited by the Silver Ghost she impressed upon him how much that Silver Cloaked Crusader has done for the poor of the city. Red-faced and embarrassed by his actions, he resolved to apologise. This woman was someone that he should be helping.

Since then, Arden started to collect notes upon the vigilante, initially so that he might use his reasoning to perhaps locate her and tender a formal apology. Perhaps even offer any assistance he might be able to give to such an exciting character. Though what could he offer someone like that? Somewhere to hide perhaps? Supplying them with some of the local rumors that the street kids passed his way? Why on Golarion did he treat her like that? Fool. As the note collecting became more organised, he developed a passion for it, enquiring about sightings of the Silver Ghost, even gazing out over the city at night on occasion, giving a wistful sigh and shaking his head sadly.

Perhaps on the face of it, Mackeson and Arden shouldn't give each other the time of day. One being a human intellectual with little idea of how to enjoy himself, the other being a dwarven adherent to the god of hedonism. One being an armor clad asskicker, wielding a kukri with deadly purpose, the other being a serious bookworm with a certain reluctance to answer the door when danger comes knocking.

But bad times can make for strange bedfellows.

When several of the youngsters at the orphanage came down with a sickness, it didn't take long for one of them to utter the word of the narcotic they'd used, begging for more. It was apparent that many of the priests Arden knew simply couldn't help, addiction being a problem of the mundane, despite its devastating consequences.

Eventually, Mackeson's name was mentioned, and Arden sought him out. On first appearances, Arden nearly walked away from the unkempt dwarf, lying in an alleyway, but he reminded himself that people needed help so every avenue had to be tried. He sat down beside the dwarf and told him the problem. To his credit, Mackeson wasted no time. When he heard that the children had a problem with this new narcotic he stood up purposefully and marched to the orphanage, requiring Arden to jog, just to keep up.

Mackeson examined the children, slight, shivering and sweaty, it was clear each was suffering, but he knew what needed to be done. Speaking to Griselda, the half orc matron of the orphanage, and drowning out Arden's protestations with his deep voice, he arranged for the three affected children to be locked in a room for them to get over the symptoms, nodding appreciatively at the half-orc's no-nonsense manner.

Then he turned on Arden, This is bad stuff, a nasty drug, so you need to be more vigilant if you're going to run an orphanage in this neighborhood! jabbing his finger into Arden's gut in time with each word. So you and I are going to find where this stuff is being made and shut them down. And don't think I don't know that you're more capable than you seem, last time you used your mind thuggery on some of Hirt the Weasel's mean you were seen.

Arden nodded, at first apprehensively, but then with real conviction. Utilising Arden's contacts and Mackeson's uncanny ability to smell a lie, they soon found the drug was being manufactured out of an old boat, the Singing Narwhal, moored along the river. Despite Arden's protests that the Korvosan Guard should be involved, Mackeson was dismissive, pointing out that any single guard on the take could give the game away. It had to be them, and them alone. Having had his initial views on Vigilantism torn up by The Silver Ghost, Arden agreed.

They attacked at night, falling upon the miscreants with blade and flame. And a lot of shouting in dwarven. The few men that were on the boat were surprised and scattered as bolts of fire and bolts of crossbow whisked past them. Fearing that they were outnumbered, the men fled - most leaping into the river - leaving Mackeson and Arden alone. They nodded at each other once, before lighting the boat up and making good their escape.

Back at the orphanage, they found that the addicted children were shaking off the symptoms and looking far healthier. Mackeson gave them each a stern talking to about the foolishness of their actions, before nodding gruffly and demanding that Arden accompany him for a celebratory drink (or two) in honor of his god.

Since then, Mackeson and Arden have maintained a firm friendship, both having a solid, dwarven upbringing, both wanting to clean up Old Korvosa and both abhorring slavery. Mackeson sometimes attends the orphanage to warn the children of the dangers of the streets (and flirt with the matron, Arden suspects), and sometimes when he needs somewhere to stay.