About Arunor BlacksheafStatistics:
Arunor Blacksheaf
Male elf rogue (roof runner) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 73) NG Medium humanoid (elf) Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +5 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 Dex) hp 8 (1d8) Fort +0, Ref +6, Will -1; +2 vs. enchantments Immune sleep -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft., roof running Melee dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or rapier +4 (1d6+1/18-20) Ranged light crossbow +4 (1d8/19-20) Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6 -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 13, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 14 Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 15 Feats Weapon Finesse Traits restless wayfarer, suspicious Skills Acrobatics +7, Bluff +6, Climb +4, Disable Device +7, Escape Artist +7, Intimidate +6, Perception +5, Profession (Puppeteer) +3, Sense Motive +4, Sleight of Hand +7, Stealth +7; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception, +2 Spellcraft to identify magic item properties Languages Common, Elven, Goblin, Orc, Sylvan SQ elven magic Other Gear studded leather, crossbow bolts (40), dagger, light crossbow, rapier, backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, thieves' tools, trail rations (3), waterskin, weapon cord, 28 gp, 3 sp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects. Elven Magic +2 to spellcraft checks to determine the properties of a magic item. Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail. Roof Running (Ex) Can move across rooftops at full speed and without penalties. Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed. Weapon cord Attached weapon can be recovered as a swift action. Character Bio:
"The guy over in the corner there? That's Blacksheaf, I'd stay clear of him if I where you. Weird fellow, keeps to himself mostly. Came down from the mountains one day, not a month ago. Poor sod was covered in mud and smelled no better than you there, chum." The burly man standing before you squints then turns his back to you. On the shelf behind him stands an assortment of dirty mugs and flagons. He picks one of the mugs off of the shelf, and proceeds to clean it with a rag he pulls loose from his belt. "He's a loonie that one, always wearing that mask of his and fooling folks like you, heh, into buying him his ale." The bartender takes a moment to spit onto his rag before he continues. "Now, ya didn't hear this from me, but some of the patrons 'been talkin' some strange tales about him. Says he's been boasting about being an adventurer, though I still say he's a rambling lunatic. Him and his puppets both give me the chills. I'd toss his arse out, but he always seems to get some coins between his fingers and I sure as hell wont turn away no paying costumer. I let him sleep up on the roof for a couple a coins every now and then, and let me tell you, that elf climbs walls better than anyone I've ever seen. Well, at least until that girl of his comes of age." The barkeep takes a pause and takes a look around the bar, as if to reveal any would-be eavesdroppers. "It is quite unusual for someone to come in here and take such interest in Blacksheaf as you do, stranger. Almost as unusual as how often someone needs to get some dirty work done for them. If there's profit in it for him, I'm sure he'll consider an offer. I've heard him talk about heading out again, says the 'wanderlust' be callin' for him. Plus he's got that girl of his, can't afford a good home for her yet. But he made a promise he aims to keep, what ever the hell that means." He pulls out a flagon from beneath the counter, pours the darkest brown ale you've ever seen into the mug and hands it to you. As the aroma hits your nostrils, you go to great pains just to stop yourself from wretching. He then leans over and lowers his voice to a low whisper. "Listen, if you be needing someone to do some.. "work".. not everyone else will do, Blacksheaf's your man. That one's on him, you just make sure he pays old Jacob before you drag him outta here." Appearance:
Standing with his eyes fixated out one of the old, worn-down windows of the tavern, one could not help but ponder what the young elven man was thinking about. His body had a lean look to it, as if he worked too hard, and ate too little or drank too much. His long fingers lay wrapped around his wrists as he rested his arms on his back, his hands never too far astray from a rapier sheathed in his worn belt. He looked eerie there in the mixed light from the moon outside, and the lanterns within the room, casting mixed shadows across his masked face. His hood and cloak were caked with mud and dirt, and his tall, tattered brown boots revealed extensive use. His long, light hair - wild and unkempt - hung like tendrils down the sides of his face, cradling the grey mask he wore. It bore strange markings, old scratches and cuts, and covered everything but his cold, cold blue eyes. Motivation and Personality:
"Come see, one and all, come see the wonders of elven craftsmanship! Come experience the splendour of Arunor's Dancing Dolls, fitting for young as well as old!"
Perched close to the centre of the market square, the young elven man gestures in a wild, yet welcoming manner. The distant man from the tavern appears dissipated, replaced by a loud, tradesman's jester. "Dear, dear costumers, please! Please, browse through my collection of magnificent dolls, crafted with mine own hands and perfectly enslaved by suitable wires. Friends and foes alike will be amazed at your quick mastery of my creations movements, and nary a woman can resist the swoon of a master puppeteer!" Evening looms and the man begins preparations to close his market stand. Ropes and locks guards his collection by night, and he goes to great lengths to make sure the ropes are properly tightened, and the locks secure. From the roof atop the tavern, not far from his stand, climbs a small figure down rusted pipes and approaches the elf. A girl no older than eight years old reveals herself in the dim light of his lantern, and he crouches to meet her height. Masked eyes delve deep into hers as he speaks, ill befitting either gestures or his heightened tone of voice. The man breaks this spell for a moment, the jester a sudden memory. "I must leave soon, Fae. Another adventure, another life. You will take care of my dolls for me, wont you? I've made one just for you, here." He rummages in an old backpack for a moment, before he reveals a finely fashioned doll, appearing not unlike himself. Her lips a smile, her eyes a river. "Jacob will take care of you while I'm gone, ok? You can even sleep inside if you want, I've already made arrangements. You be good, and don't forget about me while I'm gone." She nods and looks up to meet the man's eyes, her back straight and her fists clenched, as to show him just how strong she will be. The man sighs and unlocks his mask, two steel locks, one as close to his temple as the other. He gifts her a broken smile, mangled and scarred. His features strong, perhaps once pretty, now but a painful memory of serrated blades. |
