Bregor Rowain's page

Unflinching Gaze - Your commanding presence makes others lose the will to maintain deception. Use Charisma bonus in place of Wisdom for Sense Motive checks.

Armor exper - You have worn armor as long as you can remember, either as part of your training to become a knight’s squire or simply because you were seeking to emulate a hero. Your childhood armor wasn’t the real thing as far as protection, but it did encumber you as much as real armor would have, and you’ve grown used to moving in such suits with relative grace.
When you wear armor of any sort, reduce that suit’s armor check penalty by 1, to a minimum check penalty of 0.

Cantrips:

Detect Magic
Light
Mending
Message

Lv 1 (1+1) 2/2

Cure light wounds
Feather Step

Acrobatics +5 (1 Rank, +2 Dex, +3 Trained, -1 Armor)
Bluff +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Diplomacy +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Intimidate +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Linguistics +5 (1 Rank, +1 Int, +3 Trained)
Perform: Oratory +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Perform: Stringed +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Perception +3 (1 Rank, -1 Wis, +3 Trained)
Sense motive +7 (1 Rank, +3 Cha, +3 Trained)
Swim +6 (1 Rank, +3 Str, +3 Trained, -1)

10 gp

Along the less civilized parts, especially places like bandit realms and other harder places, you tend to get by using your sword and might.

As you can imagine, such a difference in philosophy and social cues can lead to quite a difficult time to fit in.
Such was the fate of the Ulfen Rowain family, exiled from Brevoy by a jealous lord, on pain of torture and dismemberment.

So what do you do when you are a proud noble, Brevoy blood flowing through your veins, and you are used to being respected and feared by all and sundry?
You try to set up shop, become a bandit lord, and carve out a new little kingdom for you and your family.
But when people respect Strength instead of cunning, martial prowess instead of coin, you can find this difficult to do.
Oh, Yngvald, son of Theorem did have some minor success, bullying a few thugs into following him.
With pride, he considered himself well on the way towards rebuilding his status.

But robbery through clever deals and through battle are two different games, especially in a country where anyone with status has enough money to hire a skilled escort of mercenaries to protect their goods.
Yngvald only escaped by the skin of his teeth, and not without being known.

The next few years saw the family travelling around in river kingdoms, Yngvald taking odd jobs as a mercenary or thug, trying to earn enough coin to move away, but never managing to save enough due to his still extravagant habits.
He had scaled down his habits, but they were still as prevalent as before.
Cheap wine and rum instead of whiskey, but still in the same amount.

Too proud to give up and just attempt to travel without a chest of money, Yngvald refused to compromise.
By now, his son had grown up into a young man, and began to see his dad less as a mighty warrior and more as a stubborn old fool.
At first, Yngvald did not pay enough attention to his son to realize the change.
But little by little he noticed something that seemed...off...

The boy shaved, instead of growing a mighty beard like his Northern ancestry, he worse southern style clothes, instead of the furs of his bloodlines.

"Gentle" cuffs and lectures did not seem to get through to the boy, which of course only served to increase Yngvald's temper.
He was the boy's father! He demanded respect!
More than once, young Bregor would get a face-full of spittle as his father, sodden with drink would shout in his face, and then strike him when the boy couldn't understand the drunken ramblings enough to do as he was told.

Having been raised as a Northman, Bregor knew his history well, he knew the old songs, the old legends, but he did not want to end up like his father. He was young and proud! And maybe if he could fit in he could make something of himself where his father had failed.

Fate would intervene one day when Yngvald was taken into custody for being drunk and disorderly. Once the haze of drink had disappeared and the once mighty warrior realized where he was, paranoia took over.
All night he shivered and shacked, sure it was to be his last sun-up.
So when he was released in the morning, with only a light fine, he was at first ecstatic then when the truth hit him, enraged.

They had him, Yngvald Theoremson and let him go! They didn't know who he was! The Brevoy authorities had stopped looking for him (in truth, he had never been wanted, just a minor surviving bandit with no reputation).
Enraged beyond sanity, the man stalked home and nearly beat his son to death before storming out again.

It was in that instance the young Bregor felt his faith in his father die for good, and in its stead a deep desire to not die there, an unknown, unsung causality.
Suddenly, the songs of his ancestors came to his bloody, broken lips.
A soft song, a healing son, a song that saved his life.

Finding that he could move once more, Bregor knew it was time to leave his current home for good.
Taking his father’s old battle axe and shield, Bregor set out.

He knew of only three name of any significance to himself, Yngrid Thorleifsdottir, his mother, long since left the home to places unknown.
Yngvald Theoremson, his father, who might desire revenge for the thing young Bregor stole to make his way. And finally Thorgrim The Grey, the lord that had exiled his family.

The first represented someone he desired to find, the second someone he wanted to avoid, and the third a possible target for revenge in the future.

But now, he needed a quest, something to make sure his name would be sung the way he sang the songs of his ancestors.

Unlike many of his kind, Bregor sports a clean shaved face and short hair, styled the Brevoy way.

His eyes are blue and piercing, often sparkling with laughter, but hiding a surprising depth and pain if one looks closer.

His nose sports a large scare across the bridge, courtesy of the beating at his father's hands that nearly killed him.