Brianna Reed's page

Brianna grew up in a simple farmhouse and for many years, had wanted for nothing. And yet, on the night her mother left, she had cried such tears. Her mother had cried too, as they stood out on the road. "Why mommy, why?!" she wailed, as her father pulled her away and into the house. And when a week had passed and her crying seemed to finally stop was they day they came for her father.

"Go up to your room," he told her. "Stay under the bed until they come and find you." Brianna, being more unruly than most children, ran 'round the back of the house just in time to see the men on black horses cut down her father. Maybe they took pity on her because of her size. Maybe it was that she had made them laugh; her hoarse screams and her puffy, red eyes. When the priests finally came for her, she had run out of tears.

The underground priests of Milani would later explain what had happened, but it certainly didn’t make her feel any better. Brianna’s mother had been a freedom fighter during the Chelaxian civil war. She had taken to traveling through outlying villages on the border of Cheliax, biding her time to start a revolution against the Infernal rulers of the once-great kingdom. Her father, an Ulfen horse trainer, came through the village. Brianna’s mother had fallen in love and settled down with the man. Of course, settling down had left her open to discovery, and it wasn’t long before inquisitors in the service of Asmodeus tracked her down to the farmhouse, and discovering only her father, murdered him in cold blood.

Orphaned at such an early age, and under the supervision of a church surrounded by controversy, Brianna was ushered along to many different living places, usually a church of Iomedae or Shelyn. Despite this, she traveled with texts praising the glory of the Everbloom, and identified strongly with her teachings of goodness and righteousness, and of protecting the weak.

Wandering wards sometimes find their way into trouble. When a kind and cheerful minstrel found Brianna wander into a tavern one day, he decided the stage was a good place to keep the young woman out of trouble, and he thrust a drum into her hands. She threw herself completely into the life of the traveling minstrel.

Years on the road started out happy for Brianna. Her amateur skills were easily overlooked thanks to her bright outlook. With musicians and bar patrons alike, she whiled away the waning days of her childhood. When the good times weren’t enough to keep her demons at bay, she sought a new way to keep her demons at bay. Eventually, she found the best and worst solution to her problem: alcohol.

Brianna continued to city to city, making new friends with her talent, and driving them away with her angry drunken antics. A percussionist wasn’t a great act on her own, but her need to drink away her pain was too strong. Brianna hit rock-bottom in a tiny village in Nidal. Instead of paying for her travel, he had decided to spend the last of her money on a bottle of whiskey. When the teamsters found her in the passed out back of the wagon, they dumped her just outside a village. Sick with a pounding head and shaky hands, she begged the tiny community for a drink. Instead, she got a second chance.

Marsell, a forlorn elf who blacksmith in tiny hamlet, was also the only resident who had an ounce of booze. He knew right away what the girl really needed. He wagered Brianna that when she could fashion a proper horseshoe, he would give her the liquid release she so desired. Arrogant even in her desperation Brianna failed miserably over and over again. When she finally broke down and admitted defeat, Marsell nursed her back to health.

For the next couple years, Marsell taught Brianna his trade. She took instantly to the craft: taking time, focus and patience was the distraction the half-elf needed to kick her addiction. The heat of forge and the rhythm of working metal made the putting the devils of her past to rest easier. When she had mastered the basics of smithing simple plates, she moved up to blades and chain.

She learned a good deal about the man, and grew to love him. Marsell had taken up smithing decades ago, traveling all over Golarion to learn different styles of metalworking. For decades he traveled, working under almost anyone who would teach him. Older and more practiced, knew all sorts of things about different races and metals.

Just when Brianna thought she had finally found happiness in life, Marsell fell ill. The ravages of time had caught up with the elf. He was only middle aged by elf reckoning, should have decades of time. Something inside him ate away at him. No one in the village could help. He grew too weak to travel, and the medicine men they brought all said the same thing: ‘Just make him comfortable.’

It pained Brianna again to see Marsell waste away, but she had made a promise to him. She would never again pick up a drink. When working the forge failed to temper the new pains of her life, she turned again to The Light of Hope.

In his final days Marsell, was more help to Brianna than she could be for him. He was sad to leave her. He himself knew the grief of outliving someone; he had seen so many go before him. He’d loved his life he had made for himself, and was happy to have shared so much with a lost woman that needed to find strength. When he went away, she would have to go too. She must find what was worth living for.

She decided to move on to the Silver City.

MRW Thrune's the new Lord Mayor
Reason for Protest
MRW we roll initiative!
Natural 1
Failed Will save
MRW people are talking about the Blue Thorn
MRW someone asks me to make them a new weapon
Getting psyched with Agnes
MRW I deal the last point of damage on Adun's target
MRW some tells me to calm down
Since the Night of First Ashes
When a monster lands a hit
Visiting the Temple of Shelyn
Brianna every Armasse
When Thrune tries to ban my tea
Friends, Revolution, Work.....or Revolution, Friends, Work.

Tagging Along:
Brianna heard the protest was going to happen in Aria Park just a day before. A few acquaintances around the War Cage had mentioned it, but she had managed to brush most of them off. Sark knew better.

"You're going to the protest, ain'tcha?" the steam sizzled in the air as he stoked up the smoldering coals in the forge.

"Sounds like trouble," Brianna shrugged. She sat on a stool close to the foundry's exit; the bustle of the War Cage rolled loudly under the midday sun.

"That's ain't a 'no,' his toothy grin shone brightly past his lower tusks.

"Sark," sighed as a young girl might, setting her work in her lap. The two half-humans grinned at one another. Brianna's cheeks shone with a bit of rose color, while one of Sark's bushy eyebrow fluttered in anticipation of the answer. "I....uh, I.. have no business in Jarvis end," she said wryly.

"That so?" Sark growled. "Well I'm going!"

"I suppose that YOU have business in the Park, then?" Earlene asked as though she were a proper maiden.

"I do madam," Sark teased her. "This 'martial law' business is going to be the end of Kintargo as we know it."

"A bit of an exaggeration," Brianna had returned to her work.

"I wish," the half-orc snorted. "This is serious though Brianna. He's a THRUNE. He's got a bunch of Hellknights in his service. Even the dottari are starting to get more cruel with all these new proclamations."

"The dottari are just doing their job," the half-elf interjected.

"That's what I mean! This is where it starts!" Sark set down the tongs he'd only just picked up. He was clearly worked up. "They start by enforcing this ridiculous curfew. Then they dole out a few beatings...just to send a message. How long until someone gets hurt?"

"Sark!" Brianna pleaded. He was grandstanding now. It was aggravating.

"How long is it until someone dies?" he raised his voice again.

"SARK!" the nearby smithy's turned to see her Brianna, red with fury. Like I don't care. She stepped in close to her friend and the nearby workers returned to their tasks.

"You know I care about the people of this city," she was whispering, but her sharp anger was still clear in her voice. "You KNOW what's been going on these last few nights."

Sark gave her a quizzical look, followed by wide-eyed gasp of realization. "You're-"

"Shh..." the half-elf glared. "No one can know."

"Ok, ok," Sark conceded, threw up his hands. The two separated and went back to their respective tasks.

"I'm still going," Sark broke the long silence. He was grinning like an fool with a new spoon. "And you should definitely go."

"Fine," Brianna said, "I'll go check it out. Just to see! Besides, someone needs to keep an eye out for you."

Tagging Along: You gain a +2 bonus on all Perception and initiative checks made during the protest itself.

Tagging Along:
Brianna heard the protest was going to happen in Aria Park just a day before. A few acquaintances around the War Cage had mentioned it, but she had managed to brush most of them off. Sark knew better.

"You're going to the protest, ain'tcha?" the steam sizzled in the air as he stoked up the smoldering coals in the forge.

"Sounds like trouble," Brianna shrugged. She sat on a stool close to the foundry's exit; the bustle of the War Cage rolled loudly under the midday sun.

"That's ain't a 'no,' his toothy grin shone brightly past his lower tusks.

"Sark," sighed as a young girl might, setting her work in her lap. The two half-humans grinned at one another. Brianna's cheeks shone with a bit of rose color, while one of Sark's bushy eyebrow fluttered in anticipation of the answer. "I....uh, I.. have no business in Jarvis end," she said wryly.

"That so?" Sark growled. "Well I'm going!"

"I suppose that YOU have business in the Park, then?" Earlene asked as though she were a proper maiden.

"I do madam," Sark teased her. "This 'martial law' business is going to be the end of Kintargo as we know it."

"A bit of an exaggeration," Brianna had returned to her work.

"I wish," the half-orc snorted. "This is serious though Brianna. He's a THRUNE. He's got a bunch of Hellknights in his service. Even the dottari are starting to get more cruel with all these new proclamations."

"The dottari are just doing their job," the half-elf interjected.

"That's what I mean! This is where it starts!" Sark set down the tongs he'd only just picked up. He was clearly worked up. "They start by enforcing this ridiculous curfew. Then they dole out a few beatings...just to send a message. How long until someone gets hurt?"

"Sark!" Brianna pleaded. He was grandstanding now. It was aggravating.

"How long is it until someone dies?" he raised his voice again.

"SARK!" the nearby smithy's turned to see her Brianna, red with fury. Like I don't care. She stepped in close to her friend and the nearby workers returned to their tasks.

"You know I care about the people of this city," she was whispering, but her sharp anger was still clear in her voice. "You KNOW what's been going on these last few nights."

Sark gave her a quizzical look, followed by wide-eyed gasp of realization. "You're-"

"Shh..." the half-elf glared. "No one can know."

"Ok, ok," Sark conceded, threw up his hands. The two separated and went back to their respective tasks.

"I'm still going," Sark broke the long silence. He was grinning like an fool with a new spoon. "And you should definitely go."

"Fine," Brianna said, "I'll go check it out with you."

Tagging Along: You gain a +2 bonus on all Perception and initiative checks made during the protest itself.