Verik Vancaskerkin

Cyrus Lem's page

54 posts. Alias of Tinalles.

Full Name

Cyrus Lem


HP: -18/36, AC: 17:13:14, CMD: 20 Saves: 4:5:5


Skills: Climb +5, Per +7, Sense +7, Spell +5, Stealth +1, Swim +5





Special Abilities

Familiar, Rally








Former guardsman and trapper; currently making do at odd jobs

Strength 16
Dexterity 14
Constitution 12
Intelligence 10
Wisdom 12
Charisma 8

About Cyrus Lem

Cyrus Lem is a healthy young man, aged 23 years. He stands 5'11" tall, and weighs 185 pounds. He has sandy brown hair, grey eyes, and fair skin with freckles scattered across his blunt nose and broad cheeks. He wears sturdy boots, leather breeches, a long-sleeved shirt, and a jazerant (armored coat). He wears a hat that somehow fails to keep the freckles down.

As a teen, Cyrus Lem chafed at the limited opportunities of life in Brookside. He longed for the excitement of a big city, where he would be able to see so many more people doing so many more things. And so, on reaching the age of majority, he packed his bags, kissed his parents goodbye, and struck out for the closest city.

On arrival, he found that he had no idea how to make a place for himself in this (comparatively) vast place where no one knew him at all. He had underestimated how expensive the city would be; and he overestimated how much to trust the people he met. In short order, he was out of money after being cheated out of his savings by opportunistic merchants who saw he didn't know how much to expect to pay.

Rather than give up, he gritted his teeth and looked for work. Lacking any particularly saleable skills, he opted to sign up with the local guards. They gave him some basic training with weapons and armor, issued him a uniform, and set him to inspecting carts traveling in and out of the city to check for smuggled goods or out-of-date papers.

It was boring work, but it paid decently and kept a roof over his head. Still, Cyrus had come to the city looking for excitement, and checking carts to see if they had more chickens than the owners had declared did not fit the bill. As soon as possible he applied for a transfer to a street patrol unit. He envisioned himself busting thieves after exciting chases.

He got his transfer, but the work proved pretty grim. Every day he was exposed to the banal, quotidian evils that have plagued humanity since time immemorial. He saw people murdered for a few coins. He arrested thieves, sure, but the worst of them somehow always got off easy, while the desperate ones who had turned to crime for lack of any better option got harsh sentences. He intervened in cases of domestic violence, only to have the women he rescued refuse to press charges -- and go straight back to their abusers afterwards.

Day by day, the work ground away at his optimistic soul until he felt decades older than his actual years. Finally, after three years of it, he'd had enough. One day, he and his partner Nils responded to a domestic violence incident. Entering the house, they found a terrified, weeping woman cringing away from an enraged, drunk man. The two guards tried to talk him down, but he only grew more belligerent. When he reached for something behind his back, Cyrus took a swing with the club he had been issued -- and landed a blow squarely on the man's head, crushing his skull in and killing him instantly.

The man turned out to have been reaching for a flask of booze. Worse, he was closely related to a high-ranking alderman. In short order, Cyrus was brought up on charges of murder. He was acquitted of those charges -- but was convicted of behavior unbecoming a guardsman. He was formally stripped of his rank and dishonorably discharged.

And that marked the end of Cyrus' life in the big city. Bitter, he packed up his few belongings and the meager savings he'd scraped together, and walked back to Brookside.

It was a relief coming home. Here, everyone knew him. He woke to the sound of birdsong in the trees, not carts clattering over cobblestone. The morning breeze carried the scents of baking bread and wildflowers, rather than the stench of open sewers.

People wanted to hear about his adventures in the city, but shame at the manner of his departure burned in his heart. He gave short, abbreviated answers. To escape their curiousity, he decided to invest in some traps, and work a run in the forest trapping foxes, ermines, and other small furred animals for their pelts. It would keep him out in the woods, and away from questions about his past.

In the silence of the forest, Cyrus took to praying. At first, this was purely utilitarian -- he prayed for full traps, for good weather. But then, with time and silence as his companions, he began to pray in greater earnest. He poured out his heart to the listening forest: recounted his failure to do any good as a guard; confessed that his strike on that drunk man had been driven less by fear for his safety and more by frustration at his own inability to do any lasting good; and poured out his bitterness over his dismissal.

After two years of this, his heart felt easier. Not wholly healed, but lighter.

One day he found a fox in one of his traps. This was nothing unusual -- it was the point, in fact. But something about this one struck him. He had seen creatures gnaw away at their own legs in an effort to free themselves -- but this one didn't do that. Its front leg was stuck in the trap. But when he found it, it was sitting calmly on its haunches, tail tucked around its feet, and looking square at him with fearless eyes.

He stopped dead and looked back at it.

The gaze lengthened -- and it was Cyrus who looked away first.

"Well, crap," he said aloud. "I guess I can't be a trapper any more."

He freed the fox from the trap, carefully holding it to prevent it from struggling. When the trap was released, an impulse came over him, and he said a few words of apology. When he was done, the fox was whole and well -- its leg fully healed. Somehow it felt perfectly natural when it followed him.

He collected his traps, brought them home, and named the fox Rally. Since then he has been doing odd jobs for farmers, haltingly learning how to cast a few spells, and wondering what to do with himself. He is 23 years old, lives alone in a hut at the edge of the woods, and lies awake at night wondering how he came to be such a fool.

Stat Block: Cyrus Lem:
Cyrus Lem
Male human adept 2/warrior 3
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +7
AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +2 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 36 (5 HD; 2d6+3d10+6)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +5
Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee cold iron dagger +7 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . heavy mace +7 (1d8+3)
Ranged longbow +6 (1d8/×3)
Adept Spells Prepared (CL 2nd; concentration +3)
. . 1st—cure light wounds, protection from evil
. . 0 (at will)—create water, ghost sound (DC 11), light
Str 16, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 8
Base Atk +4; CMB +7; CMD 20
Feats Alertness, Boon Companion[UW], Dodge, Power Attack, Shamed
Skills Acrobatics +0 (-4 to jump), Climb +5, Handle Animal +6, Heal +5, Knowledge (nature) +5, Perception +7, Profession (soldier) +7, Profession (trapper) +7, Ride +4, Sense Motive +7 (+9 to get a hunch), Spellcraft +5, Stealth +1, Survival +7, Swim +5
Languages Common
Other Gear armored coat[APG], cold iron dagger, heavy mace, longbow, backpack, bear trap x10 [APG], bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, hemp rope (50 ft.), mess kit[UE], pot, torch (10), trail rations (5), waterskin, 30 gp
Special Abilities
Boon Companion (Rally) Cyrus is treated as 4 levels higher for calculating Rally's abilities as a familiar.
Empathic Link with Familiar (Su) Cyrus has an empathic link with Rally.
Familiar Bonus: +2 to Reflex saves
Familiar Bonus: Cyrus gains the Alertness feat when Rally is within arm's reach.
Power Attack -2/+4 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Shamed [Story, Incomplete] +1 to attack & skills when non-combatants observe you in conflict.
Share Spells with Familiar Can cast spells with a target of "You" on the familiar with a range of touch.
Trait: Jacket Training (armored coat counts as light armor)
Trait: Street Wary (Sense Motive is a class skill, +2 to get hunches)

Stat Block: Rally:
Rally CR –
Female fox (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 112)
N Tiny magical beast (animal)
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +11
AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 15 (+2 Dex, +3 natural, +2 size)
hp 17 (1d8+1)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +5
Defensive Abilities improved evasion
Speed 40 ft.
Melee bite +5 (1d3-1)
Space 2½ ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Special Attacks deliver touch spells
Str 9, Dex 15, Con 13, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +4; CMB +4; CMD 13 (17 vs. trip)
Feats Skill Focus (Perception)
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+14 to jump), Climb +6, Heal +2, Perception +11, Ride +3, Sense Motive +2, Spellcraft +0, Survival +4 (+8 to track by scent), Swim +6; Racial Modifiers +4 Survival to track by scent
Languages speak with master
SQ empathic link
Special Abilities
Deliver Touch Spells (Su) Deliver master's touch spells.
Empathic Link (Su) You have an empathic link with your master.
Improved Evasion (Ex) No damage on successful reflex save; half on failed save.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ ft. by sense of smell.
Share Spells Spells with a target of "You" can be delivered by a familiar with a range of touch.
Speak with Master (Ex) You can communicate verbally with your master.