Faenethor Sera's page

What a great game this turned out to be! It featured some of the best roleplay I've seen on the boards, and the GM is probably the most dedicated I've encountered.

As much as I'd like to organize another game, my schedule is just too hectic right now. I feel like I was struggling to keep up as it is, and I have several deadlines in the next month. But I look forward to meeting up with everyone down the road, I hope!

"Don't worry Torvald! I've been consulting the Heirophant's Almanac...(I always carry a spare copy when traveling)...and it predicts fair sailing weather for the next fortnight. Hopefully Jamir's rough start on the interior journey will have taught him a thing or two. If nothing else, at least we'll be sailing down river and the current can carry us, even if we're shipwrecked!" With that, the elf raises his teacup once again, the ice-white jewel in his ring now reduced in its luster and luminescence, and enjoys the remainder of his dark Irriseni Oolong tea.

Faenethor watches as Torvald arranges the deceased dwarf's mortal remains in a respectful way. He had almost asked to keep the clasp, but he knew this would be uncivilized. He had never heard the call of the Divine, as Jawhar and even some of the others had. He had never seen a vision or heard a whispered prayer in his dreams. But he knows good manners, and merely stands back, silent, until they emerge into the snow.

"Die...die!" Faenethor yells frantically, beginning to panic as the ghoul continues its assault. Something stronger!, he thinks as feels the reassuring presence of his ring. He raises his hand, his slender index finger wrapped in the silver sheath of encircled snakes biting an ice-gem. The jewel flashes brilliant white and his hand releases a burst of energy that slams into the undead horror.

magic missile (arcane bond), intense spells: 1d4 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 + 1 = 4

Faenethor tumbles back a step (5ft step) and, in a defensive gesture, releases a pulse of arcane energy that sparks and explodes against the creature's skin.

force missile: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Faenethor gasps as he is coated in a layer of powdered ice, not unlike a gigantic elf pastry.

Initiative: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

Faenethor rushes to the frozen dwarf, knocking on the ice casing with a gentle knock of his gauntlet. "Amazing that the flesh has frozen without damage to the superficial structures. I would at least have expected to note frostbite damage to the strata corneum and granulosum, if not those of the spinosum and basale layers. But his skin is flawless! It's almost magically preserved within the ice."

I can take 10 on the knowledge to achieve that DC.

"And note that clasp. It is a gladdringgoch, a traditional beard clasp worn to indicate status within dwarven society. This fellow was probably a leader of some sort. Maybe we should try to chisel him out, if for no other reason than to better identify the insignia on the clasp?"

Faenethor mentally catalogs the spells in his spellbook, his face dropping, crestfallen. "No, no. Divination was never my favored subject, but neither was it my worst! Drat! I should have planned better!" As he talks he glances nervously over his shoulder.

"So strange for the door to open so easily. It's almost as though someone were here before us. A seeming impossibility, but we've faced enough deception and intrigue on our journey already that no possibilities should be outright dismissed. If someone already arrived, perhaps they already seized the relics we seek."

"Pale cheese with holes...Ick!" Faenethor shakes his head trying to avoid such imagery as he approaches from the rear, his hands poised and tingling with arcane energy. "I'm ready....go!"

I think based on Craggark's and Jamir's posts, we're opening the door :)

"Well now Mr. Stonecask I'm sure Janderhoff is an amazing city, but certainly you'd agree that this is a most significant achievement, even for dwarves!" Faenethor claps his hands like a giddy school-child as he takes in the site of the cylindrical chamber.

K(arcana): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

"I haven't a clue what's happened here! How exciting! Come on, let's go...woah!" In his excitement he nearly slides on the rime-coated floor, grasping at the wall near him to steady his balance. "Erm...which door?"

Seeing Jawhar handle the shield, Faenethor also scans it for magical properties.

Detect magic plus Spellcraft: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (12) + 11 = 23

"I say, I hope we don't...face the same fate!" Faenethor slaps Jamir on the shoulder and doubles over, tickled pink by his own impossibly clever pun. "Oh my, oh my..." he mumbles, wiping a tear from his eye as he glances to see who else got the joke. Seeing no one else laughing, he coughs and fumbles around with his spell component pouch, ensuring it's close to hand. He withdraws a soft black leather glove with spiked knuckles and squeezes his fingers into it. He squeezes his fist gently.

"Well, I'm not much with a weapon, unfortunately, but I suppose it never hurts to be prepared."

Equipping a spiked gauntlet so that Faenethor can make AoOs.

Jawhar: gotcha. Hopefully I won't be out of the loop much longer!

"Look at the intricacy of this stonework! The craftsmanship! The artistry! You don't find work like this these days! But we should be careful. The builders who made such fine art would design traps just as carefully."

perception for traps: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21

The half-orc reacts in a startled fashion to the glowing orbs. Hesitantly, he tries to reach out and touch one as he moves inside the ruins.

"I've never seen...magic like that...what do you call them? In my people, there is a legend known as the "Flickering Death" - orbs of light that lead those who are lost in the white to their deaths, or even worse fates..." He glances over his shoulder at Faenethor. "These are not those, correct?""

Faenethor chuckles lightly at the question. "Alabaster, Amaranth, Carnelian, and Vermillion at times. Sometimes just white, pink, red, and orange. Don't worry. They are harmless."

Faenethor forces his eyes not to roll at Jawhar's supplications. Royalty or not, we're putting our lives at stake to aid this woman. A little candor wouldn't hurt, would it?

He steps carefully toward the entrance, staying toward the rear of the party and closely examining what features might be discernible beneath the ice. He tries to commit everything to memory for later recollection and report.

Survival: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
Survival: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (6) - 1 = 5

"Eegads! I haven't seen a wound like that since, since...well, ever!" Faenethor reaches out and places a hand on Tusk's shoulder, woozy from the sight of so much blood. "You should have seen the amount of steam billowing from your life's blood spilling into the snow. It was like a chimney! Oh...oh, I think I should sit down a moment..." Faenethor grasps his knees and bends forward, exhaling forcefully to fight the feeling of nausea. After a few moments, he composes himself and stands upright.

"Well now, that's better. I've been out of my head for a bit. But now I feel much better." He looks at Haltani, perplexed. "Dear friend, do you care to explain the complex web of relationships that talking wolf was alluding to?"

The elf points toward the ground, then winds his hand up through the air in a grand spiral, as though stirring an invisible cauldron. From the ground emerge four lights that spin and bob up around him before dancing on the path ahead toward Craggark (dancing lights).

Well congratz to you folks on running the most active game I've ever seen. My other games have averaged around 20-30 posts this week, but this game has nearly 200! This is going to take me a while to get through, so I hope that by late tonight or tomorrow I'll be back in the action in Gameplay.

Could just represent initial reaction to an argument they didn't want to hear, followed by slow acceptance of the soundness of the idea. Or maybe he just bats his eyelashes ;).

Wow! This is the most active PbP game I've ever seen! I'm now in travel mode and reduced to posting from mobile.

Faenethor Sera wrote:

Heads up I'll be on a cruise next week and will have only limited access to Internet. Please bot me as necessary.

That's fine but if a combat situation comes up we'll pause the game for a few days until you return.

The reason is: It is a legal PFS game and the rules state only 1 character per player in a scenario.

GM, botting is allowed in PFS PbP but it's in your discretion. If you do want to bot me, my tactics will just be generally wizardly use of spells or force missile. If you'd rather pause the game for my return, please know it will be next Saturday before I'm back.

Nice job everyone!

K(history): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24
K(local): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

"Ah...Hm." Faenethor raises a finger and opens his mouth to say something but no words come. He's rather befuddled that Craggark offered such a diplomatic introduction and entreaty, seemingly from thin air. He instead clasps his hands at his waist and bows his head deferentially as Craggark addresses Halvor.

My very first mission. Will I end up skinned like the dire wolf? Maybe I was better off in Korvosa, afterall.

Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 1 + 5 = 22
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 1 + 5 = 19
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 1 + 5 = 15
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 1 + 5 = 25
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 1 + 5 = 24
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 1 + 5 = 16
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 1 + 5 = 18
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 1 + 5 = 26
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 1 + 5 = 10
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 5 = 9
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 1 + 5 = 7
Fort v cold: 1d20 + 1 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 1 + 5 = 12

Heads up I'll be on a cruise next week and will have only limited access to Internet. Please bot me as necessary.

Faenethor catches the edge of the bow to avoid being knocked over into the icy waters. He furrows his brow in concern when the Ulfen warrior asks about the blackfire clay.

Knowledge(local): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Any info to gain about Halvor?

Clueless about the substance of the conversation, Faenethor stays quiet and Dons his monocle, prepared to perform the bookkeeper ruse.

Perception 1: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8
Perception 2: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
SM 1: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (2) - 1 = 1
SM 2: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (10) - 1 = 9

"...and even if we could make any analytical sense of that concept, it would be irrelevant from a historical point of view. For the peasant economy to be viable it's necessary that each local community should support the tradesmen it requires. Labor-time per unit of output has nothing to do with--"

"Oh, drat, she's evaded me again," Faenethor blurts as he realizes Haltani has wandered off yet again.

____________

When the net is sprung and the ship is brought suddenly to a halt, Faenethor topples backward from his rowing seat, crashing into Craggark. "Oh, apologies!" he sputters as he tries to spit his hair out of his mouth. Hearing the commotion on land, he hurries up to the deck, not bothering to fetch his longbow. He wouldn't need it--he has better tricks up his sleeves (and not just maxmax).

"Perhaps someone should converse with them in Skald to facilitate a mutually agreeable resolution?" He whispers to his shipmates, trying nonchalantly to steal glances at the rough men.

1: 1d20 ⇒ 18
2: 1d20 ⇒ 8
3: 1d20 ⇒ 14
4: 1d20 ⇒ 4

Just a disclaimer that this is all just role-play in a world where slavery is real. Faenethor's thinking isn't mine :). But it's interesting to see this issue come up between members of Liberty's Edge and the Exchange.

"Slavery is an unwelcome guest in polite dicussion," Faenethor muses, almost sadly. Then he snaps his fingers. "Thankfully, this isn't a dinner party."

"I must declare, first, my allegiance to the Exchange, whose mission and concerns I feel are necessary to the welfare and stability of all nations. Now, where I'm from, Korvosa, slavery is illegal, and so the issue sometimes yields to more direct considerations. But slavery has a direct impact on the economies of Golarion, and Korvosa has long been keen to cement its position as a commercial leader within the Inner Sea and beyond. Last year, our Bank of Abadar presided over an inter-jurisdictional conference on the stability of free trade between Korvosa and some of its competitors, especially Magnimar, whose rise to prominence has, many say, eclipsed Korvosa. Darb Tuttle, our Archbanker, presented some comments which I found to be rather insightful."

"His position was essentially that "direct" slavery is just as much the pivot of bourgeois industry as magic, machinery, credits, etc. Without slavery there would be no modern industry. It is slavery that has given many industry centers their value; it is the those centers that have created world trade, and it is world trade that is the pre-condition of large-scale industry. Thus, slavery is an economic category of the greatest importance. Slavery, because it is an economic category, has always existed among the institutions of the peoples. Modern nations, including Korvosa, have been able only to disguise slavery in their own countries, while nations that uphold it merely do so without deception. Considering the status of the poverty-stricken within Korvosa, and I could agree they are "slaves" in all but name."

"Even so, I believe direct slavery is a doomed enterprise. It creates social groups in direct opposition to one another, groups that are doomed to fight and, in time, revolt. The inevitable consequence is either a revolutionary re-constitution of society at large, or the commmon ruin of the contending classes. I suppose my position on the matter is that, while slavery is vulgar and undesirable, it serves its purpose in society. I would not deter you from your personal agendas against it, but I encourage you all to focus first on the Society's aims, on whose behalf we will soon be acting."

Poor Jamir, I'm sure your swordcraft will be better than your sailing!

"Mighty Korvosa, yes, my home city's nearest trading partner, though I've never had the pleasure of visiting myself. I'm sorry to hear of your difficulties with criminal elements, I was under the impression that Korvosa's government took a hard line on such matters, though I could well be misremembering."

Faenethor nods emphatically. "Oh yes, quite right, the city Guard does take a hard line against such tomfoolery." He exaggerates the phrase with raised eyebrows and "quotation marks" gestures. "But problems arise, *ahem*, when: One. I myself have become entangled with those criminal elements. And two. When the guard themselves have been paid handsomely to overlook certain betting operations in Old Korvosa." His voice drops to a whisper. "You see, I was a bookie. But they paid me to hedge the bets in a...variety of ways. The work paid handsomely, but the stress of the job was a bit much. I walked away with a bit more of their money than I was owed. So you can imagine my hestitation to return. At least until I've accumulated a fortune working for the society and can purchase a walled estate. But even then, I'm thinking to relocate." He grins.

"And you, our bookish friend, are our bookkeeper."

"Perfect!" Faenethor beams, placing his brass-chained monocle over his eye and a very bookkeeperish fashion. "That line of work happens to be right up my alley."

"Janderhoff?" Faenethor looks up from his lap, wherein rests a pouch of many pockets, each containing a strange or mundane ingredient of some sort. He wears a brass-chain monocle over his right eye that magnifies it to an alarming degree. "Why, we're neighbors! I live in Korvosa, you know. Or, at least I did. Ran into a spot of trouble with one of the local gangs. I don't imagine I'll be frequenting my old haunts anytime soon. At least, not without some sort of protection, if you understand my meaning."

_____________

Faenethor starts at Craggark's question about languages. "I've a few under my belt, though I confess to an interest in some of the more obscure tongues. Elven, Tien, Varisian, and even some Draconic. I also just finished Wexelhauser's advanced series in both Vudrani and Osiriani. The latter was an exceptional read for the discussion of etiquette and culture alone!"

I met Craggark a few years ago, in a live PFS game, when I was brand new to RPG! I really didn't have a handle on the "role-playing" component then, but boy do I remember how funny his character was and how fun we was to play with. Set me off on the right foot. Very glad to have now "bumped" into him again!

When not hefting oars with what meager strength the gods saw fit to gift upon him, Faenthor spends most of the day napping. This is because, while not a nocturnal animal, he stays up far too late each night lying on the frigid ship's deck, wrapped in his furs and clutching dark chalk and parchment, mapping the stars.

He delights in acquainting himself with his new companions, especially the surprisingly eruditic dwarf Torvald, with him he shares a predilection for the arcane sciences. He does his best to explain to Jamir how or why there is incomplete syngergy in their studies, but ends up so confounded by the layers of his own reasoning that he becomes quite lost.

He goes quiet, savoring the sensation of feeling confused. It's such a rarity.

As Tusk explains his weapon, Faenethor nudges Torvald in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh, so it's like a miniature, discreet version of blackfire clay!"

"Still partial to Fortune Seeker," he comments idly from behind a small leather-bound book, Lamentations to the Snow: A History of the Ulfen Peoples.

I've had a rather busy weekend. I'll sit down late this evening and write a post. What a fun gang this is turning out to be.

"How was the lecture on ports and economies, Fay-Nee-Thor?"

Faenethor politely ignores the strong smell of drink and tawdry perfume still clinging to Craggark. "Oh, every bit as enlightening as I might have hoped! Master Gunnarsen was a gregarious and genial keynote speaker. You'd hardly notice his eyes look in opposite directions unless you were lookingn for it. And his ideas! Here, I actually took some notes..."

He procures a hastily folded parchment from his robes, clearing his throat before reading. "Master Gunnarsen proposed a radical socio-economic theory, that instead of concentrated private ownership of land, economies of scale should instead be realized by associations! Associations applied to land, shares the economic advantage of large-scale landed property, and first brings to realization the original tendency inherent in land-division, namely, equality. In the same way association re-establishes, now on a rational basis, no longer mediated by serfdom, overlordship and the silly mysticism of property, the intimate ties of man, elf, dwarf, halfing, and even orc, with the earth, for the earth ceases to be an object of huckstering, and through free labor and free enjoyment becomes once more a true personal property!"

"It all makes perfect sense, doesn't it?" He chortles madly, oblivious to the notion that others might not have any idea what he's going on about.

"Oh! Right, the name, the name. I do like Torvald's suggestion of Fortune Seeker. What do you think, Haltani?"

With only 11gp, I don't plan any purchases.

"A splendid invitation, Master Craggark! But I must pass as well. I've secured an invitation to hear a lecture by Master of the Shipyard, Sigfastr Gunnarsen, on the economies of scale between ports in the Northlands and those in the developed southlands. There's even rumored to be a surprise appearance by one of the port-arbiters of Magnimar! This is a once-in-an-elflife opportunity, certainly a high point in my 115 years!"

"Oh, and it's FAY-NE-THOR, like the breed of wild horses that roam the Sanos Forest."

"What shall we call our new ship?"

"I've no clear idea, Jam--Hamstring. Perhaps a name will come upon us during our mission. Something harrowing, something majestic!"

The Golden Lamb? The Windward Lion? The Hopeful Sea Dwarf?

"Ah, come now, canned food isn't so bad. Magical preservation has come a long way in recent years. Maxmax, a Shoanti candy made from pickled moose fat, is one of my favorite street foods. Speaking of..." Faenethor reaches into his pocket and withdraws a small piece of wrapping, offering it to Jamir. "I have some left over from the trip. Maxmax. I have a weakness for the stuff, and it does remind me of home. Go on, have a taste."

"Into Irrisen, itself? That is a bold venture. In the land of the ice witches, the descendants of Baba Yaga, the Jadwiga, reign supreme, exerting social dominance over all. Even the Ulfen in Irrisen are treated as slaves, with magical beasts claiming better rights and status. We had best tread carefully."

Faenethor smiles as Jamir. "I am still little more than an apprentice, but I do have a few tricks up my sleeve. Snacks and candies, mostly, but a few spells as well. I am dressed for the cold, so unless my friends are in need of something particular, I suggest we accompany Haltani at once."

Faenethor declines to sit, instead standing to the side with hands clasped together, listening intently to the Captain's introductions. This is, after all, his first mission, and first impressions are important. As Benarry finishes, he wracks his brain for some fragment of information he might recall about these topics.

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

BTW Torvald I believe it's perfectly PFS legal for alchemists to copy formulae from a wizard's spellbook? If there's a spell in my book you'd like (check out my profile), just let me know!

"Calisro Benarry..." Faenethor muses, rubbing his chin with the tip of his thumb. "I knew that Benarry name sounded familiar. I read about her during my training, in a treatise on contemporary naval leaders. I didn't think I'd actually get to meet one of them! She is the captain of the Grinning Pixie. It isn't a building at all, but a ship. Benarry hails from the Sodden Lands. Quite far from home, it seems. Like the rest of us. That's the name of the game within the Society though, isn't it? Explore! Still, I imagine a life at sea is better than living within the perpetual tempest of the Sodden Lands..."

He stops pointing out the sites and histories of Kalsgard, suddenly all business. "Are we ready, then? Shall we seek out Captain Benarry aboard her very own sailing vessel?"

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26
Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

Faenethor blinks in disbelief as the brash, unapologetic northman stomps away. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, as the Lands of the Linnorm Kings are known to possess a certain wildness that permeates the air, or swims in the drinking water, or otherwise seeps into the blood of those who dwell here. But Plisk's brakish attitude was certainly less than professional. It's suddenly clear to Faenethor that he'll no doubt encounter all manner of personalities working within the Society.

For a fleeting moment, he fears the wildness of the north will seep under his own skin, divesting him of his hard-earned civility and good manners. He pushes the teacup away, fearful of its influence.

Then he remembers what he would be doing right now, if not working for the Pathfinders. No better than a common criminal, he.

He stands quickly, gathering his rucksack, longbow, and quiver. "I think you're right, Master Craggark! Come, let's hurry and catch up with Hamstring. But, we wouldn't really need a guide to find the river. Rannveig's Run is just around the square. I nearly tipped in just walking by it. Hardly the weather for swimming, I'd say."

Thanks to his explorations of the Jade Quarter to the west, Faenethor has gained a degree of familiarity with their current bearings. He leads them outside, then west toward Ice Quarter. Here they find the focus of day-to-day commerce in Kalsgard, its crowded streets lined with a multitude of shops and stalls selling extravagances and mundane necessities to locals and visitors alike. Fur-clad traders barter for consignments of trade goods in the many markets and merchandise is distributed. Close by Rannveig’s Run, the stream that runs through the city, looms the crenellated fortress-temple of Gorum, and the ornate and curving sky-shrine to Desna sits in the open courtyard by the quarter’s western gate.

Near the middle of the quarter rises a worn lump of stone roughly the size of a horse. Faenethor remembers his discussion with the homely Tien woman who sold him his breakfast. "The people of Kalsgard believe this to be the original runestone marking the founding of the settlement," he explains. "While any markings have long since worn away, citizens often touch the stone for luck." He steps carefully around a pair of fishmongers hauling a display of fresh salmon strung to a long pole, and places his hand on the rock.

"Let's see. Over there's The Hunting Serpent Inn, so... There! just across the street. The Grinning Pixie."

I hope you don't mind, I pulled some info from AP #50's Gazeteer of the city.

That was three 20s on professions in a row! This is a group of professionals !

I'll be on a cruise March 6-10 with limited access to wifi, so expect some silence from me that week.

Faenethor exhales audibly in relief, pleased to see that a human with two dwarves, a halfing, and a half-orc would mean his own elfish nature might yet be the least peculiar sight in this pub.

"Jawhar. Hamstring. Craggark. Torvald. Tusk. A pleasure." He carefully takes a seat beside Jawhar, thankful that a learned priest of the goddess of the sun would be their companion in these cold, icy lands. "Sarenrae! I confess I am not an elf of the cloth, instead dedicating my prayers and meditations toward papyrus, parchment, and ink. But Sarenrae has always held a special fondness in my heart, and her devotees have always been an invaluable resource for the poor and underprivileged in my home city. Korvosa, that is."

He lifts the miniature bowl of tea, savoring the heat that pours through the ceramic into his still-cold fingers. As he sips, his gleaming, silver finger sheath captures the lantern light, twin snakes encircling one another, grasping a tiny ice-gem between their fanged maws.

"And of course, who can deny the power of her story. The goddess of redemption, forgiveness, and, of course, fire." He cannot help but smile at this comment, for fire has always been an interest of his, as well. "Nothing could be more appropriate than to be favored by an acolyte of the Everflame in these cold climes." He places the tea bowl back on the table, his fluttering heartbeat more at ease, a bit more self-assurance creeping into his voice with every syllable spoken.

"And are the rest of you holy men, as well? Or do you draw your skills from some other source?"

Faenethor Sera exhales forcefully, watching with delight as his breath fogs before him in the icy air. The slightest flurry of snowflakes dance around him as the never-ending winter of the Thanelands welcome him here, in the frozen heart of the Linnorm Kings.

The way a crow shook down on me the dust of snow from a hemlock tree has given my heart a change of mood and saved some part'f this day I've rued.

A line of rhyme from last night's reading, a collection of Ulfen poetry, strikes him as particularly apt. For today is his initiation, his trial by ice? His first expedition among the ranks of the Society. Last night he had wondered--was he truly an adventurer? Was his destiny hidden away in the icy north, far from his home city of Korvosa and its stinking Jeggare River? The answer was unclear, but in the end, he had decided that even this is better than floating face down in those filthy waters.

Anyway, Kalsgard isn't all bad, he thinks, eyeing the handsome ivory-hilted dagger he has just acquired in the Jade Quarter. Its blade is forged from cold iron and reflects his face as good as any mirror. He stares back at himself. His skin is pale, his deep-set brown eyes like two bronze coins. His silky, straight hair is the color of smoke, worn in a practical but carefully-crafted style. His prominent elfen ears advertise his lineage, while his ornate blue robes and furs suggest his economic status.

"You're getting old, Sera," he mutters to himself.

Sighing once more in resignation, he sheathes the blade, runs his long, elegant fingers through his hair, and steps into the pub in search of Captain Benarry.

The mismatched, motley crew cannot be mistaken for anything but a collection of Pathfinders. Trying his best to swallow his nerves, he strides confidently and with precision, like a well-crafted clock, toward the table. "Greetings. My name is Faenethor Sera. I'm searching for one Captain Benarry. Might you point me in his direction?"

Greetings! This is Wicked's evocation wizard for review. GM, this is built in hero lab, so please let me know how to share the file with you. It's pretty straightfoward, but let me know if you have any questions. My fluff will be a work in progress, though I have an idea of where I'm going with it.

PFS #: 76849-8
Character: Faenethor Sera
Player: Something Wicked
Faction: The Exchange
Day Job: Profession (merchant): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23