Flinnton Lochlass's page

About Flinnton Lochlass

The common thinking around the village is that Flinn is – let’s face it – rather an underachiever. He appears to be more interested in spending his time daydreaming and whiling away the days whittling this or that than he is finding an honest to goodness job. While he has a pleasant demeanor, the folk in the village simply shake their head at his wasted potential.

And he does have potential. His whittling produces flutes, pipes, and drums that he manages to sell both to the rare travelers that stop by as well as to the nearby clan of gnomes, but the scant coins he receives aren’t enough to get by on. He supplements his income, when the mood strikes him, doing odd jobs around the village: making charcoal for the local smith, cleaning and repairing locks, or sweeping up in the shrine of Erastil where he has taken to voraciously reading the few holy texts he can lay his hands upon. And, truth be told, he is also responsible for pilfering the occasional ear of corn or string of fish when times are difficult.

While Flinn is perceived as lackadaisical by the villagers, he is actually quite curious (as evidenced by his interest in the holy texts) and motivated, but only if something interests him...and he realizes, particularly having been exposed to the travelers and gnomes to whom he sells his instruments, that there isn't now – nor will there ever likely be—much in the village to hold his interest. Oh, he views it as a pleasant enough place, and one he'd defend it the need arose (in part because that would be something new and exciting), but a potential lifetime as a tinkerer or farmer holds little appeal.

Flinn has struck up a friendship with the gnomish alchemist Abingale during his occasional forays to the nearby village. As a result, he’s not only picked up the language, but he’s managed to trade for a few of Abingale’s alchemical creations as well. The inherit magic of the gnomish folk fascinates him to the point where he fancies trying to learn their cantrips for himself.

As a lad he’s run with some of the local boys, but he often drifts away and disappears altogether for long stretches at a time, particularly when he has a few shillings to rub together. Sometimes it’s to the gnomish village, other times it’s to The Point where he contemplates the rocks while whittling a set of pipes…and on more than one occasion it’s been to play hero with much children, which gives him a bit of chagrin but sure beats mending fishermens' nets or making them new hooks.

Flinn would be all too happy if any of the folk tales heard in the village were true, but he no more believes in the loch monster, ghosts, or the existence of the dark elves than he does the smith's entertaining whoppers. Of course, he does have a niggling of doubt—or perhaps niggling of belief— ever since the time he was returning from the gnomes and spotted what he could only assume was an elven witch of some sort at the fringe of the forest. He felt rather like a blue bottle fly drawn to a pitcher plant, but scattered in the other direction before she could see him (…he hopes).

The persistent tale whispered around the village is that the Lochlass name was only taken by the family two generations ago (though Flinn neither cares nor is bothered by the surreptitious whispers of the townsfolk). Outlandish tales are passed on involving his grandfather and a trip to the highlands, after which he took on the surname and “acted right queer ever afterwards”.

Description:
Flinn is of medium height (5’10”), slight (150 lbs.) but wiry. His dark hair is unkempt but he keeps it swept off of his face, while his facial hair seems ever changing depending on his mood and his interest (or lack thereof) in shaving. His clothes, while of good craftsmanship, have seen better days; spending gold on fancy clothes isn’t a priority for Flinn when he isn’t always sure from whence the next meal is coming.

A thick pewter bracelet is slipped over his left wrist, a family heirloom said to span back to his great-great-great grandmother, a woman, according to the verbal family history, with a powerfully strong will that moved from a distant hamlet at the insistence of her family. No one has ever adequately explained what the peculiar symbol worked into the pewter is supposed to represent.

Flinn currently relies on his quarterstaff and sling to defend himself should the need arise around the village (unlikely in his view, given the laconic nature of the place). However, when venturing further afield he straps on the family hand-me-down, a rapier of rather out-of-date design—inspired in no small part by the picture he found of Cayden Cailean with a mug of beer in one hand and a rapier in the other, fearlessly beating back a fiery devil. He hasn’t quite figured out how to effectively use the thing yet, but he fancies the feel of it slung at his side.

Worships: Erastil by default, though Flinn finds him a bit staid. He has become intrigued by passing references to Cayden Cailean in the holy texts he’s studied.

Feats:
Dodge
Mobility
Weapon Finesse

Traits:
Magical Talent - cast guidance as a spell-like ability 1/day
Fencer - +1 on attacks of opportunity

Equipment:
Musical instrument (flute)
Spear
Dagger
Sling
Sling bullets (x30)
Rapier
Studded Leather armor
Backpack
Bedroll
Blanket, winter
Candles (x5)
Fish hook (x2)
Belt Pouch
Rations (x3 days)
Waterskin
Traveler’s Outfit
Thieves Tools
Alchemist’s Fire
Smokestick
Pewter bracelet (10gp value)
Well worn all weather cloak
Quarterstaff