About Hector Lindenbrook...when I finally unraveled their old tongue and deciphered the message, I wish I hadn't. "Wonder and doom will follow you, until your mutual three-fold eclipse at the end of your days." My cousins always said that the trolls' fortunes were never wrong. I thought getting out of Kaer Maga would rid my life of its violence. Oh, how wrong I was... Statistics:
Male Halfling Arcanist/Ninja Gestalt 1
N Small Humanoid (Halfling) Init +6; Senses Perception +6 ------------------------------ DEFENSE ------------------------------ AC 15, touch 15, flat-footed 11 (+0armor, +3dex, +1dodge, +1size) hp 10 {+1d8,+1Con, +1FCB} Fort +1, {+0Base,+1Con} Ref +5, {+2Base,+3Dex} Will +2,{+2Base,+0Wis} CMD 11 ------------------------------ OFFENSE ------------------------------ Speed 30 ft. CMB -2; Base Atk +0; {+1size} Melee-1{+0Base,-1Str} Ranged+3{+0Base,+3Dex} --Melee+0
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Dodge: +1 Dodge bonus to AC --------------
Bluff(Cha)____+2{+0rank,+2Cha}
Languages Common, Varisian, Halfling, Gnome, Elvish, Giant Special Abilities:
------------------------------ SPECIAL/CLASS ABILITIES ------------------------------ Halfling Traits
Fleet of Foot: Some halflings are quicker than their kin but less cautious. Halflings with this racial trait move at normal speed and have a base speed of 30 feet. This racial trait replaces slow speed and sure-footed. Keen Senses: Halflings receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception checks. Ninja Class Features
Sneak Attack: If a ninja can catch an opponent when he is unable to defend himself effectively from her attack, she can strike a vital spot for extra damage. The ninja’s attacks deal extra damage anytime her target would be denied a Dexterity bonus to AC (whether the target actually has a Dexterity bonus or not), or when the ninja flanks her target. This extra damage is 1d6 at 1st level, and increases by 1d6 every two ninja levels thereafter. Bonus damage from sneak attacks is precision damage. Should the ninja score a critical hit with a sneak attack, this precision damage is not multiplied. Ranged attacks count as sneak attacks only if the target is within 30 feet. With a weapon that deals nonlethal damage (such as a sap, whip, or unarmed strike), a ninja can make a sneak attack that deals nonlethal damage instead of lethal damage. She cannot use a weapon that deals lethal damage to deal nonlethal damage in a sneak attack, even with the usual –4 penalty. The ninja must be able to see the target well enough to pick out a vital spot, and must be able to reach this spot. A ninja cannot sneak attack while striking a creature that has concealment. Arcanist Class Features
Points from the arcanist reservoir are used to fuel many of the arcanist's powers. In addition, the arcanist can expend 1 point from her arcane reservoir as a free action whenever she casts an arcanist spell. If she does, she can choose to increase the caster level by 1 or increase the spell's DC by 1. She can expend no more than 1 point from her reservoir on a given spell in this way. Arcane Exploits
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Spells:
------------------------------ Spells ------------------------------ Arcanist Spellbook Cantrips ALL 0-Level spells on the Sorceror/Wizard Spell List 1st-Level
Default Prepared Whilst in Civilized Areas
Whilst Traveling Yonder
Whilst Spelunking
Gear/Possessions:
------------------------------ GEAR/POSSESSIONS ------------------------------ Carrying Capacity Light 0-26 lb. Medium 27-53 lb. Heavy 54-80 lb. Current Load Carried 23 lb. Gear
SCRIVENER'S KIT
MISCELLANEOUS
POSSESSIONS OF SENTIMENT
Money 36 GP 0 SP 10 CP
Background:
How did this all begin? Well, the first thing I can remember is being cooped up in a gray cobblestone lodge with seventeen other young hungry mouths. I remember my name; Hector. Hector Lindenbrook. Life wasn't very fair being raised in the Lindenbrook house… I was born a frog among snakes. You see, the Lindenbrooks were one of the many small names who vied for mob control on the labyrinthine streets of Kaer Maga, deep in Varisia. I had many cousins, but could never remember who my parents or immediate siblings were. There was Auntie Mims, and Uncle Farsworth, and Granpa Jeb, but they were more like quartermasters than family to any of us youngins'. Auntie would always have something to feed us, most days slop of some grimey origin, but we kept alive, and kept a ruckus going, which was the only thing that Uncle Farsworth really wanted. Growing up was an endless cycle of skinned knees, childish jeers, and criminal initiations. Uncle Farsworth groomed us all up over our short years in the cobblestone house to be mindless thugs, ready to spill blood for the sake of the Lindenbrook name… It was horrid. I was never cut out for any part of that life… I was too timid, and too smart. Most often at my detriment. My cousins never really understood me, and Uncle Farsworth never tried to. Looked at me as a sort of runt, they all did. And they treated me like one. So many days putting up with their words, their taunts, their threats… their kicks, their blows… their knives... The only kind memories I have of Kaer Maga was a conversation I had with 'ol Granpa Jeb when he was drunk, and the friendship I had with one of my cousins, Lidya. She was different from the rest of them, just like me. Lidya was a reader, and we shared the same sort of curiosity that transcended the streets we lived for. As soon as we were taught how to lift things, she would always pop up out of nowhere with a new book for me. I would read them to her, I was able to pick up on languages and letters a bit quicker than she did. But she was the fast one. Granpa Jeb told me stories of things I had never seen; a world outside of our petty gang feuds, full of mystic creatures, pleasures, treasures and wonders. Never had I thought that anything besides the life I knew existed, but I always reckoned what he said was truth; because he mentioned the trolls in his stories. We were always told to stay away from them, that they would eat us and use our bodies in their prophecies. The trolls of Kaer Maga were not good for Lindenbrook kind. But I was always a curious one, and never really trusted the kurt words of Uncle Farsworth. One day I wandered where I shouldn'tve. ...It was a terrible day. It was the first day of my actual life. We were about to pull off a coup d'etat against the Hurgrins, our rivals, a dwarf gang known for their acts of wanton drunken destruction. My cousins' plan was, well, 'flawless', in their words, but also void of any escape routes. I forget all of the details, but we were going in there, and we were gonna get 'em good this time, 'for good' in our ringleaders' words. And if I didn't go, they said, they would burn my books. I was without options. Everything was going too good, until we got to the bottom of their basements. We were supposed to take their ancestors' bones or something, and then use them in degrading ways. It wasn't even a part of the main objective of the plan; it was just for prides' sake. When they saw us touch the bones, it was as if the Hurgrins had new bodies; they came, and they came for blood. Everyone scattered. I was being chased by three of them! I didn't even DO anything the whole damned trip! And they were after ME! I found myself where I always wanted to be, but never should have been; the temple of the gut-diviners: the trolls. I ran into one. Oh gods, they were so terrible to see. So tall, their black eyes full of knowledge, their figures… So surreal. It took me up into its hands, and brought me inside of their hovel. It was like nothing I'd ever seen. However, at the time, I hadn't seen much at all. They set me up near an old one, the foliage on its skin would creak like bark whenever it moved. I didn't know what was happening, but it started chanting at me, staring at me with its black eyes… I'll never forget that moment. The look in those eyes which filled me with such fear, but, they didn't mean to harm. They were so alien at the time, but I think I understand them now… ...This was the first time I had ever come into contact with sorcerous powers. I don't speak of them lightly either. The fact that I'm even writing this down is dangerous and damning to my person… ...Anyways, it spoke words over me I didn't understand, and ripped from its stomach its own skin, covered in its' own guts. The guts burned into the skin words of a text I couldn't understand, which drove me crazy. I was already unsettled beyond myself; this was the most dangerous, petrifying day of my life. I'm surprised I didn't faint during any part of it looking back… Such a weird day. They put the trollskin in my hands, and let me go. When I had left, I found Lidya had dispatched the dwarves which were chasing me. I told her everything that had happened. And as I did, I got a crazy idea. "What if… What if we left this city?" I told her. The world was so big, at least according to Granpa and the books we stole. She immediately agreed, and we began to scheme together for what seemed like ages. It was so ecstatic, so dangerous. If any of our other cousins, or Uncle Farsworth found out what we were planning, they would have slit our throats right there! It was during this season I began to feel the thrills of danger and life. They seemed to go hand in hand. On the third full moon after I had met the trolls, we made our escape from this damned city of Kaer Maga. We waited until all were drunk in the Lindenbrook house, and late in the night we made off like the bandits we were raised to be. It was difficult, living on the road, away from civilization, and the more basic things, but we made do. It was a true adventure, like in the books we'd read. Golarion was before us, all behind us be damned! On many of the long nights spent traveling, we just gazed at the stars while I tried to decipher what the troll's riddle said. Soon, we were in Riddleport. And then I lost her. We were caught off guard. Wholly. We never thought people existed outside of Kaer Maga that were like them. Bastards. Thieves. Cons. But we were naïve. They tricked us, and they took her, and I never saw her again. I pray to the gods that she found her way out… I can only imagine what happened to her… Life didn't get any easier for me either. After having every single thing I had stolen from me, I began to become a bit wiser. A kid shorter than me lifted my troll riddle from me one day, but I caught him. He almost got away, but I caught him, and I punched him in the face until he didn't have one left. I was done with being a runt, getting picked on, spit on, and shafted by everyone bigger than I was. It felt good for a moment, to be bigger than someone. But as soon as I saw the blood on my knuckles, I realized that this one was just like me, trying to survive. And I wept on his bloody body for what seemed like hours… I never lost my trollskin riddle after that. Life was uneventful, but full of new sights after that night. I saw so many kinds of peoples I never imagined could exist, and saw a lot of weird things in my time in Riddleport. A lot of cruel things, but some silver linings were had as well. I had learned the joys of pipes, and had put some use to the skills that Uncle Farsworth had taught me so many moons ago. Life was, alright. But then Galviel came into town. He was a stage magician. I had seen many in my day, and they always betwixt my brain, but Galviel… Galviel was seven steps above all the other troupers in Riddleport combined. He was a tiefling, of slim and cruel frame, with horns as sharp as his wit and guile. I had seen his show three times before I ever talked to him. He picked me out of the crowd for one of his tricks, and asked if I had a handkerchief on hand. I didn't, and he said that "It's alright, troll's skin will do just fine!" And with a flick of his hands, my own keepsake, my only real possession, my trollskin riddle was no longer in my secret pocket, but in this devil's hands. He didn't even touch me! I wasn't ready. I was caught off guard again. I couldn't let it happen again. I couldn't lose the riddle. I hadn't solved it yet. Everything went red. I attacked the magician, on stage, in front of a whole crowd. Who was I??! In the end, Galviel was so steeled and prepared that he made it a part of his trick, and the crowd all applauded and left. But this devil man would not give me back my scroll! "I'll give back to you, for a price. Become my assistant, and not only will I give you back your riddle, but teach you what it reads." In that moment, I realized that this man was not just a stage magician, but a sorcerer of dark powers. I felt a new kind of fear; not just the kind you get when you get punched in the nose, or have your most prized possession stolen from you; but fear for the safety of the substance of my soul. However, I also felt that same old rush of danger and life creep up in my breast. I accepted. I became a student of the devil. For several years we would travel from Riddleport to many cities, back and forth. I became intimate with many of them, and became an astute assistant for Galviel. I helped in his troupe acts, carried all of his stuff, and did all the busywork asked of me. In return, Galviel shared with me his secrets, his food, his pipeweed, and the substance of his hate. His lessons were at times crueler than Uncle Farsworth's ever could have been. The vile things that man made me do… …But he always had a point, a lesson to be taught from it. This continued for several years, until Galviel had divulged to me his deepest secret: his vendetta. He had aimed his whole life on taking for himself vengeance against his own teacher. However, his old teacher had long since died. Galviel's plan was to go into the many veils of existence and find him, and make him suffer for the slights he put upon Galviel… He had never told me what they were in specific, but his demeanor had made those details all but needed. It was then that I became not only his assistant on the stage, but his assistant in his bitter war against the dead. I learned arts which should never be told to any soul, secrets which should not be a part of this world, but yet are. He taught me the contents of the troll's scroll. When I had finally unraveled the old tongue and deciphered the message, I wish I hadn't. "Wonder and doom will follow you, until your three-fold eclipse at the end of your days." I had heard that the troll's prophecies were never wrong. I thought getting out of Kaer Maga would rid my life of that sort of violence… How wrong I was… The events of my life unfolding post-haste only made this damned line true. I followed Galviel until he destroyed himself. One night he completed the ritual he had aimed to complete years before he had even met me. He had found every piece he needed to do it; and he did. He exploded into a cloud of flame and smoke; all of his eldritch writings and implements along with him. So much knowledge, wasted on hatred… What a waste. I was able to save for myself one page from his spellbook, but I still can't read it. I learned a lot from Galviel, but I think the most important lesson he taught me was the importance of exaction. When he left me, we were in Riddleport again. He told me that I should go back up to Korvosa. He said that I should find the Academae, and that inside of their hidden halls I would learn more about the arts he had divulged to me. I had nothing else to do, and there was the promise of knowledge, so I followed suit. However, I could never get in. They were too prestigious for my kind. Galviel's name was of no help, his name was met with mockery. I tried for a year and a half to do whatever I could to get in, to learn. I bled for that chance, but it never happened. I was able to, however, aid some of the student's excursions. I met a fellow named Altoriel, an elven arcanist who needed to find a lost artifact, and needed help to find it. Me, being eager and desperate for a friend and a chance to prove myself, to someone, made me jump. Also, the promise of learning a new secret tickled all of my fancies. We were off, delving into dungeons ancient and hexed, and after many endless nights of drudgery and dangers, we found what he was looking for. Altoriel was so thankful that he tried to help me get into Academae, but it still didn't work out. But it was alright, because I found out my life's calling and career. That spelunking adventure was the culmination of all of my being's desires. I felt so alive, even though more often than not we were more than half dead. I began to do this sort of business for scholars and sorcerors-in-secret, and they paid oh so well. I had made a name for myself, and had many contacts. Life was well. Then I wound up in Ustalav. I was working for a man named Petros Lorrimor. I was to find some lost text about a figure named the Whispering Tyrant, for whatever reason. I found the text without much effort, and the job was uneventful, but when I went to go give the scroll to the professor, something dreadful happened. He was missing! He was missing and he had my money! I went and looked for him, and found him surrounded by what of course had to take place: Dwarves had surrounded him in a closed alley. Professor Lorrimor was never a strong man, but had his wits about him for certain. I was able to use a couple of tricks Galviel had taught me to slip up the dwarves, and was able to rescue the Professor from losing a pretty penny… ...And then took that penny for myself, as a hard-working man. The Professor was always a kind man, and that night we were able to forge more than just a business contact, but rather tempered into each other a silent mutual respect, and became fast friends. He was a walking library, the man! I was even able to study under him for a season, which was ever so enlightening.
Moons later I got the letter. I could never intellectually blame myself, but I did. I mean, I'm the cursed one… Doom followed me with Lidya, with Galviel, and now this innocent man… Damn the trolls...
Appearance and Personality:
Appearance Hector is a pudgy halfling, with a fat face, brown hair and blue eyes. His countenance seems pointed with worry almost all of the time; scanning all corners and horizons for danger. His ears are curved only ever so slightly, making his cherubic look even more childlike. However, while both his person and garb seem unassuming, his dress has a certain pinch of class to it, with a flair that communicates power and prestige. Most often though, Hector hides underneath his cloak all things an enemy might use to identify or use to hurt him. Personality
His most powerful drive is his curiosity for the ancient and arcane. To know what once was in full detail, to read the stories of times and those who were before, the secrets of kings and sorcerers long past are of his greatest treasures. "Oh, the power of the secrets contained within the depths of Golarion; what ecstasy!" This ecstatic curiosity even overcomes Hector's fear in triumphant moments. While he contains a slight swagger of an aristocratic vibe, Hector truly enjoys the simpler things; his pipe, old dusty books, and fine cheeses. However, his peace and pleasure are constantly tainted and turned to ruin by the paranoia of his cursed mind. Within his journeys, the vindictiveness of his old teacher Galviel has rubbed off on him, and at times Hector will find himself making colder decisions than he's comfortable with. |
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