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Imp doesn't overtly react to the lord governor's words, but something clearly made an impact because they remain as silent as the others while the group walks to the pit. Their head continually swivels from side to side as though studying every feature of their surroundings. When the woman who offered to rip out Imp's tongue is pushed in, they shuffle forward to the very edge and stare down with a grimace at the unfolding violence.
Imp can barely start testing their bonds before their attention is yanked away by the glare of the morning sun — doubly painful for a nocturnal species with a hangover. For the first part of the walk they can do little but squint through barely cracked eyelids at the unfamiliar surroundings. As their vision starts to adjust they almost wish it hadn't. They flinch at the sight of the chained dryad, stumbling slightly and barely keeping their place in the march. But they regain their composure, and by the time they reach the courtyard they only stiffen slightly with each cracking of a whip. Imp stares back at the lord governor as he talks briefly with Dermott. Their expression is neutral, albeit still squinty, and when they speak their tone gives no sign that they're aware of the colossal impertinence of their words. "What could an expert criminal like you possibly need from novices like us?"
Imp scowls at the guards, glancing over their heads as though assessing the height of the ceiling in the corridor. Their scowl deepens as they look back at the rest of the cell's occupants, then turn to face the wall, crouching down with their hands behind their back. They're not quite kneeling — with their birdlike legs and talons it's not entirely clear if they'd be able to — but their position roughly matches the others'.
Now it's Imp's turn to look confused. "Both." After stopping to use the hole in the floor, they trudge stiffly over to the cell's entrance and peer out into the passage.
Hey, you've got to have someone unsociable to make the rest of you seem charming by comparison, right? An essential trait in a wingman (no pun intended).
Across the cell, Imp twitches. They lie in a soggy heap, dark wings folded over their body. Suddenly those wings jerk open with a spasm, scattering bits of muck through the air like a poorly controlled umbrella. Imp winces at the involuntary movement, glaring around the cell with bleary eyes until it comes into focus. They're definitely not used to waking at dawn, but there's nothing like a sharp blow to the head to reset your sleep schedule. They slowly pull themselves to their feet as the last few comments they heard register. "The pigs got us," they say in heavily accented Common. "What more to remember?"
Looks super interesting! I thought it would be fun to make a character who's new to Hive, to spice things up a bit with that whole 'fish out of water' angle. To that end, allow me to introduce Imp Lemayian, a prickly but principled strix nomad who got stranded here in de facto exile when their militia was destroyed. Yesterday they were fighting for equality for oppressed people, today they're a vagrant lying in their own vomit. Mechanically, Imp is a zen archer monk specializing in ranged damage, making full use of their wings to function as an airborne turret. Out of combat they're an excellent scout and tracker who can vanish without a trace into the night sky. Background:
Imp shouldn’t be here. Not in this cell, and not in this city.
They grew up not in Hive but in a loose-knit nomadic community that travels throughout the broader region, scraping out a precarious existence in the mess that the world has become. Imp’s parents were loving but were left chronically ill after a disease outbreak when Imp was young, so the care they could provide was often limited. And as a child Imp never really got the hang of social interactions — they could rarely work up the nerve to even start a conversation with another kid their age, and when they did they often came across as abrasive or just plain weird. So for a time Imp largely had to fend for themselves, learning to make bows and arrows and hunting game in order to survive. That all changed when they met the Antitrust, a community militia within the nomads committed to a philosophy of radical egalitarianism. The Antitrust was looking to expand its ranks in response to increasing aggression from nearby cities, and though hesitant at first Imp eventually volunteered. Suddenly for the first time in their life they were surrounded by a support network of people who not only cared about them but could make them feel like they had something important to contribute, regardless of whether they could talk pretty or throw status around. Imp became good friends with many of the other militia members. They taught Imp how to fight, how to work in a team. But with their encouragement Imp also started reading some history, and thinking more about the world and their place in it. After a few years, the Antitrust really felt like home. A place where Imp could do what was right. This year, though, an adjustment in the nomads’ seasonal routes brought them closer to Hive than they’d ever been. After a few small clashes with divisions of Hive’s army, the Antitrust decided to send a small group of scouts to infiltrate the city itself — and Imp was eager to go. The team hoped to investigate not only the scale of the military threat, but also the prospects for helping the common people of Hive organize to overthrow the ruling class. Nothing Imp hadn’t been involved with half a dozen times before, to varying degrees of success. But this time they didn’t even make it to the city before a small bird caught up with them. It had a sealed message from the Antitrust tied to its leg: reactionary forces within the nomads had seized power and they were cracking down on the militia. Dozens of members had already been executed. The scouting party scattered, thrown into chaos and fear. Imp had no way to know if they were being pursued or if the nomads were already leaving them in the dust. Only one thing was clear: they couldn’t go back. Imp wouldn’t see their friends or their aging parents again. They fled for the only place they could think of, Hive itself, gliding in under the cover of night. But once there they had no clue what to do with themselves, in this unfamiliar city with its strange coins and hostile guards and endless twisting walls. The idea of fomenting revolution now seemed laughable. Imp was a nomad with nowhere to go, a militiaman with nothing to fight for. So they went to a bar. The last thing they remember is ordering drink after drink they knew they could never pay for, with no intention but holding off reality for at least one night. Now they’ve woken up in a cell, surrounded by these other dregs of society. It’s not quite true, perhaps, that Imp shouldn’t be here. They’d certainly rather be somewhere else, if they had anywhere else to be. But looking around from them to the others, you could almost say they belong. Statblock:
Imp Lemayian
Agender strix monk (zen archer) 2 LG Medium humanoid (strix) Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception +8 —————————————————————————————— DEFENSE —————————————————————————————— AC 16, touch 16, flat-footed 13 (+3 Dex, +3 Wis) hp 17 (2d8+2) Fort +5, Ref +6, Will +6 —————————————————————————————— OFFENSE —————————————————————————————— Speed 30 ft.; fly 60 ft. (average) Melee unarmed strike +3 (1d6+2) Ranged longbow +5 (1d8) longbow flurry of blows +4/+4 (1d8) Special Attacks hatred —————————————————————————————— STATISTICS —————————————————————————————— Str 14, Dex 16, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 16, Cha 5 Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 19 Feats Deadly Aim, Improved Unarmed Strike, Perfect Strike, Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Weapon Focus (longbow) Traits Militia Veteran, Outlander (exile) Skills Acrobatics +8, Artistry (philosophy) +5, Craft (bows) +6, Fly +8, Knowledge (history) +5, Perception +8, Sense Motive +7, Stealth +8, Survival +7 Languages Common, Strix SQ nocturnal Other Gear longbow, arrows (blunt 10, cold iron 10, smoke 3, stone 100, stone flight 10, whistling 5), animal call (owl), artisan’s tools, backpack, bell, belt pouch, blanket, caltrops, candles (10), chalk (5), earplugs, fishhook, flint and steel, hemp rope (50 ft.), holly, inkpen, mistletoe, monk’s outfit, oil (1 qt.), powder, rice paper (4), sack, signal whistle, silver weapon blanch, sewing needle, sling, soap, torches (2), trail rations (5 days), twine (50 ft.), waterskin, weapon cord Let me know if there's anything else you need from me!
Very fun to see all the different ideas, I think this game concept really brought out the best in everyone. Just chiming in with my demi-gestalt info so it's clear — I'll add it to this profile as well. Since unchained summoner only has good Will saves, Sam gained the good Fort saves from his paladin subclass. He took the Combat advance, increasing to good BAB, d10 hit dice, and the corresponding proficiencies. Finally, he spent his three boon feats on lay on hands, divine grace, and the battlefield presence ability from the holy tactician archetype. As for tropes, the idea for Sam came in large part from a desire to flip the classic "knight on a quest" trope on its head. He's a guy with the basic moral outlook of a storybook hero and the real-world power to match, but who took his life in a decidedly non-crusading direction. I especially like getting to look at the tavern setting from the opposite perspective of how PCs normally encounter it, to think about what's happening behind the scenes. It allows Sam be quite genre savvy for a very narrow portion of the D&D genre, then delightfully out of his element in any other context, all while being so wholeheartedly sincere that it never cracks the fourth wall. From there, Almighty Janitor and Genius Loci seemed like fun tropes to mash together and play with (I'll do everyone's time the favor of not linking to tvtropes).
Mus here! Excited to introduce my submission: Sam Florin, the Broken Broadsword’s gruff but warmhearted custodian whose unassuming demeanor conceals strange powers fueled by his protective devotion to the tavern itself. Mechanically he’s a human soulbound summoner with the holy tactician paladin subclass and laborer background. His eidolon is a kami called Bebe, a spiritual manifestation of the Broken Broadsword in its role as a place of refuge for those pushed to the margins of the outside world. When push comes to shove, as it often does in a place like this, they’re both more than ready to draw blades and defend the tavern, filling the role of melee combatants with a strategic and team-oriented fighting style. Appearance:
When you first lay eyes on Sam he probably seems more like a fixture of the tavern than an independent person. Just one more item in the background of a chaotic scene — a pale man in shabby clothes shuffling around with a mop and bucket as he works to scrub out the blood left on the floor by the most recent brawl.
If you stop for a closer look, you might start to take in more details. His scruffy hair and beard, black but starting to tinge with a grey that makes him look older than he is. His worn boots and stained cloak — not bloodstains like some of the tavern’s more dramatic guests, mostly just grease and dirt. The lumpy pack over his shoulders that seems much too large for his unimpressive frame, every square inch of it sporting another jar or bottle of dubious cleaning and mending supplies. And if you’re really paying attention, you might spot some odder things. The way he always looks up with a smile a half-second before someone opens the tavern door, when there’s no way he could have possibly seen or heard them. And is that a glint of metal visible for an instant beneath his cloak... and beneath the head of his mop? The biggest surprise, though, comes when the sound of fighting starts approaching from out on the street. Sam turns toward it instantly, of course, but so does something else. What had looked for all the world like the remnants of a smashed table stands up, revealing themselves to be a roughly humanoid figure shaped from splintered wood, broken dishware, rusty weapons, and scraps of cloth. Their four arms end in the jagged, brightly-colored glass of shattered bottles, and you could swear that they wink at you as they swivel to face the commotion. Sam grips his mop tightly, bucket forgotten. In unison, he and Bebe step toward the door. Personality:
To really understand what makes Sam tick, you have to stare at the phrase “there is order in chaos” until it stops sounding like nonsense someone made up to seem profound. Because to him, that’s what the Broken Broadsword represents. His driving goal right now is to maintain this tavern as a place of refuge for the people of the city — not refuge from danger or violence, which of course are present in spades, but from having to live their lives in accordance with the absurd and inscrutable whims of whatever powers that be have clawed their way to the top of the social order. Sam values honesty, authority, stability. And he sees honesty not in oaths taken on some dusty tome, but in people who are able to be their authentic selves. He sees authority not at the end of a monarch’s blade, but in the organic relationships between parent and child, mentor and student, veteran and recruit. He sees stability not in building tall castle walls to keep the scary things out, but in creating a space where scary things happen sometimes and people help each other rebuild the next day.
All of which is a long-winded way of explaining why a paladin reveres a building like this. Such philosophical issues rarely come up in day-to-day life; Sam’s content to help keep the place running and leave it at that. More often relevant is his social demeanor, which shifts a bit as you get to know him. At first he might come across as distant, then when he starts speaking the tone might seem terse or abrupt. But these are more choices than accidents — he prefers not to attract too much attention from strangers. With tavern regulars he is happy to trade banter and laughter long into the night. It helps that he genuinely likes the people who come here. And when he needs to speak up he can capture the attention of a room in an instant. When it comes to brains, Sam’s not the most clever or wise man, he has nothing you could remotely call genius. But he is careful and attentive: he looks before thinking and he thinks before acting, and here that’s often enough to make the difference between life and death. Finally, this discussion of personality would be incomplete without talking about Bebe. Though their name is short for the Broken Broadsword they of course don’t come close to encompassing the full nature of the tavern. It contains multitudes, holds vastly different meanings for different people who use it. Bebe is just the manifestation of one aspect of it, the aspect most prominent to Sam. They are a spirit of unexpected respite, the eye at the center of a scintillating whirlwind. In practical terms this means they have the quick friendliness and lighthearted confidence that Sam lacks, fascinated and delighted by the sheer variety of people who pass through their doors. It’s telling that while Sam draws his power from the tavern itself, Bebe in turn worships none other than Desna, goddess of travelers and dreams. They are a bit of a social chameleon, very much adapting to the energy of the people in the tavern at any particular moment but always ready to stand and defend it. Background:
Sam was born into absolute poverty, in a crowded and dangerous neighborhood near the Broken Broadsword. His mother died in childbirth, and his father worked as an expendable thug in a local smuggling operation to keep scraps of food on the table.
From a young age, Sam was a child with a strong sense of justice. He could tell right from wrong, and there was so much about his life he knew was wrong. Of course, this got him in a lot of fights. Mostly they consisted of him getting beaten up when he stuck his nose in someone else’s business, but over time he started to learn: how to run, how to take a hit, how to fight unfairly when the opportunity presented itself. More importantly, he learned how to avoid the notice of the gangs that ran the area — and of course the city guard, who for all functional purposes were just another gang. Sam’s life went from precarious to freefall at the age of 12, when guards busted the smuggling ring and arrested his father along with the others. Sam never saw him again — presumably he was imprisoned at some unknown location, but he could just as easily be dead. All Sam knew was that he was on his own. He managed to survive for two years on the streets, living on what he could scavenge or beg or steal. Then he found the Broken Broadsword. He must have passed it a thousand times before, but on a cold winter day when he was 14 he saw a “Help Wanted” note tacked to the door with a splintered crossbow bolt, and so he finally went inside. It was like stepping into a world out of stories, a world of warmth and music and, in fairness, some pretty bad smells. Within the hour he had a broom in his hand, and at the end of the day he sat down to his first full meal in weeks. That job was his saving grace. Not that the pay was anything to speak of, just food and a bit of copper. Mostly it was having a place that felt like his own. No one glared at him like he didn’t belong, because no one belonged. And at least he was making the windows a little less grimy, so why waste a glare on him? It also helped that no one seemed to care if he curled up in the back room to sleep once the customers were gone and the night’s cleaning was done. It was almost like a home. Sam had been working there for a few months when he started to notice the magic. Little things at first: a broken plate that fused itself back together, a key that flew into his hand from across the room, a badly sprained wrist that mysteriously healed overnight. Then he began to grow stronger physically too, far beyond what his unathletic body would suggest. As the power kept increasing, and his control over it increased as well, he began to realize that the tavern itself was helping him. He started to hear it as a voice in his head, advising or complaining or just chatting. Sam really didn’t know how any of this magic stuff worked, but he knew that this voice wasn’t just his imagination: they were a person, and they were his friend. He started calling them Bebe. The next time guards stormed the tavern, he asked Bebe to come help in the fight. And they did, pulling together a body out of loose objects and debris. For the first time in his life, Sam had real power. Of course, this power came with a price. Sam rarely strayed far from the tavern to begin with, but he began to notice that when he did he would suffer migraines, blurry vision that grew into a splitting headache and then debilitating nausea. The instant he returned to the block of the tavern, it would vanish. Turns out you can’t grow that close to a place while remaining untouched. It was a part of him, and he was part of it. But you know what? Sam could live with that. And he has, for decades. The Broken Broadsword changed quite a bit through the years, management shifting hands whenever the old owners sold or died or got possessed by unspeakable entities from the Great Beyond. The customers changed too, heroes succeeding or failing on their epic quests and young upstarts stepping up to take their place at the bar. But a tavern always needs someone to scrub the floors, so Sam has always had a place there. He does his best to make it a safe harbor for others like it was for him. And when that requires a bit of brawling, well, he and Bebe keep their fists strong and their blades sharp. Sam Florin Statblock:
Male human unchained summoner (soulbound summoner) 4 / paladin (holy tactician) subclass / laborer background
LG Medium humanoid (human) Init +3; Senses Perception +8 —————————————————————————————— DEFENSE —————————————————————————————— AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+6 armor, +2 Dex) hp 38 (4d10+4) Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +8 Defensive Abilities divine grace, shield ally —————————————————————————————— OFFENSE —————————————————————————————— Speed 20 ft. Melee +1 scythe +9 (2d4+7/x4) Ranged chakram +6 (1d8+4) sling +6 (1d4+4) Special Attacks battlefield presence, lay on hands (2d6, 6/day) Summoner Spells Known (CL 4th; concentration +8) 2nd (2/day)—bull’s strength, create pit (DC 16) 1st (4/day)—alarm, grease (DC 15), long arm, protection from evil 0th (at will)—detect magic, guidance, light, mage hand, mending, message —————————————————————————————— STATISTICS —————————————————————————————— Str 18, Dex 14, Con 10, Int 12, Wis 11, Cha 18 Base Atk +4; CMB +8; CMD 20 Feats Barroom Brawler, Improved Spell Sharing, Outflank Traits Dirty Fighter, Narrows Survivor, Seeker Drawback Overprotective Skills Athletics +5, Diplomacy +11, Intimidate +8, Knowledge (arcana, engineering, religion) +5, Knowledge (local) +8, Lore (The Broken Broadsword) +5, Perception +8, Profession (custodian) +4, Sense Motive +8, Spellcraft +5, Use Magic Device +11 Languages Common, Undercommon SQ bond senses, one of the multitude, pactbond curse (site-bound), soulbound lifelink, soulbound evolution Combat Gear scroll of expeditious retreat, scroll of invisibility, scroll of obscuring mist, scroll of spider climb, wand of cure light wounds (50 charges), wand of lesser restoration (50 charges), wand of mage armor (50 charges) Other Gear masterwork breastplate, +1 scythe, chakrams (3), sling (10 bullets), traveler’s any-tool, acid (2), adhesive strip, alchemical cement, alchemical glue, alchemical glue accelerant, alchemical grease (2), alchemical solvent, alchemist’s kindness (5), animal glue, backpack, bedroll, blanket, bucket, caltrops, candles (10), casting plaster, chalk, charcoal, earplugs, explorer’s outfit, flint and steel, gear maintenance kit, hemp rope (50 ft.), magnesium (10 gp), miniature shovel, oil (5 pints), powder, sacks (2), signal whistle, smelling salts, soap, spell component pouch, spring-loaded scroll cases (2), spring-loaded wrist sheath, stillgut (3), tindertwigs (2), torches (10), twine (50 ft.), vermin repellent, wandermeal (6 days), weapon cord, wismuth salix (3), waterskin, 2 sp, 5 cp Bebe Statblock: Genderfluid kami biped eidolon 4
LG Medium outsider (native) Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +5 —————————————————————————————— DEFENSE —————————————————————————————— AC 15, touch 11, flat-footed 14 (+1 Dex, +4 natural) hp 16 (3d8+3) Fort +5, Ref +3, Will +4 Defensive Abilities evasion; Resist acid 10, cold 10, fire 5 —————————————————————————————— OFFENSE —————————————————————————————— Speed 30 ft. Melee slam +7 (1d8+6) kukri +7 (1d4+4/18-20), slam +2 (1d8+2) kukri +5 (1d4+4/18-20), 3 kukris +5 (1d4+2/18-20) Ranged chakram +4 (1d8+4) chakram +2 (1d8+4), 3 chakrams +2 (1d8+2) sling +4 (1d4+4) —————————————————————————————— STATISTICS —————————————————————————————— Str 19, Dex 13, Con 13, Int 7, Wis 10, Cha 11 Base Atk +3; CMB +7; CMD 18 Feats Butterfly’s Sting, Multiweapon Fighting Skills Acrobatics +5, Athletics +8, Bluff +7, Knowledge (local) +2, Perception +7, Sense Motive +4, Stealth +8 Languages Common, Undercommon SQ evolutions (ability increase [strength], limbs [arms] x2, limbs [legs], slam, resistance [fire], weapon training [martial]), link, share spells Other Gear kukris (4), chakrams (9), sling (10 bullets), cloak of resistance +1, whetstone |
