Upon review, it looks like Iogorian should meet your specifications (20-pt. buy, etc.)! Only thing unclear is whether you'd like him to keep the drawback; happy to jettison it if not.
As to the questions, afraid I only have time to answer the shorter ones, though I think that the longer questions are mostly answered in his background.
Questions:
1. What position do you see yourself eventually in on a ship?
Iogorian is not what you might call the leader type...which is probably best for everyone else, all things considered. He can serve as a ship's doctor, thanks to his skill at...bodies. Given his entire lack of scruples of any kind, he's also more than willing to be the one to do a ship's dirty work...and he's a decent face, if others aren't so inclined.
2. How do you feel about piracy in general? (This includes stealing, killing, plundering, etc.)
Iogorian will do anything to achieve his ends. He assumes that everyone else will as well. He is incredibly smart, ruthlessly cunning, and completely lacking in empathy. He won't do anything too dangerous to himself, and he won't do anything without a reason, but if it advances his ends, he will do anything.
3. Which campaign trait are you selecting and why?
Iogorian's interest in living flesh makes him a natural for the ship's surgeon choice. In fact, the truth is that the trait inspired the character; I read the description and thought, "What about a terrible...awful, evil...surgeon?"
Looking forward to finding out the selections! And as a bonus bit of storytelling...a "Day in the Life" passage I wrote for the last one he was in.
A Day in the Life:
The candle flickered in the lantern as the seas pitched under the ship, causing shadows to dance and jump in the small cabin as Iogorian entered. Fool man, this captain. To think he could skirt the Shackles unmolested...if that storm hadn't come up when it had, I'd be looking for a new employer now. Or, more like, swimming, living off fish for days, and hoping to find land soon. I'm not ready to start over again. Aloud, he said to the man on the table, "Good evening, good evening, good evening. Miserable night, eh? Well, more so for you than me, I suppose." Seizing a skin of liquor from the table, he took a deep, gulping swallow. "Feh! Everything stinks on this ship, even the alcohol. No great hygiene, either--all damp and filthy, filthy, filthy." As he spoke, he gathered his tools from the table, dumped them into a wooden bowl, and doused them with the remaining liquor, taking a final swallow himself. "Just going to make sure we're all nice and sterile now, oh yes, nice and sterile...it's got to be. Unless, of course, you're curious to see what'd happen if it's not." A whimper from behind him. "Oh, don't worry. You don't interest me in that way. Not now. There. Tools ready." He pitched the liquor into a corner of the cabin. "Now then..."
Turning, he whipped the grimy cloth off the man, and gazed coolly down at it, and his exposed patient. "Gah. Awful cloth, probably already working on giving you an infection, eh. Well, we'll get started, then. Wouldn't want that. No indeed..."
The tall Garundi man, his dark skin gone ashen, suddenly seized Iogorian's wrist. "Can you fix it?" he whispered hoarsely.
The surgeon's eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. "Fix...? Oh, no no no no no. Oh, my, no. No, the leg's got to come off, no question of it!" The man on the table groaned, and Iogorian smiled reassuringly. "Now, now, remember, if it's a leg or your life, most men choose the leg! And I can kit you out with a wonderful peg in its place. You'll be just the man you used to be. Just slightly more wooden. If you survive. Bite this." A wooden dowel, about as thick as a thumb, was thrust into the patient's face.
"What..."
"Keeps you biting your own tongue off, fool, and choking on your own blood," the gillman said impatiently. "Bite. BITE!!" He shoved it roughly into the man's mouth. "Here, have some--dulls the pain." Grabbing another skin, he squirted liquor liberally into the side of his patient's mouth, until the man choked and sputtered. "There. Swallow it all. Good. Now, just hold on..." As he talked, he quickly looped several lengths of rope around the man, tying his arms, legs, and torso down to the table, the monologue going on all the while. "You know, I'm honestly quite wounded by your apparent fears. I suppose you have no way of knowing this, but I've spent over thirteen summers on shipboard now, so I think I have some idea what I'm doing. Not all of those were spent as surgeon, of course, but many were. You're in good hands, is what I'm saying. The best! Few men know the workings of a body like me, and humans are my specialty." Straightening up, he pulled small razor out of his pocket, flipping it open with a *snick*."Onward, then!" The blade flashed, and a muffled scream of pain came from the man. "Oh, don't be a baby. That's just to mark where the infection is likely to have spread to so I have a nice clear place to make a cut. Don't worry, I'm quite the capable sawbones." He turned away, and picked up a small hatchet, smiling as he tested the head, felt the weight of it. "Not that I use a saw, of course. Far too tedious. I hate waiting. Right then!"
Screams filled the cabin--though not for long.
~~~~~~~~~~
When the man awoke, the tall, thin surgeon was bent over the space that his leg had once occupied, working quickly with his razor and other tools. The background roar of pain was punctuated by sharp staccato notes periodically, as the razor flashed and dipped.
"Ah, good, you're awake!" Iogorian said. "Your odds of survival are much better if you've woken up so soon. I'm just patching you up--"*snick* *scream*"--you know, closing the blood vessels, that sort of thing. What's this in here? Eh, I doubt you were using it. I've gotten a good chunk of your muscle off above the cut, so I should be able to tie these flaps of skin--"*tug* *groan*"--down around the bone to get you a good stump. Almost there!"
As he busied himself with needle and thread, Iogorian glanced up at the man's face and smiled darkly. "You know...we haven't yet discussed payment."*tug*
The man shrieked. "Hmmmmm, no need for all that," the surgeon murmured. "Do you have gold? Yes? No? What about gems?"*snick* *scream*"No gems either? Dear me, you're not much of one for liquidatable currency, are you? Hmmmmm...all done. Let's see...there must be some way we can work out remuneration. The drugs I've used are expensive, you know!" Deftly snatching the dowel from the man's mouth, he thwacked him lightly on the forehead with it. "So then: you have no valuables?"
The man shook his head slowly. Iogorian smiled.
"Well, you really should have mentioned that before I got to work! But I think you do. I think you've got something we can liquidate quite easily, no?" The surgeon leaned forward, his face hovering next to the man's on the table. "Do you not have with you on this trip your son? And...your daughter? A strapping boy of about thirteen, as I recall, and a beautiful, buxom young lass some four, five years older? One thinks perhaps some payment could be made from...that."
Nearly unconscious with the pain, the man stared into the surgeon's face, rage growing dimly in his half-shut eyes. "You want...you want...to bed...my daughter?"
"To be--" Iogorian looked visibly shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. He had a high, reedy, damp sounding laugh. "Eheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee--gick! Gack! Glah! Apologies," he panted, reaching under his high collar and stroking the sides of his neck rapidly with his long fingers. "Oh, I'm sorry. Too much air. And I shouldn't laugh at you. It's a reasonable leap. But no, I have no interests that way. I don't want to bed your daughter. Or your son." He smiled earnestly at the man. "I want to sell one of them."
"You...you..."
"Hush now," Iogorian said, almost absentmindedly stuffing the dowel back into the man's mouth. "Yes, yes, yes. I need to make a living somehow, no? And the trade in flesh is very lucrative. I have no desire to bed your daughter, but I'm sure that not everyone's as squeamish as I am--there are plenty of brothels in the Shackles would be glad to have her, and not too fussy about where she's been. And there are always traders looking for strapping young lads to ship up to Port Godless in Rahadoum. The mines there are constantly expanding. Yes, either of them will fetch a pretty price, given to the right buyer. I'm not greedy--I'll let you figure out which one you think is more fair, and hand them over when we land in Drenchport. Tell their sibling that they've gone off to be my apprentice! Or tell them the truth. Or tell them--true or not--that you love them more. Whatever helps them sleep at night. Or--if you care most for yourself--whatever helps you sleep at night." The surgeon smiled beatifically down at the man strapped to the table. "I'll leave you now to make your decision."
As he was headed out the cabin door, Iogorian paused. "Oh--and lest you should think of trying to escape without payment--or you think of telling the good captain about me--know that I've been developing an interest in poisons, lately. While I was stitching you up, I gave you a little free bonus: an extract I developed from the blue-ringed octopus that haunts these waters. It's in your stump! A present. In a little container that your blood will slowly dissolve, unless, of course, someone takes it out first. If you don't know exactly where it is, though, you're likely to rupture it as soon as you try to look for it. That would lead to a very, very, very painful death for you." He smiled. "Not to worry--we should make Drenchport in three days, if the sea god's willing and the hull holds strong. That capsule won't dissolve for four, unless you do a lot of strenuous exercise. So as long as we have an agreement, there should be no trouble getting rid of it! Have a good night--I'll see you, and hear my answer, in a couple hours." He ducked out the door and exited, whistling, into the night.
A few minutes later, Iogorian, grave-faced and sorrowful-looking, stood before the captain. "Sir, I've done my best for the poor man. We had to take the leg off, but I think he should live at least till Drenchport. Fever's a tricky beast, though--we'll have to keep an eye on him." The gillman paused slightly as the captain, relieved and still concerned, expressed his thanks. "Now, then...I'm afraid I was forced to use some extremely valuable drugs in my treatment, so, as to remuneration..."
I think this character may need to be tweaked, and the I'll need to know if the race (gillman) meets your approval, GM Krumthi, but he was made for a S&S campaign that died about a day in...the story, etc. should all still apply.
Let me know if you're ok with the gillman and I'll go through the questions!
Iogorian nods slowly at Scourge, smiling. "Good, good, very excellent good. I'll head down there, then, shall I?" Humming tunelessly, he descends, grabbing the first sail or rope that comes to hand and setting to work.
Dexterity:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
Now how in the Hells does one splice rope, again...?
After several abortive attempts at getting a rope to look normal, and seeing that there is no one near by, Iogorian stands to "stretch his legs." As he does so, he takes a careful look around the middle deck of the ship, examining the boxes, crates, and barrels he finds there, trying to glean any new information he can about the ship's cargo.
Perception:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3
Nothing springs forward to greet him...
Terrible rolls aside, I'm spending the day sneaking in the Middle deck (area A6).
Was also wondering about the knowledge check to ID dhampirs. Nature would seem right, but technically I see humanoids listed under Local...
Iogorian casts his eyes over the downed man. "Bed rest, for certain. Indeed, he can hardly be handled too gently. I would be more than happy to tend to this man," he offers to Plugg, patting a small pouch on his side. "I see your men left me--wisely, I think--with my store of bandages and pads. If you have my drugs hidden away somewhere on shipboard, they would be of even more use."
Knowledge (Nature) if useful for IDing him as dhampir:1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
Yeeeeaaahh I know Iogorian's kind of more of a hack-and-slash sawbones than a "doctor" at the moment...damn Wisdom... :P However, at level 3 he gets to use Knowledge (Nature) in place of Heal, and that will make a lot more sense! (If we survive that long, of course.)
Iogorian also climbs down slowly and carefully, dropping onto the deck with a thunk. He squats by the downed Ostarian. "So I'm not the only one here with some healing skills...good to know," he murmurs quietly, listening intently to Sandara's introduction.
EDIT: Should've made explicit that I'm taking 10 to get down.
Iogorian nods his approval and smiles. "Ahh, a thrush! Hylocichla mustelina, as the Azlanti called them. I had quite a fascination with birds some years ago; beautiful creatures, though extraordinarily--fragile. Their bones are hollow, did you know that?"
Still keeping an eye out over the edge of the crow's nest, Iogorian slips an eight-inch long razor from his pocket and flicks it open, keeping it out of sight of those below. "I prefer razors to scalpels. A scalpel is so hard to transport on shipboard, I find--unless you have a specially made cover for the tip, and I always seem to be misplacing mine. A razor works just as well for anything needful on a vessel of this ilk--surgeries required don't tend to demand all that much precision. But I know my way around razor, saw...or ax. And I know my fair share of drugs and remedies." He frowns. "I know some more...extraordinary...formulae as well, and I've a dab hand for magic, but those swine took my books." He glances at Jack and half-smiles. "If you see my formula book or my reagent kit, make sure to tell me. I could cook up quite the marvelous concoctions. Give you a growth spurt, if you'd like." He chuckles at his own joke.
Iogorian manages to scramble over the top and drops/falls into the crow's nest, blinking in surprise to see Jack there. Ah. Not first. Probably good. He stands and dusts himself off, looking over the edge to track the others' progress, though he makes no move to help them.
"Iogorian is what men call me," he says to the halfling abstractedly. "And I take it you prefer Jack." He smiles at Jack. "I'm sure that we'll find a way to work together for both of our benefits..."
Iogorian stands, easily adjusting to the ship's motion, and listens as the captain explains his terms and hands them over to Mr. Plugg. Exceptionally big man: major muscle buildup thanks to decades hard labor and combat. Must note, would be interesting to examine the sinews connecting the skull through those massive neck muscles...
When the latter commands the climbing competition, though, Iogorian blinks. He squints up at the crow's nest.
He looks at Mr. Plugg.
He looks up the mast again, and sighs. This is...not likely to go well. In emergency, razor could be used to create handhold. Better to save it as a weapon unless in a life-threatening situation, though. Grimly, and without another word, he begins to climb. He makes it no more than a few feet before having to half-fall, half-jump back down to the deck, stumbling slightly. He grits his teeth, circles the mast for a moment, then, casting a careful eye over it, strides up to it and begins to climb, much more assuredly now. Although he pauses once to catch his breath, he manages to make it to the top in good time.
Iogorian blinks at Plugg's rebuke (or, sorry, is his name Scourge? I got lost). They found-- A black rage paints out his vision for a split second before he comes back to his senses. My books. Bastards have my books. Stay calm. Get them back soon. Mix up some surprises...
He just smiles tightly and nods at the boatswain, then heads to the stairs and on up, only glancing back briefly to watch the halfling help the woman up. Likes being liked. Possible weakness.
EDIT (forgot to add): As Iogorian climbs the stairs, he casually lets one hand rest on his thigh, and smiles as he feels the small, hard rectangle of his razor. Excellent.
I thought that my campaign trait guaranteed that I start with a healer's kit--could be wrong though, as I don't have the player's guide on me at the moment.
Probably a good idea to spread ourselves out if possible!
Iogorian jerks out of his hazy sleep with a start at the boatswain's bellowing. What the--where-- Memories begin to trickle back into his skull, and he frowns. Tavern. Drink. Celebrating my successful sale...just one cup. He smiles bitterly. Should've recognized the drug...perhaps a new one. Now then. Press-ganged. Bottom of the totem pole. Goal: survive. Likely allies: fellow pressed, slaves, any at the bottom. Assets?
One foolish fat man. Labor value: slight. Exchange value: low/niche. Remarkably obese, unusual colored skin; may have research potential.
One good-looking halfling (unconscious). Labor value: moderate-low. Exchange value: moderate.
One one-legged human woman (unconscious). Attractive. Athletic appearance. Labor value: moderate. Exchange value: moderate-high.
The objects on my person.
Foes: one angry boatswain, six toughs, unknown numbers on deck. Strategy: lay low, establish allies, gather information.
Standing slowly, getting the roll of the ship into his body, Iogorian smiles at Scourge, and at the man who has offered his services. His voice is reedy. "This one knows his way about, it would seem, yes indeed. I've sailed on a number of...less than legal ventures myself, I admit. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. And, I'm sure, you, I, and the captain will be able to find a use for my many talents. I'm an experienced ship's surgeon, a bit of an apothecary, and a dab hand at the woodwork, though I say it myself. Yes, indeed." He lifts his fingers to his throat, subconsciously moistening himself. "I have many skills that you might find useful, though I admit that I am not the strongest man around, physically. Underwater repairs are a specialty of mine. Will the captain be assigning us our, ah...duties?"
Gah! Hey guys, I'm ready. Sorry to have kept you waiting--I was mindlessly checking the Recruitment and Gameplay threads for updates because for some reason my brain did not think to click here. Thanks for the heads up, Rorrix.
I am excited to see what deals you and I cook up, Ostarian (possibly literally). And I'm glad we have some people scared of Iogorian...I honestly am pretty creeped out by him myself. :P
Ready whenever we want to move forward! Super excited.
Here's the Norv's alchemist, Iogorian Seascream! He's, uh...he's not a...nice man...but he's a very good doctor. In his way. Hope you like! I can post once a day, more on some days. I see Iogorian filling a role in the party that mixes support (via extracts and so on) with damage-dealing (thanks to sneak attack and his general viciousness). He also will make a decent face, thanks to his ambition and skill at smoothtalking more powerful beings, and is more than willing to be the one doing the "dirty work" of the party, if the others are less...morally bankrupt than he.
A Day in the Life:
The candle flickered in the lantern as the seas pitched under the ship, causing shadows to dance and jump in the small cabin as Iogorian entered. Fool man, this captain. To think he could skirt the Shackles unmolested...if that storm hadn't come up when it had, I'd be looking for a new employer now. Or, more like, swimming, living off fish for days, and hoping to find land soon. I'm not ready to start over again. Aloud, he said to the man on the table, "Good evening, good evening, good evening. Miserable night, eh? Well, more so for you than me, I suppose." Seizing a skin of liquor from the table, he took a deep, gulping swallow. "Feh! Everything stinks on this ship, even the alcohol. No great hygiene, either--all damp and filthy, filthy, filthy." As he spoke, he gathered his tools from the table, dumped them into a wooden bowl, and doused them with the remaining liquor, taking a final swallow himself. "Just going to make sure we're all nice and sterile now, oh yes, nice and sterile...it's got to be. Unless, of course, you're curious to see what's happen if it's not." A whimper from behind him. "Oh, don't worry. You don't interest me in that way. Not now. There. Tools ready." He pitched the liquor into a corner of the cabin. "Now then..."
Turning, he whipped the grimy cloth off the man, and gazed coolly down at it, and his exposed patient. "Gah. Awful cloth, probably already working on giving you an infection, eh. Well, we'll get started, then. Wouldn't want that. No indeed..."
The tall Garundi man, his dark skin gone ashen, suddenly seized Iogorian's wrist. "Can you fix it?" he whispered hoarsely.
The surgeon's eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. "Fix...? Oh, no no no no no. Oh, my, no. No, the leg's got to come off, no question of it!" The man on the table groaned, and Iogorian smiled reassuringly. "Now, now, remember, if it's a leg or your life, most men choose the leg! And I can kit you out with a wonderful peg in its place. You'll be just the man you used to be. Just slightly more wooden. If you survive. Bite this." A wooden dowel, about as thick as a thumb, was thrust into the patient's face.
"What..."
"Keeps you biting your own tongue off, fool, and choking on your own blood," the gillman said impatiently. "Bite. BITE!!" He shoved it roughly into the man's mouth. "Here, have some--dulls the pain." Grabbing another skin, he squirted liquor liberally into the side of his patient's mouth, until the man choked and sputtered. "There. Swallow it all. Good. Now, just hold on..." As he talked, he quickly looped several lengths of rope around the man, tying his arms, legs, and torso down to the table, the monologue going on all the while. "You know, I'm honestly quite wounded by your apparent fears. I suppose you have no way of knowing this, but I've spent over thirteen summers on shipboard now, so I think I have some idea what I'm doing. Not all of those were spent as surgeon, of course, but many were. You're in good hands, is what I'm saying. The best! Few men know the workings of a body like me, and humans are my specialty." Straightening up, he pulled small razor out of his pocket, flipping it open with a *snick*. "Onward, then!" The blade flashed, and a muffled scream of pain came from the man. "Oh, don't be a baby. That's just to mark where the infection is likely to have spread to so I have a nice clear place to make a cut. Don't worry, I'm quite the capable sawbones." He turned away, and picked up a small hatchet, smiling as he tested the head, felt the weight of it. "Not that I use a saw, of course. Far too tedious. I hate waiting. Right then!"
Screams filled the cabin--though not for long.
~~~~~~~~~~
When the man awoke, the tall, thin surgeon was bent over the space that his leg had once occupied, working quickly with his razor and other tools. The background roar of pain was punctuated by sharp staccato notes periodically, as the razor flashed and dipped.
"Ah, good, you're awake!" Iogorian said. "Your odds of survival are much better if you've woken up so soon. I'm just patching you up--"*snick* *scream*"--you know, closing the blood vessels, that sort of thing. What's this in here? Eh, I doubt you were using it. I've gotten a good chunk of your muscle off above the cut, so I should be able to tie these flaps of skin--"*tug* *groan*"--down around the bone to get you a good stump. Almost there!"
As he busied himself with needle and thread, Iogorian glanced up at the man's face and smiled darkly. "You know...we haven't yet discussed payment."*tug*
The man shrieked. "Hmmmmm, no need for all that," the surgeon murmured. "Do you have gold? Yes? No? What about gems?"*snick* *scream*"No gems either? Dear me, you're not much of one for liquidatable currency, are you? Hmmmmm...all done. Let's see...there must be some way we can work out remuneration. The drugs I've used are expensive, you know!" Deftly snatching the dowel from the man's mouth, he thwacked him lightly on the forehead with it. "So then: you have no valuables?"
The man shook his head slowly. Iogorian smiled.
"Well, you really should have mentioned that before I got to work! But I think you do. I think you've got something we can liquidate quite easily, no?" The surgeon leaned forward, his face hovering next to the man's on the table. "Do you not have with you on this trip your son? And...your daughter? A strapping boy of about thirteen, as I recall, and a beautiful, buxom young lass some four, five years older? One thinks perhaps some payment could be made from...that."
Nearly unconscious with the pain, the man stared into the surgeon's face, rage growing dimly in his half-shut eyes. "You want...you want...to bed...my daughter?"
"To be--" Iogorian looked visibly shocked for a moment, then burst out laughing. He had a high, reedy, damp sounding laugh. "Eheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee--gick! Gack! Glah! Apologies," he panted, reaching under his high collar and stroking the sides of his neck rapidly with his long fingers. "Oh, I'm sorry. Too much air. And I shouldn't laugh at you. It's a reasonable leap. But no, I have no interests that way. I don't want to bed your daughter. Or your son." He smiled earnestly at the man. "I want to sell one of them."
"You...you..."
"Hush now," Iogorian said, almost absentmindedly stuffing the dowel back into the man's mouth. "Yes, yes, yes. I need to make a living somehow, no? And the trade in flesh is very lucrative. I have no desire to bed your daughter, but I'm sure that not everyone's as squeamish as I am--there are plenty of brothels in the Shackles would be glad to have her, and not too fussy about where she's been. And there are always traders looking for strapping young lads to ship up to Port Godless in Rahadoum. The mines there are constantly expanding. Yes, either of them will fetch a pretty price, given to the right buyer. I'm not greedy--I'll let you figure out which one you think is more fair, and hand them over when we land in Drenchport. Tell their sibling that they've gone off to be my apprentice! Or tell them the truth. Or tell them--true or not--that you love them more. Whatever helps them sleep at night. Or--if you care most for yourself--whatever helps you sleep at night." The surgeon smiled beatifically down at the man strapped to the table. "I'll leave you now to make your decision."
As he was headed out the cabin door, Iogorian paused. "Oh--and lest you should think of trying to escape without payment--or you think of telling the good captain about me--know that I've been developing an interest in poisons, lately. While I was stitching you up, I gave you a little free bonus: an extract I developed from the blue-ringed octopus that haunts these waters. It's in your stump! A present. In a little container that your blood will slowly dissolve, unless, of course, someone takes it out first. If you don't know exactly where it is, though, you're likely to rupture it as soon as you try to look for it. That would lead to a very, very, very painful death for you." He smiled. "Not to worry--we should make Drenchport in three days, if the sea god's willing and the hull holds strong. That capsule won't dissolve for four, unless you do a lot of strenuous exercise. So as long as we have an agreement, there should be no trouble getting rid of it! Have a good night--I'll see you, and hear my answer, in a couple hours." He ducked out the door and exited, whistling, into the night.
A few minutes later, Iogorian, grave-faced and sorrowful-looking, stood before the captain. "Sir, I've done my best for the poor man. We had to take the leg off, but I think he should live at least till Drenchport. Fever's a tricky beast, though--we'll have to keep an eye on him." The gillman paused slightly as the captain, relieved and still concerned, expressed his thanks. "Now, then...I'm afraid I was forced to use some extremely valuable drugs in my treatment, so, as to remuneration..."
Story:
The gillman alchemist currently known as Iogorian Seascream was born Iogorian Hianciti, the only child of a rare gillman merchant, Erodel, and his wife, Iomae. Sadly, his father was never a particularly talented merchant; over the years, his trade moved farther and farther south, and by the time Iogorian was ten they found themselves stuck, penniless and indebted, in the Shackles--last stop in Golarion's sealanes before drowning.
Fortunately, Erodel had other skills, among which he numbered carpentry and shipbuilding. Together, he and his young son managed to scrape a living by working as repairmen in the docks of Port Peril, their unique physiology allowing them to inspect and work on even the still-submerged sections of the ship. They had enough to get by, but neither man was ever content; they could both recall (even if only dimly, in Iogorian's case) the happier, more prosperous days further north, and their destitution, and the daily humiliations of being powerless in the Shackles, wracked their minds, turning them bitter and cold toward each other and strangers. Only Iomae was able to weather their downfall with relative equanimity.
When Iogorian was 18, though, everything changed. He was press-ganged onto a pirate ship and ended up far north of Port Peril, forced to work first as a cabin boy and then, when his talent for woodworking and steady hands were discovered, as the ship's sawbones. Slowly, he managed to work his way out from under the thumb of that captain, and made his way back south over the course of years, working from ship to ship and developing his skills as a medic. He gained a perverse fascination for his messy work: trying to figure out who would live, who die, and which wounds would rot appealed to his powerful intellect.
When he was 21, he finally made it back to Port Peril, only to find tragedy: his father had died in a drunken brawl a year before (not a loss he mourned) while Iomae was, even as he rushed to her, dying from filth fever. He watched his mother, uncomprehending, slip into death with a detachment that surprised even him; and he vowed, deep in his heart, that from now on he, and he alone, would control the forces of disease, of poison, of the body's inner workings in his life.
He joined up with a small-time pirate queen named Ysmeralda the Bloody, and served on her ship for 8 years, abandoning himself to his own cold, calculated version of piracy: a kind that cared nothing for crew, nothing for most forms of debauchery, and nothing for any code, but only for his own advancement. When Ysmeralda was captured by the Bonefist, Iogorian slipped over the side and dove into the waves, escaping from the wrath of Filthy Lucre and swimming for days, subsisting on fish, until he was able to hail down a smaller-league ship. Since those days, he's continued his work as a surgeon, never staying in one place for too long, working on both legitimate ships (which are easier to scam) and pirate vessels, where his horrifying interests raise fewer objections, if no fewer eyebrows. Roaming on constant circuits of the Shackles, and occasionally south into Garund and north toward old Osirion, he's returning even now to Port Peril, where he hopes to find another, still more-lucrative position. After all, the more power he or his captain has, the easier it is to find rare ingredients...and test subjects.
Appearance:
Iogorian is tall, thin, and long-fingered, as all of his kind are; his skin also has a grayish-green cast to it, though not out of the realm of human possibility. He has sloe-black eyes and a scruff of brown hair that's beginning to recede from his forehead. He dresses well for a pirate, in loose white shirts, good trousers, sturdy boots, and a vest (though he keeps a suit of armor ready should combat threaten). He favors shirts that have high collars, the better to hide his gills should he choose to. Though he has few valued personal possessions, he is never without the folding, eight-inch-long steel razor he carries in his pocket. He is articulate and, in fact, sometimes speaks too much; but he is also clearly possessed of a cold and dispassionate intellect, and many come away from conversations with him feeling slightly slimy themselves.
Stats:
Iogorian Seascream
Gillman Alchemist (Vivisectionist) 1
Favored class: Alchemist
NE Medium Humanoid (Aquatic)
Init +1; Senses Perception +2 (0 to avoid surprise)
XP: 0
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Defense
------------- AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 ( +1 Dex, +3 armor)
HP 10
Fort +3, Ref +3 (+1 to avoid traps and hazards), Will -2 (0 against non-aboleth enchantments; -4 against aboleth sources)
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Offense
------------- Speed 30'
Melee War razor +1 (1d4+1/19-20/x2), Punching Dagger +0 (1d4+1/x3)
Ranged Blowgun +1 (20'/1d2/x2), Crossbow +1 (120'/1d10/19-20/x2)
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Statistics
------------- Str 13 Dex 12 Con 12 Int 18 Wis 6 Cha 12
Base Attack +0; CMB +1; CMD 12
Feats Weapon Proficiency: War Razor
Traits Ship's Surgeon, Tireless Logic, Ambitious, Sentimental (drawback)
Trained Skills Craft (alchemy) +8, Knowledge (nature) +8, Swim +4 (armored; +12 to perform a special action or avoid a hazard), Heal +3, Craft (carpentry) +9, Perception +2 (0 to avoid surprise), Diplomacy +3 (+7 if target has at least 5 HD more than Iogorian), Sleight of Hand +4
Languages Common (Taldane), Aboleth, Draconic, Polyglot, Osiriani, Azlanti
Gear Healer's kit (10 uses), war razor, punching dagger, blowgun, 20 blowgun darts, studded leather armor, formula book, alchemy crafting kit, backpack, belt pouch, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, mess kit, soap, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), waterskin, silk rope, heavy underwater crossbow, 20 bolts
Cash 10 gp
Encumbrance: 60 lbs. (medium load, but rarely carries more than light)
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Special Abilities
------------- RACE Enchantment Resistance: The strain of old aboleth domination in Iogorian's blood gives him a +2 bonus to saves against non-aboleth enchantment spells and effects, but he takes a -2 penalty to aboleth ones.
Water Dependent: Iogorian's body requires constant submersion in fresh or salt water. If he spends more than one day without fully submerging himself in water, he risks internal organ failure, painful cracking of the skin, and death within 4d6 hours.
Amphibious: Iogorian can live indefinitely both in water and air.
TRAIT Ship's Surgeon: The skills that Iogorian's (relatively) honest shipbuilding father taught him were twisted by the pirates he first worked for, starting the first time one of them needed a hand amputated. Over time, he got used to the job of untrained but de facto medic, and now cheerfully operates on any who need it. Or look like they might soon. He gains a +1 bonus to Craft (carpentry) and Heal checks (already included), and heal is a class skill.
Ambitious: Ever since his mother's death, Iogorian has been driven by a relentless pursuit of both knowledge and personal power--driven (though he would never admit this) by a deep fear of his own mortality. His drive to succeed manifests clearly in his interactions with those who are currently in power; he gains a +4 bonus to Diplomacy checks against creatures with at least 5 HD more than him.
Tireless Logic: Iogorian's cold and calculating worldview is unimpeded by religion, ethics, morality, or basic decency--and as a result, it's much clearer. Once per day, when he makes an Intelligence-based skill or ability check, he can roll twice and take the better result.
Sentimental [drawback]: In recent years, Iogorian has become attracted to the stories he hears of ancient Azlant; in particular, he lusts after the days in which his people held power, and his dreams are a bizarre confusion of noble Azlanti men and women who, nonetheless, turn into slimy horrors when he doesn't look at them. The Azlanti had the glory, but, he suspects in his heart, the aboleths wielded true power. Regardless of his shaky grasp on the history, his mind often wanders there at inappropriate times, giving him a -2 penalty to Perception checks to avoid being surprised, and on Reflex checks to avoid traps and hazards.
CLASS Alchemy Sneak Attack Brew Potion: Iogorian has Brew Potion as a bonus feat.
Mutagen Throw Anything (bonus feat): Life on the seas is rough-and-tumble, and Iogorian knows it; he's used to improvising. He takes no penalty for using an improvised ranged weapon, and gains a +1 circumstance bonus to attack rolls using splash weapons.
FEAT Weapon Proficiency: War Razor
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KNOWN FORMULAE
--------------- 1st-level (2/day, DC 15): Polypurpose Panacea, Cure Light Wounds, Vocal Alteration, Shield, Enlarge Person, Expeditious Retreat
