Iraska's page

a shark shaman may adopt an aspect of the shark while retaining her normal form. The druid may select from the following bonuses:

movement (can breathe water, swim speed 30 feet)
senses (scent 30 feet, scent 90 feet in water)
natural weapons (bite 1d6 for a Medium shaman), or shark skin (+2 natural armor, creatures grappling the shaman take 1 point of slashing damage per round of grapple)

While using totem transformation, the shark shaman may speak normally and can cast speak with animals (fish only) at will. Using this ability is a standard action at 2nd level, a move action at 7th level, and a swift action at 12th level. The shark shaman can use this ability for a number of minutes per day equal to her druid level. These minutes do not need to be consecutive, but they must be used in 1-minute increments. This is a polymorph effect and cannot be used while the druid is using another polymorph effect, such as wild shape.

Before the Age of Lost Omens, the Lirgeni capital of Hyrantam boasted one of the most impressive skylines in Garund. Governed by the astrologers and diviners of the Saoc Brethren, Hyrantam’s residents built numerous tower-top observatories to better view the movements of the heavens. As the city prospered, these towers climbed higher and higher into the sky, stretching ever closer to the celestial bodies that guided everything from daily life to statewide policy decisions.

When the Eye of Abendego formed at the onset of the Age of Lost Omens, the relentless rain caused the Frogmarch River to overflow, submerging the city save for a few low hilltops and the numerous towers and washing away much of the lowlands. Even today, the churning floodwaters have not receded, as they are continually fed by the region’s torrential rainfalls and the storm surges from the sea that travel for miles up the Frogmarch River.

Now, what were once the towers of the magnificent metropolis of Hyrantam form the majority of the ruin’s unflooded reaches, and it is to them and the few areas of dry land that the city’s survivors have fled. Over time, the harsh environs and steady encroachment of dangerous predators have forced the surviving Lirgeni to consolidate to a relatively small enclave located in what was once Hyrantam’s downtown region. This enclave has stabilized over the past several decades at a population of just over a thousand. They are a tenacious band of scavengers and scroungers who cherish every day as proof of their triumph over their nation’s terrible fate.

In Frogmarch Ridge, the northern banks of the Frogmarch River survived as a series of low swampy islands that support dozens of towers. The isles themselves consist of thick layers of silt and mud deposited here over the decades, burying many lower structures forever. The Lirgeni enclave lies nestled at the heart of the ridge. While dangerous predators and amphibious horrors pose a constant threat to hunters, fishers, and scavengers who ply their trade along this stretch, compared to the other regions of Hyrantam, the Ridge could almost be called safe.

And in the hunter’s lodge, Storm’s Pearl, the top floors of a partially flooded tower serve the enclave’s citizens as a place to rest and escape from the trials of daily survival, to prepare their kills, and to swap tales and advice.

And, of course, to drink.

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Iraska had ducked his head just in time, narrowly avoiding the tankard that had flown across the room, bounced off of a table, and struck the wall. He cracked open the tavern’s door, allowing a spray of cool rain to be blown in his face. Drawing his cloak tight about him, he’d stepped out into the storm. That night had been rich with the perfumes of air and sea--the brine and salt of the Arcadian Ocean, the distinctive fragrance of fish and sea rot, and the ever-present aroma of burnt ozone. The evening sky was dark, for storm clouds blotted out the twinkling stars beyond and ensconced the world in an embrace between the depths of the sea and the mysteries of the storm, as though the whole of Hyrantam were within an enormous, tempestuous snowglobe. A steady but gentle rain teemed down from the sky, the warm freshwater cascading off of ledges and traveling down the towers’ remarkably engineered gutter system into enormous barrels. This was used for drinking and, to a lesser extent, washing.

The only light, aside from frequent flashes of lightning, came from waterproof, hooded lanterns. These adorned the floating flotsam houses scattered below and stood sentinel on either end of the swaying, makeshift catwalks and rope bridge walkways that connected the heights of the enclave’s tower-islands. Convoluted webs of ropes and pulleys extended above and below, allowing for transport of goods, and even bodies, through the air. A number of men and women roamed the enclave defensively, their heads wrapped in great, rubbery leaves to keep the water from their eyes.

The route to Harbormaster Vancen’s quarters lay across a fifty-foot bridge, then down a twisted spiral of waterlogged stairs before crossing another, shorter walkway into a small, single-story stone building. A newer stone outbuilding, also one story, sat just to the side. This dwelling had been fitted with accommodations for visitors to the enclave, as Vancen has tried to promote trade with other cities.

A guard stood at Iraska’s approach, cupping his hand over his eyes to peer through the darkness and rain. ”Oi! Who’s--” but, recognizing who it was, merely stepped aside and held a lantern aloft to welcome Iraska into the home’s curtilage. The entry port stood slightly ajar, lantern light spilling out into the night.

”Aye, come in,” Vancen’s gruff voice had called. The Harbormaster had stood, staring out another porthole into the night.

”You saw the letter,” Iraska said, knowing the response.

”Aye” The Harbormaster turned, eyeing Iraska in the flickering light. ”You’ve been selected. Sailing out over some gentler waters in search o’ antiques.”

”Not antiques,” Iraska corrected, annoyed that they were having this conversation yet again. ”Answers.”

”You’ll find neither. You’re abandonin’ your people fer nothin’ but salt ‘n coconuts.” Vancen fell into his creaking chair and tipped open the door to an ancient-looking cedar humidor, its wood warped from excess moisture. He withdrew a calabash pipe with a terra cotta smoking bowl, a pinch of tobacco, and a rusty-looking firesteel. With a practiced hand, he loaded the bowl with the tobacco, pressing it down gently with his thumb. A few good squeezes of the handle and the chert edge released a burst of sparks. He puffed the mouthpiece once or twice, and soon a rich but slightly sour smoke poured forth. ”Damn mildew,” he grumbled, then sighed. ”Can’t blame folks fer wantin’ away from ‘ere.” He turned to Iraska with bloodshot eyes. ”You find yer answers, then. “N ya get the hells as far away from 'ere as ya can.”

Iraska is a broad, dark-skinned, and gristled man with closely-clipped, salted hair and numerous scars.

FCB by default: Hitpoint
Level 1: Feat (Toughness); Racial Bonus Feat (Spell Focus (Conjuration)); Nature Bond (Shark); Nature Sense; Orisons; Wild Empathy
Level 2: Dauntless Swimmer; Totem Transformation
Level 3: Feat (Power Attack); Hold Breath
Level 4: Ability Score (Str); Resist the Waves’ Lure; Wild Shape (1/day)
Level 5: Feat (Natural Spell); Totemic Summons
Level 6: Wild Shape (2/day)
Level 7: Feat (Augment Summoning)
Level 8: Ability Score (Str); Wild Shape (3/day)
Level 9: Feat (Vital Strike); Archetype Bonus Feat (Improved Initiative)
Level 10: Wild Shape (4/day)
Level 11: Feat (Superior Summoning);
Level 12: Ability Score (Str); Wild Shape (5/day)
Level 13: Feat (Powerful Shape); Beast of the Depths; Archetype Bonus Feat (Lightning Reflexes)
Level 14: Wild shape (6/day)
Level 15: Feat (Improved Vital Strike); Timeless Body
Level 16: Ability Score (Str); Wild Shape (7/day)
Level 17: Feat (Critical Focus); Archetype Bonus Feat (Bleeding Critical)