Isabella Valencia's page

medium humanoid(human)
speed 30
+2 to one score (dex)
languages: common
bonus feat: exotic weapon proficiency(whip)
skilled: 1 skill rank each level
favored class: fighter (+1 HP)

prehensile whip (use whip as grappling hook, standard action to attach)
buccaneer's blood: +1 to intimidate and profession(sailor) and +1 to disrepute and infamy.

proficient with simple and martial weapons, all armors and shields.
bonus combat feat lv1/2
armor training 1
bravery: +1 to fear saves

HP: 26

BAB: 3
melee: 6
ranged: 5

saves:
fort: 3
ref: 3
will: -1

Full attacks:
+2/+2 whips
+2/+1 whip/cutlass
+7 whip
+6 cutlass

2+1 per level
climb 2+3+3=8
craft
handle animal
intimidate 3+3+1=7
knowledge(dungeoneering)
knowledge(engineering)
profession (sailor) 2+3+1-2=4
ride
survival
swim 2+3+3=8

1: exotic weapon proficiency(whip)
1human: weapon focus (whip)
1ftr: two-weapon fighting
2ftr: Whip mastery
3: weapon finesse

422 gp remaining
2 whips 2gp
cutlass 15gp
explorer's outfit free
adventurer's sash 20gp
light crossbow 35gp
10 crossbow bolts 1gp
2 spring loaded wrist sheaths 10gp
MW studded leather armor 175gp
buckler 5gp

NET WORTH: 300gp

height: 5'10"
weight: 145 lbs.
eyes: sea green
hair: auburn red
complexion: tan

Isabella is a hardy woman, well toned by a rigorous life at sea. her robust figure is kept in shape by her constant movement aboard ships, and her arms have grown strong from swinging whips and pulling ropes. She wears her thick red hair shoulder length and wavy above a black headband; all the better for it to sway like waves in the wind. When her whips are not motivating lazy sailors, they are looped at the back of her belt for easy access. she keeps a crossbow strapped to her back, and the bolts in her wrist sheaths are never far from her reach. Her leather breeches and cloth blouse are just barely loose enough to hide the muscle underneath while still flattering her figure. the red sash across her shoulder makes her easy to spot from across decks, and often just the sight of it and her red hair coming are enough to inspire faster work. In the event any sailor decides he's man enough to advance on her, the cutlass hidden in her sash can easily be brought to bear.

When one is around Isabella, it is hard not to feel the almost palpable craving in the air. Her eyes are full of a lust for travel, for riches, for danger, and a chance to crack that whip. Her gaze is sometimes so distant, however, that she can lose sight of her situation, and she has lost more than a coin or two to pickpockets she simply didn't notice. She easily gets swept up in her emotions and her activities, however, and often forgets her priorities during times of exhilaration or stress.

the first thing Isabella remembers from her childhood is not the warmth of a mother's arms, nor the first word she uttered, but the salted breeze of the sea. It always carried new scents to her nose, and every time she felt the ocean wind tousle her hair, she could feel it bringing stories of the adventures it had seen and the freedom it enjoyed. It became her most treasured friend and comfort.

Sadly, her upbringing was far from the romanticized liberties of the sea breeze, even as it was right in the midst of it. Having a sailor for a father meant getting to see port as often as the waves, but it also meant having to stay below deck as a child. As she grew, it came to mean working the deck and ropes like all the other hands. From time to time, her father would rush her below as the lookout called out ships on the horizon, and she could only listen as the rumble of battle filled the air with clanging metal and bursting powders. She wondered just why she was always hidden when things got interesting. Her father had begun teaching her how to use weapons and defend herself, but he never let her use them for anything. It frustrated her to no end; never knowing where the next port was, never seeing the battle, never hearing the plans for the next voyage. It incensed her being strung along as a shiphand yet being kept blinded to all the action.

Just as Isabella began to truly come of age, she simultaneously learned the truth of her father's profession and saw the end of it. During a voyage like any other, Isabella heard the shout from the crow's nest, and her eyes flashed to the other end of the ship, where her father stood at helm. The captain barked orders to all hands, and the helmsman spun to meet eyes with Isabella, who only folded her arms and shook her head, musing to herself. I won't be hidden this time, old man. No more secrets. As the captain called for colors to hoist, the lookout shouted again. Then a third time. A fourth. They'd been surrounded. The helmsman despaired. Isabella watched with fascination as the jolly roger ascended the mast, and her father's face turned to horror. Isabella could only smile at the skull and crossbones. Pirates. My father is a pirate.

Even as the royal ships closed waters, Isabella could scarcely wipe the smile from her face. You wanted to shield me from this, father? What a shame. Her laughter was drowned out by the sounds of battle as the ship was taken, and even as she was clapped in irons, she could barely hide her amusement. No one's yet figured why.

Her time behind bars was brief, as she was both a woman and a low priority prisoner. She had no real history for the constables to hold against her, and she was young. She spent a few months in jail, dreaming of what could be. She was constantly lost in thought, except for the times her next-door cellmate would besiege her with advances and innuendo, usually causing her to roll her eyes. After a time, however, she came to wonder at his history. She found time to feign insterest in order to glean a few lessons on the finer arts of piracy and crime, and learned of his impending fate at the gallows. Though the threat of hanging was a dire one, it only caused Isabella's mind to race faster with visions of plunder and the open sea. As the guards approached on her release day, she bid the old sea dog fair winds and kissed her imprisonment goodbye.

Once released, she sought employ as a sailor for merchant ships and supposed pirates alike. While some captains seemed put off by the idea of a woman in their crew, Isabella quickly found ways of silencing critics, sometimes through wiles, but usually through force. Her life at sea had already begun to harden her, both physically and intellectually, and she grew capable at keeping sailors on task with the crack of a whip. When she grew dextrous enough to actually wield two whips at once, no crewman would dare give her a cross look, let alone defy her. Her talents were always in demand. She came to grow comfortable running a ship's deck, climbing the ropes, swinging from the booms and looping her whip around anchors to traverse from fore to aft. Ships became her playground.

As her latest crew made berth at Port Peril, Isabella made to spend some of her hard-earned profit and look for word of her next ship and voyage. She'd learned that asking openly about pirate voyages got her nowhere, but signing on with merchants was quickly becoming choresome and dull, to say nothing of navy vessels. She still craved battle, plunder, and joyous adventure. She craved piracy.

She made her way to a local tavern known as the Formidably Maid, noting the irony that it reflected her own nature a bit, and sat down to a drink. After her second mug, a figure caught her eye and held it transfixed. She never saw the man come in, and swore she had not seen him when she entered, but there he was. Rugged, tall, and clean. And yet, despite his fairly normal manner of dress for a sailor, there was something unmistakable about the intensity of his eyes; this was no mere merchant deckhand. Isabella found herself unable to focus on her drink, and before long, she was caught staring. The sailor cracked a hint of a smile, and with dangerous eyes, motioned to the back of the tavern before finishing his drink. She watched as the man strode to the rooms upstairs, and could barely think clearly enough to pay the bartender before she hurried up after him.

Her head hurt. Not like the soreness of a night of too much rum, but like a blow from a club. The dizziness, the foggy vision, and the pain were all distinctly different than the hangovers she'd grown used to. She couldn't quite see through the sack over head, but she could tell from the smell of the air and the ropes around her hands and feet that she had awakened at sea. She'd been pressganged. As her head started to clear, she heard the sounds of deckhands working, sails flapping, and sailing songs being sung. Her heart raced. It could only mean one thing. Only one type of ship resorts to kidnapping people for crew. When the pirate finally yanked the sack off her head, he was startled by her expression of almost predatory eagerness. She turned her hungry grin skyward to the gaps in the deck planks, and could just make out the slivers of the black and white flag flapping in the wind above deck.

"You want more for your crew, mate? all ya had to do was ask. It's a pirate's life for me."

Why had her father tried so hard to bring her on his voyages, yet keep the truth from her? Why had he hid the fact that he was a pirate, yet prepare her for the same life? And what had become of him during her imprisonment? The questions had crossed her mind many times since, but now, knee deep in her lifelong dream, those questions were carried away on a torrent of anxious anticipation. Isabella licked her lips in hungry impatience. she could barely contain her jubilation as the ropes were cut and her duties were handed down.