Jutmerlum Deadeye's page

About Jutmerlum Deadeye

Jutmerlum Darkeye
Male Half-Orc Fighter (archer) 6
CG Medium humanoid (human, orc)
Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +8
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Defense
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AC 21 (23), touch 14, flat-footed 18 (+7 armor, +3 Dex, +1 deflection) / (+2 shield)

hp 63 (6d10+18)

Fort +8, Ref +6, Will +2 (+2 vs. fear)

Defensive Abilities
bravery +2
orc ferocity
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft.
Melee
+1 longsword +8/+3 (1d8+2/19-20)
. . .dagger +7/+2 (1d4+1/19-20) x6

Ranged
+2 composite longbow +14/+9 (1d8+6/×3) “ol’ Lia
. . .dagger +10/+5 (1d4+1/19-20) x6
. . .dart +10/+5 (1d4+1) and
. . .throwing axe +10/+5 (1d6+1)

Special Attacks
weapon trainings (bows +1)

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Statistics
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Str 13
Dex 18
Con 16
Int 10
Wis 10
Cha 10

Base Atk +6; CMB +7; CMD 22

Feats
Deadly Aim
Trade a penalty to ranged attacks for a bonus to ranged damage. (-2/+4)

Manyshot
When making a full-attack action with a bow, your first attack fires two arrows. If the attack hits, both arrows hit. Apply precision-based damage (such as sneak attack) and critical hit damage only once for this attack. Damage bonuses from using a composite bow with a high Strength bonus apply to each arrow, as do other damage bonuses, such as a ranger's favored enemy bonus. Damage reduction and resistances apply separately to each arrow.

Point-Blank Shot
You get a +1 bonus on attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at ranges of up to 30 ft

Point-Blank Master
(Longbow, Composite): You do not provoke attacks of opportunity when firing the selected weapon while threatened.

Precise Shot
You can shoot or throw ranged weapons at an opponent engaged in melee without taking the standard -4 penalty on your attack roll.

Rapid Shot
When making a full-attack action with a ranged weapon, you can fire one additional time this round. All of your attack rolls take a –2 penalty.

Weapon Focus (longbow)
(Longbow, Composite): You gain a +1 bonus on all attack rolls you make using the selected weapon. You can gain this feat multiple times. Its effects do not stack. Each time you take the feat, it applies to a new type of weapon.

Weapon Specialization (longbow)
(Longbow, Composite): You gain a +2 bonus on all damage rolls you make using the selected weapon(s).

Skills
Climb +5
Knowledge (nature) +1
Intimidate +8
Perception +5 (+2 Sight)
Ride +5
Stealth +5
Survival +2
Use Magic Device +1

Racial Modifiers +2 Intimidate

Languages Common, Orc

SQ
armor training 1
orc blood
weapon familiarity

TRAITS
AMBUSH TRAINING (Combat): You've learned that taking an enemy by surprise can end a combat before it begins. You gain a +1 trait bonus on initiative checks and a +1 trait bonus on weapon damage rolls during any surprise round in which you act.

DEADEYE (Race: Half-orc): You have only one working eye, but that eye is especially keen. You receive a +2 trait bonus on all Perception checks involving sight.

Combat Gear
+1 mountain pattern armor
heavy steel shield
+1 longsword
+2 composite longbow
dagger (x6)
dart (2)
throwing axe
ring of protection +1
Efficient Quiver

Specialty Arrows
》Flight (+20 feet) x20
》Blunt (bludgeoning) x20
》Grappling (30 ft increment) x2
》Smoke (5 ft cube) x5
》Whistling (500 ft sound) x20
》Silver x20
》Standard x40

Masterwork Backpack
》acid (2)
》alchemist's fire (2)
》antiplague
》antitoxin
》bloodblock (2)
》smelling salts
》tanglefoot bag (2)
》potion of haste
》potion of feather fall
》weapon blanch (cold iron)
》weapon blanch (silver)
》fetters
》flask
》flint and steel
》manacles
》crowbar
》iron spike (x3)
》whetstone
》oil
》roar cord
》silk rope (50 ft.)

Belt Pouch
》caltrops
》compass
》clw wand (50/50)

Saddlebags
》cold weather outfit
》signal horn
》camouflage netting (+4 stealth)
》traveler's outfit
》waterskin
》bedroll
》explorer's outfit
》military saddle
》trail rations (x3)

39 gp, 2 sp
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Special Abilities
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Antitoxin
This substance counteracts a specific toxin. If you drink a vial of antitoxin, you gain a +5 alchemical bonus on Fortitude saving throws against poison for 1 hour.

Efficient Quiver
This appears to be a typical arrow container capable of holding about 20 arrows. It has three distinct portions, each with a nondimensional space allowing it to store far more than would normally be possible.

The first and smallest one can contain up to 60 objects of the same general size and shape as an arrow. The second slightly longer compartment holds up to 18 objects of the same general size and shape As a javelin. The third and longest portion of the case contains as many as 6 objects of the same general size and shape as a bow (spears, staffs, or the like). Once the owner has filled it, the quiver can quickly produce any item she wishes that is within the quiver, as if from a regular quiver or scabbard. The efficient quiver weighs the same no matter what's placed inside it.

Roar Cord
This thin length of rope has many oddly shaped bits of hollow metal fixed along its length. As a standard action, a creature can swing a roar cord over its head to generate a variety of eerie noises. For the next round, any creature within 60 feet of the roar cord takes a –2 penalty on Perception checks that rely on sound and a –1 penalty on saving throws against fear effects. The roar cord can be used as a bardic instrument (string instrument) that grants the bard a +2 bonus on Perform checks when using the countersong bardic performance.

Bravery +2 (Ex) +2 to Will save vs. Fear
Cold weather outfit +5 Fort save vs. cold weather.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Deadly Aim -2/+4 Trade a penalty to ranged attacks for a bonus to ranged damage.
Manyshot You can shoot two arrows as the first attack of a full attack action.
Orc Blood Half-orcs count as both humans and orcs for any effect related to race.
Orc Ferocity (1/day) If brought below 0 Hp, can act as though disabled for 1 rd.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee.
Rapid Shot You get an extra attack with ranged weapons. Each attack is at -2.
Weapon Training (Bows) +1 (Ex) +1 Attack, Damage, CMB, CMD with Bows

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Yeti (Heavy Horse)
CR 2
STR 20
DEX 18
CON 21
INT 2
WIS 17
CHA 11

Fortitude +8, Reflex +7, Will +3
HP 19/19, Init +4, Speed 50 ft
AC 15
Perception +8
Bite +5, 1d4+5
Hooves x2 +0, 1d6+2
Low-light Vision

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A Brief Introduction
Introducing Jutmerlum Deadeye, half-orc mercenary with a talent for archery. He enjoys long stalks in urban or rural environments and clean kills where he doesn't have to fuss with the stink of his target. But he's not to shy, kids. He'll pull the sword and board if it means finishing a stubborn wanker!

A mercenary by trade, Darkeye has spent his life learning what it means to handle the bow. He earned his keep as a hunter of game at an early age growing up outside Sandpoint. But time and wanderlust took him far afield where he learned that his future could be much different if he hunted a different sort of game.

He's been a soldier, a bounty hunter and an occasional seeker of vengeance. Now, he returns to Sandpoint a different man who has two loves in life, Fortune and Glory and the deeper desire to find a bit of work that didn't have him and ol’ Lia (his bow) hired out to some lordling.

He earned the name Darkeye not for the one he lost in battle, but for the one that remains. Sharper and keener than most, When on the hunt,Jutmerlum sees only the next target.

Beneath the scars and the hardened heart, he’s a good man. Along the windy road of his life, Jutmerlum came to the conclusion that seeking the righteous path could do him some good. But in a world more comfortable seeing a half-orc act like a half-orc, it’s proven difficult. He's not hired for his singing voice or his views on life. The orc blood flowing in his veins means the call of steel and battle is never too far off. He doesn’t carry the iron symbol of Gorum because it looks good with his armor.

Entering Sandpoint
Jutmerlum keeps Yeti at a slow pace, holding the reins of the big horse loosely in his hand. At his thigh is the curvy length of ol’ Lia, his bow. Sandpoint opens up before him like a shy noble slipping the ties on his coin purse, eager to deal blood. Rumor had it things were getting messy in town. Goblins, orcs, cults, maybe worse. Word had reached his ears that his old hunting grounds had issued a call for able bodied individuals to aid in the protection of the town. He spits to the side and rolls his head to work the kinks out of his neck. Jutmerlum never had much love for orcs, even if he was half. That half hadn’t been by choice. So answering the call was a foregone conclusion.

He taps Yeti's flank with his heel and the horse steps into a canter. There wbad guys to put in the ground. All in all, a pleasant change of pace from his last year in the north. Bounty hunting had its charm, but putting ol’ Lia to good use back home would be nice.

...and the coin wouldn't hurt either.

Description
Jutmerlum Deadeye isn’t all that big by half-orc standards. He’s gray-skinned and lithe, stands a spit’s-worth above 6’ 5” and keeps his black hair long but groomed. Jutmerlum has one working eye, black and keen. The non-working eye is a mottled swirl of gray and white that can be unsettling to those that don’t know him. He is constantly surveying the world around him, good eye roaming back and forth as though in his heart of hearts he truly can’t stand to look at the world around him. The grim, downturned scowl he usually wears doesn’t help dissuade that observation either. Add to that the long scar down the right side of his face where an act of vengeance took his eye and a chunk of his ear and you’ve got a man not known for his beauty.

While he doesn’t have the ropy muscles of a swordsmen, Jutmerlum’s built up a constitution making him tougher than most. While he may not be able to deliver the best punch, he can take one. His body, while thin, is denser than oak. Jutmerlum’s fingers, scarred and calloused from his years training and fighting, could scratch a man’s face with barely a swipe. An exaggeration maybe, but do you go around rubbing your face against rocks? But what his fists can’t do, ole Lia can do much better...and quieter.

He dresses in browns and greens and grays. Jutmerlum’s boots are well-worn, the soles a mass of mud and blood that serves as further reminder of the places he’s been and the things he’s seen.

Personality
Carousing but Quiet:
Jutmerlum has a wicked tongue. Those that know him have stood in horrified amazement as he spouted a dazzlingly offensive string of swears. The rough childhood as a half-orc, then the harder life in the military and mercenary work has thoroughly ground out his need for pleasant speech. He’ll leave that to the minstrels and nobility. But beneath the the stabbing words lay a quiet, patient man who observes and catalogues.

Low Patience:
He has tolerance for people of spineless character. Accountability and responsibility is key. If he can't trust you to put one foot in front of the other and clean yourself up after you drop a "d", how can he trust you to watch his back in a fight? "Fancies/Dandies", unscrupulous sellswords and outright thieves usually fall into the category of better dead than alive.

No Fear:
Jutmerlum's seen too much. From idiots losing their heads in a fight to the horrors dredged up by his time in fighting in Molthune...there's not room for fear.

Dedicated:
Jutmerlum knows the power of follow-thru. More importantly, he knows the necessity of standing alongside your comrades when you’re in country. When given an objective, Jutmerlum will not stop...ever.

Closed Off:
After losing all his friends at Ramgate, it's a difficult task to climb over the walls around Jutmerlum's heart. He keeps most everyone at arm's length to make sure his head's screwed on straight. But he's been alone for so long, there's a chance he may have lost the ability to form new friendships. Time will tell.

He has one remaining "friend" in Sergeant Major Keppish (referenced in the story below). Leonid Keppish was his drill instructor in Korhlom.

HIstory
He’d spent too many years in the service of the Imperial Army to have a sweet disposition. In the days of his youth as a forester...to his time as a bounty hunter out of Kaer Maga...to his stint at Ramgate...life had not forged a pleasant man. At least not with strangers. Jutmerlum has a bit of patience for those who’ve seen real battle, but not a lot for those not willing to do more than sit back and let others do their work for them. For the latter, he’s built up a tolerance so as to maintain a flow of income.

Jutmerlum isn’t a merciful man, he’s shown that on the battlefield. And the Imperial Army needed men for the butcher’s bill, men willing to do what was necessary to see order in the land. Men willing to do what was necessary to ensure the country continued to grow. Jutmerlum wants to be for the Imperial Army, otherwise why did he leave home? But the things he’d seen at Ramgate...the things he’d been ordered to do...and the things he’d been willing to do. What did it mean about his loyalties? Was he on the right side? Or was he simply a hired mercenary?

He had seen himself as a arrow. Barbed iron aimed at the heart of each and every problem towards which his superiors had aimed. But Jutmerlum slowly began seeing himself as more. He was seeing himself as the longbow. So when his remaining was put into the ground he deserted. He escaped west and then headed north with a group of smugglers to the city of Kaer Maga. There he forged his own destiny.

Background
Jutmerlum Deadeye grew up outside Sandpoint. His father Battos was a hard man, a huntsman by trade. But his one soft spot had been for his family. An orc raiding party burned his home to the ground and assaulted his wife, leaving behind the bastard child of the horrifying experience. But Battos stepped into the role of father and protector. Becoming an even harder man as he dealt with the ramifications of having a half-orc son. Despite the quiet, somber nature of the man, Jutmerlum never felt nothing but love from his father. Early on, Battos saw in his son Jutmerlum not a farmer, but the potential of being a soldier. So, Battos proceeded to harden his son. He put Jutmerlum to work on the most difficult tasks on the farm; from shoeing horses to keeping wolves at bay then onto learning the art of the bow.

The years under the firm hand of his father paid off. When recruitment caravans arrived in their village, Battos gave his son a choice. Stay on as a huntsman for Sandpoint or have a more difficult but better life in the service of a frontier ranger group. Jutmerlum, only 16 at the time, seeking to prove to his father that the years teaching his son had not been wasted, opted for the military.

He would learn to regret that decision when he received a letter many years later regarding the demise of his father. He had been in training at Korholm, laid up in the medic’s tent with a bloody gash to the right side of his face as a result of a brutal engagment. A messenger delivered two letters and a wolf-hide bound parcel, all tied together with twine.

To Jutmerlum Deadeye, son of Battos,

You will find a token of your father’s esteem with this letter. Wield it well.

Then a second letter, this one penned by his father...

To my son,

Your Father, Bottos Pentwert

Jutmerlum closed the letter and his heart to the pain that had sprung up. Instead, he inspected the small parcel, noting that the messenger service had already opened it to verify the contents. Inside the box was a sheathed dagger. It wasn’t a weapon of controversy, but it was honed. Obviously old, judging by the worn, ironwood handle, but the blade was well-maintained. On the steel, just shy of the hilt guard was an engraving. From what he knew of metal, it appeared etched more recently than the forging of the blade itself.

For my son, a keen edge is life.

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In the years that followed, Jutmerlum completed his training in Korholm. While others in the newly formed regiment had lost fingers or been killed at the hands of their own foolishness, Jutmerlum had excelled in the use of the bow. Bearing a weapon he’d pulled from a fallen Nirmathi regular and the scar along the right side of his face, he was given his first orders: Assignment to Fort Ramgate.

Some of the soldiers had taken to calling it the Dark Gate. Nothing that passed through the doors of that place ever shined again. Not the arrows, not the swords...especially not the soldiers. But Jutmerlum found himself in the company of the 2nd Regimental Rangers, 1st Scouts, the only group of souls he’d ever called friends..

And he saw them die, one by one.

There were few guarantees to live on in the Ramgate, one was the near certainty that most would die who went into the field.... Another; Jutmerlum Deadeye somehow was inevitably among those that didn’t. Some in his company thought it luck, others thought it a curse and actively sought reassignment within the Fort. A few took to calling him “Dread” because while his comrades dreaded going into the field with him, his officers dreaded not sending him. Jutmerlum was good with a longbow. Steady under pressure. And he was willing to go as far if not farther than their enemies. Nothing shook the archer’s resolve. Not the Nirmathi rangers nor whatever horrors the strange mystics threw at him.

Over time, as he saw the last of the original regiment fall, Jutmerlum volunteered for the more dangerous missions. Especially the reconnoiters where he could depart on his own. It was after the 10th such mission that his officers decided Jutmerlum’s skill with a longbow couldn’t be wasted on a single suicide mission. Eventually, the dice just wouldn't fall his way. Before the pips came up ones, they reassigned him. The grizzled soldier needed to pass on what he’d learned.

Two things happened next; Jutmerlum had achieved his 7th year of service in the Army. Far more than was required to earn his citizenship in Molthune. The second was an assignment to the city of Braganza. He would aid in recruitment efforts and aid the local constabulary in keeping the peace during the Building Season.

Jutmerlum had sat on the end of his rack staring down at the last (and only gift) his father had ever given him. For my son, a keen edge is life. He decided then and there that he would leave. He was no good as an instructor. And he could no longer trust those who kept sending the meat to the butcher’s table.

He sheathed his dagger, packed up ole Lia and some arrows along with the rest of his gear and escaped.

Scene 1: One of the Last Missions
The rain was filling the ravine where he was hiding with Frig. The Halfling was bleeding, but Jutmerlum couldn't see it for the rain. Frig was gasping into the night, each outflow counting down to his last breath this side of the dirt.

"Powder's wet, Dread." Frig gritted out, tossing his pistol to the side. Jutmerlum never trusted those things.

"Yeah." What else was he going to say? He had his ole Lia held tight, the white oak grips warm to the touch. The rain had started only a few minutes ago, so sudden it'd taken them both by surprise...all their training and they'd not had a dry-satchel close to hand. Idiots.

Jut adjusted himself, his seat squelching in the mud, his back aching from the roots they were hiding against. "They'll be on us soon, Frig, we're gonna have to move."

"Where to, Dread? You have a house nearby? Something with a dry bed?" In his black and white and gray darkvision the half-orc could see the blood in his friend's grin.

They both heard the dogs...and whatever other light-blinded creatures the Nirmathi rangers were using. Jutmerlum cursed the squad of tieflings that had betrayed them into this mess and slipped his bow over shoulder and drew a flight dagger. Then his pack went into the mud.

"Hope you don't think I'm carrying that..." The Halfling's voice, shrill and resonant was carried away by a fit of coughing.

Jut stood and grabbed up the only other living member of the 2nd Regiment Rangers, 1st Scouts. "Suck it up you pint sized dung eater," Even with Frig being a halfling, Jutmerlum was having difficulty managing the weight. His endurance was waning.

The sounds of voices were drifting through the driving rain. Some shouts in elvish and other languages they didn't know.

"Closer..." Frig managed before coughing again.

"Yeah. Probably following that girlish chokin’ of yours." Dread pulled his hat a bit tighter to keep the rain out of his eyes. "Which way, Frig? I couldn't tell you if the Fort was right in front of my face."

"Go left along the ravine. Maybe a few miles yet." He pointed at the pack his human comrade had dropped. "Better not have the gold you owe me in there, Dread."

Despite the situation, he grinned back at the Halfling. "Stop your belly aching...and your leaking, this is my last tabard."

”Smells like orc, piss. Who’ve you been humpin’?”

”She said she was your mother, Frig. Wasn't sure so I took a shot.” Jutmerlum charged into the darkness and the rain carrying his friend on his back. Behind him were the dead and the enemy. Ahead, the Fort and maybe some sanity.

Scene Two: Kaer Maga
Something crashed onto the bar top next to him, waking him from his memory. The rain that had been pounding down on him so many years ago drifted away and the raucous noise of the Painted Bodice rushed in to fill the void. Jutmerlum looked up and saw his scarred face staring back at him in the bar’s cracked wall mirror. Next to his image was a large man, a fellow mercenary by the cut of him, his fist planted on the bar.

”My friends over there wanna see me split yer ugly, orc face.” The mercenary’s breath was rank with tobacco and the local swill.

Jutmerlum barely shrugged a shoulder, and glanced to the comforting figure of ole Lia in her harness leaning against the bar. He turned an eye towards the stinking man, looking him over, then returned it to the wall mirror. ”Got enough blades to do the job, friend?”

Another slam of the fist on the bar top. ”Don’t need a blade ta cut ya, friend” He squeezed his fist enough to cause the knuckles to crack audibly. ”I can take care o’ business just fine on my onesies.”

”Hmm…I see you ain’t got Blood Arrow colors, friend.”

”Don’t need ‘em to squash the likes of you.”

Jutmerlum’s left hand squeezed just slightly on the handle of his mug. ”Colors are for me, friend…” He swept the mug from the bar and across the mercenary’s face in a single motion, smashing the crockery and the remaining beer over him.

In the same motion, his right hand drew his dagger. The blade was kissing the mercenary’s chin in an instant. ”If you’re not wearin’ colors, I got every right to send your brains into the rafters. Won’t even have to sign off on the kill with Boss Kalimujuro.”

His altered position caused his long coat to come open, revealing his travel-worn sash marking Jutmerlum a bounty hunter for the Blood Arrow organization. ”Now, if you’re smart, you’ll back down and let me reminisce for a while.”

Judging by the puddle growing at the feet of the mercenary, the man knew the look and feel of a dagger’s edge. His hands climbed as he backed away. ”Sorry, friend. Didn’t mean to disturb ya…”

Jutmerlum spit at the man’s feet. ”Call me ‘friend’ again. I’ll let ya know how much you disturb me.”

Sodden and cut, the mercenary backed away and rejoined his friends. Shortly afterwards, spotting that there were other Blood Arrows in the tavern who were now paying close attention to them, the group made a hasty exit.

”A bit slow on the draw, Deadeye. Thought I taught you better than that.”

It was a voice he’d not heard in a long time. One that very nearly brought a grin to his face. But when he turned around on his seat, slipping his dagger away, he saw the back of the mercenary leaving the bar. His scowl remained. Gods he hated spineless sellswords. Only good for stuffy targets in Jutmerlum's book.

”Been a while, Soldier.” The old man standing before him squinted at the sash across Jutmerlum’s chest. Was that disappointment or approval?

Jutmerlum was about to sip at his ale when he realized it was smashed all over the floor. ”Keppish, glad to see you’re still this side of the dirt.”

He moved up and joined him at the bar, taking the stool on the other side of Jutmerlum.

”You here to drag me back?” He signaled the barkeep to bring him another ale, gesturing for him to add a second for Keppish.

”No. Just glad to see a friendly face in the city. I’m as much a deserter as you. I’m just here to offer you some work.”

Jutmerlum shrugged, taking a sip of the ale the barkeeper set before him. With a wipe of the froth from his scarred face, the archer looked up into the wall mirror. ”What do I have to do?”