Khanjar Tarruk's page

BACKGROUND
*CRACK* *HISS* *CRACK* came the sound of the whip as it flashed in towards the unprotected backs of the Ejukai tribesmen. Common you scum! Khanjar bellowed in broken elven at the sweat slicked slaves. You’ll get that Darkwood tree down or your pay for it with your hides! Raising his whip again the brutish hobgoblin slave master let the weakest and slowest of the slaves feel its bite. Slapping another blow fly away, Khanjar wiped away the sweat on his forehead. Gods dammed jungle. He thought as he looked up to the sound of the massive tree falling through the underbrush. Exhausted the slaves slumped to the hard root encrusted floor. Get up you bastards. Grab the ropes. We need that tree back in camp before night, or so help me gods you will regret it. Raising the whip menacingly, the slaves quickly complied. They had all see the hobgoblins grim determination first hand and no one wanted to be the slowest. Glancing at the copper ring that denoted his position, Kahnjar smiled. This would fetch quite the profit.

Standing on a nearby tree stump, Khanjar Tarruk cut a menacing appearance. Tall with sweat soaked black hair, the hobgoblin was muscular and lithe. Dark grey skin combined with small tusks peaking out of his mouth lent him a feral air. Perhaps the most menacing part about the man however was the leather tanned jacket he wore over a chain mail shirt. The rumors around the camp had said that he had made the jacket himself and each piece was a bit of skin flayed from the hide of a slave that had crossed him. Certainly the patchwork appearance of the jacket combined with faint scar lines from whip strikes lent a hint of truth to the rumors. Regardless the slaver was feared and rightly so. As the ropes were finally looped around the massive tree and the slaves began to pull, each grunt was encouraged by another crack of the brulette hide whip.

Finally after hours of pushing through the tree razed jungle the logging expedition reached the outskirts of the Mwangi Aspis Camp. In a cruel joke a sign hung above the main gates “Work will set you free”. Kahnjar snorted at the sign. Work would never set you free. Power and the willingness to exercise violence would set you free. Slavery was for the weak and it was right that strong should dominate those lesser then them. Shaking his head again, Khanjar briefly wondered how the Pathfinders would have reacted had they learned that he still lived. They were fools the lot of them, but useful ones at that and the training they had provided had proved useful.

Slave-master Tarruk! An emanated elf slave announced, not making eye contact with the bestial hobgoblin. A letter arrived when you were away. The master of the camp commanded I bring it do you. Nodding, Kahnjar snatched the letter out of the slaves hand. You may go. Kahnjar commanded, waving the slave away. As he turned, Khanjars lips turned up in a cruel smile before he raised the whip and lashed the slave with the tip, drawing a scarlet slash on the man’s back. Never call me by my name worm. I am the Slave-Master. That is all I am to you. Crying on the ground the elf tried to bring himself back to his feet. Do you desire another taste? Khanjar rumbled, raising his whip again. Another lesson? Shaking his head the elf looked away and managed to scramble to his feet before fleeing out of range of the Aspis Agent.

Ignoring the pitiful wails, Kahnjar tore open the letter with one slice of his elongated fingernails. Eyes scanning the letter, the pit-boss nodded. About time the consortium finally saw my true worth. It will be good to get out of this blasted jungle, even if it is in the middle of a desert. Slipping the letter back into a leather pouch at his side, Khanjar stalked his way towards his tent that had been draped in bug netting. The sooner I am out of this shit-hole the better.

The heat was sweltering from the ever present sun that beat down on Kahnjar’s neck. It was a different sort of heat from the expanse, more dry then humid, but the radiating rays of the sun as it reflected off the white washed walls of the pier-side ghetto made Kahnjar sweat profusely. Taking another sip from the battered canteen that the hobgoblin kept hanging from a loop on his belt, the man ran a singled corded forearm that was as hard as driftwood over his forehead. The armor, pack and leather jacket he wore only helped to contain the heat. In the few days since the mercenary had arrived he had seen countless people who wore white diaphanous robes and cowl wrapped turbans or loosely hanging keffas, either would have been preferable on weather like this. But the man did not complain. To do so would imply a weakness and that was unacceptable, even it if was only to himself. Still perhaps he would look into a keffa before he left the city. Ideally he considered that the head wrap could be used to cover his face. That in itself was useful if he had to do some wetwork.

Eyes settling on a nearby building, Khanjar nodded. Certain marks were distinguishable that only an Aspis agent would know about. The haphazard graffiti of a snake intertwined over a pile of gold. The secondary green paint that peeked through the whitewash in parts, both were indications that this was the Aspis safe house. Walking upto the door casually, Kahnjar stepped in. Dusty and gloom shrouded the room look mostly abandoned the huddled figure of a man in the corner rocked back and forth while next to him lay a cheap pillow and still smoking pipe that smelled of pesh. To the less discerning they might not have seen the hidden crossbow that the man clutched in his hands, or the way that his gaze seemed more focused then not. Raising a hand, Kahnjar gestured to the letter he had received. Fortune favors the bold. he whispered, his copper ring flashing in this light. Nodding in return the man disguised as a pesh addict nodded back, the performance temporarily ended. And the bold will profit in turn by their fortune. Letting his robe fall back the man pointed with one hand towards a door that lead to a set of stairs. Noting that the man had in fact held a hand crossbow in the other hand, Kahnjar smiled to himself before frowning. Only one guard? Shaking his head the hobgoblin pushed his way up the steps. He doubted that his patrons did anything in half measure. Likely there had been other threats that he had not been able to see. It was a common practice. If someone sees one threat they assume that that is all there is. It was far more cunning to leave one visible, letting the target think they had spotted the ruse while others awaited hidden.

Reaching the second floor, Kahnjar smiled again. The wooden boards creaked under his heavy boot falls. It was something normal, and to be expected. But to keen ears it would warn of an intruders approach. Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, Kahnjar knocked rapidly in a preset pattern before opening the door carefully. Inside the rooms windows were covered with heavy blackout cloth and a large table had been spread with food and drink. Kahnjar’s eyes settled on the pewter pitcher that had beaded drops of condensation dotting its sides. Water would be a relief, but the man did not let the heat from the journey show. There were other figures arrayed in the room, several men and women all who wore at least one ring or necklaces of brass or bronze. Other agents.[/b] Kahnjar mused. Some were seated, others remained standing. Kahnjar choose to stand. He kept one hand resting lightly on his whip, and his leather jacket slung back over the holster of his revolver. He assumed that the meeting was legitimate. The pass-phrases and orders had all been correct, but the man had been double crossed before and death was a sure way to advancement among the consortium.

Listening quietly as the others spoke, Kahnjar inclined his head. It was not a bow. He did not bow, grovel or scrape himself before others. But it was a greeting. Exploration is an interesting proposition. Uncharted land offers the chance for riches and wealth. [i]And slaves.. As it is, I happen to have some experience in managing large workforces of untrained labor. How big of an expedition would it be and what sort of resources would be employed? Is this a scouting mission or long term? I heard the word, potentially permanent, but I wonder what the driving factors are in the mission’s duration? Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, Kahnjar examined the others with his beady eyes. There was an intelligence there that was at odds with the man’s bestial visage. There was also a cruelty that did not have to work to make its presence known. Regardless, you have my interest.

APPEARANCE
Tall with lanky black hair that hangs to his shoulders, Khanjar Tarruk has grey skin and a toothy maw. Wearing a long patchwork leather coat over a blackened chain shirt the hobgoblin slaver is never far from his brulett hide whip. On his left side he carries a low slung revolver and a double wide leather belt with individual loops for bullets. On his left hand Kahnjar wears a copper ring in the shape of two serpents intertwined to represent his affiliation to the Aspis Consortium. His right arm is covered with tribal tattoos denoting his heritage, tribe and accomplishments during his youth spent among the hobgoblin tribes of the Stoval Plateau. Because of his time in the jungle, the hobgoblin prefers to travel light when possible, but when not able to he wears a leather pack that he has fitted with quick release straps so that he won’t be encumbered during a fight.

PERSONALITY
Hard as a mountain and nearly as unyielding, Khanjar was raised among the hobgoblin tribes of the Stoval Plateau. Following the creed that might makes right, Khanjar believes that the strong are destined to subjugate the weak. Raised to follow order and directions the man is ambitious and goal oriented. A bully through and through, Kahnjar tends to focus his ire on those weaker then himself, dominating them through his personality and failing that, through the long reach of his whip. No mere savage however, later in life Kahnjar studied under the tutelage of Shiela Heidmarch a pathfinder venture captain who taught Kahnjar to temper his aggression with intelligence. However after several years of working with the Pathfinders, Kahnjar turned away from the organization seeking out the Aspis Consortium because he felt that they would better fit his personality. Despite the brutish exterior, Kahnjar can when necessary display intelligence at odds with his appearance. Well read and book learned, Kahnjar knows that not all problems can be attacked directly and must either be circumvented or leveraged to achieve his goals. It was these very qualities that earned him a position as a copper agent in the consortium. That said, Kahnjar believes in not showing all of his talents at first, expect those around him to assume that he is stupid like many of his kin. He knows that intelligence can be a weapon if used properly and therefore holds it in reserve unless needed.

[dice=AOO whip]1d20+7[/dice]
[dice=AOO whip damage]1d3+4[/dice]
[dice=AOO whip (power attack)]1d20+5[/dice]
[dice=AOO damage (power attack)]1d4+6[/dice]
[dice=AOO whip (trip)]1d20+12[/dice]
15' reach, 5/Round