About Marvin the StranglerIf he was going to die tomorrow, so be it. He had no obligation, to himself or anyone else, to keep living. But the method of execution they gave to "traitors"... that, he took issue with. No, if he was going to die tomorrow, it would be at the time and place of his choosing. And he'd find a way to take a few of these guards with him, as a final farewell. All he needed was to get his hands unchained, and find a nice big stick... Backstory:
Marvin was no coward, and perhaps that was his problem—too much devotion to his convictions. He did what he was told, kept his word, and expected the same from others... and was often disappointed. Years ago, not so many, Marvin Grey had led a contented life, if not a happy one, though he had never much seen the point of happiness. A village crofter, he tended to cattle and a small farm, making coin on the side by fetching things for his neighbors from the nearest town, a two-day's ride by oxcart. He was a clever fellow, studious and industrious, and the things he learned from almanacs kept his family well-fed and content.
They kept the old ways, in his village—his wife, his brother, his parents, his childhood friends. There were a few small shrines, tucked away in barns and in the woods. "Old 'Modeus," Gran had called him; he was a god of order, of doing what you were s'posed to, of serving an ordered purpose in the world, and it gave his wife and children comfort knowing they served a secret, serious, brooding god, even if he never much understood the draw. And then, on one of Marvin's trips to market, they came for his town. Worshipping the devil was never all that legal. Maybe they were given a chance to repent, as the authorities likely would've allowed, and something caused his family to stubbornly kick in their heels. Maybe something incensed an already over-zealous military commander to make an example of these backwards townsfolk. All he knew was that, when he returned, his house and land had been burnt to the ground, his wife and children along with it. Marvin raged, for a long time, and prayed to Asmodeus in a way he had never done before. He asked for the dark god's vengeance, to become a tool of his wrath, his power, so that he might pay back what he had suffered. But there was no answer from the heavens, no divine power granted. And so, in his grief, he turned to find power on his own, reading up on magic, some dark, some forbidden, spending what little cash and livelihood he had saved on forgotten magical tomes, until he learned how to curse a man good 'n proper, how to carve words of pain with a touch, start a fire with his hands, wreathe a sword in lightning. Marvin never found the soldiers responsible for destroying his town, but he found others, and he hurt them, when and where he could, in dark alleys outside taverns. For the most part, he found that something inside him kept going, and for that he needed to eat, and so he fell in with a few larger-town crime rings. For a year or two, he worked as an enforcer. Marvin believed a man should stick to his word, no matter how hard that word might have turned, and he had little love left for his country or his fellow man. This left him all too willing to break kneecaps at a whim, burn a magic brand of shame into a debtor's back, or slice off a few fingers to make an example. After seeing what the truly, painfully dead looked like, this was the sort of thing that soon didn't even make him flinch, and earned him both respect and uneasiness from his superiors. There were too many people in the city, and too many people of the sort who didn't deserve his attention. The bosses he worked for were fat, and weak, and lacked conviction, and gradually Marvin found himself drawn to a more rural sort of crime. Where he had previously aided others in collecting debts, now he helped them knock over coaches and caravans. Marvin had never been trained as a soldier, and he was a bit old to start, but in the countryside he learned how to fight quite effectively with a walking stick, striking unsporting blows to his victims' weak spots. And he was ruthless, when the situation demanded it, not hesitating to press a staff across defeated opponents' throats or dangle them from a tree using his own hair until they gave up the location of their valuables. Violence didn't faze him, one way or the other, and he rarely lost his temper, but the commitment that Marvin put into his work earned a respectful nickname from his associates. Gradually, his interests turned from robbing simple peasants and merchants. It was work, and he'd do it, but what excited him was the soldiers and nobles who sometimes rode on his roads, the sort of armed victims the other thugs would only take on when they outnumbered them 5-to-1. Not Marvin. And, one day, cajoling his fellow highwaymen on, he rushed out of the forest towards a party of Royal Guardsmen, shouting wildly, only to find himself alone as the others snuck wisely away through the trees. And that was that. Treason, as they called it—no simple banditry for Marvin Grey—and a painful traitor's death as the only sentence.
Description and Personality:
Marvin walks with a bit of a limp. It's nothing serious, and he can run fast enough when danger is afoot, but an injury from his early days as a criminal never healed right, and on damp days his leg aches down to the bone. This is part of the reason he always preferred a walking stick as his fighting weapon.
Marvin studiously avoids the use of any religious language in conversation or pained/surprised exclamations. Maybe some part of him still wants to pray to "Old 'Modeus," but he's not about to mention the name out in the open (or even out loud to himself), and he certainly doesn't want to give any other gods the satisfaction of his mentioning them. Finally, Marvin is very particular about the tailoring of his clothing (when he gets the opportunity), and more particularly the grooming of his hair. His excellent moustache is, perhaps, the one thing in life he is still truly proud of, and he hasn't cut it since the death of his wife. It also tends to lend him a bit of gravitas, when necessary. Offense:
Initiative: +7
BAB: +3, CMB: +8 (+10 to Grapple, +12 to Trip/Sunder, +10 to other weapon-aided) Masterwork Quarterstaff, +10 to hit (1d6+1) Light Crossbow, +8 to hit (1d8) Defense:
HP 39/39 (3d10 + 6 Con + 3 Favored)
AC 18 (Dex +4, Armor +4), Touch 14, FF 14
Equipment:
Masterwork Quarterstaff
Mithras Masterwork Shirt Light Crossbow Traveler's Any-Tool 165 gp Wishlist: Ring of Spell Knowledge II (Shillelagh)
Spells:
Concentration +5
Level 0:
(Spellbook: All, + Curses) Level 1:
(Spellbook: Shocking Grasp, Infernal Healing, Frostbite, Blade Lash, Color Spray, Enlarge Person, Shrink Person, +2 more) (Wishlist: Frigid Touch, Mirror Image)
Feats and Traits:
Feats:
-Weapon Finesse (Campaign Bonus) -Power Attack (Campaign Bonus) -Combat Expertise (Campaign Bonus) -Heighten Spell (Campaign Bonus) -Agile Maneuvers (Campaign Bonus) -Improved Counterspell (Campaign Bonus) -Spell Focus: Necromancy (Campaign Bonus) -Foeslayer: Talingardian soldiers (Campaign Bonus) -Improved Unarmed Strike (Human Bonus) -Improved Grapple (1) -Improved Trip (Brawler Bonus 2) -Quarterstaff Master (Staff Magus Bonus 1) -Weapon Focus: Quarterstaff (3) Traits:
Most common flexibility/feat wish list: Improved Disarm, Combat Reflexes, Tripping Staff, Ascetic Style, Ascetic Form, Lunge, (Final Embrace with Anaconda's Coils?)
Skills:
33 points + 6 background (Brawler 12, Int 12, Human 3, Campaign 6, Background 6)
*Denotes class skill *Acrobatics +8 (1 points, -1 ACP)
Class Features:
Strangle: +2d6 sneak attack when grappling to damage or pin
Practiced Strangler: AC not affected while grappling Brawler’s Cunning Martial Flexibility (4/day) Martial Training (count as Fighter/Monk for feats) Spellstrike Arcane Pool (5/day) |
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