About MesserMesser Sheet:
Male Human Jistkan Artificer Hexcrafter Magus 1 - Dreamthief Unchained Rogue 1 Neutral Good Medium Humanoid (Human) Initiative; +4 Perception +5 --------------------
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Speed 30 ft
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Level 0 - Unlimited Use per day - DC 13
Level 1 - 1 Spell per day - DC 14
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Str 12 (2 Point Buy)
Bonus Feats
Feats
Traits
Racial Traits - Human
Skills Acrobatics - +4 (+4 Dex - 0 Ranks - Class Skill)
Combat Gear Chain Shirt, Golem Arm
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Arcane Pool (Modified by Golem Arm) - Gain points equal to half the character’s Magus levels plus there Intelligence modifier.
Dreamshar (Dedication) - Gain the abilities of a Phantom.
[spoiler=Appearance]Messer is...distinctive looking, it must be said. The fact that one arm has been entirely replaced with a mechanical device that is not entirely sized for his body is a bit alarming to many, as the device is made of darkened matte steel and bronze highlights and quite impressive looking. Despite it’s focus, and Messer’s disdain at the idea of attempting to hide the thing, Messer himself is not that much more normal. His brush with the next realm has left him physically altered as much as it did spiritually. His red hair is specked liberally with grey, which he typically keeps short. Anything beyond a couple of inches tends to make him look like a red-haired dandelion. His skin is painfully pale, even in the heat of summer it tends to only get very lightly reddened, with much of what colour it does have sprinkled on his nose in the form of freckles. One thing that doesn’t stand out is Messer’s height, which is below average but not unusually so at around 5ft4, withly slightly broader than usual soldiers but a generally lithe form. His eyes are bright green and ringed with bronze around the iris and pupil. His right ear is pierced and holds a naval bronze stud in it, and speaks in a baritone bordering on tenor with a strong lower class Risur accent from Flint.
Personality:
Despite his slightly unusual past, Messer is actually quite cheerful and upbeat. His insight into death means he doesn’t especially fear or worry about dying, but equally he’s well aware that the living and the dead are, with strict exceptions, parted forever. Therefore it only makes sense to him to wring every last drop out of life that he can before he can’t do so anymore, and move onto other things when he has no other choice. He may not fear death itself but the idea of missing out on life does concern him.
Intelligent but uneducated in most regards, bar a bare-bones education he managed to to give himself during his early stint with the RHC while learning basic magic, Messer tries to read when he has some spare time. He’s often seen around headquarters when on break, staring studiously at books on philosophy, religion and magic, although almost as often it will be a penny dreadful or newspaper. Intensely loyal to the nation as befitting an officer of the RHC, and well aware of the power they wield, Messer is focused and intent when it comes to his work. He’s painfully aware that his lack of certain skills means he works much better with others, and he tends to lack leadership skills, prefering to follow. He is dedicated to improving these skills, but can on occasion feel frustrated. Backstory:
Messer was a young man, probably too young to go to war, when he chose to do exactly that towards the end of the Fourth Yerasol War. Recruiters tend not to be overly picky when a young ‘man’ from the Docks shows up and wants to fight, so long as he seems relatively fit, a decent size and his voice doesn’t crack when he answers the instructor.
Messer was at least old enough to fit into a uniform and learn to use the weapons he was given, and he was surprisingly decent with it - he wasn’t strong and didn’t have the brute force for many techniques but he was shockingly fast and many of the older men expressed frustration at there inability to hit them. Within weeks he, and the others of his regiment, were being shipped out to reinforce the depleted veterans of the force that had been garrisoned at a small island not directly on the front lines of the fighting. There, the idea was that they could finish their training while integrating into their new unit. Needless to say, war had other ideas. The green young soldiers were poured into what had become an active warzone. Worse, the regiment - now far more depleted than when their ship had left Flint - wasn’t holding there well located, well reinforced and fortified position on the coast, but a strange ruin that had been found within the jungle. The soldiers had no idea what the ruin was. There officers didn’t either, but it seemed important. The army commanders agreed, and the order was sent to hold it. It was almost certainly that order, upon its interception, which alerted the Danor forces to the island and its location. Messer and the rest of the new recruits were quickly put to work, helping to build additional fortifications and exploring the ruins. Which proved to be both strange and trapped. After Messer revealed a rudimentary understanding of Draconic - a script seen several times in the ruins. Exploring the ruins was long, grueling and had an even higher rate of attrition that the defence of the upper levels. Danor had a lot more soldiers on hand than Risur did, as the war wasn’t going especially well. It was becoming apparent that the regiment was going to have to pull out of the area long before reinforcements could arrive, if they ever would. They needed to find what was in there, take it - and have the sappers bring down everything else. Messer, now probably the most veteran of the soldiers exploring the ruins, ran himself ragged as they tried to find out what secrets the building held. There had to be a secret, something worth trapping the place, something worth so many men dying over. But time ran out. When the order came to fall back Messer chose to set the charges himself. One last trek into the tunnels. One last job. The ruins exploded, and Messer himself...wasn’t there. The sudden explosion of the ruins caused the Danorian forces to fall back, mostly out of confusion and fear that this was some kind of attack. As the Risur forces used the opportunity to fall back, some of the soldiers dug out the entrance, hoping to find the last stragglers. The only one they found was Messer...without his arm. Messer’s skin was deathly pale, his bright red hair flecked with white and gray, and his arm was gone, replaced with some sort of contraption.
In reality, Messer was barely alive. It was clear that he bordered death in a way few came back from. Yet he wouldn’t die, either. Other than his missing arm there was no clear wounds, and the arm itself was...fine. It was also clear that the mechanical replacement had, at least at some point, been part of a large machine. It’s armour could stripped off to reveal the delicate machinery within, but removing it seemed impossible. So Messer was fed broth and watered, his fevers and chills treated as best they could be, and they waited for the end, one way or another. Surprisingly to most, Messer awoke. But he was...changed. He touched a bowl and could see another soldier shakily take a final gulp of water before succumbing to his wounds. The dead whispered in his ear, and with practice he could call on them. He could see the aura of things and people. And worse, it wasn’t simply battle shock. He proved - quickly - that what he saw was reality. Something in him was different. Discharged from the hospital once he was strong enough, Messer wandered from odd job to odd job. While prosthetics weren’t uncommon it was the sudden gasps,jumps and yells that came from what he saw. It made it hard to make friends when he was a freak, and he felt aimless, pointless. Drink became a more and more tempting and necessary expense. It was while he was in the pub and while being mocked that his life changed, however. While some of the other warehouse workers were talking about a recent murder, one of them casually mentioned how it was a shame they didn’t have more ‘freaks’ on staff. Be easy to solve a murder if you could ask who dunnit, hur hur. Messer realized that they were right. He left the bottle of rutgut he’d just bought on the bar and left, looking to investigate how to join the RHC. As soon as he understood the procedure and requirements, and making sure he was in a condition to meet them, he applied. While far from unique - something that came as a joy for him to learn - Messer’s talents were exceptionally useful, if not always reliable, in gathering evidence. Given an initial support role Messer’s life changed. He began to focus, to look forward to life instead of focusing on his confusion as to what had happened. Reading led to understanding about the things he’d seen, whether hallucinations or some other reality, and acceptance. Life was for the living. The dead were always close, but for now, he wasn’t dead. His abilities could mean other people might get to remain in this world for a while longer, too. He began to learn magic from other officers and using some of his pay to get lessons, materials and books, to improve his abilities. While it was clear he’d never be a true Wizard his odd arm was also excellent for channeling magic, allowing him to do so while fighting.
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