About Oja AhnkOja froze as a man dressed in black leathers entered the bar. Gaedren's pusher! Oja began to sweat - every fiber of his essence called for the sweet release of shiver. His mind once again replayed the sensation of the drug taking control of his senses and his body descending into the sleep of angels. No, you must be strong! You are past that now. Oja closed his eyes and marshaled his inner strength. The man in black approached and took a seat on the bar stool. He smelled of smoke and brimstone. "We've distilled a fresh batch for you, bartender. Gaedren is concerned that you haven't visited us recently. Why not just one more hit?" He produced a small vial of glowing, effervescent blue liquid and laid it on the bar. The other bar patrons paused their conversations and looked up at the exchange. Oja opened his eyes and regarded the man with a calm fury. The blue vial called to him. Just one more hit. How many times had he tasted the distilled essence of dream spider? How much of his life had he wasted to this addiction? This ends now. He picked up the blue vial with a trembling hand and held it before the man. "You can tell Gaedren I'm done with his poison. If I ever catch him I'm going to deal him the same death that he has peddled to us wretched fool addicts. Except the death that I deal will be much more swift! Run now to your master, toadie, and tell him that I will be his slave no more." Oja turned to the gathered patrons. "Know that Oja Ahnk is a free man from this day on!" Oja then smashed the vial down on the bar surface with a echoing boom. The hour had come for action and resolution. Now, once more, he would take control of his destiny and challenge the forces of dissolution around him. Now he would fight to save the poor souls around him whom were enslaved to the dark, predatory forces that lurked in the shadows of Korvosa. The time had come at last for Oja to begin the long, slow march to atonement and redemption. Backstory I: The Rat and the Dog:
Someone was coming. Oja raised his head from the shadows of the rusted trash bins and scanned the gloom of the alley. The faint smell of stale pipe smoke intermixed with the smells of refuse. He is close. He closed his eyes and forced his ears to penetrate the surrounding background noise of old Korvosa. The faint sound of leather on paver rasped behind him. Oja turned with a raging snarl - but the hand was already locked on his skinny throat. A low baritone voice whispered like death in the night. "A feral dog has come to live in my alley. You'll find no bones here, cur." Oja punched the shadowy man in the face and felt his fist make contact with the man's nose. If I die, I die fighting! Anger began rising form deep within him. The man was lightning quick to bring a knife slashing up at Oja's face, but Oja caught the hand in mid-air. Oja could see that the cloaked garundi man had long, yellow fangs. Oja gasped as one hand clenched tighter on his throat while the other slowly brought sharpened steel inexorably down to end his young, bitter life. "What do you want? I have nothing!" The rat smiled as blood ran down his nose. "You have everything you need in this world." He released Oja and shoved him against the wall. "Take what you can and give nothing back! That is the way of this world." Oja rubbed his neck and looked down the alley at the safety of main street. The illusion of safety. Only starvation awaits you there. The world cares nothing for street orphans. He then turned back to the rat and raised a bruised, bloody fist."I'm not scared of you! I'm not leaving this alley. You want it? Then take it!" Oja bared his teeth and backed into the alley corner in a defensive crouch. The rat brought out an elaborate pipe and began packing it with a blue powder. "You'll do then. Welcome to the Cerulean Society, cur."
Backstory II: Training Day:
"Remember, you're the muscle. Don't talk - got it?" Oja sighed and nodded wearily to the half-orc. They called him Black Dhugal. He was notorious for wearing a white skull mask. It was probably for the best - he was horribly ugly. "We expecting trouble?" The half orc smiled and shrugged. "These guardsmen couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag. It should be an easy job, kid." Oja finished strapping on his leather armor. His only value to the Society was his burgeoning brawn - and he knew it. Still, it beat sleeping on the streets. As they exited out into the frigid winter morning, Dhugal tossed over a steel guisarme. "If things get serious kid, use this, not your fists. This ain't no street fight like you're used to. In this business, it's kill or be killed." Oja tested the balance of the weapon and then fell in behind Dhugal and several other men. Same old story. On the streets, it was kill or be killed. The game is the same, but the stakes are higher. He frowned and tried not to think of the men he had beaten to death - life was short and cruel in the Korvosa underworld. After a thirty minute walk they came to the house. It was some upscale bourgeois piece of trash. The boss was already there and was talking to the door guard. He turned impatiently to Dhugal and Oja. "You're late." Dhugal and Oja looked at each other and then followed the boss into the house. Overstuffed furniture lined an ornate brick room. Burning incense wafted through the room and mixed heavily with the smell of pipe smoke. A fat, corpulent man in leathers sat on the couch with several young women. The captain of the city guard. Oja looked around nervously. He could hear men upstairs. The obese man smiled non-nonchalantly at the boss. "My old friend Gaedren. We meet again. Do you have it then?" Gaedren smiled in his wicked way and held up the packet of blue powder. "Pure shiver. You're going to be a rich man, Captain." The captain laughed and turned to the women next to him. "I like the sound of that." He then turned back to Gaedren - the smile was gone. "How do I know it's good?" Gaedren paused and contemplated the blue packet in his hand. He then drew out a dagger and carefully cut open the package. From the packet, the dagger emerged with a line of blue powder on it. Gaedren offered the dagger to the captain. "Care for a taste?" The captain smiled again. "I'm a man of the law. The Governor doesn't care for shiver addicts among Korvosa's finest. I will allow you to demonstrate." Gaedren nodded. "Very well, then." He then thrust the dagger at Oja. "Do it." Oja hesitated and looked uneasily at Dhugal. The half-orc looked at him impassively from behind the ridiculous skull mask. What could be the harm?" Oja snorted the blue powder. The room began to spin. A creeping warmth spread across his body. The burdens of the world we're lifted from his shoulders. He dropped to his knees - the guisarme fell on to the floor. Around him he could hear the distant echo of laughter. His love affair with shiver had just begun.
Backstory III: Fight Club:
The wrapped fist slammed into Oja's face and knocked him into the corner. The world became muffled and a cloying darkness started to crowd his vision. For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was or what he was doing. Fighting was the rare time when clarity pierced the drug induced haze that shackled his life. Slowly the distant echo of cheering crowds increased in volume until it again surrounded him in an urgent roar - Oja was pulled back into the moment. In front of him his opponent, a large ulfen man with short cropped blond hair, was getting ready to pummel him again with a smashing right hand jab. Around him, a crowd of working class men and criminal misfits cheered within the dank darkness of the warehouse basement. "No mercy! Kill him!" He knew they were not cheering for him. Oja allowed his instincts to take over. A white hot rage amplified his senses and provided him with a new found endurance. He dodged the man's jab and then feinted before delivering a savage upper cut that sent the ulfen reeling. You won't be so pretty when I get done with you. The crowd continued to roar in a blood frenzy. Oja looked to his corner where his one-eyed trainer, Draoc Nex, was frantically motioning. "What are you doing, idiot? He's going to kill you if you trade punches with him! Pin him down!" Nex was in deep with the Society's bookies - he couldn't afford to lose this fight. As his opponent rallied, Oja switched from a jabbing fighting style to the close quarter grappling method favored by the street fighter more interested in killing than sparing. He shot down and dove for the ulfen's leg's and knocked the large man prone. On the ground Oja went to work with a series of gouges, kicks and bites. Never did he feel more alive than he did at this moment. The ulfen cried in pain, "You dirty animal, fight like a man!" Oja smiled and enjoyed the adrenalin surge as he locked the ulfen in a choke hold. "Did you think this was going to be a fair fight?" The man's bulging eyes regarded Oja with a mix of fear and loathing before rolling back in his head - the ulfen fighter then went limp and blacked-out. Oja slowly stood up and turned to his trainer. "Who's next?"
Stats:
Oja Ahnk Human barbarian (brutal pugilist, drunken brute) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 78, 78) CG Medium humanoid (human) Init +2; Senses Perception +4 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 17, touch 12, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor, +2 Dex) hp 14 (1d12+2) Fort +5, Ref +2, Will +0; +2 Trait bonus vs. mind-affecting effects for 1 hour after drinking alcohol Resist fortified drinker -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor) Melee guisarme +6 (2d4+6/×3) Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with guisarme) Special Attacks rage (6 rounds/day) -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 10 Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 Feats Power Attack, Weapon Focus (guisarme) Traits fortified drinker, personal addiction Skills Acrobatics -2 (-6 to jump), Craft (alchemy) +4, Diplomacy +1, Knowledge (local) +1, Perception +4, Profession (barkeep) +1, Profession (brewer) +1, Sense Motive +1 Languages Common SQ raging drunk Other Gear scale mail, guisarme, 121 gp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage. Rage (6 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged. Raging Drunk (Ex) Move action: consume alchohol - this round does not count against rounds of rage/day. Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Level Progression:
H. Power Attack Barbarian 1 1. Weapon Focus (Guisarme) Brawler 1 2. Improved Unarmed Strike, Combat Expertise 3. Combat Reflexes, Furious Focus 4. 5. Improved Trip, Dodge 6. Pummeling Style 7. 8. 9. Improved Critical 10. 11. Critical Focus 12. 13. Counterpunch 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. Brawler Build:
GENERALIST Archetypes: None. Race: Human (Dual Talent) Traits: Snowstride, Principled Skills: Acrobatics, Perception, Sense Motive, some Climb/Swim Base attributes: 18 (16+2) STR, 16 (14+2) DEX, 15 CON, 10 INT, 14 WIS, 7 CHA Feat and Feature progression: (1) Power Attack (2) Dirty Fighting (3) Pummeling Style, Maneuver Training: Trip (5) Improved Trip, Iron Will (7) Combat Reflexes, Maneuver Training: Grapple (8) Pummeling Charge (9) Improved Critical (Unarmed) (11) Critical Focus, Greater Trip, Maneuver Training: Bull-Rush (13) Counterpunch Must haves: A good Amulet of Mighty Fists, Brawling Armor, a good heavy shield (a buckler once you get Counterpunch). It’s sweet because: Mobility, lockdown, utility, versatility. The generalist. Background:
Oja Ahnk is a lifelong resident of the city of Korvosa. Oja was orphaned as a young child after both his parents were killed in violence associated with the Chelish civil war. He would then spend his childhood on the streets of Korvosa, living much like a wild, feral animal. It was during this time that he learned to survive by any means possible - often defending himself with his bare hands or any make shift weapon available. Oja's fighting style would progress with the stages of his life. During his young adolescent life, he fought using a savage and brutal method. During these days Oja did whatever was necessary to survive. Morality and ethics meant little when he was starving and cold. It was only when he achieved some structure in his life that his fight style would become more efficient. Oja would join a local street gang and would eventually graduate to service in the local thieve's guild. In time his fighting method would become more disciplined and structured. From the guild, Oja would eventually learn the art of brewing ale and spirits. He would go on to eventually find stable work as an apprentice for a master brewer. The stability of this new life style, in combination with the many opportunities for combat that the bar room environment afforded, would allow Oja to refine his fighting style into highly fluid and effective methods. Personality:
Oja has an out-going, gregarious personality. He believes in passionately living his life. His passion for life has empowered him, but has also been the source of many of his faults. His gusto for life first led Oja to excessive drinking and then later led him down the slippery slope of drug addiction. Oja is plain spoken and honest to a fault. He is quick to laugh at both himself and the follies of the pretentious. Oja cares passionately about the down-trodden and earnestly desires to see the people of Korvosa up-lifted. Oja is functioning alcoholic. Oja requires alcohol for both his faith and his livelihood. Though he has broken his addiction to shiver, alcohol remains both his inspiration and his bane.
Appearance:
Oja's scarred face is the tapestry of his life. An endless quantity barroom brawls and back-alley knife fights has left a mosaic of bruises, scabs and crisscrossing scars across his muscled body. Despite the wreckage of his fighting career, he still possessed a rugged charm and an earthly charisma. He dresses in whatever simple work clothes are at hand and cares little for the niceties of the aristocracy. Oja keeps his head shaved and wears a burly beard. His arms and chest are covered with tattoos of the many women that he has had in his life. Around his neck, on a long chain, he keeps his holy symbol of Cayden Cailean - a nickle plated drinking tankard. In his right hand he carries his guisarme. In his left hand is generally a bottle of spirits or ale.
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