As soon as the bird is out of sight, Quiahar leaps (climbs, somersaults) back down to the deck, using the rigging to brace himself.
"What now? What can I do to help?"
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Quiahar looks for the direction the bird went in, and points after it.
Quiahar gasps in the breath after the bird's strange caw unsettles him. Wait, I can hear again! "I can hear again! That strange ringing is gone. There was some strange bird up here, a horrible glowing green eyed thing. Almost like a raven. I can't recall seeing anything like it, and I've been in a few places." His oriental-tainted common filters down to the others on deck. From his more stable location in the crow's nest, Quiahar again looks out over the horizon, trying to locate where they are and how best to get to shore, if any is visible.
Quiahar indicates to the others that he will climb (leap, swing, somersault) to the crow's nest, he motions looking for land.
Over some time, the ringing sound in his ears gives way to a blessed silence. He is finally able to make some sense of his surroundings, and makes his way back above deck to find Dristen and any others who are with him.
While he is lucid enough to avoid stumbling about, Quiahar is still confused by the sequence of events. Although people were shouting at him, he could hear nothing besides the heightened ringing in his ears.
Seeing the others head below deck, Quiahar follows, he is still anxious to know what is going on.
Quiahar's eyes grow large as saucers as he sees the strange morphing of crew members, and the injuries they've sustained. But his ears are still ringing with a cacophany of noise. He tries to focus his inner mind, ignoring his deafness and use his other senses to communicate with others. "Something unnatural." He mouths to the others, hoping they understand him. Some of the others that were not bent into odd positions seemed to be speaking normally, others seemed to be enunciating things more clearly than normal, and still others continued to shake their heads as though clearing them of the deafening ringing that he himself experienced. "What do we do now?" He attempted to enunciate like the others were.
Feeling the sudden lurch of the ship, Quiahar manages to roll deftly with the movement, even standing and walking normally for a time, before his ears begin ringing with an awful sound. "What is that horrible racket?" He yells at the nearby crew. But his words are swallowed up in silence. The others were mouthing something, some of them agitated as the entire crew burst into action. He does his best to read their lips.
Despite his familiarity with words he cannot make out what the others are saying. He makes his way to the deck to see what is making the ship lurch, and if anyone can communicate by signs and gestures.
Quiahar is wearing bracers of armor +1, and the scarves of many garments.
"I do dislike the idea of man-eating devils. Or soul-devouring devils. OR any type of devils at that. Resist on, then. Resist on. I would support such a battle; it is for that same reason that I am on this ship."
Quiahar remains passively alert through the gaming, choosing to observe rather than participate. It was entertaining enough as a pasttime, but he did not yet understand the rules of the game. "What is this revolution, again? Is it really necessary to have one?"
"Suspicious" Quiahar asks, gradually looking up at Gansukh. "No, not really. Ships have different ways of working, I mean their crews, of course. I'll keep my eyes open, however, if you like."
"Ahh.... coin will buy you time, charm will buy you skill." Quiahar slowly intones, barely audible over the bad singing.
Quiahar winks back at Filios. "Good luck, then."
I have traveled by boat many times at the behest of my patrons, but I cannot say that I prefer such transport. It is a means to an end, though. Have either of you sampled Lady Plumbwhisper's goods as of yet? Quiahar shakes his head. "No, not I. Although I am not as bound to the laws of purity and cleanliness that some of those that trained with me are, I do respect those laws. I also respect Lady Plumbwhisper, and hope that those of you who desire to know the 'plump and pleasing lady' better will take the opportunity to do so."
"You might call it a bit of both. It definitely is a ritual, to keep my body limber so that I can maintain mastery of my body, and my defenses. It is also a prayer, or a meditation, where I channel my life energy into the Great Circle." He breaks apart a loaf of dried bread and sops up some of the porridge, eating slowly before he continues. "It is a bit of a spectacle, I imagine. And if it brings delight to people, I see no problem in letting them experience the Great Circle as well, even if they do not realize that is what they are experiencing."
"A long way from here, in the far east." Quiahar tells Filios quietly, alert and clear-minded despite the ship's rocking and their loud environment. "One must keep in movement to master the weapons I wield, but it is as much a meditation on the nature of the Universe as a method of practicing movement."
In response to Dristen's question. "In truth, I care not. If I should die, this body will be vacant, as my soul will no longer be present. Dispose of the body in an appropriate manner that disease does not spread."
Quiahar shrugs, not really certain what to make of the fetchling, and goes to find what he can to break the fast, now that his daily morning ritual is ended. He would do it again in the evening, time and space permitting, as the circle of the sun first touched the horizon and finally sank beneath it. The mess is a little loud and boisterous, as usual. It wasn't something he had much of a problem with unlike many of those he once trained with. They seemed to require silence almost always, or at least a quiet environment. Quiahar knew life wasn't like that. It was usually very messy, and it was a mess he had grown comfortable with. He looked around to see who else might be eating.
Quiahar began his morning meditations as soon as the first sliver of sunlight could be seen on the horizon. The crew of the ship were already hard at work, but Captain Onaar had graciously cleared part of the foredeck for him when it wasn't needed by the crew. Quiahar's meditations relied on movements. Circles of dance, finding ki energy and moving it within the self, around the self through the colored scarves he wore threaded through golden armbands. It made for quite a spectacle, or so it seemed, as when he first began such meditations, the crew had halted their work until First Mate Wald informed them in no uncertain terms what would happen to them if they didn't get back to work. Quiahar closed his eyes to continue the meditations of movement, feeling the sun's warmth on his face and learning to use that to focus his movement. He also began to feel the spell dance come over him, something from the traces of elven blood that flowed through his veins; for a time, he allowed the magic to drift around him, manifesting as small colored lights that emphasized the colors of the silk scarves. He still whirled, flipped, high-kicked, braced, and spun in a state of suspended awareness. When the meditation was complete, he felt the scarves wrap around his arms once again, and he reached down and gently tied the ends around his wrist. The floating lights he blinked out by merely glancing at them. The second part of his daily routine was weapons practice with the nine-section-whips, exotic weapons of color and circular movement that required a large berth to use successfully. This was almost as exotic-looking and entertaining as his dance meditations, the fast moving chains whipping past his head with quiet (and sometimes not so quiet) whooshes. It required a great deal of concentration, one wrong move, one interruption, and he could seriously injure someone with the weights on the ends of the chains, potentially even himself. As the circle of the sun finally emerged completely from the waters, Quiahar ended his daily ritual. The circle was complete. He bowed once to the sun as he folded his chains and slipped them back beneath his belt. He heard the applause behind him before he even turned around. The giant pale-skinned fetchling leaned against the railing watching him. "Sellas, I didn't sense you there. You should be careful not to creep up on someone like that. Especially in the midst of such violent training." Quiahar's voice lilted with exotic eastern accents, but the fetchling paid little mind to it.
BEar in mind anyone with Survival and Know NAture as class skills can be considered "wilderness types". :) That reminds me, I really should have Survival considering how much wilderness travel my wandering monk's done. So splitting the ranks from diplomacy between diplomacy and survival. Character profile updated.
Quiahar is updated, mostly. DM, is it alright if Quiahar has a slotless version of sleeves of many garments? (For twice the price, of course).
I'll update this character tonight. A 2nd level wandering monk, 1st level spell dancer.
DM Question: Could a human with the Racial Heritage feat, Elven (for example), multiclass between two racial classes? (A human one and an elven one.)
Congratulations everyone. Good luck in Magnimar.
I've added a timeline of important events for Quiahar in his character profile. (I still need to update his background, as some changes have been made based on a need for higher understanding. :P) However, the character's ideals, philosophies, and mental realities are very much in place (thanks to a group of inquisitive co-inspirers).
Zirt and Company: A modification to Quiahar's history, based on your questions. I was trying to leave as many blanks open for the DM to use if he so chooses. But perhaps that isn't the best way to do things.
After Quiahar's parents were killed (which he doesn't really remember), the two aasimar who adopted him (part of a religious organization, leaving that up to the DM if he wants to create something or use something already in the world) quickly rushed Quiahar off, afraid he too would be targeted by (whatever evil plot had his parents killed in the first place). By land, they escaped to Korvosa, through Nidal to Cheliax, across to Andoran, from the city of Almas by ship to Absalom. Here the aasimar(s) who had spent nearly five years with him, traveling across these kingdoms, found the person he was looking for, an elf, who swiftly had Quiahar blindfolded. His monk training prepared him for this, though. And the aasimar (still unnamed, I know. I'll come up with something if the DM doesn't want to use it for something else), had been in charge of this training. They spoke back and forth rapidly, but Quiahar listened carefully, hoping to make something out of the foreign language they were speaking. He had an ear for such things, but the only thing that he could distinguish as being spoken several times was the word aiudara. Still blindfolded, he felt himself being led away, through busy streets, quiet buildings, across silent carpets and dirt floors. More words spoken in elven, a strange sense of power, then movement into a darker place, moisture, the sounds of humming power. More words in elven, surge of power, movement into cold air, where voices raised in anger were calmed again by elven. In the icy air around him, Quiahar felt hostility, but the elf who dragged him, pulled back his sleeve (presumably to show the strange birthmark he had been born with), and Quiahar felt the hostility lessen, replaced by curiosity. A curiosity he remembered feeling back. He was then led further away, and lifted onto some massive beast. After some time in the cold (Days, weeks? Blindfolded, he had no sense of time.), the air began to warm again. Someone took off his blindfold, the elf, who left him neatly at the steps of a strange building with a curved, pointed roof and walls made of paper. Here he spent several more years learning the Tian language, and followed a path of ascetic virtue to train his mind and hone his abilities in what the monks called the Garden of Temporal Reality. Things moved, constantly, he learned, adding to themselves, removing impurities, cleansing and remerging with the world. Movement was what was sacred, the solid thing could never be thus, for time flowed, as did all things in that time. Nothing stayed constant. And things which attempted to be often died as a result. He continued to train thus, mastering the use of his hands as exotic weapons, flowing with life energy through time and space, impacting other things and influencing them, pushing them, forcing them, breaking them. Nothing remains constant in the art of life. Eventually, he was brought a new weapon, the nine-section whip, which was bright and flashy; like time, it undulated with imperfect perfection. Studying the movement of the whip, Quiahar began to see himself within the whip, the whip within the dance of time, and time as the drum for all things. A drum he began to feel and hear with his heartbeat, the flow was all that mattered. Memories washed in. Tears flowed, and with them, the pain left him. Some memories remained outside his reach, but he knew then that he would not remain in one place for too long, and he would not remain in this place, even if it was safer than where he was before. Magnimar... Over the next few years, as Quiahar learned to distance himself from his past even more, and to continually move both physically and mentally, he wondered the lands of Tian Xia. Wherever he was accepted, he learned the culture of the place, attempted a few words of strange languages, allowed his curiosity to lead him in circles and strange spiral patterns which only emphasized the importance of movement. He began to remember more of the teachings the aasimar had given him: kindness, curiosity, and laid-back benevolence. Not to influence, but just to accept. Not to reject, but to gently refuse. Not to push what is offensive away, but allow it to come and gently slide off without influence. All things in movement. All circles complete. The teachings were beginning to merge, and they were making sense. So he continued to make 'the circle', moving through the countries of Tian Xia until he had circled all the way around, finding his way back to the monastery where he had first begun his training. Here again, another surprise awaited him. The elf who had first brought him here was waiting, and with hardly a word Quiahar blindfolded himself, and was again led to a massive beast, and back through several weeks journeys of icy cold. Through whatever he had gone through before, until he was back in Absalom. Still blindfolded, the elven made no sense to him, but he knew he would learn it eventually, some of its syllables already carried emotional distinction. Quiahar did not know what to expect next. The elf departed once he had been unblindfolded. Never revealing his name, nor anything about him really. Quiahar did not think he would see him again. Still continuing his journeys, Quiahar felt that the circle was calling him again. Like a dance, only different, the cycle was moving, constantly moving, and he set out again. By what passage he could work for to Osirion, making his way through the lands of Thuvia, to Rahadoum, and across by boat again to the Chelish city of Corentyn, and back toward the city he remembered. It was a long walk, and in that time he maintained his devotion to what his elders had taught him. He used his time preciously, knowing that it was fluid and most fluids eventually dried up. Even then, they could fill up again, but it was never the same fluid, always something different. One thing would pass away, die, and be replaced by something new. The cycles of life continued. Always moving. I hope this has answered your questions, and I am grateful for the opportunity to answer them as I have had to really think about it some more and learn more about the character's way of thinking in the process. There are more questions here, of course. And I can answer them with a little thinking, or I can leave them open for the DM to answer.
Quiahar attempts to blend into the corner, though with his bright (almost garish) clothing, it is a difficult task. Nevertheless, he allows his eyes to wonder over the titles of the books in the room, thinking to himself how wondrous the authors' experiences must have been. He is not particularly looking for anything so much as allowing all of the titles to gently wash over him, perhaps something catches his eye for a moment or two, he regards it with curiosity, almost reaching up to take it from the shelf, then lets it go again, returning again to a passive curiosity of quiet absorption. Perhaps after some time of doing this, a quiet meditation of sorts on the nature of the universe, and of society, and of reason and rationality, he allows his ears to tune to the quiet voices of the others in the side of the shop, laughing and chatting between themselves. He can follow the story a little bit, the Varisian bits, but the rest is lost on him. The languages seem familiar to him, he has heard them before, but cannot quite decipher the words. Still, he is lightly entranced by their musicality. He turns to the keeper of the store, "Pardon me, sir." His voice is gentle but toned with the strange accents of several languages, none his own, but parts and portions of them picked up from distant travels. "Do you have any books about Varisian bloodlines? Perhaps family histories?"
Err, sorry. I thought I had managed to finish the editing before people read it. :P I'll remember next time.
Answers: Okay, he was adopted by an aasimar, whose recent death prompted Quiahar's return to Magnimar. It would have been nice to have been raised in a nuclear family, however.
OR.... thanks to your advice to reread the racial entry...
The adopted trait grants the Enlightened Warrior aasimar trait, which permits a neutral good alignment for monks. The Wandering Monk ability Far Traveler (listed under Feats and Special Abilities) grants bonus exotic or melee weapon proficiency or an extra language known at 1st level, 4th level, and every 4 levels thereafter. In Quiahar's case, he learned to use the exotic nine-section whip. As for traveling from the Dragon Empires, let me look at the maps and I'll get back to you. He mostly hitched rides where he was able, did common labor jobs to get enough food and drink and a place to rest his head. All of the good stuff that wandering monks do.
Zirt & Co: I don't usually use spoilers in my character profiles (Actually, I don't think I've ever done so), except for skill points and purchases. It helps me and most DMs I know (including myself) to be able to see everything at a glance. I have separated out the sections a little more with some visual elements to help keep things sorted, though if the GM asks for a different profile setup, I will of course oblige. Thanks to his upbringing by the aasimar who adopted him, Quiahar has learned curiosity towards other cultures. In a way, Quiahar's collection of souvenirs is a search for who he is, who his parents were and their culture. He is searching for his own people, his own home, and finding the journey to be magnificently curious. The primary reason that Quiahar is still only 1st level is because he has never been in one place long enough to develop any real skills or abilities. Now that one of his adoptive parents has died, pulling him back to Magnimar and its circle of influence, Quiahar has found the time to settle down and really investigate who his original parents were, and the circumstances of their death. For Quiahar, dancing is poetry in motion, and as a child raised by aasimar he learned to enjoy both for the sake of beauty and goodness expressed. His travels taught him that dancing could express far more than this: love, sadness, desire, hate, and with a natural curiosity became enthralled with the art. He is beginning to remember (or thinks he remembers) his natural mother dancing with perfumes and silk scarves swirling around him. It is one of his earliest memories, and the only one he really has to identify where his parents came from. The style of music he remembers is definitely Varisian in nature. Being adopted by the aasimar taught Quiahar one important thing, that one did not have to be limited in a perspective of what defines goodness as one pursues a mystical or ascetic connection with life. The ways of Golarion are many, and there is no specific way of following the path of righteousness. There is room for creativity, a difference in the structures of the paths of light; the law of the many is greater than the law of the one.
Has your character been on an adventure before now? Why did your character go adventuring? In all honesty, Quiahar has been on adventures most of his adult life, ever since the death (murder) of his parents, he has had to flee for his own. The aasimar who raised him insured that he had all the skills he needed to survive in any land he should travel to, and even sent him to far off distant lands to prevent the powerful diabolists from finding him. Why they were after him, and why they killed his family, he doesn't know. But since then, life has been one adventure after another. Perhaps not of the very dangerous variety, but definitely keeping him on his toes and interested in the places he visits.
I have updated Quiahar some. He has a fairly convoluted background, and some of it is a mystery to him, but he intends to find out where he came from. Would you all pronounce his name Kwee-a-har? Or Kuu-ya-har?
Background in profile. Let me know if I should add something else. I'll be getting Ultimate Campaign soon, and will be able to come up with something a little better I hope.
Here is the character, still need to work on background a bit. |