Radjiik's page

Bonus Feat (lvl 1 only)
Bonus Skill Point
Sneak Attack (1d6)
Trapfinding: A rogue adds 1/2 his level to Perception skill checks made to locate traps and to Disable Device skill checks (minimum +1). A rogue can use Disable Device to disarm magic traps.

"Hold on; let me get this straight."Sandru Vhiski slumped back in his chair, massaging his temples in a futile attempt to get rid of a frankly worsening headache. The Shoanti boy that had turned a peaceful evening into one of the longest nights of Sandru’s life kept his eyes infuriatingly down, absorbed in the contemplation of his untouched cup of tea like a man kneeling at the altar to ask the Gods for guidance.

“You’ve had no problem with working with the Sczarni, stealing and swindling your way through Varisia for three years.”  The boy (Radji, Radjin, whatshisname) flinched as if he had been stung, and opened his mouth to protest; Sandru left him no chance to talk. “But two weeks ago, the new mob boss decides that you’re going to settle in Magnimar, and suddenly you discover yourself a guilty conscience?”

“We just had to steal to survive!” Sandru raised an eyebrow; the young man reluctantly softened his voice. “But we never hurt anybody. He wanted the clan to make a name in Magnimar. He would have dragged us straight into gang wars. And Simir wanted out. He never liked doing tricks for the Sczarni. He was the one with ideas," he added melancholically.

"Right- what did you say was his deal again? Illusion magic?" The Shoanti young man nodded. “Not a bad asset for con artists.” Sandru paused, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table. Something felt off. “So, instead of waiting to get to Magnimar and escape on a boat, you have the great idea to steal a couple of horses, and set off in the middle of nowhere...” Sandru checked the inside of the young man's backpack. "Without a map."

The boy blushed."Simir was the one with the map. And no one would have hired Sczarnis."

“Makes sense,” said Sandru in a tone that had no more than a mild edge of sarcasm to it. He was too deep in his thoughts to be consciously ironic. “So you manage to escape, five days ago. You ride for about two days, and then your horse stupidly trips and breaks his leg.” He snorts. “Calistria’s luck. So you’re down to one horse. And the day after that- how did you get separated again?”

“We had to take a break at nighttime, because...” The boy hesitated, and chose his next words very carefully. “I… needed to. Been riding for hours. We heard horses coming behind us. Galloping, not just walking. It was dark. Simir told me to hide, that they’d follow the horse. He told me to get to Sandpoint as soon as I was sure I wasn’t followed. He rode away, and I… I ran.”

“And you’ve walked here on your own.” There it was. “You knew the way to Sandpoint. Without a map.” The boy shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “Did Simir tell you who I was and how to find me?" A nod. "Meaning the Sczarni know, too? "Another hesitant nod. Sandru gritted his teeth. “And you thought you could just waltz into my room, with a bloody target painted on your arm, and that I'd protect you against the criminal gang on your trail that knows where to look for you?"

“They won’t look for me!” the boy protested. “They haven’t followed me in two days! And Simir left with the horse! He’s the one in danger! We’ve got to help him!”

“Horses,” Sandru muttered. He was on to something. He could feel it, the “off” thing, taunting him, just out of reach. Then it hit him. “You said it was dark when you got ambushed. How did you know they were Sczarni riders? Did you see them?”

“We couldn’t,” the boy answered incredulously. “We didn’t stick around to stare them in the eyes. They were heading towards us, galloping-”

“So, as far as you know, you’ve heard some noises, and your illusionist friend took off with the map and the only remaining horse. Don’t you see? There were fast riders on your trail and you had to share the same horse’s back. How slowed down were you?” The boy’s face fell, but Sandru mercilessly kept on: “Now, I doubt that the Sczarni would be so obstinately rancorous as to waste several men on a month-long wild goose chase, all for two foolish teens on the run. But it’s a question of time before the riders give up, see. You were lucky enough to have a solid head start, and it would have been a mistake to lose it because of a dead horse. How badly did your friend want out?”

The boy stared, wide-eyed, too stunned to talk. "We were friends for years," he finally said quietly. Sandru looked at his crumpled and anguished face, and his anger subsided, leaving place to pity.

“Look, kid, I'm not pretending to know exactly what went on in your friend's head, or what he did or didn’t do. He disappeared. You have reasons to be worried. I’m only trying to make sense of it all. You were close, and I don't see a spellcaster faring very well in the wild without a bodyguard, especially if he’s hunted down.” Sandru could actually think of quite a few sensible ways that Simir could have covered his tracks, if he had changed clothes, switched horse, or managed to find a place to hide, but at the sight of the boy’s face lighting up, he kept them to himself. Besides, maybe there were riders after all, Sczarni or no Sczarni. He may even have honestly thought that he was buying his friend some time.

Who was to know?

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Sandru stood up. “I’ll take you to Koya’s, and you’re going to have a couple hours of rest. I’ll come to get you at dawn. You were aware that I owned caravans?” The boy acquiesced, a glimmer of hope dancing in his eyes. “Good. You won’t be disoriented that way. And I take it that you know your way around them?” Sandru put his coat on, his voice adopting a friendly, conversational tone. “That’s what I thought. Since the Sczarni aren’t close on your trail, we’ll keep you moving, preferably surrounded by a group of armed men in case they show up. You’ll be under my protection.” Sandru casually threw the boy’s backpack back to him. He caught it at the very last moment, just before it hit him in the face. “We can of course look for your friend while we’re at it, but we’ll have to do it discreetly, which means that you don’t start asking questions around about a boy looking-”

“Around my age. About a head shorter, slender, curly black hair,” the boy finished Sandru’s sentence without hesitating. “Wears colorful robes.”

“Robes which he’d had probably ditched by now f he’s still out there and has an ounce of common sense, but okay. And it goes without saying, kid,” Sandru’s voice suddenly lost all cheerfulness. “That if you cause any trouble, I’ll kick you out myself. Understood, er-….”

“Radjiik. And I won’t,”  the boy replied, his voice firm and earnest.

“Good.” Sandru’s eyes looked Radjiik up and down. He groaned. “And for heaven’s sake, start wearing long sleeves.”

At barely seventeen years old, Radjiik is unusually tall and muscular for an adolescent, but his self-effacing, reserved nature doesn't make him appear as physically imposing. With the practised ease of one that has spent many years keeping a low profile, he keeps to himself most of the time, often coming off as preoccupied or distant to those around him. The only person he seems to make an exception for is Sandru Vishki, to whom he looks up almost as a father figure. A quiet and reliable worker, Radjiik has few excentrities, except his tendency to stare at young men of around his age (especially of Varisian blood), as if he were constantly on the look-out for a familiar face in the crowd.

Although he was born and raised in as a member of the Shadde-Quah, Radjiik shows no particular attachment to his Shoanti origins, having found his desire to see the world and his particular set of skills to be irrevocably at odds with the values embraced by his clan. The only tattoo he sports is an intricate and colourful one, covering his left arm from wrist to shoulder. Anyone with an interest or knowledge or tattoos would recognize it as more Varisian in its design than Shoanti, and those familiar with both cultures would come to the conclusion that its purpose is undoubtedly to indicate which clan he belongs to. Only to a particular trained eye would the tattoo reveal the boy's affiliation with the Sczarni, and especially of what family he used to be a member. Following Sandru's advice, Radjiik keeps it concealed under a long-sleeve shirt at all times.

Naivete:
If anyone’s going to be invited to a “friendly” game hosted by “friendly” strangers and get completely fleeced, it’s Radjiik. And he knows it.
For the Shadde-Quah, deceit is dishonourable, and betraying one’s kin is considered so grave and unimaginable an offence that it is rarely spoken of outside of cautionary tales told to children. Perhaps because he is of a loyal and steadfast nature himself, Radjiik blindly trusts those who appear to treat him with care, putting himself at risk of being taken advantage of. Deep down inside, he has a hard time considering the eventuality that Simir might have run away without him, finding excuses or possible explanations for his behaviour.

Mistrust :
Recent events have given Radjiik to understand a seemingly caring foster family with some admittedly morally ambiguous activities might be a front for a cynical criminal business, and that a supposedly well-meaning best friend may or may not be a liar. Because of this, Radjiik has become suspicious of others and more cautious about who he may call a friend, at the cost of avoiding social interactions and opening up as little as possible to people who might genuinely want to help.

Flawed Moral Compass :
Years among the Sczarni has left Radjiik is still learning how to recognize when a situation is right or wrong. He has a strong distaste for needless bloodshed and hurting others, but might feel that ambushes and robberies can be an acceptable form of violence, sometimes mixing up those who steal to survive, and exploitative criminal organizations where most of the loot goes straight to the leaders. He doesn’t particularly differentiate between stealing from a corrupt businessman or from a local craftsman, simply believing in taking what you need where you can find it. A countess’ tears over the loss of her precious grandfather’s signet ring might move him enough to give it back, even if he had originally planned to sell it to finance the construction of a new orphanage that she hadn’t sponsored. Rather than following a clear moral code, Radjiik is all too easily swayed by his emotions, and is sometimes genuinely unaware of doing a bad thing.

Fear of Being Unwanted/Rejected :
If Radjiik’s mother had one word to describe him, it would probably be “disappointment”.
Growing steadily wearing of the Shadde-Quah’s necessary but never-ending war for their land, and showing a general ineptitude at any activities that his clan valued, Radjiik was considered as a good-for-nothing by his own tribe before he left with the Sczarnis, who valued his skills. Though life among his newfound family was tough, he never felt deprecated the way he had been before, especially thanks to the friendship he shared with Simir, who was there through thick and thin. Never once would Radjiik had suspected that one day, they would be separated- or worse, that he could no longer count on Simir.
Now that neither the Sczarni nor Simir are there anymore, Radjiik has struggled to find a sense of self-worth and of purpose, and he has especially started to doubt his ability to have any kind of fulfilling relationship with anyone.

Thalassophobia :
When Radjiik was seven, a group of boys looking for mischief pushed him into the water as he was sitting on a rock at sea. As he was making his way back to shore, he got stung by a jellyfish, and remained underwater, unable to swim, until the older kids realized that he wasn’t just pretending to drown.
From that day on, Radjiik developed a terrible fear of swimming in the ocean -a fear which greatly contributed to isolating him from the Shadde-Quah, whose economy and diet mainly rely on marine resources. Being on a boat makes him feel slightly safer, but he has panic attacks if he is immersed in the sea.