Hunching low he holds up his gun and scans the area to find the attackers hidden in the dancing light.
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Tipping his hat down he pulls his coat a little tighter and moves closer to the odd woman, "Try and keep close. This chill will probably just get worse."
As he took in the prospect in front of them he frowned and reached over to rest a hand on his pistol. He'd seen the kind of deep winter tricks with runes and such before, but he didn't suppose this would be a good explanation of what was going on as yet. Instead he looked along the small trail and his frown turned to a scowl. With a nudge of his head he motioned to the side, "Keep clear of the trail. Too much fresh pack to search it properly." Stepping a few feet to the side of the trail he drew his gun just in case and then thought to add to Rerdahl, "And I'd suggest getting on all fours if you plan to do that. Easier to check with your hands and not much is going to account for you being about a man's shin height."
Stowing his flaming blade he secures the pistol in it's holster before moving to examine the bodies that weren't animated. Maybe if he was a better healer he could tell what caused their deaths more specifically, instead he just tries to look at their faces. The last look before the light was taken and the cold froze it forever. He moves slowly between them, laying one hand on one of their own and pulling a small silver medallion from his belt. As he moves by each he mutters quietly a prayer, asking for their peace in the life after no matter where it took them. So quietly did he speak it was more breathing through the motions of his lips than anything, giving each a moment to memorize a person lost and send them gently on their way. When he finished he slipped his medallion back into his belt and scowled at the damage already done and the strange chill seeming to grow by the minute, "Burn the dead after you search the coach. Might be a clue left over in there." Pulling his pistol he checked the safety again to be sure and began to secure the gear on his person for a hike, "I say we travel light and fast. Keep an eye for hunter's traps, but we find who did this and we find them before whoever else they took ends up like those two." Reaching down he began to tighten the straps on his belt and then his pack, "I don't have any plans to return prisoners to town for trial, though." He turned to glance at Asric with a raised brow, "That going to be a problem?"
Cursing and weaving about the walking monstrosity he brings his cutlass back around for another slice, "Get clear of the this thing before it tears your head off!"
Without a clear shot, and the chance of harming one of the others he snaps the safety cap on the pistol and lashes out with his cutlass.
Thick snows as hearty as it ever was in the north were not something he expected. Though there was a bit of a safe feeling once he put his feet down on the ground and felt the snow rise higher up his leg. Like an old feeling of comfort, almost like he could close his eyes and imagine the snows of his homeland. But as they made their way into the clearing and he saw the debris he couldn't help but have another creeping feeling from his past. Pulling his pistol he left it pointed up rather than out. He'd slipped the trigger once and wasn't eager to repeat that little fiasco. Instead he scanned the area, even lagging behind as the others moved forward until the sounds from the carriage caught his attention and he snapped his gun in line with it and clicked back the hammer. Thick snows so deep he had to trudge forward to move and the frosted lumps of corpses among the snow glinted at the corner of his eye but he stared at the wedged door down the sight on his gun and pulled his cutlass with the other. Flames from an old casting danced on the edge, though not hot they usually served a purpose of distracting people. So he held the blade out just slightly as he called over the hush to the carriage, "Oy! In the carriage! Speak up and give name if you can understand me."
As the other shopped he stood outside, simply waiting for them to finish. He kept glancing in the direction the Ulfen mercenary suggested. All the while he absently ran his fingers over the handle and hammer of the gun on his belt. He'd already bundled up for the cold, so didn't feel the need to change now. It was always rather simple to just strip a layer off to cool down if needed in case the guard was making a mountain out of a mole-hill. As the group exits he watches Rerdahl stowing the crossbow and gives a small grin, "Nice stick caster you got there. Everyone situated?"
There's a certain amount of distrust for Ulfen who stray too long from home in the name of coin. Most northern kingdoms cheer for the prospect of quick raids and easy targets with fat purses and things easily taken in their wake. And while Rhone had grown up apart from that shortsightedness, he hadn't grown up apart from the stigma that came of being a northman who forgets his northern roots. Understanding what it was and moving past it being two different things, he couldn't help but have some mirth at the idea of the other Ulfen suffering from frostbite and the beating he'd taken. Some small part of him delighted in it, even if he knew he shouldn't. The same part of him wanted to doubt he'd remember what a northern fey would even look like. Probably bested by the much maligned magic of some sorcerer who left his ego more beaten than his bruised and bitten flesh. And fey rarely worked in concert with humans unless a higher power was at work, or so his father always said. Sliding his thumbs behind the buckle of his belt he nudged his chin at the Ulfen, "Where did the bandits take your Lady, summer-born?"
As it seemed the others were intent on questioning the Ulfen in question, he wasn't one to stand in the way. Instead he upended his pipe and stamped out the embers on the bottom of his boot, making sure to keep it clean for later. Stowing it he pulled the pistol from the cross draw on his left hip and snapped the small release at the side to check his powder was loaded and ready before slipping it back into it's holster and standing. Scooping up his gear he slid into his long coat and secured the warm vest before slipping on his pack and tucking his gloves into his belt, "Whatever a warm-weather Ulfen may say assaulted him? Probably best to cut those numbers in half. If he claims it was an army, it was probably two rather cross halflings with sturdy pots." Adjusting his hat in case the wind had picked up he gave the group a smile, "Not that it would take two, but I assume the Lady probably required more of a challenge if she was taken." With a gentle tip of his hat towards the patrons he turned for the door and to find the guard.
As the woman stepped forward he could only watch as she eyed them. The kind of eyes that slithered over you in some fashion or another. He'd seen those kinds of looks, and most of them came from the type who wanted something you had or expected you to do something for their benefit. Considering the odd company she was keeping close by it wasn't a stretch to guess as to which was which. But all the same as she introduced herself he reached up and tapped the brim of his hat, "Ms. Mina."" Yet he watched the way the light played on her all the same. Like watching something otherworldly slink about with all the inhuman casualness that came with it. Even through the small haze of pipe smoke he could see a glint of something else in her appearance that was just human enough to entice, but just otherworldly enough to be worth noting. When the smaller folk began to talk about hunting from a distance it didn't take long for one to pull a small tube from his pack and slap it on the table. Something he'd expect from less advanced natives, to be honest. But the group he was with seemed to be the 'meet it head on' type to begin with. He was more partial to stopping power and maybe causing some terror while he was at it. With a grin he raised an eyebrow at the weapon, "Well isn't that... unique."
Listening to the planes-touched he couldn't help but take a long draw from his pipe before adjusting his hat on his head, settling in for what he assumed was going to be an entertaining event. Two rat-men and a rather earnest man who smelled of unblinking devotion to something all together fanatical. Maybe it was a sin in his past he was trying to atone for, or a general drive to be the good person the world might need. He didn't know. But at least he didn't foam at the mouth when he talked about it, so that was a bonus from what he'd seen before. Instead he exhaled a lung of smoke and shrugged at the gathering, "Summer frost, especially here, mixed with northern game and fey creatures roaming free?" He pointed a finger at Asric with a grin on his face, "Bet you a bottle that who, or whatever is doing this has something to do with a hag of some form or another. Damn things were thick as last season's preserves in the north at one point before we drove them through the Path of Aganhei." Plopping the pipe back between his teeth he grinned, "Last I heard the Tian traders were picking up where we left off and turning in crone heads for gold dragons back home." Taking a pull he let a smoke grin peek through, "Or maybe those Ulfen finally pissed off their ancestors enough to send some fey after them for serving a summer-king. Either way it should be interesting."
One oddity after the next seemed to fill this small cluster of roofs in the middle of chilled summer nowhere. Primarily the sudden appearance of not one, but a pair of ratfolk. Even as one asked to sit he could only wave to the seat before another appeared, causing an amused memory of the old adage about the speed rats could multiple to jump forth. He smiled around the stem of his pipe in his teeth as he exhaled a waft of smoke even as the two started to talk. What came next was a man who favored what he supposed a man made of Ustalav pipe weed burnt as brush may look like. Wispy black smothered inside skin to make a man who looked more akin to a piece of night sky struggling to emerge from the shell of a human being. He'd seen plane-touched and ratfolk before, often times sprinkled as travelers along the roads or people coming to the north looking for something better. Though the last time he saw a pair of ratfolk together who weren't related somehow was a strange little cluster of alchemists out of Numeria peddling pieces of some 'iron mountain' they swore unlocked the secrets of the world. With all of them taking seats he scooped his pack and coat away, tossing them down next to his chair and relaxing in, figuring if they were up for gossip he was up to listen. Still, he turned to the first of the small ones who appeared and extended his hand, "Rhone of Averaka." Pulling the pipe free after the handshake he narrows his eyes and waves the pipe stem, "What's this about a white weasel? Already heard about a talking stag in the area. Not that this place should see anything close to snow except in a bard's bad salt-show, now there's northern game roaming the summerlands?" He leaned back in his chair, taking another draw of his pipe with a sour look, "Did I bump my head and wake up in Varisia?"
He gave her a friendly nod as she turned to leave, even reaching up to tap the brim of his hat before she vanished into the rear for the drink and food. But the mention of an Ulfen guard soured the taste in the back of his mouth. So much so that he stuffed his pipe and lit it without slowing to hopefully drown the taste out. He was no fan of the southlander Ulfen. He'd heard enough stories of the kind of mercenaries who fled south to play wet nurse to summer-kings and their ilk. Enough that if a few Ulfen guard were kicked in the teeth during a snowy summer in the south he'd call it pure irony. Also enough that the draw of tobacco and the thought made him smile. So he took a long draw of his pipe and settled in, thinking he may take a bit longer to poking around at tales of talking animals in the frost. Might be hags up to mischief, or it may be the Ulfen finally got what was coming their way. So he exhaled smoke and spoke mostly to himself, "Guess I'll eat and go ask that gleidr blot some questions, then."
One thing he'd learned in his travels was there was rarely the refreshing snap of cold any further south than Varisia. What southlanders called winter was usually warmer than a bright spring afternoon where he was from. He'd gotten more stares from them by forgoing his coat and trying to enjoy the mild weather than almost anything else he'd done. Not including having to explain why his 'wand' was so loud to people who'd never heard of alchemy before. The small caravan he'd been a part of had holed up for the day, trying to warm chilled appendages before heading further north. Maybe stock up on better furs. Rhone considered the whole idea hilarious. Things weren't going to get warmer in the north. Still, he'd never heard of such chilled weather here before and had changed after hearing about the snows catching the wood. No sense is being caught in an untimely blizzard in thin pants, after all. What bothered him most were the stories the drovers told after going for more feed. Talking stags. Bandits on the road attacking armed caravans. He'd heard those stories before. Lived them, in fact. So he'd gathered his gear and headed for the inn, intent on getting more information from the locals. Maybe enjoy a pint of decent beer (though he doubted they made it thicker than water here) before he decided to do something stupid like go poking about in an nonseasonal frost. As he entered he dropped his pack and long coat on a small table before taking the first seat not attached to a grumpy horse or lumpy campsite in what felt like five hundred miles. Pulling his pipe, he set tipped his hat gently at the server as she passed, "Could use an ale and maybe whatever's warm and you recommend, if you don't mind." Almost as an after-thought he holds up a hand to stop her, "By the way, is there a town guard about? Heard some things on the way in. I'd love to pick their brain."
I've been having a lot of fun reading through all the cool character ideas people have put together. All I did was make the WHO first, then play mad scientist with the HOW. Like the time I saw someone play a Nature Fang Druid and was wrecking face as melee damage, then would back up and drop tons of lighting damage like some kind of World of Warcraft shaman. All while pretending to be the medicine man of a barbarian tribe. Sometimes you just gotta embrace the insane.
After two days of thinking I sat down to make a character... and there were a lot of unchained rogues already. So I tweaked a little and decided to do something really outside the box that fit the concept I had (or as best as I could glue together) and I present to you: Bastien du'Vergier, minor noble and forcefully retired military officer. Background:
Born to a minor noble house, Bastien was the middle child of his family. His older sister Justine was a woman who took care of him more often than his own parents, her time spent mostly at home. He grew up thinking of her more as a parent than a sibling, and as he grew he understood why she spent so much time at home. An intelligent woman, she never met a book she could not consume quickly or a topic she didn't have intimate knowledge of somehow. She proved to be the example of both intelligence and caring in Bastien's life, but always somewhat sad.
His younger brother Cauldon, a boy who took more after their father, was obsessed with station and luxury. Where Justine tried repeatedly to show him the same love, he rejected it in favor his father's company. As they both grew Bastien showed less and less desire to follow his father's Senatorial commitments and instead focused on more militaristic pursuits. Cauldon, instead, pushed himself to the forefront to become a member of the Senate himself. Always attempting to exceed where Bastien could rarely be bothered. Justine, however, was groomed only for a marriage to a man of their parents choosing. A 'good match' that would secure their alliance with another of the lower noble houses and provide her with a lifestyle she needed, or so they said. Justine had no love for the man, thinking him a witless oaf and with no ambition. However her thoughts on the matter were of little importance to their parents, and Bastien began to realize the failures of their governing body. When he came of age he signed up to become a member of the Taldan Army. Thinking to distinguish himself in defense of their great nation, he shipped out with hope in his heart of great heroics and adventure. It took less than two months to realize his skills were not to be tested. Most of the enlisted men were worked like dogs while nobles like himself drank and got fat in magically cooled command tents. Unable to reconcile this disregard for a soldier's service, Bastien became disenchanted with the military service he'd hoped would give him a sense of fulfillment. By the time of his sister's wedding he had already made enemies among the other noble command staff by messing and drilling with the 'common' soldiers. His lack of diplomatic skill not withstanding, he earned respect by being among the men themselves, and earned even worse standing for receiving commendations from afar for his efforts. When he returned to attend the wedding his sister had already gone on a hunger strike in protest and his brother had lost all sympathy. In the days leading to the event she confided in him that she would rather die than marry the man, but Bastien pleaded with her to not do anything drastic. After the wedding he left, but only after securing her promise to take care of herself until he could return. When he returned to his command he found that in his absence most of the enlisted men in his care had been assigned to be shipped to the Zimar Corsairs, used as soldier labor by the pirates. Rather than simply let them go, Bastien went with them, the first such officer to sail with the Corsairs in recent memory. With them he helped lead both the pirates and his men to victories up and down the coast against Qadira military vessels. He also gained some respect from the pirates by proving more than capable of participating in their nightly bare-knuckle competitions. He insisted on their parley with the Andoran Eagle Knights from time to time, sharing information and supplies when needed. They held a foreign, but not unpleasant ideal about governance and the rights of the people. Something he found he shared, despite his stuffy upbringing on old Taldoran traditions. He earned distinction for his service when they helped take a Kelesh battleship in open water, being one of the first to leap over the enemy bow to secure a foothold. Though he admits his sword is more famous than he is in most stories considering the tales of the oddly altered falcata seem to grow more boisterous every day among the military men. When they pulled to port he received word that his sister had become ill. In haste he returned home, leaving one of his men in his place as he left, and rushed to his sister's side. As he arrived her husband attempted to block him from entrance, saying he was not welcome in his home. Even his own brother attempted to keep him from seeing her. In the end a few well placed punches settled the matter and he discovered his sister was not ill, but wounded. Beatings for her willingness to speak up against her husband had left her weak and bruised. Attended only by an old halfling servant, she was getting worse. The letter, it seems, came from the old halfling who feared she would expire if not treated. Her fear of being discovered was the only reason he didn't take her with him as he fled. Without thought he gathered his sister and took her to the local temple of Abadar, pleading with them for magical healing to aleve her pains. The clergy there were disinterested in her plight, saying she brought it on herself for disobeying her husband. Knowing a punch to the priest's mouth would only delay his sister's recovery while he was in jail, he took her to the first temple he could find. A small affair attached to a bar. Covered in old wood paneling and smelling of pipe smoke and stale beer, the temple of Cayden Cailean asked few questions and tended her wounds readily. When she was well enough to move on her own he returned with her to their family home only to be met with anger from their parents. Anger he returned with the promise of public humiliation should they challenge the matter further. His brother, angry for his lumps, had his career in the military ended and his pension cut short. Bastien knew in the weeks and months that followed that his favor in court life was only due to recent memory of his victories with the Corsairs and the tall tales of his bravery. Yet as he watched his sister recover in a small villa away from their family home, he began to realize something more must be done, and he had very little time left to be of real help. Crunch:
Bastien du'Vergier
Male Human Brawler 1 NG Medium humanoid (human) Init +2; Senses: Perception +5 Deity: Cayden Cailean -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 hp 13 (1d10+3) Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +1 Defensive Abilities: -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee: Falcata (One Handed) +5 (1d8+3/19-20x3) Falcata (Two Handed) +5 (1d8+4/19-20x3) Ranged: Longbow (Two-Handed) +3 (1d8/20x3) Special Attacks: -------------------- Racial Abilities -------------------- Skilled: +1 Skill point per level Military Tradition: Grants 2 martial or exotic weapon proficiencies related to culture -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 10 Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 16 Feats: Exotic Weapon Proficiency: Falcata (Military Tradition), Martial Weapon Proficiency: Longbow (Military Tradition), Fast Learner (1st) Traits: Child of Oppara: Small family estate in Aroden's View, +1 to appraise and knowledge (nobility), Noble outfit, signet ring, single non-magic item worth 200gp Signature Moves: Single masterwork item less than 900gp, +1 trait bonus to bluff and intimidate while wielding the item in one or two hands. Acrobatics (Dex), *Appraise: 3, Climb: 7, Craft (Int), *Diplomacy: 1, Escape Artist (Dex), Handle Animal (Cha), Intimidate: 4, Knowledge (dungeoneering) (Int), Knowledge (local): 5, Knowledge (nobility): 6, Perception: 5, Profession (Wis), Ride (Dex), Sense Motive: 5, and Swim (Str).
Modifiers: +2 to Diplomacy and Intimidate vs Taldans
Gear:
Remaining Gold: 78 GP --------------------
Concept: I may have gone with Brawler as the class, but I wanted to make a versatile combatant who wasn't married to teamwork feats or even combat. After a couple days of thought (and some Netflix binging) I found a good medium by taking Hundred Eyes and Aramis and meshing them together into a military officer who believes more in the common man than his own station in life. This just happened to be the best way I could think to express that. |