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About Salt Thunderclap

Salt
Aasimar Techslinger 1 | Thunder Scout 1

Hit Points: 18/18
Intiative: +4
Speed: 30 ft.

Armor Class: 18, touch 14, flat-footed 12
Saves: Fort +5, Ref +8, Will +1

Abilities: Str 12, Dex 19, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 12, Cha 14

Skills: Acrobatics +8, Climb +5, Craft (Arms and Armour) +8, Disable Device +8, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (engineering) +6, Knowledge (local) +6, Perception +5, Perform Guitar +5, Ride +8, Stealth +8, Survival +5

Equipment: Inferno Pistol, Pistol, Nanite Shirt, Leather Armour, Short Sword, Whip

Salt was born Sol'mer S'aar, to parents Eleria and Verben, both resident clerics of the grand temple of Serenrae. She was raised on tales of the greatness of the Sun Goddess, and told how she would one day be the her greatest servant. Little Sol'mer had other ideas, lapping up stories of the outside world and daydreaming of pirates and quests through her studies of magic and endless prayer. Days spent in the grand marble halls brewed a gentle resentment of the devout and (in her eyes) arrogant lives of the clergy, how they seemed convinced they were better because their god was on their side. Sol'mer would sneak away often to swim with other children in the crystal blue seas bounding the city, and would be found out by her parents by the smell of salt on her clothes and hair.

When Sol'mer was six, a visiting delegation from B'aals in the Deeps came to the temple. Led by Verben's sister, the Lady Arryn S'aar, they spent a long time talking official pleasantries before the small, violet-haired girl in the corner anounced loudly

"Auntie Flappy, I'm bored. Aren't you allowed to have fun when you're in charge of a kingdom?"

The assembled dignitaries were aghast, but the kindly Druid smiled.

"You're right, little one. How about we go swimming?"

Not daring to question the Duchess, the assembled room dispersed and the pair swam, Arryn showing her niece the many forms she could take in the water with her magic. "You swim like you have salt in your veins, little one!"

As children are wont to do, Sol'mer swore to be a Druid. Then a Dinosaur (another of her aunt's tricks), then eventually an adventurer. After many arguments with her parents over where her future lay, Sol'mer reached a compromise with High Priest Hermead. If she stayed the course with her studies, she could join the enclave at fourteen to train to be a Paladin, a respected officer in the holy armies.

On her fourteenth birthday, Sol'mer enrolled in the martial program, quickly mastering hand-to-hand combat and basic swordplay. She was well-liked, and felt at peace with the martial discipline, even if her belief in the higher powers were lacking. The High Priest, Hermead, taught peace and charity toward those that broke the law, and while heretics were routed, they were rarely punished with great harshness. One such rout, Sol'mer found an intriguing item among the usual idols and offerings; an ornate, but badly damaged pistol. Thinking it couldn't possibly be an artefact of evil, she hid the device for later study. At night, she would work on the small gun, trying to get it back to working order. It became an obsession, and one day, the project was complete, the little hammer snapping cleanly into place with each trigger pull. All it needed was ammunition and black powder now. Sol'mer kept the weapon a secret, knowing that it would be confiscated immediately if discovered.

A year or so later, Sol'mer's life was changed forever. Arriving at the parade ground for morning drills, a promising young transfer from one of the smaller temples greeted her. The man was striking, green scales surrounding dark eyes. The pair immediately became friends, spending an increasing amount of time studying and fighting together. His name, his real name, told in a hushed whisper one night, was Ouroborous. He had the same questions as her, the same drive for something... better, than a life wearing embroidered suns and rounding up those who profained. Their friendship grew stronger, much to the dispassion of Sol'mer's parents, though Hermead saw their bond as a positive. They worked harder and achieved far more together than apart.

Her training and studies were progressing well, until the day her father did something unforgiveable. Upon the death of High Priest Hermead, Verben S'aar was selected as her replacement. Always stern, Verben went from merely a strict father to a demgoguing tyrant. Beloved by the Clerics for his oratory and respected by the Paladin Enclave for his ruthless execution of the law, Sol'mer's father his his sadistic side well. So well, that no-one would believe Sol'mer when she told them of the beatings she received (the wounds would heal as they formed, leaving no trace). Verben pulled Sol'mer from the Enclave and insisted the Clerics attend to her "Spritual wellbeing". In one more act of spite, Verben sealed the gates leading to the sea.

"No more unclean salt. No more impious frolicking."

This would have been the end for Sol'mer, were it not for Ouroboros. When her father ascended to the High Priesthood, she knew it was likely the end of her martial training. So her pistol, her pride and joy, were secured in a small chest and given to “Robbit”. One stormy night, after her beatings and her prostrations, Sol’mer collapsed into bed, to find that same small chest, tied with a bow. Inside, her pistol, four bullets, a phial of powder, and a note.

“You know what to do.”

Sol’mer slipped out of her room, down the hallway and up to her parents’ chamber. Waking them, she asked her father if he would pray with her. Not wishing to appear impious, Verben agreed and followed his daughter to the grand balcony. The storm raged over the sea, lightning arcing and flashing across the waves. Verben never made it to his stool to pray. A whipcrack of thunder covered the ringing shot of the pistol. With each rapport, she fired again and again, driving bullets into her hated father

It all happened in slow motion. The lightning on the waves, the feeling of weight of the loaded pistol, the rush of pulling the trigger and seeing the rough slug tear it’s way into cloth, then flesh. It was all so slow. And it was all so... Glorious.

Sol’mer dragged her father’s corpse up to the highest tower. Robbit was waiting, with rope and a sack.

“We can make it look like an accident.”

“I have a better idea.”

When the Clerics found their High Priest missing the next day, the great bell was rung. It swung one way, peeling its somber tone, then the other, and all that rang out was a sickening wet crunch. By the time Verben’s mangled remains were cut free from the clapper (and scraped from within the great bell), Sol’mer and Ouroboros were long gone...