Samara Pellen's page

Samara Pellen had been an adventurer long before she ever saw the black stones of Rappan Athuk, but the dungeon changed the way she moved, breathed, and thought. She’d come from the borderlands of Numeria, where strange lights in the sky and stranger things in the ruins taught her early that survival belonged to the quick, the quiet, and the stubborn. Her dimdweller eyes had always been comfortable in the half‑light, and she learned to fight in the shadows long before she learned to fight in the open. The madu came later—an odd, foreign weapon she’d taken from a dead mercenary who’d underestimated her. She liked the way it felt: half shield, half blade, all attitude.

Her first adventuring company called themselves the Ironbound, though none of them had iron wills or iron discipline. They were wanderers, treasure‑hunters, and misfits who found each other in a tavern and decided that was enough. Samara wasn’t their leader—she didn’t have the voice for it—but she was their shield. When things went wrong, she stepped forward. When things went really wrong, she stepped sideways, deflected the blow, and hit back twice as hard. They trusted her to keep them alive, and for a long time, she did.

But Rappan Athuk is not a place that rewards trust.

They entered through the Mouth of Doom, laughing, confident, and already planning how they’d spend their first haul. Samara remembered the moment the laughter died: a pressure in the air, a wrongness in the stone, a silence that felt like a held breath. The dungeon didn’t feel abandoned. It felt aware. She warned them to slow down, to watch the corners, to listen for the scrape of claws or the whisper of air through hidden seams. They listened—until they didn’t.

The trap that killed them wasn’t even clever. That was the worst part. A simple pressure plate, a simple pit, a simple fall into something that should not have been alive. Samara reacted on instinct—Crane Wing sweeping, shield flashing, body twisting—but she couldn’t save them all. She dragged two of them out, bleeding and screaming, only to watch them die from poison she couldn’t identify. The last one, a young mage with more ambition than sense, begged her to run. She didn’t want to. She stayed until his breathing stopped.

For three days she wandered the upper levels alone, half feral, half numb. She slept in alcoves, ate rations she barely tasted, and fought anything that moved. The dungeon pressed on her mind, whispering that she should lie down and join the bones. But Samara was too stubborn to die and too angry to quit. She sharpened her madu until it gleamed like a silver crescent in the dark and swore she’d walk out of the dungeon even if she had to punch her way through the walls.

When she finally reached the surface, she didn’t feel triumphant. She felt hollow. The Ironbound were gone, and she had no one left to protect. She spent a week at Zelkor’s Ferry, sitting alone at a corner table, polishing her shield until the innkeeper asked her to stop because the scraping was making the other patrons nervous. She didn’t drink. She didn’t talk. She just watched the road and waited for something—anything—to give her a reason to go back.

That reason arrived in the form of a new band of adventurers heading toward the dungeon with the same mix of confidence and ignorance she’d once carried. They weren’t the Ironbound. They weren’t her responsibility. But when she saw the way they checked their gear, the way they watched each other’s backs, the way they didn’t laugh at the warnings carved into the stones, something in her chest shifted. She stood, slung her pack over her shoulder, and walked toward them with the quiet certainty of someone who had already died once and refused to do it again.

Samara didn’t introduce herself with a speech. She simply stepped into their path, tapped her madu against her palm, and said, “If you’re going in there, you’ll need someone who knows how to make the dungeon miss.” It wasn’t bravado. It was truth. And for the first time since the Ironbound fell, she felt the faint spark of purpose warming her ribs. Not hope—she wasn’t ready for that—but something close enough to keep her moving forward.

Samara Pellen carries the look of someone who has survived too much to still care about appearances, yet somehow her presence commands attention. Her short, flame‑colored hair is cropped unevenly, as if cut with a knife rather than scissors, and her face bears the pale scars of close‑quarters fights—marks she neither hides nor explains. The mithral chain shirt she wears gleams faintly even in dim light, hugging a frame built for speed rather than brute strength. A red scarf coils around her neck like a lingering ember, its frayed ends whispering of old battles. Across her chest runs a bandolier of darts, each perfectly aligned, a quiet testament to her precision and discipline.

Her movements are a study in controlled tension. Samara never stands still; she shifts her weight, pivots, and adjusts her stance as if every moment could turn into a fight. The madu shields she carries—one steel, one leather—are extensions of her body, always angled to deflect or strike. When she walks, her steps are light but deliberate, her gaze sweeping corners and shadows with the instinct of someone who expects danger to come from behind. Even at rest, she seems coiled, ready to spring. There’s grace in her economy of motion, the kind that comes from years of surviving by reflex rather than luck.

Her behavior reflects the same duality as her fighting style: defensive yet daring. Samara speaks little, and when she does, her words are clipped, practical, and edged with dry humor. She doesn’t boast, doesn’t threaten—she simply acts, and lets the results speak for her. Beneath the hardened exterior, though, there’s a quiet protectiveness that surfaces when others falter. She’ll step forward without hesitation, shield raised, not because she trusts easily but because she refuses to watch another party die. In the flicker of torchlight, her scars catch the glow, and for a moment she looks less like a survivor and more like a sentinel—one who has already paid the price of failure and will not pay it again.

Samara Pellen
Female human brawler (feral striker, shield champion) 6 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Class Guide 23, 86, Ultimate Wilderness 42)
CN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +6; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +10 (+12 while benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light)
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Defense
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AC 28, touch 19, flat-footed 20 (+5 armor, +1 deflection, +6 Dex, +2 dodge, +1 natural, +3 shield)
hp 52 (6d10+12)
Fort +7, Ref +12, Will +4
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee +1 madu (steel) +10/+5 (1d6+4) or
. . +1 madu (steel) flurry of blows +8/+8/+3 (1d6+4) or
. . mwk madu (leather) +10/+5 (1d6+3) or
. . mwk madu (leather) flurry of blows +8/+8/+3 (1d6+3) or
. . punching dagger +9/+4 (1d6+3/×3) or
. . punching dagger flurry of blows +7/+7/+2 (1d6+3/×3) or
. . unarmed strike +9/+4 (1d8+3) or
. . unarmed strike flurry of blows +7/+7/+2 (1d8+3)
Ranged dart +12 (1d4+3)
Special Attacks brawler's flurry, close weapon mastery, knockout 1/day (DC 19), throw shield
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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 22, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 7
Base Atk +6; CMB +9; CMD 28
Feats Combat Expertise, Crane Style[UC], Crane Wing[UC], Dodge, Improved Shield Bash, Improved Unarmed Strike, Shield Focus
Traits aldori caution, blighted physiology (numeria)
Skills Acrobatics +14, Climb +6, Escape Artist +9, Intimidate -2 (+0 while benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light), Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (local) +5, Perception +10 (+12 while benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light), Sense Motive +10, Stealth +11 (+13 while benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light), Survival +2, Swim +6
Languages Common, Undercommon
SQ brawler's cunning, dimdweller, feral aspect (minor: 6 min./day), martial training, returning shield, shifter aspects (bull[UW], tiger[UW])
Other Gear +1 mithral chain shirt, +1 madu (steel)[UC], dart (8), mwk madu (leather)[UC], punching dagger, belt of incredible dexterity +2, cloak of resistance +1, effortless lace, ring of protection +1, bandolier[UE], bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, masterwork backpack[APG], spider's silk rope (50 ft.)[APG], trail rations (5), waterskin, weapon cord[APG], wrist sheath, spring loaded, 303 gp
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Tracked Resources
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Dart - 0/8
Feral Aspect (6 minutes/day) - 0/6
Knockout (1/day, DC 19) (Ex) - 0/1
Trail rations - 0/5
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Special Abilities
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Brawler's Cunning (Ex) Count as Int 13 for the purpose of combat feat pre-requisites.
Brawler's Flurry +4/+4/-1 (Ex) Can make full attack & gain two-wep fighting, but only with unarmed strike, close, or monk wep.
Close Weapon Mastery (Ex) Weapons of the close group deal dam as unarmed strike at -4 levels.
Combat Expertise -1/+2 Bonus to AC in exchange for an equal penalty to attack.
Crane Style Fight defensive pen reduced to -2. When in style, dodge bonus increases by 1.
Crane Wing Your sweeping blocks and graceful motions allow you to deflect melee attacks with ease.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Dimdweller +2 to Intimidate, Perception, and Stealth when in conceal due to darkness.
Feral Aspect (6 minutes/day) Take on minor shifter aspects.
Improved Shield Bash You still get your shield bonus while using Shield Bash.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Knockout (1/day, DC 19) (Ex) Declare before attack, if hit then foe is unconscious 1d6 rds (Fort neg), resave each rd.
Martial Training (Ex) Brawler levels count as fighter/monk levels for feat/item pre-reqs and effects.
Returning Shield (Ex) Thrown shield ricochets off multiple surfaces (or foes) to return.
Shifter Aspect (Bull, +2 Str) (Su) Minor Form: +2 enhancement bonus to Strength. Major Form: large bull.
Shifter Aspect (Tiger, +2 Dex) (Su) Minor Form: +2 enhancement bonus to Dexterity. Major Form: dire tiger.
Throw Shield (Ex) Gain the benefit of Far shot when throw shields. Can use certain maneuvers at range.

Crane Style, Fighting Defensively: -0 Attack / +5 AC

Combat Expertise: -1 Attack / +2 AC