About Kriznox HaabKriznox Haab
HP 11 (d8 + Con)
AC 17 (10 + 4 (Armor) + 2 (Dex) +1(Size)
Appearance:
Abilities:
Ranged:
Melee
--------------------------------------------- Race: Gnome
--------------------------------------------- Class: Bard
Favored Class Bonus: Add +1 HP every time character levels in Favored class (Bard) or +1 Bardic Performance per day.. --------------------------------------------- Skills:
Adventuring Skills:
Proficiency: Simple & Martial Weapons, Light & Medium Armor
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Traits:
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Spells/Day:
Spells Known:
1st:
--------------------------------------------- Equipment: (Special - Daring Bravo)
Total Weight
Total Cost:
Background The cell was cold and damp, clearly not well maintained, though Kriznox Haab hardly noticed or even seemed to care. The young gnome lay back on a rough, though reasonably made bed, and linked his fingers behind his head as he continued to sing. His voice, a surprisingly warm sound in the stale, stone entrapment, echoed hauntingly through the hallways, calming those imprisoned there, giving them something else to think about rather than their own current circumstances. Silent the night when dark Orcs came,
Sudden the swarm, as a storm rolling in,
Feel the flames and hear the cries.
The battle raged on, the guard stood their ground,
His fate was unkind, downed on the road,
Feel the flames and hear the cries.
For as god's luck would have it, there were knights on their way,
Imagine their shock, dismay and pure fury,
Feel the flames and hear the cries.
So Knights drew their steel, their shields borne for war,
Then unto the town, they approached with dismay,
Feel the flames and hear the cries.
A charge, then, of heroes, the point of our tale.
Long hours fell on, the flames lit their battle,
Feel the flames and hear the cries.
Wounds, they were grievous, though still they fought on,
Gone were the hordes, the raiders had run,
Brave were our heroes, but more so those deceased ,
Still feel the flames, and hear the cries,
“Quiet, You! Enough o’ yer catterwailin’!” His jailer, a rotund, middle-aged half-orc, was clanking the keys into the padlock on his door, and that was something far more important than the state of his accommodations. The gnome bard sat up, then stood with a small groan, brushing off the cell’s muck and grime as best as he could - failing miserably. A full day and night in the town’s jail had definitely left its mark on him, for now. “Aey…songbird…c’mon out, an’ be quick about it. Yer’ time’s up and I’m sick o’ lookin’ after ye an hearin yer crooning.” The guardsman belched, noisily pulling the chains away from the lock and opening the door with a rusty creak. “Would’ve sounded better with my lute…” Kriznox mumbled back, all but unheard. “I’m guessin’ that next time you’ll be thinkin’ twice afore startin’ a brawl in old Olzwad’s tavern, yessir.” The bard frowned at the memory, not finding it especially worth remembering, rather the contrary. The lump he had on the back of his head from one of the dwarven bouncers did little to change his mind on the matter. In truth, however, Krizox had not started the brawl…technically…that honor belonged to one of the burry-eyed guardsmen with who the gnome had been playing cards late into the evening. The young bard’s protests that there had simply been a misunderstanding due to an odd regional discrepancy regarding the rules of play went unheeded. Surprising, really. Krizox hadn’t thought the other man was clever or sober enough to see through the bluff… “You listenin’ ta me??” The half-orc barked, snapping the blond-haired minstrel out of his pondering. The gnome quickly murmured something under his breath about how he had of course been listening, and added a quick apology that seemed to satisfy the brute. “Yer personal effects…such as they are…are in there on the table. Get em’, and get out…or I’ll toss ye back in the cell fer trespassin’.” With that, the jailor turned and walked away, leaving Krizox Haab to collect his things…once again a free man. The green-eyed bard didn’t tarry, sweeping up his small but gnome-sied swordbelt, his lute, his boots, and the rest of his meager belongings, hustling out to the street. Once there, the gnome was met with a light breeze of fresh air that turned a bit sour with the smell of rotting fruit. Ah, the sweet smells of SimplePort. The town was not exactly his favorite place, but it was a bit more forgiving than some other cities with ports nearby, where his disagreement the day before might have earned him a missing hand…or worse. A moment, however, was all Krizox allowed himself, as he hurried down the crowded streets of town, heading as quickly as possible towards the city docks. It was just possible that his ship, or rather, the ship he had sailed in on, was still in port, and if so…he still had employment. Every ship needed a bard, obviously, since they were good luck, or at least he hoped that the Captain still thought so. As he dodged back and forth through the surprisingly heavy flow of people, Krizox Haab reflected on his time of imprisonment. Not his first, and if his luck held true…probably not his last. The blond-haired gnome chuckled at this, wondering exactly what his parents would think if they could see him now. Not that his Father had never really seemed to care too much what Kiznox did, so long as it wasn’t connected to him. The green-eyed minstrel had been born the accidental son of a hard-nosed, traveling Priest and a well-endowed Tavern-wench…a development that had not pleased the man of the church at all. He had instructed the barmaid to keep his identity a secret, and in turn, offered to make sure that mother and son were taken care of, quietly. Young Haab had grown up happy and somewhat carefree, living as they did in an upper room of the tavern. Being raised in a tavern, while not the most proper of child-hoods, was not without its merits. The young gnome learned to play cards, sing bar-songs, and most importantly, wash dishes with the best of them. Along the way, he picked up a few other skills of a far more questionable nature, often from drunken sailors and thieves that found the boy to be an apt student. A small, rolling vendor’s cart almost collided with Kriznox as he neared the docks, shocking him suddenly from his memories. He darted around it, and jogged along the wooden planks of one of the weathered docks, grinning when he spotted the aging ship upon which he’d been traveling for almost a month. The Lazy Moth floated nearby, though it was obvious that her crew was preparing to cast off. Not immediately, but within the hour for sure. As the bard approached, he saw Pinion Bob, the ragged-haired first mate eyeing him with a scowl. “Where ya been, lad? Th’ Captain was thinkin’ to ship out without ye. Might, still.” He said. “Storytellers be easy ta come by, these days…” “Yet not so easy as a good wench, Robert, an’ with half the trouble a lass would bring.” Kriznox replied in a near perfect imitation of the first mate’s diction. “C’mon Bob, t’was just a little disagreement on the wrong side o’ the ale tankard was all it was, an’ I’m back before final check, ain’t I?” the gnome continued with a grin. He continued up the dock and onto the boarding plank, giving the man a confident wink as he stepped past him, and Bob chuckled despite himself. “Then get down to the hold, then, and be ready ta work yer arse off on this run, lad..ta’ make up fer the time ya’ missed here in port. Ain’t gonna be no loungin’ about fer the bard on this run. We're headed out and it'll be a long run, true enough.” The blond-haired gnome could hear little actual anger in the older man’s voice now, and merely ducked below decks with a wave. (* Note: Poem is an original composition of my own creation. To be fair, the setting was changed from Greyhawk to Golarian, but it seemed appropriate.) |
