About SollXP 1640 Initiative +4; Senses Perception +3, Darkvision 60'
Offense
Base Attack +0 Feats Dodge Skills Acrobatics +8(+7), Stealth +8(+7), Swim +9(+7), Climb +9(+8), Profession(Sailor) +5, Perception +5, Sense Motive +5, Knowledge(Local) +5, Sleight of Hand +8(+7) SQ Trapfinding, Darkvision 60', Weapon Familiarity, Orc Ferocity Languages Common(Ledean), Orcish Gear Falchion, Light Crossbow, Thieves Tools, Studded Leather, Backpack, Belt Pouch, Map Case Ammunition 20 crossbow bolts Special Gear 3 wax-sealed ceramic jars filled with unidentified liquid Wealth 150gp, 2sp, 7cp Initiative
Description Soll stands at 6'3", and weighs about 260lbs. As is evidenced by his imposing frame, this is practically all muscle. His head is kept shaven and he wears a bandana wrap at most times, not unlike the style of pirates that sail the Blood Sea. Adding to his fearsome appearance are the many scars, small and large, that he bears on most of his body. Despite his young age, a great deal of the scars appear quite old, hinting at a hard childhood. His blunted facial features are kept in an almost perpetual expression of cynicism and apathy. Background (Caution: wordy) Spoiler:
Soll didn't much like paladins.
Really, it was paladins who were responsible for everything that had gone wrong in his life. The fact that it started, for instance. He didn't quite know all the details, obviously, but it was a common enough tale. It starts with a group of pilgrams seeking a better life in the big city, and ends with an orcish raiding party. Or at least it should have. There had been a patrol of soldiers along the corridor that day, and they managed to drive off the orcs nearly in the nick of time. Nearly. The survivors were escorted to Mithril in silence. Then they were each given a pittance of alms to compensate for their lost valuables, and turned out to the city to fend for themselves. Then nine months later, Soll happened. His real name was Soleaus, apparently after the paladin who struck down his father. Soll's mother had thought it was respectful or something. She had been like that. Courteous, respectful, and kind. And hard-working. She did whatever it took to make sure that there was always food on the table in the little hovel they lived in at the edge of Stormside. Whatever it took. One night, it took all she had. Soll hadn't known the man. He also didn't know exactly why he was here this time of the night, but his mother occasionally had visitors at late hours, so this wasn't too worrying. What was worrying, were the shouts. The cries. The screams. And the laughter. As he stepped into his mothers bedroom, he looked at the man, red-faced, swaying. He didn't know who the man was or what he had been doing, but he knew what he had done. Life in Stormside was quite harsh. People drank, people swore, people fought...
Some years passed... He had survived in the back-alleys of Harbor town as best he could. Other street children would often taunt and hit him, although this stopped once they found out that Soll could hit back considerably harder. He slaked his thirst from mud puddles, and strangled feral cats in the alleys for his supper. When he could get away with it, he snatched whatever coins he found lying loose from their owners. Occasionally someone would catch him in the act and make to grab his shirtcollar, whereupon soll would lash out with a foot and leave his mark instead lying with a handful of their own shin instead. Except once.
Some more years passed... Even though he was still technically the deckboy, Soll had managed to survive long enough to become a true member of the crew. He'd gotten a sword, some stiff leather armor, and even managed to get his hands on a decent crossbow during one of their raids. All in all, he wasn't doing bad for himself. As a pirate anyways. Granted, he didn't quite have the bloodthirsty attitude towards piracy some of his shipmates had. Some of them seemed to like the boarding and killing almost as much as, if not more than, the actual looting. To Soll, it was merely a means to an end. He got along. He survived.
...the Golem had gripped the tail, and held Kadum fast. Vangal hefted the twin axes and brought them down hard. Belsameth rent the still beating heart ragged from his chest. Chardun wrapped the chains and locked them. And then, a mighty heave as they thrusted the Mountainshaker to the bottom of the ocean, where he remained to this day.
Clotting. Mutating. Horrible things lived under the waves.
His orc heritage had gifted Soll with terrific night vision. Thus, he was actually able to see the massive appendage rise from the waters before it actually struck. Not that he was able to do anything about it. Before he was even able to think about drawing in the breath to shout a warning, the tentacle slammed into the comparatively tiny rowboat, sending planks, rows, rope, and Soll flying through the air before plunging into the foul, fetid waters of the Blood Sea. With tremendous effort, he urged himself to the surface, and gasped for air as he hung onto a large chunk of floating ex-rowboat.
He floated in silence for some time hugging the large piece of driftwood, scared to move. Scared to breathe. Eventually it dawned on him that whatever it had been, the Captain had been an appropriately sized meal for it. The instant that small nugget of relief entered his mind, the exhaution of the night took him over completely as he gently and mercifully lost consciousness. He knew he would probably die out here, but it wouldn't be right now. As he floated, the sky gradually began to lighten from the shades of midnight black, to just-before-dawn deep blue. Had Soll still been awake, he would have seen the not-too-distant form of shore. And he also would have seen the edifice looming over the coast. And he might have even made out that which was perched atop the cliffs... A city. Soll gently drifted towards shore as the sun rose over the Easten coast of Ghelspad.
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