male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
The sound of one of the creatures tearing into the Lurker from down the passage jolts Spencer into action. They're just constructs, he thinks to himself, they probably don't even feel pain. His eyes narrow as he pinpoints the most vulnerable spot on the nearest skin bat. Then he rushes forward, his sword flicking out in an almost imperceptible blur. Spending panache to double precise strike damage.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Knowledge (arcana):1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Spencer addresses Eroth gently. "No, please, we'll go in for the others but you should stay here and hide until we get back. I've seen magic like this before, those creatures are likely drawing power from your life force. It's best for you to keep as far away as you can. Though a map would be wonderful." He hands over a pen and his journal so Eroth can mark out the passages.
When the map is finished Spencer studies it for a moment in the moonlight, then whispers to the others. "Okay, want me to head in first? I can make sure the prisoners are alone, if I get the chance maybe untie them and heal them a bit so they're ready to be moved. Then I'll call in the rest of you when the moment is right, or else if the moment goes very wrong."
If the others agree, Spencer creeps cautiously along the route sketched for him, ears pealed for any sign of danger.
Stealth:1d20 + 14 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 14 + 2 + 2 = 36 Perception:1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 12 + 2 = 24
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Spencer looks puzzled at Arlo's mention of owing a debt to the lower planes. He opens his mouth to point out that really isn't how the magic works, but thinks better of it and focuses on loading the cases.
When they get to the barn he listens intently, a bit hesitant to speak up after the earlier tension. Sense Motive:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
He doesn't notice Shadow's demeanor, his attention instead caught by the intriguing set of rings. He accepts one and slips it on, holding it up to the light. "These should be incredibly useful, now we can coordinate much more effectively." He glances around at the others. "I think we should go for it. Who knows when we'll get another chance like this? Might be too dangerous to intervene, but at least we'll have a better sense of what we're dealing with."
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Hey, sorry for the unannounced absence. Some real life stuff came up but GM reached out to help get me back on track.
At this point Spencer clambers out from the undergrowth, his eyes widening as he sees the gargoyles' bodies strewn out across the ground. His hands cradle a small shape that seems to be made of that same dark leather. "Oh! Are you all okay? Sorry I missed the fight. I figured I should scout around, make sure we weren't walking into an ambush.
Sense Motive 17:
This isn't quite the full story. It seems like the slaughtering of that first gargoyle got to Spencer a bit more than he let on, and he may have been looking for an excuse to miss the next bloodbath.
As he gets closer, Spencer holds up the object in his hand, which you can now see is the remains of a taxidermied rat shaped from the same materials as the gargoyles. "I found some more of these constructs, this time in the form of small rodents." He gestures at a sack over his shoulder, containing a small wriggling lump. "Looks like someone from the Traders is using them to spy."
Then Spencer's eyes fall on Arlo's injuries, which despite being somewhat healed are still pretty gruesome. "Yikes, hold on, let me help with that." He quickly stows the rat carcass and draws out a wand, giving Arlo a gentle tap. Wand of infernal healing, granting fast healing 1 for ten rounds.Use Magic Device:1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23
Finally, Spencer notices the efforts to load the cart and steps forward to help coordinate. His meager strength would be useless here, but he twists his any-tool into a small lifting fork and guides the bravos through using it to speed up the process. Then he draws out a coil of rope and helps knot the cases securely in place. Knowledge (engineering):1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 7 + 2 = 25
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
While the bravos are getting their cart, Spencer pulls AI-eon, Arlo, and the Patient Lurker aside to quickly relate what he knows. He explains in a tense whisper about the fragments of immortal creatures and the threat they pose, only briefly sidetracked by a tangent concerning symbols on the boxes that literally translate to first draft, not for distribution. He refocuses and concludes: "...so they're definitely dangerous and probably headed to the Traders and I think we really need to stop them but I'm not sure how to do it safely so do any of you have any ideas??" He takes a deep breath and looks from one party member to another.
Scanning the shadows, Spencer spots the Patient Lurker moving nearby. He silently steps up alongside his companion and meets his eyes. As the group begins to whisper Spencer draws out a scroll. With a finger dripping with the gargoyle's blood, he quickly traces out a few words in Goblin on the back. He then holds it up for the Patient Lurker, trusting in his night vision to make the markings clear.
Recognize boxes. Shredded immortals. Must stay shut. Likely headed to Traders. Prevent or follow?
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Acrobatics:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18
Spencer catches the creature and lets it roll safely onto the ground. With no need to spend further time fighting it, he instead ducks back into the shadows to follow the group with the boxes.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
When the gargoyle creature makes its first flap upward Spencer hesitates for half a second, reluctant to draw blood. Then the scream from the warehouse jolts him into action and he jabs at its exposed underbelly. Attack of Opportunity:1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25Damage:1d4 + 16 ⇒ (3) + 16 = 19
As the creature rises higher and catches the light spilling from the warehouse door, Spencer gets a good look at it for the first time. He racks his brain to place its appearance — his studies served him well once tonight, maybe they will again. Knowledge (arcana):1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25or whichever's appropriate to identify it
The reference to its master is what troubles him most. They can't afford to let this creature report back on what it's seen. Spencer glances at the others for confirmation just in time to see Arlo let loose another quarrel. Following his lead, Spencer takes a running start and leaps up toward the creature on its ledge.
Acrobatics:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30
Somehow vaulting seven feet in the air, Spencer stretches out his arm to its full bizarre length and strikes again, this time aiming carefully for a nonlethal spot by his best guess of this creature's anatomy. Attacking for nonlethal damage, spending panache as a swift action to boost precise strike. Attack:1d20 + 15 - 4 ⇒ (15) + 15 - 4 = 26Nonlethal Damage:1d4 + 21 ⇒ (2) + 21 = 23 Crit Confirmation:1d20 + 15 - 4 ⇒ (20) + 15 - 4 = 31Bonus Nonlethal Damage:1d4 + 11 ⇒ (3) + 11 = 14
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
With Arlo's threats drawing the gargoyle's attention, Spencer scurries around behind it, sticking the shadows. As he moves, he reaches up through the illusion of mask and hood to grip the scarf around his neck. His arms continue to stretch, further and further, until they've reached truly impossible dimensions. At the end of one he still holds his blade, poised to strike if the creature lashes out again. Activating his swordmaster's flair as a swift action, increasing his reach to 15 ft. for the next nine rounds. Then readying an action to attack the gargoyle if it tries to attack in any way.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Spencer's excitement at connecting the dots is tempered by his realization that violence is imminent. He turns back to alert the others only to see their weapons already raised, pointed at a spot in the air. Spencer peers into the darkness, following the direction of their aim.
Perception:1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 12 + 2 = 31
What he sees doesn't look good. Spencer thumbs the catch on his wrist sheath and a thin stick of wood springs into his free hand. He leans away from the crack and whispers a command word, wiggling the stick before tucking it into his belt.
Trying to activate his wand of long arm without being heard. Use Magic Device:1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22 Stealth:1d20 + 14 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 14 + 2 + 2 = 35
Slowly, quietly, the shadows around Spencer begin to twist and stretch.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Sense Motive:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Some part tucked away in the back of Spencer's mind takes perfunctory notice of the tensions rising in the room beyond the crack, prompting him to quietly draw his sword. Another part reminds him to glance back occasionally to check in with AI-eon and Arlo. Yet another part prods him to be scared of this potentially life-threatening situation, and he shivers perhaps a little more than is warranted by the night air.
But most of his attention is fixated on the caskets, from the moment the tarp is pulled off. He stares in fascination at the geometric patterns, spinning them around in his head as he tries to make sense of the foreign shapes. Then he puzzles over the contents of the boxes themselves, mentally flicking through ancient lore to guess at what could cause those shifting, jerky movements.
Linguistics:1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25to interpret the markings Knowledge (religion):1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24to get an idea of what sort of undead creature might be inside
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Lady Lyra Anna Fitzroy wrote:
"Did she look standard to you? for that kind of stress, she must be loaded down with something important. Do you think ore of some kind? or we were told of a weapon that may be under development form the other side. It could be components. We would need to have someone just take a look, see what's in it."
"Could be anything, that sort of damage isn't really caused by the weight of the cargo. What it does suggest is that there's some reason it's not getting repaired — maybe the owner doesn't want anyone looking too closely at what's in there."
GM Hansj wrote:
Moira seeks out Shadow and he sends messages to the entire party stating that action is urgent.
"If we just try to disrupt the drop-off, odds are they'll only reschedule it and we'll lose the trail. I know I'm kinda new at this, but I'd say we've got to let it play out and follow them if we want to find out what they're up to. I think I can pull it off without being spotted, big people usually don't notice me."
Spencer spends the last hour before sunset earnestly practicing silent movements in his room, determined not to mess up his first true mission in the field. Using his sleeves of many garments to mimic a belled catsuit to train with, taking 10. Then switching back to clothes more suitable for spying.
Finally, under the cover of darkness, he gets in position to follow the bravos when they appear. He encourages the other stealthy party members to join him.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
GM, I still haven't heard a response to my setup post, any news? Is it Mueller who'd hire me, or someone else?
Between his work drafting blueprints at the mechanic's shop and writing for the newspaper, Spencer's first week goes by in a blur. He quickly immerses himself in the emerging technologies of the city, learning everything he there is to know. But he's pulled back into the world of espionage when he goes down to the harbor a few days in a row to inspect a prototype at the docks, and he sees a ship that seems strangely untouched.
He relates the story to the rest of the group when the topic comes up at their next meeting.
"Haven't seen the owner, but I've seen the ship. Seemed a bit suspicious to me also. And a few of it's load-bearing planks are starting to buckle, pretty soon it could be taking on water — I left my card and a note offering a discount on repairs. If the owner takes me up on it, that could provide a nice opening to learn more about what's on board."
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
"Thanks for all the information — and for the map. It seems like having a sense of the political landscape here will be very helpful. I do have one more question..." Spencer frowns thoughtfully and twists a strand of hair around his finger, then his eyes widen as he sees that it has turned a pale blond. "Wh— uh, sorry. I was saying, I'm curious: do you know anything about the forest outside the city, the one we landed in? We were told it was enchanted. And I noticed some strange ruins filled with water, big enough for one of you lot to lie down in. What's that about?"
As he listens to Tom's reply, Spencer gets to work sketching out small copies of the map for each party member. He makes sure to note the location of the Hen’s Head.
If the topic turns back to living arrangements, Spencer will suggest lodging in groups of two or three to balance safety with discretion. Whatever decision they reach, he gets started on setting up his cover identity that very day.
Getting a Job:
The first step is to build a portfolio: he buys a few large sheets of parchment and draws up sample diagrams for mechanical devices, making sure to stick to technology he can see around the city in carts and water pumps. Then he starts asking around about the mechanics' shops in town, looking for one that's recently been expanding and may need new workers.
When he finds the best candidate, he simply goes up to the door and knocks. "Hello! I heard you might be hiring?" He introduces himself as an aspiring halfling scribe, recently arrived in the city to find work after finishing a drafting apprenticeship in a distant town. The manager seems interested, so Spencer pulls out his sketches.
Pursuing the role of a scribe researcher at the shop, specifically doing mechanical drafting. Knowledge (engineering):1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15 Diplomacy:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
Spencer manages to make an impression and is soon offered a job. Complete with a veneer of respectability and a nice little wage.
Profession (scribe):1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15earning the local equivalent of 7 gp
Of course, he has real work to do as well. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled at the shop, and takes the opportunity to drop a few casual questions to his fellow workers.
Diplomacy:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Moira Monday wrote:
"If we're expecting a dust-up, can anyone reliably use this on me?" She holds out a wand. "Mage armor, you know."
Spencer studies the wand for a moment. "Sure. I'd have maybe a seven out of ten chance of getting it working, so it might take me a few tries, but just say the word."If we're in a hurry AI-eon might be a better bet since it's on her spell list.
Moira Monday wrote:
"So, does anyone have a favorite spot they've found in their travels? I fell into the most serene cavern in a little corner of the First World once, might have been the only person to ever see it, from how untouched it was. Rainbow crystals, dancing ferns, sapphire dragonflies the size of your hand. Just beautiful. Spent a spell there, and I haven't been able to find it since. One day, maybe."
"Oh, you've been to the First World? I'm jealous, it sounds amazing! I've read all about it, studied the language and everything, but I haven't had the chance to go."
He listens with fascination to AI-eon's story of nebula as well, and is about to comment when the young boar charges from the undergrowth. Spencer jumps in surprise as Arlo chops it down. As they continue on his head never stops turning, taking in the strange pools in the forest and the familiar sight of workers in the fields.
When they get to the Cup and Anchor he quickly follows Shadow, Aria, and Tom into the back room, eager to hear what they have to say.
I definitely have questions for them, but I'll wait until your next post.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Spencer nervously follows their lead and draws his rapier, which looks more like a sporting foil than an actual weapon. He grips tightly to his buckler with his free hand as they set off.
male halfling swashbuckler (inspired blade) 5 / pathfinder chronicler 1 | ac 23, touch 18, flat-footed 16 | fort +5, ref +13, will +4 | hp 48/48
Spencer perches on the edge of his chair and listens intently to Bethia's explanation, jotting down a few notes in his journal. He also waits with interest for her answer to AI-eon's question about planar alignment, curious to know how often they'll be able to communicate.
Once that's settled, he chimes in with a question of his own. "Do you have a map of Ovium or the surrounding region, by any chance? Or is that just something we'll have to pick up once we get there?"
Soon the preparations are finished and they're all strapped into their chairs. Spencer clenches his eyes tightly shut and grits his teeth around the stone, trying not to think about what's about to happen. But a small part of him wonders if they might not rematerialize anywhere else, if they might just... vanish. Then the pain starts, and for a moment or possibly a century he can't wonder anything at all.
When he wakes on his back in the forest he lies still for a long minute, breathing deeply from the fresh air. Hearing his companions start to exchange comments, Spencer slowly opens his eyes and pulls himself to his feet. "Wow. Quite the interdiction." He glances around at the others. "Honestly, after that trip a tavern is sounding pretty safe right now."
The dwarf frowns at the cheerful halfling and grunts an acknowledgement. "Sò.." Arlo started, as if casual conversation was a new language, "yòu ùsèd tò jùst bè à rèsèàrchèr, hùh? Thìs ìsn't gòìng tò bè yòur fìrst fìèld wòrk, ìs ìt?"
Spencer tilts his head to the side, considering. "Well, I guess that depends on what you mean by "field work." I've certainly done work in the field, but mostly just preliminary information-gathering or assessments after the fact. You know, the sowing and the tilling. This will be my first trip into the field for, shall we say, harvest time."
He frowns. "That field metaphor got away from me."
Spencer's eyes light up when his name is called, and again at the question about scrolls. "Uh yes, actually! I have a bit of a knack with them." +14 to UMD with scrolls and a trait that lets me reroll, hopefully that will cover most of our needs. It will be a bit wild going on interplanar adventures without a full caster, but I'm sure we'll rise to the challenge.
He gives an instinctive little half-nod at the proposal of Briallen as leader but doesn't comment. Instead he turns go greet Arlo with a tentative smile as the dwarf approaches the rest of the group. "Hey. Glad to have you on board."
This is what Spencer might have said, if he was asked about his motivations when first joining the organization. Purely hypothetical, of course, since I don't want to put words in an NPC's mouth.
"One more question, Mr. Bevel. Why exactly do you want to work for us?"
"Oh, a real inteview classic! Let's see. There's a short answer and a long answer."
"We don't have anywhere to be."
"Right, well, the short answer is that I want to help people. But obviously that's not enough of an explanation. I mean, there are lots of ways to help people, I could have just stayed in my hometown and started an orphanage or something."
"So here's the long answer. There's this story I heard as a kid, sort of a folk tale in the world I come from. As far as we can tell it goes back hundreds of generations. It's about a boy who climbed a big plant into the sky and found a land full of giants. Sounds kinda silly, right?"
"If you've never heard of magic or planar travel."
"Exactly! And we hadn't, not until a few years ago. So we thought it was just a myth. Now our anthropologists think it might actually be based on a true event, since we know there really are portals to other worlds, and those worlds really are inhabited mostly by giants."
"Mostly?"
"Hey, you may not look like giants to yourselves but you do to us. Sorry, not the point. Here's the point: the boy in the story is basically your quintessential 'hero'. He manages to trick a giant out of some gold and run away with it, escaping back into his own world. When the giant tries to follow the boy chops down the plant, and the giant falls to its death. The boy and his family live happily ever after."
"So you see yourself like him? I suppose it's a nice story..."
"What?? No! It's a garbage story with a garbage hero! What sort of person has so little curiosity that they can find a mysterious world full of literal magic, and the first thing they want to do is steal some gold and run? What sort of person has so little compassion that they'll murder an innocent stranger just because they're of an alien species?"
"I want to join your group because it's a chance to do that story over again, but actually get it right. I want to explore new worlds with radical empathy, doing my best to help out without selfishness getting in the way. I want to learn everything I can about this thing you call magic, understand it to the point where I can start to harness it myself. I want to meet strangers and learn to treat them with respect, not the fake kind where you nod solemly and mumble about tolerance, but the kind where I actually interact with them the way I'd want them to interact with me."
"And most of all, when other people are doing these things, I want to tell their stories, keep their records, give them the tools they need to succeed. Because hopefully I can leave the links between worlds a little stronger than I found them, instead of chopping them down."
"Does that answer your question?"
At the Committee Meeting:
Spencer glances around at the others to see if any of them want to speak next. When none do, he steps forward.
"Hey. So as I'm sure most of you know, I'm not usually out in the field. Most of my work has been with research division, studying and assisting from behind the scenes."
"But from what I'm hearing, this sounds like a mission where you'll need a researcher, not just on call but actually on the ground. I mean, Dr. Washington, we saw the fiasco that developed last time with those silicon golems when none of us were there to set things straight. You'll need someone on the team who's done their homework, read all the appendices, packed precisely the gear we need."
"And I think I can be that person. I'm not looking to lead, but I can be the logistician, the glue that keeps us from falling apart. I can help deal with devices of magic or tech. I can help us keep a low profile. I can heal."
"And, um, I can also stab things. When needed. I'm quite good at stabbing, it's one of my areas of study. Hopefully that won't be the primary thing I'm called upon to do, but it's nice to be prepared. That's how I see it, at least."
I worry my character is a bit too mechanically similar to Mus' halfling swashbuckler (I realized that after looking back to see who had a PC), but honestly I'm aggressively okay with that. The potential of there being TWO swashbuckling halflings tromping around is actually really cool to me.
Same, definitely! I thought about saying hi when you first mentioned considering a halfling virtuous bravo, but I figured I'd just keep quiet and see how your ideas developed. I'm glad that's where you ended up — having a duo like that sounds super fun if we're both chosen, and the character concepts themselves seem very different so no issue there.
GM Hansj wrote:
"Spencer Bevel" is less defined but somewhat clear as more or less aid the organization
Working on a little vignette that should add a bit more clarity!
Hello! Allow me to introduce Casey Davenport. She's a curious and excitable scholar who failed miserably as a winter witch apprentice and instead took up gunsmithing to unravel the mundane secrets of black powder. A bit morally dubious, but good to have around in a pinch.
Mechanically she's a half-elf fighter specializing in the dragon pistol, a dedicated ranged combatant and stealthy scout who can also provide a bit of utility through alchemy and engineering.
GM, let me know if you have any questions or concerns! I'm excited for the prospect of this game, if chosen I'd definitely be committed to a frequent posting schedule. I'm not in any other games right now so this would have my full attention. Anyway, here's Casey's backstory — her statblock is in the profile.
Background:
Even as a child Casey knew precisely what she was put on this earth to do. She was wrong, of course. That's not how anything works.
Casey was the daughter of a blacksmith in a surprisingly quiet, secluded village on the outskirts of Irrisen. Growing up, she was intensely curious about the world beyond their shabby walls — not just what was out there, but how it all fit together. Her interests were broad, but what fascinated her most was magic: tales of witches who unraveled the secrets of the universe and made it bend to their will. That was the life Casey was meant for, she was certain. But she saw it only in glimpses, through half-decayed tomes lifted from traveling merchants. She immersed herself in those snippets with a childish wonder that lasted well into her teenage years: learning the lore, memorizing reagants, sounding out syllables in otherworldly tongues.
Rumors travel quickly in a small town, and soon whispers began to spread about this strange young woman who moved in a blur and spoke in a blur and read books about witchcraft. When Casey was nineteen, these whispers reached the ear of a coven of winter witches passing through the region. They paid her a visit on a whim and were mildly impressed by her dedication, eventually inviting her to go with them as an apprentice. No power in existence could have stopped Casey from answering yes. After saying farewell to worried family and friends she left, intent on returning triumphantly once she'd learned enough magic that the world finally made sense.
Yeah, there were a couple problems with that. First was the witches themselves, who had a cruel streak that quickly became apparent. But Casey could overlook that easily enough — morality had never been her focus when there were exciting new answers to be had.
What she couldn't overlook was her talent for magic. Which was, in a word, nonexistent.
After two years of training with the best, Casey could cast nothing. Not one. single. cantrip. When the coven sent her away she couldn't even blame them, she had room for frustration and humiliation and that was about it. She couldn't go home, couldn't face returning to that life as if everything was normal — besides, she would be lucky to survive the journey alone across the frigid wastes. Instead she ended up in the trenches at a nearby border outpost, earning coppers as a soldier in the never-ending raids back and forth between Irrisen and Hagreach. She found she could handle a crossbow with remarkable aim, which would have been great if she cared at all about the fighting. Mostly she focused on staying alive.
But over time, that original Casey started to shine through once again. A new mystery caught her eye, stories of a strange type of weapon with strings of fire and bolts of lead. In the days and weaks between battles she started studying alchemy and metalworking with all the zeal she'd once had for the arcane. This time, though, Casey's efforts actually paid off. It took months of trial and error, plus a few second-degree burns, but she was able to piece together several unfinished blueprints to build her very own gun.
Emboldened by this success, she started training to use her new weapon with lightning speed. Where mind had failed her matter would have to suffice. So she practiced, and practiced, and practiced some more.
All this did not go unnoticed: a few higher-ups started poking around, and Casey was quickly able to build and sell off a few more guns. I mean, sure, it's a bit of war profiteering that makes her even more complicit in this pointless bloodshed, but —hey, wait, did you see the new firing mechanism on the latest version? It's extraordinarily precise and — sorry, what were we talking about?
Anyway, Casey left soon afterwards, bundling up for a long trek through the snow. She had no intention staying stuck in that miserable place, not now that she had the funds to equip herself for a journey and the means to defend herself on the way. There was so much exciting world to explore, to learn about, to understand. And maybe to shoot. Hopefully not to shoot, but you never know. Her latest fixation has brought her far to the south, following some very peculiar rumors...
The cutest part is he has some fun familiar things that give him compression and a slow flight speed — I'm imagining him squeezing down to the size of a golf ball or poofing up to float around like a little balloon.
This looks kinda amazing! I've been reading through the gameplay thread and I love the vibe you've all got going. I'm here to submit Hammen Achterberg: a sweet, shy, and massive young veteran of a pointless war who came to Absalom to escape his past and joined a rudimentary fire brigade. At that gambling den fire it seems like his past caught up with him.
Mechanically he's a fighter / bloodrager who'd be filling the role of a front-line damage-dealer and tank, specializing in combat maneuvers and particularly, of all things, overrunning. With his wand he's fully competent as a between-combat healer, and his hedgehog familiar Bartholomew can chip in as a very stealthy scout.
His full statblock is in the profile and his story is in this post. GM, I hope you'll forgive me if it goes on too long, I might have gotten a bit carried away. Let me know if you have any questions or thoughts! I'm on eastern time and right now I'm not in any other games.
Appearance, Personality, and Background:
The first thing you'll notice about Hammen is his size: big. At just over seven feet tall with the bulk to match Hammen can never really blend into a crowd. You might step back to get a more complete look at him — in the process, making him deeply uncomfortable. Then you'll take in the other obvious features. His odd quasi-uniform, a jumble of stone and leather and cord that's more often than not covered in soot. The blatant subtleties of accent and mannerism that say this one's not from around here. What looks like... some sort of water pump?... strapped to his back.
But if you stick around him long enough, you'll start to notice other things. The tentative softness when he talks. The way he tilts his head when he listens. Or the small hedgehog, ever-so-slowly poking its head out from a perch nestled against his collar.
Hammen was born in the city of Korholm, but even there it was made clear to him that he didn't fully belong. His family scraped by as indentured laborers under Molthune's militaristic regime. Still, he had as happy a childhood as the circumstances could allow. He was never the most gregarious of kids, but he was sweet and friendly and enjoyed his free moments in the company of friends — and of course, his beloved pet hedgehog Bartholomew.
Things changed as he grew older, and grew bigger, and just. kept. growing. Gradually the folks working next to him shifted from smiles to stares to outright resentment. He began to hear whispering about "that Shoanti barbarian freak." He tried not to let it get to him, but as he grew more isolated he only became more awkward. Soon his parents and Bartholomew were his only reliable company.
So Hammen was already in a pretty rough spot when everything he knew burned to the ground. He came home one day to find their overcrowded building complex in flames. He sprinted in, choking on smoke and smashing through collapsing walls, only to find his parents' lifeless bodies. In that moment, as a panicked, wheezing hedgehog scrambled up his leg, Hammen could swear he heard over the roar of the flames the faint sound of some horrible laughter.
After that day there he wanted nothing more than to get out of Molthune, to buy passage on a trade ship to anywhere else. But he couldn't leave without proper citizenship, and there was only one way to get it: to serve for five years in the Imperial Army. He was terrified of the army and its brutal violence, but what else was there?
Hammen enlisted as a combat medic; they were in short supply. He didn't have much natural talent for medicine but he was a diligent learner, and he did find he had a knack for activating some healing wands. Anything was better than picking up a sword or an axe.
Still, five years passed agonizingly slowly. At first Hammen only rarely saw actual fighting, but when he did he hated every second. The wounded crying out for help, Hammen charging toward them desperately. An enemy soldier blocking his path, Hammen plowing him over. The crunch of bones snapping under his boots.
Officers started sending him into battle more frequently, medic or not his size and strength were impossible to overlook. The worst part is, Hammen started to get used to it. But he still felt that it was wrong. His only comfort was Bartholomew, who seemed more comprehending every day. Something was definitely odd about him. Were hedgehogs even supposed to live this long? Or fit so easily in pockets? Or float?
The day the five years were up Hammen took his papers and the money he'd saved and left on the next ship. It brought him to Absalom, where he settled with a sigh of relief. At first he was at a bit of a loss for what to do with his newfound freedom. He wanted to help people, deep down he was still that same caring kid. But the one thing he knew he was good at was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do.
In retrospect, the answer was simple. Hammen joined a fire brigade, recently funded by the city to protect the neighborhood where he was now living. With his strength and stamina plus a bit of first aid knowledge he was perfectly suited for the job. He could finally put his compassion to good use, rescuing civilians from danger without lifting a blade. And over the months he began to build friendships with his coworkers, still somewhat shy and awkward but starting to open up. He was happy.
Then. Just a couple weeks ago. A gambling den burned down and Hammen was one of the first responders. And he heard, with perfect clarity, that same faint otherworldly laughter as the day his parents died.
For the past two weeks Hammen has been constantly on edge, digging for any hint about what could have started this fire. And now a frie— a coworker has told him about kidnappings at an abandoned building, a building where several burned bodies were found...