Tassadan's page

4d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 4, 3) = 17 14
4d6 ⇒ (2, 4, 6, 5) = 17 15
4d6 ⇒ (3, 5, 5, 5) = 18 15
4d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 4, 1) = 15 14
4d6 ⇒ (2, 6, 6, 4) = 18 16
4d6 ⇒ (5, 4, 3, 1) = 13 12

Rolling: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 2, 4, 3) = 12 10
Rolling1: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 6, 1, 5) = 18 17
Rolling1: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 6, 2, 3) = 15 13
Rolling1: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 5, 4) = 18 15
Rolling1: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 2, 2, 3) = 13 11
Rolling1: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 5, 3) = 15 12

Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 1, 1) = 7 6
Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 5, 5) = 16 15
Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 6, 5, 6) = 19 17
Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 3, 4) = 12 10
Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 1, 2, 3) = 11 10
Rolling2: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 2, 4, 1) = 9 8

Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 4, 5) = 20 16
Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 6, 2, 3) = 16 14
Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 2, 1, 4) = 13 12
Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 4, 3, 1) = 14 13
Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 4, 4, 2) = 15 13
Rolling3: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 6, 1, 6) = 19 18

Vilik Scolarson
Human magus (kensai) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 55, Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 9)
LG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +5; Senses Perception +0
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 16, touch 16, flat-footed 10 (+5 Dex, +1 dodge)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +2
Defensive Abilities canny defense +1
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee aldori dueling sword +7 (1d8+5/19-20)
. . dagger +5 (1d4+5/19-20) or
. . dagger +5 (1d4+5/19-20) or
or
. . unarmed strike +5 (1d3+5)
Special Attacks arcane pool (+1, 3 points), spell combat
Magus (Kensai) Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3)
. . 1st—shield
. . 0 (at will)—prestidigitation, ray of frost
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 10, Dex 20, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 16
Feats - Deadly Agility, Arcane Strike, Combat Expertise, Deadly Aim, Improved Unarmed Strike, Power Attack, Weapon Finesse, Weapon Focus (aldori dueling sword)
Traits magical lineage, mivoni duelist (mivon), sword scion
Skills Climb +4, Knowledge (arcana) +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +6, Knowledge (planes) +6, Spellcraft +6
Languages Aklo, Common, Hallit
SQ chosen weapon
Other Gear aldori dueling sword[ISWG], dagger, dagger, bedroll, flint and steel, ink, inkpen, magus starting spellbook, masterwork backpack[APG], mess kit[UE], pot, silk rope (50 ft.), trail rations (5), wrist sheath, spring loaded, wrist sheath, spring loaded, 153 gp, 3 sp
--------------------
Tracked Resources
--------------------
Arcane Pool +1 (3/day) (Su) - 0/3
Dagger - 0/1
Dagger - 0/1
Trail rations - 0/5
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Arcane Pool +1 (3/day) (Su) Infuse own power into a held weapon, granting enhancement bonus or selected item powers.
Arcane Strike As a swift action, add +1 damage, +1 per 5 caster levels and your weapons are treated as magic for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction.
Canny Defense +1 (Ex) +INT bonus to AC (max Kensai level).
Chosen Weapon (Aldori dueling sword) Kensai abilities only function when wielding a weapon of this type.
Combat Expertise +/-1 Bonus to AC in exchange for an equal penalty to attack.
Deadly Aim -1/+2 Trade a penalty to ranged attacks for a bonus to ranged damage.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Spell Combat (Ex) Use a weapon with one hand at -2 and cast a spell with the other.

A young James Marsden. Fresh-faced, uncompromising, optimistic, rarely without a smile on his face, and yet capable of decisive action at a moment's notice.

Marsden's range would also be perfect for Vilik's descent from his heroic naïveté into a much darker personality.

Vilik is my idea of subverting the traditional young "Heroic Magic Swordsman" trope. He starts out overconfident: idealizing the image of the Aldori Swordlords and sure that he'll follow in the footsteps of their legendary exploits.

As deeper and darker things occur in the adventure, though, he'll become more disillusioned and lose his childish naïveté. This can also tie-in to the Lovecraftian corruption of the Dark Tapestry in this campaign, as his fragile optimism gradually erodes in the face of incomprehensible madness.

Growing up in Mivon, Vilik idolized the talent and grace of the Aldori Swordlords, whereas his Wizard father vilified them as nothing but classless ruffians: ruining the otherwise peaceful city with their fighting and revelry. He saw Vilik, in turn, as his successor, and believed the boy had the potential to become a masterful spellcaster. Though Vilik was somewhat talented at spellcraft, he did not want to forsake his dreams of heroism and swordsmanship, and began receiving tutelage from a local Sword instructor in secrecy.

After several years of training, both magical and martial, Vilik not only came clean to his father but also showed him that he'd learned to use magic and swordplay in tandem to compensate for the weaknesses of each discipline. Feeling enraged and betrayed by his son producing this "gross perversion of the Arcane," his father cast Vilik out of his home, disowning him.

Finding a call to action in a charter from the Swordlords of Restov, Vilik set out to the River Kingdoms to make his mark on history, naïvely believing that this was how he'd become a "True Hero."

A Rogue who wields almost exclusively Elven weaponry. Even her dagger and shortbow, though mechanically normal, are unique and of Elven make. She's searching for a place she can call home, and her wildest dreams are dominated by the hope that she might find others of her tribe in or around Kelmerane. That she might have a family again.

My idea is that she comes from a dying tribe of Desert Elves, the last few members of which were living in Kelmerane when her mother was killed and they were forced to flee.

She and her father fled far to Daggermark to stay with her uncle, who unbeknownst to them had become an elite assassin and Cleric of Norgorber. Her uncle trained her on the sly, hoping to convert the young elf and make her into a fellow follower of Ol' Blackfingers. When her father found out, he and her uncle fought, killing each other.

Filled with grief, and unending questions, she took up her father's blade and vowed to find what happened to her mother. She dreams of finding other members of her tribe as well, but knows that she may be the last of her kind.

Female elf unchained rogue (scout, swashbuckler) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 134, 135)
CG Medium humanoid (elf)
Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +6
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +0 (+4 vs. fatigue, exhaustion, or ill effects from running, forced marches, starvation, thirst, or hot or cold environments), Ref +6, Will +0
Resist fire 5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee mwk elven curve blade +5 (1d10+6/18-20) or
. . elven branched spear +4 (1d8+6/x3) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+4/19-20)
Ranged shortbow +4 (1d6/×3)
Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 11, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 12, Wis 10, Cha 12
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 14
Feats - Weapon Finesse, Deadly Agility
Traits reclaiming your roots (Elven Curved Blade), the vessel between (daggermark)
Skills Acrobatics +6, Bluff +5, Disable Device +6, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +5, Knowledge (local) +5, Linguistics +5, Perception +6, Sense Motive +4, Stealth +6; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Ancient Osiriani, Common, Draconic, Elven, Gnoll
SQ desert runner[APG]
Other Gear chain shirt, arrows (20), dagger, mwk elven curve blade, shortbow, chalk (10), flint and steel, masterwork backpack[APG], thieves' tools, 6 gp, 7 sp
--------------------
Tracked Resources
--------------------
Arrows - 0/20
Dagger - 0/1
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Desert Runner +4 Con checks and Fort vs. fatigue, exhaustion, running, forced marches, hot or cold environments.
Energy Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Fire attacks.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Finesse Training An Unchained Rogue gains weapon finesse at first level and may add dexterity to damage with a weapon of their choice at 3rd, 11th, and 19th level.
Martial Training (Elven Branched Spear) A swashbuckler may select one martial weapon to add to her list of proficiencies. In addition, she may take the Combat Trick Rogue talent up to two times.

Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 2, 1) = 8 7
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 4, 1, 3) = 12 11
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 1, 6, 6) = 14 13
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 3, 6, 2) = 14 12
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 6, 3) = 20 17
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 1, 6, 5) = 17 16
Stats: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 3, 6) = 18 15

Human Crossblooded Rager – Zig Druzzar
Age 16; Height 6’6”; Weight 220 lbs
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +4

DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +2 shield, +1 dex)
Wound Points 30
Wound Threshold 14
Vigor Points 10 (1d10)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will -2

OFFENSE
Speed 40 ft. (30 ft in armor)
Melee Greataxe +5 (1d12+6 x3),Battleaxe +5 (1d8+4 x3), or
2 Claws +7 (1d6+6 x2) (Bloodrage Only)
Ranged Handaxe +2 (1d6+4 x2)

STATISTICS
Str 18, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 10, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 14
Feats (2+3 GM granted Feats) – Power Attack, Risky Striker, Deadly Aim, Recovered Rage, Reckless Rage
Traits (2) – Ironfang Survivor, Unintentional Linguist
Skills(ACP-5a, -2b)(1 Bloodrager Level + 1 Human+1 FCB-1 Int) – Acrobatics +1 (1 rank), Intimidate +6 (1 rank), Perception +4 (1 rank),Ride -3, Spellcraft +4 (1 rank), Survival +4 (1 rank), Profession (Woodsman) +4 (1 rank), Perform (Sing) +6 (1 rank)
FCB – Level 1 - SP
Languages(1) Common, Abyssal
SQ Bloodrage, Fast Movement, Claws,

Combat Gear – Scalemail(30 lbs, 50 gp), Heavy Wooden Shield(10 lbs, 7 gp), Throwing axe x2 (4lbs, 16gp), Battleaxe (6 lbs, 10gp), Greataxe (12 lbs, 20gp)
Other Gear 2gp, Traveler's Outfit

Light Load 101 Medium Load 202 Heavy Load 303
Total Carried 62 lbs

“Unnatural” gets thrown around a lot near the Fangwood, but when a normal-sized 14-year-old child becomes a hulking 6’6” behemoth in two years… that’s a new kind of unnatural..

It didn’t happen in a vacuum. Zig’s father, a Nirimathi veteran, was called into service to help lay siege to Ramgate. Unable to stomach her husband fighting without her by his side, she and Zig accompanied him, staying and working in one of the supply camps. When all hell broke loose and the Hobgoblins began slaughtering civilians wholesale, their camp was one of the first hit. Zig could do nothing but watch as a hobgoblin blade tore through his mother’s flesh. It was an image that would forever be burned into his memory. But afterwards? No memory. None whatsoever.

The next thing he remembers is a Nirmathi healer pulling hobgoblin corpses off of him. The healer claimed there were at least seven corpses surrounding and covering Zig, all torn to shreds by the same parrallel cuts, like a wild animal. After healing his wounds, the healer sent Zig back home traumatised and still covered in blood.

His childhood friend’s family, the Sextons, took him in without question, but that’s when the “Growth Spurt” began. In two years the boy went from 5’3” to 6’6”, and gained an appetite that nearly bankrupted the Sextons. It got to the point where Zig had to get a job to fuel his food needs. He became a woodcutter, putting his newfound strength to use, but in turn further isolating himself from the community by spending long hours at the border of the Fangwood.

All this time, rumors abounded that the souls of the Ramgate massacre were inhabiting his body, or that he himself ate hobgoblin flesh and could not sate his hunger. The truth was far more sinister. Somewhere in Zig’s very DNA, something dark was stirring. Something that his anger and fear had awakened. He began hearing voices from the stars, seeing things out of the corners of his eyes. When he tried to pray at the altars of Desna and Erastil, his prayers were interrupted in his mind by strange voices in languages he could somehow understand. Bad omens followed: flowers wilting at the altars, cracks forming in the wood of the statues, it didn’t take long before Zig was barred from entering the shrine.

He could still visit the shrine of The Green faith without incident, and was given much advice by Vero Caligni, the shrine’s steward, on how to achieve a better balance with nature. Rather than things getting better, the voices started talking whenever they damn well pleased. Zig began to talk back, hoping that he could appease them, get them to finally shut up. Responding seemed to only make it worse: he felt the voices calling him deeper and deeper into the Fangwood with each excursion, calls he felt he couldn’t resist, and he began arming himself accordingly in case of encounters with the darker denizens of the forest.

What was a normal, even charming young man two years ago is now a hulking nervous wreck, hearing voices and talking back to them in Abyssal often without realizing, abandoned almost entirely by his community. If something doesn’t change soon, Zig will most likely lose himself to the madness entirely… or worse.

Vero Caligni – True Neutral – Male Halfling– Adept 1 – Mentor and Spiritual guide – Tends to the Shrine of the Green Faith
Vero has been attempting to help Zig achieve “balance” with nature. As ill-omens have consistently appeared at his visits to the shrines of Desna and Erastil, the shrine of The Green Faith is the only one Zig is still welcome at.
Alice Greenfens – Chaotic Neutral – Female Half-Elf – Commoner 1 – Unrequited Crush? – Barmaid at the Taproot Inn.
Zig has had a crush on Alice since before he can remember. She used to bully him when they were young. Now, with rumors abounding that Zig is “possessed” or “corrupted,” she’s one of the few people in town who will talk to him. Whether this is because she’s unafraid of Zig, feels bad for bullying him in the past, or possibly even returns his feelings is anyone’s guess.
Jericho Sexton – Neutral Good – Male Human – Expert 2 – Foster Father – Hunter
After Zig’s parents were brutally slain, Jericho and his wife took him in as their own.
Alaina Sexton – Neutral Good – Female Human – Commoner 1 – Foster Mother – Housewife
Alaina was Zig’s mother’s best friend since childhood. She had a sinking feeling when Zig’s father was sent to fight at Ramsgate, and his mother followed to support the troops. She had no idea that she’d never see her best friend again. Once full of mirth and energy, Alaina has been uncharacteristically quiet for almost two years.
Malik Sexton – Chaotic Good – Male Human – Commoner 1 – Best Friend – Works as a clerk at Phaendar Trading Company
Zig’s best friend since childhood. His feelings haven’t changed since Zig came back from Ramgate. If anything, he’s become kinder and softer to Zig in the two years since.

Human Crossblooded Rager – Zig Druzzar
Age 16; Height 6’6”; Weight 220 lbs
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +4

DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +2 shield, +1 dex)
Wound Points 30
Wound Threshold 14
Vigor Points 10 (1d10)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will -2

OFFENSE
Speed 40 ft. (30 ft in armor)
Melee Longsword +5 (1d8+4/19-20 x2), dagger +5 (1d4+4/ 19-20/x2), or
2 Claws +7 (1d6+6 x2) (Bloodrage Only)
Ranged Javelin +2 (1d6+4/x2) 30 ft,

STATISTICS
Str 18, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 10, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 14
Feats (2+3 GM granted Feats) – Power Attack, Risky Striker, Deadly Aim, Recovered Rage, Reckless Rage
Traits (2) – Ironfang Survivor, Unintentional Linguist
Skills(ACP-5a, -2b)(1 Bloodrager Level + 1 Human+1 FCB-1 Int) – Acrobatics +5, Intimidate +6, Perception +4, Ride +1, Spellcraft +4, Survival +4, Swim +4, Perform (Singing)
FCB – Level 1 - SP
Languages(1) Common, Abyssal
SQ Bloodrage, Fast Movement, Claws,

Combat Gear – Scalemail(30 lbs, 50 gp), Heavy Wooden Shield(10 lbs, 7 gp), Longsword (4 lbs, 15 gp), dagger x 3 (3 lbs, 6 gp), Javelins x 5 (10 lbs, 5 gp),
Other Gear 22 gp, Traveler's Outfit

Light Load 101 Medium Load 202 Heavy Load 303
Total Carried 57 lbs

“Unnatural” gets thrown around a lot near the Fangwood, but when a normal-sized 14-year-old child becomes a hulking 6’6” behemoth in two years… that’s a new kind of unnatural..

It didn’t happen in a vacuum. Zig’s father, a skilled member of the local guard in Phaendar, was called into service to help lay siege to Ramgate. Unable to stomach her husband fighting without her by his side, she and Zig accompanied him, staying and working in one of the supply camps. When all hell broke loose and the Hobgoblins began slaughtering civilians wholesale, their camp was one of the first hit. Zig could do nothing but watch as a hobgoblin blade tore through his mother’s flesh. It was an image that would forever be burned into his memory. But afterwards? No memory. None whatsoever.

The next thing he remembers is a Nirmathi healer pulling hobgoblin corpses off of him. The healer claimed there were at least seven corpses surrounding and covering Zig, all torn to shreds by the same parrallel cuts, like a wild animal. After healing his wounds, the healer sent Zig back home traumatised and still covered in blood.

His childhood friend’s family, the Sextons, took him in without question, but that’s when the “Growth Spurt” began. In two years the boy went from 5’3” to 6’6”, and gained an appetite that nearly bankrupted the Sextons. It got to the point where Zig had to get a job with the city guard just to mitigate his food expenses.

All this time, rumors abounded that the souls of the Ramgate massacre were inhabiting his body, or that he himself ate hobgoblin flesh and could not sate his hunger. The truth was far more sinister. Somewhere in Zig’s very DNA, something dark was stirring. Something that his anger and fear had awakened. He began hearing voices from the stars, seeing things out of the corners of his eyes. When he tried to pray at the altars of Desna and Erastil, his prayers were interrupted in his mind by strange voices in languages he could somehow understand. Bad omens followed: flowers wilting at the altars, cracks forming in the wood of the statues, it didn’t take long before Zig was barred from entering the shrine.

He could still visit the shrine of The Green faith without incident, and was given much advice by Vero Caligni, the shrine’s steward, on how to achieve a better balance with nature. Rather than things getting better, the voices started talking whenever they damn well pleased. Zig began to talk back, hoping that he could appease them, get them to finally shut up. Responding seemed to only make it worse.

What was a normal, even charming young man two years ago is now a hulking nervous wreck, hearing voices and talking back to them in Abyssal often without realizing, abandoned almost entirely by his community. If something doesn’t change soon, Zig will most likely lose himself to the madness entirely… or worse.

Vero Caligni – True Neutral – Male Halfling– Adept 1 – Mentor and Spiritual guide – Tends to the Shrine of the Green Faith

Vero has been attempting to help Zig achieve “balance” with nature. As ill-omens have consistently appeared at his visits to the shrines of Desna and Erastil, the shrine of The Green Faith is the only one Zig is still welcome at.

Alice Greenfens – Chaotic Neutral – Female Half-Elf – Commoner 1 – Unrequited Crush? – Barmaid at the Taproot Inn.
Zig has had a crush on Alice since before he can remember. She used to bully him when they were young. Now, with rumors abounding that Zig is “possessed” or “corrupted,” she’s one of the few people in town who will talk to him. Whether this is because she’s unafraid of Zig, feels bad for bullying him in the past, or possibly even returns his feelings is anyone’s guess.

Jericho Sexton – Neutral Good – Male Human – Expert 2 – Foster Father – Hunter
After Zig’s parents were brutally slain, Jericho and his wife took him in as their own.

Alaina Sexton – Neutral Good – Female Human – Commoner 1 – Foster Mother – Housewife
Alaina was Zig’s mother’s best friend since childhood. She had a sinking feeling when Zig’s father was sent to fight at Ramsgate, and his mother followed to support the troops. She had no idea that she’d never see her best friend again. Once full of mirth and energy, Alaina has been uncharacteristically quiet for almost two years.

Malik Sexton – Chaotic Good – Male Human – Commoner 1 – Best Friend – Works as a clerk at Phaendar Trading Company
Zig’s best friend since childhood. His feelings haven’t changed since Zig came back from Ramgate. If anything, he’s become kinder and softer to Zig in the two years since.

Veegal Slimtail
Male Vanara Monk (Zen Archer) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 0; Pathfinder RPG Advanced Race Guide 0)
LG Medium humanoid (vanara)
Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +8
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 17, touch 17, flat-footed 13 (+4 Dex, +3 untyped)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +5
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft., climb 30 ft.
Melee unarmed strike +2 (1d6+2)
Special Attacks flurry of blows
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14, Dex 19, Con 12, Int 13, Wis 17, Cha 4
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 19
Feats Improved Unarmed Strike, Perfect Strike[APG], Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot
Traits eyes and ears of the city, jungle fighter, militia veteran (any town or village)
Drawbacks burned
Skills Acrobatics +10, Climb +10, Escape Artist +8, Perception +8, Sense Motive +7, Stealth +10, Survival +8; Racial Modifiers +2 Acrobatics, +2 Stealth
Languages Common, Vudrani, Vanaran
SQ monk vows (vow of celibacy, vow of cleanliness, vow of silence, vow of truth), prehensile tail, unarmed strike
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
BurnedYou take a –1 penalty on saving throws against fire effects and a -1 to attacks, saves, and skill checks when adjacent to a fire effect until away from the fire for one round.
Climbing (30 feet) You have a Climb speed.
Flurry of Blows -1/-1 (Ex) As full-rd action, higher BAB and combo unarmed/monk wep as if two-weapon fighting.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Jungle Fighter Your speed may not be reduced to less than 10 feet by difficult terrain in jungles.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Perfect Strike (2d20, 1/day) With certain weapons, roll twice, higher is attack, lower is confirmation roll.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee.
Prehensile Tail (Ex) Can retrieve small stowed objects as a swift action.
Unarmed Strike (1d6) Extra unarmed strike dam, no off-hand dam reduction and don't need free hands to att.
Vow of Celibacy (+1 Ki) The monk must abstain from all sexual and intimate physical activity. A monk with this vow takes it to an extreme, refusing to even share a room with another person, or sleeping on the opposite side of a camp from other people in a group. A celibate
Vow of Cleanliness (+1 Ki) A monk undertaking this vow must wash daily. He must change into fresh clothes daily or shortly after his robes become dirty. His appearance must be kept immaculate, including either neatly braiding or shaving off his hair (and, for male monks, maint
Vow of Silence (+1 Ki) The monk must speak no words and attempt to be quiet in his actions. Accidental noises and the sounds of battle (such as the sound of a fist or weapon striking an opponent) do not affect his vow, though most monks with this vow choose their weapons a
Vow of Truth (+1 Ki) The monk is not allowed to deliberately speak any lies, including bluffing, stating half-truths with the intent to deceive, exaggerating, telling white lies, and so on. This applies to all forms of communication. If presented with circumstances where

Veegal Slimtail grew up in the monastic tree-village of Noei-Vil in the Southern jungles of Vudra. Noei-Vil was founded by a small group of ascetic Vanara who believed in the perfection of virtue through the surmounting of limitations, particularly those of the senses. Since its founding, each Vanara appointed to the village guard had a choice: to give up their sight, their hearing, or their speech in pursuit of perfect virtue. Those who gave up their sight studied to become powerful grapplers and fighters in the dark jungle nights. Those who lost their hearing focused upon straightforward striking combat during daylight, when their eyes were of the most use. Those who refrained from speech, like Veegal, became silent snipers, protecting the village from outsiders in the shadowy canopies, keeping watch at all times.

In addition to their deprivations, the monks also took vows of even great discipline: They vowed to never lie, cheat, or steal, to keep themselves immaculately clean, and to never bear children. In doing this, they would become pure in the eyes of the founders’ ideals, and would set the example for all citizens of Noei-Vil.

Unfortunately, the elders did not anticipate every problem. For two hundred years the village was a bastion of lawful activity, repelling all outsiders and keeping the populace safe, but the city guard’s vows of celibacy offset the villages gene pool. Through the two centuries of its existence, the village’s regular inhabitants became extremely inbred, producing progressively dumber and dumber offspring.

Then natural disaster occurred. A simple lightning strike set fire to the armory, and the populace was at a loss at what to do. The deafened guards did not hear the strike, the blinded could not see it, and the mute were too far away in the trees surrounding the village to perform their ritual “There’s-A-Fire-In-The-Town-Let-Me-Show-You-Where-It-Is” dance. The non-inhibited populace, not related to the finer specimens of the species who would tend to become guards, were too inbred and ineffective to do anything about the ensuing flames.

By the time the mutes had reached the site of the fire, it was too late: the entire tree-village was ablaze. Most of the Vanara died terrible, unwitting deaths, while others died trying to put the fire out. In the end, the village of Noei-Vil was completely destroyed, with only a handful of scatter survivors escaping the inferno.

Feeling that he had failed his duty in protecting his village, the mute Veegal Slimtail set out adventuring, though he’s had a hard time of it. Most of his attempts to communicate with adventuring parties have led to extreme confusion, most of them thinking that he’s begging for food or gold rather than to join their group. Still, Veegal is honor-bound to do good in this world, and protect the weak, despite the fact that he almost incapable of communicating with others.

Veegal is honor-bound, honor-driven, and above all obeys his vows. He is kind to a fault, but unfortunately his social practices do not always reflect this. He will refuse to sleep in the same room as others, and his vow of silence makes him seem extremely standoffish.

A Vanara of slightly taller stature than most, Veegal’s fur is a light orangish brown. He’s well muscled, but they tend to be hidden by his bushy but well-kept fur. His care of himself is almost immaculate.

-Dirt
-Physical contact of any kind
-Deception or evil of any kind
-Fire

-Seeing other Vanara
-Cleaning himself
-Bananas. Not because of the monkey thing. That’s racist. How dare you think that. They remind him of his home.

-Bathes himself daily, sometimes with his tongue if there’s no running water available.
-Does not speak. At all. Ever. Doesn’t even make noises. No, especially not monkey noises. You racist.
-Occasionally throws things at people/in their direction to get their attention. NOT POOP. Seriously, what is it with you and the monkey thing? You have a serious problem, man.

1: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 3, 1) = 10 9
2: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 6, 3, 3) = 15 12
3: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 3, 3) = 9 8
4: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 1, 6, 2) = 12 11
5: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 4, 4, 1) = 10 9
6: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 2, 4, 2) = 13 11

1: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 4, 3, 5) = 15 12
2: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 5, 4, 6) = 16 15
3: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 1, 5, 5) = 12 11
4: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 2, 2) = 7 6
5: 4d6 ⇒ (5, 5, 5, 6) = 21 16
6: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 2, 3, 5) = 11 10

1: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 5, 1) = 11 10
2: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 5, 5, 3) = 17 14
3: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 1, 4, 5) = 14 13
4: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 3, 2, 4) = 11 9
5: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 1, 2, 1) = 5 4
6: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 1, 3, 4) = 9 8

1: 4d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 5, 6) = 20 17
2: 4d6 ⇒ (3, 2, 4, 6) = 15 13
3: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 5, 6) = 14 13
4: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 2, 1, 5) = 10 9
5: 4d6 ⇒ (2, 1, 1, 6) = 10 9
6: 4d6 ⇒ (1, 4, 5, 2) = 12 11

Davkas the Small
Male Halfling Barbarian (Superstitious, Wild Rager) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 0; Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 0)
CG Small humanoid (halfling)
Init +2; Senses Perception +7
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 20, touch 13, flat-footed 18 (+5 armor, +2 shield, +2 Dex, +1 size)
hp 15 (1d12+3)
Fort +5, Ref +3, Will +2; +2 vs. fear
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee battleaxe +5 (1d6+3/×3) and
. . gauntlet (from armor) +5 (1d2+3) and
. . unarmed strike +5 (1d2+3 nonlethal)
Ranged halfling sling staff +4 (1d6+3/×3)
Special Attacks rage (6 rounds/day)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 8, Wis 12, Cha 9
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Power Attack, Risky Striker[ARG]
Traits freedom fighter
Skills Acrobatics +6, Climb +7, Perception +7; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Halfling
SQ fast movement, uncontrolled rage
Combat Gear barbarian chew; Other Gear scale mail, heavy wooden shield, battleaxe, halfling sling staff, sling bullets (20), barbarian's kit, 28 gp, 9 sp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Fast Movement +10 (Ex) +10 feet to speed, unless heavily loaded.
Fearless +2 racial bonus vs Fear saves.
Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Rage (6 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged.
Risky Strike -1/+2 Subtract from your AC to add to damage vs foes 2 sizes larger.
Uncontrolled Rage (DC 12) (Ex) When drop a foe become confused (Will neg). If fail, save again each rd.

Maldar had always been a little bit… off. In a society where strong personalities were almost commonplace, Maldar had been almost a recluse. Choosing to keep to himself, he would spend days on his “experiments,” which invariably included cutting various animals and vermin open to see what made them live.

Eventually this hobby of his turned into a full-blown obsession. He began vigorous research into the anatomies of all things, especially his own, and in his madness conducted surgeries upon himself, to “improve” his physical form. Strangely, these, along with a vigorous training regimen, it worked. Maldar became a specimen of great physical strength, good agility, and higher than average durability than the average Drow. This came at a price, however. Maldar’s scarred and misshapen form became hideous to behold. His muscles and bones protruded at unnatural angles, and his movements, though efficient, were more like those of a beast than a graceful Drow.

Even in his “successful” transformation, Maldar still did not consider it to be enough. He wished to be stronger, faster, invincible. So what if they turned away when he revealed his form? He knew that true beauty was in utility, and that his physical abilities had not yet reached their peak. In using his mutagens and extracts, he considers himself to be slowly reaching a more perfect form of existence, one that raises him above other Drow and into a realm of might that no-one else can reach. Then he would be unstoppable. Then they would look at him in his ultimate beauty and cower.

Maldar is extremely tall and heavy for a Drow. At his full height he reaches 6’5” and weighs nearly 130 lbs (Most Drow don’t break 120). His size is often hidden, however, by the drastic slouch that Maldar will often adopt in order not to hit his head on door frames and other low-hanging structures. In public he often wears a cloak that conceals the specifics of his shape, but not the more obvious aspects of his physicality. He walks almost like a gorilla, often using his long and heavy arms to propel himself forward, often garnering stares from those around him. Upon removing his cloak, one will find a hideously scarred and unseemly visage, with joints, bones, and muscle looking as though they have been moved slightly out of place. Maldar’s hair remains unkempt and long, trailing down his misshapen shoulders.

Another thing that is truly strange and puzzling about Maldar is his absolute devotion to Asmodeus. He views the Lord of Devils as the ultimate role-model: subjugating others using strength and intelligence, and ruling over all things within his creation. While not necessarily lawful himself, Maldar appreciates the assets that order gives to those in power, and wants that power for himself.

Other than his obsession with the Prince of Darkness, Maldar’s personality is that of a recluse. He will often remain silent until a thought comes to his mind, which he will blurt out without examining his words or their impact beforehand: Maldar always speaks his mind, but his mind is a very strange place. That being said, despite his strength, Maldar is terrified of losing confrontations, and as such will often strike when his opponent is weakest rather than engaging them at full-strength. He’ll often gain more courage when imbibing in magical enhancements, but in his normal form he would rather run from a fair fight.

Maldar Di'Zernae
Male Drow Alchemist (Beastmorph, Vivisectionist) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 26; Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 0; Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 0)
NE Medium humanoid (elf)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 120 ft., low-light vision; Perception +6
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +3 Dex)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +3, Ref +5, Will +0; +2 vs. enchantments
Immune sleep; SR 7
Weakness light blindness
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee club +4 (1d6+4) and
. . longspear +4 (1d8+6/×3) and
. . spear +4 (1d8+6/×3) and
. . unarmed strike +4 (1d3+4 nonlethal)
Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6
Drow Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration -2)
. . 1/day—dancing lights, darkness, faerie fire
Alchemist (Beastmorph, Vivisectionist) Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +4):
. . 1st—enlarge person (DC 14), recharge innate magic (ARG)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 18, Dex 16, Con 12, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 5
Base Atk +0; CMB +4; CMD 17
Feats Brew Potion, Sap Adept[UC], Throw Anything
Traits accelerated drinker, Skilled Backstabber
Skills Craft (alchemy) +7 (+8 to create alchemical items), Disable Device +7, Heal +4, Knowledge (arcana) +7, Knowledge (nature) +7, Perception +6, Sleight of Hand +7, Spellcraft +7, Survival +4; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Abyssal, Drow Sign Language, Elven, Infernal, Undercommon
SQ drow alchemist, alchemy, mutagen, poison use
Combat Gear mutagen; Other Gear lamellar (leather) armor, club, longspear, spear, thieves' tools, 8 gp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
+2 to Damage against flat footed opponents
+10 minutes to Mutagen duration. Add +10 minutes to the duration of the alchemist’s mutagens (Racial favored class bonus).
Accelerated Drinker You may drink a potion as a move action instead of a standard as long as you start your turn with the potion in your hand.
Alchemy +1 (Su) +1 to Craft (Alchemy) to create alchemical items, can Id potions by touch.
Darkvision (120 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Drow Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects.
Light Blindness (Ex) Bright light blinds for 1 rd, then dazzled as long as remain in it.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Mutagen (DC 13) (Su) Mutagen adds +4 to a physical & -2 to a mental attribute, and +2 nat. armor for 10 min.
Poison Use (Ex) You do not risk poisoning yourself accidentally while poisoning a weapon.
Sap Adept Gain bonus damage on nonlethal attacks,
Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Spell Resistance (7) You have Spell Resistance.
Throw Anything Proficient with improvised ranged weapons. +1 to hit with thrown splash weapons.

Imagine the roughest, gruff Dwarf you can remember. Then give him spectacles and a complete intolerance for anyone less intelligent than he. That is Morodin Peakwalker. Concerned far more with knowledge and his crafts of magic and metallurgy than people and social conventions, Morodin would be perfectly fine if he never had to interact with anyone. Unfortunately, the secrets of the Skymetals and greater power over his metallic magic aren't just going to come to him in his library: he has to venture out into the world. This often makes him even more irate, and often has to resort to Charm Person spells to get himself out of a bind.

All this said, Morodin is not a bad person. He's not a good person either, but he's certainly not a bad one. He will make his decisions based upon his own moral code and values, which often do not mesh with those of others, and may come into conflict with those he's adventuring with. Most times, however, he will go with the group, however much he may grumble under his breath about the illogical nature of his compatriots.

Born and raised in the Five Peaks mountains, Morodin was always… a bit different. He wasn’t hardy, he wasn’t very wise, but he sure was smarter than his fellow dwarves. He read everything he could get his hands on in the way of dwarf lore and smithing, and became obsessed with the mighty Skymetals that had changed the face of Golarion’s metallurgical landscape. Eventually harnessing his talents to become a wizard, he forsook interaction with his family and former friends for dedication to his learning and research. Morodin was intrigued by the sudden quenching of the torch that the smith-city Torch held so dear. Perhaps by traveling to the town, he could unlock the secrets of the Skymetals, and finally find a place he belonged: a community of people who are just as obsessed with metal as he is!

Morodin Peakwalker
Male Dwarf Wizard 1
LN Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +0
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 11, touch 11, flat-footed 10 (+1 Dex)
hp 7 (1d6+1)
Fort +1, Ref +1, Will +2; +2 vs. poison, +4 vs. spells and spell-like abilities
Defensive Abilities defensive training (+4 dodge bonus to AC vs. giants)
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 20 ft.
Melee quarterstaff +1 (1d6+1) and
. . unarmed strike +1 (1d3+1 nonlethal)
Special Attacks +1 on attack rolls against goblinoid and orc humanoids, metal rending
Wizard Spells Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +7):
. . 1st—color spray (DC 15), grease, shocking grasp(school spell)
. . 0 (at will)—daze (DC 14), detect magic, mending
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 12, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 18, Wis 10, Cha 5
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 12 (16 vs. bull rush, 16 vs. trip)
Feats Scribe Scroll, Steel Soul[APG]
Traits focused mind, goldsniffer
Skills Appraise +8 (+10 on items valued by weight when using scales), Craft (blacksmith) +10 (+12 on checks related to metal or stone), Knowledge (arcana) +8, Knowledge (engineering) +8, Knowledge (history) +8, Linguistics +8, Perception +0 (+2 to notice unusual stonework, +2 on checks related to metals, jewels, and gemstones), Spellcraft +8; Racial Modifiers craftsman
Languages Custom Language, Common, Dwarven, Giant, Goblin, Terran, Undercommon
SQ arcane bonds (arcane bond [amulet]), iron skin, opposition schools (fire), specialized schools (metal)
Combat Gear mending paste; Other Gear quarterstaff, - arcane bond amulet -, magnet, masterwork tool, merchant's scale, reinforced scarf, wizard's kit, 41 gp, 5 sp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Arcane Bond (Amulet) (1/day) (Sp) Use object to cast any spell in your spellbook 1/day. Without it, Concentration required to cast spells (DC20 + spell level).
Craftsman +2 on Craft/Profession checks related to metal/stone.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Defensive Training +4 Gain a dodge bonus to AC vs monsters of the Giant subtype.
Fire Classical opposition school for: Water
Five-Element opposition school for: Metal

You must spend 2 slots to cast spells from the Fire school.
Focused Mind +2 to Concentration checks
Skymetal Smith +2 vs. Emotion and Fear Effects
Goldsniffer +2 Perception for metals, jewels and gemstones.
Hatred +1 Gain a racial bonus to attacks vs Goblinoids/Orcs.
Iron Skin +2 (7/day) (Su) Increase natural armor bonus for 10 minutes.
Merchant's scale +2 Appraise for things valued by weight, including anything made of precious metals.
Metal Rending (Su) Deal extra damage vs metal armored/bodied foes. At 20th level roll twice vs SR and take higher.
Steel Soul Hardy's save vs. spells and spell-like abilities becomes +4

Cander Vitrich was born to two stern traditionalist parents in the south of Brevoy. Traditional Rostlanders and horse farmers, he was raised under extremely high and harsh expectations to hold up the family name and tradition.

Long before they were simple horse breeders and traders, the Vitritch family served under Sirian Aldori when he was still known as Baron Sirian First. When First disappeared into obscurity after losing a duel with the local bandit lord, the family and their horse-based combat style fell from favor. When Aldori emerged victorious years later from creating his new sword style, the Vitritch line had already settled down in a small homestead out of the way of the bandits, breeding horses to trade in order to survive. One day, a lucky ancestor of Cander’s discovered what would be told to his descendants as a mine “lined with the finest gold one had ever seen.” With the confidence of new riches and a head swollen with the possibility of restored status, Cander’s ancestors marched into Baron Aldori’s court, asking to once again rejoin the Baron.

Aldori’s new regime of swordlord had no place for Vitritch “Horseplay.” The family was spat upon for their “desertion” of the Baron’s banner, and were cast back into obscurity when they approached the court, seeking audience with the man they once followed. Grasping at an opportunity for entertainment and challenge in a time of peace, a group of Aldori sword lords and their followers brought conflict to the Vitritch homestead in the Stolen Lands. They offered an ultimatum: Surrender the goldmine, or die. The Vitritch family fled in the night, using their well-honed skills of stealth to escape swordlord eyes, and set up a homestead under a different name upon Rostland’s border.

Despondent, but not defeated, the Vitritch family preserved their traditions in secret, and passed their combat techniques and family birthright onto each successive generation. As time passed, the Vitritch family and their exploits faded from Brevic memory while Baron Aldori’s glory was preserved. While most of the family remained proud of their stoic isolation in the south of the Rostland, Cander’s father was different. He was the first of his line to resent his family’s lack of ambition, instead teaching his children that the combat techniques of their family was squandered in simply protecting the homestead and preservation of tradition. He wanted his eight children to do what he, at his old age, could not: make their mark on the world, and bring the Vitritch name to glory once more!

Cander was his best student among all his sons. Fast, strong, wise, and extremely coordinated, he took to combat as a normal man too to breathing. Cander would have been envied by his brothers and sisters for this prowess, had his father not been all the harder on him for it. Cander was drilled day-in and day-out, constantly confronted with grueling tasks of strength and finesse. His less-gifted siblings looked on in wonder, fascinated not only by the strength and confidence of Cander’s movements, but also the sheer dedication he had for it.

While he succeeded at nearly every exercise, such a training regimen took its toll: Cander’s social growth was somewhat stunted. He didn’t have time to interact with other children or young-people his age under the stern yoke of his father. Because he never argued with his father, and seldom shared much with his brothers and sisters outside of training, Cander never developed a talent for personal interaction. Instead of words, he often responded with action, and when action was not the appropriate response he would often falter. Combat was his strength, not conversation.

This was only reinforced by the family’s conservative interpretation of the God Erastil’s teachings. Cander’s father took his position as head of the household to be a god-given right, and if a decision came from any other source than he, it was wrong and insubordinate. As such, Cander had very little free will of his own, and often deferred to his father’s “wisdom” when trouble reared its ugly head. This is not to say that he had a poor relationship with his father. Quite the opposite. The two were extremely close, but their relationship was a stern one. They loved each other in their own way.

When word came that Restov was looking for adventurers to civilize the Greenbelt and thwart the bandits within, Cander’s father saw his son’s first chance at success. His father filling his head with imagery of honor and glory, Cander was soon convinced to ride towards the small fort known as Olegg’s trading post, seeking redemption of the family name he had always been taught to revere.

Cander is quite green when it comes to adventuring, and will usually resort to action before he resorts to words. His dedication is second to none, but sometimes becomes frustrated when he cannot complete a task as he wished. Despite this, he can be extremely innocent and naïve, sometimes easily fooled by subterfuge and distracted by the shiny (or curvy) things that may come his way. Above all, Cander venerates Erastil, and trusts goodness and order. Should a creature or action seem inclined towards chaos, dishonesty, or evil, Cander will give every effort to change or stop it.

Cander is not short, but not tall either, resting in a build of catlike athleticism that favors sinew over bulk. His upper body is quite tan from practicing in the sun’s rays all of his life, but anyone seeing his legs or feet would know that his skin is originally pale, derived from his Taldan ancestry. Cander’s black hair is messy and uncontrollable by nature, and as such he wears it in a ponytail, under a hat, or using other such methods of restraining his unruly mane. He keeps with him a very practical outfit of earthy tones as one might expect from a Druid or Ranger, topped with a shirt of hide armor and adorned with various forms of weaponry. Under the plain-seeming facade, in the sleeves of his garments lie two spring-loaded wrist-sheathes. One might think that such equipment betrays a deceptive nature, but in fact they serve a more practical purpose: swift access to medium-range ammunition.

”So, boy, you said you were just passin’ through. Where’re you heading?”

Cander was already on his third drink when the barkeep asked him this question. The question that he had hoped someone would ask him on this journey of his. The nineteen year old stumbled to his feet and declared, ”I’m going to The Stolen Lands!”



The entire tavern roared with laughter.

”And what’ll you be doin’ there, young lad? Planting flowers with the fey? Marching with the Mites? Keeping up with the Kobolds?”



”I’m going to settle them, and take down all monsters and bandits with ‘em!”



Now the tavern fell nearly silent. These men were simple. They did not know many things. But one of the things they did know is that in the Greenbelt, it’s humans who are often the greatest monsters.

”Are you sure about that, lad? These are bad times for law and order in The Stolen Lands.”

”Which is why I’ll change them,” Cander replied, and attempted to make a dramatic exit, just like the heroes did in his storybooks.

”BOY GET THE HELLS BACK IN HERE. YOU HAVEN’T PAID YOUR TAB!”

”SORRYSORRYSORRY!" Cander exclaimed, scurrying back to the bar and fiddling with coins before dropping them on the counter. Embarrassed, he then drunkenly sulked his way out of the tavern, hoping that hanging with his horse could cheer him up.

Cander Vitritch
Male Human (Taldan) Monk (Sohei) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 0)
LG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +4; Senses Perception +5
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 17, touch 14, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +4, Ref +6, Will +3
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee lance +2 (1d8+3/×3) and
. . nine-ring broadsword +2 (1d8+2/×3) and
. . unarmed strike +2 (1d6+2) and
. . wushu dart +2 (1d3+2)
Ranged longbow +4 (1d8/×3)
Special Attacks flurry of blows
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 14, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 16
Feats Improved Unarmed Strike, Point-Blank Shot, Precise Shot, Ride-By Attack
Traits armor expert, pioneer
Skills Acrobatics +8, Knowledge (religion) +4, Perception +5, Ride +9, Sense Motive +5, Stealth +8
Languages Common
SQ devoted guardian, unarmed strike
Other Gear hide shirt, arrows (20), lance, longbow, nine-ring broadsword, wushu dart (10), spring loaded wrist sheathes (worth 5 gp, 1 lb), spring loaded wrist sheathes (worth 5 gp, 1 lb), heavy horse, monk's kit, saddlebags, 4 gp, 8 sp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Armor Expert -1 Armor check penalty.
Devoted Guardian +0 (Ex) At 1st level, a sohei can always act in a surprise round even if he does not notice his enemies, though he remains flat-footed until he acts. In addition, a sohei gains a bonus on initiative rolls equal to 1/2 his monk level. At 20th level, a sohei's
Flurry of Blows -1/-1 (Ex) Make Flurry of Blows attack as a full rd action.
Improved Unarmed Strike Unarmed strikes don't cause attacks of opportunity, and can be lethal.
Point-Blank Shot +1 to attack and damage rolls with ranged weapons at up to 30 feet.
Precise Shot You don't get -4 to hit when shooting or throwing into melee.
Ride-By Attack You can move - attack - move when charging mounted.
Unarmed Strike (1d6) The Monk does lethal damage with his unarmed strikes.

Mina (Horse Gained From Pioneer Trait)
Female Horse
N Large animal
Init +4; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +8
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 15, touch 13, flat-footed 11 (+4 Dex, -1 size, +2 natural)
hp 26 (2d8+10)
Fort +8, Ref +7, Will +3
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 50 ft.
Melee bite +5 (1d4+5) and
. . 2 hooves +0 (1d6+2) and
. . unarmed strike +5 (1d4+5 nonlethal)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 20, Dex 18, Con 21, Int 2, Wis 17, Cha 11
Base Atk +1; CMB +7; CMD 21 (25 vs. trip)
Feats Endurance, Run
Tricks Come, Heel, Riding, Stay
Skills Acrobatics +4 (+8 to jump with a running start), Perception +8
SQ riding
Other Gear monk's kit, saddlebags
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Endurance +4 to a variety of fort saves, skill and ability checks. Sleep in L/M armor with no fatigue.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Riding [Trick] The animal has been trained to bear a rider.
Run Run 5x your speed in light/medium armor or 4x speed in heavy armor and keep Dex when running.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ feet by sense of smell.

“A body at war, elements entwined. Two powers, one god, opposites combined.”



That prophecy had haunted Ikkis’s dreams for the past ten years. The images it brough forth were always different: the fire, the smell, the sickening cool of his skin. Wherever he woke, whenever he woke, he would feel the words tugging at him. Guiding him. Keeping him alive for some greater purpose. Or so he thought.



A nine-year old Ikkis survived in his mind’s eye. Content, active, plentiful in friends and family. The boy could not have asked for a better life in such a small town like Heldren. But one night, that all changed. Ikkis had awoken in the night to hear the cooing and fawning of an old woman, standing outside their kitchen door. He got up and walked to the house’s entrance, wondering who could be visiting at this hour, and peered through the keyhole.



There stood the oldest looking woman Ikkis had ever seen. Bent at the waist and tousling a young figure’s hair, her wrinkled fingers ended in… claws? Ikkis’s mind flashed to the stories of hags and fey that would carry children away in the night. Without thinking, he lunged through the door, screaming bloody murder at the wrinkled figure.

The Blood Hag heard him coming. With a swift flick of her wrists, a series of rays streamed toward Ikkis, intending to make the next breath his last. 



The pain is not what Ikkis noticed first. It was the smell. The smell of his own flesh burning. Then came the pain, dull at first, but edging slowly up his tibia and fibula until it became unbearable. Then it stopped. Though the pain persisted, the flames went no farther than the adolescent’s outstretched forearms. The rest was… unsettlingly cold. When Ikkis opened his tearing eyes, he saw the Hag staring in amazement, and that his body from elbow to ankle was covered in… ice.


Unsure of what she saw, the hag fled from the scene. She had caused too much commotion already, and it was time to move to the next border town. Besides, the child's sudden encasement in frozen armor stunk of... Irrisen. The very thought made her shudder. No common hag could even think of opposing Baba Yaga, and the possibility that this one had accidentally harmed one of Yaga's bloodline? She dared not to think of it, and put it out of her mind. Whatever that strange magic was, it was no longer her concern.

Ikkis remained, staring incredulously at his charcoaled hands, pain still present, but stymied by the cool comfort of his new icy garb.

The young child, Ikkis’s sister, awoke as if out of a trance. She in turn woke the family, alerting them to Ikkis’s state, and the boy was taken immediately to the closest healer. The poor old Adept was stumped, and gave them a referral that was to be the first in a long line of suggestions of what steps to take for poor, young Ikkis.

After almost a decade of going to every cleric and doctor available, Ikkis’s condition had not been reversed. Instead of accepting his condition, he made up stories and excuses for his disability, concealing his hands whenever he could under thick leather gloves and false anecdotes. This was most prevalent in the stories he would tell about his accidents. Freak freezings, objects spontaneously combusting, Ikkis waking up in the middle of the night with his room half-filled with water. The town began to speculate: was Ikkis the bastard child of his mother and some sort of elemental? Was he a young Sorcerer gone haywire? Was he haunted by vengeful spirits? Ikkis had heard it all, and it enraged him that he knew the origins of his abilities no better than any busybody on the street. 

Having nearly given up on a true cure, Ikkis now waits in his hometown, covertly seeking other options, trying to gain some control over these mad powers that war within him, and searching for a way to finally end their grip on his life.

Ikkis stands about 5’11”, weighing approximately 185lbs. His hair is short, brown, and wild, due to his inability to hold a comb but frequent visits the barber. He always wears a set of elbow-length leather gloves to cover his blackened arms, along with a set of light leather armor for uninhibited movement. Despite his inability to manipulate much with his hands, he maintains a somewhat athletic build, and cuts what many young women in the village say is an attractive figure. If only he weren’t the center of such strange happenings, they say, those sparkling green eyes might have helped him find a wife by now.

Ikkis is often aboundingly cheerful, ready to help others in any way he can. This happiness is indicative of his good-nature, but is also a tool that Ikkis uses to hide his deep-seated depression. Rather than just an injury, Ikkis considers his hands to be a gross deformity to be ashamed of, and will to almost anything to keep them concealed from sight and in conversation. Due to his being limited in physical actions, Ikkis will often weight word over work, and will often solve problems with discussion rather than force. Despite his good nature, he is quite rash and oblivious, often rushing into situations without all the information required to make an informed choice. He refrains from using his magic unless absolutely necessary, hiding it rather than flaunting it. He associates his Oracle abilities with chaos, destruction, and being attacked by the hag rather than anything stemming from himself.

Ikkiss Unmar
Male Versatile Human (Taldan) Oracle 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 42)
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception -2
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14 (+2 armor, +2 shield, +3 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +2, Ref +3, Will +0; +1 trait bonus vs. the spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities of evil arcane spellcasters.
Defensive Abilities revelations (ice armor, icy skin); Resist cold 5
Weakness oracle's curses (blackened)
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger -3 (1d4+1/19-20) and
. . unarmed strike +1 (1d3+1 nonlethal)
Oracle Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +5):
. . 1st (4/day)—burning disarm (DC 15), burning hands (DC 15), command (DC 15), cure light wounds
. . 0 (at will)—create water, detect magic, light, purify food and drink (DC 14), spark[APG] (DC 14)
--------------------
Statistics
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Str 12, Dex 16, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 7, Cha 18
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 14
Feats Extra Revelation[APG]
Traits fast-talker, warded against witchery
Skills Bluff +9, Diplomacy +8, Escape Artist +7, Sense Motive +2, Spellcraft +5 (+6 to identify spells cast by evil arcane spellcasters.)
Languages Common, Skald
SQ mysteries (mystery [winter]), versatile human
Other Gear leather armor, heavy wooden shield, dagger, 86 gp
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Special Abilities
--------------------
Blackened Your hands and forearms are shriveled and blackened. You take a –4 penalty on weapon attack rolls
Icy Skin: Energy Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Cold attacks.
Ice Armor +4 (1 hours/day) (Ex) Conjure a suit of armor made of ice, stronger in cold temps, and weaker in hot.
Versatile Human While they lack some of the training of other humans, the natural talents of versatile humans more than make up for this lack. Replace the +2 bonus to any ability score, the skilled racial trait, and the bonus feat racial trait with dual talent.
Warded Against Witchery +1 to spellcraft to ID spells of evil arcane spellcasters, +1 to save vs thier spells and abilities.

Roark Zemmer
Male Human Ranger (Skirmisher) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 0)
CN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +6
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Defense
--------------------
AC 19, touch 11, flat-footed 18 (+6 armor, +2 shield, +1 Dex)
hp 10 (1d10)
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +2; +1 trait bonus vs illusion effects.
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 20 ft.
Melee heavy shield bash +5 (1d6+10) and
. . dagger +5 (1d4+7/19-20) and
. . dagger +5 (1d4+7/19-20) and
. . gauntlet (from armor) +5 (1d3+7) and
. . unarmed strike +5 (1d3+7 nonlethal)
Ranged longbow +2 (1d8/×3)
Special Attacks favored enemy (monstrous humanoids +2)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 20, Dex 12, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 17
Feats Improved Shield Bash, Power Attack
Traits boarded in the shackles, hardly a fool
Skills Climb +9, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +4, Knowledge (geography) +4, Knowledge (nature) +4, Perception +6, Sense Motive +3, Stealth +5, Survival +6, Swim +9
Languages Common
SQ track +1, wild empathy -1
Combat Gear caltrops (2); Other Gear chainmail, spiked heavy wooden shield, arrows (20), dagger, dagger, longbow, ranger's kit, shaving kit, spring loaded wrist sheath (adventurer's armory) (worth 5 gp, 1 lb), whetstone, 40 gp, 4 sp, 8 cp
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Favored Enemy (Monstrous Humanoids +2) (Ex) +2 to rolls vs Favored Enemy (Monstrous Humanoids).
Hardly a Fool +1 trait bonus to save vs. illusion effects.
Improved Shield Bash You still get your shield bonus while using Shield Bash.
Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Track +1 Add the listed bonus to survival checks made to track.
Wild Empathy -1 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

Roark stands at 6'3" and weights approximately 210 pounds, almost all of it well-trained muscle. His clothes are practical, and mesh well with his protective chainmail to create an almost carelessly-dignified look. Roark wears his bow on his back and his spiked shield on his arm when in the field, ready to engage in combat at any time. He also keeps two daggers for emergencies, one on his belt and the other concealed in a spring-loaded wrist-sheath along his forearm.

A past full of mistakes behind him, Roark's ready to foray into the world and make a name for himself in a new land. Roark's main drawbacks are with how he interacts other people. His inappropriate swears and contractions seem to alienate him from those better educated than he, and he has a knack for saying the exact wrong thing at the worst of times. His sheer physical might is often how he himself and others define him, but he sports a handy array of skills and keen senses to boot.

“The best offense is a good defense.”



Roark Zemmer heard that phrase long ago, and once remembered, thought: “Well, I guess I’ll try that.” 



Born a bastard son to a single mother in the Shackles, Roark grew up in as rough-and-tumble way as they come. At thirteen, Roark started work at the docks, struggling at first to keep pace with the older, more experienced longshoremen, but by the age of fifteen his strength exceeded theirs. His language exceeded theirs too. By the time his mother passed away when he was eighteen, Roark was known as one of the strongest stevedores in Port Peril, and also the most unruly. Night after night, he’d get far too drunk and start fights with whomever his sloshed brain could justify, and morning after morning he’d wake up with a hangover and a few bruises. He never lost a fight, due to his immense strength, but because he wasn’t the fastest on his feet Roark had a marked tendency to let his opponent get a few hits in first. 



That all changed when Roark challenged the wrong man. An elderly gentleman with a wispy beard sat at Roark’s favorite tavern one faithful night. As the young deckhand was sloppily finishing his third flagon of ale, he saw the old man smirking in his direction. 

“What’s so funny, geezer? Come to laugh at the young?”

“No, only the idiot lushes,” the man replied, “And say, boy, do you always get so drunk from so little? I’ve seen schoolgirls with better tolerance than you. You’re less of a lush and more of a delicate little lady!”

Roark threw the flagon hard in the man’s direction, missing by a wide margin but leaving a serious dent in the tavern wall. The man had not so much as flinched. Roark advanced on the man’s table: “What’s your name, old timer? I’d like to know ‘zactly who I’ll be wiping the floor with tonight.”



“My name…” the man smiled from ear to ear, the points of his well-waxed mustache pointing inwards, “Is Fiero Dalens McKinnon. But you’d know me best as the Drow of the Sea.”



A dull sensation traveled up from Roark’s well-muscled thigh to his brain. He didn’t realize what was happening at first, and was quite confused as the dull discomfort began to feel wet and throb with an hot… pain. Through the alcoholic stupor, Roark realized this matter probably needed his attention, and looked down at his left leg. Where there had been none before, there was now a very obvious crossbow bolt protruding from just above the knee.

“Hey boy,” Fiero mocked, “You dropped this.” With his free hand, Fiero struck the dumbstruck teenager across the face with the very flagon Roark had just thrown. The world went dark for Roark. Very dark.



When Roark opened his eyes next there was a lot of green. He picked himself up, head spinning, and then he remembered his leg. He grabbed the area where he was stabbed, only to find absolutely nothing there.



“You’ll find I’m as good at mending you as I am at wounding you, boy.” 

Fiero McKinnon was sitting a few feet away, greatly enjoying the company of his pipe atop a steadily rotting log. The two were in a forest. Roark stumbled to his feet, unsure of how to handle a situation so far removed from his daily routine. Anger came first and he began to advance menacingly towards Fiero.



“Ah, no no no. None of that, now.” the pirate chastised, and pulled a hand-crossbow lazily from behind the log, his left hand still gingerly holding his pipe. “Now I brought you here for a reason, son. You’ve got some muscle and a good pair of eyes, but you’re at a loss in pretty much every other department. If you want to fight, you should at least learn how. Fisticuffs is a loser’s game, son. If you bring knuckles to a knife-fight, you’ll not have knuckles much longer.”

Roark wanted to ask any of a thousand questions, chief of which was “What in the hells is going on?!” but a crossbow aimed at his vital organs encouraged his silence.



“So I’m going to train you. You’re going to hate it. You’re going to hate me. You’re going to wonder why the hell I’m doing this more often than you remember to breathe. The answer to all of these things is ‘F@+& you and get a move-on.’ Now pick up that staff,” Fiero gestured to one of several weapons strewn about in the grass, “we have a long road ahead of us.”

Months passed. Years flew by. Roark grew to hate the old man less and less. Roark cultivated his skills more and more. They trained in more than weapons: Fiero schooled Roark in the finer points of surviving at sea, on land, and places more dire. They studied the weak points of the human physique, mind, and spirit (“If you’re going to be good at fighting something with your brawn, you may as well use your brain too!”) and while he didn’t excel in everything Fiero taught him, Roark certainly learned the basics well.



“Fiero,” he asked one day, “All this was to round me out, wasn’t it?”



“Of course it was to round you out, you thick-headed lout! As you were, you were a sledgehammer: powerful, dangerous, but also slow and unwieldy. Now you’re a…” the old man trailed off.



“Now I’m a… what?”

“A slightly less-ridiculous sledgehammer.”



On Roark’s twenty-first birthday, he was greeted in the morning by a kick to the face. “Good morning to you too, Fiero.”

“Get up you asinine ninnywhippet. Pick a weapon.”


“What?”


“Pick a weapon. If you can land a blow on me before I can hit you, I have nothing left to teach you.”

“Nothing?”

“Yes. Nothing.”

“You mean that you’ve seriously trained me to the point where I know everything that you know?”

“No, you fool! I’ve trained you to the point where you’ve learned everything I can teach you. The rest can’t come from me! It has to come from experience. You think I just learned everything I know from practicing with the same person every day? Of course not! Now pick up a gods-damned weapon!”



Roark stopped to consider his options in the formidable pile Fiero had constructed. He knew that the old man was deadly at all ranges with his crossbows (and that he seemed to be able to hide them anywhere), so a weapon with greater reach would be of no help. A weapon of better heft such as a great sword would be of no help either: Roark wanted to hit him, not kill him.

Then, as he was looking at the pile of weapons, his eye caught a simple wooden shield near the pile of armor. Fiero had always advocated attacking with a sword and shield in tandem, but Roark didn’t have the finesse. What if he…



Roark picked up the shield. Fiero stood, puzzled. “That’s it?” he bellowed, almost laughing at his apprentice’s choice, “That’s what you want? No weapon, just a shield? Why Roark, have I turned you into an honest-to-gods’ pacifi-“

Before Fiero could finish the phrase, Roark had charged. His heavy shield faced Fiero, anticipating the bolt to come. Indeed, Fiero produced a hand-crossbow from behind his back, loaded it in an instant, and fired. The missile glanced off of Roark’s impending shape, and before Fiero had time to load a second bolt, the splintering wood of the shield collided with the pirate’s jaw.

After taking a moment to consider the blood flowing from his chin, Fiero simply replied: “Not bad.”

By the next day, the two had returned to Port Peril. Fiero began recruiting a new ship and new crew to replace the old ones he had sold and dismissed respectively three years prior. When Roark offered to join, Fiero nearly spat in his face: “Don’t you listen to a single thing I say? Find your own path, take your own voyages. Besides, each of these men is worth three of you! You’re not worth the sweat of their brow much less their positions and shares!”



So, Roark reluctantly took leave of his mentor and began to look for a voyage to set out on. Since his mother died he had no reason to stay in or ever return to The Shackles. Now that you think of it, he thought, he had seen a promising looking ship heading to Sargava at the other end of the docks…

Eegan Fark
Male Gnome Sorcerer (Wildblooded) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 0)
CG Small humanoid (gnome)
Init +1; Senses low-light vision; Perception +0
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 11 (+1 Dex, +1 size)
hp 6 (1d6)
Fort +0, Ref +1, Will +0 (+1 trait bonus vs. mind-affecting effects); +2 vs. illusions
Defensive Abilities defensive training (+4 dodge bonus to AC vs. giants); Resist issian
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 20 ft.
Melee dagger +0 (1d3-1/19-20) and
. . longspear +0 (1d6-1/×3) and
. . unarmed strike +0 (1d2-1 nonlethal)
Ranged light crossbow +2 (1d6/19-20)
Gnome Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st; concentration +6)
. . 1/day—dancing lights, ghost sound (DC 16), prestidigitation, speak with animals
Sorcerer (Wildblooded) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +6):
. . 1st (5/day)—grease, mage armor
. . 0 (at will)—daze (DC 15), detect magic, drench[UM] (DC 15), mage hand
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 9, Dex 13, Con 10, Int 10, Wis 7, Cha 20
Base Atk +0; CMB -2; CMD 9
Feats Boon Companion, Eschew Materials
Traits animal friend, issian
Skills Bluff +9, Climb +1, Handle Animal +9, Knowledge (nature) +6, Perception +0; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception
Languages Common, Gnome, Sylvan
SQ mutated bloodlines (sylvan)
Combat Gear acid, alchemical grease, thunderstone; Other Gear dagger, light crossbow, longspear, grappling bolt, silk rope (50 ft.)
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Animal Companion Link (Ex) You have a link with your Animal Companion.
Animal Friend +1 to Will saves when you are within 30' of an animal, Handle Animal is a Class Skill.
Boon Companion (Animal Companion) +4 levels to calc familiar/animal comp abilities (max of your HD).
Defensive Training +4 Gain a dodge bonus to AC vs monsters of the Giant subtype.
Eschew Materials Cast spells without materials, if component cost is 1 gp or less.
Issian +1 Will save vs. Mind-affecting.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Share Spells with Companion (Ex) Can cast spells with a target of "you" on animal companion, as touch spells.
Sylvan Your magic shows a kinship to that of the beast-talkers and shapechanger fey.

--------------------

Nelly
Female Horse
N Large animal
Init +1; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +5
--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 18, touch 10, flat-footed 17 (+4 armor, +1 Dex, -1 size, +4 natural)
hp 23 (+7)
Fort +5, Ref +4, Will +1
--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 50 ft.
Melee bite +3 (1d4+3) and
. . 2 hooves -2 (1d6+1) and
. . unarmed strike +3 (1d4+3 nonlethal)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 13, Con 15, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 16 (20 vs. trip)
Feats Toughness
Tricks Attack, Attack Any Target, Come, Down, Heel, Stay, Track
Skills Acrobatics +5, Perception +5, Ride +1 (+3 to stay in the saddle)
SQ attack any target, come, down, heel, stay, track
Other Gear gnome trail rations (10), military saddle, saddlebags, sorcerer's kit
--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Attack Any Target [Trick] The animal will attack any creature on command.
Come [Trick] The animal will come to you on command.
Down [Trick] The animal will break off combat on command.
Heel [Trick] The animal will follow you.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in low light, distinguishing color and detail.
Scent (Ex) Detect opponents within 15+ feet by sense of smell.
Stay [Trick] The animal will stay where it is.
Track [Trick] The animal will track a scent.

Glenton, a small town North of Restov in which Eegan last resided, had a saying: “There’s weird, there’s crazy, and then there’s Fark.”

Eegan had shown up one day out of the blue with a few gold pieces and a horse much too large for his size. When Chuck Valens the Stablemaster asked if Eegan wanted to trade in his horse for a pony, Eegan spat on Chuck’s shoe and shouted “FARK YOU, YOU MOTHERFARKING SLAVER! FARK YOOOOOU!” and then chased the man out of the room, beating him around the knees with a ripe zucchini. 

Eegan began renting a space in a barn. He didn’t inquire after any other rooms or leases, but instead immediately asked where he could get “Stable or barn space in this bustling borogrove.” He slept there, with the animals, and every night the people could hear him shouting for about a minute or less something about “Emancipation!” or “Down with the Sapiarchy!

It was through these actions that the gnome was branded as an absolute lunatic, and depending upon the citizen, the townspeople either steered clear of him or followed him around to see what he would do next. Often, this yielded extremely entertaining results, such as seeing Fark shaking the paw of every dog and cat in town, or demanding “PRIVACY!” when hens were laying their eggs from their bewildered farmers.

Fark’s behavior culminated into one fell incident. He somehow, through several years of work, trained an entire flock of crows to open every barn door and pet owner’s house at the same time. Before anyone could do anything, animals were roaming the streets, eating food right of the shelves of groceries and bakeries, and creating general mayhem. It was only suggested that Fark was responsible when a young boy said he’d seen the gnome addressing a tree-full of black birds over in the apple orchard.

The townspeople were furious, demanding that Fark leave immediately. He complied, but only after about 25% of the town’s livestock and pets had escaped. He exclaimed as he left, “I will be back for you, my brothers and sisters! I. WILL. BE. BACK.” And with that, he rode off into the distance to gods-know-where.

It was a beautiful, but harshly sunny day upon the road to Restov. From far away on the dirt road, an oncoming traveler could see what appeared to be a lone horse, beset with saddlebags, trotting along the road. From any other angle, they’d see a small red-headed creature running at full tilt behind it.

“I KNOW I SAID I WANTED TO LOSE WEIGHT BUT THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT”

After some time, Eegan caught up with his companion and gave him a good talking to, none of which the horse understood. Astride his (or as he’d correct, not his but “the”) steed, Eegan made it the restov the way to Restov without much trouble, other than a large dragonfly that seemed inclined to make Eegan’s ear his new home.



Upon entrance to the city, the Gnome went to buy supplies (“Stay here and try not to cause trouble. I’ll be- OUCH! DAMN THIS DRAGONFLY!”). Eegan caught many eyes, not only due to his strange hat, bright red hair, and stature, but the strange behavior that he elicited towards every animal he passed. He bid best wishes to birds, curtsied to cats, halted at horses for hellos, and even saluted a snake. It was when he related his regards to a raven that he had quite a start! The creature spoke back!



“Hello, Gnome. Not many people greet me without me speaking first, and then they usually shoo me away. Are you a Wizard? Druid?”



“No, gracious me! It is my pleasure to meet you Monsieur Raven, I am Eegan Fark, Emancipator of Animals, Facilitator of Ferality, The Gnome on the Roam. May I ask, sir Raven, your task in this city?”



“I am delivering a message for my master, a hedge wizard of some renown. He has declined an offer by the Lord of Restov, and I am to relay his refusal.”



“You don’t say, Monsieur Raven, you don’t say. Another animal slave to the whims of a human. If only we-”



“My master’s a half-orc.”



“Whims of a half-human. Don’t interrupt, it’s rude. As I was saying… I don’t know what I was saying. Fark it all. Anyway, what did you say you were here for?”



“I was relaying my master’s refusal to the Lord of Restov in reference to this charter.” 

The Raven released a piece of paper from one of its talons. By this time, the two creatures had gathered quite a following of onlookers. For a gnome to be talking to a bird was out-of-the-ordinary, but for the bird to talk back was unheard of. Several eavesdroppers were questioning their sanity at this point.

Eegan Fark had caught the paper and was reading it voraciously.

“I see. Be it so known… blah blah blah acting upon the greater good and authority vested… exploration and travel in the Greenbelt… strive against banditry AND OTHER UNLAWFUL BEHAVIOR TO BE ENCOUNTERED. By the slythy toves! This is so… so… OPEN TO INTERPRETATION! I have to go! Can I take this?!” The small gnome waved the charter around frantically.



“I suppose so. I don’t really need it. The clerk will know what I’m talking about.”



“EXCELENTI'LLBEOFFTHANKYOU!”

 The gnome sprinted away through the marketplace with what items he had already purchased and threw them into Nelly’s saddlebags. Eegan then closed his eyes tight and concentrated. It was never easy to use his magic, “But once used, it’s quite useful,” he would say. When he opened his eyes, he could hear Nelly’s sigh.



“Can you hear me now, Nelly?”



“Can always hear, can't always listen. What you need?”



“Look at… this!” Eegan rummaged around for the charter and held it in front of the Horse’s face.


“I can’t read, Eegan.”

“Right. No matter. This piece of paper says that we can punish animal slavers all we want as long as we’re south of this Oleg’s Trading Post! This is where we can establish our Animaltopia, where men and beasts can live side-by-side... as equals!” A look of pure bliss overtook Eegan’s face, with tears of pure joy welling up in his eyes. The enthusiastic gnome scurried onto the horse’s back and yelled, “Nelly, WE MUST GO SOUTH!”



“Eegan, which way’s South?”



“We’ll figure that out later! There’s no time to waste! ONWARDS!”

The horse began to trot... West. It was a full hour before a roadside stranger corrected their course towards Oleg's.

Eegan Fark stands at 3’6”, weighing approximately 41 lbs. Under an unusual combination of a stovepipe hat and a coxcomb, he sports a slicked back head of shiny red-orange hair. It isn’t the red hairs that are shiny, though, but the silver strands mixed in which are so reflective. He tends to wear some sort of facial hair at any given time, and at the moment he sports a well-combed van-dyke. The rest of his clothes are relatively flashy, currently a green and purple plaid sport coat and crimson trousers. 



Like most gnomes, Fark appears a little mad to most creatures. His boundless energy and sense of justice are his best qualities. His worst qualities usually stem from his lack of common sense and his tendency to follow his sense of justice too far. Eegan’s biggest defining feature is his politics: he believes every animal should have human rights, that domestication is equivalent to slavery, and that hunting for sport is as bad as mass-murder. As such, he has a tendency to go far outside the rules in order to accomplish his goals of animal emancipation. He also tends to yell. A lot.