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Angel-blooded aasimar (angelkin) oracle 1/paladin (oath against fiends, divine defender) 15 (Pathfinder Player Companion: Blood of Angels 21, Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 42, 116, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 7, Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Magic 60)
LG Medium outsider (native)
Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +12
Aura courage (10 ft.), faith (10 ft.), justice (10 ft.), shared defense (15 ft.)
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Defense
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AC 31, touch 13, flat-footed 28 (+14 armor, +3 Dex, +4 natural)
hp 169 (16 HD; 1d8+15d10+86)
Fort +24, Ref +21, Will +23; +2 vs. [evil], +2 vs. death
Immune disease, fear
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee valor's minion +26/+21/+16 (1d10+15/17-20 plus 2d6 vs. evil)
Ranged +1 adaptive bane greenwood composite longbow +17/+12/+7 (1d8+10/×3 plus 2d6 vs. )
Special Attacks channel positive energy 6/day (DC 23, 8d6), smite evil 5/day (+6 attack and AC, +15 damage)
Paladin Spell-Like Abilities (CL 15th; concentration +21)
. . At will—detect evil
Oracle Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +7)
. . 1st (5/day)—celestial healing, comprehend languages, cure light wounds
. . 0 (at will)—create water, ghost sound (DC 16), light, mage hand, purify food and drink (DC 16), read magic
. . Mystery Battle
Paladin (Oath against Fiends, Divine Defender) Spells Prepared (CL 12th; concentration +18)
. . 4th—crusader's edge (DC 20), sacrificial oath[APG] (DC 20)
. . 3rd—burst of speed[UC], life current (DC 19), shield of wings
. . 2nd—inheritor's smite, protection from outsiders, righteous vigor[APG] (DC 18), shield other
. . 1st—bless, challenge evil[APG] (DC 17), divine favor, fallback strategy, lesser restoration
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Statistics
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Str 26, Dex 10, Con 20, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 22
Base Atk +15; CMB +24; CMD 33
Feats Angelic Blood[ARG], Cornugon Smash, Exotic Weapon Proficiency (bastard sword), Fey Foundling[ISWG], Furious Focus[APG], Improved Critical (bastard sword), Intimidating Prowess, Power Attack
Traits armor expert, omen
Skills Acrobatics -2 (-6 to jump), Diplomacy +10, Fly +1, Heal +8, Intimidate +28, Knowledge (planes) +13 (+15 vs. Devil), Knowledge (religion) +9 (+11 vs. Devil), Perception +12, Ride +2, Sense Motive +6, Spellcraft +4; Racial Modifiers +2 Heal, +2 Knowledge (planes)
Languages Celestial, Common
SQ anchoring aura, divine bond (weapon +4, 3/day), exalted resistance[ARG], holy vessel, lay on hands 13/day (7d6), oracle's curse (haunted), revelation (sidestep secret)
Other Gear angel's wings, +1 adaptive bane greenwood composite longbow, valor's minion[UE], amulet of natural armor +4, belt of physical might +6 (Str, Con), cloak of resistance +4, headband of mental prowess +4 (Wis, Cha), 3,865 gp
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Special Abilities
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Anchoring Aura (DC 23) (Su) At 8th level, a paladin's aura hampers extradimensional travel by evil outsiders. The aura extends 20 feet from the paladin. Evil outsiders attempting to use abilities such as dimension door, plane shift, or teleport to leave or
Angelic Blood +2 saves vs. evil effects, to stabilize while dying, and 1 damage to evil or undead if bleeding.
Aura of Courage +4 (10 ft.) (Su) Allies in aura gain a morale bonus to saves vs. fear.
Aura of Faith (10 ft.) (Su) Attacks vs. foes in range bypass DR as good-aligned. Own attacks always count as good.
Aura of Justice (10 ft.) (Su) As a standard action use 2 smite evil, allies in area gain smite at your bonus for 1 min.
Cornugon Smash When you damage an opponent with a Power Attack, you may make an immediate Intimidate check as a free action to attempt to demoralize your opponent.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Detect Evil (At will) (Sp) You can use detect evil at will (as the spell).
Divine Bond (Weapon +4, 15 mins, 3/day) (Sp) Weapon shines with light and gains enhancement bonuses or chosen properties.
Exalted Resistance (21) You have spell resistance 21 vs. evil spells, or any spell cast by evil outsiders.
Fey Foundling Magical healing works better on you
Furious Focus If you are wielding a weapon in two hands, ignore the penalty for your first attack of each turn.
Haunted Retrieving stored gear is a Standard action or worse, dropped items land 10' away.
Holy Vessel (Su) At 9th level, a paladin whose divine bond is with a weapon can also use her divine bond to augment her armor or shield with enhancement bonuses, or add any of the following armor or shield properties: bashing, fortification, and spel
Immunity to Disease You are immune to diseases.
Immunity to Fear (Ex) You are immune to all fear effects.
Lay on Hands (7d6 hit points, 13/day) (Su) As a standard action (swift on self), touch channels positive energy and applies mercies.
Paladin Channel Positive Energy 8d6 (6/day, DC 23) (Su) Positive energy heals the living and harms the undead; negative has the reverse effect.
Power Attack -4/+8 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.
Shared Defense (6 rounds, 15 ft., +3 AC, immune to bleeding, stabilize) (Su) Lay on hands use: Aura provides AC and other bonuses to allies.
Smite Evil (5/day) (Su) +6 to hit, +15 to damage, +6 deflection bonus to AC when used.

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I am a long time gamer (redbox) that takes gaming seriously. I am an avid poster capable of multiple posts per day, and have been PbP for 3 years now. My lack of activity on the Paizo boards is due to my regular gaming group moving to Myth-Weavers. I will finish Reign of Winter next month - the first 3 books were played on PbP before we went to live gaming. I am currently involved in a Kingmaker game (PbP) that is just over a year old and still going strong. Thank you for your consideration.

Honani, barely able to stand on his chubby toddler legs, looked up at his mom's face. Hehewuti was still in the flower of youth, smooth skin, long luxurious black hair, and the toned physique of one who worked hard every day to stay alive. The other women often whispered behind her back, 'She is not pure Shoanti. Too pale.' 'One day her breasts will sag and no one will like her.'. Yet the young Honani had never seen words bring water to his mother's eyes like today.

He turned his gaze to the man before him, his father, in his clean clothes made from plants. All the other men he knew make their clothes from animals they hunted and killed. He looked at his father's hair, shoulder length and straight like a woman's. All the other men shaved the sides of their head, and pulled their long hair into a braided ponytail, like true warriors of Sklar-Quah, or the Sun Clan as his father referred to them. His father was as different from the other men as a badger was from a hawk.

Then his father spoke the sing-songy language that Honani barely understood. All he knew is that the words made more water run from his mother's eyes. He did not understand the words 'noble sacrifice' 'defend Lastwall', 'demons in the Worldwound' or 'slay orcs from Belkzen' but he knew that his father looked so tall and strong and proud.

His father slowly took his hand off his mother's cheek, kissed her passionately on the lips, then squatted down so that his deep brown eyes were on level with Honani's. "And you my son, you will grow up to accomplish great deeds. You are my son, how could you not?!" he chuckled. "Take care of your mother, work hard, and learn how to use this. It's magical." he unhooked a small sword from his belt. It was encrusted with shiny jewels, and etched along the blade was a beautiful design of dragons and unicorns. It looked the sword of kings.

"Now I am off, dry your tears, save your goodbyes, but remember me forever." Swinging his leg onto his packed horse, he kicked the steed and rode out of the village never looking back. Now the water ran from his mother's eyes like the waters of the Yondabakari River, but Honani never saw. He only had eyes for his new shiny sword.

I will young Honani thought.

------
Two days later

Even though he did not know what was going on, Honani knew something was going on. Instead of the normal hustle and bustle of daily village chores, gathering water, clearing the traps, beating the dust out of clothes, everyone was running to the center of the village. He knew it was not a feast day. He knew there were no large hunting parties due back. Maybe it is a wagon full of goods from Kaer Maga. he thought grandly.

Honani had never seen one, but he had heard the stores. Iron pots and pans, shiny clothes like his father wore, weapons make for kings like the sword strapped to his belt. He followed the mass of Shoanti rushing to the village center. The murmurs of the crowd amplified into a cacophony of indistinguishable sound. In the center Chief Rowtag proudly stood facing a handful of men on horseback. Honani could see those closest to the center listen as the strange men spoke to the chief, then peer at the scroll the strangers unrolled, and turn towards the crowd. First they pointed, then they laughed as they spoke quickly to each other. Honani turned to spy the subject of their mirth only to see his mother looking around wide eyed. Her normally soft expression hardened as a storm cloud of anger washed over her. She elbowed her way through the crowd, pushing those that would not voluntarily shift left or right. Honani ambled forward to meet her.

The men peered at Hehewuti as she approached them. The one holding the scroll presented it to her. "You know this man?" As Honani reached his mother's side, he looked at the scroll only to see a charcoal sketch of his father. Before Hehewuti could answer, Honani piped in, "How do you have a picture of my dad?"

All the men turned to look down at Honani as if seeing the toddler for the first time. "Father?" one man laughed from the back. "Yes father." defended Hehewuti. "That is my husband. Explain your purpose for carrying his likeness."

A pocket of laughter was clearly audible to the nearest Shoanti bystanders. The man holding the sketch responded, "You and every pretty lass in every village from here to Magnimar. Your husband is a thief, wanted for high crimes, and carries a death sentence. You are the eighth, no ninth wife we have met. And not a one without a bastard on her breast or waddling after her, though you are the most comely. His taste seems to have improved the further east he gets. Look boys, this one has the king's sword too. Boy, give me your sword." the man commanded.

Unsure of what to do Honani did nothing.

"Now boy, we have not the time." Still Honani did nothing, as Hehewuti's face shattered into a thousand pieces of sadness.

"Honani, do as the outsider commands." came the venerable Rowtag.

Taking a step forward, Honani looked up at the man on horseback who bent down and unsheathed Honani's king's sword. "Look boys, colored glass, brittle metal, just like all the others. Boy, your father is one of the worst men we have ever met, every word he told you is a lie, and once we find him we will string him up from the nearest tree until he's dead. Let me give you a bit of advice, something a real man should have told you long ago, this is a miserable world, full of cruelty, pain and death. Learn how to be strong so no one can take what is yours. Seems like you have many able warriors in your tribe. Best learn all you can. And when you have the desire to follow in your father's footsteps and break the law, don't, or I will find you and string you up too.

"Chief Rowtag, water and feed for our horses, point us in the direction that scum went, and we shall compensate you justly. We hold no animosity for you, your tribe, or the Shoanti people." By the time the man finished demanding, many of the warriors of Sklar-Quah had approached. Hearing the tone in which Chief Rowtag was spoken to, hands reached for weapons as the warriors shifted from one foot to another.

"You have pretty picture and good tale, but what proof this man do what you claim?" asked the chief.

Exchanging glances with each other, the lead man turned once again addressed Chief Rowtag. "I know not what weight you give this, but here is a writ for his arrest and punishment from the sheriff of a dozen settlements, as well the court of Magnimar. Will that suffice?" unbuckling his saddle bag, the man pulled a leather attache out.

"Hmmph." groaned Chief Rowtag. "Papers mean more to you than us. But Chief Rowtag can read. Surprise you?" he queried as he grabbed and scanned the documents.

"Not all." lied the man.

"Hmmph." groaned Chief Rowtag again. "You know this, Hehewuti?" the chief questioned the forgotten woman.

"Chief. No. You know Hehewuti feelings. You know her devotion. You know she good wife and good Sklar-Quah."

"Hmmph." he groaned for the third time. Fixing Honani with a knowing look, the chief handed the papers back to the men. "You." the chief addressed a warrior standing near. "Take care of horses. You, get food for travel. You, get pony." as soon as it was said one, two, three Shoanti turned to finish the task assigned. Once more addressing the men on horseback, "You Chelaxian. No Varisian. Papers made up, but much truth in what you say. Boy's father guilty of many crimes. Him no honor. You take boy, Honani. He watch what you do to father. Then you bring boy back. Boy then be true Shoanti, true Sklar-Quah. You never come back." He points his finger at the mounted men. At the chief's deceleration Hehewuti turned to speak, and stepped forward to grab Honani her son. "HOLD, Hehewuti. You good mother. Try to do best. But you fooled by man. Must be done."

Hehewuti seemed to shirk with every word. The mounted men listened to the Chief, careful not to make any threatening movements or gestures, but clearly they did not like what the chief had to say. "Chief, come now. You know how dangerous it is out there. You sure you want us to take the boy? We can't be responsible for what could happen to him."

"No, you responsible for him. Him no come back, we find you. Make what you want to do to boy's father seem like good quick death." Every Sklar-Quah warrior hooted in agreement.

"Very well chief. We ride within the hour. Can you ride boy?" The men stared at Honani.

Face an unreadable mask, the boy just nodded.

The mounted man swung the king's sword, Honani's most precious possession, the sword his father had given him, against his shield. The brittle steel cracked into scores of tiny metal shards. The gems Honani thought so precious crumpled into colored dust. Honani just looked on, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

---------
Eight days later

Pain. Placing both hands on the worn leather saddle, Honani pushed himself up a few inches to relieve the pain in his buttocks. No matter how he shifted, how he moved, it was pain everywhere. The inside of his thighs were raw, he had slept poorly with these new men, uncomfortable without the familiarity of his mother's smell and the sounds of the village. But he would be dammed if he showed any weakness in front of them.

Accustomed to long stretches with little food, they youth broke his fast on some dried meat and nuts while they rode. The men laughed and joked and generally had a gay time in their pursuit of his father. They sang songs, retold tale upon tale of their glory years, so much so that Honani felt he could recite them verbatim. It was an odd sensation to feel so sad in the company of such mirth. It was an emotion that he long remembered.

It came as a shock that as they descended the latest rise in the sea of tall grass that they saw a lone man on horseback in the distance. All thought of pain, all jokes died on the tellers' lips, as they kicked their horses' sides and galloped down the hill. Dirt colds flew to their apex, hovered for a second then plummeted to the ground as the horses ate up the distance. Honani gripped the reins as hard as he could, thinking each moment would be his last if he relaxed his grip a fraction. He was sure he would fly to his death. Somehow, some way he managed to bounce his way up and down into a rhythmic pattern and mostly kept up with the gang of men. All thoughts they had for the youth evaporated as a drop of water in the Osirion desert. Revenged burned deep with in them.

The longer strides of the horses quickly outpaced Honani's pony, and even though he rode as well as most men he quickly trailed even the dust storm of the horses. His mind a flutter, Honani had not given a thought to what would happen if they actually caught his father. Would he be able to speak to him? What would his father say? Maybe his father, the great warrior that he is, would cut down these men bent upon apprehending him. Seeing his son would remind his dad of all the wonderful times he and his mother had. His dad would scoop him in his arms and they would ride back to the village.

These pleasant daydreams could not distract the physical pain he felt nor the emotional turmoil that rippled through him. It was only moments but felt a lifetime before Honani caught up to the group of men. They had his father surrounded and were hurtling insults as his father backed away from them. Pushing himself off the ground, his father scuttled backwards like a crab with arms outstretched behind him shaking his head vigorously. All Honani could understand his father say in their sing-songy language was "NO NO NO"

The men laughed as their circle tightened around Honani's father. One made as if to rush in, and his father kicked a leg into open air as the man pulled back in the nick of time. But the men behind him jumped on him, pinning his arms to the ground, while the other secured his legs. The leader of the group walked up to Honani's father, smiling like a cat with a bowl full of cream, and kicked his father across the jaw, spraying a trail of blood and broken teeth. The men guffawed loudly as the ones pinning him pressed down even harder.

"Didn't think you'd ever see us again, did you? Thought you just steal from us, and we'd let you go? Fool! Maybe if you hadn't left a trail of bastards brighter then a will-o'-wisp in the swamp it might have made it a bit harder." the leader began to taunt. "But that is you, isn't it? Always one for the easy, pleasurable route. No hard work, no sacrifice. Just as easy and as profitable as you can make it. Doesn't matter who or what, just as long as you come out ahead. Well today is the day. The day you pay for what you done, for the work you should have put in, the pain you caused." the others shook their heads in agreement.

His father opened up his ruined mouth, "Don't! Don't you dare talk to me like you are some sort of holier than thou cleric of Sarenrae. You did just as bad as me, if not worse. I won't stand for you talking to me like that."

"Right!" the leader laughed. "You won't be standing at all. Turn him over boys."

The seconds passed like hours, the minutes days, the hours a life time. All that was left of his father was an unrecognizable bloody mess. Animals that had been field dressed looked better. As the slow, almost unnoticeable rise and fall of his father's chest finally stopped, Honani couldn't stop staring at him. Thinking of him and the experiences they shared. His father's bright smile, the way his parents looked at each other, the anger in his eyes when Honani did wrong. There was a finality to life that Honani didn't comprehend yet, but in time would be ever present. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many questions he never knew he would have, so much lost. And why? What had his father done that warranted this?

One of the men, they all looked alike to Honani, waked up to him cleaning his blade that he used so expertly on Honani's father. "Boy, this is a day you'll never forget. I hate that you had to be a part of it, but your chief said so and we ain't gonna fight your whole tribe. Your dad was a bad man, and got what he deserved. You don't know it but this was for the best. You ever grow up, and need, I mean really need like you can't sleep at night 'cause this is all you see, all you dream about, you come see me in Sandpoint. Most days you can find me near the the glassworks. Pappy was a glass blower and I live nears there. Just ask for me by name, Ratan Besom. Now come on, we best be leaving before the scavengers come in. Pack o' wild dogs come in and we might be joining him." The man put a hand on Honani's shoulder and walked him to his pony. Not for the last time, Honani was the recipient of tutelage from a would be adoptive father, a stand in, a foster parent, but never his real father. Never again.

-----------------------------------------------
Fifteen years later

The long, lithe youth vaulted from the horses back and dropped the stag to the ground. Standing just over six feet, the youth was as rippled with muscle as a young lion. His long braided black hair reached the midpoint of his back, while the sides where shaved almost down to the scalp in Shoanti fashion. "Food for weeks mother. Dress this animal while I bathe please." Opening the pouch draped across his horse's back, he drew fresh breeches and a cake of soap before heading towards the river. He never looked twice at his mother. Once a great beauty, time had not been kind to Hehewuti. After the disgrace of being duped by an outsider, a criminal no less, no man would touch her. Her sorrow at losing her husband, the ghosts in her sons eyes as he withdrew from her on his path to manhood, had isolated her more severely than any of the gossipy women could. "Yes son." was her only dejected answer.

At the river Honani stripped naked and waded waist deep in the water, washing the blood and dirt of a long hunt. The dirt spread along the surface of the calm water like the roar of an elephant. Emerging dripping wet, his mind flashed back to his father, and the hunt to kill him. Honani had been accepted into the warrior caste, had proven himself an adept hunter, a skilled warrior, and a natural leader of men. No matter his dubious lineage, the Shoanti were a pragmatic peoples, and they recognized the potential in Honani. Though skilled, his introverted sensibilities prevented him form the close comradarie of the other warriors. Well liked, he could count his friends on one hand and needed nary a finger to count his close friends. He knew that his time with the Sklar-Quah was nearing an end, yet he wondered if he had the courage to leave. It was one thing to desire a change, it was another to actually place all your belongings in a bag and leave what you have always known for something you only dreamed about.

As he exited the water and began to dry the rivulets of water streaming down his body near his cast off gear, he heard a soft rustling in the tall grasses. Rowtag emerged from the swaying stems with his normal contingent of warrior-leaders. Honani sheathed his hunting knife and bowed his head in respect. "Chief Rowtag, may the sun shine on your days."

"And let the moon set when your all your deeds have been sung." came the standard answer. "Honani, it is time. You hunt well, fight well, make friends poorly, and have not yet found a mate. You must leave the Sklar-Quah. You may go where you heart wants to, though I'd advise you to avoid the Skoan-Quah." a murmur of approval could be heard from the warriors behind Rowtag. "You are today, and truly have always been Sklar-Quah. No matters your father's crimes, or your mother's passions, you are true Shoanti. If you leave and find the world is not what you think, if you miss the stories by the fire and the simple life we lead, you can come back. For you are always Sklar-Quah."

[b]"SKLAR-QUAH" came the roar from the warrior-leaders with Rowtag.

Standing silently, Honani looks at each warriors in turn impassively, searching for any signs of emotion in their eyes. Seeing none, he responded "Sklar-quah." Thank you for what you have done. Accepting me. For making this my home. For teaching me." the you man ends as abruptly as he started. A long, tense time goes by as both parties look upon each other, neither flinching, neither blinking before Rowtag and his contingent depart. Honani quickly dressed and made his way back to the village.

On his return trip, Honani took the time to noticed the unnoticed everyday around him. The rock he used to turn over to find worms for fishing, the trail he used to stalk deer as they moved towards the salt lick. Growing up in such a small world cataloged his short lifetime of memories. There was scarcely a direction he could look with reminiscing. The village appeared before him as his mind shill reeled in the past. He knew what must be done but did not know if he possessed the courage to do so. His soft foot pad falls obscured his approach.

Hehewuti was still hanging strips of flesh over the small cook-fire, drying strips into jerky. As she turned to greet her son, one look at his face and she knew. Just like when his father left them, he knew this would be one more dagger to his mother's heart that she would not recover from. "When." was all she said in her mousey voice.

"Tomorrow." She nodded at her son's answer.

"Where?"

"I don't know." came Honani's flat response.

"Really, you don't know? How will you know what to pack, what to bring, and what to leave behind?" the worry creeping into her mother voice. Not matter how old, or how strong, he was and will always be that helpless pink babe suckling on her breast.

"Sandpoint."

The look of confusion spread across her face. Her eyes downcast, she shook her head back and forth, "Why Sandpoint?" she looked up and at him, trying to read something, anything really at this new and unexpected news.

"Ask no question you don't want the answer to. If it is important to you, then I will tell you. But I warn you, if it is not really important, you should be wary of the answer." came his unemotional response.

Eyes widening she looked closer at him, still reading nothing. "You cannot say that. By saying that you doom me to ask, and know, or forever wonder 'What if?'. I do not think that I can live with the 'what if', but I have seen many perils in my life. I feel it is better to know, than not know. Tell me." this time she moved forward a step but made no movement to reach out to him.

"Justice. I seek an answer to the question of why my father was killed, to know what his crimes were, and if the punishment fit the crime." he spoke matter-of-factly.

"And why do you think Sandpoint will yield these answers?"

"Because they do. I was told they do by the people that killed him."

Hehewuti reeled back as if she had been slapped. "You dare speak of him, of that. I told you we would never speak of it. Why have you chosen to disobey me as you leave my house and abandon me? Have you no love left for me? For anyone? I thought that I raised you to care for me, to love me as a mother. Did your warrior friends not tell you the same, show you how they care for their family?"

Slowly shaking his head, Honani was also slow to respond. "Yes to all of your questions. And I will speak no further on this matter. What I do I do for love of you. With respect mother, for what you have done for me, I ask you once more to care for your son. Please gather what provisions we have, I depart on the sunrise."

"Then this conversation is over. There is much I wish we had talked about, what you know about your father, but that life is over. I pray to Desna that your road is safe, and the answers to your questions shall make you whole." Hehewuti took another step closer towards Honani.

Stepping towards her one hand raised, palm facing Hehewuti. "Stop. I cannot say goodbye to you. Not yet. One more night we shall spend as mother and son. And I shall cherish every second."

---------------------
The next morning Honani unwrapped his mother from their last embrace, nodded to Rowtag and his warriors, and mounted his horse that was tethered to a pack animal with his weapons, survival gear, and scant provisions. "Thank you, Sklar-quah."

"SKLAR-QUAH" came the roar from the assembled tribe.

Honani kicked the mare and rode as far away as he could.

-------------------------------------
Three months later

Honani could just make out the ruined lighthouse as he approached Sandpoint. After trekking though the wilds of Varisia he was looking forward to some basic creature comforts. But the thought of answers to those questions, those questions after all these years, he could not wait another second.

After passing through the gates, and asking a local or two for directions, he pointed his mare right towards the Glassworks. He passed through the crowd like a shark skimming through water until he found the large stone-building. Gratefully there were no large plumes of smoke come out of the massive furnace chimney.

He found the doorway to the apartments above. He knocked on the first door. A man came to the door, dirty from the days work, he looked Honani up and down. "Wadda ya want?"

"Ratan Besom." came the Shoanti's reply.

"Third door on the right." the man spoke before quickly closing his door and locking it.

Honani smirked to himself and he went to the third door down, and knocked. Once the door opened, Honani immediately recognized Ratan Besom, albeit much aged. "Knew you'd come one day. We talking or fighting?"

"Talking first. Depends on what you have to say after that."

"Drink? I'm having one or five."

"No." Honani pushed his way into the man's scarcely furnished apartment. Ratan was pouring a smoky liquid into a dirty mug.

"So what do you want to know?" Ratan started.

"Everything." came Honani's detached answer.

"Who doesn't? Ratan responded. "No going back now. So we were young, and dumb, and it all began ...."

Many hours later, Honani stepped out into the moonlight of Sandpoint. It would be days before anyone even cared that Ratan Besom had gone missing, and more days before anyone would bother to ask any questions. Honani planned to be well away by then.

"Now it is time to live." the young man declared. And smiled for the first time in memory.

Depending on how things go, I am thinking about dipping into Barbarian for Rage to showcase his inner anger.

Honani
Human (Shoanti) fighter 1
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2; Senses Perception +1
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+4 armor, +2 Dex, +2 shield)
hp 13 (1d10+3)
Fort +4, Ref +3, Will +0; +1 trait bonus vs. fear
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee glaive-guisarme +4 (1d10+6/×3) or
. . klar +5 (1d6+4) or
. . spiked gauntlet +5 (1d4+4)
Ranged shoanti bola +3 (1d4+4) or
. . shortbow +3 (1d6/×3)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with glaive-guisarme)
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Statistics
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Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17
Feats Combat Reflexes, Shield Brace, Shield Focus
Traits shoanti tattoo, totem spirit - sklar-quah (sun clan), vengeful
Skills Acrobatics +1, Climb +5, Craft (traps) +2, Diplomacy +0 (-2 vs. creatures of a different race or culture), Handle Animal +4, Intimidate +4, Perception +1, Sense Motive +0 (-2 vs. creatures of a different race or culture)
Languages Common, Shoanti
SQ xenophobic
Other Gear lamellar (leather) armor[UC], arrows (20), glaive-guisarme[APG], klar[UE], shoanti bola[ISWG], shortbow, spiked gauntlet, trapmaking tools, 11 gp
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Special Abilities
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Combat Reflexes (3 AoO/round) Can make extra attacks of opportunity/rd, and even when flat-footed.
Shield Brace Can use 2 handed spear/polearm with shield, but take the ACP of shield as pen to attack.
Xenophobic -2 diplomacy and sense motive vs. those of a different race or culture

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.

BACKSTORY
M. Mistoffelees, summoner extraordinaire. Son of the infamous duo Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer. Mistoffelees spent the better part of his youth traveling Golarion with his parents, yet the happiest times he could remember were the times he wandered on his own. For some reason during the solitude of these excursions he always seemed drawn to the trees. Tall trees, short trees, fruit trees, pine trees, it made no difference. He would walk up to any tree, encircle his arms about them, use his claws to climb them, and take a short nap in them. He made friends with the elves in the Mierani Forest, the werewolves of the Ashwood, the Shoanti Shriikirri-Quah of the Churlwood, and even the gnomes of the Sanos Forest.

Reaching maturity, his parents encouraged him to strike out on his own and find his way in the world. Blessed with innate magics, he shunned the more popular Acadamae for the The Twilight Academy. There Mistoffelees mastered the art of conjuration, eventually forming a bond with his Eidolon, Skimbleshanks, or Skimble as Mistoffelees liked to call it. Believed that he was blessed by Densa with this traveling companion, Mistoffelees can also be seen offering homage to Erastil. Mistoffelees believes it is because of this that he seems to only be able to conjure natural beasts.

By a series of unfortunate consequences, Mistoffelees found himself on the Shackles. Looking for any means necessary to get out of the pirate isles, he couldn't be happier to be on the Jenivere bound for Sargava. Once there Mistoffelees for sure will head south towards the Laughing Jungle. Maybe stay on the coast and check out the Kaava Lands. Probably the Laughing Jungle. He thinks.

CRUNCH
M. Mistoffelees
Male catfolk unchained summoner 1 (naturalist) (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Class Guide 123, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 3 47, Pathfinder Unchained 25)
CG Medium humanoid (catfolk)
Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +3
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Defense
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AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +2 Dex)
hp 11 (1d8+3)
Fort +3, Ref +2, Will +2
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft., climb 20 ft.
Melee longspear +0 (1d8/×3)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with longspear)
Summoner (Unchained, Naturalist) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +4)
. . 1st (2/day)—long arm[ACG], shield
. . 0 (at will)—detect magic, guidance, light, read magic
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Statistics
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Str 11, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 11, Cha 17
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 12
Feats Spell Focus (conjuration)
Traits boarded in the shackles, tactician
Skills Climb +7, Perception +3, Spellcraft +5, Stealth +3, Survival +2 (+4 to get along in the wild, endure severe weather, avoid getting lost, spot natural hazards, and predict weather), Use Magic Device +7; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception, +2 Stealth, +2 Survival
Languages Catfolk, Common, Elven
SQ cat's luck, eidolon (unchained), life link
Combat Gear alchemist's fire; Other Gear studded leather, longspear, backpack, basic maps (major landmarks only), bedroll, belt pouch, flint and steel, knife, utility (0.5 lb), mess kit[UE], pot, soap, spell component pouch, torch (10), trail rations (5), waterskin (2), waterskin, 8 gp, 2 sp
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Special Abilities
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Cat's Luck (1/day) (Ex) Can roll 2d20 for a Reflex save and take better result.
Climb (20 feet) You have a Climb speed.
Eidolon (Unchained) Can summon a powerful aspect of an outsider.
Life Link (Su) Damage that dismisses Eidolon can be taken by you. It weakens if not in 100 ft.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Spell Focus (Conjuration) Spells from one school of magic have +1 to their save DC.

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

Skimbleshanks
Quadruped
NG Medium outsider (agathion)
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +4
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +2 natural)
hp 6 (1d10+1)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +0; +4 bonus vs. poison, +4 bonus vs. petrification
Resist electricity 5
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Offense
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Speed 40 ft.
Melee bite +1 (1d6+3), 2 claws +1 (1d4+3)
--------------------
Statistics
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Str 13, Dex 14, Con 13, Int 7, Wis 10, Cha 11
Base Atk +1; CMB +1; CMD 14
Feats Power Attack
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+6 to jump), Climb +5, Perception +4, Stealth +6, Survival +4
Languages Common
SQ agathion save bonus
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Special Abilities
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Agathion Save Bonus +4 to save vs. poison and petrification.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Energy Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Energy Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.

BACKSTORY
Munkustrap of the River. The Yondabakari River. The largest and most heavily traveled in all of Varisia, Munkustrap grew up in the swamp of the Mushfens watching rafts float on by. From a young age Munkustrap loved the weighted feel of a knife hilt in his hand, tossing blade over hilt, snatching it in midair, spinning it across his knuckles, and sheathing it up his sleeve. Working for a time on the docks, he quickly grew bored of the hard work and monotony of loading and unloading.

Leaving the on the first boat he could, he sailed the remaining length of the Yondabakari to the Varisian Gulf. Once out to sea, bound for the Shackles, Munkustrap realized the vast difference between a river voyage, and an open sea voyage. The voyage caused new heights of boredom to drive Munkustrap crazy. He longed for the old, carefree days of his youth. Eventually reaching the Shackles, a man who was good with a knife would never go unwanted. Roaming with various toughs and gangs, a series of unfortunate events make a quick egress aboard the Jenivere almost a necessity. He looks eagerly towards new adventures in the relatively untamed expanse that is Sargava. Why, he was practically destined to join the The Rivermen's Guild based in Port Freedom. What could go wrong?

CRUNCH
Munkustrap
Catfolk unchained rogue 1 (Knife Master, Scout) (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 134, Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 3 47, Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 72, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
CG Medium humanoid (catfolk)
Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +6
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Defense
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AC 16, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +0
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +2 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . dagger +2 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20) or
. . dagger +4 (1d4+1/19-20)
Ranged shortbow +4 (1d6/×3)
Special Attacks sneak attack (unchained) +1d6
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Statistics
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Str 10, Dex 18, Con 13, Int 12, Wis 11, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 14
Feats Two-weapon Fighting, Weapon Finesse
Traits boarded in the shackles, river rat (marsh or river)
Skills Acrobatics +8, Climb +4, Disable Device +10, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (local) +5, Perception +6, Sense Motive +4, Sleight of Hand +8 (+8 to conceal a light blade), Stealth +10, Survival +2, Swim +1; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception, +2 Stealth, +2 Survival
Languages Catfolk, Common, Elven
SQ cat's luck, hidden blade, sprinter
Other Gear leather armor, arrows (20), dagger, dagger, dagger, dagger, dagger, dagger, shortbow, backpack, bedroll, earplugs[APG], flint and steel, hemp rope (50 ft.), masterwork thieves' tools, trail rations (5), waterskin (2), wrist sheath, spring loaded, wrist sheath, spring loaded, 68 gp, 3 sp, 7 cp
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Special Abilities
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Cat's Luck (1/day) (Ex) Can roll 2d20 for a Reflex save and take better result.
Hidden Blade +0 bonus on Sleight of Hand checks to conceal a light blade.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +1d8/+1d4 +1d8 damage with a dagger-like weapon if you flank your target or your target is flat-footed.
Sprinter (Ex) +10 ft to speed when charge, run, or withdraw.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.

Books: arcana of Trithemius' Poligraphia, Giambattista Porta's De Furtivis Literarum Notis, De Vigenere's Traité des Chiffres, Falconer's Cryptomenysis Patefacta, Davys' and Thicknesse's Eighteenth Century treatises, and such fairly modern authorities as Blair, von Marten, and Klüber's Kryptographik, Von Junzt's Nameless Cults, Hermes Trismegistus in Mesnard’s edition, the Turba Philosophorum, Geber’s Liber Investigationis, and Artephius’ Key of Wisdom all were there; with the cabbalistic Zohar, Peter Jammy’s set of Albertus Magnus, Raymond Lully’s Ars Magna et Ultima in Zetzner’s edition, Roger Bacon’s Thesaurus Chemicus, Fludd’s Clavis Alchimiae, and Trithemius’ De Lapide Philosophico crowding them close. Mediaeval Jews and Arabs were represented in profusion, Atlantis and the Lost Lemuria by W. Scott-Elliot, Frazer’s Golden Bough and Miss Murray’s Witch-Cult in Western Europeare , the infamously quoted Borellus

Dreaded Necronomicon ( Qanoon-e-Islam) of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred
Dæmonolatreia of Remigius

The curious manuscript record or diary of Wilbur Whateley, delivered to Miskatonic University

* Editor’s Note Re Lore Master Ability: The designer of this archetype has clarified that the entry is intended as a modification to the normal lore master bard ability, not a replacement for it. The intent of the ability is that the Archivist retains all other aspects of the lore master ability. This is not yet official errata, but GMs are encouraged to use the ability as it was intended by the designer.

Guiscard
Human bard (archivist) 1 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Player's Guide 80)
N Medium humanoid (human)
Init +1; Senses Perception +0
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +1 Dex)
hp 10 (1d8+2)
Fort +2, Ref +3, Will +2
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee light mace +2 (1d6+2) or
longspear +2 (1d8+3/×3)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with longspear)
Special Attacks bardic performance 8 rounds/day (countersong, distraction, fascinate [DC 14], naturalist)
Bard (Archivist) Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +5)
1st (2/day)—grease, silent image (DC 15)
0 (at will)—detect magic, light, message, read magic
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 12, Con 14, Int 15, Wis 10, Cha 18
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 13
Feats Arcane Strike
Traits touched by divinity, vagabond child (urban)
Skills Disable Device +5, Knowledge (arcana) +7, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +7, Knowledge (engineering) +3, Knowledge (geography) +3, Knowledge (history) +3, Knowledge (local) +7, Knowledge (nature) +7, Knowledge (nobility) +3, Knowledge (planes) +7, Knowledge (religion) +7, Perform (dance) +8, Use Magic Device +8
Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven
SQ bardic knowledge +1
Other Gear studded leather, light mace, longspear, backpack, thieves' tools, wrist sheath, spring loaded (2), 28 gp
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Special Abilities
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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.
Bardic Knowledge +1 (Ex) Add +1 to all knowledge skill checks.
Bardic Performance (standard action, 8 rounds/day) Your performances can create magical effects.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Inc.®, and are used under license.

Fire. Smoke. Screams.
Then a voice, soft, tender, sad. A kiss. The wetness of a tear.
Nothing. Silence.

As Guiscard rose from the plush bed throwing the covers to the side, he quickly crossed the room to the basin where he washed the sleep from his face. Always the same. Always just a taste. These were his earliest memories, all sensations rather than visualizations, dreams, visions of the past.

He turned from the washbasin and quickly pulled back his well-constructed chair, only deepening the rivulets in the plush carpet. Dipping his sharpened quill, he opened the weather worn journal. Flipping through the earliest entries, scrawled in the hand of youth, he reread the familiar pages and fought to remember the events from long ago as clear and precise as when he had when he lived him. He had lived too long, become too jaded to perceive events as he once did.

The earliest pages detailed that fleeting journey from Galt his parents had undertaken. He was barely old enough to string two words together, and now as a man grown he fought to stay the memory decay of events from long ago. He remembered a vague impression of his parents standing over him, broken and sad. The terror in his parents' faces, the sounds of barking dogs approaching, screams of pain. With the dream fresh in his mind, he could not fight the melancholy that covered him like a warm, familiar blanket. Another revolution in that broken nation, and for what? What petty lord gained power, and which lost their life that fateful day will always remain a mystery to him. Though the certainty of his parents death, whomever they were, served as another drop in the ocean of that backward nation's role call to death.

For days after he wandered the forests alone, burnt, starving, hungry, crying. A wonder he did not succumb to the predators of the forest. Then salvation. The rescue by the Grey Gardeners was as unreal as his abandonment by his parents. Large men, harsh words, and a quick pace on the back of some man that smell worse than a pig pen. He was quickly deposited with another large mass of humanity as they fled that war torn land.

He remembered multiple women, each taking turns feeding the small pod of toddlers he sat in the cart with. Hours rolled into days, and weeks before finally being deposited with a family in Yanmass. There he served his new family with devotion and pride. The family quickly grew to care for him, almost as one of their own and he had the opportunity to study with other children: lore, weapon forms, galas. Alas his late start proved too insurmountable to master the varied forms of the training grounds. But book study he took to like a bird to flight. It was there that the family discovered his uncanny ability to document events with incredible detail.

He was sent to the Temple of Milani for study. The temple acolytes worked with him to understand the holy texts, to read the histories, to learn from their mistakes in order to not repeat them. This mantra help reinforce his already copious note taking, hoping to gain some unearthed knowledge.

His foster family expanded the horizons of their protegee, and by default, Guiscard. Blessed with monetary wealth and influence, each season they would travel to a different locale to inundate themselves in a different culture. From the monkey temples of the Mwangi Expanse, to the pyramids of Osirion, to the cold holds of the Land of the Linnorm Kings. But as he knew all too well, all good things must come to an end.

He flipped to the day he left Yanmass as a youth freed from servitude. So began his quest to find what he had lost, to replace it with something, something he had yet to find. Since then few pages were filled with more than a fleeting sentence or two.

Now in Kenebras, he hoped to find answers to questions he had only begun to ask himself.

He ran a hand over his clean-shaven palate. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. But that changes nothing. The history of Guiscard the Scribe had yet to be written.

Well because I am cool and fun to hang with. At least that is what my mom says about me :).

Honestly, I have been gaming since the D&D Red Box, played numerous iterations of it since then, Pathfinder for 3+ years, mostly PbP, GMed a lot, and I have applied to get into a WoR game 3 times unsuccessfully. (do you feel bad for me yet?).

I am a consistent, reliable poster with decent role-playing abilities. Regardless, thank you for the time and effort you already put into the game, and should you choose me or not, I wish you success.