Thirteen's page

About Thirteen

__"Thirteen"_by_Johnny Cash (written by Danzig)__
Bad luck wind been blowin' at my back
I was born to bring trouble to wherever I'm at
Got the number 13 tattooed on my neck
When the ink starts to itch
Then the black will turn to red

I was born in the soul of misery
Never had me a name
They just gave me the number when I was young

Got a long line of hearthache
I carry it well
The list of lives I've broken
Reach from here to hell
Bad luck wind been blowin' at my back
I pray you don't look at me
I pray I don't look back

I was born in the soul of misery
Never had me a name
They just gave me the number when I was young

I was born in the soul of misery
Never had me a name
They just gave me the number when I was young"

.

.

. "Like a two-tailed copper, I always turn up."

.

.

Gaunt, scarred, and grim of countenance, the gunslinger known only as "Thirteen" turned to adventuring with the Pathfinder Society mostly because he had nowhere else to go.
Growing up in a slave pit, Thirteen doesn't know where he came from, who his parents were, or even what 'race' he is. The slavers tattooed a number '13' on his neck, which became the only name he's ever known.

In the slave pits, Thirteen was 'adopted' by an older slave, a half-elf called 'Pok'. Pok helped Thirteen survive and kept him out of trouble most of the time, but the boy grew more and more restless and rebellious, traits which earned him most of the scars that cover his skin. Then one day Thirteen pushed things too far, became a little too defiant, and the overseer of the worksite decided he'd had enough. Pok tried to intervene, to pull Thirteen away from the confrontation, but the slaver drew his pistol and fired. Thirteen tried to dodge, and managed to escape with just a graze that took off the tip of his nose, but Pok was standing right behind him, and wasn't as lucky. Seeing the only 'family' he'd ever known gunned down like that, Thirteen saw red and charged the slaver. By the time he calmed down enough to remember anything, he was crouched over the overseer's battered corpse, covered in blood, holding the empty pistol like a club. He grabbed a couple pouches off the body and fled into the wilderness.

Thirteen eventually figured out how to load and use the pistol properly, and spent years on the run, never settling anywhere for fear that he'd be caught and enslaved again. Coming to learn of the Andorans and their association with the Pathfinder Society, Thirteen decided to join since it seemed a good way to stay on the move and provide opportunities to kill some slavers along the way.