About Tiarsus Kelquinal
Half-Elf Cleric of Abadar 1st
Dagger: +2 ; 1d4+1 @ 19-20x2 ; 20'
Traits:Exchange Agent (Survival): Survival is a class skill, +1 Survival
Eyes and Ears of the City: Perception is a class skill, +1 Perception
Skills: (6/level + 3 ; 4 Cleric + 1 background + 1 INT) ; 3 bonus background skill points at first level.
Non-standard Skill Modifiers:
Domains: Protection(Defense) and Travel
Protection(Defense) Powers: You receive a +1 resistance bonus on saving throws. This bonus increases by 1 for every 5 levels you possess.
Deflection Aura (Su): Once each day, you can emit a 20-foot aura for a number of rounds equal to your cleric level. Allies within the aura gain a +2 deflection bonus to AC and combat maneuver defense.
Travel Powers: You are an explorer and find enlightenment in the simple joy of travel, be it by foot or conveyance or magic. Increase your base speed by 10 feet.
Agile Feet (Su): As a free action, you can gain increased mobility for 1 round. For the next round, you ignore all difficult terrain and do not take any penalties for moving through it. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Wisdom modifier.
Dimensional Hop (Sp): At 8th level, you can teleport up to 10 feet per cleric level per day as a move action. This teleportation must be used in 5-foot increments and such movement does not provoke attacks of opportunity. You must have line of sight to your destination to use this ability. You can bring other willing creatures with you, but you must expend an equal amount of distance for each creature brought.
Channel Energy (Su):
Channel Energy: A good cleric (or a neutral cleric who worships a good deity) channels positive energy and can choose to deal damage to undead creatures or to heal living creatures. An evil cleric (or a neutral cleric who worships an evil deity) channels negative energy and can choose to deal damage to living creatures or to heal undead creatures. A neutral cleric of a neutral deity (or one who is not devoted to a particular deity) must choose whether she channels positive or negative energy. Once this choice is made, it cannot be reversed. This decision also determines whether the cleric can cast spontaneous cure or inflict spells (see spontaneous casting).
Channeling energy causes a burst that affects all creatures of one type (either undead or living) in a 30-foot radius centered on the cleric. The amount of damage dealt or healed is equal to 1d6 points of damage plus 1d6 points of damage for every two cleric levels beyond 1st (2d6 at 3rd, 3d6 at 5th, and so on). Creatures that take damage from channeled energy receive a Will save to halve the damage. The DC of this save is equal to 10 + 1/2 the cleric’s level + the cleric’s Charisma modifier. Creatures healed by channel energy cannot exceed their maximum hit point total—all excess healing is lost. A cleric may channel energy a number of times per day equal to 3 + her Charisma modifier. This is a standard action that does not provoke an attack of opportunity. A cleric can choose whether or not to include herself in this effect.
A cleric must be able to present her holy symbol to use this ability.
A good cleric (or a neutral cleric of a good deity) can channel stored spell energy into healing spells that she did not prepare ahead of time. The cleric can “lose” any prepared spell that is not an orison or domain spell in order to cast any cure spell of the same spell level or lower (a cure spell is any spell with “cure” in its name).
An evil cleric (or a neutral cleric of an evil deity) can’t convert prepared spells to cure spells but can convert them to inflict spells (an inflict spell is one with “inflict” in its name).
A cleric who is neither good nor evil and whose deity is neither good nor evil can convert spells to either cure spells or inflict spells (player’s choice). Once the player makes this choice, it cannot be reversed. This choice also determines whether the cleric channels positive or negative energy (see channel energy).
Elven Immunities: Half-elves are immune to magic sleep effects and gain a +2 racial saving throw bonus against enchantment spells and effects.
Keen Senses: Half-elves receive a +2 racial bonus on Perception checks.
Low-Light Vision: Half-elves can see twice as far as humans in conditions of dim light.
Fey Thoughts: Bluff and Use Magic Device are class skills
Elf Blood: Half-elves count as both elves and humans for any effect related to race.
Skill Focus: (Perception)
Current Encumbrance: 53 lb. ; light
14 strength yields:
Light Load: <= 58 lb.
May push/drag 5x maximum load: 875 lb.
0 pp, 2 gp, 9 sp, 10 cp
Background: A Rough Beginning:
Lastwall – a realm of struggle and survival. In the constant struggle with the hoards from Belkzen, generations of soldiers, slaves, children, clergy, hopeful, and hopeless perish. A fortunate few survive, their mettle tested by the powers above or below. These choice candidates may remain among the living, but their scars endure. For many, these are physical. For Tiarsus Kelquinal, they run deeper.
On the other side of Lake Encarthan, Tiarsus’ parents had a stable living in Greengold. Kyonin was a far cry from the militarization Tiarsus would later become accustomed to, yet his memories of the monarchy were brief for he departed as a child; skilled entrepreneurs, his parents had a 6th sense for coin, and they sensed a burgeoning opportunity in the conflict. Some caravans of basic supplies – cloth, iron, flour, and such – had gone missing in the audacious defense of Lastwall. The size of this deficit was so substantial the defenders had reached-out to additional supplies and were willing to pay a premium in gold beyond what one could normally fetch. His elf and half-elf mother and father, Caerthynna and Navarre, decided they would invest their considerable capital in this operation, paying-off any competitors in the realm. An adolescent, it was agreed Tiarsus would accompany his father with a contingent of supplies, some from Greengold, some from a convoy to join them from Druma. His mother, the conduit of old money in the family, would stay to maintain contacts and forge new opportunities.
That rendezvous never occurred; a band of orcs ambushed them from the coastline one evening. Their numbers and alacrity outpaced their wizards’ potency, and even his father’s skilled marksmanship proved futile. Tiarsus watched as the throats of most of the group’s survivors were slit after questioning. Only two were kept alive: himself and an elven swordswoman, Ariawyn. Though Tiarsus could barely focus on details after he watched his father die, before his slaughter, he noticed the band of orcs was more brutal with the mages than the warriors. It was the first time he’d been glad to have done poorly in his arcanist’s trainings; his disappointed parents had pushed him into the clergy instead, so he didn’t have any spellbooks to condemn himself, and his component pouch wasn’t on his person at the time. Despite some rough treatment, the orcs mistook the holy symbol on his necklace as a trinket, and when his father indicated his son’s link to the wealthy Kelquinal family, the orcs must have seen the boy as a valuable hostage. The pair of prisoners and what wealth the surviving orcs could purloin were whisked back to the primitive boats by which they’d arrived.
From what he could orienteer, Tiarsus was being taken West. He didn’t speak the Orcs’ tongue though, so he gathered little else. A scant few half-orcs were among the group and would rarely speak to them for necessities. One such mixed-blood – Dakgorim – didn’t seem as much of a warrior as the rest. Tiarsus didn’t remember him in the assault, and his eyes seemed to avoid the prisoners. Is that … remorse? While most of the rest of the group had blood on their weapons, apparently keeping it as a symbol of pride, Dakgorim’s daggers were clean. Like most of his half-breed, Tiarsus was adept at pegging others in social situations, and he endeavored to sprinkle a few warming words in his short exchanges with Dakgorim. Ariawyn seemed to catch-on, though her penchant for struggle had produced additional injuries that kept her sore and quiet.
After a few days and nights, the group came to a wide river. Ariawyn indicated in their own tongue this was the Routondil River, the boundary between Nirmathas and Lastwall. Not a cartographer, Tiarsus was thankful for her masterful sense of direction, yet this choice of direction didn’t make sense. Neither of those countries would be keen on the orcs’ passage. As they entered the mouth of the river, escape seemed so close, yet so far. What seemed to have been a small town or watchpoint on the Northern bank was torched to the ground, corpses visible from afar – some butchered, all burned. They’ve taken this whole land?! Normally resilience in the face of adversity, Tiarsus’ spirits darkened.
Forest soon crept to the banks of the river on both sides. Beastial sounds could be heard from within, and even the orcs ceased their banter as the woods became too loud – or too soft. During one such lull, a glimmer shot into the sky from one of the trees, bursting into a gaudy display of colors. Though he didn’t speak their language, the young captive was sure he heard his jailers cursing a storm, for they readied their weapons and had the two rebound by the hands and legs – they’d received a reprieve on the open water, and those in charge must have thought there was no danger of them fleeing here. A nervous-looking Dakgorim did the job himself, yet Tiarsus did not feel the bonds as tight as before. So loose were they, he was confident with a bit of work, he could escape. Soon, he put that to the test.
Not an hour later, a volley of arrows whizzed out of the trees towards the group from the North. Their boat wasn’t hit, but the orcs on the others sustained dozens of shafts. Ill-prepared to respond at range, they began to head toward the shore, harried each foot of the way. Well-armed human archers were visible now, plucking the orcs off with exceptional aim, yet a few made land and reached the treeline. Some axes and swords swung, but the woodsmen carried the day easily. Only two captors remained behind with their captives. The archers wouldn’t try to pick them off with the prisoners so near, so they approached with swords. Ariawyn made a break for it, discarding her poorly-bound ropes, and the guard next to her lashed-out, succeeding at a deep slice but securing her own demise; a longsword found her throat appetizing.
Remaining were only Dakgorim and Tiarsus – and the rangers closing-in. Dropping his blades to the ground, Dakgorim fell to his knees and held up his hands. ”Please, mercy – I surrender!” Having none of it, the humans dashed forward.
”Wait!” yelled Tiarsus. ”He’s not a bad man … he helped us, he –“
Before he could continue, he words were cut short by the flat of a blade on the half-orc’s shoulder, the snap of bone breaking-through the crisp, autumn air.
”Don’t worry,” laughed the man who seemed to be in charge. ”We don’t kill a man with a story to tell.”
Blow after blow came down upon Dakgorim, mostly with fists and feet. The injured rangers seemed to strike back the hardest. Soon, he looked as badly-off as Ariawyn did when she was captured.
”Welcome to Lastwall, lad. I’m Robert.” The seasoned superior offered a gloved hand to Tiarsus. Subconsciously taking it, the boy felt a chill pass through him.
Background: Duty and Desertion:
Four years since the events of their arrival, Tiarsus found himself on duty at Castle Firrine. The defenders of Lastwall took the pair in, but they found themselves conscripted into duty with haste. Ariawyn’s skill with blades bested most of the men, and she quickly found herself leading watcher. Tiarsus, who’d only mastered the most basic orisons, found himself in high demand with the numbers of injured. The hoards of orcs were merciless, and the plethora of deaths he witnessed forced him into an early adulthood. He was trained in combat, but he eschewed it for studies with the other priests when possible. If anything, he focused on hitting a mark with the crossbow. Just like dad, he thought sadly when hitting a target. Sentry duty became the norm, and while many curried favor with the healer, many chided his aversion to fighting.
Dakgorim didn’t fare as well. The subject of much consternation and disbelief, it wasn’t until one of the few inquisitors in the country could make it to them and question him the half-orc was allowed any sort of freedom. He was the product of a captive rape, raised to help infiltrate the human lands a “spy”; apparently, that meant a warrior who could speak common and just maybe be passable as a rough human. The empathic Tiarsus felt his heart go out to Dakgorim, the truth evident in his story, yet most of the soldiers treated him as little better than the prisoners they took from The Hold. Perhaps of their mutual ostracization, the two became good friends. Once Ariawyn received a promotion, she had her subordinates recoiling against being lorded-over by an elf-woman. Her demeanor was a bit haughty, probably in retribution for their earlier skepticism, but she’d had enough. The three banded together for self-support.
Robert didn’t like this, and the captain gave them orders to go to the front lines. Ariawyn was having none of it.
”What would we do there? You said yourself you don’t want Tiarsus at risk!” she argued.
Caravans had only been arriving with spotty success in the past few years, and while Tiarsus had some correspondence with his mother, the letters were sparse. They’d agreed it was safer for him to stay in Lastwall, but the powers in Lastwall had noticed this too; they knew the lady of means would be willing to pay a price to keep her son safe. Some of her caravans had come with packages special for him. Robert was among those who figured if they kept him here, they resources would continue to arrive for them all.
”What do you best, Ari – tell others to do the real work,” Robert smirked. ”Just keep him out of the way. Keep a close eye on the other half-breed,” he said with a nod at Dakgorim, ”and we’ll all be happier. You need a change of crew. We both know it.” Ariawyn fumed but kept her silence, knowing the futility of arguing.
Robert wasn’t dumb, but the callousness of his statements grated on Tiarsus. ”Captain Pelnor,” intoned Tiarsus respectfully, ”why don’t you tell your men to follow her orders like you would any officer?”
”Because she’s not any officer!” roared the man. He took a breath. ”She’s got more years under us than we could ever hope to have, comes in here by chance and bests them all in duels? How would you feel?!”
The disparity among races caused natural frictions, and being so homogenous, Lastwall hadn’t adapted to them. ”But if you do that, sir, they’ll never learn to –“
[b]”Enough! It’s settled. You three leave at dawn for the Red Recruits’ camp.”
The Red Recruits were known to be a very red in terms of the injuries they incurred, likely because they were very green in terms of experience. They would give Ariawyn a hard time and accomplish little. It was a job she couldn’t succeed at, and Robert knew it. So did the three of them.
That night, she roused the two mixed-bloods softly but sternly. “Get up. We’re leaving.”[/b]
”Leaving? said Dakgorim, with more curiosity but less surprise than Tiarsus would have expected. ”To where?”
”Home,” she replied. ”At least for me. I’ve some cousins in Riddleport. It’s far, but I think I’ve got a way.”
”Riddleport? That’s all the way on the ocean. We’ll never get there!” Dakgorim seemed to know the location of the place better than Tiarsus, but the ocean was definitely far off still. And how would we get there?
”Listen!” hissed the elf. ”There’s a path by the Bloodsworn Vale our partner scouts in Nirmathas found. We can take the river on the other side to Korvosa. Here…” explained Ariawyn, producing a map.
The young cleric had a different point of interest to raise though. ”Ari, I didn’t know you didn’t have roots out that way. The Mierani Forest?”
She paused her explanation and nodded, looking into his emerald eyes. ”Yes. Though I served the queen in your land, my grandmother manages in mine.”
While the history of the land wasn’t well-known to him, there was certainly turmoil, Tiarsus remembered.
”Korvosa then?” sounded Dakgorim. ”That’s a big place. Lots of people.”
His wistful tone wasn’t lost on the swordswoman. ”You can stay there if you like. I cannot though.”
”We’ll come with you!” volunteered Tiarsus on their behalf, drawing a surprised, albeit not reproachful look from Dakgorim. ”We make a good team!”
Seeing no objection from the half-orc, Ariawyn smiled. ”Good! Now gather your things. We need to set out at dawn to beat the patrols on the way South. They won’t expect us to go that way, and if we hit the border before they can get us, we’re free.”
Excitement thick in the air, they departed under the protection of shadow.
Background: A Push Forward:
They did need to evade some scouting parties and talk their way out of some meetings, but the trio left their unwelcoming land behind and, over a few months, made it to Korvosa. It was as big as they’d hoped, and they took a few weeks’ respite to rest. They’d all sustained wounds on the trip, and after dispatching many a wolf, a few highwaymen, and a few bouts of sickness, they’d seed enough of each other to make a lover blush. Additionally, the three had growth in confidence and familiarity; few ambitions or secrets remained between them.
Dakgorim despised his origins. He wanted to end the seed he sprung from, yet he didn’t see a way to go about it. What he’d mustered-up was convincing the Korvosan guard to assist Lastwall, but the older Ariawyn kept telling him that was a lost cause. Their numbers were too few, and they wouldn’t be willing. For her part, the lady wanted to reconnect with her family and their naval operations in Riddleport. It had been decades since she’d been there, yet she seemed to think things were as she left them. Tiarsus simply wanted to go home. His desire for vengeance burned strong in his heart, and he shared a great deal of passion with Dakgorim, yet he’d never truly come into his own there; unlike the half-orc, he had enough foundation to care about returning and expanding what he started without seeing it as an end-all like Ariawyn. It was clear their desires would send them on different paths before too long, and Tiarsus would probably need to decide which he wanted to travel with.
They worked differing jobs to earn a living in Korvosa – Ariawyn a swordsmanship and archery instructor and Dakgorim a butcher – yet Tiarsus tried something new: He signed-up in the local branch of a Pathfinder lodge as general labor, something he’d not been accustomed to. Many conversations passed into his ears, and the idea of exploring and learning excited him, so he petitioned the lodge for a truer association. They acquiesced, insisting he travel forward and learn about the unknowns in the land. Magnimar was the natural destination, and as it was part of the way to riddleport, their path seemed clear. After a few more weeks, they bought passage to the city aboard a ship and, in good spirits, toasted to their future. Ariawyn was to take yet another vessel to her homeland, but Dakgorim saw the sense of belonging the society had given Tiarsus and joined himself, justifying their wide network could be used to reach his goals if he proved himself.
Only a few days after reaching Magnimar, the pair waved good-bye to Ariawyn’s ship, sailing North from the setting sun.
”Well, what now?” asked Dakgorim, his hand falling from Tiarsus’ shoulder as they left the docks.
The half-elf shrugged. ”Exploring takes money. Let’s get a drink and think about it!”
The two stopped by a tavern near the water, and they sampled a good bit of Varisian food and drink, depleting much of their limited funding. It was delightful, but different.
”You know, I miss boar liver pie,” mused Dakgorim. ”Hate the horde, but they knew how to cook meat.”
Tiarsus agreed. ”And for all the fish they catch, you’d think they could smoke it and season it right! I haven’t had a proper salmon steak in years!”
The more the pair remembered their culinary absences, the more they realized they did have something Magnimar might need.
”So – hear me out – we open a tavern that doesn’t do Varisian food all the time. We make it our way. Different enough, people might like it – or at least try it.” Dakgorim’s suggestion was not dissimilar to what Tiarsus was thinking, but his companion had put it into words.
Tiarsus had done a good bit of cooking as a youth and felt up to the task. ”Sure, Dak, but where would we set-up? The water’s sure to be pricey, and we don’t have much on us.”
Giving him a toothy grin, Dakgorim replied ”Somewhere with enough danger to keep the prices low.”
So it was the two created The Gluttonous Goblet. It started small on the edge of the slums, but Dakgorim kept the ruffians out and assuaged customers’ fears about their safety. Tiarsus was personable enough to get the message to the adjacent parts of town that had enough money to pay. After a few months, they changed to a more palatable location and serviced more people. Dakgorim gained some weight and Tiarsus gained satisfaction. How about that, mother – I made a good return on the investment, but not in the way you thought!
And it was just that thought Tiarsus expressed to Dakgorim one night. ”Dak, you can get the people you need with money. Enough coin in the right pockets will get even people who don’t care about The Hold of Belkzen to burn it to the ground if that’s what you want.”
Dak yawned, but the idea found purchase in him. ”That’s not what you want though.”
Tiarsus shrugged. ”I think … this place is big enough for me to get a caravan back to home if I wanted later. One that will make it this time,” he said solemnly, remembering the loss of his father. ”But that’s a way’s off. Ariawyn made the world sound so big! I want to see more of what’s here first.”
The hirsune Dak slowly nodded. ”You mages have an easier time finding people who need you. Hell, I’d be dead if not for you.”
Shaking his head, Tiarsus corrected him: ”It’s the gods that make that happen. I’m not an arcanist – left that path long ago. Thank Abadar.”
Dak rolled his eyes then rolled over in bed. ”That’s that same god that left me to my fate, T.”
A moment of sadness passed through the priest, for he knew Dak’s upbringing was a hell beyond his ken, and despite their closeness, he rarely opened-up about it. This place was good for him though. The Gluttonous Goblet would allow him to have a purpose, make some coin while Tiarsus set off to uncover the mysteries of this city.
Tiarsus Kelquinal, now a young man, turned to face the other way, his eyes seeing not the wall but the possibilities of tomorrow. What would he uncover?..
Apperance & Personality:
With more sun on his face now from his travels, Tiarsus has a medium apricot hue to his skin. The rays of the star above also highlight his bronze hair and bright green eyes. Not afraid of nature, he is nonetheless mildly paranoid of ambushes in disadvantageous terrain with his history; he prefers secure, enclosed locations for extended stays.
Strong and gregarious, he easily holds a conversation and the gaze of many who could be interested in such a traveler. He internally evaluates those he meets based-on what he judges their moral character to be as well as their more material merits. He's not above ignoring the help of someone to further his own ends, but he tries to spread the wealth from a plan instead of selling someone short when he can.
Tiarsus has a penchant for modest dress in locations/with people of questionable trust, yet among company, he is rather carefree - both with garb and gossip.
In combat, limited as his experience has been Tiarsus generally rushes to the support of those he sees as more capable. This usually resolves in the form of covering fire, but it can be spells and energy channeling if need be. Tending to the wounded and aiding others' success usually takes priority over slashing with his dagger, a last resort.
In situations where the group has cover, he is averse to starting combat at all. If the party must announce themselves, he will make every effort to do so diplomatically - once the other party is at a tactical disadvantage. This may give them the chance to improve their standing, but it is an ethical choice he makes.
In diplomatic situations, Tiarsus tends to lean on the practical aspects to convince people. He rarely intimidates, and he holds sensitive information close to his chest unless he believes it can make a difference in an argument. If talks break-down, he tries (and usually succeeds) at keeping his cool to preserve a relationship for later.