Torin Argentus's page

The small, brick walled smithy had been fired up for work. The dull copper-colored bricks of Forgril's tiny home extended out to a corner of the stable styled smithy he had built so many years ago. The wooden supports and siding long since worn and seeming a bit tattered.

Speaking of Fogril, the dwarf didn't look in much better condition than his smithy most days. While everything was in it's proper place, much like his smithy, he was a largely unkept and unfit individual. His black hair was always hanging back in a wild and shaggy mane, and his long beard was simply tied in a knot around his bulging belly. He wore no jewelry, bore no tattoos, and his dark eyes left his current emotion hard to judge. Thankfully, he at least bathed regularly and wore clean clothing. Though you would be forgiven for thinking he had nothing outside his working overalls, boots, and gloves.

He had come to Dagna the day before, mentioning a large task Tel Bays had requested of him. First though, was a new set of shoes for the Toom's draft horses. The older dwarf would occasionally fiddle with the piping to his still, studying the joints of it carefully.

"Milana should have a fine spread for the stump today." he mentioned as he finished up after Dagna's own set, "Finer still with my latest batch of hooch." The dwarf wiped his brow and then laid his handkerchief onto his shoulder. He looked up into the sky, noting the sun reaching the noon mark and nodded.

The stump is an immense tree trunk outside the smithy near the road that had been lacquered and served as something of a communal table after the shattering.

The two story inn had been repaired completely, and decorated expertly in the last three years. The thatch on top of the ranch style structure brand new. The shutters, the paneling, and even the furniture were maple that had been stained dark and detailed by Miles on request. Milana all too happy to keep the man busy.

She had been expanding her craft as well. Making her own cheeses, curing meats to keep them fresh, and even experimenting with new baked desserts to try and curry favor with the surviving villagers old and new. While there weren't enough living residents to keep the inn and surviving farm full, a proper weekly lunch around the stump outside Fogrils always fostered a sense of community.

Honestly, no one would have blamed the woman if she had left her inn mostly destroyed. If she had grieved for her husband and let things sit. Milana however, had never stopped being an adventurous woman simply because she had settled down. Indeed, her favorite rapier was mounted above the hearth of the inn. Crossing her husbands longsword across a small banner of their old mercenary group. She had been a leader in the community before the attack, and after burying her husband and friends she had made up her mind that she was going to take on that role entirely now.

She was on the shorter side. Barely two feet taller than her helpers. She was also fairly slender with a wealth of curves despite. Just nearing middle age, it could be argued her best years were ahead of her. Still, she kept her husbands portrait near her. A slight smile on her fair features, and humming his favorite tune when she would brush her waist length wealth of wheat blond hair. She favored simple dresses, but she had a variety of them. Each a different color, but several a rich cardinal red.

The inside of the inn had been quiet, but Milana's thrice expanded garden yard and animal pen were active. The chickens, rabbits, ducks, pigs, horses, and cows had all needed tending to. Milana had milked the cows and brushed the horses before moving into the garden with Timothy. Leaving the smaller animals to Miles as she picked some ripening tomatoes. "I thank you two for coming to help me." she said over the noise of the livestock, "It's always a big production making the weekly noon meal. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

Tel Beys had also been active at the windmill with Ulthak's as a strong armed helper. The steady ring of hammer on stone had been wringing out regularly. She had borrowed the inn's wagon earlier in the week and went to dig rock further down the road. She had been thrilled to discover some marble, and quarried out some heavy stones she intended to turn into tile. With his help, of course.

In three years the mill had seen barely more than enough work to keep it turning. Three of the four arms on the windmill had been repaired, the fourth remaining tattered and half burnt. The insides not much better off. The supports for the granary attached to the windmill were all new. Even the good ones that remained had been properly replaced. The outside however, had many opening in the siding and scorched planks of wood that remained as they had ended up after the goblin attack.

This was mostly due to the woman's attitude toward the windmill. She had wanted to get it back running, and had also wanted to build a watchtower along the side of the structure. When it came to shoring it up however, she was forever finding other projects more worth her time. The marble, for example, would be for a bathhouse near the river. Whenever one would ask she would wave it off. Stating that if she ever finished it she would have nothing to do.

Tel Beys had been a hospitaler before the sharding. Riding between the small villages and shoring up the various windmills, small bridges, and road as needed. Keeping an eye out for bandits, goblins, and kobolds. She had a rather interesting conversation with Ulthak the day the half orc had wandered in. One that brought a faint smile to her stern features if anyone asked her of it.

The half elf woman was tall, lithe, muscular, and seemed perpetually at half-attention. She was middle aged, and her stern features might be seen as pretty if not for half of her face being badly scarred from fire. She also had a slight limp in her left leg. Her head was shaved on the side of the burning, her scars reaching back across her scalp, and was pulled back into a side ponytail on the other side. Her platinum blonde hair doing a fair job of hiding some of the gray coming in. She wasn't very sociable, preferring her own company, but she did come in to share meals with others at Milana's request. On occasion she would check in on the Tooms as well. With the help of a borrowed horse.

Now, as the sun started to climb toward noon she paused, taking a moment to wipe her brow with her sleeve and look back in the direction of the Inn and Smithy down the road. "Well, big man." she mused, "Suppose we should make an appearance for the weekly meal eh?" The woman regarded him, looking at him as if measuring him. This was something she had done at their first meeting, and something she still did every meeting since. At first it had seemed as if she had some bias against him, until he noticed she did the same to anyone who could obviously fight. Not so much those that were less obvious, though she knew Milana could use her a rapier expertly.

Things were quieter at the Toom's farm. The animals already taken care of, and much of the field work done the day before. Martin Tooms was a dark haired, wiry man of middling years. Currently he was using a scythe to cut grass on the back end of his farm. Removing any cover near his fields.

His son was with his mother and adopted sister back at the homestead. Nearing adolescence and looking every bit his father's son Thomas would likely start working the farther stretches of land with his father soon. The boy had practiced regularly with a bow so he could look out for his mother and new sister. A sister that honestly had a bit of a crush on her older brother. The mousey haired Thompson girl was often seen at her brother's heel rather than her new mother. Despite how often he told her not to. Yana was also dark haired, and there had been a rumor in the past she was actually Chell. Having escaped some dark fate only to end up marrying a poor farmer. This had been nonsense of the highest order, and nonsense she had tolerated with a soft chuckle and a shake of her head. She was almost painfully thin looking at her, but with a quiet strength and a deceptive smile.

Martin had asked Lathliss to stop over the evening before, and now the cleric was nearing the field in question. It seemed odd that the man would stay at the farm when a proper lunch was going to be served shortly at the stump in town.

As the half-elf approached the farmhouse he saw Yana seated on the porch doing needlework. Little Alberta was sat on the step drawing in the dirt with a stick. Thomas was not in sight at first, but he saw the lad swing down the rope from the hayloft a moment later. Sporting bow and quiver. "Morning ser." Yana greeted him, "Martin's out in the field, but if you'd prefer to wait he should be done around noon. I made some lemonade earlier. You're welcome to a glass."

His name was Talenthanis. A man desperate for knowledge, and aiming to mirror the feat that propelled Nethys to godhood. Whatever he was encompassing the area in, he was covering the very world in as well. As he worked this feat of near godly magic all felt his mind strain, fracture, and then break.

The smoky substance covering the sky contracted and expanded as if his breath. Uneven and rapid. Then, in the loudest peal of thunder ever heard, everything went white. The thoughts of the wizard were gone, but the smoky sky remained. Light filtered through. Clouds could be seen through the near translucent smoke above. The horizon was still blanketed in darkness, and any attempts to push through the edge was met with a feeling of undistilled terror. Causing one to convulse and flail simply to try and escape it. Attempting to ignore the fear, or perhaps being able to ignore it would result in walking into the smoke only to walk for what felt like miles without progress. Turning back to find only a few steps of distance had been traversed.

So it would seem Passbog became an isolated area. Dozens of large farmsteads cut off to a few acreages owned by a handful of families. The inn, the smithy, and the broken down mill the only major buildings in the center of this small village. A few acres of wood, passing into the Spring Bog, and the glen that held the Vinton Spring were the only other areas that were encompassed in the new boundaries of the world.

It wasn't long until the goblins of the bog, the Frogstump tribe, decided to try and take the area for themselves. They hit the farmsteads first. Catching the Ingell's farm at night and killing everyone. Only the fire of the homestead alerted the neighboring family, but despite the warning the Judds died as well.

The remaining farmsteads gathered and made it to the inn. There they fortified the place as best they could and everyone gathered to make their stand. Farmer Thompson and his two boys, farmer Treydock, the innkeeper Milana and her husband Timothy, the blacksmith Fogril Honormail, and a passing hospitaler named Tel Beys all found what weapons and tools they could and prepared for the assault.

The goblins came in an initial rush that was repelled with little pain on the side of Passbog. Only a sling stone found Thompson's shoulder, but he was still standing. Next came some probing and a few small skirmishes. All told a handful of goblins died, but nothing of consequence other than a small fire came from it.

Then came the battle. The goblins rushed with all their number from every direction. They were clumsy fighters without anything more meaningful than clubs for the most part. Even when they overran an individual the damage they could do was limited, and the more capable fighters of the village were able to turn the tide.

But their numbers proved deadly. Farmer Thompson's younger son was the first to fall to grasping hands, and before he could be rescued by his brother his head was staved in. Then his brother fell in kind, and the boys father charged into the goblin ranks. Driving them clear out of the back door of the inn. He was not seen again.

Next they managed to get past the main fighting and found Treydock's wife. He tried to save her and both perished. Things became truly desperate, and much of the remaining village ended up isolated in the carnage. Fighting was done individually and against several goblins at once.

When the morning came the few goblins left alive fled from a truly gruesome scene. Bodies littered the inside of the inn and sprawled out the doors and even some windows. Half of the second floor was burnt to the ground, and the last casualty among the villagers had been Timothy. Saving his wife from the goblin leader armed with a spear.

The years since have been quiet. Only one farming family, the Tooms, still live. They have taken in the orphaned daughter of farmer Thompson. Fogril still keeps the forge lit, busying himself with what tasks he can and running a self-made still in an attempt to pickle his memory of that night three years past. Milana has repaired the inn, and she keeps more livestock and a garden now. Even makes her own cheese. Tel Beys has taken to trying to repair the old mill, and divides her time between changing the timbers and trying to turn it into a properly fortified tower.

It has been quiet, but lately there have been goblins caught snooping around the village again. Only one or two at a time, but they have been up to something...

CC to start at level one with rolled stats (4d6, reroll 1s, drop lowest), background skills, EitP, max gold at first level, a campaign trait and one other trait. If it's not occult or third party it should be fine. Core races are all approved. Kobolds are in. Tiefling and Aasimar are out. Additional races may be allowed if approved by DM. Not planning for unchained classes. Passbog is a small village in the fields of Andoran, but you could (in theory) be from anywhere in Golarion.

Campaign Traits:

Milana's Hand - The innkeeper has spent her time bringing people together in the last few years. Despite losing her husband in the goblin attacks she has remained determined to keep those of Passbog fulfilled. Aiding her in this endeavor, you have helped to keep smiles on the faces of the villagers. Diplomacy is a class skill for you, and you have a +1 trait bonus to Diplomacy.

Craft All - You've always been a crafter. You have a deep passion for your profession. Supplies in Passbog may be scarce, but you've had nothing but time to practice your trade. You have managed to learn new tricks and take no penalty for using improvised tools. You get an additional +1 trait bonus on craft and profession checks. When you make craft checks to create an item you make progress at half again the normal speed. When earning capital with craft or profession you add 1 to the capital earned.

Goblin Slayer - You've never put the goblin raid behind you. Ever since you have kept an eye out for goblins. Been the first to arrive when they have shown themselves and eager to strike them back. You have trained to better combat their kind, and have even managed to kill one or two over the years. When fighting goblinoids you get a +1 trait bonus to attack and damage rolls, and a +1 dodge bonus against them.

Dogsbody - Despite the lull in activity since the goblin raid there is never a shortage of work to be done. Hauling water, milking animals, harvesting crops, patching fences, and even keeping watch. There is no end to the need for general labor. This has been where you get your sense of purpose. You receive a +1 trait bonus to fortitude saves. Also, you treat handle animal and survival as class skills.

Lookout - Most of the goblins are dead now, but they aren't gone entirely. Occasionally one or two linger at a farmstead. They skulk about in the bogs and always look for chances to steal or harass the animals. Everyone has to stay vigilant, and a weapon close at hand. Just in case. You've always been one of the first ones to spot them. Your keen eyesight gives you a +1 trait bonus on perception checks.

- As a rule of thumb it will be important to have a craft or profession to be able to create what the world cannot provide. Beyond that though, there will be a special material that will eventually be available for the party to craft with. There will be opportunity to make good use of even the most obscure crafting skills, so do not feel you need to focus on weapons and armors.

- Have an idea of what goals your character might have for the world. Being able to essentially rebuild the world gives you a breadth of potential goals. Rebuilding society, ruling, spreading your faith, living an opulent life, finding a bride or groom, and even creating new artifice.

- Character stats and skills will effect the merging of shards. Having a high wisdom to perceive those shards is one thing. Having a high charisma to direct such actions is important as well. A potential shard bearer may also benefit from their skills when merging shards.

- Skills and class features will have varying use depending on the groups choices. A forest ranger won't do well if merging with a piece of a great city. Similarly a dungeon delver won't fair well in wilderness.

- The resources the party has at hand will also depend on what shard the party chooses. You're not too likely to find much fish in a forest devoid of any bodies of water. Or much population for that matter.