Twistle Labberupter's page

His eulogy trailing off, Twistle unlimbers his crossbow. Seeing the other adventurers around him already letting fly at the creatures, he follows suit, sighting at the nearest one.

Crossbow, Light: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15, Damage: 1d8 ⇒ 7

Twistle steps forward and speaks about the Professor's passion for his work and his expansive generosity, his voice thin in the cold air.

Scuffing at the dirt with one ironshod boot, Twistle Labberupter scowled at the grave in front of him. He'd offered to help dig, but the two burly men with the shovels had given him such nasty looks that he backed off. It figured that when one of the few men he actually liked and respected asked him to come visit, it'd be because he was dead. The people, the weather, and the circumstances of this town were so dreary that he was tempted to turn around and head straight back to Absalom. Or he would have been, except for that pending warrant for his arrest. It will need to get a damn sight more uncomfortable before I prefer prison.

Hearing the crunch of gravel further along the path, the gnome looked up. A mismatched handful of figures were schlepping the coffin down the road toward him. He sneaked a look at the other gnome standing statue-still beside him and Father Grimmburrow met his eyes squarely. Erk! Immaculately turned out in his cleric robes, Grimburrow radiated disapproval like a woodstove in a drafty room. He'd tried to explain that these colorful explorer's leathers were the only set of clothing he'd managed to hurriedly pack, but apparently Pharasma surgically removes the sense of humor from even gnomes who join in her service. You may have chosen to forget the years we spent whoring our way through ports all up and down the Varisian coast, Hoylebirstle, but I have not. It's very hard to take you seriously when the last memory I have of our time together is you waving feebly goodbye under a squirming pile of naked, giggling halfling "ladies of negotiable virtue", as they'd preferred to be called. It was the final set of museam pieces I sold to the Pathfinder Society that got me enough to pay off my debts and fund that last hurrah, and I have the professor to thank for that as well. The memories of those good times segued smoothly into memories of nights spent in private tavern rooms or snug field tents, turning over engraved stones or rune-covered tablets under a set of field glasses with Lorrimar's animated narritive washing over him. His chest ached. He deserved better than this. Twistle stood up a little straighter, clasped his large, feathered hat behind his back and blew a wisp of chocolate-colored hair out of his face.

Ok ok finally finished the character. Sorry for the delay, had a really rough last few days.

Twistle is a longtime explorer and archaeologist who has popped in and out of history for the last 50 years, usually vanishing for 10 or 15 years at a time and showing up with books full of notes and a few carloads of artifacts. He's fairly well respected as an academic, though his fanatically competitive nature in his field has earned him a lot of enemies. At the age of 70 he had a chance to work with Professor Lorrimor on an important Aklo find on the edge of the Sodden Lands, and the Professor took an immediate liking to the quirky gnome. They became fast friends and pooled their academic resources, working together until Twistle's driving need to explore drove him off into the wilderness again.
Twistle was glad to recieve word that Lorrimor wanted him, as he needed an excuse to get away from Taldor, where a successful (but less than subtle) attempt to sabotage a competitor's wagon lead to him being falsely accused of murder.