Vo'Mandor's page

About Vo'Mandor

Feat: Extra Evolution

Traits: Armor Expert, Upstanding

Alternate Racial Trait: Outrider

Mandorallen was born in a forest on the edge of Taldor and Qadira. Compared to the other children in his village, he was always considered slow- both in wit and limb. But what he lacked in grace and charm, he made up for in strength, courage, and determination.

By the time he reached adolescence, Mandorallen was the strongest person in the village. He was chosen to become a protector- to ride the wolves into battle in defense of his home.

The worst threat the village had faced in generations was a rabid bear, but the protectors trained hard and took their duty seriously. Legends told of Giants that wore metal and stole halfling children in the night.

When the "giants" did come, it wasn't in the night and they wanted more than the children. The protectors fought valiantly, but they were out numbered and out classed. The slavers had brought nets, catch poles, and blunt arrows. All were wielded by seasoned men wearing metal armor. Mandorallen got off a few charges, but his mount was brought done by arrows that weren't blunted. Mandoallen was wounded, but he refused to give up. We was in pain, his fight was hopeless, but if he just had a mount…

He felt a presence behind him. Not just behind him, but also in his mind somehow. He spun to find a leathery, scaled creature with a glowing rune on it's brow. It seemed to have a natural saddle built into it's flesh. It lowered itself and he heard in his mind, "Are you just going to stand there with your mouth open, or are you going to mount?" Never one to fear the unknown, Mandorallen leapt on the creatures back and discovered that it not only had a natural saddle, it had indentations like stirrups that were at the exact right height for Mandorallen's frame. It was as if the creature was created to be a perfect mount just for him.

He spun his mount and they charged the enemy. The two of them managed to kill few slavers in rapid succession, but their cause was truly hopeless. One of the slavers was able to crack Mandorallen in the skull with a catch pole after one of his charging passes. The world went black.

He had brief glimpses of the world. Fever dreams of a glowing rune and the words "You must drink." When he finally regained conciseness, he was in a strange land. All around him were savannah plains- there were no trees in sight and he could see to the horizons. The creature's name was Grolm, and he told Mandorallen that they had come very far South in the days that Mandorallen lay unconscious. He had chosen the direction away from "the men in metal" that had attacked the village. Mandoralen had never been out of the forest where he was born and had no real understanding of the world that lay beyond. He had no family, no home, and no direction to travel- but he had Grolm and his spear. That would have to be enough.

They continued south for the next few months, but the land was getting drier and the game was becoming more scarce. Grolm did all of the walking and he doesn't need to eat or drink, so that made their needs few. But, Mandorallen still required sustenance and it was becoming hard to find as they came upon a caravan. Mandorallen attempted to barter for water and food, but he had nothing the merchants wanted. He offered up his services in exchange, and they laughed at him.

One big brute of a guard was particularly harsh. He made a bunch of racially insensitive comments about halflings including the comparison of their male genatalia to several small objects. Mandorallen was never one to back down for a bully, so he responded with several comments alluding to some questionable paternity of the guard's father and a few possible illicit occupations of his mother.

Needless to say, the guard did not appreciate Mandorallen's wit. He repeatedly lashed out with his fists, but Mandorallen always danced Grolm out of the way. The onlookers started laughing and taunting the guard. Frustrated, the guard grabbed a sword and started attacking more ferociously. The laughing of the onlookers died down as it was clear that the guard was attempting to kill the halfling.

Mandorallen gave the guard a wide berth and warned him that if he kept attacking, Mandorallen would be forced to kill him. The guard kept coming. Mandorallen rode Grolm away, wheeled, and charged. Grolm caught the guard's arm in his jaws as Mandorallen's longspear caught him in the throat. It was over in a single pass.

Some of the other guards began unlimbering their weapons and murmurs of shock ran thru the crowd. As the guards approached, Mandorallen held up his bloody spear and said, "Gentlemen. After verbal sparing, this man decided to attack my person. He attacked first and was headless to my calls to stand down. I was forced to kill him to defend myself. Certainly you can see that I am not at fault and that I am not a danger to your various persons. Now, I must warn you that you are currently encroaching upon my person with weapons drawn. I hope that this is not the initiation of a hostile act upon my person, for I would hate to have to kill any of you fine fellows."

The twelve guards looked around at each other- more in disbelief then anything else. Then a voice called out from behind the guards, "Let him go. Pualdric was out of line. He lost his temper and lost his life for it. Let that be a lesson to the rest of you- unneeded violence is bad for business. Learn also this lesson- never underestimate your opponent, no matter his size or stature." The guards parted to reveal a richly appointed man in his middle years. "You may leave us in peace, halfling."

Mandorallen hopped down off Grolm and walked over to the corpse. To the middle aged man he said, "Sir, I thank you for your just pronouncement. By the laws of combat, I claim to possessions of my fallen foe. As you can see, I may not leave until such time as I have had a proper chance to inventory my new items. I will also need an opportunity to barter the items I have won with yourself and the other merchants of this fine caravan."

"You escape killing a guard of the caravan, and now you want to sell the personal effects of that guard back to the caravan? What is your name?"

"My name is Mandorallen and effects can't belong to a dead man. Besides, you should be grateful that I am selling them here- where you control market prices."

The middle man began a deep belly laugh. "Mandorallen is the name of a small thing and there is nothing small about you. Your new name is Vo'Mandor, and you now have the pleasure of serving in the employ of Maxamillian Thorilian- Merchant Prince of the Desert. My people are called the horse lords and we are all born in the saddle. You appear to ride well enough to keep up, but you will need to improve if we are going to keep you on long term."

"Vo'Mandor- I like it. Noble Sir, I am honored by your request for my services and would be happy to serve you as scout or guard. Now, about my fee…"

Maximillian and Vo'Mandor became good friends over the next few years and Vo'Mandor's riding skills did improved. He scouted while they were on the move, and learned the merchant's trade when they set up in villages and towns. Maximillian could see that the wandering life of a desert merchant wasn't really for Vo'Mandor though, so one day he made him an offer.

The next run they were making was to a grand city named Absalom. Maximillian has a cousin named Hakkim who owns a shop in the merchant district. Maxamillian offered to set Vo'Mandor up with a job there and to provide an introduction to the Pathfinder Society. There were some Qadrian agents in the Society that would be interested in someone with Vo'Mandor's talents. Although Vo'Mandor hated to see Maximillian go, he fell in love with Absalom at first sight and he was eager to test himself against the society's challenges.