Xelani Fyodorova's page

N Large animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +6

==DEFENSE==
AC 11, touch 11, flat-footed 9 (+2 Dex, –1 size)
hp 15 (2d8+6)
Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +1

==OFFENSE==
Speed 50 ft.
Melee 2 hooves –2 (1d4+1)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.

==STATISTICS==
Str 16, Dex 14, Con 17, Int 2, Wis 13, Cha 7
Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 (21 vs. trip)
Feats Endurance, Run
Skills Perception +6
SQ docile

==SPECIAL ABILITIES==
Docile (Ex)
Unless specifically trained for combat, a horse's hooves are treated as secondary attacks.

“Well met, traveler. May Erastil’s favor watch over your path, and lead it to hearth and roof before nightfall” a willowy, long-legged figure just shy of 6 feet greets you warmly. As you raise your gaze to meet hers, you recognize her graceful, slender curves as a likely sign of partial elven heritage, though it’s in her face that her mixed ancestry becomes evident: sharp, angular features, high cheekbones framing vaguely almond-shaped emerald eyes clash with a gentler jaw line and full lips with the slightest hint of a pout. From a tangle of auburn locks, a couple of pointed ears barely manage to peek out.

Much like her heritage, Xelani's personality can be considered a curious mix of Erastilian levelheadedness and Calistrian quirkiness. A devout follower of Old Deadeye's precepts (and a strict adherent to his code), she was raised to value loyalty to her family and community above anything else - and yet, she's not above enjoying a good quip or the occasional revelry should the occasion present itself. As her mother was fond of saying, "Blessed be Erastil for giving me family and safety, and Calistria for teaching me how to best enjoy them".

A quiet life, made rich by the blessings of our friends and families. Xelani remembers a time when these words, often uttered by her father in his sermons, carried no actual meaning to her. Or better, when they carried the same meaning as the very concept of water would to a fish: something so pervasive as to become evanescent, an idea taken for granted upon which it would be foolish to ponder for too long.

The only offspring of the unlikely union between a human priest of Erastil and a Calistria worshipping elf from Kyonin, Xelani spent all her life in a remote village hidden somewhere between the rolling plains of southern Brevoy and the untamed wilderness of the Greenbelt. Even though her father raised her as a devout Erastilian (hoping that she might one day take his place as the local priest and leader of the community), it was the time she spent with her mother, hunting and riding through the surrounding wilderness, that the young half-elf cherished the most, much to her father’s (more feigned than not) vexation. Despite his good-natured remarks that she would never find a suitable husband if she didn’t lay down the bow and pick up some cooking skills, Xelani soon blossomed into a beautiful and amiable (if headstrong) woman, fell in love with the local miller’s son, and married him at sundown during the annual Archerfeast festival in her 18th year of age, having managed that same afternoon to win both the beauty and the archery contest (a first, as her parents were fond of proudly repeating to whomever would listen).

But just as news about Brevoy’s political climate began getting more and more unsettling, the storm that would make their peaceful life come to an abrupt end suddenly befell from the very opposite direction. Even though bandits’ raids were a common occurrence, suddenly an unusually large and organized force of brigands came out of the nearby Stolen Lands, burning down villages and pillaging the countryside, all the while facing little to no opposition from the meager local militias. On the wake of its passing, Xelani found herself (by chance or higher plan, she still can not, or would not, say) the sole survivor among smoldering ruins, as her house, her parents, her husband, and the life that was growing within her were no more.

Clinging to her life with the force of her faith, she finally understood the meaning of those words that had always eluded her: a quiet life, made rich by the blessings of our friends and families. She vowed to Erastil that she would fight so that others could enjoy what had been torn from her. She vowed that she would eradicate banditry in the Greenbelt. And she vowed that, should she ever succeed, she would settle down, and rebuild.

Thus her personal crusade began. But as it is often the case, she soon discovered that such a colossal undertaking was too great of a burden for her shoulders alone to carry. After barely escaping with her life on the aftermath of a particularly ill-fated clash, she started insistently petitioning the Swordlords (whose lands her village nominally belonged) to take a more active stance in reclaiming the Stolen Lands.

“Another merchant caravan attacked. Recurring raids into the southern farmlands. Dark things in the woods. The…”

“I’m more than sure I’ve got a rather precise idea about how that list goes on. That’s not the first time you come knocking to our doors to recite it, I’m led to understand” the tall woman interrupted her abruptly, as she paced over Xelani’s kneeling figure and across the private audience room. With an elegant swirl of her gown, she came to sit on an elaborate chair just under a vast window, allowing an imposing view over Restov’s main square.

Xelani bit her lips. “This is not going well” she thought. “Are they all so self-conceited that they can’t see what’s happening on their very borders?” She knew better than to voice her thoughts out loud, though. Many would call Restov Swordlords nothing but petty nobles, practicing flashy dueling techniques as a way to attain an aura of southern sophistication among the barbaric northern frontier – but few in their presence, and none to Lady Jamandi Aldori’s face.

“It is getting longer with each and every time, though” she instead opted to retort.

“Indeed, it is. My own sources confirm that” the Swordlord said with a barely audible sigh. “You may rise, by the way, Lady Xelani” she added, her serious tone betraying a slight amusement.

“Thank you, My Lady. Though it’s just Xelani. You would be hard pressed to find even an ounce of noble blood running through my veins, I’m afraid”.

“This might change soon enough however, should your mettle be what I think it is” she replied with a cryptic smile, almost to herself. “Nonetheless” she pressed on, not giving the paladin time to ponder the enigmatic statement “regarding the matter of your visit. I’m afraid neither the Council of the Swordlords, nor the Lord Mayor can fulfill your request of dispatching a contingent of men-at-arms to fight the rampaging banditry in the Stolen Lands. These have been, as you sure know, troubled times for the whole nation of Brevoy. Until the matter of the succession to the Dragonscale Throne is dealt with, Restov can’t spare even an ounce of its forces in dangerous ventures outside its borders”.

A sensation of bitter disillusion washed over Xelani. She opened her mouth as to utter a response, but before she could speak even a single word Lady Jamandi cut her short. “However, there is something the Council of Swordlords and the Lord Mayor are willing to do. We are issuing an exploration charter, calling for adventurers loyal to Restov’s cause to explore and bring law to the Greenbelt. Should they succeed, we’re willing to recognize any claim they would make on the newly reclaimed Stolen Lands… provided, of course, they’re in turn willing to swear allegiance to Restov and its Swordlords”.

“Very cunning. They must think that even if their attempts fail, they lose nothing. And if they succeed, they secure their borders and gain an ally” she bitterly thought “but even then…”. Some of that bitterness must have shown through her face, for her noble interlocutor was currently staring at her with a quizzical look, waiting for a reply. And when it came, the half-elf woman felt it must have been obviously less enthusiastic than the one she was hoping for.

“Adventurers” her resentment very plain in her voice ”Sounds more like mercenaries. With all due respect, how can you be sure they’re going to be any better than the bandits? How can you be sure you’re not merely replacing a disorganized threat with an organized one?”

Still keeping her calm façade, Lady Jamandi Aldori reached for a pocket and pulled out a roll of parchment. Her tone was calm, amused even, as if she somewhat expected a similar reaction “Of that, my dear, you can make sure yourself. Persistence pays, I guess. Here is your own charter. You're leaving tomorrow... if you so wish, of course”.