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[B]Name:[/B] Elms
[B]Class:[/B] Ranger (modified)
[B]Race:[/B] Human
[B]Size:[/B] Medium
[B]Gender:[/B] Male
[B]Alignment:[/B] C/G
[B]Deity:[/B] Agnostic, but serves the church.
[B]Str:[/B] 14 (+2) [B]Level:[/B] 1 [B]XP:[/B] 875
[B]Dex:[/B] 16 (+3) [B]BAB:[/B] +1 [B]HP:[/B] 10 (1d8+2)
[B]Con:[/B] 14 (+2) [B]Grapple:[/B] +3 [B]Dmg Red:[/B] 0
[B]Int:[/B] 14 (+2) [B]Speed:[/B] 30' [B]Spell Res:[/B] 0
[B]Wis:[/B] 14 (+2) [B]Init:[/B] +3 [B]Spell Save:[/B] 0
[B]Cha:[/B] 9 (-1) [B]ACP:[/B] 0 [B]Spell Fail:[/B] 0
[B]Base Armor Shld Dex DB Nat Misc Total[/B]
[B]Armor:[/B] 10 +2 +0 +3 +1 +0 +0 16
[B]Touch:[/B] 13 [B]Flatfooted:[/B] 13
[B]Base Mod Misc Total[/B]
[B]Fort:[/B] 2 +2 +4
[B]Ref:[/B] 2 +3 +5
[B]Will:[/B] 0 +2 +2
[B]Weapon Attack Damage Critical Range Notes[/B]
Bolas +4 1d4 x2 10' Nonlethal, trip.
Shortsword (single) +5 1d6+2 19-20 (x2)
[B]Languages:[/B] Common, Reygurian (Reygur), Kurkish (Kurkland).
[B]Abilities:[/B] Favoured Enemy (Human), Track, Non-Lethal Damage.
[B]Feats:[/B] EWP: Bolas, Stealthy (+2 Hide & Move Sil.), WFo & WFi: Shortsword.
[B]Skill Points:[/B] 44 [B]Max Ranks:[/B] 4/2
[B]Skills Ranks Mod Misc Total[/B]
Climb 3 +2 +5
Hide 4 +3 +2 +9
Intimidate (Str) 4 +2 +6
Listen 4 +2 +6
Move Silently 4 +3 +2 +9
Open Lock 4 +3 +7
Search 3 +2 +5
Sense Motive 4 +2 +6
Spot 4 +2 +6
Survival 4 +2 +6
Use Rope 4 +3 +2 +9
Ride 2 +5 +7
[B]Equipment: Cost Weight[/B]
Leather Armour 10gp 15lb
Bolas 5gp 2lb
Bolas 5gp 2lb
Shortsword 10gp 2lb
Shortsword 10gp 2lb
Silk Rope 10gp 5lb
Grappling Hook 1gp 4lb
Lockpicks 15gp 0.5lb
Signal Whistle 8sp n/a
Flint & Steel 1gp n/a
[B]Total Weight:[/B]32.5lb [B]Money:[/B] 7gp 2sp [B]Gems:[/B] 65gp
[B] Lgt Med Hvy[/B]
[B]Max Weight:[/B] 58 59-116 117-175
Age: 30
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 170lb
Eyes: Grey
Hair: Black, neck-length, messy.
Skin: White, tanned, rough.
Appearance: Standing at over six feet tall, Elms has an athletic figure and carries himself with the lithe confidence of a fighter. Almond-shaped grey eyes and thick black hair are spoiled by a lopsided smile, unusually prominent incisors, rough skin and a nose that looks to have been broken several times. Elms dresses in worn, dark studded leather and carries two shortswords. One in a hip scabbard, the other slung with the hilt cocked behind his left shoulder. Slung over his right shoulder and around his torso is a length of dark, silken rope. A bolas, his preferred (and only) ranged weapon hangs from his belt whilst a metal signal whistle, deliberately scuffed not to glint in the light, hangs from a leather chord around his neck.
[Sblock=Background, NWS.]Heavy raindrops hammered the man's face and a torrent of water from an overhead rooftop cascaded over him, some of the water was deflected by his heavy wax-treated cloak, but the downpour was growing in ferocity and his clothes were becoming heavy and beginning to stick to his skin. Elms didn't move. Like a grotesque cathedral gargoyle, he clung to his perch ten feet or so from the cobbled street below and waited, his only movement the rhythmic flipping of a silver coin dancing over the back of his fingers, back and forth repeatedly. With nothing to keep it occupied, his mind drifted back to the meeting with Bishop Olaif, earlier that day.
"So, Elmsy, I have another little task for you if you're feeling like stretching your legs tonight, ey?" Bishop Olaif winked at Elms theatrically, the gesture setting all three of the obese man's chins wobbling uncontrollably. Elms looked around the vast hall of the Grand Church of the Pentacle, "It's Elms." he said, distractedly. The place was indeed grand. Thick, plush red carpet was laid in the aisle, the pews were carved from flawless dark wood and the alter at the head of the room was sculpted of solid, glistening alabaster. "How can I serve this time... your eminence?" the last two words sliding slowly off his tongue as he turned back to face the Bishop once more. "Nothing too much, Elmsy, nothing too much." the Bishop said, stepping down from the dais and draping an arm up and around Elms, a heavily jewelled hand clutching his shoulder. Elms could smell ceremonial wine on the man's breath. "This is my last job... your grace, then you approve me, you know that. I've done everything you've asked of me.". Elms inwardly decided that if this fat fool decided to prolong his application to the Justicars one more time, he'd beat ten bottles of the red stuff from him personally. "And what do you think life in the Order of Justice will be like Elmsy? You'll still be working for me, for the Church!" Olaif chuckled "I'm going to introduce you to someone shortly. When he leaves us, I want you to follow him. Listen and learn. It's a political thing, Elmsy. You wouldn't understand." Olaif let go of Elms' shoulder, turned and took a few steps to a cubby in a side wall. There was a muted pop and the sound of liquid rapidly filling a glass. "Do not lay a finger on him, Elmsy. I just need to know where he goes tonight. Who he speaks to. I want you to be a second arse for the man - always right behind him - do not lay a finger on him!"
Finally the door beneath Elms' hiding place opened, lantern light spilling into the otherwise grey and depressing night. From his position, Elms could smell rich pipe smoke, roasted meats and ale wafting from the doorway. Craning forward to peek through the opening, Elms saw his quarry tottering unsteadily toward the night air, the door was held open by a thick forearm adorned with a metal bracer. The fingers stopped dancing, the coin vanishing obediently into a pocket. Elms quietly raised himself to a full crouch, bouncing gingerly first on one leg and then the other, attempting to pump some life back into them after a long wait in an uncomfortable position.
Where are you off to now, you slimy bastard?, Elms thought to himself.
Almost soaked to the bone already, Elms shrugged the heavy waxed cloak from his shoulders and bundled into a crevice on the rooftop making a mental note to return for it later. It'd done him no good anyway being out in the rain this long. The rain was both a blessing and a curse for times like these. On one hand, people tended to ignore their surroundings, put their head down to try to stay dry. On the other hand, the rain would make footholds on walls and rooftops slippery and there typically weren't many people on the street to mingle with in case your target looked back. Elms would have to be careful. Peering back over the edge of the rooftop, his quarry was twenty yards or so away now, moving unsteadily, probably drunk, and accompanied by a larger, muscled man. Elms' noticed the metal bracers and another glint of metal peeping through a hole in the man's tunic, probably a chain shirt underneath. There was a long sword held in a scabbard in the man's belt also, his hand resting casually on the pommel. Elms instinctively touched his own sword belt for reassurance. After fifteen minutes or following his target, Elms was forced to relinquish his rooftop view and scramble quickly down to ground level. The direction they were heading was towards the poorer quarter of the town and the buildings were becoming less and less sturdy, the last thing Elms wanted was to fall straight through some thatching into a peasant's bathtub. As far as he could tell, his quarry was absolutely unaware that he was being followed.
The rain finally began to subside as the pair rounded a corner into a long, poorly lit street. The usual lanterns that hung outside of town houses were noticeably absent, or had fallen into disrepair. Elms had suspected that this may be their destination for some time.
"Whore alley." he said under his breath
"I knew it.". As he watched, the two men approached a woman in a gaudy, revealing outfit, taking refuge under the over-hang of a doorway. Elms inched closer, careful to stay hidden within the shadows, trying to overhear what was being said. He looked up and down the street and could see nobody else around.
"Ime munaa senkin huora!" the drunkard shouted at the woman, grabbing her dress and yanking her sharply towards him.
"Coin, sire?" the young woman asked, desperately trying to pat away the man's groping hands. The man looked puzzled
"Tule, huora. Miksi sinä odotat!" he screamed at her. Not speaking the language, the woman looked for a way to explain her want. Seeing a coin pouch tied to his belt, she reached for it to explain, but the man stepped back and slapped her hard across the face, spinning her back into the doorway with a stinging red cheek.
"Vitun varas! Senkin huora varas!". Elms didn't speak the language, but he could see that this was getting out of control quickly. He had his orders from Olaif, but he wasn't going to sit by and watch a woman be beaten. Before Elms could make his mind up what to do, another girl ran into the street from a run-down house directly opposite
"Maisy!" she screamed
"Are you alright, gi-" her question was interrupted when the large man, stood with an amused look on his face, stopped her run with a hard punch square to her face. She stopped dead and crumpled to the floor, her head landing on the cobblestones with a sickening crack.
"Toinen varas, herrani! Tämä haiseva kaupunki on täynnä heitä." he said to his drunken companion, who had turned to check the source of the commotion.
"ENOUGH!" Elms yelled, stepping out of the shadows and tugging a bolas from his belt. Both men looked startled and turned to face him.
"Tapa hänet." the drunken man said to the other, then turned back to the horrified woman in the doorway and began tugging once more at her clothes. The larger man, his metal bracers glinting in the dim lamplight, grinned a toothy smile and drew his sword, advancing on Elms slowly.
"GO!" Elms shouted, pointing down the street away from the fallen women,
"NOW!" he made a pushing motion with his hands attempting to cross the language barrier, but as the man showed no interest at all, he sighed and began spinning the bolas quickly in his right hand.
The large man raised his sword high and rushed at the newcomer, attempting to cover the thirty feet between them quickly, but Elms had already released the spinning bolas and darted to one side. The three stone balls hurtled through the air and hit their mark, wrapping their thick twine tightly around the attacker's feet and binding them together. With a surprised grunt and a string of oaths in a foreign tongue the man toppled to the ground bashing his face off the cobbles, his longsword clattering to the ground beside him. Elms sprinted forward and the man raised his head just in time to see a heavy leather boot make contact with his face, a sickening crunch rang through the air as the man's nose exploded across his face. Not slowing for a moment, Elms ran onwards towards the second man, grabbing him by the shoulders and hurling him away from Maisy. Elms hadn't even considered that this drunken fool would be armed, he had assumed the other man acting as bodyguard would deal with any trouble, so when a small knife came arcing towards his face as he span the drunkard away from the girl it was reflexes alone that prevented his throat being slit - instead Elms felt the sting of the blade sweeping across his cheek and saw blood drip over his arm and shoulder. The man's knife hand was out wide, leaving him unprotected. Elms gritted his teeth and rammed his forehead into his opponent's face, hearing the familiar crunch of cartilage for the second time in as many minutes. The man shrieked in pain and dropped to his knees, his hands flying to his face to stem the blood pouring from his broken nose. Stepping back and drawing a shortsword from his hip scabbard, Elms saw the look in the downed man's eyes switch from pain to undisguised terror. Swinging the sword with a deft backhand stroke, Elms watched as the eyes screwed up in anticipation of the a fatal blow, but he turned his grip at the last second allowing the flat of the blade to clatter into the man's temple, knocking him out cold.
"Maisy? Maisy, wasn't it?" Elms knelt down to the woman cowering in the doorway and offered her a hand. "
It's safe now, don't be scared. They'll be still for... some time... check on your friend.". Maisy scampered past him and into the middle of the street where the second girl had been laid low. Maisy brushed the girl's hair from over her face, shook her gently by the shoulder and then screamed, staring at the thick, dark blood on her hand from the girl's head. Elms inspected the girl's wounds, held her eyes open with his thumb, straightened her out on the cobbles and said
"Listen to me, she's alive, but she must get help soon. Where's the nearest watch house?" he stood, inspected the unconscious attackers and pulled a coin pouch from the belt of each.
"It's over t'other side of that row of houses there sir, thank you sir... for your help sir..." she trailed off, looking down again at her friend.
"The watch will be here shortly, make sure you tell them about the stout, blonde fellow that helped you here tonight. Pale white skin, not from around here.". Maisy looked at Elms, tall, thin and dark-haired with his ruddy, weathered skin, blood still glistening from the cut on his cheek. She frowned, looking puzzled, but then nodded.
"Here." Elms said, tossing the two coin pouches to where she lay, cradling her friend's head in her lap.
"Make sure somebody looks after her.". With that, he fished a silver signal whistle from beneath his shirt, it hung on a chord around his neck, and he gave three short, loud blasts. Within seconds similar whistling erupted from various directions, although even the closest sounded quite a distance. Elms cocked his head to one side, listening.
"Three men are on their way. They'll look after you.". With that, he retrieved the bolas from its target, stepped delicately into the shadows and was gone. Gone to report back to Olaif, a task he was not looking forward to.
"You did... WHAT!" Bishop Olaif screamed, his huge jowls trembling with anger and spittle flying from his mouth.
"They would've raped the girls, eminence. Probably gone on to ki-"...
"I COULDN'T GIVE A DEVIL'S COCK WHAT THEY WOULD'VE DONE, ELMS!" the Bishop stabbed his pudgy fingers into the taller man's chest to punctuate every word, growing purple in the face.
"I told you specifically to watch and not to touch, did I not?”. Beginning to grow angry himself now, Elms closed his fists and tried to keep a level voice.
“You did, eminence, but this pair of savages were beating women! I'm sure one of the girls had a broken jaw and probably a broken skull to match!”.
“GUARDS!” the Bishop shouted
“GUARDS! Hold him!”. Looking around in astonishment, Elms didn't even have time to draw a weapon before four guards appeared from behind a heavy curtain and tackled him to the ground. Once he was subdued, the Bishop leant down and addressed him
“You've really dropped us in it here, Elmsy. He was an important man, your victim, and now he's an important and ugly man, with a grudge. He was supposed to be under our protection, part of a much bigger picture, but actually, we've kicked the hell out of him. I need to think.” the Bishops made a gesture to somebody that Elms couldn't see and a bag was thrust over his head. He was dragged into another room and strapped into some sort of chair. Constantly struggling and protesting, Elms felt restraints pin both arms and legs to the chair and heard the guards leave the room.
Hours passed. The bag was finally removed from Elms' head, the room was dim and all he could make out was the face of Bishop Olaif nearby and a brazier of smouldering coals with a couple of pokers propped against it. Totally unsure of what was happening, Elms decided to keep quiet and see what the obese priest had to say.
“You've made things very uncomfortable for the Church, Elmsy. Worse, you've made things very uncomfortable for me. I'll be polishing that bastard's shoes for a month now, figuratively speaking of course.”. Elms showed no reaction, the Bishop continued
“You're a good worker for us Elmsy. I know what you want, you know what I want, it works well... usually. I was this close” the Bishop held up two fat and heavily jewelled fingers
“to putting you forward for recruitment into the Order, but now look.” the fat man sighed and stoked the coals with one of the pokers, leaving it to rest there.
“Believe it or not, I like you. Of all the useless bastards I've had dealings with, you're the one that's given me the least aggravation, until now... but I have a solution." The coals received another stoking.
“One last job for us Elmsy, for me. It'll get you out of the city whilst this foreign dog is going berserk and turning the place upside down looking for you, and if you do it right, you're in. The Order of Justice will welcome you into it's ranks on my recommendation and you can charge around righting as many wrong as you see fit, fully funded and approved by us,” he swept his hand around dramatically
“The Grand Church of the Pentacle. I know it's what you want. Do we have a deal, Elmsy? I sincerely hope we do.”
Elms grunted, for the first time realising in his groggy head that he had been gagged. There must've been something soaked into that bag, he must've passed out.
“Unngghf.”.
“A deal Elmsy? A deal? We have a deal? Just nod!”. Elms nodded, the Bishop slapped his thighs in delight and hauled his huge bulk to his feet, turning to stoke the coals once more. The next think Elms felt was a searing pain in his right hand, the smell of burning flesh instantly apparent in his nostrils. He tried to scream but the gag muffled the sound, restraints in the chair stopped his struggling dead. Then there was a relief, liquid was being poured over the back of his burnt hand, it begin to sting, but it was cool, relief enough for now.
“Dedecus vernula peto redemptio, Elmsy. That's what is says.” the Bishop chuckled, unstrapping the restraint holding Elms' right hand in place and stepping backward briskly.
“Dedecus vernula peto redemptio... The shamed servant seeks redemption. Read your scriptures, it's very apt.”. Elms stared in disbelief at the circular brand with its winding script, raw in the back of his right hand, about the size of a large coin.
“It's a favour, believe it or not Elmsy. It will identify you to other agents of our Church, the Order, or anyone sympathetic to our cause. You're not the first. If and when you redeem yourself, we shall add this..." the Bishop stooped and retrieved a second brand, holding it up for observation, the metal cold and dull. This brand was a larger circle with a hollow middle, it looked as if it would fit perfectly around the first brand.
“Haud diutius famulus, is animus ingredior in lux lucis.” Olaif recited
“'No longer a servant, this soul walks in the light'. Now whilst I have your attention, pin back those ears and listen to what we need you to do...”[/Sblock]
[Sblock=Changes from Ranger template]
REMOVED:
Skill - Handle Animal
Skill - Knowledge: Nature.
Ability - Wild Empathy
ADDED:
Skill - Sense Motive
Skill - Open Lock.
Ability - 'Bring them in alive!' (Gain EWP: Bolas, Intimidate (Str),
at 3rd lvl non-lethal dmg becomes -2 to hit, at 6th it yields no penalty).
[/Sblock]