Post by Stephen on Dec 10, 2014 17:50:10 GMT 8
In a green and black puffed-and-slashed velvet and satin doublet and matching hose, Venture Captain Venino der Flinke was undeterred by any concepts of fashion, or indeed the protests of his tailor. The dimly lit drawing room — ageing finery, sombre palette — suited his mood. From this vantage in the turreted heights of Skyreach he surveyed the young Pathfinders sparing in the courtyard below. None of them would be taking the module he taught though — “Advanced Trapfinding and Circumvention” — as it had been cancelled for lack of signups. Again.
As he looked upon the scene he thought on how some of the students were the children of his former adventuring companions. All his friends married with children, and here he was still the confirmed bachelor. His melancholia was interrupted by the chirruping of the bone-shaped magic communication device hovering on the desk. It pulsed with an inner light and Venino grabbed it up anxiously. He paused a little, gathering himself before answering. “Der Flinke. Uh hm. What? No, I'm not a ninja. Well do I sound Minkian? Levels in Shadow Dancer? Well no, that mysterious elite super-secretive organisation doesn’t seem to have approached me and they don’t exactly widely advertise their training programmes. Whaddya mean everyone else is a member? What’s that? Did I dip what? Sorry, no. Well of course I’m human!... Oh .. I see.”
Slowly he returned the dimming bone to its invisible cradle and sighed. No new jobs for a traditional rogue. He narrowed his eyes at the sheaf of rejection letters lying in the wastebasket, a red “UNOPTIMISED!” stamp still visible. To cap it, his application for membership of Cayden’s Hall had been denied on account his “association with elements who don’t hold the best interests of the Hall to heart”.
“Motherfu…”.
“Ahem. If it please you Mr der Flink, the intern wot you is expectin' is 'ere.”
Venino turned with a glare to see a hobbit standing at the entrance to the chamber, his hairy — obviously stealthy — feet, wiggling, the rest of him respectfully at attention.
“Oh. Right then. Show him in”.
The halfling looked nonplussed for a second but then resumed his pleasant expression. “Erm, sir, you don’t 'ave a manservant. I’m the intern.”
Venino’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the short visitor. Travelling clothes, pretty non-descript, far too cheerful looking. The top hat under one arm seemed an unnecessary embellishment. And lugging a crossbow. “Dafuq?”
“Oh, you’ve 'eard of me!” the hobbit exclaimed excitedly.
“What?”
“Dorian Cheesefoot; better know as Dafuq.”
“And how did you come by that particular moniker?”
“I fink it’s to do wif the exclamation wot people make when they un-hex-spectedly find a bolt sticking out ov their 'ead, govnor.”
“O...K... And what am I supposed to teach you exactly? You know I’m the rogue trainer, right?”
“Ah, well, I fink they had difficulty placing me on account of me bein’ a gunslinger archtype wot 'ates black powder, innit.”
“Pardon?”
“See, I did all the training in gunsmithing when I woz working for teh Order of the Black Powder. But those guy running that outfit dun’t know nuffink about physics and practical reloading speeds. Even Sean Bean can only get 'is boys down to one shot every thirty seconds. So when these Black Powder geezers are all about cutting corners with Rapid Reload and using new fangled volatile cartridges, double barreled some more, I’m like ‘Guys! Health and safety! Your misfire chance is through the roof! And how you s’posed to reload if you’ve a gun in each hand?’ and they’re all like ‘Never tell me the misfire chance! And grow some more hands, slip!’ Nerf bat is coming for 'em all; you mark my words. Anyway, they weren’t none too 'appy with me so I was transferred to peeling potatoes for Thrune Security Special Mobile Response Unit. I wasn’t fancying that malarky so I scarpered right quick. I fink the dessymirate assigned me to you on account of our…”, the hobbit looked about in an exaggerated conspirational manner, “...mutual affiliation”.
“Don’t do that; it just makes you look dumb.”
“Sometimes it pays to look dumb Mr Venino”. Venino rolled low on his Sense Mo. He couldn’t shake the sensation that the hobbit was taking the piss, but neither could he place exactly why. Dafuq pointed to the emblem of a flower pinned to his tunic.
“Oh, I see, you’re one of the Bellflower boys”, Venino realised. “Jolly good. We in the Andoran Faction are very respectful of your work.”
“Liberty’s Hedge sir”
“What?”
“Your faction sir. Major Coldsore did a rebranding and changed your faction name to Liberty’s Hedge.”
“Liberty’s Hedge?”
“That’s right sir. Surely you got the memo? You don’t work for the SEE-AYE-HAY anymore sir.”
“Well that’s something at least. But all the same, I don’t think I have an opening for a student at the moment.”
“Sorry to hear that sir… I … hope you don’t mind me saying so..., but I like wot you did wif your 'air sir.”
“What, this? I just ran my fingers through it.”
“Well, you’re lucky sir, cos it’s a good look for you. And I 'avta say I like 'ow you’re rocking the green. Green is such a speshul colour.”
“Hmm, well maybe I have a slot for a student after all. Yes. Report to me for your training tomorrow.”
“Right you are guvnor”, and with that the hobbit was off.
The weary Venture Captain settled himself down into the large stuffed armchair. He closed his eyes and almost immediately began to doze. As usual the dreams came. Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t just non-lethal her ass! No, not the demon and his dog again! My kid-n-e-y! Within minutes of dropping off he was roughly shaken awake.
“Mr de Flinke. Mr de Flinke. Your time on this room is up. You have to clear out; it’s needed for another meeting”.
“But I…”
“No, you don’t live here Mr de Flinke, let’s not go through all that again. Come along, let’s be having you.”
Dorian “Dafuq” Cheesefoot, a.k.a. The Green Shadow
Male chaotic-good halfling bolt ace; native of Westcrown.
height 2’11¾”, weight 35lb, curly brown hair, amber brown eyes; Languages: Common and Halfling
As he looked upon the scene he thought on how some of the students were the children of his former adventuring companions. All his friends married with children, and here he was still the confirmed bachelor. His melancholia was interrupted by the chirruping of the bone-shaped magic communication device hovering on the desk. It pulsed with an inner light and Venino grabbed it up anxiously. He paused a little, gathering himself before answering. “Der Flinke. Uh hm. What? No, I'm not a ninja. Well do I sound Minkian? Levels in Shadow Dancer? Well no, that mysterious elite super-secretive organisation doesn’t seem to have approached me and they don’t exactly widely advertise their training programmes. Whaddya mean everyone else is a member? What’s that? Did I dip what? Sorry, no. Well of course I’m human!... Oh .. I see.”
Slowly he returned the dimming bone to its invisible cradle and sighed. No new jobs for a traditional rogue. He narrowed his eyes at the sheaf of rejection letters lying in the wastebasket, a red “UNOPTIMISED!” stamp still visible. To cap it, his application for membership of Cayden’s Hall had been denied on account his “association with elements who don’t hold the best interests of the Hall to heart”.
“Motherfu…”.
“Ahem. If it please you Mr der Flink, the intern wot you is expectin' is 'ere.”
Venino turned with a glare to see a hobbit standing at the entrance to the chamber, his hairy — obviously stealthy — feet, wiggling, the rest of him respectfully at attention.
“Oh. Right then. Show him in”.
The halfling looked nonplussed for a second but then resumed his pleasant expression. “Erm, sir, you don’t 'ave a manservant. I’m the intern.”
Venino’s brow furrowed as he surveyed the short visitor. Travelling clothes, pretty non-descript, far too cheerful looking. The top hat under one arm seemed an unnecessary embellishment. And lugging a crossbow. “Dafuq?”
“Oh, you’ve 'eard of me!” the hobbit exclaimed excitedly.
“What?”
“Dorian Cheesefoot; better know as Dafuq.”
“And how did you come by that particular moniker?”
“I fink it’s to do wif the exclamation wot people make when they un-hex-spectedly find a bolt sticking out ov their 'ead, govnor.”
“O...K... And what am I supposed to teach you exactly? You know I’m the rogue trainer, right?”
“Ah, well, I fink they had difficulty placing me on account of me bein’ a gunslinger archtype wot 'ates black powder, innit.”
“Pardon?”
“See, I did all the training in gunsmithing when I woz working for teh Order of the Black Powder. But those guy running that outfit dun’t know nuffink about physics and practical reloading speeds. Even Sean Bean can only get 'is boys down to one shot every thirty seconds. So when these Black Powder geezers are all about cutting corners with Rapid Reload and using new fangled volatile cartridges, double barreled some more, I’m like ‘Guys! Health and safety! Your misfire chance is through the roof! And how you s’posed to reload if you’ve a gun in each hand?’ and they’re all like ‘Never tell me the misfire chance! And grow some more hands, slip!’ Nerf bat is coming for 'em all; you mark my words. Anyway, they weren’t none too 'appy with me so I was transferred to peeling potatoes for Thrune Security Special Mobile Response Unit. I wasn’t fancying that malarky so I scarpered right quick. I fink the dessymirate assigned me to you on account of our…”, the hobbit looked about in an exaggerated conspirational manner, “...mutual affiliation”.
“Don’t do that; it just makes you look dumb.”
“Sometimes it pays to look dumb Mr Venino”. Venino rolled low on his Sense Mo. He couldn’t shake the sensation that the hobbit was taking the piss, but neither could he place exactly why. Dafuq pointed to the emblem of a flower pinned to his tunic.
“Oh, I see, you’re one of the Bellflower boys”, Venino realised. “Jolly good. We in the Andoran Faction are very respectful of your work.”
“Liberty’s Hedge sir”
“What?”
“Your faction sir. Major Coldsore did a rebranding and changed your faction name to Liberty’s Hedge.”
“Liberty’s Hedge?”
“That’s right sir. Surely you got the memo? You don’t work for the SEE-AYE-HAY anymore sir.”
“Well that’s something at least. But all the same, I don’t think I have an opening for a student at the moment.”
“Sorry to hear that sir… I … hope you don’t mind me saying so..., but I like wot you did wif your 'air sir.”
“What, this? I just ran my fingers through it.”
“Well, you’re lucky sir, cos it’s a good look for you. And I 'avta say I like 'ow you’re rocking the green. Green is such a speshul colour.”
“Hmm, well maybe I have a slot for a student after all. Yes. Report to me for your training tomorrow.”
“Right you are guvnor”, and with that the hobbit was off.
The weary Venture Captain settled himself down into the large stuffed armchair. He closed his eyes and almost immediately began to doze. As usual the dreams came. Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t just non-lethal her ass! No, not the demon and his dog again! My kid-n-e-y! Within minutes of dropping off he was roughly shaken awake.
“Mr de Flinke. Mr de Flinke. Your time on this room is up. You have to clear out; it’s needed for another meeting”.
“But I…”
“No, you don’t live here Mr de Flinke, let’s not go through all that again. Come along, let’s be having you.”
Dorian “Dafuq” Cheesefoot, a.k.a. The Green Shadow
Male chaotic-good halfling bolt ace; native of Westcrown.
height 2’11¾”, weight 35lb, curly brown hair, amber brown eyes; Languages: Common and Halfling
| Str 8 -1 Dex 21 +5 Con 12 +1 Int 10 -- Wiz 14 +2 Cha 12 +1 | HP: 11 AC 18 -- Touch 1 -- Flat footed 13 Initiative: 5 BAB: +1, CMB: -1, CMD: 14 Speed 20’ | Fortitude: 4 (2 base, 1 Con, 1 Halfling Luck) Reflex: 8 (2, 5 Dex, 13, 1 Halfling Luck) Will: 3 (0 base, 2 Wiz, 1 Halfling Luck) +2 vs. Fear |
| SKILLS Acrobatics 11 Bluff 5 Escape Artist 9 Perception 8 Stealth 14 | FEATS Point Blank Shot (1st) TRAITS Slippery (Bellflower Network - Faction Guide) Freedom Fighter (Halfling - Ultimate Campaign) |