AgentBarrel

Fog of Torvelt

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_{A N T R A R O}

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Antraro watched and listened as the tension in the room grew and fell, his posture growing slightly smaller and more meek as he saw tensions rise. As he saw the intensity of the conversation lower and the respective assailants retreat to their corners, he returned to his usual posture, standing straight with his chest slightly pushed out, not in a display of strength but in a simulacrum of how his father once stood. His eyes drifted to his party members as they listed their strengths and proficiencies and he took their strengths into account in comparison to his own.

The dwarven man would certainly be a Gods-sent gift for this group. Antraro would be sure to stick close to him, half for the reason that he could diffuse tension somewhat easily, while in comparison it was hard for Antraro to be quite as compelling. The other reason being that the two of them shared similar skillsets and would be on the same relative position on the battlefield, albeit one with more fire and discipline than the other.

Stur, the human, was an iceberg. Antraro, with the time that he had living in Koprust after that fateful night, had some insight as to when someone was holding some of their cards. Antraro had a feeling that those cards would come to light during this trip, but it is not for him to decide when it will happen.

Antraro empathized with Imalessa due to their shared relative youth. He felt a certain kinship with her, living as a hermit for most of his life with his father he knew what it was like to live isolated from most society and the dangers and boons that said isolation provided. He felt as though she would be a good friend in time.

It was safe to say that Gentle intimidated him, not for the power that he wielded behind his frame, nor the sheer size of the older minotaur, but for the visible restraint that he had shown. To Antraro, it takes more strength to have power and choose not to use it freely than to have reckless abandon with said strength. He respected him but knew to never cross him.

Antraro had seen Brynan a few times before on his sparse visits to the castle. He had come to the castle to accompany people who had requested his aid. Some simply wanted him there for the company that he provided and the image of a large lizard-man standing by them to bolster their confidence. Some visits were less than savory. Antraro remembered a time when a particularly prickly man who was a recent addition to the island had dragged him to the castle to demand that Antraro be confined in a cell for the safety of the city. Thankfully, the kind king had let him go free and apologized for the disturbance to him. Brynan had always been there, at the side of the royal family, poised for anything that may occur.

Aone was a mystery to him, mostly. He gleaned that she was inquisitive, at least, due to her very observant behavior. She watched people and learned about them. Antraro only hoped that that curiosity that she had wouldn't lead to her knowing too much about him and the resulting fear that it may bring.

Antraro at this point had been the only one to not speak as the group was ushered into the meeting room. He was nervous but steeled himself. Clearing his throat, the thrum of it being accidentally louder than the voice that escaped, he spoke, "As I said in the throne room, my name is Antraro. I am skilled in hand-to-hand combat and have stood toe to toe with armed opponents and bested them." Antraro fiddled with his clawed and scaled hands, "I also have the ability to fight with my senses impaired and have the ability to exhale flame. I wish to warn you of this fact ahead of time to prevent any...accidents in the future. I do not plan on using my breath in the forest extensively due to the risk of collateral damage that may occur," he adds, nodding respectfully in Imalessa's direction. "I am happy to be working with several skilled men and women and I hope that I may cultivate a kinship with you all." He finishes his statement with an awkward glance about the room while still fiddling with his hands slightly as he awaited a response.

Fog of Torvelt

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_{A N T R A R O}

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Antraro had come with many others to the throne room of King Brand's castle. He watched as those who had trepidations walked by him towards the exit of the room and castle. Some ran into him, some purposefully and some not so. Even after years of living in the city, some still despised him for his visage. He held no ill will towards them in return, but he did feel a pang of disappointment.

Antraro stood at full height in his robes, lizardlike head exposed to the crowd and the royalty before him as King Brand and the Queen presented their speech and call to action. While Antraro heard the speech and registered that it was a quest from a king to his subjects, all he could hear was the sadness of a father who had lost a son begging for help.

Antraro watched as two other women of half-elven nature stepped forward with their acceptances and Antraro, would follow suit. In a gentle, deep, voice, he spoke, "I am Antraro, son of Erentus. I pledge my mind, body, and soul to the cause of finding your son, your majesty. This I swear." Antraro frowned in empathy for the king, he knew what it was like to lose something most dear.

Fog of Torvelt

Antraro

Image

A N T R A R O

"One's visage and combat prowess are not the only facets of a man, take care to remember this."

_{B A S I C S}

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_NAME
Antraro
_AGE
28

_RACE
Dragonborn: Red

_CLASS
Monk

_OCCUPATION
Takes on altruistic odd jobs for their next meal. Unpaid otherwise.

_{ORIGINATES FROM}
Unknown

_{P H Y S I C A L A T T R I B U T E S}

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_{PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION}
Antraro stands taller than most humanoids at a height of about six and a half feet, or about two meters tall. His musculature is not defined but present when his strength is put to the test. His build is slightly stocky and he is covered from head to toe in dark red scales which slightly glimmer in the sun. His hands and feet end in sharp claws that see little use, though they are sharp and well maintained despite his lifestyle. He wears the visage of the Dragonborn people, a lizardlike head, forked tongue, slitted eyes, and two horns which sprout from the top of his head.

_STRENGTHS

• Physical strength
• Unarmed Combat
• Heat Resistance

_WEAKNESSES

• Not very dextrous
• Vulnerable after a breath attack
• Use of complex weaponry

_{P S Y C H O L O G I C A L A T T R I B U T E S}

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_PERSONALITY
Warm - Kind - Altruistic - Softspoken - Calculated - Awkward - Lonely

_SEXUALITY
Gay

_FEARS

• Prejudice
• Claustrophobia
• Losing control

_GOALS

• Teach altruism to the world
• Be known for more than what he looks like

_{S K I L L S}

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A listing of skills, such as horseback riding, and natural abilities such as night vision - this also includes any racial edges.

_{Flame Breath}
Antraro can breathe a gout of flame in a wide area in front of him. He can also use his flame breath in smaller doses as a firestarter or to keep himself warm.

_{Blindfighting}
Even when his senses are impaired, Antraro can still hold his own in combat. He uses his sense of hearing and smell to stay in the fight when his vision is blocked.

_{Heavy Lifting}
Antraro is quite strong, he can lift heavier objects than most. The heaviest that he can lift completely over his head is about 400 lbs or 182 kg.

_{G E A R}

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_{ITEMS ON PERSON}
Can have as many or as few as you like, mainly 'important' items

• Robes
• Bowl

_WEAPONS

• None

_{H I S T O R Y}

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Antraro has little knowledge of the circumstances of his birth. He only knows as much as his adoptive father had told him before he passed away. Antraro's father recounted to him that a deafening slam was heard outside as he was preparing his breakfast, shaking the interior of his home, knocking several things off of their shelves, and Antraro's father fell to the floor in a daze. Then, a set of delicate footsteps approached his doorstep, left an object, and walked away. As his father stood from the floor, a great gust of wind and the flapping of wings was the last thing he heard before he opened the door to see Antraro swaddled in a blanket on his doorstep. Taking pity on the babe, he took him in.

Antraro's childhood was spent mostly in isolation on Torvelt. Antraro was taught to fear the populace at a young age because they would fear him in turn due to his appearance. This fear did not stop Antraro from leaving the house in the night to gaze out towards the edge of the island and wonder what lay beyond the shores and how he came to be here. He was not only taught to fear, though, but he was also educated to hone his body to the fullest and use its potential to achieve one's goals. On the few occasions where Antraro and his father had to visit the capital to gather supplies, Antraro was happiest, he saw what the world outside his home looked like. He hid in plain sight due to heavy clothes and coverings. Though they only worked when he kept a certain distance.

On his last trip to Korprust, Antraro's father was busy bartering with a merchant when Antraro heard shouting from a nearby alley. Antraro, as stealthily as he could, slipped away to investigate. A woman was being robbed at knifepoint by a pair of brigands. She stood no chance against them, and Antraro could not stand idly by and let this happen. He intervened, scuffling with the two thieves and emerging victorious, their blades bouncing off of his scales but ruining his disguise. As the men fell, so did Antraro's disguise. When the woman rose from the floor from her panic to Antraro's outstretched hand, she looked at him and paled, fear plain in her eyes. She screamed and fled the alley with her belongings. The city guard had Antraro and Antraro's father taken in for questioning as well as the two unconscious thieves. After deliberation, Antraro and his father were free to leave. But without his disguise, Antraro, in his young adulthood, was visible to the city-goers for the first time. He saw many things in their eyes as they left: fear, confusion, and bewilderment, but the one thing that kept Antraro's spirit from breaking completely was seeing the children look at him in awe. They had never seen anything like him.

Tragedy struck soon after this trip to Koprust. Vengeance came in the form of brigands to Antraro's secluded home. They struck down Antraro's father who had given him just enough time to escape. The last thing that Antraro saw before he fled in the night was the smoke rising from his childhood home and the corpse of his adoptive father on the floor. Antraro has since then been living ascetically in the city, taking jobs wherever they came so that he may feed himself and help those who need it. He would always live by the one thing that he held most dear that his father taught him, "Even if they fear you, even if they hate you, you must not falter on your goals."

A Path to Vengeance

Vergu huffs as the auctioneer leaves, "A very pleasant sort indeed." He turns to the halfling using him as a meat shield and remarks, "I think you are right. We should leave this...cesspool as soon as we can." Gesturing to the road as he finishes his sentence, he allows the elf to lead the way to their destination, wherever it may be, as long as it is not here in the slave market. As they begin walking, Vergu begins with "If introductions are necessary, my name is Vergu, if you hadn't bought me, I would have died at the hands of the human who would have," he says in matter-of-fact tone. "Once we sit down somewhere quiet I will be able to explain more.”

A Path to Vengeance

So a quick question, do we have a character sheet to make or not?

A Path to Vengeance

Elias was redder than some of the lizardfolk in the auction. It so pleased Vergu to see him in such a state of powerlessness. Elias stammered and practically assaulted his bodyguards for their gold but it was far too late. The auctioneer clearly wanted to leave before things escalate any further and sped through his words to end the auction quickly.
"ONCETWICEAND, sold to the elven gentleman for 250 gold!"

Vergu was brought off the stage and broke sight with most of the crowd but he could hear the oh so sweet sounds of Elias' rage from behind the plank walls of the receiving area for slaves. Though he couldn't quite understand his words, he knew from the slightly higher pitch that he was frothing.

Upon seeing his buyer he took the moment to size him up, many questions ran through his head among the lines of Why would he spend so much money on me? What does he want me for? What will I have to do for him? Why buy the halfling? Money changed hands and Vergu was unchained, his belongings given to him, he carried naught but his own personal iron signet ring that Elias hadn't bothered to take away, and his set of, albeit dirty, dark purple robes. Vergu simply asked his new master,"What would you have of me? It is certainly better than the fate that would have befallen me otherwise."

A Path to Vengeance

I mean...it would be a quick way to wrap up your story.

A Path to Vengeance

"I bid twenty gold, and not a copper more!" said the elf. And with those words, Vergu exhaled and thanked the gods for sparing the halfling's life. He was a good enough person, strong morals, a bit unwise, but over all goodhearted.
"Twenty going once!" A pause followed.
"Twice!" Shuffling from a woman in the crowd worried him, her eyes filled with hunger.
"Thrice!" The silence was deafening until finally,
"Sold! I pray you know what you have signed yourself on to, sir." And with that, the halfling was brought off the stage to his new master. While Vergu did not have the best viewing angle to see them both, the elf was clearly speaking to the halfling and the halfling had a look of both worry and confusion.

While the momentary relief that the halfing was not going to be immediately killed washed over him, Vergu was quickly brought back to reality when a guard untied him from a post and started to drag him by his long, unwashed hair to the podium. "You are next, mutant," the guard said all too pleased with himself after adding another successful insult to Vergu's stockpile. As he was dragged and shoved onto the podium, the auctioneer began describing Vergu to the crowd.

"And here we have our last product for the morning! A recent addition to our stock, and a rarity at that! A half-orc with gray skin, a first for this auctioneer that is for sure!" The crowd had their oohs and ahhs about Vergu in that moment. "Also it appears that this half-orc has had some...mutations on his left arm, possibly magical in origin. Sorcery is at work here ladies and gentlemen!" He says in the same tone that a circus ringleader speaks to a group of children. We shall start the bidding at...70 gold!" The clamor of bids came shortly after, with Elias with predatory focus bidding repeatedly in order to intimidate other buyers, soon the variety of bidders began to thin. It was until the bid reached 150 gold that there were only two bidders, Elias and a lizardfolk of apparent noble blood.

"150 gold! Bid is on Elias Strint! Going once!"

A Path to Vengeance

Vergu stood in chains isolated away from the podium at a slave auction after not a month ago living in the Strint estate. He weighed in his head if this was worse than being back at home with his father. He shuddered for a moment and assured himself that anything is better than being back with that snake of a man, even death.

The din of the auctioneers and the bidders was flaring his temper but he had to keep himself together for he had already witnessed what had happened to those who resisted or even fled. Memories flood back of a young human man who managed to slip loose from his cuffs right next to him. The words Vergu had heard from him were "Syanna, I'm coming!" His body is still on the floor where he was cut down, eyes still open and frozen in fear. Blood still oozed from the wounds on his body. Nobody bothered to move his body so they could use it as a warning to other potential escapees.

Snapping him from his memories, he hears a familiar voice in the crowd. "I will offer no more than 63 gold for her." Before the end of the sentence, he knew. He knew that voice. Elias Strint, here of all places. He was buying an elven woman, no doubt as a concubine.That cur is lucky I am in chains and surrounded by guards. As soon as the thought passed his mind, he locked eyes with him. Both shared not a word for an arduous and long silence. "You should be dead. It was my decree that you were to die."
"Then you should have done it yourself if you wished for no failure, Elias. Your soldiers did me a service, freeing me from you. Anything is better than you."
"You are to call me father or my lord and nothing else!" He breathed for a moment barely containing his rage.
"I will follow your advice then. I will buy you, and then kill you myself, freak." He spit in Vergu's face as he finished the sentence and walked away.

The words worried Vergu, he had finally escaped Elias and was now going to be incarcerated again by him. He had only to hope that someone would bid higher than a duke. Slim a chance it may be, he still had a chance.

Vergu saw that halfling be thrown up on the podium, he had attempted to free people a few times, he obviously failed. Vergu's blood ran cold when he saw that nobody was offering up prices for him. He does not deserve death! Animals!, Vergu thought to himself.

A Path to Vengeance

Name: Vergu Knurikash (Vair-goo Noo-ri-cash)
Title: Bastard Prince of the Strint Duchy
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Species: Half-Orc
Class: Bloodrager (d20pfsrd.com/classes/hybrid-classes/b…)

Physical Appearance: Vergu's most striking feature at first is his ashy gray skin tone, courtesy of his mother and a rarity among orcs. Vergu while wearing nothing more than the scant clothes provided to him during his slavery is built with broad shoulders and a wide stance, albeit more stocky than other of his kin. Vergu carries himself to display prowess but it is marred by the exhaustion that comes with his environment. Pointed ears, sharp white tusks of short length, and amber colored eyes display nothing out of the ordinary at a glance.

Until eyes wander to the left arm do people not suspect a thing. On his left arm is a sleeve of reflective scales, galvanized in bronze. The scales spread through the arm and elbow up to the shoulder and the back of the hand, where upon closer inspection one can see the nails on the left hand are sharper and appear closer to talons.

Personality:

Impatient
Vindictive
Loyal
Passionate
Tenacious
Paranoid


Motivation:
Vergu is motivated by the pursuit of freedom, power, and revenge.

History:
Vergu's story begins with his parents. His mother Dura, a half-orc herself, ostracized from her tribe for reasons not known to Vergu and never explained to him before she died an untimely death. She perished soon after giving birth to Vergu from an unknown illness. His father, Elias Strint, duke of the Strint duchy, a man who sees what he wants and takes it, no matter what or who it is. The situation of Vergu's conception is the product of Elias' greed and ruthlessness and Dura's failure to notice a sedative snuck into her food.

When Vergu was born, he was tracked down by his father and hidden away in his estate where he was taught to be a noble and set up to become "another hidden failure created by his father" as said by many a manservant in the estate. Years pass and everything is perfectly horrible for Vergu, constant berating, constant abuse throughout his entire upbringing. Nobody tells him about his mother except in passing insults.

One day, his bloodline flared and scales suddenly formed on his arm and spread rapidly across it. Feeling a newfound power surge through him, he attempted to harness it and fired off an uncontrollable burst of electricity injuring a manservant in the process, not to any displeasure of Vergu, they all hated him anyways. Elias upon seeing the damage and injury to his servant decided that he was "not worth the trouble keeping alive anymore" and proceeded to order his knights to incarcerate Vergu and kill him. Instead of a quick death, the knights decided to make some quick gold selling him off to slavery, and they did so.

Equipment:

Weakness:
Shouldn't be alive- Elias Strint will stop at nothing to have Vergu killed
Short temper- A life of abuse will make tempers flare quickly, even for a half-orc
Knowledge of himself- Vergu is desperate to know more about his bloodline and how to control it, and is easily tempted by knowledge of it

Relationships:
Yet to come