There is a comfort to be found in the deep wilderness which lies
beyond the crisp, clean air, free of the reek of shit and piss, of
rotting garbage and smoking coal. It lies beyond the sounds of the
wild, the wind rustling branches and scattering leaves, the birds
calling, deers' hooves striking the loam, the digging of badgers and
moles, the sussuration of snake's smooth scales slithering round roots
and stones. This comfort lies more in the vastness of land untamed by
man, land which itself is above the laws of civilized folk, yet bound
to its own laws of hunger, of growth, of the hunt. The deeper we fare
into the stolen lands, the more i am gripped with a curious emotion, a
sort of powerful calm, tempered with a young man's excitement when
faced with great adventure. This is the comfort that has eluded me
since the day of the fire that ended my childhood, and i name it
destiny.
My companions are a varied lot, Alexandros is a well-armored, powerful
healer bristling with weapons who worships the mad mage-god Nethys, as
does Jordan Scorch, an invoker whose eldritch abilities rival my
blades in their deadliness. As for Attila, he stands only three feet
tall in his ragged furs, yet his fearsome strength and battle fury are
beyond anything i have seen. Upon arrival at his trading post, Oleg
and his lovely wife Svetlana told us of their troubles with bandits,
and the very next morning we executed a group of them, hanging their
bodies over the palisade as a warning. The next day we found a bandit
camp and surprised them, killing the lot, including their chief, a
dangerous axe-fighter named Kressle. As she had been cruel to Oleg and
his wife, I packed Kressle's head in salt as a gift. We have also made
an alliance with two powerful fae: Tink, a magical tiny cricket-woman
and Purlevash, a faerie dragon-beast with powers of illusion and
flight. We are lucky to have them on our side, as the fae can be
terrible enemies. They tormented the bandits the night before our
attack on their camp, which made them easier to slay. Worthy allies
indeed. I thank Erastil for their friendship and for this charter...
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Alexandros Q&A
Q: Are you native to Brevoy, or are you visiting?
Q: Why did you accept the charter to explore the stolen lands? Are you
traveling to Brevoy for this purpose?
A: "My family lives to the North and West, in the shattered remnant of
once-great Numeria. I come home to redress great wrongs. I have
grievances against the so-called leaders in my homeland, but those
grievances, like so many others, must wait until I can speak the only
language they understand. With this charter, and these untamed lands,
I will form a barracks and recruit a force. I will forge that force
into a fist of righteousness, a great shield against tyranny and
despotism. This I have foreseen."
Q: Why did you become a Cleric? Why Nethys?
A: "In retrospect, it should have been obvious. My life has been the
contradiction-in-action that is a microcosm of the God King's own
ascension. This is not hubris, I do not claim to have undergone the
trials he underwent. But, my life, my beliefs, in fact, my very faith,
is itself a paradox that drew me to him. When I was finally called
forth, by his Bard, in a vision, it was merely a formality."
Q: What have you been doing for the last 3 months?
A: "Travelling from Absalom has taken me quite some time. I departed
by ship, of course, but then took a circuitous road. I have tried to
recruit those of the faith, or those with skill at arms. I'm afraid
most of my words have fallen on deaf ears, but I hold-out hope that as
tales of glory trickle back along the road, some will remember and
flock to our banner. 'Who dares, wins!'"
Q: What about the last 3 years?
A: "After I got out of the Mage's Guard, I went back to Absalom for
another year of study under the Society. I suppose I should not have
been as surprised as I was to find The Bard in my dreams, calling me
to Nethys. I must admit, I took some satisfaction from the slack looks
on the faces of my old teachers when I returned wearing the mantle of
black and white. After that, it was another year of research into
magical writings and theory until I felt prepared to undertake my new
quest. 'Per ardua ad astra.'"
Q: A powerful dockworker is harassing you in a tavern, what do you
do?
A: "I ignore him until forced to re-classify him as a threat. One he
becomes a threat I dispatch him with necessary and sufficient force.
'None attack me with impunity.'"
Q: Why did you accept the charter to explore the stolen lands? Are you
traveling to Brevoy for this purpose?
A: "My family lives to the North and West, in the shattered remnant of
once-great Numeria. I come home to redress great wrongs. I have
grievances against the so-called leaders in my homeland, but those
grievances, like so many others, must wait until I can speak the only
language they understand. With this charter, and these untamed lands,
I will form a barracks and recruit a force. I will forge that force
into a fist of righteousness, a great shield against tyranny and
despotism. This I have foreseen."
Q: Why did you become a Cleric? Why Nethys?
A: "In retrospect, it should have been obvious. My life has been the
contradiction-in-action that is a microcosm of the God King's own
ascension. This is not hubris, I do not claim to have undergone the
trials he underwent. But, my life, my beliefs, in fact, my very faith,
is itself a paradox that drew me to him. When I was finally called
forth, by his Bard, in a vision, it was merely a formality."
Q: What have you been doing for the last 3 months?
A: "Travelling from Absalom has taken me quite some time. I departed
by ship, of course, but then took a circuitous road. I have tried to
recruit those of the faith, or those with skill at arms. I'm afraid
most of my words have fallen on deaf ears, but I hold-out hope that as
tales of glory trickle back along the road, some will remember and
flock to our banner. 'Who dares, wins!'"
Q: What about the last 3 years?
A: "After I got out of the Mage's Guard, I went back to Absalom for
another year of study under the Society. I suppose I should not have
been as surprised as I was to find The Bard in my dreams, calling me
to Nethys. I must admit, I took some satisfaction from the slack looks
on the faces of my old teachers when I returned wearing the mantle of
black and white. After that, it was another year of research into
magical writings and theory until I felt prepared to undertake my new
quest. 'Per ardua ad astra.'"
Q: A powerful dockworker is harassing you in a tavern, what do you
do?
A: "I ignore him until forced to re-classify him as a threat. One he
becomes a threat I dispatch him with necessary and sufficient force.
'None attack me with impunity.'"
Maxim Background
Maxim Andreusz Kozinski (Max for short) was born in New Stetven in
southern Brevoy. His father Andreusz, who fell in battle when Max was
three, was a soldier with house Rogarvia. Max's mother Kasia had spent
her youth as an adventurer, and had maintained her skills as a rogue.
When Andreusz died, Kasia freelanced for the New Stetven Merchant's
Guild, providing security and counter-intelligence vs. the Surtova
family-controlled Thieves' Guild and striving to maintain a low
profile. She trained young Max, passing on her skillset and
apprenticing him to Bartolemy, her old teacher and elderly
representative of the pathfinder society. Max was ten years old when
his life was torn asunder.
First, Bartolemy succumbed to old age, passing away in his sleep.
With Bartolemy's protection gone, the Surtovan guild swiftly acted to
remove the troublesome Kasia, whose actions on behalf of local
merchants had prevented their racketeering and burglaries for so long.
The night of Bartolemy's funeral, Max couldn't sleep. The sobs kept
welling up in his little chest. Sneaking out of his bedroom window, he
made his way through the dark streets of New Stetven to Cayden
Cailean's temple cemetery, where he beat his fists against Bartolemy's
gravestone and sobbed himself to sleep.
As the ten year-old slept amidst the peaceful graves, dark-cloaked
figures crept to Kasia's house. Two thieves climbed to the roof and
emptied small barrels of oil, soaking the wooden shingles. Three other
assassins took up positions at the door and windows as the climbers
descended silently to street level. At a low whistle from the leader,
the man at the door knelt and pounded iron spikes into the door jamb
with a silk-muffled hammer while those at the window lit fuses
protruding from wax-stoppered wine bottles. As soon as the quiet
hammering ceased, each man threw his bottle. The sound of breaking
windows presaged a low roar as the two bottles ignited. The six
shadowy figures sprinted down the street as the house transformed from
a structure into an enormous bonfire. Within minutes, the neighborhood
was awake and panicked as the fire spread.
Max woke shivering in the crisp dawn and headed back towards home,
blowing on his hands and jogging to try to warm up. As he turned the
last corner, he saw that his street was gone, all the houses replaced
by blackened and shattered timbers. Guardsmen and locals were trying
to clean up the most dangerous wreckage and pouring sand and water
onto the smoldering remains, where thin tendrils of gray smoke crept
skyward. Max's trance was broken by the rough hand shaking at his
shoulder. "Boy, did you live here? Do you know how this happened?" Max
took one look at the burly guardsman's bearded, ash-stained face and
bolted, quicker than a jackrabbit. He jinked down an alley and kept
sprinting, disappearing instantly from the bewildered guardsman's
sight.
Max ran into the woods. After two days of near-starvation and a bout
of sickness caused by eating wild mushrooms, he came upon a rough-hewn
little shack with the symbol of a bow and arrow above the door. He had
stumbled upon a shrine of Erastil. The local priest, a jolly fat man
clad in homespun breeches and tunic, welcomed the boy and shared his
rustic meal. Max learned to follow the ways of Erastil, hunting and
living off the land, and balanced these teachings with the path of the
rogue that honored Kasia's memory and put gold in his pocket. He
became a wilderness scout and bounty hunter, guiding merchants
+travelers as well as tracking bandits and lawbreakers and bringing
them to justice.
Maxim Andreusz Kozynski is five foot ten and a half, weighing one
hundred and eighty five pounds. His wiry frame conceals immense
strength and fortitude, and his stern grey-blue eyes stare evenly from
a rugged, youthful face. Curly brown hair peeks from under the edges
of a rabbit-fur hat composed of grey and black patches, matched by his
scraggly youthful attempt at a beard and mustache. His weathered ruddy
skin is protected from the elements by a brand new suit of studded
leather armor, under which he wears a deerskin shirt, leather boots,
belt&breeches. He wears deerskin gloves and a voluminous grey woollen
cloak, its dark interior lined with pockets. Hanging from his belt are
two well-worn shortswords, a belt pouch and a sling&stones. A rough-
hewn cold iron dagger is tucked into each boot, a backpack forms a
lump under his cloak, and a signal whistle hangs from his neck.
southern Brevoy. His father Andreusz, who fell in battle when Max was
three, was a soldier with house Rogarvia. Max's mother Kasia had spent
her youth as an adventurer, and had maintained her skills as a rogue.
When Andreusz died, Kasia freelanced for the New Stetven Merchant's
Guild, providing security and counter-intelligence vs. the Surtova
family-controlled Thieves' Guild and striving to maintain a low
profile. She trained young Max, passing on her skillset and
apprenticing him to Bartolemy, her old teacher and elderly
representative of the pathfinder society. Max was ten years old when
his life was torn asunder.
First, Bartolemy succumbed to old age, passing away in his sleep.
With Bartolemy's protection gone, the Surtovan guild swiftly acted to
remove the troublesome Kasia, whose actions on behalf of local
merchants had prevented their racketeering and burglaries for so long.
The night of Bartolemy's funeral, Max couldn't sleep. The sobs kept
welling up in his little chest. Sneaking out of his bedroom window, he
made his way through the dark streets of New Stetven to Cayden
Cailean's temple cemetery, where he beat his fists against Bartolemy's
gravestone and sobbed himself to sleep.
As the ten year-old slept amidst the peaceful graves, dark-cloaked
figures crept to Kasia's house. Two thieves climbed to the roof and
emptied small barrels of oil, soaking the wooden shingles. Three other
assassins took up positions at the door and windows as the climbers
descended silently to street level. At a low whistle from the leader,
the man at the door knelt and pounded iron spikes into the door jamb
with a silk-muffled hammer while those at the window lit fuses
protruding from wax-stoppered wine bottles. As soon as the quiet
hammering ceased, each man threw his bottle. The sound of breaking
windows presaged a low roar as the two bottles ignited. The six
shadowy figures sprinted down the street as the house transformed from
a structure into an enormous bonfire. Within minutes, the neighborhood
was awake and panicked as the fire spread.
Max woke shivering in the crisp dawn and headed back towards home,
blowing on his hands and jogging to try to warm up. As he turned the
last corner, he saw that his street was gone, all the houses replaced
by blackened and shattered timbers. Guardsmen and locals were trying
to clean up the most dangerous wreckage and pouring sand and water
onto the smoldering remains, where thin tendrils of gray smoke crept
skyward. Max's trance was broken by the rough hand shaking at his
shoulder. "Boy, did you live here? Do you know how this happened?" Max
took one look at the burly guardsman's bearded, ash-stained face and
bolted, quicker than a jackrabbit. He jinked down an alley and kept
sprinting, disappearing instantly from the bewildered guardsman's
sight.
Max ran into the woods. After two days of near-starvation and a bout
of sickness caused by eating wild mushrooms, he came upon a rough-hewn
little shack with the symbol of a bow and arrow above the door. He had
stumbled upon a shrine of Erastil. The local priest, a jolly fat man
clad in homespun breeches and tunic, welcomed the boy and shared his
rustic meal. Max learned to follow the ways of Erastil, hunting and
living off the land, and balanced these teachings with the path of the
rogue that honored Kasia's memory and put gold in his pocket. He
became a wilderness scout and bounty hunter, guiding merchants
+travelers as well as tracking bandits and lawbreakers and bringing
them to justice.
Maxim Andreusz Kozynski is five foot ten and a half, weighing one
hundred and eighty five pounds. His wiry frame conceals immense
strength and fortitude, and his stern grey-blue eyes stare evenly from
a rugged, youthful face. Curly brown hair peeks from under the edges
of a rabbit-fur hat composed of grey and black patches, matched by his
scraggly youthful attempt at a beard and mustache. His weathered ruddy
skin is protected from the elements by a brand new suit of studded
leather armor, under which he wears a deerskin shirt, leather boots,
belt&breeches. He wears deerskin gloves and a voluminous grey woollen
cloak, its dark interior lined with pockets. Hanging from his belt are
two well-worn shortswords, a belt pouch and a sling&stones. A rough-
hewn cold iron dagger is tucked into each boot, a backpack forms a
lump under his cloak, and a signal whistle hangs from his neck.
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