samuraibobx
10-09-08, 03:57 AM
Name: Tamo Scaveye
Age: 22
Race: Hobgoblin
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 156 lbs
Occupation: Mercenary/Scavenger/Jack of All Trades
Personality:
Tamo is relatively calm and nonthreatening, especially for a Hobgoblin. He's far from boisterous, but he tends to be a little loud from getting too near to a cannon explosion a few too many times for his own good. Despite his scraggly and gruff appearance, he is a kind and amicable person who appreciates living life and giving to those less fortunate than himself, regardless of how much it makes his already threadbare coinpurse cry. He has a slight grudge against human clergy in particular because apparently it's sacrilegious if a "filthy animal goes gallivanting around, publicly defiling our most holy symbol of worship", whatever that means. The times he tries to donate, they chase him out with sticks and swords, so he's slightly less than impressed with their whole fanfare. He has a similar relationship with most chivalric minded characters, though usually because they have their craniums so far up their you know whats that they think it's a good idea to ride off in front when the enemy has guns, bows, crossbows, and a million other ways to kill you before you even get ten feet. Tamo thinks it's silly and worth a good laugh or two when some idiot tries to find his horse after getting it blasted out from under him.
Appearance:
An excerpt from Maliticus' Marvelous Mundane Monsters:
Hobgoblins are larger cousins of the common Grey Goblin found mostly in mountainous regions. Their hair color ranges from dark reddish-brown to dark gray with eyes that are yellowish or dark brown. The males, particularly the rudest and nastiest, have blue or red tinted noses. Their garments tend to be brightly colored, often blood red with black-tinted leather. Their weaponry is kept polished and in good repair. Hobgoblins speak the language of the Goblins as well as tradespeak. These creatures have a strong grasp of strategy and tactics and are capable of carrying out sophisticated battle plans. Under the leadership of a skilled strategist or tactician, their discipline can prove a deciding factor (ref. Battle of Twin Crags). Hobgoblins hate elves and attack them first, in preference to other opponents. Society among the brutes is militaristic to the extreme, with a near perpetual wartime footing from my observations. Further study reveals that this extends to their breeding habits...
Of course, Maliticus quickly realized the hard way a fat load of good that does most people when a Hobgoblin is standing behind you with a ready axe. Like most of his fellow folk, Tamo Scaveye is roughly five and a half feet tall and relatively well built given his occupation. He sports a large bit of stubble around his jaw which thickens to a short plaited braid along his chin. The rest of his shoulder length dirt brown hair is kept back in a pony tail, though a few strands always seem to escape and form a sort of lopsided set of bangs. Two prominent canines poke out near his cheekbones, the left one capped with a steel crown after a whiffed morningstar blow took it off. The rest of his scarred pug-like visage simply glares at on lookers unconsciously; the uncovered missing right eye does little to change this. Still, despite having only one functional good eye, the merc still retains his racial ability to see perfectly in lightless conditions, albeit with a slight black and white tinge to everything.
History:
"What do you call a stealing Hobgoblin?"
"Uhh, I dunno boss. What?"
"Exiled. Get the hell out of my sight!"
And with that, the ten year old Tamo was literally kicked out of his warband's mountain enclave with naught but a days worth of food. As he rolled down the very rocky slope, he contemplated his life thus far. He had been born a regular hobgoblin youth, full of nastiness and drilled to exhaustion. He just always seemed to have a penchant for things that were not his. Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to borrow the leader's precious longsword? Yeah...in hindsight, that was a bad idea. His philosophical musings were interrupted by hitting a large tree the size of a small cannon. And from there, he slept a nice little sleep.
Wandering slavers picked up the little scamp and carted him off to lands unknown, where the youth witnessed many wondrous and terrifying things. Alone in his cage, his only friend was a sickly little priest adjacent to his own cell. The kind father taught him about right and wrong and how you shouldn't gouge someone's intestines out just because they didn't obey you. And thus, Tamo learned morals, and all was good in the world.
Or rather, it would have had the slavers not tried to ford a river blind and overturned the entire cart. Miraculously, Tamo escaped over the strategically placed waterfall unharmed, his iron cage protecting him from the blunt rocks of crushing doom aiming for his head. Now running for his life, he continued foraging around until he fatefully came along the remnants of an old battlefield. Now, this particular hobgoblin had always had a pair of rather quick and sticky fingers, so he set about liberating a few key bits of material that the dead things wouldn't need anymore.
The rest, as they say, is history. Moving from battlefield to battlefield, Tamo drifted along, gathering up the supplies he needed and selling the excess back to those that needed them for a little cash. When his diggings just didn't cover his debts, he would enlist as a marksman, scout, or ambusher. His luck and athletic ability managed to get him through more than a couple scraps until finally, he managed to make it big. And by big, I mean he had enough excess money to get drunk with some of his comrades. One drunken bet later, and Tamo was holding his right eyeball in his hand and enjoying being fifty pieces richer. They all had a good laugh and went to bed completely sloshed and awoke with no memory of the previous night's cavorting. Well, except for one hobgoblin, as he had no eye and so his rousing was significantly more anguished and painful, but nothing a couple of stitches and grumbling couldn't fix.
Recently, he has decided to take a little break from the dull and monotonous life of a looter. He longs to see amazing things again, eat well, laugh, and most importantly get drunk off his ass. This time around, his eye is staying promptly in his socket.
Skills:
Scavenging: Above Average Tamo's made his living (if you can call it that) off of the things people seem to conveniently lose or are too dead to use anymore. He knows a few little tricks of his trade from his many years of scrounging, such as where most people keep a hidden momento or two. His speed and efficiency means that he can strip down a corpse in the blink of an eye and be off before most people even know he was there.
Stealth: Average This Hobgoblin likes to fight from a large, safe distance. So what better way to keep trained soldiers away than to be sneaky and not have them find you in the first place? Stealth encompasses hiding, moving silently, and otherwise remaining undetected.
Crossbow Marksmanship Skill: Average There are times when a certain juicy prize is still in the possession of a not-so-dead owner. For times like these, this lurker has a light crossbow. While he's not a deadeye like most professionally trained soldiers, Tamo has enough practice and experience to nail a moving target at a fair distance of eighty feet away.
Repairing: Average By using scraps and materials scavenged from the battlefield, Tamo can fix broken equipment. After all, how is he going to sell anything back if it's busted? He can repair damaged goods bringing them up to Average quality. Anything that starts out above average quality will be downgraded to average quality after Tamo fixes it.
Basic Weapon Training: Below Average Even though Tamo likes to keep his distance from most foes, his early childhood martial training has stuck with him all these years. While no where near the level of a specialist, he knows his way around a club and a dagger and can defend himself, but don't expect him to hold off a fully trained knight with just his tools..
Dumb Luck: Above Average There really is no way to describe it, but Tamo has always been one very lucky Hobgoblin, to the point where it's almost scary. Blows that should have killed him have ended up just a few centimeters off mark and missed. Gambling always seems to come in his favor. Desperate battles of life and death are ended with a seemingly impossible stab to the eyes or a misfired bolt through the throat. And he always finds the shiniest baubles in even the most well hidden of places. Funnily enough, this scavenger has never noticed his good fortune at all. He just always seems to escape certain doom and misfortune at precisely the right time and the right moment while taking his strange prosperity all in his stride. In quasi-quantifiable terms, Tamo has twice the luck of an average person. It's random, however, and could be anything from narrowly dodging a cannonball to finding out that he just grabbed the last bottle of rum.
Literacy: Non-Existant Tamo is an illiterate. He can neither read, nor write in any language and he's a tad sensitive about it. He'll usually try to worm his way out of a written contract; in the past, he's gotten swindled large enough and frequently enough to never sign a piece of paper. If someone tried to sit down with him and teach him, he'd be willing to learn though.
Equipment:
Armor: The only thing protecting Tamo from life and a usually painful and stabby death is an old, but serviceable chain shirt that he liberated from a half-dead squire two month's back. The mail is of average make and composed of sturdy iron. It will turn aside a blade or two, but something like a lance will probably go through it like paper.
Rucksack: Flint, salt, seven days worth of rations, cracked bronze cup, bedroll, bandages, 50 feet of hempen rope, spyglass, 60 bolts (Steel Tipped).
Wooden Rosary: A simple oaken collection of beads with a similar cross. Tamo made it himself and found that it helps immensely when dealing with the stuffy religious types.
Iron Dagger: Iron. Six inch blade with a three inch hilt. Used absolutely as a last ditch weapon. Strangely effective, especially when used against unarmored sections. Stole it from a questing knight who was unlucky enough to be squished by a trebuchet shot.
Light Crossbow: A well made, lightened crossbow that was appropriated from a fallen commander. Roughly three fourths the weight of a full crossbow; easier and faster to reload due to its smaller size and weight. Lessened pull means slightly less killing power, but there's still enough torque to lethally penetrate a full suit of iron plate armor at point blank range (five feet). After that though, only cloth and leather armor will be punched through with any sort of reliability.
Oaken Club: Essentially an iron capped oaken branch that he whittled down and balanced, Tamo has this three foot long club around in case he just wants to knock somebody unconscious. With the right type of force applied though, he could split somebody's head open in a very much lethal fashion.
Cobbled Together Rags: What passes for underclothes for the mercenary. A roughly stitched conglomeration of burlap, linen, canvas, and any other materials at hand. Serviceable enough and keeps out the cold and rain decently. Includes pants, foot wrappings, and a top to keep the chain shirt form snagging.
Leather Jerkin: Over the rags and chain shirt is a weather beaten leather jerkin and pants as well as an old pair of soft soled infantry boots that are just a little too big for Tamo's feet. The getup has seen an amazing fourteen years of use, outlasting every other moderately good looking piece of clothing that the scamp has picked up.
I apologize if my equipment is horribly, horribly wrong. I was confused, and the FAQ did little to alleviate my questions, ironically.
Age: 22
Race: Hobgoblin
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 156 lbs
Occupation: Mercenary/Scavenger/Jack of All Trades
Personality:
Tamo is relatively calm and nonthreatening, especially for a Hobgoblin. He's far from boisterous, but he tends to be a little loud from getting too near to a cannon explosion a few too many times for his own good. Despite his scraggly and gruff appearance, he is a kind and amicable person who appreciates living life and giving to those less fortunate than himself, regardless of how much it makes his already threadbare coinpurse cry. He has a slight grudge against human clergy in particular because apparently it's sacrilegious if a "filthy animal goes gallivanting around, publicly defiling our most holy symbol of worship", whatever that means. The times he tries to donate, they chase him out with sticks and swords, so he's slightly less than impressed with their whole fanfare. He has a similar relationship with most chivalric minded characters, though usually because they have their craniums so far up their you know whats that they think it's a good idea to ride off in front when the enemy has guns, bows, crossbows, and a million other ways to kill you before you even get ten feet. Tamo thinks it's silly and worth a good laugh or two when some idiot tries to find his horse after getting it blasted out from under him.
Appearance:
An excerpt from Maliticus' Marvelous Mundane Monsters:
Hobgoblins are larger cousins of the common Grey Goblin found mostly in mountainous regions. Their hair color ranges from dark reddish-brown to dark gray with eyes that are yellowish or dark brown. The males, particularly the rudest and nastiest, have blue or red tinted noses. Their garments tend to be brightly colored, often blood red with black-tinted leather. Their weaponry is kept polished and in good repair. Hobgoblins speak the language of the Goblins as well as tradespeak. These creatures have a strong grasp of strategy and tactics and are capable of carrying out sophisticated battle plans. Under the leadership of a skilled strategist or tactician, their discipline can prove a deciding factor (ref. Battle of Twin Crags). Hobgoblins hate elves and attack them first, in preference to other opponents. Society among the brutes is militaristic to the extreme, with a near perpetual wartime footing from my observations. Further study reveals that this extends to their breeding habits...
Of course, Maliticus quickly realized the hard way a fat load of good that does most people when a Hobgoblin is standing behind you with a ready axe. Like most of his fellow folk, Tamo Scaveye is roughly five and a half feet tall and relatively well built given his occupation. He sports a large bit of stubble around his jaw which thickens to a short plaited braid along his chin. The rest of his shoulder length dirt brown hair is kept back in a pony tail, though a few strands always seem to escape and form a sort of lopsided set of bangs. Two prominent canines poke out near his cheekbones, the left one capped with a steel crown after a whiffed morningstar blow took it off. The rest of his scarred pug-like visage simply glares at on lookers unconsciously; the uncovered missing right eye does little to change this. Still, despite having only one functional good eye, the merc still retains his racial ability to see perfectly in lightless conditions, albeit with a slight black and white tinge to everything.
History:
"What do you call a stealing Hobgoblin?"
"Uhh, I dunno boss. What?"
"Exiled. Get the hell out of my sight!"
And with that, the ten year old Tamo was literally kicked out of his warband's mountain enclave with naught but a days worth of food. As he rolled down the very rocky slope, he contemplated his life thus far. He had been born a regular hobgoblin youth, full of nastiness and drilled to exhaustion. He just always seemed to have a penchant for things that were not his. Perhaps he shouldn't have tried to borrow the leader's precious longsword? Yeah...in hindsight, that was a bad idea. His philosophical musings were interrupted by hitting a large tree the size of a small cannon. And from there, he slept a nice little sleep.
Wandering slavers picked up the little scamp and carted him off to lands unknown, where the youth witnessed many wondrous and terrifying things. Alone in his cage, his only friend was a sickly little priest adjacent to his own cell. The kind father taught him about right and wrong and how you shouldn't gouge someone's intestines out just because they didn't obey you. And thus, Tamo learned morals, and all was good in the world.
Or rather, it would have had the slavers not tried to ford a river blind and overturned the entire cart. Miraculously, Tamo escaped over the strategically placed waterfall unharmed, his iron cage protecting him from the blunt rocks of crushing doom aiming for his head. Now running for his life, he continued foraging around until he fatefully came along the remnants of an old battlefield. Now, this particular hobgoblin had always had a pair of rather quick and sticky fingers, so he set about liberating a few key bits of material that the dead things wouldn't need anymore.
The rest, as they say, is history. Moving from battlefield to battlefield, Tamo drifted along, gathering up the supplies he needed and selling the excess back to those that needed them for a little cash. When his diggings just didn't cover his debts, he would enlist as a marksman, scout, or ambusher. His luck and athletic ability managed to get him through more than a couple scraps until finally, he managed to make it big. And by big, I mean he had enough excess money to get drunk with some of his comrades. One drunken bet later, and Tamo was holding his right eyeball in his hand and enjoying being fifty pieces richer. They all had a good laugh and went to bed completely sloshed and awoke with no memory of the previous night's cavorting. Well, except for one hobgoblin, as he had no eye and so his rousing was significantly more anguished and painful, but nothing a couple of stitches and grumbling couldn't fix.
Recently, he has decided to take a little break from the dull and monotonous life of a looter. He longs to see amazing things again, eat well, laugh, and most importantly get drunk off his ass. This time around, his eye is staying promptly in his socket.
Skills:
Scavenging: Above Average Tamo's made his living (if you can call it that) off of the things people seem to conveniently lose or are too dead to use anymore. He knows a few little tricks of his trade from his many years of scrounging, such as where most people keep a hidden momento or two. His speed and efficiency means that he can strip down a corpse in the blink of an eye and be off before most people even know he was there.
Stealth: Average This Hobgoblin likes to fight from a large, safe distance. So what better way to keep trained soldiers away than to be sneaky and not have them find you in the first place? Stealth encompasses hiding, moving silently, and otherwise remaining undetected.
Crossbow Marksmanship Skill: Average There are times when a certain juicy prize is still in the possession of a not-so-dead owner. For times like these, this lurker has a light crossbow. While he's not a deadeye like most professionally trained soldiers, Tamo has enough practice and experience to nail a moving target at a fair distance of eighty feet away.
Repairing: Average By using scraps and materials scavenged from the battlefield, Tamo can fix broken equipment. After all, how is he going to sell anything back if it's busted? He can repair damaged goods bringing them up to Average quality. Anything that starts out above average quality will be downgraded to average quality after Tamo fixes it.
Basic Weapon Training: Below Average Even though Tamo likes to keep his distance from most foes, his early childhood martial training has stuck with him all these years. While no where near the level of a specialist, he knows his way around a club and a dagger and can defend himself, but don't expect him to hold off a fully trained knight with just his tools..
Dumb Luck: Above Average There really is no way to describe it, but Tamo has always been one very lucky Hobgoblin, to the point where it's almost scary. Blows that should have killed him have ended up just a few centimeters off mark and missed. Gambling always seems to come in his favor. Desperate battles of life and death are ended with a seemingly impossible stab to the eyes or a misfired bolt through the throat. And he always finds the shiniest baubles in even the most well hidden of places. Funnily enough, this scavenger has never noticed his good fortune at all. He just always seems to escape certain doom and misfortune at precisely the right time and the right moment while taking his strange prosperity all in his stride. In quasi-quantifiable terms, Tamo has twice the luck of an average person. It's random, however, and could be anything from narrowly dodging a cannonball to finding out that he just grabbed the last bottle of rum.
Literacy: Non-Existant Tamo is an illiterate. He can neither read, nor write in any language and he's a tad sensitive about it. He'll usually try to worm his way out of a written contract; in the past, he's gotten swindled large enough and frequently enough to never sign a piece of paper. If someone tried to sit down with him and teach him, he'd be willing to learn though.
Equipment:
Armor: The only thing protecting Tamo from life and a usually painful and stabby death is an old, but serviceable chain shirt that he liberated from a half-dead squire two month's back. The mail is of average make and composed of sturdy iron. It will turn aside a blade or two, but something like a lance will probably go through it like paper.
Rucksack: Flint, salt, seven days worth of rations, cracked bronze cup, bedroll, bandages, 50 feet of hempen rope, spyglass, 60 bolts (Steel Tipped).
Wooden Rosary: A simple oaken collection of beads with a similar cross. Tamo made it himself and found that it helps immensely when dealing with the stuffy religious types.
Iron Dagger: Iron. Six inch blade with a three inch hilt. Used absolutely as a last ditch weapon. Strangely effective, especially when used against unarmored sections. Stole it from a questing knight who was unlucky enough to be squished by a trebuchet shot.
Light Crossbow: A well made, lightened crossbow that was appropriated from a fallen commander. Roughly three fourths the weight of a full crossbow; easier and faster to reload due to its smaller size and weight. Lessened pull means slightly less killing power, but there's still enough torque to lethally penetrate a full suit of iron plate armor at point blank range (five feet). After that though, only cloth and leather armor will be punched through with any sort of reliability.
Oaken Club: Essentially an iron capped oaken branch that he whittled down and balanced, Tamo has this three foot long club around in case he just wants to knock somebody unconscious. With the right type of force applied though, he could split somebody's head open in a very much lethal fashion.
Cobbled Together Rags: What passes for underclothes for the mercenary. A roughly stitched conglomeration of burlap, linen, canvas, and any other materials at hand. Serviceable enough and keeps out the cold and rain decently. Includes pants, foot wrappings, and a top to keep the chain shirt form snagging.
Leather Jerkin: Over the rags and chain shirt is a weather beaten leather jerkin and pants as well as an old pair of soft soled infantry boots that are just a little too big for Tamo's feet. The getup has seen an amazing fourteen years of use, outlasting every other moderately good looking piece of clothing that the scamp has picked up.
I apologize if my equipment is horribly, horribly wrong. I was confused, and the FAQ did little to alleviate my questions, ironically.