A Tale of Treasure Hunters
Don't be fooled by the size, an arrow is still an arrow.
Pelequin Shinzawe, level 1
Build: Beastmaster Ranger
Fighting Style: Beast Mastery
Beast Companion Type: Wolf
Background: Geography – Forest, Halfling – Avandra’s Kiss
FINAL ABILITY SCORES
Str 11, Con 10, Dex 20, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 10.
STARTING ABILITY SCORES
Str 11, Con 10, Dex 18, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 8.
AC: 18 Fort: 11 Reflex: 16 Will: 12
HP: 22 Surges: 6 Surge Value: 5
Nature +7, Perception +7, Endurance +4, Athletics +4, Stealth +9
Acrobatics +6, Arcana, Bluff, Diplomacy, Dungeoneering +2, Heal +2, History, Insight
+2, Intimidate, Religion, Streetwise, Thievery +6
Level 1: Beast Protector
Ranger at-will 1: Twin Strike
Ranger at-will 1: Predator Strike
Ranger encounter 1: Evasive Strike
Ranger daily 1: Hunt’s End
Arrows (120), Shortbow, Hide Armor, Short sword, Climber’s Kit, Meal, Common (5),
Tent, Torch (10), Waterskin (2), Adventurer’s Kit, Bedroll, Camouflaged
Raise Beast Companion
The wind made a low whistle as it passed over the dense forest floor; small leaves swirling in its wake. It was a normal day, the wind had decided, as it gently glided through the air, bringing a pleasant breeze to the myriad of birds and squirrels which were blessed enough to be in the breezes path. Each yard of passage brought a warm joy to the wind, as it passed through the trees, leaving a dance of wet leaves and small twigs floating from the winds embrace to the grounds bedding. The light breeze enjoyed its being very much, and looked to the small animals which floated by on its wings; such joy in the animals eyes! Such a wonderfully normal day indeed, thought the breeze, seeing now that truly the whole forest was dancing with him, such joy the wind was bringing! Trees were uprooting themselves to play in the winds laughing arms, and rocks were jumping into the winds grasp, like children into their mothers hugs. A beautiful dance indeed…
. In a hill not far away from the breeze, was a small halfling family, fighting for their lives. The storm had gone from bad to worst in a matter of moments, and the family wasn’t quite prepared. The father looked at the sky as the clouds turned from an ominous black to an eerie green, and he knew that the distant rumble wasn’t thunder, it was the gods themselves. Grabbing his wife and his small son, the man ran into the small burrow his family called home, and opened the root cellar door for shelter. Within the damp chamber only a dull roar could be heard from without, and the small child began to weep softly in his mothers arms. The father knew that if the tornado hit the burrow, then the shelter would not suffice, and he gave his prayers to Correlion that it did not come to that.
When it happened, the child happened to be looking at the ceiling. To this day he wishes he hadn’t. As though some divine being reached into the cellar like a pile of sand and pulled the house apart, the winds tore through the roof before the small child’s eyes. Rain shot into the root cellar like daggers as the small family clung to the staunch house supports, in a vain hope of out lasting the torrential fury which assaulted them from above. The child continued to look up, and saw through the swirling clouds a distant shade of blue, as if the sky was trying to save him, but could not break through the cyclones hold. Then it was black.
The child came about with the sound of machinery teasing his consciousness. A high shrilled whistle followed by what sounded like an intense release of pressurized gas startled the young halfling the rest of the way awake. Sitting up as if his back was on fire, the halfling instantly regretted the maneuver, as the world darkened in front of his eyes, and an intense dizziness gripped his mind. “Jus lay back boy!” shouted an unknown gruff voice; which the child obliged by laying back down.
This time the halfling took it slowly, opening only his left eye, soaking in his surroundings. The room was large, very large; the recess of the room stretching into darkness beyond the halfling sight. The ceiling towered above him, stalagmites punctuating an otherwise smooth marble ceiling, as though the room was build into a cavernous mountain cave, which the child would soon find to be the case. Exotic machinery littered the floor of a strange workshop. Strange flashes of light sparked from rare combinations of cogs and leather straps, with hisses of steam filling the air at odd intervals; it was a magnificent place indeed, though where was he?
“There ya go lad, take it easy,” came the gruff voice again, which now belonged to a stout gnome of indeterminable age, glaring at the halfling from behind two sapphire lensed glasses. His portly belly was tamed by a tight leather apron filled to precarious levels with odd tools and bits of wire, nails, and other works shop oddities. Two thumbs were securely placed behind the leather apron, as though the overly sized gnome needed the support to keep his balance. “You fell through the roof a fortnight ago, during the storm, and have been asleep since. Badly broken ye were little man, a miracle you and your dog survived.”
It was then that the halfling felt a tuft of fur beneath his hand, and a small whimper as a wolf pup licked gently at his fingers. With dumbfounded awe, the child looked into the pups eyes, and could see the same pain he felt in his heart. Both orphaned by a remorseless storm, thrown into this strange workshop so far from the known. “What is your name boy?” the gnome asked.
The child looked confused for a moment, then answered meekly, “Pelequin, sir.”
“Pelequin, eh? I’m Farnsworth, and I be thinking you need a place to stay for awhile. That storm was a bitch if I’ve ever seen one, and you two werent the only ones to fall my way during the storm…” the gnome ended that last sentence ominously, refusing to make eye contact with Pelequin. Pelequin caught this, and understood what Farnsworth was saying, a tear fell down his cheek.
“Did you bury them proper?” Pelequin managed to utter after minutes of silence, feeling foolish the moment he said it, as though such nonesense just didnt do the situation justice.
“Aye lad, I did. Anyway, I geuss that ye will be staying with me til ye find your feet again, eh lad? I could use a new worker anyway, last one up and died on me!”p. p. Years Later…
Pelequin stalked through the forest trees, Callandor eagerly walking beside him, his tounge lolling out of his canine muzzle joyfully. The sun shone through the dense forest canopy in spurts, illuminating the halflings fair skin from time to time. The halfling glanced up at one point, his amethyst eyes seeking the spot of blue in the forest limbs above, a blue he had treasured since he could remember. A leaf floated gently to rest on the supple leather hide the halfling had strapped to his person for protection against the elements, and the animals when necessary. Pelequin flicked the leaf off his shoulder and tossed his long Top Knoted black hair out of the leaves way as he continued through the forest.
Seeing his prey ahead, Pelequin nodded at Callandor then at the impressive buck which could be seen on the other side of a light clearing in the woods. The wolf instinctually snuck off into the woods to perform as instructed. Pelequin reached behind his shoulder for three arrows, which he then stabbed into the ground before him, his hand brushing against the pistol that Farnsworth always made the halfling keep on his person. Try as Farnsworth Shinzawe would like, Pelequin was harder to teach mechanics to than an owl bear, and eventually he stopped trying. Meanwhile, the halfling and his wolf friend had found quite another following in the ways of the forest.
Somehow knowing when just the right time had come, the halfling raised up from behind a tree log, and made his sight. From the tip of the arrow, all the way to the bucks heart, Pelequin was at one with the kill. His hunter eyes saw the moment of opportunity just as Callandor lept from behind the large animal, bringing it into the best firing shot. It was over before it trully began, the stag twitching helplessly on the ground, a single arrow through its heart. With a triumphant smile, Pelequin crossed the clearing to claim his prize.
In his arrogance, or just drunk with the kill, Pelequin did not remember to watch his step, and his ignorance was greated with an all too familiar CLICK as a net on the light forest clearing floor sprung to life trapping Pelequin inside, his pistol falling uselessly to the ground below. “Go get help boy! Go on!” Pelequin shouted in a shrill voice to Callandor, who stood looking at the halfling with a sideways turned head; apparent laughter behind his canine eyes. “Help! Now you damned mut!” Pelequin shouted even shriller.
After a moment of torture, Callandor decided it was time to help his master, but not before a smell carried through the trees to the wolves nose, a man smell. It was too late to get Pelequin down, he would have to hide, wait, and follow.p. p. Pelequin screamed at the departing wolf, fury in his voice. How dare that dog go away when he needed him, thought the halfling. How dare he… Pelequins mind stopped as he heard a twig break, it was close, it was…. guards….