Post by VemuKhaham on May 27, 2006 12:55:36 GMT -5
Remi Serano[/pre]I mean, just listen to it. Is there actually a sound that is less heard than the sound of silence? And even more so, one that is less listened to than silence?“There is music in silence…”
But this, I keep telling people, and they won’t listen to me either. They hear me out when I talk to them, nod friendly in the process, even smile, but in the end they leave and never give it a single thought. But by my vocation, I never stop to teach people the beauties of poetry, art, music, sound… and silence. If they will not understand, than at least they might enjoy my many refined gifts and talents.
I think success depends not on whether you have any gifts or talents, but on the way you use these. I see many people, thieves and pickpockets, beggars and scavengers, littering the streets of the city every day, and wonder why it is that they are not as successful as I am. I am proud to say that, in contradiction to those, I do have decency and morality. I aspire to be a gentleman, regarding the laws of chivalry and courtesy, but not so dogmatic, patronizing and ignorant to the people’s needs as the rich and lazy elite tend to, so as to set an example for many others in today’s morally deprived society. Maintaining virtue and honesty can however be hard in places of corruption and pure evil, but one can only do his utmost best.
I have no doubt that many people will, some day, recognize the path I tread is exemplary, and when that day comes, I shall be proud and pleased to know that my life has served to bring civility to the uncouth.
This is Remi’s version of how he would like to characterize his personality. Please mind though, that he tends to exaggerate on his positive aspects and minimize his negatives. The curious part is that it is hardly possible to determine whether he does so consciously by means of a shrewd mind and tongue, or subconsciously, in which case it could most likely be blamed on his naïve nature and his poor ability of judgment.
But speaking of negative aspects, seeing as Remi will most likely conceal these in his own account, I shall try and elaborate on them some more. Remi is naïve, impulsive and he hardly ever thinks twice before attempting to execute his sometimes impossible plans. He hardly ever takes into account the consequences of his actions, leading to a sometimes foolish irresponsibility. His impulsive nature, together with a touch of greed and longing for fame, tends to make him forget about his chivalrous values, very often subconsciously. However, these mannerisms are most often the result of his fanaticism, and when Remi is calm he is indeed a clever person.
That said, Remi often underestimates present dangers, because of reasons given above, but also because he has mild delusions of grandeur. He likes to think of himself as a noble and valiant knight in shining armor, not as the bastard son and scoundrel of the streets. Therefore, he hardly ever tells anyone of his shameful background, instead twisting the story so that he is indeed a child of the great family Serano.
But Remi has good sides as well. He has his heart in the right place, and he has a light-hearted spirit, though he can be sensitive too. He sympathizes with the less fortunate, though at times it seems more like something he has to do to maintain his self-image of the righteous and noble gentleman instead of something he does out of the goodness of his heart. Besides that, he also enjoys popularity and fame, and he wishes the common folk to love him. He judges only on character, not on characteristics such as race or income. He is talented in arts and knowledgeable in obscure lore, he is a man of many languages and a capable and dexterous acrobat.]
How I came to be an enlightened spirit as I am today, is hard to say, and may best be ascribed to what I would call a miracle. I usually avoid the faithful and overzealous, but otherwise I might say that some god of benevolent will has been watching over me for reasons I do not know. But, taken all into consideration, it might just have been my very nature; a tough skin, a desire to live and love combined with strength of will and of hearth.
It all started twenty years ago, but in what cradle and where I have only learned very recently. It must have been a cradle filled with satin cushions, golden rimmed, as I learned that my apparent parents, whom I’ve never met and never do I plan to, preferred money over me and were indeed incredibly well-off financially. I was kidnapped very early, when I was still but a few months old, by a gang who held me for ransom. Despite the fact that my family was so wealthy that they could’ve afforded my ransom many times, they did not pay and did not even try to retrieve me by other means. I was simply abandoned, a despicable act for which I shall never forgive them.
The only thing I took from then when I heard of my family was their name. I mean; they took away from me my chance to have a full name (surname as well as last name) as is common in our lands, so I decided that it was only just if I took that back from them. After all, their name does have a certain elegance and I have, perhaps strangely, grown fond of using it. Let us hope that this little secret shall remain unknown by those who robbed me of my name.
So I did not grow up in a secure environment, but how did a little baby survive without parents and how was I freed from the hands of this gang? To the last question I know not the answer and nobody I have met does. In fact, I know nothing of these kidnappers, as I was still but an infant. I use the word gang but in fact I know not even if it was an organization or even multiple people. I only know that somebody took me for ransom and when he did not get what he was asking for he dumped me somewhere on the city streets, I do not know exactly where. There at any rate, I was found by the town guard who put me into an orphanage. There, I was called Leto, a sorry excuse for a name, but it replaced the lack of one.
The orphanage was a poor place and living there was terrible. But at least, it kept me safe, and I survived. The orphanage was a poor institution located in the city slums. Actually, it was nearly the largest building in the area (for what that is worth in the slums), funded by some club of a few rich folk, most likely politicians, who sought the support of the poor. Catherine Veelo, the sole caretaker there, was a woman of strict discipline and little love. Maybe it were the harsh circumstances that had made her as she was (there were after all never less than twenty or so orphans screaming for food that was scarce), but to me it didn’t matter as I tried to avoid her as much as I could.
When I grew a little older, say when I became seven or so, I became more independent quickly, probably because I did not wish to go to her for my food. I began to do small tasks for a few coins, and thus I learned to maintain myself as I have done ever since. I remember still vividly how I once was running an errant for some market salesman when I ran through an alleyway into the Barkers, as many called them because they usually kept barking but never did they bite, four blokes nearly twice my age from the orphanage who seemed to take a pleasure in harassing anyone small. – That does not mean I say I make a small impression, but yes, I do have to admit that I am, just like I was back then, rather short.
Remi’s description on his size is at least a big understatement. Remi is short, reaching barely 5”0 and weighing no more than 125lb. He has always been short, making it no wonder he was at times targeted by bullies, though now he is more than capable of handling a few thugs. He is a handsome young man with a slender body and his face shows nearly feminine features. His dark, black hair and his big, bright blue eyes give him a charming and pleasant appearance.
Remi likes to put an effort into his appearance. He takes good care of himself, and carefully chooses his clothing. When he is among commoners, he dresses as one of them (not to imply that he will voluntarily walk around in a completely tattered outfit), and when he is among a more elite company he will show up in his fine expensive blue garb. He always carries with him around his neck dangling from a cord his beautiful harmonica, but most often obscured underneath his clothes so as not to draw any greedy hands toward it.
This time it looked like I was in for a bit worse than barking. I was alone and they were faster and stronger. I was already on the ground taking some heavy beatings – not even I could handle four of them alone – when I heard a high, buzzing and melodious sound coming from up the alleyway. Still wondering where it came from, I suddenly realized the kicking had stopped and I could simply crawl up on my feet. Looking at what had happened, I saw the four Barkers staring enthralled towards the source of the music: an old man in tattered and filthy clothes and a general uncouth appearance, much like a beggar. On his shoulder sat a rat, and while the beast was crawling past his neck to the other shoulder, the man was playing a harmonica. Ever since the first time I heard that tune, it never left me. It was simple yet inspiring, and it captured the imagination and sparked hope for all. And above all it saved me many bruises as currently the Barkers were, still like hypnotized, walking slowly towards a nearby sewer outlet where they suddenly out of their own doing plunged their faces into a filthy smelling heap of human waste. You can imagine my amazement.
I was even more amazed when the old man came to me and whispered softly into my ear as his general odor nearly overwhelmed me: “Take this, Remi! Use it wisely!” Even as he spoke, I felt how he opened my small hand and placed the harmonica in its palm. I immediately noticed its intricate design and that on its surface was engraved the name Remi. I have never known why this expensive and treasured object was given to me and how the man seemed to know me, but I kept his gift with me and used Remi as my name henceforth.
Even as I stood astonished, he left me and vanished as quickly as he came. I have never seen him since but questions burn inside me desperately wanting to know who this master of the Arts was and what he knows about me. For I thank him for my life, and how I have given virtue to it.
Life in the orphanage didn’t much change, but I changed, though I kept my secret hidden. I only practiced the harmonica when I was alone, or very quietly while all were asleep and I couldn’t resist the urge, and quickly my natural talent for refined arts brought me to a full understanding of the instruments qualities. And those qualities were hardly ever merely musical; for I quickly learned that behind every tone there was hidden a magical energy that enchanted the senses which I could release at will when I played my harmonica. Great power came with the practice of this art, and I know now how the old man had dealt with the Barkers, as I have done many times myself since.
So the orphanage didn’t change, and Catherine was still the same vengeful old tart, but for one thing: when I was nine years old, Tjerk was adopted into the orphanage. Tjerk was a half-orc one year older than me, and his parents had recently died, for reasons he never told me. He was not used to life in the city, but I taught him what I knew about it, and he was smart, though not always as quick-minded as I was. In return he told me much of what he had learned from his grandfather, an orc shaman in some tribe far from the city: tales of old histories, local lore, the lore of herbs and much more. He also taught me the orc-speech, as in the beginning, communications were slow because his common was either very poor or of some dialect or accent that I could not understand. Ever since, I have strived to learn as much as I can, because from Tjerk I learned that nobody should be judged by the color of his skin or the shape of his ears, and learning about different cultures and their complex languages has always been a fascination I had. The multi-cultured city where men of all races lived provided a good basis for my learning.
As such, Tjerk became my one and only close friend, and I even shared with him my secret talent. He admired it and I was proud. He said that the strange sound from my harmonica was a far cry from the rhythmic drums that he had seen orcs dance on all night long near a great bonfire, and that those drums gave courage and strength, but my harmonica inspired hope and will.
I was twelve and he was thirteen when we decided to finally leave the orphanage we both so despised. At first, we took up a life of roaming about the city streets and trying to find refuge at night in cheap inns and taverns. To earn for our meals and stay, I played the harmonica in many an inn and filled the establishment with a crowd the barkeep hadn’t seen in a long time.
This way, we lived for a few years, until Tjerk became fed up with the city. Distant memories of vast and empty plains where he had lived the first savage years of his young life. He told me the drums wouldn’t stop pounding in his head, and when he heard their rhythmic sound, he felt too big for this city. He had outgrown it, and then I realized our parting was inevitable. I was clustered to the city and he to the wilderness. In the end, we said goodbye but promised to seek each other out if ever we got the chance. Tjerk said he would go back to his grandfather’s tribe; to see if he could find it and if it was still there.
Years went by and I have only heard once of his existence. Vague rumors including his name and description, hard to be taken seriously but indications that he must still be alive and doing something noteworthy.
More years went by and I built myself a modest reputation as an artist. Especially at the Copper Corner, a small cheap tavern just outside the slums where the beggars spent their charity earnings of the day on a mug of ale to drown the worries. I was the musician there, and once in a while I could also tell some tale concerning some foreign culture to broaden the scopes of their everyday lives. It might have been a cheap place but for me it was enough. I felt appreciated there and I earned enough to make a living.
But even some more years passed, and I began to feel the urge to do something more with my musical powers. I felt the words of the old man in the alley meant that I should not waste this gift on minor things, but that if I wanted to, I could achieve far more and my fame could become far greater than it was now. And with power and glory would come my chance to become the food for stories and songs of other great artists and the example of the common man.
It was during these days, in which I was constantly on the lookout for new things to do that would put my talents to best use, that I was found by Devin Serano, who introduced himself as such after I had finished another night of performance in the Copper Corner. He told me he had been looking for me ever since he found out he had a younger brother by the name of Remi Serano. That is how I found out about my name and my heritage.
Of course I was curious about him, and I asked him to tell me all he knew. We became friends after many hours of conversation, and I was glad I found someone who seemed to me an equal mind in the finer things in life. I shared with him all my life’s past, like I had up until then only done with Tjerk. We decided we should stick together, and so we did.
In the meantime, I kept looking for something I could do with my gifts. I didn’t find anything quite interesting, until I heard John Saltin, barkeep and owner of the Copper Corner who is a good friend of mine that I trust because of many years of mutual service, speak of a group calling themselves the Farseekers, whose aim it is to track lost people and goods. They were a group of people seeking knowledgeable and socially gifted members, because of course these talents could help them in their purpose. And as a man of good standing among the socially less fortunate and one with a strong belief that we should all strive to be righteous and fair, and of course given my recent confrontation with the news of my brother that I too had been separated from him for a long time, I thought that here with the Farseekers I could best put to use my talents.
Remi Serano,
Human male bard (4th Level)
XP: 6.000/10.000
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Abilities:
Str[/b] 8
Dex 16
Con 10
Int 17
Wis 8
Cha 16
Basic Stats:
Speed:[/b] 20ft.
HP: 16
Current HP: 16
AC: 17 (10+3dex+4armor), Flat-footed: 14, Touch: 13
Init: +3
Saves:
Fort[/b] +1
Ref +7
Will +3
Attack:
BAB[/b] +3
Melee +2
Ranged +6
Grapple +2
Weapons:
Unarmed[/b] (+2, 1d3-1, 20/x2, B)
MW Rapier (+3, 1d6-1, 18-20/x2, P)
MW Rep. Heavy Crossbow (+7, 1d10, 19-20/x2, P, 120ft.) (Point Blank Shot)
Skills: -3encumbrance
Balance: +8 (+3ranks, +3dex, +2syn)
Bluff: +10 (+7ranks, +3cha)
Climb: +4 (+5ranks, -1str)
Diplomacy: +12 (+7ranks, +3cha, +2syn)
Gather Information: +10 (+5ranks, +3cha, +2syn)
Hide: +6 (+3ranks, +3dex)
Jump: +6 (+5ranks, -1str, +2syn)
Knowledge (History): +8 (+5ranks, +3int)
Knowledge (Local): +10 (+7ranks, +3int)
Move Silently: +6 (+3ranks, +3dex)
Perform (Wind instruments): +12 (+7ranks, +3cha, +2circ)
Sleight of Hand: +8 (+3ranks, +3dex, +2syn)
Speak Language: Halfling (1), Gnome (1), Giant (1)
Tumble: +12 (+7ranks, +3dex, +2syn)
Feats:
Exotic Weapon Proficiency[/b] (Heavy Repeating Crossbow)
Point Blank Shot (+1 bonus on ranged attack and damage within 30ft.)
Precise Shot (No -4 penalty for shooting into melee)
Special Abilities:
Bardic Knowledge[/b] +9 (+4level, +3int, +2syn)
Bardic Music (4/day)
Countersong (30ft., up to 10rounds)
Fascinate (90ft., 2creatures, up to 4rounds, target -4 on skill checks made as reactions)
Inspire Courage +1 (concentration +5rounds, +1vs charm/fear/attack/dmg on allies)
Inspire Competence (30ft., +2 on skill check for ally, up to 2minutes)
Language:[/b]
Common
Orc
Dwarven
Elven
Halfling
Gnome
Giant
Equipment/weight:[/b]
Body:
Artisan’s Outfit
Mithral Shirt / 10
Backpack / 2
Around neck:
Cord with MW harmonica / 3
Attached to belt:
MW Darkwood Repeating Heavy Crossbow / 6
1x5 Bolts / 1
MW Rapier / 2
4 belt pouches
Belt Pouches:
Thunderstone / 1
Caltrops / 2
CMW potion
Invisibility potion
Backpack Content:
Flint and Steel
Ink and pen
10x Paper sheets
Map or scroll case / 0.5
Personal Diary
Small Steel Mirror / 0.5
2x thunderstone / 2
CLW potion
Invisibility potion
2x Darkvision potion
Purse with 25gp
Permanently hired room at Copper Corner:
Courtier’s Outfit
50gp Jewelry accompanying Courtier’s Outfit
1350gp stored beneath a loose wooden plank in the floor
All the general stuff and more used to take care of health and appearance
The furniture doesn’t belong to Remi but to the proprietor of the Copper Corner, John Saltin
Wealth:
Gp: 1375
Sp: 0
Cp: 0
Carrying Capacity:
Light:[/b] <26, Medium: 27-53, Heavy: 54-80
Weight: 32 (Medium Load)
Spells:
Spell Save DC:[/b] 13 + Spell level
Level 0 (PHB p. 181-182): 3 spells per day
Known:
Detect Magic (PHB p. 219)
Ghost Sound (PHB p. 235)
Light (PHB p.
Mage Hand (PHB p. 249)
Message (PHB p. 253)
Prestidigitation (PHB p. 264)
Level 1 (PHB p. 182): 3 spells per day
Known:
Disguise Self (PHB p. 222)
Feather Fall (PHB p. 229)
Ventriloquism (PHB p. 298)
Level 2 (PHB p. 182): 1 spell per day
Known:
Cure Moderate Wounds (PHB p. 217)
Invisibility (PHB p. 245)