The World of Llowellen
A silvertongued sibbecai rogue and escaped slave
Experience Points: 14’295/16’500
Hero Points: 1
Speed: 30 ft.
Hit Points: 20/20
Subdual Damage: 0
Armor Class: 15
Flat-footed AC: 12
Touch AC: 13
Armor Proficiency: Light
Sneak Attack +2d6
Weapon Proficiency: Simple
Spells: – - – - / -
Feats and Talents
Fleet of Foot
Gather Intelligence +7
Handle Animal +5
Knowledge (Sibeccai) +3
Open Lock +11
Sense Motive +10
Use Rope +5
Languages: Banu. Faridian
Boiled Leather armor (ill-fitting w/ the sigil of Merchant House Summonel)
Desert robes, sandals and turban
Dagger +5, 1d4 +2
+2 Spined Spear: +7 to hit, 1d8 +4 damage
Selar is a young sibeccai dressed in ill-fitting boiled leather armor, embossed with the sigil of Merchant House Summonel. He wears a blood-stained turban and carries a wicked looking barbed spear.
Parties were rare in the slums. Occasionally when someone was married or a new child was born there would be small celebrations but nothing to speak of. Even the celebration of Anwen wasn’t very much of a party in the slums because rarely could the people afford the food and gifts associated with the holidays.
But recently new business’s had moved into the slums. The old buildings and homes were being torn down and replaced with markets and huge stores owned by the wealthiest of Banu-Sippar. To the wealthy, the slums that Selar was born into and had spent his whole life in had become an untapped resource of very cheap land and labor. The exploitation was obvious to him, but most of the people embraced it in hopes of a better life.
Selar knew better. As a matter of fact most people referred to him as “too smart for his own good.” He would never conform to the hollow life most people saw as success. To him a life like that was dead and without any spark of adventure and excitement. A house, a job, a wife and some kids all seemed like chains to him and his determination was to stay free of what he called the trappings of the common man.
Free that is until now.
Before all the new business interest came to the slums, law and order was dictated and handled by the people and the local business owners. Rarely was there a visit from any city officials, these were poor people and the governing law took little interest in their trivial affairs.
But the influx of new business changed all of that. The Templars now patrolled the streets night and day and were stationed in all the markets and stores. They were here because these once impoverished streets now oozed with new wealth and it was their duty to protect it.
It wasn’t that long ago he thought to himself that he had been everyone’s friend. Sure, he was a trickster and a petty thief but for Selar his lifestyle was about survival and everyone understood him. The people of the slums embraced him as kind of a mascot because they all knew his story and it was one that drove them to show mercy to the boy. He was a charmer and had talked his way into the hearts of these people even if he was a petty thief.
When his parents had died on his eighth birthday it was either he move to the streets and start pilfering from local business’s or be sent off to the prison they called an orphanage.
All that was behind him now and the fireworks and music he could see and hear from his prison cell were a testimony to that. His kind were a dying breed and tomorrow he was to be made an example of. His public execution by the Templars was to be a message to all thieves and liars.
The sound of his cell door opening startled him. Selar never even saw what happened – something heavy collided with his skull and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
Upon waking he found himself shackled, in a dimly lit box that was slowly rocking back and forth as if it were moving along on wheels. The smell was horrid and the silhouettes of about six other people started to become visible. His head ached terribly as a woman reached across and touched him saying: “Are you hurt badly?”