Nichola Seward

A low-born mercenary who wishes to become an Airship Captain

Description:

XP: 5575
Gold: 498 GP, 7 SP
Earns 10 GP per week

Nichola Seward
CHARACTER NAME .xxxxx0xxxxxxxxx0xxxxxxxxx0xxxxxxx
If Fighter
CLASS .xxxx0xxxxxxxxx0xxxxxxxxx0xxxxxxxxx0xxxxxxx
Human
RACE
None
DEITY
True Neutral
ALIGNMENT
5
LEVEL
Medium
SIZE
28
AGE
Female
GENDER
1.71m
HEIGHT
65kg
WEIGHT
Blue
EYES
Dark blonde
HAIR
Light
SKIN
Ability
Name
Ability
Score
Ability
Modifier
.xyzxyzxyz .x TOTAL .x .x TOTAL DEX MISC
Str
STRENGTH
18 +4 HP
HIT POINTS
34 INITIATIVE
MODIFIER
+2 +2 0
Dex
DEXTERITY
15 +2 1-to-9
Con
CONSTITUTION
15 +2 .x TOTAL BASE ARMOR SHIELD DEX SIZE NATURAL MISC
Int
INTELLIGENCE
12 +1 AC
ARMOR CLASS
17 10 +5 +0 +2 0 0 0
Wis
WISDOM
14 +2 1-to-9
Cha
CHARISMA
12 +1 SPEED= .x 30 .x DR= 0 .x SR= 0
ATTACKS TOTAL BASE STR
MOD
SIZE
MOD
MISC
MOD
.xyzxyxyz SAVING THROWS TOTAL BASE
SAVE
ABILITY
MOD
MAGIC
MOD
MISC
MOD
MELEE
ATTACK BONUS
+7 +5 +2 0 0 FORTITUDE
(Constitution)
+5 +3 +2 0 0
RANGED
ATTACK BONUS
+5 +0 0 0 REFLEX
(Dexterity)
+3 +1 +2 0 0
GRAPPLE
ATTACK BONUS
+7 +2 0 0 WILL
(Wisdom)
+3 +1 +2 0 0
.DUMMY
WEAPONWEAPONW WEAPON WEAPONWEAPONW TTT TOTAL ATTACK BONUS TTT DD DAMAGE DD CC CRITICAL CC
Special Dagger +7 1d4+4 17-20/x3
RANGE WEIGHT TYPE SIZE SPECIAL PROPERTIES
n/a 1lbs Piercing M It’s Magical!
.DUMMY
WEAPONWEAPONW WEAPON WEAPONWEAPONW TTT TOTAL ATTACK BONUS TTT DD DAMAGE DD CC CRITICAL CC
Rapier +7 1d6+4 18-20/x2
RANGE WEIGHT TYPE SIZE SPECIAL PROPERTIES
n/a 2lbs Piercing M Aerial Rookie Weapon
.DUMMY
WEAPONWEAPONW WEAPON WEAPONWEAPONW TTT TOTAL ATTACK BONUS TTT DD DAMAGE DD CC CRITICAL CC
Soldiers Gun +5 1d8 x3
RANGE WEIGHT TYPE SIZE SPECIAL PROPERTIES
50 ft 1lbs Piercing M Aerial Rookie Weapon
.DUMMY1
ARMORARMORARMA ARMOR ARMORARMORARMA TYPE ARMOR BONUS MAX DEX BONUS
Mail Vest Medium +4 +3
CHECK PENALTY SPELL FAILURE SPEED WEIGHT SPECIALSPECIALSPEC SPECIAL PROPERTIES SPECIALSPECIALSPEC
-4 25% 30 25lbs Hidden under her clothes

Source: http://www.obsidianportal.com/character/4531

Bio:

My name is Nichola Barbara Seward.
I am a mercenary.
I do not fight for justice or the greater good, but for survival.

I was born in the suburbs of Antarcene, the middle child of seven. My parents were no rich people, our father, Nathan, had to work all day, every day of the week to feed all of us. Our mother, Maura, repaired clothing and the like for other families so she could earn some extra coin to take care of her children. Sometimes the payment from our parents’ jobs was still not enough and we had to beg for some old clothes or food. Luckily there was a soup kitchen in the city not far from our home. The meals weren’t very tasty but at least it was warm.

My eldest sister, Jaclyn, was always taking care of my younger brothers and sisters, leaving me and my two older brothers to ourselves. We were usually on the streets, taking care of ourselves and doing the odd job if there was one. Those jobs didn’t earn us much but at least it was something.
It was my brothers who taught me how to fight with my fists, an ability that kept me out of quite some tight spots.

The summers in the city were as hot as the winters were cold. In icy winters it was a blessing to have brothers and sisters; you could cuddle up closely and stay warm all night. Still, the age difference between me and my sisters was too great to have much contact with them. Jaclyn was working too much to have time for me. My two younger sisters were always together and a lot younger than me. I used to have another sister, but she was born sickly and died soon after her birth. When I was still very little I used to wish she was still alive, so I could play with her. Well, at least until some boys from down the street were bullying me and my brothers rescued me. After that, I had them to play with.

There were several gangs in the streets of Antarcene, sometimes fighting each other. At other times fighting against the so called grownups who tried to break us apart. The three of us were part of a gang as well, the Granite Bashers, and we were afraid of no one. Some of the things we did are no things I am proud of. At some point, it was beat or be beaten. And we became the beaters.

When my life at home or on the street became unbearable I used to visit my grandfather, old man Symond. I loved to watch him melt candle stumps and create new candles in his shop. He never told me how he used to make the wickers though, since it was his personal secret. If there was something troubling me and I couldn’t ask my brothers or parents I went to him. Not that he always had the perfect answers but because he’d help me find the best answer even if he didn’t know it himself. Grandfather wasn’t always as poor as we still are; he used to be quite wealthy. But he doesn’t want to talk about those days; the only thing he’d say was that after grandmother left, everything went bad. And father was too young to remember those days. He doesn’t even remember if he had any siblings although grandfather said there weren’t any.

My older brothers, Jaime and Sebastian, were two and four years older than me. Neither of them wanted to settle down and get a job that hardly paid enough to care for a family. So at first my eldest brother took a job as a hireling, protecting precious cargo and the like. It was a dangerous job, but at least it paid more than the usual. He learned to handle a sword, passed the skill to Sebastian and took on even more dangerous jobs together. It was not until I reminded them we were a team, working together, that they taught me the same. And at that point, the real trouble began.

It was difficult at first to get a job. Most of the time we heard no one wanted the little sister to tag along. We had to take the worst jobs there were to do. No matter the job, we did as we were told and above that, we were discreet. Secrets entrusted to us were kept, and having a girl along gave us possibilities other mercenary bands did not have. When a job required some secrecy, we put on civilian clothing and passed anyone we had to fool. Yes, quite a few things we did were against the law, but what is law anyway? The ones who have the most money are the ones who create the law, so why not bend it a bit for some more. That was what we thought.

As the months and then years past our reputation grew better and better. We would take any job, for the right price, and did it well.

Then one day a kind of wizard came to us. He had a job for us, and he needed someone who would keep what he saw to himself. We took the job of course, a thing I now regret.

What we had to do I will keep to myself. Not because I want to, but because I have no choice.
I do not wish to speak of those events anymore, considering the things that have happened to my brothers. Whatever we had to do, it went horribly wrong.

Sebastian fell during the attempt and Jaime and I wanted to give up, bring our brother to a hospital. The sorcerer refused, and slew our brother where he had fallen. Even there, he did not stop.
He chanted a spell, the most horrible sound I’ve ever heard, and the broken body of our brother rose again. Unable to do anything about it, being bound to the sorcerer by the same spell that disables me to write of these events we had to protect the sorcerer while he completed his foul deeds. And when the sorcerer was done, he turned our fallen brother to fight us. We had no choice but to kill our own brother, I have to force myself to keep thinking he was already dead when I shot a bullet through his head.

Jaime refused to fight ever again after those events. He did not return home either; he blamed himself for what had happened to poor Sebastian. For the same reason I refused to stop fighting. I was not willing to let that sorcerer living to see another day. I have yet to find him.

Ever since I’ve felt… uneasy when I know a sorcerer is around. Magic creeps me out, there’s no denying that. But the things a sorcerer can do without even blinking his eyes. I can’t fight that with my blade if he wants to stop me. I feel so powerless, and alone. Sometimes I drink too much just to forget what I felt when I murdered my own brother. But I can never forget. When I see someone with his hair colour, or the same coat as he wore from the corner of my eye I think it is him, risen from the dead to seek revenge for what I did.

Nichola Seward

Antarcene Pixiedragon