peregrin-official

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 14 I run

Spotted, how will she escape? Who is after her? My Pathfinder character's extended backstory continues and features a fight scene! This was a lot of fun to write. -------

I run

The bag naturally was a major impediment to my escape. My pursuer had no such burden and presumably had not spent a week convalescing. I also did not know where I was or where I was going. I would not have been quoted good odds, were I to place a wager. And yet here I am, pen in hand.

I run. He chases. From the looming stonework I intuit that the main place of worship must be ahead. He is right behind me as I race to the door. It opens! A startled monk sees Fennec run beneath him. Then me tumble through him. Then a man wielding a sword and screaming. I daresay he was surprised.

Beyond is the nave. There is a massive wooden statue of Sarenrae suspended by chains in front of a rose window, lit with magical flame. It must be impressive with the sun shining through. Right now it doesn’t help me. I don’t believe I favour the goddess and imagine the feeling is mutual. This is not the time for divine intervention. This is time to find the exit. I duck behind a rough wooden pew, praying, despite my misgivings, that I have not been seen. My lungs are burning. I can only hope his own breath covers the sound of mine.

More distant yells. Closer. Crouched down and still hugging the bag, the brick floor has a warmth to it. From here I see a door. I must try. A flash! Flames reflected in the blade. I fling my head back and watch, time as if frozen, as the blade cuts the air above me. I crash to the floor. I slide clear. I stand and find the pen in my hand.

I observe. He is a practised swordsman. He uses feints. He thinks me unarmed. He thinks I am scared. I have no time for fear. He turns to narrow his profile and place the blade between us. He may think me easy prey but is no fool. He will turn defence to attack in an instant. I will be ready. Here it comes.

His arm moves first. Then his body leans. He will step and thrust. He will aim high. I will swing the bag. This will leave me exposed. Both of us if I am quick. I am nothing but quick. He steps. The point streaks forwards. He means to disable. I plant my right foot wide. I swing. I pivot anti-clockwise. My left shoulder is moving away from him. My pen hand goes low.

The blade is deflected. He has momentum. He will recover. He will counter. He is not expecting this. With the blunt end of the pen I strike up. The runes tickle my hand. I strike. His right wrist. His grip loosens. It is part nerve strike, part surprise. His counter is wasted. I sweep my left leg behind me. I spin around him and duck. His left fist swipes at air. I stay close. Distance does not help me.

He is turning. He will slash low. I drop the bag. I twist the pen. The blade emerges. I grip the pen at both ends. He strikes. I parry. The sound jars this holy place. The noise resonates in my head. There is pain. It’s hard to focus. He takes a half-step back and raises the sword again. But it is a feint! He means to grab with his left. I ready to strike his left. I am wrong.

He kicks. I am pushed back. Staggered. I stumble into the wall. He has the distance he needs. He knows I can fight. I am cornered. I have no more surprises. “Put down the knife,” he snarls, “we only want to talk.” My head hurts. I want to believe him. I cannot. He steps closer. He smashes the hilt into my head! I taste blood. My head crashes against the wall. Voices. Louder. Arguing. So hard to focus. I raise the pen defensively.

He strikes again. I see stars. Or flames. He is a shadow in front of the statue. The sword raises again. Fennec leaps at him! The tiny fox is simply swatted aside. Anger. I see an opening. I lunge. The pen hits him in the solar plexus. His diaphragm spasms. He doubles over. His neck is exposed. I strike, rising. He collapses. He lives. I run.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 13 Night visitors

Things are hotting up in my Pathfinder character's extended backstory. So much so this will take up 3 pages of her journal. All original art this time too, no internet references. More context from the marginalia as always! Take a look! ------- Night visitors

This is what happened next.

I take to bed and pretend to sleep. At Fennec’s signal I rise and sneak down the ward to the sleeping nun. A patient raises a sleepy eyebrow and I give them such a glare they hide under the covers. Fennec waits at the door as I approach the sleeping nun, pen in hand. With a twist a blade emerges. I stand behind the lightly snoring woman and reach out to take and cut a flower from the vase on her desk. Putting the blade and pen away I let the water drain from it then go to the nearest lamp, syphoning up oil into the stalk.

I open the door and see a hall. To the left a door that probably leads outside. To the right a dark corridor. Opposite two doors. One large and central and a smaller, rougher door to one side. A glance at the floor in the flickering torch light shows that the larger door is a way taken more often by the polished flagstones. So I step to the smaller door and by raising my thumb from the end of the stalk allow the oil to run into the hinges.

The lock itself is extremely easy. After a tiny protest from the hinges the oil does the trick and four seconds later I am in. I find myself in a storeroom for the possessions of the patients and some hospital supplies. My eyes see very well in the dim light but I decide to close the door to reduce the chance of being caught and I light a lamp. It is obvious my things were in the wooden chest which proves to be neither trapped nor locked. There is an interesting bundle of things including a sword which I attach to my belt as Fennec sniffs around the place.

Then I hear a knocking on the door to the abbey. I take all my things and shove them in the nearest bag. I hear footsteps in the hall. The door opens. Whispers. A nun and probably two men. They enter. The door closes. I hear them open the door to the ward. If they are here for me I have less than a minute. I look through the keyhole. (sketch of view through keyhole showing the slightly open door to the ward and someone lurking in the shadows)

Someone stands guard outside the ward. Think. Think. I look around. There are spare robes. I put them on so that the sword is covered. It’s not unusual to see Sarenites armed but they prefer a scimitar and my blade is straight. I pull the hood up and pick up the bag and lantern. It’s a doctor’s bag. Perfect. Just a doctor getting a lamp to do the rounds… so I can’t head for the exit… so I step out of the storeroom and the man opposite pretends to casually glance my way. His eyes though are narrow and sharp.

I act a little surprised and confused and give him a curt nod before turning away from the exit and walking slowly, deeper into the abbey, Fennec beside me. If this desert fox is new then they, whoever they are, can’t be looking for someone with a fox. Right? Each step is torture. Each step an entire season of mummery, condensed into a moment of innocence. Nothing to see here. Go about your business. I think I hear steps after me but it is my own heart racing. Then - a distant yell. Don’t look back. Keep walking.  (sketch of head and shoulders of a man, face mostly in shadow, partially hidden by his hood)

“Stop!” the man yells some twenty paces behind me. I place the lantern on a window ledge and it shines bleakly into the central cloister garden, singularly failing to show me a way out. I turn and smile. Talk. Then run. Then fight. I set priorities in my head, a series of fallback options each more desperate than the last.  “Who are you to yell at this hour?” I try to say with authority. He smiles. It is not a pretty smile. It is the smile of a predator, bearing down on its prey, full of bloody anticipation.

With one hand he draws a shortsword, with the other he tries to grab at me. I see the movements and in my head I am running parallel thoughts. How fast? How heavy? Where are the feet? What does he expect me to do? I do the opposite. And step closer. He has less room and can’t do more than take hold of my left sleeve. Perfect. I spin right, slipping my left arm out of the robe, toss the doctor’s bag from right hand to the now free left and catch it a little awkwardly. I dance out of his grasp leaving him holding the empty robe as I run full tilt away.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 12 The card

In which we continue looking at old journal entries from my Pathfinder OC's extended backstory. These however, include marginalia from both the past and the present as she tries to figure out who she is. A certain motif reappears. ------- The Card

Skiron has quietly disappeared from the university, though I hear there is a Sylph winning a name for himself in the underground fight scene.

Life has returned to a semblance of normality for me too. I have a lot of work to do if I am to raise my grade average and any tolerance for indiscretion has evaporated. I am fully focussed on studies. Or I was. Until this arrived.

(picture of business card featuring no writing, just a stylised scarab) A small card with a simple, beetle-like motif. Perhaps a scarab? Later I should find time to be worried that someone broke into my room. Right now though I am intrigued, pulled in by the mystery. What does it mean? Who did this? Maybe it was a mistake, that someone had meant to write something and had sent the card absent-mindedly, unfinished. I can think of a few professors that might have done that. Perhaps there was something wrong with the ink and it has faded away? I tried examining it for inkless script. I tried holding it up to a light. I tried several alchemical solutions that might reveal invisible ink. Nothing. One evening however, upon turning down my lamp and retiring I did happen to pick it up pensively, and my mind drifted. I felt the slightly course card stock and was astounded to discover a series of tiny raised points across the card. Only by stopping to look and starting to feel did I truly see what was there. 

It still makes no sense. This is not the ingenious writing for the blind. It’s a series of numbers. Either it’s coincidence, meaningless, or someone went to a lot of trouble to hide a message. My Linguistics professor loves to use ciphers, and has been setting me tougher and tougher tests recently so I should recognise and decipher any but the rarest of codes but I just get gibberish.

I found the answer in Sands’ Basic Cryptography! It’s not a code at all. It’s a library classification! I read it cover to cover and of course attempted all the tricks but there was the answer in the index. The number pattern matched, not exactly but it’s clearly in the same format. So now all I need to do is go through the library catalogue.

Update: it’s a book on Entomolgy? I suppose that matches this scarab design. There’s only one problem - the shelf I need doesn’t exist. The numbering just skips ahead. I’m very confused. I thought I was getting somewhere. I asked the librarian but they were no help. Then the old assistant approached me. “Can I see your card?” they asked. Instead of my library card I instinctively handed them the card with the scarab. They smiled.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 11 A parting gift

A draft letter. Was there a final version? Was it ever sent? Did it arrive? No answers today. My expanded backstory continues with this missive and plenty of context from the marginalia. _______

Dear Skiron,

I would like to congratulate you on your victory in the Eight Rings contest. I pushed you as hard as I could and gave my all but you were a fair winner. One does not enter a competition and then complain about the rules afterwards so I have no regrets about the manner of your victory. “In the case of a tie the judges must elevate to winner the competitor with the most beautiful swordplay.” There is no denying your style and showmanship have won over many fans.

I thought I had you at the fifth bout. There is such a natural grace and lightness to your movement that I considered a Van Reyn turn and Sventa strike but that seemed to be just copying your strengths rather than using my own, so that’s why I chose the Kontra-Mauer defence. Now that we are unlikely to cross blades again, permit me this observation: You have a tell. When you sidestep, the air around you anticipates the move and guides you, but there’s a half-second when your hair betrays your intent. I think you know this though because as the match drew on the tell became less reliable and then fully misleading. I sly deception that drew me in, too clever by half. I played the percentages but you gamed the system. Bravo! I hope you found me a worthy opponent and I thank you for making me get this far. I’m over it. I will return to my studies and fence merely for fun. Before I do so though, a parting gift.

The proctors have opened a case against you. They know that you forged or stole the letters of recommendation that bought you entry to the university. I have seen your files. I know you had zero interest in studies. You were entirely here for the fencing, as a means of entry to the underground gladiator circle. Mission succeeded, I don’t suppose you need worry about failing classes any more, however, the proctors have the power to impose great sanctions, even on an ex-scholar.

When they try to present the evidence however they shall find your letters missing. You’re welcome.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 10 Raven Seven

My Pathfinder character's backstory continues to hop around with an extended interlude in the past. We have an old newspaper cutting about an incident that's been mentioned in the last couple of posts. Although I jump around the timeline, the marginalia are more recent (see the darker ink?) so we can read her thoughts from the "present" (is it though?) when confronted with the past. I'm enjoying this mixed perspective, it's an interesting way of handling development and exposition. I can't remember where I found the background image because I used it in a DnD game years ago, but I seem to recall it being a very old Venetian newspaper. Sneaky call out to another friend's OC in here! -------

Latest from the Eight Rings Contest

We enter the final phases of the fencing contest and the competition is heating up like Glistening Dew at Dawn’s legendary ‘bottomless’ kettle in the student lounge. The annual highlight of Fresher’s Week is an advertisement for this sport we love! As ever, new scholars show up in droves at the prospect of excitement, gambling and, let’s be honest, blood. Luckily of course we can rely on the healing powers of the Faculty of Medicine students, eager to test their skills, and the divine gifts of the clerics in attendance.

With the promise of sponsorship available in the Achtelfinale, the round of 32 saw a dramatic increase in effort and, purists beware! in the showiness of many of the contestants trying to catch the eye of the patrons. Of course the Temple of Shelyn’s sponsorship of a duelling contest raises eyebrows but, not to stray too far into inside fencing, we are here to celebrate the beauty of the blade, in all its grace, finesse and style - with the passion of the participants and fans captured in the parallel poetry and painting contests.

A word here for the underdogs: less flamboyant fighters who are not granted a coloured feather for the rest of the contest, nor the white Dean’s feather. They receive no extra training, professional insights into their opponents or invitations to perform at taverns that go along with those tokens of favour. Designated Ravens one through eight they rarely make it past the quarters but they are not just there to make up the numbers!

This author has been following with interest the progress of “Raven seven”. She is not unknown to these pages, after the very public and stubborn feud with “Blue”. Raven seven has quietly and without fuss, fenced her way past opponents that might have expected to receive a feather. I asked my colleagues to describe her style in one word and the suggestions were “boring”, “uninspiring”, “dull as a practice sword” (four words too many Noz!) but I would like to propose ‘efficient’.

You can get fantastic odds on some of the Ravens and I am obliged to point out that unlicensed gambling is contrary to the Student Charter and may lead to disciplinary actions up to and including time in the campus gaol and expulsion. That said, Nivi Rhombodazzle followers have purchased a concession this year and will be spending losing bets on community projects.

So it’s all set for a thrilling conclusion to the contest. Good luck out there blade bearers! Go Ravens!

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 9 On Meridians and Combat It's back to the past with some older personal journal notes from my Pathfinder character's expanded backstory. Trying to justify their fighting style! Diagrams shamelessly copied from inspired by public domain image in Wikipedia. To me it makes sense for someone that does precision damage according to their PF2e build. In the marginalia you get more context for her motivations. -------

On meridians and combat

Background: Vudran and Tian Xian scholars discuss paths of energy that are distributed throughout the body. Should the pathways become blocked then the incorrect flow causes ill health, pain and suffering.

Wu Lin’s epic poems describe a martial technique that specifically targets weak spots.

Hypothesis: if I target these spots with accurate strikes I can increase my efficiency in fencing.

This can be applied to unarmed strikes as well as with piercing weapons. The target will experience pain and temporary paralysis if the exact spot is struck.

According to Professor Gunnarson’s lecture on Biological Equivalence this will be valid for all humanoids but the exact meridians may not match for different ancestries.

Thus the key to using this method of targeted strikes is to observe the opponent and determine where their physiology can be exploited. The opponent may only expose their weak spot while making a specific movement. The best results will be gained from devising a strategem based on these observations. As such one will always be slower but able to strike far harder that the body allows.

The deadliest weapon is the mind.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 8 - Esteemed Scholar

this features a university logo originally created by Riccardo Rullo for Paizo (and then butchered by me, sorry) We have an old letter that my Pathfinder character has kept for some reason? Must be important to her or something... Some context from marginalia. Slight detour in the timeline! It will make sense... there's a reason behind the order I write things. Sometimes the reason is 'idk I just had an idea, let's see where it goes' and sometimes I know what I'm doing and sometimes I won't know what I'm doing until later but will tie it all back together in a moment of genius. aka post hoc justification, which, if GMing taught me nothing else, is an important life skill. Also, shout out to my good friend Druid whose OC is mentioned and is indeed an excellent fencer. -------

Esteemed Scholar,

I am writing to you in the hope of saving a promising student whose family name still carries respect among many of the faculty. Many scholars go through periods of hardship and their grades suffer but I and my colleagues have not been able to turn your attention back to your studies. This is especially galling for a scholar with such promise.

Furthermore I cannot ignore the supposed feud that has arisen between you and another scholar due to a rivalry in the duelling society to which you belong. You appear at class haggard from duelling at dawn in an effort to improve your skills. Such dedication is laudable but must be applied to all subjects and not just martial pursuits. 

You are wearing yourself out and losing focus. I ask you to put aside this foolish rivalry with one who, by all accounts is unbeaten, nay unbeatable. Whatever caused this dispute with Master Zephyr, I implore you to end it amicably for the sake of your own future. 

With compassion and concern as an old friend of your father’s,

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 7 - the first lesson

featuring some references to thalassophobia, no actual deep water but still, if that's an issue, be warned. My Pathfinder character's expanded backstory continues and we get an actual look at her surroundings. And an interaction with her familiar that will be important - cantrip unlocked! Triple page journal entry! And, as always, extra context from the marginalia. -------

It is much later. I don’t believe I am safe but I am out of the abbey. I have learned many things but first I shall explain the events of the night.

The prior evening I read and wrote and said I was starting to remember and could I see my things. I am in a separate section at the end of a long infirmary ward that forms the north side of a cloisters. I have been allowed to wander but not leave the ward and there are several other patients, simple farm folk from what I can tell. They inform me either that we are in Galt or Taldor, which narrows down the location to a distinct, disputed area.

I talk to an elderly man at the last bed and he speaks of his knees but I focus on the sounds of the sister as she fetches my things. Ten steps, twelve. A key. A creaking hinge. Perhaps a wooden lid rattling against stone. Hinge. Key. Footsteps. She returns and orders me back to bed. I feign weakness and meekly acquiesce. The old man keeps talking even as I depart.

My things. A triangular pendant with a central opal, quite beautiful, a scarab brooch of dark metal, quite ugly, the lock picks, quite useful. There was more but it’s all she brings. I lay them on my bed at Fennec’s feet and he watches the sister return to her desk by the only exit at the far end of the ward. My section is only partially separated with an open archway linking the rooms. I have the luxury of a curtain however and draw it for what privacy it affords.

“It is time for the first lesson.” Fennec surprises me as I take out a tension wrench and a hook pick. “You can see more than you realise.” And I look into his eyes and see those bronze sigils cascading and a memory is unlocked.

Going into deep memories is an unnerving experience akin to swimming over deep, deep water. I am afraid of what lies beneath, that there is nothing but endless darkness, that if I stop swimming for one moment I will be drawn down and crushed under the pressure of knowing. Up here in the sunny shallows of our life we have the world at our feet. Our senses may not encompass all but we hold that the world is real and here and now and it is all. But down there. There where memory lives, every lost moment, every instant a whole new world, piled on top, one after another, so many worlds, crude reflections of reality, tainted by fears and imperfect vision. There be monsters.

I swim up, but there is no up, direction is meaningless but I cannot but try. And I break the surface and breathe in hot, dry desert air. I stagger from an oasis, swirling in a gully cut through red rock and under palm shade. I can feel something. A new sense; the ability to instinctively feel the presence of magic. With a blink I am back on my bed. “Did you do this to me?” I ask but Fennec shakes his head. “No, no, this is all you. You have other talents but are not ready to remember. You are still weak. But I can teach you to move like the wind, which you will need soon.” He asks me to measure the room and then consider that the distance is a lie. I cannot truly explain why this should work or how but I believe I can convince the universe that it is so. I am not the most attentive student however. Because I sense magic.

I walk around the room and have no way of localising the source to my great frustration. I consider that perhaps my objects are not mere trinkets and confirm my theory when I walk down the ward and can no longer sense them. Before I can inspect them however the sister decides that quite enough for the night and collects the brooch, pendant and the lock pick roll, minus the two tools I hid under the pillow.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 6 - be the windmill

featuring some thoughts on pain and recovery and a plan! and a little more context as my Pathfinder character's expanded backstory develops - the (still) unnamed character is in a bad place but trying to get out and, as always, extra context from the marginalia

It is later. Time has become a less linear. I find myself staring at nothing for indeterminate lengths of time and then everything snaps into focus again and I return to these questions that vex. I find that as my mind wandered at least part of it was still working hard.

Evidence: pain

My body bears wounds under these conscientiously applied bandages. I use the opportunity of a wash to examine them and I steal the doctor’s notes through a distraction Fennec is all too happy to supply. They confirm two things. Firstly I have recently been attacked with claws. Secondly that, although not my profession, I have at least received medical instruction in the past. I return the notes before they are missed.

The doctor means well but she is not equipped to see the true damage. These headaches! When they strike I see auras. I smell colour. I taste sounds. If blinding light is to the eyes what a deafening cacophony is to the ears then what I suffer is an overwhelming of the sense of self, of my identity. I become a broken thing that only exists for pain and knows no more. It passes and I find the pen in my hand again. And I write of the pain. And it feels better.

Pain is invisible like the wind. We see its passing, the dust clouds, the proud trees laid low. The tree that bends is smarter, it does not break. The ship that catches the wind prospers when the wind is right. Most defiant though is the mill that harnesses that power and makes it its own. I shall make what notes I can but I shall not tarry here. I will retrieve my mementos and leave. Firstly I will ask for my journals. I will ask for the lock picks and ensconce what I need and Fennec will watch where everything is stored. Then I will take what’s mine and be free.

I shall need more than my burnished wits and some writing material. I may have to find coin. And by find I mean liberate. By which I mean steal. I must find out where I am and see what I can learn while avoiding attention. I shall not arouse suspicion in the nuns but I shall see what I can eke from them. By their quiet prayers and those lamps that hurt my eyes I can say this is a place dedicated to the Everlight. I am grateful for the healing but I must stay in the shadows.

Read. Write. Recover.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 5 - A new case: me

My Pathfinder character backstory/fanfic continues as she gets a look at some of her possessions and thinks about her situation.

With, as always, plenty of marginalia. Maybe I should have named her that ha. What is her name actually? She doesn't remember.

Yeah, yeah, amnesia is such a cheap writing trick. Whatever, maybe there are reasons, it's my story. Well, that said, once things get going it has a life of its own. Is it really my story anymore?

[peregrin-official]

my entire story is side character oh no

the real plot twist is when a side character becomes the main character and i have no control over it.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 4 - that dream Concerning a nightmare, fear, being trapped, attacked, darkness, disease. It's a shift from the previous chapter and puts things in a new context with a part of a dream diary. My Pathfinder character's backstory is, surprise surprise, not all that happy. I know, shocking. Listen, a player in a game I GM ran a PC with a happy family background and they died. The end. (Don't read that bit Kat)

[peregrin-official]

An important item to my Pathfinder character - her pen? And a clue? What does LU stand for? Wait a sec... runs to Archives... Pathfinder has a stiletto pen as a weapon... that's a cool idea... I'm a sucker for surprise weapons. I love the Umbrella Injector too, multiple characters of mine wield one. Stiletto pen though, wow. Deadly librarian character coming right up!

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 3 - the desert princess Our (still) anonymous heroine finds an older page in the bundle of documents and starts to add notes, looking for clues. But this is not the first time she has done so. To make that clearer the older notes are a more faded blue. One of the interesting possibilities of using marginalia is that they are not necessarily made at the same time as the main text. So they add a fourth dimension to the story. I changed the handwriting font to make it seem written by a younger hand. Still ridiculously clear to read but then I want it to be readable of course. Wish there was a way for people to add their own marginalia here... oh wait! In the comments? Anyway, some insights into her character here.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 2 we get the first look at her journal with these sketches of her familiar. As this is the backstory/fanfic... the backfic? of my Pathfinder OC I of course have a full statblock. For both 1e and 2e because.

[peregrin-official]

Chapter 1 A Pathfinder expanded backstory/fanfic for my character in epistolary form. A woman is delivered to a hospital in a coma. Who is she? Where is she? What happened? She doesn't know (yet... I do, I think...) I'm a little obsessed with marginalia so that will be a big part of my writing. I love how you can read the main text and then read the comments to get more context and the fact that the comments may or may not be from the same time or by the same author as the main document. I can reveal more about my ideas once the story has advanced a little.

[peregrin-official]

totally nothing strange about this familiar, Ancient Osirion text the colour of polished bronze raining down inside it's pupils is very normal thing for desert fox, nothing to be worried about. If only my PC could remember: who they are, their own name, where this fox came from... (yes, that's from the Book of the Dead)