About Amir Awad Hajjir
[b]Ranged Short Bow (60 ft) +11 (1d6/20/x3) Special Attacks None
--------------------
With a weapon that deals nonlethal damage (like a sap, whip, or an unarmed strike), a rogue can make a sneak attack that deals nonlethal damage instead of lethal damage. She cannot use a weapon that deals lethal damage to deal nonlethal damage in a sneak attack, not even with the usual –4 penalty. The rogue must be able to see the target well enough to pick out a vital spot and must be able to reach such a spot. A rogue cannot sneak attack while striking a creature with concealment. Trapfinding [+1]: A rogue adds 1/2 her level to Perception skill checks made to locate traps and to Disable Device skill checks (minimum +1). A rogue can use Disable Device to disarm magic traps. Evasion: At 2nd level and higher, a rogue can avoid even magical and unusual attacks with great agility. If she makes a successful Reflex saving throw against an attack that normally deals half damage on a successful save, she instead takes no damage. Evasion can be used only if the rogue is wearing light armor or no armor. A helpless rogue does not gain the benefit of evasion. Trap Sense[+1]: At 3rd level, a rogue gains an intuitive sense that alerts her to danger from traps, giving her a +1 bonus on Reflex saves made to avoid traps and a +1 dodge bonus to AC against attacks made by traps. These bonuses rise to +2 when the rogue reaches 6th level, to +3 when she reaches 9th level, to +4 when she reaches 12th level, to +5 at 15th, and to +6 at 18th level. Trap sense bonuses gained from multiple classes stack. Weapon Guard: At 2nd level, a weapon master gains a +1 bonus to CMD against disarm and sunder attempts while wielding his chosen weapon. This bonus also applies on saves against any effect that targets his chosen weapon (for example, grease, heat metal, shatter, warp wood). The bonus increases by +1 for every four levels beyond 2nd.
Weapon Training: At 3rd level, a weapon master gains a +1 bonus on attack and damage rolls with his chosen weapon. The bonus improves by +1 for every four levels beyond 3rd.
Uncanny Dodge (EX): Starting at 4th level, a rogue can react to danger before her senses would normally allow her to do so. She cannot be caught flat-footed, nor does she lose her Dex bonus to AC if the attacker is invisible. She still loses her Dexterity bonus to AC if immobilized. A rogue with this ability can still lose her Dexterity bonus to AC if an opponent successfully uses the feint action (see Combat) against her. Rogue Talent: Combat Trick - {Two Weapon Feint} Reliable strike: At 5th level, a weapon master may reroll an attack roll, critical hit confirmation roll, miss chance check, or damage roll as an immediate action. He must accept the second roll even if it is worse. He can use this ability once per day at 5th level, plus one additional time per day for every five levels beyond 5th. --------------------
[Left] Spring-Loaded Wrist Sheath ↔ Empty
Onyx Ring (35 gp Value)
Haversash:
Pocket I (13.5 of 20 lbs)
Pocket II (20 of 20 lbs)
Pocket III (74 of 80 lbs)
Coins
Hota the Mule
Behrouz "Bez" the Light Horse [Combat Trained]
Fluff:
Appearance With a medium build and coppery skin Amir Hajjir is a son of the desert. While blessed with a full mane of dark black hair, Amid has inherited his fathers shockingly white facial hair which Amir favors in a thick mustache. Like many Keleshite's Amir enjoys things bold and beautiful and he has been known to wear fabulous brocades, rich silks and vibrant jewelry on occasion. His most prized possession is a jewel hilted short sword which often is the centerpiece of his outfits. For the most part Amir tries to travel lightly or utilize pack animals or servants. As a sometime merchant and trader Amir is sensitive to seeming over armed and often goes about his days with a simple sword and studded leather well incorporated into his finer clothes. Amir favors the loose flowing clothing of his people which is ideal in the warm desert climate. Personality As warm as the desert and as bright as the sun Amir Awad Hajjir is gregarious and eager to please. A broad smile and a knowing wink are never far from hisface as he move about Katapesh meeting strangers and friends with equal respect and enthusiasm alike. Amir is dedicated to his work and attempts to use his intellect to think through his problems. Though neither the most handsome or silk tongued of men Amir has spent considerable time amongst the merchants of the city honing his skills at bartering, diplomacy and even the sacred art of "stretching the truth" to better facilitate his social interactions. As a matter of personal pride Amir maintains an abstract code to use his skills and talents to the benefit of the common good while having a healthy sense that sometimes rules are best bent or broken. At times Amir has sometimes a cut purse or two to as he says "teach important lessons to lesser men" and though Amir is often quick to use his ill gotten gains for the good of the less fortunate he considers it important that he get paid for his good work. At the end of the day however Amir believes in the good of the people and the value of the chaotic business that marks the vendor stalls and markets so he does his best to keep his friends and clients safe from harm. Amir can be cocky and confident, egged on by his early rise to prominence and financial security within the Nightstalls yet beneath the bravado is a man who is keen to watch and learn and ply his abilities for something greater, whatever that may be. Biography
My memory starts with cinnamon and cloves. I remember the sounds of the stall owners luring calls and the sight of thick smoke pouring from the spits of the food vendors charcoal filled braziers. The clanging of the smiths. The bawdy laughter of revelers. The calls, whoops, trills and tweets of a hundred different exotic animals. I was a child of the markets and though my mother was gone and my father was forced to tend to me by himself, I grew up in a family unlike any other. I grew fast and strong and my father put me to work early in life ferrying requests, guiding patrons and whispering messages in the ears of trusted contacts throughout the streets. My father dealt in jewelry but it often seemed as though he most often dealt in promises exchanged across the market. He was a man of importance and I was his trusted eyes, ears and voice amongst his peers. I was lean and quick. I admit, I tested the speed of more than guard or rival vendor. Nothing serious; a fig here or a wooden trinket there. I was the son of a man of honor so I stuck to doing the things that all boys like me did; mischief. From Hafiz the rope merchant I learned of knots and ties, string strengths and quick cuts. From Jugo the bird merchant I learned double speak and haggling. From my father I learned that no matter what tricks a man's finger or voice could accomplish, a reputation was the far superior tool. In my father's service I attracted the attention of the Duskwalkers, men and women who served to protect the dark and mysterious Nightstalls and though my father objected, I was young and headstrong. My father was old and his health was failing. He prided himself on honesty but his honesty put no food on the table so I took the work in secret. From my time in the Duskwalkers I learned of traps and poisons, true ways to harm other men and the secrets of using the dark to hide oneself to not be seen. I quickly became adept at the many tasks set before me but I drew the line at killing and just when my refusal to take life was becoming a point of contention amongst my masters within the Duskwalkers, a life was taken from me and so I left their service instead. My father was not a young man when he died but he was far younger than I ever thought he would be when I would have needed to bury him. A sickness of the lungs had taken root in his body and on those dark nights when I was out of the house, skulking the Nightstalls, he was suffering to stay warm and find adequate measures to stem his illness. I burned him in the finest of his wares and the finest of his clothes. A long faded painting of my mother that he kept wrapped in oiled leather was his only companion on the pyre as its flames reached to the night time sky. From his ashes the molten metal of his journey was used to forge the urn that carried what was left of him. I took to my fathers work and kept his stall alive but the business was hard and my heart was not in it. One day as I closed down my tent I began to take steps so that I might sell off what remained or sell the business to another vendor. I knew plenty of people who would like the location or take on my stock but I needed to first know what I had so I could find a fair price. It was as I sifted through the various containers and sheafs of parchment and ledgers that I cam across the box. The box was simple but sturdy, small enough to fit on my lap. Within I found letters and something wrapped in fabric. Putting aside the well wrapped object I inspected the letters and found the correspondences of my mother and father. They were letters of love from across Katapesh as my father traveled and my mother fulfilled her duties as a temple guard. The letters chronicled their courtship, their marriage year and the years that followed. I came to understand that I was not of Katapesh but of Kelmarane. The letters told a story of two people eager and in love but of a town under assault and decay. My father sought to make enough that he could take my mother away. My mother sought to ensure her honor by raising her son ad ensuring the safety of her charges. The letters covered years and I read into the late night and early morning. The stack came to an abrupt end with an envelope that was burned and crumpled. The envelopes contents were fragile and tattered; beaten my weather, smoke and fire. My mother wrote in a hurried hand that danger had come to Kelmarane and she was sending me to him. I was too young to travel alone so I was being sent with a trusted local midwife. My mother did not think she would live but declared that she had to stay. She sent me to my father, bearing her final words and the gift he had given her on their wedding night. Sitting in the tent, oil lamps flickering as their fuel ran low, I unwrapped the fabric parcel that had been in the box. My father had given my mother a short sword of exceptional beauty and craftsmanship. Its hilt was polished brass and bronze stylized in the shape of a dragon's head. Affixed in the dragon's mouth was a ruby of imperfect clarity but superior cut. According to her letters she carried the kukri every day until she returned it to my father with me. Tucking the kukri into my belt I scooped the letters into the box and secured my tent and stall. The next day I sold my father's wares at the first offer. I knew the price was poor but I could no longer care. I have taken the last few years to learn what I had not and to ready myself for the eventual journey I must take. I have need to return to Kelmarane and offer my father rest where my mother fell. I have need to see the home I never knew and to do something with the talents my family has given me. I am a child of the market but I cannot stay here forever.
[/spoiler] |
