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Currency
59gp 9sp
Languages
Description
Short and lean, Crispin boasts only faint hints in regards to his Chelaxian heritage. While he clearly retains the cultural upbringing, mannerisms, and paleness of his skin, the traditional coal-black hair of his people has failed to manifest in his genes, replaced by his mother's auburn-brown shade instead, flaunting it pompously with his lusting emerald eyes. His most striking feature, however, is one that he traded one side of his torso for: a tattoo in Thasilonian by Varisian artists -- of whom much bribing and coercion was needed to perform -- in order to further magnify his magical prowess, reaching from the tip of Crispin's left shoulder to just beyond his left hip in bright blue ink. Coming from Chelaxian society and as a scion of the wealthiest house therein, Crispin favors attire of the savvier faire, commonly dressing in the Chelaxian trademark colors of black and blood red with whatever outfits happen to be in style that season. Since his self-induction into this farse of an adventure, Crispin has retained -- at least to some degree -- his preferred clothing, garbing himself in a stylish black overshirt, matching leather slacks, and travelling boots, coupled with small suit of leather armor hidden beneath his malign fashions.
Personality
Reserved, focused, intellectual, and often ominous, Crispin boasts a bit of a superiority complex in regards to the other cultures of Golarion, a common trait amongst the Chelaxian bloodline. As if this weren't enough, this particular Chelaxian is both vain and egotistical, having grown up living in the shadow of his forefathers of House Jeggare and pampered to the point of excessiveness. This isn't to say he's entirely flawed, of course. Young Crispin is also confident, charismatic and emphatic, not to mention honestly open and a man of his word when given. While he's quick to use people when possible, should someone manage to impress him enough to warrant friendship, Crispin begrudgingly reciprocates in turn.
Character Traits
Attractive Charismatic Confident Intelligent Honorable
Character Flaws
Egotistical Elitist Superiority Complex Vain Weak-Willed Shortsighted
Contacts / Friends
House Jeggare
Enemies
House of Thrune
Statistic Block
Crispin Jeggare, Scion of House Jeggare (CL 1) Male Chelaxian Human Bard 1 Neutral Medium Humanoid Init +2; Senses Perception -1 -------------------------------------------------------- AC 15, Touch 12, Flat-Footed 13 (+3 Armor, +5 Dex) HP 24 (1d8 + 16) Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +1 -------------------------------------------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee Longsword +1 (1d8+1/19-20 x2) Ranged Light Crossbow +2 (1d8/20 x3) -------------------------------------------------------- Str 13 (+1), Dex 14 (+2), Con 14 (+2), Int 14 (+2), Wis 8 (-1), Cha 16 (+3) Base Atk +0, Cmb +1 Feats Greater Spell Focus (Enchantment), Martial Weapon Proficiency (Scimitar), Spell Focus (Enchantment), Varisian Tattoo (Enchantment) Skills Bluff +7, Diplomacy +7, Knowledge (Arcana) +6, Knowledge (History) +6, Knowledge (Local) +6, Perform (Oratory) +7, Spellcraft +6, Stealth +6, Use Magic Device +7 Languages Common, Chelaxian, Thasilonian, Varisian SQ Bardic Performance, Bardic Knowledge (Arcana) Bard Spells Known (CL 1) (0th) Daze (DC 16), Lullaby (DC 16), Mage Hand, Prestidigitation, Read Magic; (1st) Charm Person (DC 17), Sleep (DC 17) Combat Gear -- Other Gear Backpack, Courtier's Outfit, Longsword, Light Crossbow w/ 10 Crossbow Bolts, Inkpen, Pocketed Scarf, Small Journal w/ 25 Sheets of Paper, Spell Component Pouch, Vial of Exotic Perfume, Vial of Ink, Waterskin, & 59.9gp
Condition and Effects
Additional Information
From what some might call a heathenistic land wrought full of daemons, devils, and fiends of all varieties, Crispin Jeggare -- Scion of the same named House -- stands amongst the denizens of a diseased land. Simpletons, indeed, would be putting it lightly, presuming little to no inflection was placed upon the meanings themselves. A land rife with imbeciles, barbarians, and generally uncivilized beings should never be one such as he's destination for any substantial length of time, but such was the misfortune he now found himself in. Since before his journey from Chelish territory, this current fiasco had been nothing but. Having your proverbial allowance cut off by daddy dearest didn't make the trip any easier, suffice it to say, and the current affair only seemed to be degenerating into an even more deplorable state than it had originally been in. Frankly, Crispin wasn't expecting to spend too much time amongst the Varisian barbari and blood-thirsty vagrants, his goal clear-cut and obvious. Imagine then that the entire purpose for the clearly superior scholar had been uprooted, making his visit -- and all of the expenses, both monetary and personally, entailed therein -- moot, null, and void. Gaedran Lamm was dead, killed by upstart locals of all things; Crispin was not happy. Truth be told, he could have cared less about Lamm himself, as he was just another pitiful peon amongst a throng of his own kindred. No, no. Crispin was distraught over the fact that he hadn't had the chance to "interrogate" the gentleman, to warp the vernacular. To further complicate matters, Gaedran was his only viable sentient lead as to the whereabouts of his purpose: Malacia Thrune, a Scion in her own right. Indeed, with her tarnished notebook damaged beyond legibility, the leather-bound documents left little hope as to divuldging any other potential clues as to her whereabouts... presuming, of course, there were any and she simply wasn't dead by this point. Regardless, Crispin was ever vigil in the act of unearthing the truth, grim as it may be. His task had only changed slightly, in the grand scheme of things. With Lamm out of the picture, it stood to reason that if anyone in this two-bit, one-horse Varisian town of Korvosa knew anything about anything at all, it would most likely be the rabble-rousers who'd finally decided to do something about Gaedran, and therefore they had become the wayward scion's next clue in unraveling this most disturbing mystery. It wasn't exactly cryptographically challenging to locate the clergyman in question as the town buzzed and gossiped of his and his comptariots' pathetic exploits in ridding a small-time murderer. Sauntering through the Korvosan streets in as a refined a manner as one can muster amongst such brutish people, Crispin's journey to the local temple in question doesn't take too long sans inquiries for directions and descriptions of the individuals the Chelaxian intellectual was looking for. With a confident stride and a hand lazily palmed over the hilt of his only means of physical defense, Crispin Jeggare shoved the door of the worshipping establishment open with all but the faintest of squeaks resonating from the force, an equally high-pitched wail echoing its breathren as the door shut after the auburn-haired and finely-clad gent had strode beyond the threshold. The smell of sacreligious alcohol and wafted just enough throughout the establishment to be detectable, garnering a grimace of chagrin and disdain from the refined socialite as he surveyed the room. Though it certainly held an... interesting number of denizens, his eyes soon found the group he'd been tracking, or at the least a number of individuals who looked remarkably close. "You there," Crispin demanded with practiced flair after winding his way through the tables and meandering patrons, a single gloved hand pointing inexplicably towards whom he could only presume to be the Shoanti "woman with claws" and the most barbarian-esque of the lot assembled. "Are you the ones who dealt with Lamm in this... erm... city?"
Other Notes
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Abridged Background (Rough Draft) Born a Scion of House Jeggare in the Chelish capital of Westcrown, Crispin lead a life of privilege and vice. His father, Creshin, served as one of the higher-ranking senior members of the House, whilst his mother -- of whom Crispin himself knows little of -- was sacrificed to appease a pit fiend in exchange for granting a blessing unto Creshin's first born: that of natural magic, more commonly known as Varisian sorcery, a gamble on Creshin's part to bestow his House with an edge over the ruling Thelune party of devil-lovers to breed the perfect leader for their future endeavors. Life was easy for most of Crispin's early youth. He was attractive, intelligent, and had more wealth than he knew what to do with. For most of his free time, Crispin spent it amongst a slew of aristocratic youth much like himself, or attending one of the many Chelish operas at the local theatre. Indeed, Crispin wanted for nothing, and when he did, he always had his desires fulfilled, and his family spared no expense to properly educate their young scion in all manner of lore and aristocratic tutelage. By his twelth season, Crispin boasted the academic affinity of a young man, with minor understanding of swordplay, horseback riding, and an inkling of his magical heritage under wraps. By fifteen, he was enrolled in the Westcrown University, complete with a hefty "donation" from Creshin in order to continue his son's tutelage, much to the university's disdain of uneducated magical affinity. While certainly more than bright enough to meet all of his scholastic challenges, Crispin nevertheless had trouble improving his arcane studies. It was rather embarassing being sub-par in comparison to the gaggle of wizards that attended the University, especially with such high expectations from his House. To compensate, Creshin financially negotiated a local Varisian inker to imbue Crispin with the edge he needed to rise to the top of his class, receiving it in the form of a classical Varisian Tattoo written in ancient Thassilonian to augment his panache with Enchantment magics. With his newfound increase in minor power, Crispin steadily began his climb from Mediocre Apprentice to Initiate Valedictorian, much to House Jeggare's approval. All was falling into place; Crispin would progressively hone his natural magical talent, and through the combined tutelage of his personal Housemates and University professors, would serve as the secret weapon -- at least in theory -- to shift favor from the remaining houses to Jeggare, unifying them under a single banner to usurp the Thrune-controlled throne as the pinnacle of aristocratic leadership, magical prowess, and unrivaled intelligence. Your typical Chelish scheme, really. Crispin, however, had other plans... plans that he himself saw fit to keep secret from even his most trusted of trustees. While he wasn't entirely opposed to dethroning the House of Thrune, per se, he did feel as though it shouldn't be him to lead his House in the future in this ill-conceived plan for power. Not that Crispin didn't feel up to the task, mind you, but rather on the grounds that it might put a fairly tough strain on the relationship he had with Malicia Thrune, his secret lover. The two had met during a costumed gala in Westcrown, and surprisingly attended the same University for study, albeit Malicia was a good three seasons Crispin's elder. The two were almost completely identical in tastes and preferences, sharing a fondness for literature and the finer things in life, as well as each other's intellectual equals, further sparking their hidden whirlwind romance whilst portraying familial hate for one another in most public settings. But at night, when all the Queen's beasts roamed the streets in search of traitorous blood, the two would meet discretely behind closed doors. Sadly, the romance wasn't meant to last more than three years as soon after Malicia's graduation the relationship was broken off in favor of her pursuing a career as a professional Pathfinder, much to Thrune's chagrin. Heartbroken for the first and only time, Crispin continued his education at the behest of his father, now aged to the point of feebleness and nigh senility. Rigorously studious, Crispin was on his final semester at the Westcrown University when an ominous letter arrived for him, delivered personally by a messenger from Korvosa by carriage. Inside were the supposed final words of Malicia of the Pathfinder Society, with instructions to pass the message along to Crispin in the event of her untimely demise. Inside were the recordings of a venture she had been working on, cataloging the insidious exploits of one Gaedren Lamm and his frightening Little Lambs. Should she be unable to do so, Crispin was instructed to publish the works to bring light to the situation, making it public to all of Golarion. Unfortunately, the journal enclosed was damaged by water, the text all but ineligible as the ink spread across the pages. Distraught by the recent turn of events, the young Jeggare found himself at an impasse as to what to do. With the journal damaged beyond even House Leroung's magical mannerisms to repair and a growing concern over his friend and only love, Crispin dropped out during his final year at Westcrown University to pursue his compatriot in order to discover just what exactly it was she discovered and what happened to her. House Jeggare didn't take this well, even after the Chelish lad explained the situation in vague detail. The House refused to aid their scion, cutting his stipened as a means of deterrence, though ultimately failing. Pulling every string at his disposal and using the meager funds he'd hidden away, Crispin funded his own expedition from Cheliax to Korvosa, determined to investigate and uncover the truth on his own, if need be. Travelling to Egoria, then by boat to Magnimar and from there by carriage to Korvosa, the game was afoot. Crispin would find this Gaedren Lamm fellow, and he would rip the truth straight from his vocal chords... even if it meant selling himself to the Archdevils themselves to do so.
