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Manser Starkkind, Rogue, Whisper Gnome


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Manser Starkkind
M N Whisper Gnome (Races of Stone) Rogue, Level 5, Init 4, HP 46/46, Speed 30
AC 19, Touch 15, Flat-footed 15, Fort 6, Ref 9, Will 1, Base Attack Bonus 3
Darkwood, Masterwork Crossbow, light (2lb) 9 (1d6 (+3d6), 19-20/x2)
Iron, Cold, Masterwork Morningstar (6lb) 9 (1d6 (+3d6), x2)
Silver, Alchemical, Masterwork Sickle (1lb) 9 (1d4-1 (+3d6), x2)
Mithral (6 1/4) lb. Chain Shirt, 3/day Amulet of Shield (+4 Armor, +4 Dex, +1 Size)
Abilities Str 10, Dex 18, Con 18, Int 15, Wis 8, Cha 13
Condition None
Amulet of Shield 0/3

Manser Starkkind is a figure of quiet pragmatism, a Whisper Gnome Rogue who lets his actions and expressions speak louder than words. Though he tends to remain silent, his facial expressions and gestures are often enough to communicate what he's feeling or thinking, making him an enigmatic presence in a group. His practical approach to life makes him flexible, following the rules when they suit him but not hesitating to bend them if they help achieve his goals. 
Manser Starkkind's life has been shaped by encounters with devils, demons, and angels, whose cosmic conflicts have torn through the lives of those around him. He has watched these beings—each with agendas—destroy lives, leaving ruin in their wake. Manser has lost friends and even seen his own family shattered by their influence, a personal tragedy that has left deep scars.

Manser has fought to help those trapped by these forces despite the devastation, lending his skills to friends and allies in need. His experiences with these otherworldly beings have hardened his outlook, fueling his pragmatic approach to life. While he may seem cold and silent, his willingness to bend the rules reflects a desire to protect others from suffering the same fate as his family. The memories of those battles stay with him, quietly shaping his choices as he navigates the dangerous paths of his rogue life.

Manser Starkkind's family was once close-knit, living in a quiet, secluded gnome community. His parents were skilled artisans—his father a renowned alchemist, and his mother an expert trapmaker. From an early age, Manser showed a natural aptitude for both alchemy and mechanics, learning to mix volatile concoctions and craft intricate traps under their guidance. His childhood was filled with the hum of bubbling flasks and gears clicking, all within the warmth of a loving home.

That idyllic life was shattered when devils and demons descended upon their region, drawn by an ancient pact that had gone awry. His family, once prosperous, became caught in the crossfire of a celestial struggle between angels and infernal forces. Despite his parents' skills, they couldn't stop the devastation. His father was lost in a desperate attempt to protect their home, and his mother, once a brilliant trapmaker, was broken by grief and fear. Their community fell apart, leaving Manser orphaned and with the weight of his family's legacy on his shoulders.

In the years following his family's destruction, Manser sought refuge among survivors, including a Druid named Lurael, who became a mentor and friend. Lurael, having lost her family to demonic forces, saw a kindred spirit in Manser. She taught him how to hide, swim, and climb. She crafted the Goggles of Fire Eyes for him, synergizing with the alchemy he knew to remain unseen.

Manser's other companions were those who, like him, had been affected by the celestial wars. A dwarven blacksmith, Jorde, provided him with various bolts and weapons to be effective against the forces at war, which became his signature weapons. An old trapper named Goren taught him how to easily deactivate traps and detect danger in even the most secure locations. These friends helped him hone his skills but also shared the weight of loss, reinforcing Manser's deep-rooted belief that the world was a dangerous place where rules were sometimes made to be broken if it meant survival.

Though many of his friends were lost in battles against infernal forces, their teachings stayed with Manser. Their sacrifices and his family's downfall left him with a somber resolve to never let anyone close die again, but also a willingness to fight for those who the cruel whims of devils, demons, and angels alike have wronged.
Though quiet, Manser's pragmatism and alchemical prowess make him an invaluable ally who operates in the shadows but always has a tool or trick to get the job done.

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Edited by bloodsprite (see edit history)
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Manser crouched low, the fog creeping through the forest, his Goggles of Fire Eyes making everything clear as day. He glanced between Lurael, the druid, and Jorde, the dwarven blacksmith. Lurael was calm, as usual, her eyes scanning the enemy encampment ahead—a few demons lounging near a fire, unaware of their presence. 

"We'll need to neutralize the guards first," Lurael whispered, tracing a path in the dirt with a thin stick. "Then, I'll summon some briars here to cut off their escape. You can set off your smoke sticks once we're in position. It'll be chaos, but we'll be the only ones who can see through it." She shot him a knowing look, her voice low and strategic, confident in the precision of her plan.

Manser's face remained impassive, but his eyes flicked to the ground, then back to her. A slight nod. He liked the plan. Methodical. Precise. No loose ends. His hand drifted to his belt where the smoke sticks were ready, confirming what he knew: Lurael was right. They needed control, not chaos. 

"Bah, we don't need all this sneakin' about,"Jorde grumbled, his rough voice breaking the quiet. The dwarf's fingers tightened around the handle of his heavy axe. "Just charge in, bash their heads in, and be done with it. They're demons, not some tricky devils. A few swings, and they'll be in the ground before they know what hit them." He stood taller as if already ready to march in.

Manser turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly at Jorde. No words came, but he put a hand on Jorde's shoulder, holding him back. With the subtle tightening of his jaw and brow furrowed, he shook his head. 

He pointed to Lurael and raised his thumb. His hand hovered over his crossbow, fingers brushing the bolt tips—his silent agreement with Lurael's plan. His gaze met the dwarf's, one eyebrow lifting slightly in disapproval before he looked back to Lurael with a more determined, settled expression. He trusted her.

Jorde huffed but fell silent.

Edited by bloodsprite (see edit history)
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