The week’s random rolls brought us an ultra-charismatic but not all
that bright half-elf of Kellid descent. With a decent dexterity and
constitution this might scream some kind of dumb jock, but after taking a look
at some of the Golarion lore I went a totally different direction. Remembering
a tidbit from Dave Gross’ pathfinder novel in his Count Jeggare series called King of Chaos I really
tried to anchor this character in the history of the world. This week I went
with summoner as a class, specifically the archetype called the God Caller.
Meet Jingar and his little god.
Jingar Redfurrow
Before the worldwound, before the abyss spilled out onto
Golarion there was Sarkoris. It was a savage land then, too, but not in the
twisted way it has become. Tribes of Kellids roamed the land as well as erected
cities such as Dyinglight and Storasta. This was the legacy of Jingar’s father,
a legacy whose only remains are the tiny town of Gundrun.
Jingar’s mother was a half-elf. How the blood of the fair
ones got into her veins is unknown, she was not originally of the tribe
although her human heritage was obviously Kellid. Both his mother and his
father were crafters, keeping the traditional ways of the Sarkorian tribes
alive in this new age. Many travelers seeking back ways into The Worldwound
come through Gundrun for guides and some of those buy what amounts to pieces of
lost art to most of the rest of Golarion.
But even in Gundrun his family was seen as less. Although
his father tells tales about the once great chieftains of his clan – how they
led great war parties to glory – that is but a distant memory. Jingar’s family
lived on the outskirts of the ramshackle town and his father was labelled
‘narakor’ or traitor. The elder Redfurrow accepts this fate quietly, although
when Jingar inquired from his mother she told him that the dishonor was not of
his father’s doing, although it was his burden to bear.
Although Gundrun is not directly under any demonic
influence, that doesn’t make it completely safe. In Jingar’s younger years
raiders targeted the town riding off with livestock and other goods. They also
took him. When one of the riders found the half-elf hiding behind a cart in
town his eyes went wide and he dropped whatever he was carrying to scoop up the
boy.
The cave in which the raiders lived were covered in
paintings of deformed creatures. Tentacles, multiple eyes, odd appendages, and
twisted bodies were all common themes of the wall paintings. The tribe of
raiders would chant and scream through the night and each night they would
present Jingar on a simple altar of black rock caked in blood. Each night he
thought he was going to die, but all they ever did was continue to chant and
scream.
For ten days and ten nights Jingar was prisoner to these
tortured souls. Although he feared them, there was something familiar. On the
eleventh day a man rode in on a great beast, like a giant wolf. He tore through
many of the cultists and scattered the rest. He introduced himself as Jingar’s
uncle who was there to take him back to his parents. The two rode in silence
for hours, when Jingar asked his unknown relative about the wolf the man called
it his ‘little god.’
When Jingar returned he found that not only had he been
kidnapped but that his mother had been killed in the raid. After much
discussion and raised voices it was decided the boy would go with his
uncle, away from Gundrun. In the night they left and headed as far as they
could go.
The trek was long, clear south across Avistan, down the
Sellen River, and into Taldor. In the crumbling empire’s capital they rode a
boat – the largest Jingar had ever seen – and sailed for Abasalom. From the
city at the center of the world they took one more ship around across the inner
sea and to the far off land of Katapesh.
During the trip his uncle taught Jingar the ways of the
god caller. Although he never managed to summon his little god, the boy took to
heart the historical connection of his people to the divine. What he also
learned was that those in Gundrun were not the only Kellids left of Sarkoris.
Some of the tribes turned on their own people and joined the demonic invasion.
As their civilization was destroyed they killed their own for their new
masters. These were the sins of his father’s father and the reason his family
would always be dishonored.
Katapesh was not unlike his home in The Worldwound.
Outside of the cities the land was harsh and unforgiving. Giving up the bitter
cold for the sweltering heat took some getting used to but eventually he
managed. Unlike his parents, his uncle had no settled job. He was what some
might call an adventurer. And not every – as a matter of fact not most – of
these adventurers were meant for children. Jingar spent a lot of time in small
fringe towns while his uncle was off exploring some ruin.
Being alone gave the boy a lot of time to think. He loved
his family, but now that he knew their history he longed for the days when his
people were powerful. He longed for the history of strong leaders his father had
told him about. In his longing both pride and denial of their horrific act
grew.
In one small frontier town out in the Katapesh desert
Jingar had an encounter with a group of traders. They called him a barbarian,
uncivilized, and backward. They said that his people would never amount to
anything. It was then that Jingar heard the call, he touched the divine and it
heard his call, but what he called wasn’t the will of his people of old, it was
the new divinity of his people as they are now.
Like the cave paintings of those who kidnapped him,
Jingar’s little god was an aberrant ball of mouths and tentacles. The creature
poured forth into the world and began to attack the traders. As his little god
lay waste to those who would taunt him Jingar saw visions of The Worldwound. A
voice called him to reclaim his cursed kingdom and take his mantle as chief.
Before his uncle could return Jingar ran off. He lost
himself in the deserts of Katapesh with the voice of the Qlippoth Lord Yamasoth
gibbering away in his mind. Unsure of where to go next he has twisted his love
of his family with the need to rebuild their lost civilization in his own image
as an homage to them. For now he is alone with his new master and his little
god.
My interpretation of these bits of information isn’t the
only way to build this character. What class did your half-elf choose? How did
he come to worship Yamasoth? Who was the relative that he was so close to? Why
did he mass murder a bunch of tradesmen?
Bringing these characters to life is a second full-time
job. Contributions to my Patreon or Paypal help me invest more of that time
into creation instead of worrying about keeping the lights on. If you’d like to
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