Edit (6/11/2013): So I just noticed that the format here looks really weird. That particular site had rules for how dialogue and such had to work, and I didn't want to edit that out. So it's just always going to look kinda weird. Sorry!
Name: Drimmith Beldrimor
Gender: Male
Age: 40
Alignment: Neutral Good
Race: Gnome
Campaign Trait: Ruin Raider
Class: Sorceror (Deep Earth Bloodline)
Drimmith's parents, like most gnomes, were notoriously curious. Once they found out people would just pay you for delving into dungeons and coming out with stuff, their course was set for Magnimar in a heartbeat. After delving into many dungeons and amassing what they considered a decent amount of wealth, they had Drimmith. Noticing early on that he had a magical talent, they took him on an adventure deep in a dungeon as a coming of age celebration, intending to spark his interest in following their own career path. He'd always seemed more comfortable undergound, and had seen his fair share of cave explorations for artifacts. Unfortunately, his parents tragically met their end in this dungeon, slaughtered before their son's very eyes, and him only escaping by a chance of words. After he returned to the surface, loot in hand and nothing tying him down, he was quickly recruited by the Pathfinder Society.
Drimmith himself is of average height for a gnome, and is slightly slimmer than most. His eyes are gray, but still have the glint of youth. He keeps his hair and beard short, but sylized to be what he considers a "sorcerer" look. That is to say, he has a goatee and tries to look mysterious. It doesn't really work that well. Although he certainly tries to be serious, as the child of two moderately-renowned treasure hunters rightfully should, he's still a gnome at heart. He has a reckless disregard for his personal safety, and the safety of others, if it means he can stick his nose somewhere it doesn't belong. He has an insatiable curiosity, especially for magical artifacts. He quickly loses his patience in social settings, preferring to get underground and investigate some ancient runes that may or may not be the secret to ultimate arcane power. Either that or instructions for baking bread. Either way, he's sure to learn something new, and at the end of the day that's all that he cares about! Except for gold. Drimmith is always up for gold. His neighbors thought that his parents had adopted a dwarf for a son, with all the time he spent underground and trying to find ways of getting more shiny coins.
As impatient as he might seem to most people, Drimmith does exercise a healthy amount of caution in the arcane arts. He knows that while his bloodline has given him access to great power, this power will be limited until he finds ways of making it grow. Sitting in his parents' basement hurling globs of grease at the wall and making illusions of young gnomish maidens could only get him so far. Sometimes Drimmith stops to question whether he wants to become a pathfinder for the gold, or for the opportunity to increase his magical aptitude…but he quickly gets distracted from deep thoughts like that.
Did you know people will just pay you for this stuff?
Those were the last words Drimmith heard his father utter before being sliced apart by an ancient apparition. It was his birthday, his coming into adulthood, and his parents thought that going deep into a dungeon nobody had braved in years was a smart thing to do. Granted that they were gnomes, not always renowned for their senses of self-preservation, but even famed treasure-hunters should have known to be more careful. The relic his father had been holding was now coated in his blood, rolling across the floor toward Drimmith. Before he could even process what was happening, his mother was cut down by the same spirit while she grabbed for the artifact.
Drimmith was alone, facing down a ghost that just murdered both of his parents.
The apparition, seemingly human, and very angry, slowly turned towards the frightened gnome, and began walking towards him.
Drimmith knew that his magic wouldn't be able to save him, and he'd ever-so-wisely positioned himself away from the exit - with the ghost between them.
So…he went with the only thing he could. He tried talking to it.
"Um. Hi."
he stammered, trying not to look at the corpses the ghost was walking away from. The ghost made no motion to indicate that it had heard him, and continued towards the gnome.
"Listen, I don't want anything, I swear!"
While not technically true, as the idea of gold was always appealing to gnomes young and old, he was much more concerned with escaping than getting money at this point. Either the ghost saw through his "clever" deception, or simply didn't care.
The ghost was less than ten feet from Drimmith, and was only just now standing over the discarded, bloody relic his parents had seen and been appraising. All Drimmith could think to do was point at it and say:
"Hey, did you know that people will just pay you for that stuff?"
That stopped the ghost 'dead' in his tracks. Drimmith only just now noticed that the apparition was heavily armed and armored, clearly a guardian of some sort. An ancient warrior perhaps? He didn't know enough about the history of this place to even claim a time period for it, and at the moment he didn't much care.
But…if it was a guardian, why did it care about money? Or maybe it was just so furious that the little gnome, trembling in his boots and cloak would dare suggest such a thing, it was letting him be afraid for just a little longer? Or maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a guardian out of some sworn loyalty or out of it's own sense of nobility and honor. Maybe it was a guardian like any sort of mercenary or bodyguard. Drimmith decided to take a risk, and presume that it had been slighted in life of it's payment, and cursed to guard over this place. Either that or die, and he knew which he preferred.
"Yeah. Stuff just like that. Pay you loads. Especially if you've been guarding it for so long, gotta be super valuable. In fact, I was sent here just to come collect it and pay off your debt with it. Funny story that, you see - "
Before he could finish, Drimmith could see the ghost look down at the relic, which he just realized was an urn of some sort. The apparition looked at it for a few seconds, and then vanished into a thin, blue mist. The smoke slowly gathered around the urn, and filled it entirely. Drimmith slowly walked over towards it, picked it up, and looked at his deceased parents. Fighting back the pain, all he could do for the next few days was sit by the dungeon, burying his parents in the earth. Once he'd finished, he looked back at the urn and thought -
"I sure hope someone pays me for this."
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