Character Concepts 6-10

Westerners kept calling him a ninja. Not so. A simple armed acrobat, he says. A warrior trained in Calimshan, he protested. No, they said. The protests are a ninja trick, they told him. If he was a ninja he'd say he wasn't so he could get the drop on people. And besides, no circus performer moved like that. And so he studied, learning about these men. Simple farmers with weaponized tools, a few true assassins among them, and yet people so far away not only heard about them, but had created a rich mythos for them, in which they were sneaks and magicians unto Mask himself. A reputation which proceeded. He continued to protest to their faces, spreading small rumors behind their backs, and adopting a darker wardrobe.

***

The magic rocked over him, threatened to break the trinket shielding him from the assault. It held, barely. His hair stood on end, adrenaline surged through his arms, the power of the gods pushing him forward at the wizard. His sword burned with divine fury as it sliced through air.

***

Patrol had been boring. The birds saw nothing, his fellow patrols saw nothing. Did that not mean the job was done? Something creaked, slithered, not unpleasantly. Behind the next tree. He peeked, held his weapons ready. The trees hold molded themselves into a great wooden cave. Unheeded and out of sight, his Sentinel Sword glowed an alarm.

***

I am a doctor of sorts. Where I come from my profession is called black surgery. Oh, that makes it sound so maudlin, does it not? It is as much science as traditional medicine, I assure you. The difference, madame? I simply go a bit further for my patients than your average physician is paid or trained for. I assure you, every patient that has come to me lacking their, how you say... Get up and go has gotten up and gone. Ha. Ha. Ha. Something untoward, madame? I can vouch for my services. After all, I am not just a provider of them, but a satisfied customer.

***
They called the man swordbait. A bit of a drifter, the party picked him up along some sodden roadside, limping his way. Not much of a magician, not much of a swordsman, and almost always silent. They man could take a sword like anything though. Once he walked into a whole enemy camp while they planned, muttering about a distraction. Walked out with no less than dozen spears in him after the party arrived to save him. He just laughed in his shallow way and said "I still have one," before he started pulling blades out of himself. Probably talking about the bum leg.