ver. 0.3.2
Lucius Malachi Fernsby - Details

STR

10 (0)

DEX

10 (0)

CON

11 (0)

INT

15 (2)

WIS

14 (2)

CHA

16 (3)

Acrobatics

0

Animal Handling

3

Arcana

2

Athletics

0

Deception

3

History

2

Insight

2

Intimidation

3

Investigation

2

Medicine

2

Nature

2

Perception

2

Performance

3

Persuasion

3

Religion

2

Sleight of Hand

0

Stealth

0

Survival

2

MAX HP

30

Speed

30 ft

Occupation

Silent Partner / Black Market Broker

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Merchant

AC

10

Age

56

Species

Human

Gender

Male


Backstory

To the patrons of Fernsby's Pub in Westcheap, Lucius Fernsby appears to be the benevolent, if slightly eccentric, human uncle of the establishment's tiefling proprietor, Silas Fernsby Krell. Lucius claims to be a retired importer of exotic curiosities who provided the initial capital for Silas to transform the salvaged barge into a coffee house. He spends his days sitting in the corner booth, tallying ledgers and smiling at the clientele.

In truth, Lucius is a relic of Coia's darker past, specifically the tail end of the Civil War's brutal commerce practices. He was never an uncle to Silas; he was his owner before the laws changed. Lucius has rebranded himself as a legitimate businessman, but his heart remains shackled to the illicit trade of sapient life. He uses the pub's 'barter system' not out of altruism, but to entrap the desperate. When a patron trades a 'secret' for a coffee, Lucius records it. When they trade 'scrap,' he values it for pennies. He is slowly building a web of blackmail and debt upon the 'Unwanted' of Westcheap, turning them into thralls in all but name. He harbors a deep resentment for the legacy of the Dragonbone Vanguard, viewing their liberation of Coia as the destruction of his family's 'property rights.' He possesses a shard of a corrupted Bukhara Spire, which he keeps hidden, whispering to it in the dead of night, hoping to contact the entities that once made men like him kings.


Description

Lucius is a man composed of soft, deceptive curves. He is of average height but carries a heavy, rotund weight that he dresses in fine velvets the color of dried blood and rust. His skin is pale and clammy, often prone to sweating despite the cool air of the crater. He has a fringe of wispy, grey hair clinging to a liver-spotted scalp. His face is dominated by a pair of heavy-lidded, watery blue eyes that seem to lack depth, and a mouth that rests in a permanent, polite simper. He walks with a cane topped with a tarnished silver sphere that rattles faintly, like a hollow bell, with every step. His hands are soft, manicured, and always cold to the touch.
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