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Latif Coetzee - Details

STR

8 (-1)

DEX

16 (3)

CON

12 (1)

INT

14 (2)

WIS

8 (-1)

CHA

13 (1)

Acrobatics

3

Animal Handling

1

Arcana

2

Athletics

3

Deception

1

History

2

Insight

-1

Intimidation

1

Investigation

2

Medicine

2

Nature

2

Perception

-1

Performance

1

Persuasion

1

Religion

-1

Sleight of Hand

3

Stealth

3

Survival

-1

MAX HP

30

Speed

35 ft

Occupation

Tavern Pot-boy and Pickpocket

Archetype (i.e. Class)

Rogue (Urchin)

AC

12

Age

13

Species

Human (Coian)

Gender

Male


Backstory

Born in the squalor of Ironhold's lower city, Latif Coetzee never knew his parents—only that they were debts unpaid in the ledger of the city's brutal history. A natural climber and thief, he managed to scale the sheer walls separating the slums from the elite district of Dagger Hill, driven by hunger and a rumor that the rich threw away whole chickens. He was caught picking pockets in The Crown and Scepter by Madame V herself. Instead of turning him over to the guards, she saw utility in his small size and complete lack of fear.

Now, Latif works as a pot-boy and server in the tavern. He is the "eyes and ears" below waist height, scurrying between the legs of Dagger Hill's elite and the desperate bohemians who frequent the establishment. While he plays the part of the clumsy, obedient servant, he is dangerously observant. He has noticed that the "Silver Only" coins Madame V collects are never spent, but vanish into her private quarters. More disturbingly, he is the only one who tends to the massive hearth—the one containing the hidden "Crown" artifact. While the artifact makes patrons hedonistic and pliable, it seems to have a different effect on Latif: it fuels an insatiable, manic curiosity. He has begun hearing a low humming from beneath the cellar floorboards (the dormant Scepter/Gateway), a sound that calls to him more than any amount of gold.


Description

Latif is a wiry, jagged collection of elbows and knees, standing just under five feet tall. His skin is a warm umber, though usually smudged with soot from the tavern's hearth. He has a mop of unruly, curly black hair that he attempts to tame with grease, usually failing. His eyes are a striking, unsettling amber color—brighter than they should be, perhaps a side effect of his proximity to the magical leakage in the tavern. He wears an oversized, stained velvet waistcoat cut down from a patron's cast-off, cinched tight with a rough hemp rope belt, and trousers that end at his shins, revealing scarred ankles.
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