Kazmir von Becke

Dark brown hair, brown eyes, scar under left eye.
Sign of the Broken Cart

Archetype: Ranger
Perk: Reaver
Class: Highwayman

Adventurous, fiscal, proud, ambitious.

WS BS S T Ag Int Per WP Fel
34 60'' 30 30 50'' 37' 35 30 29'


Wounds: 14/14
Fortune: 3
Fate: 3
Experience: 2650/2650

BASIC- Barter, Charm, Climb, Command, Concealment, Consume, Disguise, Drive, Evaluate, Inquiry, Intimidate, Scrutiny, Silent move, Survival, Swim.

TRAINED- Animal Care, Awareness, Common Knowledge (Empire), Ride, Search, Speak (Common)
+10: Navigation
+20: Gamble, Dodge Blow

Eagle Eye (+5 BS), Very Strong (+5 S), Ambidextrous.

Mighty Shot (Damage moves up one dice), Quick Draw, Master Gunner (1/2 reload with blackpowder), Weapon Focus (Re-roll to hit [Pistol]), Special Weapon Group (Blackpowder, Throwing), Sure Shot (AP 1), Rapid Reload (1/2 reload time), Two Weapon Wielder (Ballistic), Dual Shot, Deadeye Shot, Sharpshooter (No negatives for range), Marksman (No negatives for called shots).

Armour: None
Weapons: Pistol- (10 shot)
Dagger (in boot)
3 x Throwing Knives
GQ Mace
Hood and mask, Wide brimmed hat, BQ Clothes, Dice.
Purse with: 10 Gold, 3 Silver, 2 Copper

Character Picture


In a small inn on the road to Altdorf a commotion had arisen. A young man, decked in fine but road worn clothes, was being accused of cheating by five other men. One of the men, his shirt tightly fitted to his large belly, was clearly the leader, a minor travelling merchant settling down for a game of dice with his four bodyguards, the hands of whom all lingered near the swords and cudgels at their waists.
“Surely there has been some sort of misunderstanding gentlemen,” the youth smirked, pulled his sleeves nervously as he stands up from the table.
The merchant laughs as his bullies started to fan out; “No mistake sir, you’ve been caught cheating and I’ve got a mind to take back my winnings.” The guards draw their cudgels, one rubbing his fingers together on his free hand greedily. “No-one rolls 13 half-dozens in a row. No one. It isn’t even possible. You’ve a set of weighted dice if I ever saw them. Typical scoundrel like you. You dress proper but I hear the sound of the country upon your tone. You ain’t nothing but a dirty thieving peasant,” the man says as he spits at the feet of the accused.
A grimace crossed the youth’s face as the smile leaves it. He wearily looks around the room, appearing to be looking for something. Whatever it was, he doesn’t find it; the inns staff are busy about their usual work, clearly more used to this than they would care to admit. Aside from them the bar is empty, with the exception of a man sitting in the shadow at the back who seemed to take very little interest in the entire encounter, his pointed ears barely hidden by the shadow he lingers in.
The boy sighs again, seemingly resigned to the outcome he now sees as unavoidable. Having sensed the supposed defeat in his opponent the merchant nods at his men and they begin to move forward once again. With a chuckle one of the guards starts reaching across the table, his grubby fingers covered in many rings and brawling scars. He almost makes it to the money bag only to give out a yelp of pain, the palm of his hand now transfixed to the table by a dagger. The youth holds two more in his hands, twirling one in an expert pattern as his mischievous grin once more crosses his face. The thugs move as one, the fun now over and the real work about to begin. There is a blur and the knives leave the young man’s hands and appear in the thigh of one of the men, blossoms of blood announcing their arrival in major arteries and dropping the lout with a grunt. As the man falls the rest begin to advance more quickly, drawing a motley collection of blades and axes, worn from use. The youth finally reaches the back wall of the inn, unable to retreat any further. He begins to laugh.
“Why are you laughing boy? Do you even know what we’ll do to you?”
“You’ve seen my luck you fat fool,” the cornered boy reaches to his neck and pulls a scarf up around his mouth and nose as his hand slips into his coat. The merchant pauses his advance as he sees a pistol appear in the boy’s other hand, the eyes that had once held such mirth now burning with a cold rage. “Do you really want to try it again?”

About an hour later a grey-skinned elf, a muscular armoured man and a dishevelled man in robes with a crossbow ride back to the inn where they were staying, the heads of a dozen beastmen adorning the back of their mounts. They return to find it burning from a fierce fire, pushing back the night's darkness with it's illumination. Near the entrance sits an elf in a ridiculously gaudy hat, around him the possessions of his companions are scattered, thrown out the windows as he saved them from the fire that now engulfs the establishment. Seeing the looks of confusion on his party’s faces he simple nods to the side of the inn, where a young man sits on a horse cleaning a pair of pistols, his mask gone but his weapons still steaming in the cold night air. The dishevelled man dismounts and moves forward angrily, “AGAIN Kazmir?”

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