The Path of Kane
Wise, very curious, educated, loves adventure and knowledge, marksmen, loyal to friends
Agility – d6
Smarts – d10
Strength – d6
Spirit – d6
Vigor – d6
Guts – d6
Knowledge (Archeology) – d8
Repair (Smarts) – d6
Investigation – d8
Shooting – d8
Lockpicking – d6
Notice – d10
Fighting – d6
Charisma – 0
Pace – 6+2 (d10 mod for running due to Fleet-footed)
Parry – 5
Toughness – 5
Hindrances: Curious (Maj), Loyal (min), Wanted (min), Major phobia of the dark, Minor phobia of silence
Edges: Fleet-footed (pace 2 to Notice), Rich, Marksman (+2 for aiming if I don’t move that round; can’t use great RoF1), Quick Draw (ignore usual -2 to attack roll that round; if Agility roll req’d to draw weapon, +2)
Weapons: 2 double-barrel pistols, 4 wheellock pistols (single shot), 2 Wheellock muskets
I was born to a Spanish mother and a French father, near the border of Spain and France. My mother was a wealthy noble, and in her youth fell in love with my father, who was a poor noble. He had the title, but the estate was minimal (and he was French), and his father, through extravagant spending lost all the family’s money. My father, Jean-Luc Montrose, grew into a humble, kind, loving man. He appreciated the simple things in life, and hated the pain that a love of money could cause. He also fell in love with my mother, Rosalea Villahermosa. It was a whirlwind romance, and she knew her family would never approve given his financial/national status, so they married secretly. Once it was announced, her family refused to help them cut her off financially. I was born during this time.
We suffered sometimes even for want of food, so dire was the financial situation. My mother, as much as she loved my father, struggled inwardly with our financial situation. She grew up with great wealth and was used to the finer things in life. However, our house was a loving one. My father taught me to read early in life, and used to entertain me with fanciful stories of swashbuckling, adventures of great explorers, and histories of the world. My mother was kind, but still proud. While we didn’t have much that was nice, what we did have, she polished, repaired, and made last for extended times.
When I was about 10 years old, my father became very ill. My mother tried what she knew, but he worsened. Our home was drafty and cold, and we had minimal medicine. My father eventually fell into a deep, feverish sleep, and she knew that if he didn’t get help, he would die. In deep agony, she left me to watch over my father, and humbled herself to beg help from her family. Considering this a victory, her family arrogantly took us in. However, my father could not be saved. After a few weeks, his illness won out, and he died. This was the worst day of my young life, and my life in the future. My father’s passion for life, his love of my mother and me, and his kindness and generosity shaped me into who I am. I am fiercely loyal to those who are dear to me. His stories shaped a deep desire in me to travel the world and become a great explorer myself.
When my father passed, my mother felt she had little choice but to return home and live with her parents. I was already strong-willed and independent by this point, even as a young girl. I was also fiercely proud, and had inherited my mother’s willingness to buck tradition. Eventually the family tired of trying to “cure my rebellious nature,” and sent me off to boarding school. It was a relief for me, as much as I might miss my mother. There I was free to live pretty much as I liked. I do receive a monthly allowance, sent by my mother, and I will return home only rarely. I do correspond with my mother as I can, although I try not to worry her with my travails.