[SecondRevan]

Quentin Pierpont
Male Metropolitan Human Kinetic Architect, Level 1, Init +2, HP 8/8, DR 2, Speed 30'
AC 12, Touch 12, Flat-footed 10, Fort +2, Ref +2, Will +3, Base Attack Bonus 0, Power Points 5/5
Damage Reduction 2 Chain Shirt (+2 Dex)
Abilities Str 10, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 18, Wis 12, Cha 12
Condition None

Quentin Pierpont shall speak in Purple

Backstory

Spoiler

What begun as a simple attempt to exploit that Robin Hood legend from England has taken a turn for the strange. When I started stalking the streets of Paris, the idea was simple. Make myself out to be some sort of vigilante, fighting criminals and redistributing their wealth to the poor. That rallied the populace behind my actions, so that I was safe from law enforcement and everyone wouldn't notice I was taking 'reasonable expenses' for my work.

It was working well, my abilities made the job easy, and I was enjoying being the hero. Most importantly, even after distributing the money afterwards, I was earning decent money, and that is what was the most important thing.

But then the mysterious Manteau managed tot rack me down and asked me to go to Montredon-Labessonnié, a small, seemingly insignificant town. All he wanted me to do was go there and send back my stories, but he was paying better than what I was currently earning. I quickly spread a rumour that I had died, creating a suitably grandiose story for the legend I had begun, involving me falling into the Reine wrapped in the arms of my 'arch enemy', then disappeared to this mysterious town to ply my trade there. It shall be interesting to discover what happens
- From the diary of Quentin Pierpont

Spoiler

By the time Quentin arrived at the scene, news had already got round about the murder and the body was crowded by workers, here both because of the murder and the idea of seeing Quentin. Or, as they knew him, Seeker.

Quentin didn’t like the name, but it was their right to name him, considering he wanted to keep his identity hidden. It wasn’t that hard to do. He was dressed in good quality clothing, which stood out against the cheap clothing of the people of Paris, with a large grey coat on top of it, where he hid in the many pockets useless items that he pretended had some magic. Combined with a simple masquerade mask and a wig, which made his black hair appear longer than it actually was, people now identified him by what he wore, instead of what he looked. Especially now that the power of mythology had taken hold of the populace, and he was now being increasingly described as how they wished he looked.

His late arrival was by design. This was a performance, after all. The crowd parted, letting him see the corpse, a no name elven baker that Quentin had never met in his life. “Alven? This is indeed a tragedy. He made some of the best brioche I have ever had in my life” he lied, using information an informant had given him earlier. The lie served two purposes. Firstly, it made him appear empathetic and connected to the people of Paris. Secondly, it built on his mythology, with everyone trying to remember if they ever saw Seeker around the bakery.

Quentin observed the wound that killed Alven, then grabbed a small rod from his pocket, and ran it over Alven’s body theatrically. “He was obviously killed by a hammer. From what I can see, its make and quality likely came from Bernard’s blacksmith nearby.” As the crowd gasped at this revelation, Quentin called out a clear “But...” then let it hang for effect.

“...That only confirms who made the murder weapon. I can tell that Bernard himself did not do this. Bernard is far too strong to have caused a wound this light. It must have been stolen from Bernard’s forge. And luckily, I was just investigating that case when I heard of Bernard’s murder. I had narrowed it down to several suspects, but this murder has made it obvious. The Stoneburrow gang had previously been peaceful, but it seems they have decided to start mugging passerbys. It is a sad thing that Alven had to die to bring this to my attention, but I will not let this continue.” Quentin stood up and left the crowd. People started to follow him, but with the help of some men he planted in the crowd, he quickly disappeared from their sight.

The truth of his investigations were not as heroic as Quentin made it appear. Quentin had developed an information network throughout Paris, recruiting any who were willing to give Quentin information, and using that information to know everything he needed for whatever case he was supposed to be solving. The information network thought they were working for a man named Sariscott, and Quentin made sure that the information network would report all sightings of Seeker, in order to divert suspicion on who Sariscott really was.

The performance was the hard part. Taking down the Stoneburrow gang, a small dwarven gang that had started to develop, was easy. Quentin had managed to find several mercenaries who were perfectly willing to act as Quentin’s assistance, without any credit. This didn’t divorce Quentin from any danger, as Quentin made sure to help them out, both out of a sense of fairness and because he didn’t want the mercenaries to steal more than their fair share. But the Stoneburrows were quickly defeated, and Quentin left, and used a couple more people under his employ to gather everyone together to announce his success.

The crowd quickly gathered, and Quentin prepared for his speech. “The Stoneburrows will no longer be a threat to the people of Paris” He called, to cheers. “This leaves us only one problem. They have nearly one hundred gold” Quentin announced, purposely neglecting to mention the money he had already pocketed, both to pay expenses and as ‘compensation for his work’. “But I have no need for money, so instead I have decided to give it to those who need it the most.” The con was truly was simple. Make yourself a big enough hero, and no one will notice the little things you can get away with. No one cared that he faked almost everything, or that he stole whatever money he could get away with. Because that would rob him of their hero.

Though he knew today would be his last outing as Seeker, after the letter he had received from a man only known as Manteau, who knew Quentin’s secrets. The request was simple. Manteau wanted Quentin to go to a small, out of the way village called Montredon-Labessonnié, where all Quentin had to do was send back tales of what he did there. They had to be true, but it paid better than Quentin’s current work. So Quentin was just about to finish his preparations and leave.

The good thing about being a myth is that tales are easier to control than people. He was simply going to spread a rumour that Seeker had died, with a story heroic enough that the populace would accept it. Add a bit of hope that Seeker was still alive and in hiding, so that Quentin could resume everything upon returning, and he would be fine.

The story was simple. Seeker had finally located his arch-nemesis, Sariscott, had in a climatic duel both her forced into the Reine, where they drowned. Make sure that roughly a tenth of the people he hired to spread the rumours had the slight change that Seeker survived, but was in recovery, and everything was fine. Now all that he had to do was plan whatever con he would do in Montredon-Labessonnié.