Way of the Wicked - a Tale of the Fall of Talingarde (Inactive)

Game Master Mark Sweetman

STR 17, DEX 14, CON 14, INT 10, WIS 8, CHA 16
Human
Male
Lawfull Evil
Medium size
Antipaladin lvl 1

BaB +1
Init +2; Senses: Perception -1
CMB +4 (+1BaB +3strength)
CMD 16 (+1BaB +3strength +2dexterity +10)
Favored class: Antipaladin (+1 HP at lvl 1)

DEFENSE
AC 12, touch 12 , flat-footed 10 (+ 0 armor, + 2 Dex)
HP 13 (1d10+2)(+1 Favored Class)
Fort +4
Ref +2
Will +2

OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft, 20 ft Armored
Melee
Melee Dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20x2)
Ranged
Space 5 ft; Reach 5 ft

Traits::

Easy of Faith (+1 on diplomacy checks and it is always a class skill to you)
High Treason (+1 on will saves)

Feats::

Power Attack
Furious Focus

Skills::

Bluff 7 (1Rank)
Diplomacy 8 (1Rank)
Knowledge Religion 4 (1Rank)

In the cell's cramped space the newcomers hardly had room to stand. An argument broke out and suddenly there were daggers cutting through the air.
By the Dark Lord's trident, what a sad bunch of misfits. I guess I will have to make due, if I want out...
Yo, people! Save those shivs for the guards. They are going to be here pretty soon and its not soup they bring.
Wait for the first few to die and steal a sword. You are not gonna have a better chance out of this $&!@hole Jack, no you're not.
...
Better die with a blade in hand.
Smiling.
Maybe you can even kill an old comrade or two.

Jack Grieves is a survivor and his ambition knows no limits. A loud and intimidating large man, he can be brutal or charming in a scoundrel-like way depending on what suits better his interests. He is tall, broad and heavy builded possessing a full crown of jet black hair. In spite of his unkept look he has a savage magnetism. Underneath the harsh appearance his disarming smile can make him very likeable when he wants to.

Born of unknown parents Jack was a sickly kid raised in one of Erastil's orphanages. He learned early that flattery was the only way for him to solve problems that other children could easily handled with their fists. The priests also incurred into him a strong despise for Old Deadeye and most other phony deities. In his heart Grieves only believes in himself. He sees in the gods the same stinginess, selfishness and vanity he observes in his fellow man, except humanity can only compare itself to the gods as ants to men.

So he have come to respect the dark powers and even willingly serve them to advance his personal influence. Almost upon reaching adulthood Jack was send by the temple to an apprenticeship with a merchant named Valeria Taurar. She was an older women, an accomplished witch and Jack's first love. Between days of greed and long nights of lust she introduced Grieves to the powers that lurk in the shadows. He bargained with one of the Archdevil's servants for might and became a fearsome warrior indeed. With Asmodeus's taint running through his veins Jack grew from a frail youngling into a huge man.

Eventually Valeria had to leave town afraid of the Iomedaian Inquisitors, rumor had it that Sir Balin of Karfeld was very close to uncover her. Being a grown up, Jack's time at the orphanage was over. With his new found martial prowess it was easy for him to join the City Watch. There he helped himself to all the gold he could grab doubling as a City Watch's guard and a lieutenant of the Thief's Guild. Unfortunately for Grieves he got caught smuggling weapons to the northern bugbears in one of the guild's operations. He was arrested under High Treason accusations and is currently awaiting execution in Branderscar Prison.

Darth Vader
Besides the looks, the powers and the spaceships the guy cut off the hand of his own SON. You don't get much more badass.

And

Dalamar
Former apprenticed of Raistlin Majere and head of the black robes of the Magic Conclave of the Dragonlance novels. He was cool in the books but when my GM use him as one of the main NPCs for his campaign he became epic. During our adventure he managed to turn our party's mage from a LG white robe caster to an NE black robe.

Dalamar
"Hello Vox, I brought your new vestment."
Vox: Afraid.
You! I have told you before, I will not wear the black!
Dalamar: Smiling
"Now come Vox, after all you have done? You have no other choice. Black is the only color that never get stained with blood."

1. 16 Strength, 12 Dexterity, 14 Constitution, 10 Intelligence, 11 Wisdom, 17 Charisma
2. Human Antipaladin
3. Skills: Bluff, Intimidate, Sense Motive, Knowledge: Religion; Feats: Power Attack, Cleave; Traits: Desecration, Reactionary
4. Where there is light, there must be darkness. With the rise of Mitra, Asmodeus fell from his position of prominence in the Talirean pantheon. A crusade was brought against the followers of the Lord of Nessus. The churches of the Prince of Devils were purged of the dark faith and across the nation his followers fell one-by-one to the sword. The antipaladin Markus Kain, known as the ‘Hand of the Devil Lord’ and a lord with a fief in the Borderlands, was captured and burned at the stake for crimes of heresy. His wife was condemned to the same fate for contracting with devils, accused of witchcraft. The heretic’s only child was condemned to death, the inquisitors claiming he was born of an evil seed. However, being a innocent child he was acquitted of his fate and sent to be fostered by a nobleman in Heartland.
Their mistake would be their own downfall.
The child grew up with hatred in his heart, knowing the monarch, his loyal men, and the followers of Mitra were all to blame for his parent’s deaths. His foster father raised him as a noble and as he became older, he developed a silver tongue in the courts. He became the squire to his foster father, a banner man to a greater Heartland lord, and learned how to use an array of arms and armor. Forced to attend the church of Mitra, he despised every day spent within the hallowed grounds of the Shining Lord.
It was no secret that Aleksandyr was the son of two parents accused of heresy and sentenced to death. The fires he witnessed that consumed his father and mother haunted him and his father’s maniacal laughter echoed in his mind as he burned at the stake. The young man stole away into the night and decided to enact his revenge. He returned to the cathedral he was forced to attend and broke in, defacing the statue dedicated to Mitra. He pushed the statue to the ground, breaking it on the floor into a dozen pieces, and carved Asmodeus’ name into the alter. The candles were struck down and the paintings depicting the Shining Lord were set on fire.
The cathedral knew no fury than the young squire, destroying the sacred grounds. It was after he had enacted his wrath that he was found, standing before the desecrated alter and praying to the Dark Prince. In a land consumed by the light, the darkness still flourished and Aleksandyr received the favor of Asmodeus. He was taken away kicking and screaming by the clergy and the inquisitors pronounced him a heretic, sentencing him to imprisonment and death by fire. He laughed all the way to Branderscar Prison and even while his flesh was seared, he knew they would all receive their just punishment.
He would punish them all.
5. Aleksandyr was accused of desecration of a cathedral to Mitra, found by the clergy amongst the wreckage of the interior where he was openly praying and praising Asmodeus.
6. My favorite villain from fiction is Shishio Makoto, one of the main and most interesting villains of the anime Rurouni Kenshin. The villian, like the main character Kenshin, was once an assassin for the government. However, the government had him killed so there would no risk of him using government secrets. Unfortunately, the bullet to the head didn’t do the trick neither did being burned to death. Instead, he was able to recover with a hellish bent to take over Japan. He developed a belief that the weak die and the strong survive and is absolutely merciless and without compassion. He's the polar opposite of the main character, with a similar background which makes him so interesting.

In his natural form, Jethryk has bright crimson skin, a tiny van dyke beard, and shiny, backward sweeping horns. Unlike a normal Imp, however, his wings are shrunken and twisted, almost as if they have been scorched in some impossibly intense fire.

However, he generally prefers to adopt the form of an apparently inoffensive raven, with sleek black feathers.

Jethryk originally came to Golarion as the familiar of a minor wizard from Talingarde, who sought personal empowerment through binding his fortunes to that of Hell. Unfortunately, he ran afoul of the clergy of Iomedae, and Jethryk was barely able to escape with his life. Free from the contract that bound him to his former master, Jethryk took up a position as a hidden advisor and manipulator in a local law-firm, where his understanding of Infernal Law provided him insights into how to manipulate the Talingarde legal system.

Unfortunately, he became too greedy, and his existence came to the attention of the Church when he attempted to foreclose on an entire tenement block in the capital. Indicted for tax fraud, deed falsification, and for being a Devil, Jethryk was thrown into prison, tortured, and his wings mutilated, whilst the authorities attempted to decide what to do with him...

Base Atk: +0; CMB: -2; CMD: 13

Melee
Sting: +7 to Hit; Dmg 1d4+0+ Poison*; crit 20/x2, Piercing

*Sting—injury; save Fort DC 13; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d2 Dex; cure 1 save. The save DC is Constitution-based, and includes a +2 racial bonus.

Ranged

Skill Points per level: 6 (Racial) + 2 (Intelligence)
Acrobatics +5
Appraise +2
Bluff +7 (+3 Cha +1 rank + 3 class skill)
Climb +0
Craft +2
Diplomacy +3
Disguise +3
Escape Artist +5
Heal -2
Intimidate +3
Knowledge(Arcana) +6 (+2 Intelligence + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Knowledge(Planes) +6 (+2 Intelligence + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Linguistics +6 (+2 Intelligence + 1 rank + 3 class skill) *+3 on attempts to forge documents
Perception +2 (-2 Wisdom + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Perform +3
Profession(Lawyer) +2 (-2 Wisdom + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Ride +5
Sense Motive -2
Spellcraft +6 (+2 Intelligence + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Stealth +9 (+5 Dex + 1 rank + 3 class skill)
Survival -2
Swim +0

1st: Weapon Finesse

Forgery
You have forged documents issued either by the crown or by the Church of Mitra. Alas, that your forgery while competent was not entirely undetectable. To be sent to Branderscar, this was no minor finagling of paperwork. This forged document could have cost lives, undermined the reputation of the Church or endangered the security of the realm.
Punishment: Life at hard labor in the salt mines.
Benefit: You gain a +3 trait bonus to Linguistics skill checks to commit forgery and Linguistics is always a class skill for you.

Reactionary
You were bullied often as a child, but never quite developed an offensive response. Instead, you became adept at anticipating sudden attacks and reacting to danger quickly.
Benefit: You gain a +2 trait bonus to Initiative checks.

[b]Spell-Like Abilities (CL 1st):
1/day—Detect Good, Detect Magic, Augury, Suggestion (DC 16)
Change Shape: (boar, giant spider, rat, or raven, as per Beast Shape I)

N/A

N/A

N/A

Just noting that I've read through your sub and can't think of any questions right now.

1. Just a note - need to update Mitra to Iomedae in your background.
2. Read through your background and no questions rise up right now.

Just noting that I've read through your sub and no questions right now.

A lot of people seem to be rolling melee oriented characters. Would you accept more than one character submition per person?

1. I like the ties to drug use - are you comfortable with starting under effects of addiction? (not required, just wondering)

2. I saw that the young boy you used as killer survived? - with your permission, if selected, I may just use that ;)

1. I was thinking that her time in jail would give her time to 'dry out,' so that her head would be clearer (possibly for the first time in years) and the magnitude of the situation her big mouth got her into would finally start sinking in... But some lingering effects, like a few stat penalties, would be fine, so long as they aren't crippling. As I understand it, starting gearless, we are already going to be at a pretty hefty disadvantage, so having her hallucinating madly throughout our escape attempt might be a bit much. :)

2. He did indeed live to testify against her, and might be suffering legal difficulty of his own or he might have gotten a pass because of her machinations. Whichever is more fun for the GM. I didn't bother to name him, because I hadn't intended him (or the mother or father) to play any further role, but something like Matteo sounds good and fits with the romance-language feel of Albina's name.

3. The 'hole' I see in the backstory is that the tie to Asmodean worship is thin, at best. I should go back in there and say that her father's shipping concern happened to intercept a small crate of goods being smuggled into or out of the country that included some Asmodean texts and ritual parephenalia, and that, against his better judgement, her father stashed it away instead of turning it over to the guard. She would have stumbled upon it and secretly read the texts, and found it a thrilling act of defiance to read this 'forbidden knowledge.'

I answered your question and added what I had said was his crime from before with more detail. Also why his imp powers are weaker than normal

Qixtaz was summoned by a would be diabloist called Amtheryst, also called the librarian due to him working long hours in Talingarde's biggest library. (Which he used as cover to learn the dark ways) When Qixtaz was summoned he made a deal to "Be Amtheryst the Librarian's loyal servant to the end of his days."

Over the years Qixtaz was faithful and dutiful. He also helped Amtheryst grow his power and realize his potential. Soon Amtheryst was convinced he needed to grow his power even more and become a member of government and eventually becoming the supreme ruler. After some bribes and intimidation Amtheryst got a position of influence within the government. (Not sure what kind of government it is so something appropriate).

Unfortunately that meant Amtheryst resigned his position with Talingarde's library. That meant Qixtaz was no longer bound to Amtheryst the Librarian as he no longer existed.

Disguised as Amtheryst's pet, Qixtaz roamed the halls until he discovered a new mark. A man of greater power in government named Cuglan. Qixtaz was convinced Cuglan could be used to destabilize the Talingarde government. Qixtaz revealed himself and used his impish wiles to convince Cuglan that he would be promoted by exposing Amtheryst's worship of Asmodeus. The Cuglan could rise until Talingarde would fall.

What Qixtaz didn't realize was Cuglan was using him and had fooled him into believing Cuglan was corrupt. Cuglan secretly worked for Sir Balin of Karfield. Amtheryst was arrested for High Treason while Qixtaz was arrested for Sedition. In Brandescar his wings were destroyed and a ritual was performed that weakened him to his current state.

Qixtaz wants his full imp form restored of course, but other than that for now his goal is to become the go-to imp of choice when sent to the material plane for a mission. (King of the imps)

Any promotion he may earn does not currently interest him other than possibly being an Osyluth (Bone Devil). Qixtaz is curious and likes secrets so that would be a more direct way to expose secrets rather than his current more devious and underhanded way.

So long way of saying any ambitions for promotions are in the future and would most likely be beyond the scope of the AP. He will want to take Bard (Sandman Archetype from APG) once he can take levels.

Initiative +6
HP 12 (10+2Con) Fast Healing 1
AC 17 (+4 Dex, +1 Nat, +2 Size) FF13 T16
Speed 20
Fort 2 Ref 4 Will 2
BAB 1 CMB -1 CMD 13
Str 10 Dex 18 Con 14 Int 13 Wis 10 Cha 18

Fire Resistance 10
Immune Poison
Special Abilities Spell like abilities Constant detect good, detect magic, 1/day augury, suggestion (DC 15). At Will Beast Shape II into any tiny or small creature

Melee Sting +5 (1d4+poison) Poison (Ex) Sting—injury; save Fort DC 14; frequency 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 1d2 Dex; cure 1 save. The save DC is Constitution-based, and includes a +2 racial bonus.
Range

Languages Common, Infernal

Skills 6+1 Skill Points/Level (7 Total)

Bluff 9 (1+3CS+4Cha+1Trait)
Diplomacy 8 (1+3CS+4Cha)
Intimidate 8 (1+3CS+4Cha)
Knowledge (Planes) 5 (1+3CS+1Int)
Perception 4 (1+3CS+0Wis)
Sense Motive 4 (1+3CS+0Wis)
Stealth 8 (1+3CS+4Dex)

Trait Fast Talker

Feats Weapon Finesse

Sorry, I guess I should have elaborated more on the period of time between her desertion and getting caught. Let me try again:

Her platoon was sent to deal with a revolt in a small village, and upon arriving was ordered to burn the buildings and kill all inhabitants. Following orders, Bea and her companions slaughtered women and children as well as men who put up no resistance.

The guilt tore her apart. Rivers of blood tormented her dreams nightly, and she would be found furiously washing invisible blood from her hands. Unable to continue, she slipped out of camp one night and fled her company.

Suddenly this farm girl-turned-soldier found herself a fugitive from the law. She couldn't go home - they'd certainly find her there and put her to death for desertion. Without money, and without anywhere to go, she wandered the streets. She couldn't fall in among the beggars for fear of being recognized, but had to do something. After days of fruitlessly rummaging through refuse looking for food, the deep pangs of hunger gnawing at her stomach drove her to the warm smells of a bakery where fresh loaves were set out to cool. There they were, sitting within arms reach if she just reached out to grab one.

Before she knew what happened she was running down an alley with a hot loaf in her hands. After a few turns she was sure nobody was following her and sat down to feast. It was so easy! Why didn't I try this before? She reveled in her new found security, sure all her troubles were over. Unfortunately, it didn't last long - the bread and fruit migrated further from easy reach and it became riskier and riskier to steal.

Occasionally she'd spot an easy mark walking away with a baguette and just take it from them instead of risking the shopkeepers. At first she rationalized it, thinking she's not really hurting anyone and they could probably afford it anyways. After awhile it became almost a game. She'd laugh at the idiots who obviously didn't know anything about staying safe on the streets and carelessly flaunted their money and wares - then she'd take both. After all, someone needed to teach them a lesson about the dangers of life or they'd go on being taken advantage of. Really, she was doing them a favor. Sometimes they got hurt during the struggle, and there was more than one victim that never got up again after a strong blow, but she didn't care anymore. What was important was food. Survival. The memories of her slaughter as a soldier were buried one by one by fresh horrors every day until they were long forgotten, and uncared for.

Then she had a run of bad luck. Most of the food vendors had moved their goods behind glass panes and day after day she couldn't find anyone to take it from. Hunger once again became her master, more than she had ever felt before. She stood for a long while staring at a loaf of bread, just as close as the first she ever took, with only a thin sheet of glass standing between them. Mesmerized by it and numbed by her hunger, she was oblivious to those around her and didn't consider the suspicion she was arousing.

The sound of shattering glass was quickly followed by a blow to the head, and she blacked out as her body slumped to the ground. By the time she came to, she was bound and laying on the cold hard floor of a prison cell, a piercing headache the only reminder of how she got there. Sitting up, she scoots her back to a wall and stares at the sliver of light, waiting.

As for the devil tie-in, I'm drawing a blank. She'd go along with whatever the party's doing easily enough, but if something concrete is a hard and fast requirement, it might disqualify me.

Thanks for the response. Don't stress the small stuff at this point, your sub is more than enough for me. The ties to diabolerie and such can be massaged post selection if you're chosen.
And if chosen I can state that you would meet Matteo again... perhaps soon...

Str - 8
Dex - 14
Con - 14
Int - 19
Wis - 12
Cha - 12

Survivor - +1 Init, +1 Sense Motive, Sense Motive is Class Skill
Dueling unto Death - +1 Fortitude Save

Witch Patron:

Enchantment - The Uncaring Mind

Bonus Spells:
2nd—unnatural lust, 4th—calm emotions, 6th—unadulterated loathing, 8th—overwhelming grief, 10th—dominate person, 12th—geas, 14th—euphoric tranquility, 16th—demand, 18th—dominate monster

Hexes:

Unless otherwise noted, using a hex is a standard action that does not provoke an attack of opportunity. The save to resist a hex is equal to 10 + 1/2 the witch’s level + the witch’s Intelligence modifier.

Healing (Level 1 Feat)
Mis-Fortune (Level 1 Feat - Extra Hex)
Evil Eye (Human Bonus Feat - Extra Hex)

Current DC = 14 --> 4(Int) + 0 (level) + 10

Standing tall for a human woman with fair, almost pale skin and nearly black hair, Xrezth presents a foreboding and eerie figure. Her steely stare shows that she has been hardened by something.

Born to peasants working on a fiefdom many miles from the capitol, Xrezth did not live an easy life. Her father was a hunter, and when lucky would guide Baron Kargeth on hunts in the local forests. Her mother worked long hours on the nobles estate, working in the fields during the planting and harvest seasons and performing menial tasks during the other seasons. Growing up, life was never easy. The family was never want for food, but the food that was available, basic grains and what game her father was allowed to keep, was not the luxurious foods served to the nobles. Growing up, Xrezth often wondered what it would be like to be the lord with servants, good food and the other privileges of nobility.

At the age of twelve, she acquired a pet. Not a normal pet like a dog or a cat, but rather a small centipede which she named Harmony as she always felt at ease when she and Harmony were together. Soon after she got Harmony, she found she had a knack for healing people and by the age of sixteen she was apprenticing with the local healer. As with most young girls, Xrezth always had an eye for the young men in the village. Unfortunately, Xrezth’s eye frequently wandered to the Baron’s youngest son Zander. However, Zander was above her social standing, and was already promised to Pelina, the daughter of Duke Norgarn, the ruler of the state in which Xrezth and her family lived.

At the age of eighteen, Xrezth walked out of the healers clinic one afternoon and who was there, but Zander and his friends with Zander holding his arm which had been wounded in a mock battle. Xrezth immediately took Zander into the clinic where she bound and bandaged the wounded arm. As she helped Zander out of the clinic, who should be arriving, but the ever jealous Pelina. Seeing Xrezth holding Zander, Pelina flew into a fit of rage, grabbed Harmony from Xrezth’s shoulder, and crushed the centipede in front of Xrezth. The feeling of loss that Xrezth felt at the moment Pelina’s foot crushed Harmony is indescribable. Xrezth simply felt empty, uncaring. She did not care what anyone thought, but she silently vowed vengeance for the murder of her companion.

Following the loss of Harmony, Xrezth was unable to concentrate and her healing was far less effective than previously. She would lay awake at night plotting and planning the most extravagant methods of causing Pelina the same pain and loss which Xrezth had felt at the loss of Harmony. She considered murder, maiming, killing Pelina’s friends and family, even the overthrow of the government simply to cause the greatest amount of pain to the prissy b*%$# who had caused her to suffer.

While religion in Talingarde was principally the worship of Iomedae in the cities and Erastil in the country, Xrezth began to research other powers. Other powers who understood the pain she felt and would support her vengeance. Finally, after months of searching, she turned to the private worship of Doloras, the Lady of Pain. Doloras understood the pain, the emptiness that Xrezth felt. Soon after beginning to revere the Lady of Pain, Xrezth found a new companion, another centipede. Xrezth named her new centipede Treasure. She bestowed this name on it as two red eyes which glowed like rubies, and because Treasure was more precious to her than any other person or thing.

With Treasure, Xrezth found that her ability to heal people had returned, but also she found that she now had darker abilities. She could make people fail at tasks at which they would usually succeed. She found that she could also use magical abilities to cause people to like her in addition to other tricks.

With her newfound abilities, Xrezth devised a plan to exact her revenge on the duchess Pelina. One day, Xrezth waited outside a shop where she knew the duchess was examining clothing, and likely chastising the shop keeper for failing to have what she wanted. When Pelina left the shop, Xrezth cast a spell which made Pelina her friend. Then, Xrezth told Pelina that they had scheduled a friendly duel, but using fake knives. In her addled state, Pelina agreed and the two proceeded out to the town square where Xrezth gave Pelina a wooden dagger, while Xrezth took a wicked serrated blade. To say that the duel between the charmed Pelina and Xrezth was short is an understatement. Within moments Pelina was kneeling on the ground clutching her chest from which protruded a dagger with the Whore Queen Doloras’ emblem on the handle. Seconds later, she collapsed to the ground. While Xrezth basked in the glory of her success, she was grabbed by the duchesses’ guards who quickly bound her and dragged he to the prison. That she was allowed to live through the day is astounding, and something that all the rulers of Talingarde will rue. She has not yet found her way out, but unlike the death of Harmony, she knows that Treasure is alive and she will be reunited with her familiar. And once she is free, she will continue to fight to return the pain to all of those who caused her to suffer. Everyone in the ruling class.

I’ve lately created a character, name of Solomon Knox, a human inquisitor with the Trickery and Deception domain and subdomain. Originally I had it that to fit in a good campaign he would be true neutral, without a proclivity towards religion, but took it as his inquisition to defy the oppressive state of the Council of Thieves Campaign setting. His original conception was of a NE inquisitor of Norgorber, and that I think could fit in this campaign. If that relation to Norgorber does pose a problem, however, he could still remain without a deity, being somewhat of an anarchistic terrorist.

Solomon’s ideals stem from a disillusionment with government. It began with the murder of his parents, both of them “heathens” and “blasphemers” of the goddess Calistria. He since has forgone religion, and had instead taken upon himself one very specific mantra: Defiance or he arbitrarily joined the church of Norgorber (asmodeus?) on a whim, and has acted as their agent. He has since acted as a saboteur, utilizing subterfuge and deception to fool the Talingarde authorities and defy them at every turn. The trauma of his childhood has warped his mind a tad, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. He’s no rapist or murderer. He’s simply, well, off. His speech mannerisms are strange, sounding almost alien at times, providing his own idiosyncratic thought processes into his speech. He has a tendency to trail off mid sentence or ignore somebody he’s talking to entirely. He has no issue with killing, not having the ability to pay attention for long enough to properly care. This sort of madness is not specifically sociopathy, but is best represented by a highly functional version of Schizotypal Personality Disorder.

2. What do you look like?

Solomon Knox has a visage that is near immediately forgettable, and that has helped him in more than a few sticky situations. Not specifically attractive or repulsive, he has brown hair, brown eyes, a sallow complexion and gaunt features. His skin is tanned and he usually wears gray robes under his armored vestments. He does his best to look appear with as little ostentatious grandeur as possible. His demeanor, however, is anything but normal.

3. How would you describe your personality?

Like with Schizotypal Personality Disorder Solomon has odd behavior and thinking, and often unconventional beliefs. He acts atypical in almost all situations and rarely does he go out of his way to do anything that isn't on a whim. His goals range from narrowly specific to broadly incomprehensible, but they are tied to a specific purpose. He is not afraid to murder, but will not do so randomly like a chaotic character. He does not uphold any specific code, and will work towards his own ends no matter the consequences, but can and will follow the group dynamic, if only to further his ends.

4. What crime have you committed to cause your incarceration in Branderscar Prison? (Note that your choice will convey a mechanical benefit, but I want the initial decision based on role-playing and background concerns, not the potential benefit. If you'd like more fluff about any of the following options, feel free to ask. Note also, the omission of crimes like rape, sexual assault, child abuse, and the like. The exclusion of acts of this nature is deliberate, and not open for negotiation.)

Solomon is being accused of murder. The specifics of such is highlighted in the short story below. Sorry if it's too long. I tend to let it all get out of hand when I do character creation. My brother tells me that writing that much makes it seem like I want this character to be the protagonist, but trust me when I say I have no inclination.

The fight or flight response kicked in as she sat down next to him. Solomon’s eyes twitched and he blinked furiously to kick out the colors that radiated in his eyes. She was a woman alright, definitely, he was almost positive – comely enough, maybe. It’s sometimes difficult to tell. She was sitting next to him though, and that wasn’t good. People don’t sit next to people in this tavern.

The Wyvern’s Grasp was not the most sociable of places, far from it. Everyone, everyone and anyone here kept to themselves. It was just that part of town, the part that the seething romantically shameless would call a hive of scum and villainy. That was impossible. There were no bees here.

Solomon glanced her over, small and curvaceous, Aasimar quality, really. Her bright luminescent skin shown with glittering luminescence, sparking casual glances from even the most insular of the tavern’s patrons. She was radiant and beautiful in the most unimaginable of calibers.

“My lord you are the most hideous thing I have ever glanced upon in my life, probably. I have to check.”

She smiled at him and sat down in the corner booth opposite him, staring directly into the blank brown pools of his eyes, lifeless, ordinary, still blinking.

“I know you,” the woman said, melodious, a pristine echo that glanced around the room and sent shivers of longing down the spines of all the patrons. Nobody dared touch her though. She was something to somebody that everyone didn’t want to interfere with.

“Yes you don’t,” Solomon said, monotone as can be as was his custom.

“No? I could have sworn it was you. Jack Lifestone? We’ve met before in the gala of Convivial spring, remember?”

“Nope, couldn’t say I was him. Well, maybe I was, but I got transformed, but is that unlikely? I really couldn’t say. I guess, in all probability, I’m maybe not him.”
She smiled, and that was odd to Solomon, and he blinked in surprise. She made no movements to leave, hardly made a movement at all, sitting stationary, stock still, perfect poise in a small -hive of scum and villainy- tavern of the coast in the dregs of the Southern heartlands of Talingarde. Odd, very odd. Solomon liked this.

“Who are you,” he asked, leaning over across the table to look at her.
Give Solomon Knox just a cursory glance, and you won't see much. The face face that stared back at him was entirely unremarkable. His gaunt face gave his skin a taught look and his eyes angled downward towards his nose, giving his face the appearance that he was always puzzling something out. Tanned skin, brown hair and eyes, average looks, marred only by the slightest and lightest of burn marks and the side of his neck, had gotten Solomon far in a land that didn’t take too kindly to murderers and fiends in its new grand renaissance. Give him a good look though, stare into the blank limpid pools of brown murky water of his eyes however, and you'll something completely out of the ordinary.

She didn’t look taken aback in the slightest, and just sat there, brilliant gleaming eyes glaring straight through Solomon, like he was not even there, like looking at a shadow. “I am Sarivian Sarif. I apologize if I might have mistaken you for somebody else, but it indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What is your name?”

Her voice was silken and smooth. “No it’s not,” Solomon replied.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s not a pleasure to make my acquaintance. You’re lying to me for reasons that I don’t know about which is strange because, usually, I’m the one who lies.” His voice was coldness mixed with a sulfuric acidity.

The sun shone in through the windows, grimy and filthy, haven’t been washed in ages. It was a harsh sun, twilight, gleaming with a ruby red opulence like looking through a pane of stained glass. It bathed both of them in a crimson halo that enveloped their conversation and made Solomon blink some more.

“You are a strange man, sir. I have told you my name, will you be so kind as to tell me yours?” Her smile stuck to her face like an epoxy, but it never looked fake, practiced civility radiating off the beauteous woman in waves.

“No I’m not. Between the two of us, I’m definitely the less queer.” He still glared at her.

“I…”

He cut her off. “My name is Solomon Knox.”

“A queer name for an even stranger man,” she continued. “Tell me, sir, why are you here?”

Fight or flight response again. He kept his composure. “Probably because my father f%*$ed my mother and then out pops me. Somehow, eventually, I end up here.”

“Ahh, so you have parents? I know of several men in this facility lacking even that basic nurturing presence. That sets you apart, does it not?”

"Ahhh, bloody nostalgia time. Just love the nostalgia." Solomon gritted his teeth and pressed his hand hard against the table between him and the woman where his hand rested. He plunged down towards the other side of the alleyway, acutely aware of where his target now was. The rays of opulent sunlight reached a twilight as they entered the apex of the looming houses above him. He bathed in the half-light of the reeking alleyway, smelling of ammonia, gutters and burnt corpses.

"There are no burnt corpses, 'least not here." He blinked his eyes furiously. He kept seeing it, inquisitors of Mitras, house fire, his mother coerced into out the window into the street amidst yells of "fire," "spies," or "heretics". He saw his father wrapped in flames, screaming his final adulations to the savored sting, his entire cadaver burrowed in a brilliant glorious pyre as it descended down right on top of him.

The real Solomon Knox touched the side of his neck where the faint burn mark lied. He felt his father's hair lap down the side of his neck. Solomon, then and now, repressed a scream, pummeling his way out from underneath his father's melting corpse. He felt whispers in the back of his skull, coercing, numbing his spine and splitting each of his hairs with one little saying, one tiny phrase repeated verbatim again and again and again. "Give in," "Give in," "Feed the fire," "Submit."

Solomon, now, choked out one word with harried breath, "Defy."

He blinked and then he was back.

“I beg your pardon,” she stared at him now, the permanent smile finally smitten.

He stared at Sarivian Sariff, eyes focusing, narrowing, penetrating. The hairs on the back of his arms and his neck bristled with electricity. “Who are you asking me to kill?”

She looked taken aback for the first time since their acquaintance.

“I’m not asking you to kill anybody, I’m asking you to put a stop to a murder.”
“By killing him. Oh, I like this! Since we can seemingly justify killing killers, right, we can extort extortionists? Pirate pirates? Rape rapists? Sedition… seditionists? That’s interesting; have to wonder how that works.

“The man is a blight on society. He has been charged with seventeen accounts of murder, arson, kidnapping, desecration of a holy site of Mitras.” The woman had a golden aura about her, phosphorescent and glorious and the aura seemed to bloom forth as she spoke with righteous indignation.

Solomon blinked to clear out the image.

“What’s society?”

The woman was staring daggers at him. He felt her gaze and eased back in his chair so the inflamed sunlight would catch in his eyes.

She ignored the question. “The authorities are prepared to turn a blind eye in exchange for your services, sir.” Her smile returned almost instantaneously, like a candle being lit under her chin. “The matter is of such a grave importance that an overseer from the capital has come to pay witness to the operation.”

Solomon’s eyes grew blank. “Who?”
“His name is of no concern.”

“I am concerned. Call me concerned, for concerned I am. Who and where is he?”
The woman sighed. “The man in the gray cloak, at the table to our right. He is Simon Bellfont, high ranking clergyman at the church of Mitras…” Her voice trailed off in Solomon’s ears as he sat staring at the man. A thick woolen, gray coat hung off his shoulders in waves and his face was stone, deep in concentration, staring at a man in the far corner of The Wyvern’s Grasp. His hands grasped menacingly and his eyes were red with bloodlust, reflecting the light eking out into the middle of the room.

Solomon interrupted her. “Why not arrest him. You seem like the arresting type, not to typify. Wait, maybe I should sterotype, You’re a churchgoer, are you not? The Shining Lord often hires contract killers, right? Wait, no it doesn’t. That’s odd. Don’t pay much attention to these things, lots of things on my plate, though I am hungry. Hmmm, lots of things to do – people to kill and other unsorted objectives.”

“He has too many contacts this man. His tendrils reach far into the corrupt corners of the court which our church has been trying to eliminate for far too long a time. He is virtually untouchable.” She sat straighter. “He killed Simon Bellfont’s wife in children in their own home, but that was only after raping them and crippling the clergyman. He must be stopped at all costs.”

Solomon stared back at clergyman in the woolen coat. Softly he whispered only to himself, “You had me at hello.”

Turning back to the woman, he spoke hurriedly, “Why does a society exist? One that can never even reign in the worst of the lot.”

He stood up then, suddenly, kicking his chair back against the wall. “I’ll kill him then,” he said aloud, audible to the entirety of the tavern.

Sarivian hissed, “Not now you fool! Why would you attack him here of all places.”
Solomon was hardly paying attention. His mind was entirely affixed, focused on the center of his fascinations.

"Wait, give me a second, I know this. Hmmmm, tip of the tongue. Could be... nope. Terribly sorry, I forget these things often. I am what I am and..." he broke off mid sentence.

He approached the man slowly, carefully measuring out each step. “What are we to do with an ineffectual society that actively careens around and brings about our own ruination.”

His feet echoed loudly in the silent room as he walked, stalked more like, to his target, a giant bull’s-eye painted in the center of the mass of light streaming from the windows.
“Sedition? Nah, sedition is a route problem, problem, problems and more problems stacked up as high as they can go. All we can do is bask in it? Nope, I say every man for himself. It’s this nation and everything in it. We tear the world down brick by brick, piece by piece, moving inch by inch toward our own annihilation. La-ti-da-ti-da.”

He stopped in front of his target, the man in the woolen cloak, the clergyman of that great Shining Lord. He was staring at him, eyes wide and hands grasping for the hem of his cloak where he kept his daggers. There was a repeated bleating the background, tuned out by the glare of light that invaded all of Solomon’s senses.

He spoke directly to the man. “You know what it all represents?”

The clergyman struck out at him, a blow aimed straight for his heart, but Solomon blinked, and was suddenly behind him, a punching dagger brandished in his hand.

“It represents defiance!” He screamed, holding the man by the throat from behind and bringing the punching dagger up into his spine, again, and again, and again, and again. He blinked wildly, madly, blood streaming from the man’s shattered spine and splashing up and down Solomon’s vestments. His screaming was drowned out only by a loud high pitch he heard vibrating in his ears. He stabbed at the man, forever, rolling off into infinity until finally the world stopped moving and Solomon was standing there, a dead man in his arms and every single patron staring at him.

Sarivian was staring at him, eyes wide with anger and tears streaming down her face. “What have you done,” she screamed, “you’ve killed the wrong man!”

“What? Oh yes, that. You can’t blame me much, though; I told you I defy” he said. He reached onto his back, almost absentmindedly, and pulled out his crossbow. He aimed with one hand, the other still holding the limp body of the clergyman, and shot the murderer square in the neck. Blood spurted out of the wound as the other man collapsed to the floor in a heap.

He led them on a merry chase, but they caught up to him eventually. They brought him to Branderscar, telling him he would soon be beheaded for his most foul of murders. Solomon could do nothing but shrug.

The story is told through my characters eyes as he believes they happened, and the actual events may differ.

Introductions are in order. My name is Ka'sar which roughly translates to seeker of the dragons. No, I am no dragon hunter, but I often found myself in trouble in my younger days so people often joked that I was seeking the dragon. Well considering my current situation I guess I am in trouble now.

If you are reading this you are curious as to how I came to be in this predicament. I would like to start from the beginning because my childhood is where this all began. I grew up poor. I was an only child, whose parents barely made enough money to send me to school. I was well liked, and I was a good student, but I never liked being a member of the lower caste. Yes I said caste. You see there are those who are meant to rule, those who are enforce the rules, and those that are ruled. I had no desire to be in that 3rd category. Luckily I was able to make friends with a young human male named Rythor who had grown tired of "being kept captive", as he called it by his overbearing father. His words, not mine. When I went on my mini adventures pretending to be a criminal, while committing real but petty crimes such as stealing loaves of bread, and coins he was right there with me. I was only a young lad of about 10 at the time, and the importance of that friendship would not be realized until much later. It was however these adventures that forged our friendship.

Later on as people are apt to do we grew out of such things. People are less forgiving of you when you get older, and it really was not worth the trouble. I got a job at a the local library after graduating from school. The pay was not bad, but for me I did it because I got free access to books, and I would be allowed to come in early, and stay late. The topics of history, and the planes was always intriguing to me. I heard enough about Iomadea, that the topic would start to irritate me. Iomedae, Iomedae, Iomedae, if I never heard the name again I would be all to happy. Oh yes, back to the topic at hand. After about 2 years at the library I got promoted. I now had keys to the library, and I often spent as much time there as I did at home. My father was so proud. I can still hear his voice. "Oh son you have done so well.....". I drowned him out after that because I knew he was saying that should be my career. I was just as capable, if not more so than many people born into a more advantageous position, and the thought of being a librarian, catering to the common folk annoyed me to no end. I had to find a way out.

Well here is where my friendship with Rythor becomes a stepping stone. He enlisted as a member of the army. Within two years he was a sergeant, and a banquet was held at his father's residence in honor of the promotion. As a childhood friend I was invited. I often wonder how that would have went had he known his son and I were once little hoodlums. Well anyway, I got to talking to the old man about life and other topics. He asked why a capable man such as myself did not join the military. It paid better than my current job, and I could gain some manner of prestige if I did well. After thinking on it I went to visit him again, and after much talking, and a few drinks he said he could get me in his son's unit by pulling some strings. All I had to do was pass the training course. I agreed and graduated 3rd in my class overall.

I was further trained as a medic since I was to have a specialty as well, which for some reason included the study of religion. I did get to study less acceptable religions as well however, so that I may know the enemy. That led to me becoming acquainted with the denizens of Hell. I did not look badly upon the place as other did. It was a place where one could rise and fall by his own merit, as long as he could avoid being stabbed in the back that is, but since being vigilant is often a requirement for success I figured it was not all that bad.
We now get to fast forward two more years. My buddy Rythor is getting promoted again. He is about to pick up the rank of leutenant, and guess who they chose to step into his old seargent position? Me. The jealousy withing the unit was more powerful than anything I had ever felt. While I did receive perks from bring Rythor's friend I did out perform everyone in the group in most task. I was never late, never got into trouble. I was basically a model soldier. Well I could have gotten better with my actual combat skills, but I was a medic. Fighting is not my focus. It seems others made it their focus to correct what was wrong.

We had a training mission that involved us staying out in the field. On the way home we were ambushed. Rythor was the first to fall. Our assailants were masked so other than the ones we killed there was no clue. Well almost no clue. As the assailant were leaving one of them shouted "Let's see if you can help Rythor as much as he has helped you." I knew right then what had happened.

Over the next few days I mourned heavily. For the first time in my life I lost someone who was close to me. As much as it hurt me Rythor's father was affected even more so. He seemingly lost the will to live, and died about 3 months later. To add insult to inury I was demoted for not protecting my commanding officer. After many months of investigations those involved, even though I am sure it was not all of them were tried and convicted. My rank was not returned however. It seems that the letter of the law had been manipulated, and manipulated well. Allowing a commander to fall is a serious offense, even when it is not your fault.

It goes without saying that I became a bitter individual. I found out who had caused the death of my friend by investigating on my own. I could not strike directly though. The perpetrator was a high ranking member of the government Bhevon Dumar, whose son was in my unit. I wanted to kill him, but that was not good enough. I decided that he should feel my pain. To make a long story short I had his son meet the same fate my friend did. Much like I had tracked him down he began to uncover clues as to what happened to his son. I figured he had to be "taken care of" also. The “how” eluded me for several days, until a prostitute offered to entertain me. No I did not accept, but I did consider the offer. It is hard to tell attractive women no.

I hired a fairly attractive woman to get to know Mr. Dumar. The following event took place while I was on leave, or vacation as you civilians would call it. While on vacation I pretended to have an interest in learning how to cook at a specific restaurant, and told the owner that I would work for free. Free help is often hard to come by convincing him to give me the job was not difficult. I told the lady to convince him to take her to the restaurant where I was employed at a specific time, and date. I made sure to place no small amount of poison in the wine that was ordered by my intended victim. As we all know if something can go wrong the it will go wrong at the worst possible time. It seems that the waiter mixed the drinks up, and due to that error, and my bad decision to stick around to watch him die, that I could not leave the building before the authorities arrive. Upon seeing me the look in his eyes let me know he had put all the pieces together.

Having no proof of his involvement in my friend's death, nor the money to pay a good lawyer I knew I was in trouble. All my money had went to the woman who was to keep his attention, and to the poison of course. The trial if you want to call it that was a foregone conclusion, and I knew it. Most likely I would die, and as much as I tried to face the thought with courage I could not accept it. I lost my temper in the courtroom, and I cursed the nation, everyone it, and worst of all, at least to the judge I cursed Iomedae. I spoke of terrible things and wished them upon everyone in the courroom. In return I was cursed, really cursed. Every time I tried to speak my words came out garbled so that I may never utter such things again.

The longer I sat in my cell the more my hatred grew. I would do anything to gain vengeance not just against Bhevon Dumar, but against this corrupt nation. It seemed as though my thoughts were heard. A strange creature appeared in my cell. It offered me the chance to become powerful enough to possibly escape. I would only have to help it at a future date. I knew the creature was a devil of some sort, and deals rarely ended in one's favor when dealing with them. Seeing my alternative, and my desire to bring the entire nation down I readily agreed anyway. I didn't really have much to lose. In return for my agreement to grant some unknown favor the curse was partially removed, and divine powers were granted to me. At the moment though I am still in the cell wondering if I will escape to even get a chance to use my new gifts.

Appearance: Ka'sar is about 6 feet tall 190 pounds. He has dark skin, and black curly hair with brown eyes. He is considered to be somewhat attractive to most females. Across his right eyebrow is a permanent scar from the attack that killed Rythor.

Personality: He is devious, manipulative, and proud, and that was before Rythor was killed. He does however believe in a system of order and loyalty. He is not quick to anger, but when angered he does hold grudges. He holds those in high esteem who are willing to do the work that is needed in order to excel, and he looks down on those who are lazy, but an occasional shortcut here and there is fine. He looks upon Iaozrael the Archduke as his source of inspiration.

Crimes :He has spoken out against the church in public, killed someone, and is guilty of attempted murder. I am happy with whatever crime you choose to give the most weight to.

Hahaha, Good question. Let me think up something good for that. I was originally thinking something along the lines of just so that the devil would help him deal with all of the good now in the city, but looking back, that is kinda weak, let me think of something a bit more interesting.

6_9 Did I say Demon? I meant devil. Although a demon might fit a more chaotic rage theme, I was just thinking that the Devil would be pushing him to anger and hatred. Although a demon might be interesting, It would be a struggle between his beliefs and his inner demon. Devil was what I meant though. If you think the demon idea is better though, let me know.

Kefka is my favorite mainly because he was funny. The guy was evil, but he was hilarious at it. Not only that, He succeeds in becoming a god and bringing the world to its knees. Most bad guys don't actually win. He is very similar to the Joker, and I like him for the same reasons. Madman who want the world to burn!

Jealousy. Pride. Ambition. These three words framed much of Albrecht d'Famon's life. Born into a prominent family, he should not have wanted for anything. However, his family's fame and fortune could only take him so far, and he lusted after power like most men lusted after a beautiful woman.

This seed of darkness was sown early in the young noble's life; when he witnessed his father receive a dressing down from someone higher up in the social hierarchy. Determined that no-one would ever address him in such a manner, Albrecht excelled at the military school to which he was sent. He bent the knee to Iomedae, but was never a true supplicant, believing that power belonged in the hand of those who could wield it best.

Determined to take what power and influence he could, Albrecht manoeuvred himself so that he was assigned to one of the lance companies, normally the preserve of the upper echelons of nobility. At first, he was treated with suspicion but it soon became obvious that Albrecht was one of them and he integrated himself easily into his new home.

However, this new found power and influence was not enough. Albrecht had been given a taste and now he hungered for it. This spark of ambition drove him to greater and greater extremes of bravado, but also destined him to be on a collision course with the Lord of Ambition himself.

After a couple of years in the lance company, Albrecht was approached by a small figure which revealed it to be an imp. It spoke to him of volumes of power if only he align himself with the Lord of Ambition. Salivating at the prospect of garnering even more fame and influence, Albrecht leapt at the opportunity. One of Asmodeus’ own now sat in the centre of Iomedan power.

For three years, Albrecht carefully managed to carve himself a niche rising through the ranks of the lancers. However, with success came arrogance and Albrecht’s carefully maintained facade slowly began to crack. When those under him cost him, he would grow angry at them. This continued for several months until eventually, while pursuing another follower of Asmodeus, one of his underlings lost their charge. Albrecht was so furious that he drew his sword and slew the young noble. He tried to cover up what had happened but as always, the truth will out.

Albrecht was summarily stripped of his lands, his titles, his wealth and his power. He was broken in an attempt to see whether he had acted with accomplices. Finally, once the inquisitors were done with him, he was unceremoniously dumped into a armoured coach which dragged him halfway across the nation. After almost a week of travelling, he caught sight of a fortress he knew only too well.

Branderscar.

Henric is a tall, sinewy man, with long,blond hair, light-blue eyes and disdainful smile

Youngest son of noble family,Henric was sent to study in the temple of Iomedae(child of the temple).There he learned about her doctrine,and come to despise it.
At first he was often criticized for his arrogant attitude and disregard for the godes teachings,but that soon changed, he became relentless and dedicated hunter of heresy and evil.

The secret behind his success was simple,when he discovered small cabal of asmodean worshipers,instead of arresting them,he blackmailed them to serve him.
They would arrange proofs against innocent souls,then Henric would come and unmask the "heretics".
Both sides were happy with this arrangement,and Henric's new friends soon converted him to devil worship.
Henric became famous among the younger and more naive followers of Iomedae and was promoted to sword knight in charge of small temple
It was then when ... start to whisper in his dreams.
About power,about glory and about mighty weapon that would grant him all that.

Following the instructions from his dreams,he lead his deluded subordinates in long forgoten catacombs , they fought their way to the deeper levels, and there Henric found the source of his dreams.
Mighty warhammer once forged in the depths of hell that belonged to ancient high priest of Asmodeus.
He slew his wounded and tired comrades and return to his temple
Aided by the hammer's magic resumed his old games on larger scale, he started to organise riots and purges against supposed heretics "in the name of Iomedae and the King" relishing in both the violence and the denigration of the goddess and royal house name.
However his contempt to the Iomedae faithfull deluded him.
His true nature was discovered and he was captured by the paladin of the faith ,who also managed to broke his infernal weapon.
Hence he was condemned as traitor of both the Iomedae faith and king's authority.(high treason)

The idea behind the character is that the loss of his infernal weapon had somehow damaged him, and drove him to his undeadish state
(Knight of the Sepulcher)

I guess I got a bit carried away with the story,to do mischief of such scale Henric would probably need to be more then 1st level,bit the destruction of his wepon could have dwindled his powers.

Clinch was born into a world of blood and pain and he fit perfectly into it. He was named Clinch by his orc father as the brute had to rip the infant from its mother's womb. The not so little half orc had apparently gotten a good grip on the inside of his watery incubator. Needless to say that the mother didnt survive the incident. It was of no matter as that was typical of the human slaves the orcs commonly took.

With no loving mother and a violent father its no wonder Clinch's heart turned cold young. Plus as a half breed he had to contend with the prejudices of the pure blooded orcs which more often than not led to being pushed around and bullied. He was beaten and bruised just once before he started fighting back. He was smaller then the average orc but what he lacked in size he more than made up for with sheer meaness and once he got his grimy hands around an orc's throat there was no removing them.

Now, Clinch was slow to anger as he was slow to decisions but he realized early into his teens that life wouldnt get much better for him by staying with the orc tribe. He'd heard the tales of and even seen human cities before and thought that he could find comfort there. At least he wouldnt have to worry about gangs of orc brutes trying to get the drop on him. So he crept out early one morning and made his way to the largest city he knew of; Talingarde. There were other smaller settlements that were closer but he wanted someplace he wouldnt stand out so much in.

This naive view kept him blind to a host of petty scams. He stayed in coin through murdering drunks and deadbeats in alleys. And it wasnt long before he garnished the attention of a local crime boss by the name of Dahn Gryft. The small dark complexioned man ran a middling sized crew that had their hands in all sorts of illegal affairs and knew that Clinch would make a great thug in his camp. The Dahn had him trained of a sorts by some heavily muscled man that called fighting rastling of all things. But the half orc took to the lessons with eagerness and it wasnt long before Dahn Gryft was sending him out on jobs.

Clinch preferred the snatchin' gigs as taking slaves was a natural way of life for the half orc. His brawn was pefectly suited for this kind of work and he particularly liked the rewards of first go at the females he got. The more they struggled the more he enjoyed it. What young Clinch didnt know was that a life of crime didnt usually last long and he was caught by the city guard with two beaten slaves in chains being drug behind him. Seeing the size of the thug the guards wasted no time in knocking him out cold. They even kept him unconscious through his trial, judgment and subsequent sentencing to the death by hanging.

The rastler awoke in a damp cell with a splitting headache and just knew that the first person he could get his hands on would be squeezed to death...just for the Hell of it, I says...

Andreas was the son of Ormond Durandal, a once famous cleric of Asmodeus. After the Church of Asmodeus fell, Ormond and his family went into hiding.

Andreas was secretly brought up to worship Asmodeus by his father. Filled with vengeance against those that stripped him of his position and power, Ormond eventually snapped, and sacrificed his own wife to summon a devil. The sacrifiece took place in an abandoned cottage, out side of the city, as far away from the watch as possible. His goal was to have the Devil help him dish out revenge against those whom wronged him, and changed his lovely hometown full of evil into a land of detestable good. However, A devil failed to appear. Ormond had lost everything, and in his darkest hour, his god failed to deliver when he sacrificed his own wife. Ormond's faith began to waiver.

In truth, something was called. That night something inside Andreas started to change. He wouldn't call it voices, more like urges. Urges that would drive his emotions out of control. As Andreas started to come of age, his Father started to slowly embrace these new 'good' religions, and to change his ways. He even tried to get Andreas to 'see the light.' Andreas knew that he could not allow this, and he slew his father in cold blood.

Despite his inner rage, Andreas was not a fool. He was careful with his ways, calculating, trying to take down important people in relation to these good faiths. It however quickly caught up to him. When he was trying murder an influential churchgoer in an ally, a patrol of the town guards found him and took him by surprise.

Although Andreas was not proven guilty for the other murders he had committed in the past, he was guilty of attempted murder and sent to prison...

Tsorvak grew up in Isger. He wasn't sure how his parents died--he couldn't remember and no one knew--but it didn't matter because he had what he needed in the Sisters of Erinyes--a group of female monks who hoped to become erinyes when they died. They took him in as a young child and taught him in the ways of Asmodeus and local Martial arts. He grew to care for these sisers as they taught him about power. He was highly attracted to the power promised by the “vampiric” martial styles, as it is a great way to empower the strong at the expense of those who are weak. While he never felt a strong connection to his Dwarven ancesters, he could feel the call of stone works and mountains in his blood. He never truly acted on it, but it did lead him to combine the vampiric martial style with one that mimics the strength of stone. When he grew old enough to leave the Sisters, Tsorvak began to move spreading the glory and order of Asmodeus. First he traveled Isger and Cheliax, but soon he decided it was time to move on to better and grander things. He eventually decided that he should go to Talingarde, a country full of heretics whose simple ways were holding them in servitude to a god who was far too young to know anything. To think, these people believe they get something from being good to those who can’t defend themselves. It was laughable.

Tsorvak is very disciplined. He holds tightly to the order in Asmodeus' religion. Some would describe him as a zealot. He is very ambitious. He always obeys those above him, but as he can, he undermines them for their spot of power. He is constantly looking for loopholes in any contract/bargain whatever it may be. His thought being that they are there to support those who are smart enough to find them. He considers the weak to be dispensable. His ultimate quest is perfection of power in himself. But that doesn’t mean he’s against working with others. Most times, that is the best way to gain power, and so he never disposes of anyone useful. Because he does not feel much connection to his Dwarven ancestry, he keeps his beard shaven. This has caused him some trouble in social matters, but he sticks fast to his decision.

Tsorvak is guilty of Heresy. He knew he had to be subtle about his preaching in Talingrade, but he did not realize how subtle he needed to be. He avoided teaching of Asmodeus, but spoke of the inferiority of Iomedae instead. Thus, it was not long before Tsorvak was caught. He had only been in Talingrade for a month when he spoke to a woman, complaining about how young Iomedae was, trying to plant in her some doubt in her god’s ways. But it turned out she worked with Sir Balin. From that day, he was a marked and hunted man. He decided it was time to move to another city, but on his way out, he was stopped by a guard. His lack of a beard pointed directly to him in the crowd. He tried to run, but his luck was not with him. Sir Balin was nearby and quickly caught Tsorvak.

Kyra Femeral
Human Female
Sorcerer 1 (Rakshasa Bloodline)
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Statistics
Str: 8(-1) Dex: 14(+2) Con: 13(+1) Int: 12(+1) Wis: 10(+0) Cha: 20(+5)
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Movement: 30 ft.
Languages: Common, Infernal
Initiative: +8
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Skills (Those not listed have no ranks in them)
Bluff +9, Knowledge(arcana) +5, Spellcraft +5, Use Magic Device +9
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Feats
Eschew Materials, Improved Initiative, Toughness
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Traits (I can't really think of any that have direct relations to her crimes, but these to can be seen as nature developments of her backstory. If you have better suggestions, I'm open to them.)
Focused Mind, Reactionary
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Defense
HP: 10
AC: 12; touch: 12; flat-footed: 10
CMD: 11
Saves: Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +2
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Offense
BAB: +0
CMB: -1
Melee: Unarmed -1 (1d3-1/x2) non-lethal
Spells
Cantrips: (at will) Read Magic, Detect Magic, Light, Mending*, Prestidigitation (DC 15)
1st: (5/day) Charm Person, Color Spray (DC 16)
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Special Abilities
Silver Tongue (8/day)
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*Favored Class Bonus Spell

Kyra's parents, a pair of wizards dedicated to studying the soul and its relationship to magic (read: how alignment interacts with magic), never told her about her mother's encounter with a rakshasa, but they were delighted when she showed inherent magical talent at age six. She became the focus of their studies and experiments. Not all of the experiments were pleasant and there were often times when she was simply put in a room while one parent would use various scrolls on her while the other attempted to gleam her soul's reactions.

Kyra spent the next seven years under constant surveillance and experimentation. Eventually, she broke. She doesn't look at it that way, but when her father came in with her breakfast one morning, she began her revenge. After charming her father, she explained she needed to do it to break her mother's enchantment on him. She told him that she wasn't the only one being experimented on, and her mother had been secretly experimenting on him as well.

"Remember those nights when you wake up in a cold sweat?" she asked him, leaning in and lower her voice to a whisper, "Do you really believe they were just simple nightmares? She's been changing your notes as well to keep you behind. She needs to be punished. She needs to know that she's no longer in control. I could help," Kyra said, the last words sliding off her tongue in subtle, but curt manner.

"You're right," her father replied, almost trailing off before finishing his short statement.

With that, Kyra left her room of her own accord for the first time since a very young age. The euphoria she felt was nearly palpable, but she had a task to complete. Pulling her father's knife from its sheathe, she handed it to him. "You may need this," were the only words spoke on the journey through the house.

Her mother was studying her spellbook when they found her. She glanced up and asked, "Honey, why's Kyra with you?"

"Show her you're in charge!" Kyra nearly screamed as she forced her will upon her father. The fight was short. As Kyra's mother slumped to the ground, her father turned, covered in blood, to her. "You're weak father," was all he heard before she cast Color Spray on him.
With that she was out the door and into the world. After several minutes of shock as she looked at the world around her, she began screaming for help.

When the guards arrived, she told them that her father had gone crazy and attacked her mother. Eventually, they brought him out of the house and what Kyra saw before her was a broken man. The air of authority he had always had was gone now and was replaced with tears. He saw her as the guards hauled him by and between sobs, she heard him say, "Why? Kyra, why?"

That was the last time she saw her father, the guards discovered records of all the experiments her parents had been doing, but not before Kyra had stolen the useful ones. With those documents, she made her first contact with a devil and perhaps foolhardy signed a contract in service to Asmodeus in return for power and control.

Now thirteen, Kyra was placed in an orphanage where her life truly began to blossom. She quickly realized she could manipulate not only the other children, but the head of the orphanage as well. She loved it; the power and control, it was everything she could hope for, but it still felt like something was missing.

It would take years, but she eventually figured out what was missing. When a child, a girl roughly the age she was when she arrived, was adopted, and subsequently removed from her control, she decided that the girl would not escape her through simple adoption. She followed the girl to her new home, and that night she snuck into the girl's room and charmed the young orphan. "I'm here to help you," Kyra whispered as she crawled through the window, "I overheard your new parents talking, and they're planning on selling you off as a house slave. They've done this will several other orphans, and they're going to do it to you too. We have to stop them!"

The confused orphan seemed to ponder this for a moment, but Kyra forced her will on the girl as she'd done with so many others. Kyra handed the girl a dagger as she wrapped her arm around the child. They left the girl's room to find the adoptive parents relaxing in the main room. "What are you doing up, sweetheart?" the girl's new mother said without turning.

A Color Spray spell and screaming charge later, the re-orphaned girl was covered in blood and Kyra was smiling. She found what was missing. Leaning in close, she said to the girl, "I lied about everything." At which point, she cast Color Spray once more and turned to leave. Yes, there was a certain savor to be had by finding what a creature values most and manipulating it into destroying it themselves. Utterly breaking a creature was so much more satisfying than simply controlling them.

She got to the door only to discover that two guards had been on patrol and heard the commotion. Reacting more out of reflex than anything else, she attempted to cast Color Spray again, but it only worked on one of the guards. She was caught for the first time ever and it was infuriating.

In her cell, she sat brooding, plotting. They would not hold her. Asmodeus had promised her power and control, and she would have it. With his help, she would destroy this damned place and rebuild it according to her whims.

I can't say that I have one villain who stands out as a favorite. I've seen so many, but one that has stood out (or at least is standing out now) is Johan Liebert from the manga/anime Monster. I'm really not all that interested in the concept of him being trained to be the perfect soldier, but is goal to be "the last one standing at the end of the world" is something I think few villains even dream of. He's unapologetically evil and often seems to do things simply for the destruction they cause. His methods range from complex and orchestrated plans for massacres to simple grab a gun and shoot.

Tiefling infernal sorcerer LE
Stats Str 10 Dex 16 Con 15 Int 12 Wis 8 Cha 18

Init +3 AC 13 touch 13 FF 10
HP 8 Fort +2 Ref +3 Will +2

Skills 4 with favored class (Sorcerer Class skill plus Diplomacy)

Diplomacy +8, Know (Planes) +5, Know (Religion) +5, Spellcraft +5

Trait Indomitable Faith - You were born in a region where your faith was not popular, yet you never abandoned it. Your constant struggle to maintain your own faith has bolstered your drive; you gain a +1 trait bonus on Will saves as a result.

Feat Fiendish Heritage (Kyton Bloodline+Random Rolls from AP #25)

Darkvision: Tieflings see in the dark up to 60 feet.

Skilled: Tieflings have a +2 racial bonus on Bluff and Stealth checks.

Spell-Like Ability: Tieflings can use darkness once per day as a spell-like ability. The caster level for this ability equals the tiefling's class level. (This will be swapped out for an ability on the chart, roll for three pick one or I will let you pick)

Fiendish Resistance: Tieflings have cold resistance 5, electricity resistance 5, and fire resistance 5.

Fiendish Sorcery: Tiefling sorcerers with the Infernal bloodline treat their Charisma score as 2 points higher for all sorcerer class abilities.

Languages: Common, Infernal, Abyssal

Class Skill: Diplomacy

Bloodline Arcana: Whenever you cast a spell of the charm subschool, increase the spell's DC by +2.

Corrupting Touch (Sp): At 1st level, you can cause a creature to become shaken as a melee touch attack. This effect persists for a number of rounds equal to 1/2 your sorcerer level (minimum 1). Creatures shaken by this ability radiate an aura of evil, as if they were an evil outsider (see detect evil). Multiple touches do not stack, but they do add to the duration. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Charisma modifier. (8 times/day)

Spells Known 0-4, 1st-2
Spells per day 0-At Will, 1st-5
DC of Spells 0-15, 1st-16 (+2 for Charm Subschool)

Jacin grew up in the shining city of Talingarde a tiefling. All his life he faced suspicion and doubt because of his race. He was teased, accused, and blamed for just about any wrongdoing that happened. Despite his family attempts at helping the community and being upright citizens they could only achieve an acceptance or tolerance.

What Talingarde did not know is that all their suspicions and intolerance was justified. All their good work in the community was only for cover.

Jacin grew up with parents who not only worshipped Asmodeus, they were also powerful summoners of devils. Jacin grew up also worshipping Asmodeus and committed himself for life. His infernal Kyton blood was strong in him, manifesting itself while he was young. His parents, also sorcerers of great power helped him learn how to wield these powers.

The day finally came when he could summon his first devil. He had studied for month preparing for the day. He had even purchased a dove to rip its heart out when he summoned the imp. The summoning cerimony began as his parents began chanting. In the middle of ceremony Sir Balin of Karfield and his agents broke into their home, slayed his parents and injured Jacin. His punishment was going to Branderscar Prison before being burned to death.

I'd probably go with the Evil mastermind James Bond villain or classic batman villains. If you are going to be evil and have nearly unlimited funds, you definitely should have crazy elaborate traps and just have fun with it.

Kodan wanted to be a knight for as long as he can remember. The shinning armor, the emblazoned shield, and mighty arms. It was in Kodan's blood, as his Father was a knigth and his father before him, and it seemed destined for Kodan to take up the knighthood.
Fate, or darker powers, had other plans. Evidence was found that Kodan's Father was conspiring with Talingarde's enemies. He was convicted of high treason and brought to justice by Sir Balin of Karfeld. Kodan never forgot Balin's last words to his father.

“Mitra may forgive you yet for your lies. Talingarde will not.” If only you could get a chance at revenge!

Kodan has harbored vengeance since that day. Each nignt he prayed for a chance to avenge his father; vengeance against the Knights, vengeance against the Royal Family, and vengeance against Sir Balin or Karfeld. In secret he learned the way of the sword, while building connections with those hidden enemies of Talingarde. It was through these contacts that he first learned of the other gods, and Asmodeus. The promise of a new Order and the downfall of Sir Balin, Kodan eagerly joined their ranks.

Part of a group sent to desecrate a temple of Mitra, Kodan was captured in the act and found guilty of Heresy. As he sits in Branderscar Prison, he sulks in hsi cell. Not becasue of his impending burning, but because his quest for vengeance is over. He prays to Asmodeus for one last chance to avenge his father.