Way of the Wicked by GM SnowHeart (Inactive)

Game Master SnowHeart

Peter was born in the heart of Talingrade to a father who was a dock worker and who’s mother died giving birth to him. Peter spent much of his beginning years alone, his father splitting his time between work and the tavern. Peter quickly joined up with a child gang being as he was a scrawny kid. He made friends pretty easily and found his niche doing the agile work of the crew. Occasionally Peter behaved erratically. He would be a little over zealous knocking out guards. With his talent however, such occasions were overlooked.

As time passed more strange things began happening. Peter would not show up for excursions, but any security would be completely absent. Only for rumors to appear later that the security was dead. When asked about this Peter would claim that he had no knowledge of the happenings because he slept though the heist.
The local officials began taking action however, finding the crew and arresting them all. Inside the interrogations his friends sold him for their freedom after finding out about the gruesomeness of the murders. When they tried to questioned Peter he refused to talk, maintaining a vicious smile the entire time. While detaining him, murders had stopped so the officials decided that they had enough evidence so they sent him to prison.

As Peter did not murder any important nobles or figures, he was sent to a regional prison where he remained for a couple years. One day a gift appeared in his cell, it was a cell mate. They had not given him one before as he had a bit of a gruesome reputation, but he behaved himself during those couple years and they were filling up. This cell mate had an unusual tattoo that he could not explain the origins of. Grateful for the opportunity, Peter shows his gratitude the next morning with the gruesome corpse of the cell mate. Curiously, hiding inside of the body of this individual, Peter found out, was a small dagger. With this tool, he found himself a way out of the prison, admittedly leaving a trail of dead guards.

Peter wandered for a time basking in the joy of the, now dried, blood of the guards. This joy was lost when it rained and he began searching for a settlement once more to sate himself. Peter came upon an odd manor house where a lonely lantern burned in the upper story. The place otherwise showed little sign of habitation. Old but well-appointed, the house was large, imposing and alone on its hill. Painted a dark green and surrounded by barbed wrought iron fencing, nothing about this place seems inviting or a sanctuary. Hoping for an easy mark, Peter approached the door to quietly gain entry.

To his surprise the the door opened. A lithe, stunningly beautiful woman with platinum blond hair stood in the doorway. Dressed in a diaphanous white gown, a warm and almost sultry smile graced her lips... one not matched in her eyes, cold and hard. She looked Peter over briefly, "My, a strapping young gift. I am Tiadora. My master bids you welcome. Please, enter." She stepped to the side, allowing Peter to enter.

Peter, beyond confused at this point, entered cautiously. After being 'cleaned, dressed, and refreshed' he was lead to an office where he met a devilishly handsome fellow who informed Peter that he was the original gift giver and offered Peter a deal. "Swear fealty to me and Asmodeus, and do as I request and you will get to kill plenty of people." Peter agreed and swore featly right then and there and signed some contract put before him.

I feel I should leave it here as Pestis will then be able to enter with an appropriate filling

I'm building her as LN. She's not a religious follower, but she shares many of the lawful type tenats. She believes in discipline and order as a way of life, but not so much in legal terms.

She is neutral as she believes many "evil" traits improve individual power while many "good" traits build ability to work as a team. She believes the former to be more important, but still finds the latter to be important as well (a group that can't work together will devolve into chaos and be ineffective against a well-functioning group of individually weaker opponents, yet also, a group's strength is limited by it's weakest member), and so she tends to be ruthless and coldly decisive, but yet fair. She also sees using fear as a valid tactic, but only in the short term.

She sees that some people are inferior (but sees this as an individual trait, not a racial nor ethnic one), but believes that the superior individuals should lead the inferior, and do so by example, as opposed to simply ruling over them (cause only by leading them can they be forged into an orderly and powerful force, where-as ruling them lets them remain weak and ineffective). Thus she isn't cruel when she doesn't need to be.

Similarly, she'll accept collatoral damage to include innocent folks, but she would not target them nor treat them with the same indifference as given a rock.

Her family and friends were killed on suspicion of being Asmodeans because some similarities of iconography (i.e. a pentagram is a big thing in math as well as being similar to the Asmodean symbol). She has since worked towards the downfall of the system that allowed such uninhibited cruelty and barbarianism. Certainly, she has does things since that could get her sent to prison, if she was ever caught (not sure if she needs to be or not to join up now, but it could go either way without a major impact on her bg, though knowing whether she'd been branded might be a good idea).

She has not met Cardinal Thorn, but has been perfectly happy to work with a group with similar goals (bringing about a new system) and values (order and discipline).

Race= Kitsune, alt traits: Superior Shifter (grants fox-form), Keen Kitsune (ab bonus to int instead of cha)
Ab scores;
ab, points, racial, total
str, 03, -2, 11
dex, 05, +2, 16
con, 02, 00, 12
int, 05, +2, 16
wis, 05, 00, 14
cha, 05, 00, 14

Class, Arcanist (unlettered arcanist [spellbook becomes familiar, spell-list matches witch]) wordcaster (has a witch "spell-list" so it still works)

Favored class bonus: 1/6 towards magical tail feat (Basically, every 6 lvls I get the magical tail feat until I have all 9)

Hero points; taking the extra feat option.
Arcanist exploits x2:Quick-study, Armored Mask
Feats x3: Magical Tail, Eshew materials, Imp Unarmed Strike
(I kinda like the ignore pain feat, not sure if it's worth the feat tax though.)

Standing six feet tall, Raevanis combines an elf's slender form with the athletic build of a trained warrior and moves with the grace that is a defining characteristic of his people, even if on occasion it takes an almost predatory quality. With complexion so fair as to be considered pale, his long hair, once midnight black, a trait that along with his given name had earned him the nickname "Raven", is now white, while his almond-shaped eyes are entirely a deep red color, quite the change from the vibrant blue orbs he was born with. Usually dressed in well-made fitted attire of darker hues, such as midnight blue, indigo and black, Raven generally prefers to wear as light and non-restrictive a suit of armor as he can find when necessary, though he does show a preference of forgoing it entirely if he can do so. His weapon of choice is the longsword, ideally of mastercrafted quality, and one such weapon is more often than not resting in a scabbard by his left hip, while he tends to also keep a trio of daggers on his person at almost all times, one sheathed horizontally at the small of his back and the other two kept in a pair of concealed spring loaded wrist sheaths.

Raevanis is civilized, charming and witty, or at the very least he used to be before the bite of a vampire changed his life. That unfortunate event and the tragic circumstances of his life after it appear to have dimmed his spirit and made him more withdrawn than the gregarious and quick-to-smile elf that he was. Still, as his condition progresses and his connection to his mortal origins diminishes, the tragedies and crimes of his past life start to feel as not that much of a burden and have less and less of a hold on him. An odd consequence of that is that his charm and wit and even his crooked smile are returning as he embraces his new reality and life, or unlife as it were, even if such character traits now appear to on occasion have a bit more of a... bite to them and his wit is somewhat drier than before sometimes.

There were two things about the young elf called Raevanis that no one expected to come true. One, that a boy that seemed so unable to stand still would actually manage to muster the discipline to do so long enough to become a capable and skilled swordsman. The other, that his noble House name of Dwin'Alir, elven for "Walkers in Shadow", would one day prove to be so fitting in so tragic a way.

The first of Celeador and Ellanira's two children, Raevanis was born more than a century ago, and almost two full decades before his younger sister Arianne, into the noble elven House of Dwin'Alir in the port city of Greengold in Kyonin. Quite unlike his father, who more or less epitomized the image of the aloof elven noble, Raevanis -or Raven as some of his non-elven friends would call him, the nickname having started being used because of his actual name as well as his midnight black hair- was free-spirited and gregarious, making friends among the commoner folk, elven and non-elven alike, easily despite his own social status. In fact, he preferred their company, finding them a welcome change from his family's friends and acquaintances, and would more than once sneak out of one of House Dwin'Alir's social gatherings to meet up with youths of other races on some rooftop or other. His father disapproved of course and his mother as well, albeit the latter less severely than the former, while his younger sister looked up to him, her older brother, and always looked forward to those times, few though they were, that he asked her to join him in his escapades.

Still though, even elves grow up eventually and must therefore leave behind childish things. And even though Raevanis did retain much of the nature of his youth, his charm and wit did become more refined as the years and decades passed, making men and women out of those boys and girls he had spent much of his own youth with, and he finally stood still long enough for his father to start teaching him and training him in the ways of fighting with a sword. Celeador, being an accomplished swordsman himself and quite proud of his mastery of the blade, wanted to pass his knowledge and skill to his son, hardly a strange desire for a father. And Raven proved an apt pupil, finding grace and elegance in his father's style of swordplay. Indeed, he was quick to pick up the moves and forms Celeador taught him, the longsword feeling almost like an extension of his arm during their sparring and training sessions before long. It was a good time. A pity it did not last long, at least considering how elves measure time.

As good as training and sparring is, even with real blades, and as much as it build discipline, it cannot replace actual battle experience and fighting or at least functioning alongside others, or so Celeador thought. It had certainly held true for him, as the older elf had spent quite some time when he had been younger patrolling the edges of Tanglebriar alongside other elves of Kyonin. So the time came he decided his most prized student, his own son, was ready to put what he had been taught to some use and perhaps learn from the experience. Indeed, even Raevanis, having grown much closer to his father over the years of training under him, was curious and perhaps even looking forward to putting his skills to the test. Unfortunately, such a thing was not to be.

It happened during Raven's first patrol. His was a newly formed unit, so its members were given a simple enough first task: scout a part of the Tanglebriar's northern edge, keeping a safe distance and with strict orders not to engage anything unless such a thing could not be avoided. A sort of a way to get their feet wet, as the human saying goes. But something went wrong, terribly so. Because with the exception of Raevanis, none returned from that simple scouting mission. And even he did so barely, sick and weak and pale from loss of blood, even though no visible wounds could be found. Not by the time he stumbled back into the closest elven camp, collapsing right in the middle of it.

It was immediately decided he would return to his family in Greengold, but he would do so under heavy guard as there were certain theories about what had transpired, or at least some of it. By the time he and his escort finally reached his family's estate, he was still weak and pale, but there were other disconcerting changes as well, such as his black hair slowly but surely turning white and the blue eyes he had been born with having given their place to orbs of a deep red color. These shifts in his appearance, along with the theories about what had happened, theories the elves escorting him shared with Raven's father, convinced Celeador that his son should be kept in his room and under guard at all times -imprisoned, in other words- until he and Ellanira could reach a decision about what was to be done. It took time, time during which Raevanis began growing resentful, while his father started to feel that his son was lost or would soon be and his mother believed that something could still be done, that perhaps some cleric or some divine magic could return him to how he was, to what he was.

And then there was Arianne. The sister who dearly loved her brother. The sister who would do anything for him and finally did. The sister who brought him food and drink each day and then, one day, a key as well. The sister who distracted the household guards. Who helped him escape.

Leaving his family and the city he had been born in behind, Raevanis wandered for a time, one year giving its place to the next and then the next and so on, until he found himself in Talingarde, an island beyond the Arch of Aroden. Truth be told, he did not plan on staying there for long, but alas, fate had other plans and one more tragedy in store for him. Shortly after he had reached this land, Celeador and Arianne arrived as well and it was not long until their paths crossed. It was not a happy reunion.

Words were spoken, harsh words by both father and son, and despite Arianne's tearful attempts at stopping the argument, soon enough swords were drawn. Celeador had given up on his son ever becoming what he was long ago; indeed, it would not have been an exaggeration to say that the older elf had come to see Raevanis as no longer an elf, but a monster, an abomination, even though he still drew breath and was not yet what both his family and himself knew he would eventually become. And Raven was still bitter and resentful at the way his own father and mother had treated him after his return from the Tanglebriar.

The first sword blow was struck by the patriarch of House Dwin'Alir, but the younger elf managed to parry it just in time before responding kind. And so it went for a while, and even though it seemed as if Raevanis was holding his own, his weakness from whatever had happened to him at that scouting mission along with his father's clearly superior skill soon proved his undoing. But although Celeador stood poised to strike the final blow and end his son's life, his sword never came down. Something stopped him as he looked at Raven and for a moment saw his son as he had once been. Perhaps there was still a chance at reconciliation. Perhaps... if Raevanis had also stopped. But carried away by the fight and focused on parrying and counterattacking, the younger elf seized this opportunity. And he struck.

Afterwards Raevanis only remembered bits and pieces of what followed, distraught and even horrified as he was at what had done. There was his sister's cries and screams of anguish and the image of her beautiful face twisted with pain and grief and anger and hate. There was his coughing and the flecks of blood that came with it as he half ran and half stumbled away from the place the duel with his father, so unlike the sparring sessions of his youth, had taken place. And then... darkness and nightmares. And, oddly, a sense of... accomplishment of sorts, a feeling of pride at besting such a strong opponent, such a skilled swordmaster. And he felt a part of him, once small but having grown in the last few years and growing still, liked it.

After a while, he felt himself regaining consciousness. And the very next thing he felt? Shackles of cold metal around his wrists and ankles. And in an instant he knew what had happened. And he knew who had turned him in, who had brought the authorities. And then he wept one more time, perhaps the last.

RAEVANIS "RAVEN" DWIN'ALIR CR 2
Male Elf Brawler (Snakebite Striker) 1/Fighter (Weapon Master) 2
NE Medium Humanoid (Elf)
Villain Points 3
Init +5; Senses Darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception +11
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DEFENSE
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AC 15, touch 13, flat-footed 12. . (+3 Dex, +2 natural)
hp 22 (3d10-6+3)
Fort +4, Ref +5, Will +1; +2 vs. fear, +1 vs. effects targeting longsword
Defensive Abilities Weapon Guard +1; DR None; Immune None; Resist None; SR None
Weaknesses Daylight (sickened)
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OFFENSE
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Spd 30 ft.
Melee Unarmed strike +5 (1d6+2/20/x2/bludgeoning)
Ranged None
Special Attacks Sneak Attack +1d6
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STATISTICS
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Str 15, Dex 17, Con 6, Int 14, Wis 12, Cha 14
Base Atk +3; CMB +5; CMD 18 (19 vs. disarm and sunder when wielding longsword)
Feats Alertness, Improved Unarmed Strike, Run, The Bitten, The Dying, Toughness, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (Longsword)
Traits Dueling unto Death, Student of History
Skills (Trained) Acrobatics +9 (+13 to jump with running start), Climb +6, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (History) +7, Knowledge (Local) +6, Knowledge (Nobility) +6, Knowledge (Religion) +6, Linguistics +3, Perception +11, Ride +7, Sense Motive +9, Stealth +9, Survival +5, Swim +6
Skills (Untrained) Appraise +2, Bluff +2, Craft +2, Diplomacy +2, Disguise +2, Escape Artist +3, Fly +3, Heal +1, Perform +2
Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven, Goblin, Sylvan
SQ Bonus Feats (Fighter), Brawler's Cunning, Chosen Weapon (Longsword), Fleet-Footed, Martial Training, Memories Beyond Death, Shadowless, Unarmed Strike
Combat Gear None; Other Gear Pickpocket's outfit
Magic Items None
Oils None; Potions None; Scrolls None
Money 0 platinum pieces, 3000 gold pieces, 0 silver pieces, 0 copper pieces; Other Wealth None

Standing six feet tall, Raevanis combines an elf's slender form with the athletic build of a trained warrior and moves with the grace that is a defining characteristic of his people, even if on occasion it takes an almost predatory quality. With complexion so fair as to be considered pale, his long hair, once midnight black, a trait that along with his given name had earned him the nickname "Raven", is now white, while his almond-shaped eyes are entirely a deep red color, quite the change from the vibrant blue orbs he was born with. Usually dressed in well-made fitted attire of darker hues, such as midnight blue, indigo and black, Raven generally prefers to wear as light and non-restrictive a suit of armor as he can find when necessary, though he does show a preference of forgoing it entirely if he can do so. His weapon of choice is the longsword, ideally of mastercrafted quality, and one such weapon is more often than not resting in a scabbard by his left hip, while he tends to also keep a trio of daggers on his person at almost all times, one sheathed horizontally at the small of his back and the other two kept in a pair of concealed spring loaded wrist sheaths.

Raevanis is civilized, charming and witty, or at the very least he used to be before the bite of a vampire changed his life. That unfortunate event and the tragic circumstances of his life after it appear to have dimmed his spirit and made him more withdrawn than the gregarious and quick-to-smile elf that he was. Still, as his condition progresses and his connection to his mortal origins diminishes, the tragedies and crimes of his past life start to feel as not that much of a burden and have less and less of a hold on him. An odd consequence of that is that his charm and wit and even his crooked smile are returning as he embraces his new reality and life, or unlife as it were, even if such character traits now appear to on occasion have a bit more of a... bite to them and his wit is somewhat drier than before sometimes.

There were two things about the young elf called Raevanis that no one expected to come true. One, that a boy that seemed so unable to stand still would actually manage to muster the discipline to do so long enough to become a capable and skilled swordsman. The other, that his noble House name of Dwin'Alir, elven for "Walkers in Shadow", would one day prove to be so fitting in so tragic a way.

The first of Celeador and Ellanira's two children, Raevanis was born more than a century ago, and almost two full decades before his younger sister Arianne, into the noble elven House of Dwin'Alir in the port city of Greengold in Kyonin. Quite unlike his father, who more or less epitomized the image of the aloof elven noble, Raevanis -or Raven as some of his non-elven friends would call him, the nickname having started being used because of his actual name as well as his midnight black hair- was free-spirited and gregarious, making friends among the commoner folk, elven and non-elven alike, easily despite his own social status. In fact, he preferred their company, finding them a welcome change from his family's friends and acquaintances, and would more than once sneak out of one of House Dwin'Alir's social gatherings to meet up with youths of other races on some rooftop or other. His father disapproved of course and his mother as well, albeit the latter less severely than the former, while his younger sister looked up to him, her older brother, and always looked forward to those times, few though they were, that he asked her to join him in his escapades.

Still though, even elves grow up eventually and must therefore leave behind childish things. And even though Raevanis did retain much of the nature of his youth, his charm and wit did become more refined as the years and decades passed, making men and women out of those boys and girls he had spent much of his own youth with, and he finally stood still long enough for his father to start teaching him and training him in the ways of fighting with a sword. Celeador, being an accomplished swordsman himself and quite proud of his mastery of the blade, wanted to pass his knowledge and skill to his son, hardly a strange desire for a father. And Raven proved an apt pupil, finding grace and elegance in his father's style of swordplay. Indeed, he was quick to pick up the moves and forms Celeador taught him, the longsword feeling almost like an extension of his arm during their sparring and training sessions before long. It was a good time. A pity it did not last long, at least considering how elves measure time.

As good as training and sparring is, even with real blades, and as much as it build discipline, it cannot replace actual battle experience and fighting or at least functioning alongside others, or so Celeador thought. It had certainly held true for him, as the older elf had spent quite some time when he had been younger patrolling the edges of Tanglebriar alongside other elves of Kyonin. So the time came he decided his most prized student, his own son, was ready to put what he had been taught to some use and perhaps learn from the experience. Indeed, even Raevanis, having grown much closer to his father over the years of training under him, was curious and perhaps even looking forward to putting his skills to the test. Unfortunately, such a thing was not to be.

It happened during Raven's first patrol. His was a newly formed unit, so its members were given a simple enough first task: scout a part of the Tanglebriar's northern edge, keeping a safe distance and with strict orders not to engage anything unless such a thing could not be avoided. A sort of a way to get their feet wet, as the human saying goes. But something went wrong, terribly so. Because with the exception of Raevanis, none returned from that simple scouting mission. And even he did so barely, sick and weak and pale from loss of blood, even though no visible wounds could be found. Not by the time he stumbled back into the closest elven camp, collapsing right in the middle of it.

It was immediately decided he would return to his family in Greengold, but he would do so under heavy guard as there were certain theories about what had transpired, or at least some of it. By the time he and his escort finally reached his family's estate, he was still weak and pale, but there were other disconcerting changes as well, such as his black hair slowly but surely turning white and the blue eyes he had been born with having given their place to orbs of a deep red color. These shifts in his appearance, along with the theories about what had happened, theories the elves escorting him shared with Raven's father, convinced Celeador that his son should be kept in his room and under guard at all times -imprisoned, in other words- until he and Ellanira could reach a decision about what was to be done. It took time, time during which Raevanis began growing resentful, while his father started to feel that his son was lost or would soon be and his mother believed that something could still be done, that perhaps some cleric or some divine magic could return him to how he was, to what he was.

And then there was Arianne. The sister who dearly loved her brother. The sister who would do anything for him and finally did. The sister who brought him food and drink each day and then, one day, a key as well. The sister who distracted the household guards. Who helped him escape.

Leaving his family and the city he had been born in behind, Raevanis wandered for a time, one year giving its place to the next and then the next and so on, until he found himself in Talingarde, an island in the northern hemisphere of Golarion, though not without assistance. It seems he had caught the interest of one Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, an apparently powerful man who through agents of his he had managed to facilitate the elf's voyage there. It had not come out of altruism of course, but even so Raevanis made it clear that although he was grateful, he did not see eye to eye with the man to say the least and any gratitude he felt would be expressed with words only raather than deeds. Surprisingly enough, the Cardinal actually allowed him to go, albeit with a strange smile on his lips. The elf was indeed a little suspicious, but he did not dwell too much on it, but in retrospect perhaps he should have had. Truth be told though, he did not plan on staying there for long anyway, but alas, fate had other plans and one more tragedy in store for him. Shortly after he had reached this land, Celeador and Arianne arrived as well and it was not long until their paths crossed. It was not a happy reunion.

Words were spoken, harsh words by both father and son, and despite Arianne's tearful attempts at stopping the argument, soon enough swords were drawn. Celeador had given up on his son ever becoming what he was long ago; indeed, it would not have been an exaggeration to say that the older elf had come to see Raevanis as no longer an elf, but a monster, an abomination, even though he still drew breath and was not yet what both his family and himself knew he would eventually become. And Raven was still bitter and resentful at the way his own father and mother had treated him after his return from the Tanglebriar.

The first sword blow was struck by the patriarch of House Dwin'Alir, but the younger elf managed to parry it just in time before responding kind. And so it went for a while, and even though it seemed as if Raevanis was holding his own, his weakness from whatever had happened to him at that scouting mission along with his father's clearly superior skill soon proved his undoing. But although Celeador stood poised to strike the final blow and end his son's life, his sword never came down. Something stopped him as he looked at Raven and for a moment saw his son as he had once been. Perhaps there was still a chance at reconciliation. Perhaps... if Raevanis had also stopped. But carried away by the fight and focused on parrying and counterattacking, the younger elf seized this opportunity. And he struck.

Afterwards Raevanis only remembered bits and pieces of what followed, distraught and even horrified as he was at what had done. There was his sister's cries and screams of anguish and the image of her beautiful face twisted with pain and grief and anger and hate. There was his coughing and the flecks of blood that came with it as he half ran and half stumbled away from the place the duel with his father, so unlike the sparring sessions of his youth, had taken place. And then... darkness and nightmares. And, oddly, a sense of... accomplishment of sorts, a feeling of pride at besting such a strong opponent, such a skilled swordmaster. And he felt a part of him, once small but having grown in the last few years and growing still, liked it.

After a while, he felt himself regaining consciousness. And the very next thing he felt? Strong arms lifting him up, gruff voices, threats spoken with a tone of authority. And in an instant he knew what had happened. And he knew who had turned him in, who had brought these men of law. And then he wept one more time, perhaps the last. In fact, when he turned on them, he still had tears in his eyes as he managed to wrest a sword from one of them and then proceeded to kill a couple and injure a few more, the element of suprpise and his own skill with a blade apparently all he needed to make his escape. Or at least his escape from the fate they had in store for him.

Cardinal Adrastus Thorn welcomed him back with a thin smile, a smile so like the one he had when he had allowed him to leave with only words of gratitude as payment for his debt. A smile that made Raevanis feel as if the man had known how events would play out for the elven vampire to be from the first time he had laid eyes on him.

His 1st character level (Fighter (Weapon Master)), along with stuff like the Fleet-Footed racial trait and the Student of History trait, are attributed to the time from his birth and somewhat free-spirited childhood up to his formal training in the ways of the sword and finally the bite, as well as the fact that he was part of a noble family along with the education and perks such a thing may provide. The bite is also responsible for his Memories Beyond Death racial trait, as I am considering it a weird side effect of his being bitten; it diminished his elven side, but granted him resistance to fear, as well as some insight and knowledge into subjects the one who bit him was knowledgeable about, such as nobility and religion for example, due to his quite possibly very advanced age.

His 2nd character level (Brawler (Snakebite Striker)) and quite a few of the class skills that come with it are a result of his life after "escaping" from his family estate and wandering about, having to rely on his wits and stealth, as well as having to learn how to fight without necessarily a weapon nearby and not always fairly or honorably. Also, I am thinking the unarmed strike's higher damage as indicative of his growing physical strength as undeath approaches.

His 3rd character level (Fighter (Weapon Master)) marks his return to formal training once he has finally more or less accepted his fate and finds himself under Thorn's "employ" so to speak.

I am a bit torn between Power Attack and Two-Weapon Fighting, but I am expecting to make up my mind, if chosen, before the character actually enters play.

I have not purchased equipment, but I aim to do so more or less immediately if chosen. They will mostly include standard stuff, like a good weapon and armor, a secondary weapon or two and the usual adventuring gear.

Looking ahead, if chosen, I may look into retraining him out of the Weapon Master archetype if permissible when he is a full vampire, i.e. around level 10. I am thinking that once he has embraced his new and formidable abilities, he will be moving away from focusing entirely on the longsword and will seek to probably blend swordplay with natural attacks, thus taking advantage of his vampiric strength.

Finally, I have played Way of the Wicked before and I think we had managed to finish Book 1. It was some time ago though and frankly I do not remember much, not many specifics anyway.

Half-orc Bloodrager (spelleater/primalist) 3 (Infernal Bloodline)
Alternate traits: sacred tattoo, Shamans apprentice
Traits: fates favored, Heresy
Str: 18
Dex: 14
Con: 16
Int: 08
Wis: 12
Cha: 13
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Defense:
HP: 36 [42] (3d10+12)
AC: 16 T:12 FF: 14 (4arm+2dex)
Saves:
Fort: +8
Ref: +5
Will: +5 [+7]
------------------
Offense: [raging] Rage: 12 r/day (7+2+2+2(FCB)

Bastard Sword: +9 [+11]
Damage: 1d10+7 [1d10+9]

Bastard Sword(PA): +8[+11]
Damage(PA): 1d10+10 [1d10+12]

Lucerne Hammer: +8 [+10]
Damage: 1d12+7 [1d12+10]

Feats:
1- combat reflexes, endurance
3- Power attack

Skills: 6+int/level 5/level
Acrobatics: 3
Perception: 3
Intimidate: 3
Survival: 1
Know. Nature: 1
Swim: 2
Climb: 2
Stealth: 3
Ride: 1
Spellcraft: 2

Arms and Armor:
+1 Bastard Sword, MwK Lucerne hammer, Longbow, MwK chain shirt, 40 arrows, Javelin (5)

Equipment:
Pack, waterskin (2), rations (week), 200ft of rope, grappling hook,

Arrac was chieftain of a small tribe managing to survive in the forests of Talingarde, at least, before the Military came and ended that. They were accused of witchcraft, of consorting with demons because they had teiflings in their tribe. Then, when Arrac and the 3 elders refused to kneel and indeed denied Mitra's supremacy above all others. They were accused of Heresy. They were attacked 2 days later, those that were leaders or shamans in the small tribe were captured, most others however, were put to the sword or torch immediately, including Arrac's wife and child. This taught Arrac one thing, something he had always felt, always known, power is everything. Those with Power survive, thrive, those without are crushed. He now devotes himself to the quest for power, so that one day he can fully avenge his tribe and denounce this Mitra as the false and hypocritical god she is and take from her every follower she has. For what real god of mercy would slaughter an entire village for merely denying her? It wasn't until later that Arrac would find the land his people had called home was being cleared for use by some noble family.

During his stay in the lovely prison hey had taken him and his people to a whisper came to his mind. A soft, enticing whisper offering power, strength... revenge, for but a pittance, worship. Instantly, a mental bargain struck, and a contract signed. Almost Immediately following a prison break occurred, and Arrac used the chance to make his escape as well. Killing any guard that got near him, his newfound power allowing him to encase his weapon in hellfire and strengthening his body. After his bloody escape, he went back to his peoples home, wanting to pay a last tribute and rite like their old ways demanded. However, he could not. As the land had been despoiled by the very people who had attacked them. The sacred grove cut down and turned to lumber, the ground where their ancestors had been buried used as foundation for some building. Flying into another rage, the likes of which he only experienced during his escape at the prison, he slaughtered almost the entire work crew and the two guards stationed there. After that, he felt a small tug, a whisper in his ear. It promised him more than mere bloodshed, more than mere vengeance. It promised greatness, an end worthy of his people. He followed it and it lead him to a manor, and a man by name of Cardinal Thorn. It seemed he had been awaiting Arrac, indeed, it seemed Arrac was late. He offered him the contract, one Arrac had signed, at least mentally, in that prison cell which had tried to contain him. However, he moved to tower over Thorn, and spoke. I contracted to this Asmodeous, I will serve him in exchange for the power he has given me. There is no loyalty to you. Not yet. But Mitra and her followers must burn. This we have in common... And so I will follow you, at the very least until this land either bows before us, or burns in our wrath. He would then sign the contract, undergoing thorns training due only to a tiny whisper in his urging him, and the promise of seeing this land burn.

When he finished/joins the party if selected is up to you GM of course, and even if I am not selected feel free to use this guy as an NPC.

Personality: Arrac is a serious man. While not intelligent persay, he is perceptive, and can understand things that many wouldn't think he could. He also has a certain way with folk. Particularly those of his kin. To him, more than ever now, strength and power are the highest goals to strive for. He will acknowledge those more powerful than he, even if he makes plans to outgrow even them. While deception is not his strongest aspect, he understands, like on any hunt, or raid, stealth and planning can prove a powerful ally. He enjoys a good drink or three, and can become more friendly after about 7 flagons of hard liquor.

Vincenzo stands a slim 5' 8" tall. Dark brown hair shorn short, dark brown eyes in a pale face that show little emotion. When it can be seen at all. He normally wears very practical clothing for work: leather armour and boots, tools for break and entry, well-sharpened kukris. After all, He never knows when a client might have need of his services.

The slums and piers of Daveryn saw Vincenzo's brief and brutal childhood. He was the youngest of five, garrulous and mouthy, and was beaten by many adults: drunkard workers, sanctimonious priests, criminals alike. And especially his dock labourer parents and older brothers and sisters. He learned to shut his mouth, keep quiet: and when to strike. Wait until attention was elsewhere, sleep overcame them. And he could steal, beat, or even kill any adult. That talent was noticed by a more practiced shadow and honed into a tool for a criminal guild. Theft, spying, and soon murder became Vincenzo's stock-in-trade.

Vincenzo wants a land where the most talented rise to the top. Not by virtue of blood, gold, or prayer to an uncaring god. He conspired with others of like mind, and sank much of his ill-gotten wealth into the plot. He and his co-conspirators would infiltrate the royal palace and wipe out the royal family. Needless to say, this did not go well. His peers were all slain - or disappeared - and he was captured after a fierce chase and desperate battle.

Only the most brutal execution would do for this foul criminal, but he kept looking for an escape from Branderscar.

So far, Executioner Slayer 3 with a heavy emphasis on stealth. Paired kukris and able to hold his own in melee.

Vincenzo Goya
M Human Executioner Slayer 3
LE M Humanoid (human)
'Hero' Points: 3
Init +4; Senses: Darkvision 60ft.

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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 14, Wis 12, Cha 8,
Base Atk +3; CMB +5; CMD 19
Feats
L1: Weapon Finesse
L2(Slayer Talent): Two-Weapon Fighting
L3: Iron Will

Traits

High Treason
You have willfully worked to bring down the current Monarch of Talingarde — the beloved King Markadian V called the Brave of House Darius. To be successfully tried for High Treason you have done more than merely dislike the king, you did something tangible to undermine his rule. Alas, that you failed at your plot and are now headed to Branderscar Prison. Treason is the only crime that is still punished by the gruesome ritual of being drawn and quartered. Your stay at Branderscar will be brief.

Punishment: Death by drawing and quartering
Benefit: You receive a +1 trait bonus to Will saves.

Killer
You made your first kill at a very young age and found the task of war or murder to your liking. You either take particular pride in a well-placed blow, or find vile pleasure in twisting the blade to maximize your target’s pain.

Benefit: You deal an amount of additional damage equal to your weapon’s critical hit modifier when you score a successful critical hit with a weapon; this additional damage is added to the final total, and is not multiplied by the critical hit multiple itself. This extra damage is a trait bonus.

http://www.d20pfsrd.com/traits/combat-traits/killer/

Languages
SQ (Special Qualities, i.e., your various powers and abilities that don't fit elsewhere - just the names)

STR 14 (+2) [5 points]
DEX 18 (+4) [10 points, +2 racial bonus]
CON 14 (+2) [5 points]
INT 12 (+1) [2 points]
WIS 14 (+2) [5 points]
CHA 8 (-1) [-2 points]

Dimdweller (2 RP): Whenever characters with this trait benefit from concealment or full concealment due to darkness or dim light, they gain a +2 racial bonus on Intimidate, Perception, and Stealth checks. Humans can take this trait in place of the skilled trait, also gaining darkvision to a range of 60 feet.

Self-Made Fate: Some humans build nations that deny the importance of gods and divine magic, and those raised to avoid divine influence develop a knack for defying divine magic. They gain a +2 racial bonus on saving throws against divine spells and spell-like abilities, as well as the spells and spell-like abilities of aeons, psychopomps, and outsiders with an alignment subtype. This racial trait replaces the bonus feat trait.

Weapon and Armor Proficiency
A slayer is proficient with all simple and martial weapons, as well as with light armor, medium armor, and shields (except tower shields).

Bloodstained Hands (Ex)
An executioner must be evil. If he ever becomes nonevil, he loses this archetype and becomes a regular slayer.

Focused Killer (Ex)
At 1st level, an executioner’s studied target bonuses and the DCs of his slayer abilities increase by 1 against humanoid opponents, but decrease by 1 against non-humanoid targets.

This ability alters studied target.

Studied Target (Ex)

[Errata] A slayer can study an opponent he can see as a move action. The slayer then gains a +1 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks attempted against that opponent, and a +1 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against it. The DCs of slayer class abilities against that opponent increase by 1. A slayer can only maintain these bonuses against one opponent at a time; these bonuses remain in effect until either the opponent is dead or the slayer studies a new target.

If a slayer deals sneak attack damage to a target, he can study that target as an immediate action, allowing him to apply his studied target bonuses against that target (including to the normal weapon damage roll).

At 5th, 10th, 15th, and 20th levels, the bonuses on weapon attack rolls, damage rolls, and skill checks and to slayer DCs against a studied target increase by 1. In addition, at each such interval, the slayer is able to maintain these bonuses against an additional studied target at the same time. The slayer may discard this connection to a studied target as a free action, allowing him to study another target in its place.

At 7th level, a slayer can study an opponent as a move or swift action.

Slayer Talents

As a slayer gains experience, he learns a number of talents that aid him and confound his foes. Starting at 2nd level and every 2 levels thereafter, a slayer gains one slayer talent. Unless otherwise noted, a slayer cannot select an individual talent more than once.

Talents marked with an asterisk (*) add effects to a slayer’s sneak attack. Only one of these talents can be applied to an individual attack, and the decision of which to use must be made before the attack roll is made.

Sneak Attack

At 3rd level, if a slayer catches an opponent unable to defend itself effectively from his attack, he can strike a vital spot for extra damage. The slayer’s attack deals extra damage anytime his target would be denied a Dexterity bonus to AC (whether the target actually has a Dexterity bonus or not), or when the slayer flanks his target. This additional damage is 1d6 at 3rd level, and increases by 1d6 every 3 levels thereafter. Should the slayer score a critical hit with a sneak attack, this additional damage is not multiplied. Ranged attacks can count as sneak attacks only if the target is within 30 feet.

With a weapon that deals nonlethal damage (like a sap, whip, or unarmed strike), a slayer can make a sneak attack that deals nonlethal damage instead of lethal damage. He cannot use a weapon that deals lethal damage to deal nonlethal damage in a sneak attack, not even with the usual –4 penalty.

The slayer must be able to see the target well enough to pick out a vital spot and must be able to reach such a spot. A slayer cannot use sneak attack while striking a creature with concealment.

Nai Xing
Female kitsune unchained rogue(kitsune trickster) 3 (Pathfinder RPG Advanced Race Guide 193, Pathfinder Unchained 20)
LE Medium humanoid (kitsune, shapechanger)
Init +4; Senses low-light vision; Perception +8(+10 vs being surprised and invisible creatures)
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Defense
--------------------
AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 15 (+5 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 21 (3d8+3)
Fort +1, Ref +7, Will +3
Defensive Abilities evasion
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Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +6 (1d4+4/19-20) or
. . dagger +6 (1d4+4/19-20) or
. . mwk dagger +7 (1d4+4/19-20) or
. . mwk dagger +7 (1d4+4/19-20) or
. . bite +6 (1d4-1)
Ranged light crossbow +6 (1d8/19-20)
Special Attacks sneak attack (unchained) +2d6
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 3rd; concentration +4)
. . 3/day—dancing lights
. . 2/day—disguise self
Rogue (Unchained) Spell-Like Abilities (CL 3rd; concentration +4)
. . At will—minor magic
. . 1/day—charm person (DC 12)
--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 9, Dex 18, Con 10, Int 17, Wis 14, Cha 12
Base Atk +2.25; CMB +1; CMD 15
Feats Fox Shape, Magical Tail[ARG], Realistic Likeness[ARG], Weapon Finesse
Traits know the land(+1 knowledge nature/survival and survival as a class skill) , fraud(+2 bluff and bluff as a class skill), spirit sense(+2 perception to avoid being surprised and to detect invisible creatures), flaw: meticulous(-2 on all untrained skill checks)
Skills Acrobatics +12, Bluff +12, Climb +3, Diplomacy +10, Disable Device +12, Disguise +10 (+20 circumstance to fool others with impersonation), Escape Artist +9, Intimidate +5, Knowledge (nature) +6, Linguistics +9, Perception +8, Sense Motive +10, Sleight of Hand +10 (+12 to oppose the Perception check of someone observing or frisking you regarding items in the sheath), Stealth +10, Survival +9, Swim +3; Racial Modifiers +2 Acrobatics
Languages Common, Elven, Minkaian, Sylvan, Tien, Undercommon, Varisian, Vudrani
SQ change shape, rogue talent (minor magic)
Other Gear +1 mithral chain shirt, crossbow bolts (10), dagger, dagger, light crossbow, mwk dagger, mwk dagger, belt pouch, charcoal (2), concealable thieves' tools[UI], tindertwig (2), wire saw[UE], wrist sheath[UE] (2)
--------------------
Special Abilities
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Change Shape (Su) Assume a single human form.
Evasion (Ex) If succeed on Reflex save for half dam, take none instead.
Fox Shape You can take the form of a specific fox, as beast shape II.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Minor Magic (Mage Hand, At will) (Sp) Gain the chosen cantrip as a spell-like ability.
Realistic Likeness Change shape can mimic individuals you've met, gain a +10 bonus to Disguise to impersonate.
Sneak Attack (Unchained) +2d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.

“Please take me to jail now” the Tian woman said quietly to the two guards watching over their shackled charge. “I truly hate these people” she added more than a little surprised at her own emotion. For two hours they have whined, yelled, and sputtered out all the wrongs done these last few weeks in hopes Nai, the Tian woman, would be blamed for them all.

And be hanged for it.

Now the verdict was out. The blame is not only hers, so they turned on each other. The round baker woman was screaming with all her impressive chest at the simpering lordling. The lordling's father shaking in rage with bloodied fists standing over the now unconscious cleric. In the center of the chaos was the pretty and curvaceous baker's daughter, blubbering snot and tears for all her dreams torn apart by her own greed, stupidity, and a mistake or two from her little sister's guardian forest spirit.

The spirit was Nai of corse. A kitsune on her own, living as a fox. Until a harsh season made her travel too close to the Heartlands, into a chicken coop, and snared. She could have freed herself with no problem but a sweet young human girl found her first, cooed over her soft fur, even feed her an egg or three. While the fox ate, the little girl spoke to it about her sister's unhappiness. How she ever so greatly wished the fox was magical and could fix it ALL.

This struck a chore in Nai, a purpose she has been hunting for, and a memory nagging at her.

Nai's kindly mother had noticed long ago, her child was utterly lacking in empathy. The little kitsune was very smart, could read people just as easily as her mom, but lacked any real caring for them. In truth she didn't even understanding them. She could guess what they were feeling, what they wanted, or planned to do, but didn't know WHY they felt the way they did or wanted what they wanted... except the baser wants. Those were easy.

The two traveled heavily, the mom helping where ever they went, for she truly was a good person. She hoped that meeting new people, seeing how much joy could be brought into their lives with just simple kindness, would teach her beloved daughter to care.

But nope.

She did love her mother, or at least she knew she should love her mother, and so she did. Once she passed though, staying among these odd balls of confusion was just too much effort.

This little girl was like her mother. “Maybe helping her would awake that normalcy in herself”, the fox who was really a kitsune thought.

Nai tried, the gods know she tried. The sister, the baker's daughter, was in love with the lordling but was way beneath his station. Shifting into her likeness, enticing the man, charming with magic him at times, seducing him physically at others, all while being the confident woman he was drawn to. A woman the baker's daughter was not despite her desires to be.
Nai won him over, but it had took time, and when he was ready to be unleashed on the real woman, that woman had moved on to the cleric, an oily snake of a man only interested in one thing... well two really. Framing the cleric with indecent acts wasn't very hard either, but once again something else came up. Again and again: lies, fights, screaming, burning barns, and one murder later, Nai was caught.

The little girl who freed her from the snare had happened on the cave Nai was sleeping in. Led them right there. And to here, this trial to decide her fate.

The murder was decided to be kind of self defense. The lord had paid the baker's daughter to go away and leave his son alone. But Nai was the daughter at that point, and kept it hoping to use it to bribe someone later. When the girl didn't leave, the lord had paid a thug to gut her instead. Luckily Nai gutted the gutter before that happened. All the worst bits were all like that, they could be explained or accepted by the courts. So it was all a mess of figuring out what to send her to prison for because NO ONE was willing to let her go.

Fraud is what the judge picked in the end, since she took the bribe from the lord and it was discovered in her cave. The “victims” didn't like it but that didn't matter to the tired judge anymore. And to Nai, a lifetime working in the salt mines sounded pretty good, just to get away from these people.

As a human, she is a short slightly pretty woman with dark amber eyes and chin length black hair. Rarely a smile is seen or any reaction even other than utterly stoic. Unless she is playing the part, that is. Reacting from memory, based on how someone else would. In those times, she is anything and everything, all in one. As a fox and her normal kitsune form she is a soft orange color with the same dark amber eyes.

Her plans have changed. The incident with the baker's daughter and her time in prison gave her clarity. Living alone in the wilds was not bringing her any closer to understanding people or bringing her closer to her mother's memory. While the incident was a disaster, she had learned from it. Learned the reason why it went so wrong. She had tried to make the woman happy by giving her what she wanted, instead of what Nai knew would be best. The tramp should have married a pig farmer and produced happy round litters. The lordling should have swallowed his pride married who the lord picked. And someone, Anyone!, should have castrated the cleric.
Next time, if there was a next time, Nai would do better.

Appearance:
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 102
Eye color: Red
Hair color: White
Skin: Black
Haircut: Shoulder length hair
Build: Frail Looking
Personality: Patient and deliberate
Goals: To see those that abused him and tortured him gutted before him and all that get in his way.

Background: Szordrin was a promising wizard in a moderately powerful drow house. One night while on patrol his group ambushed a derro caravan. The battle that followed was quick and deadly. Szordrin claimed as his combat prize a magical gem known as a Ioun Stone, but before he was able claim his prize a lowly ranked priestess tried to claim it as her own. He had to submit to her will and his prized was forfeited. Later the next night Szordrin claimed his prized back and was successful in removing it from her cold dead hands, but not without a few witnesses. He was forced to flee for his very life into the wilds of the tunnels. He traveled for several days in a random direction. Knowing that he needed to make it to a city of some kind before the drow caught up to him, he made his way towards the one place they they would not look for him...the surface. It was here that he fell into the hands of the humans. He had never been to the surface world and only knew that he would be hated for who he is. His magic would help him to hide and it did its job until he was confronted with the mercy of Mitra. When a passing farming said a simple "May Mitra bless you this fine day" Szordrin responded with a simple "who?" and that is all it took for the Witch hunter Sir Balin of Karfeld to come looking for him. He was tried and convicted without even a hearing. When the capture him and took his items away, his magic failed and it was revealed that he was in fact a drow. They chained him and sent him to prison where he was tortured and beaten. The even clipped his ears. Then one night, what can only be called a riot broke out and in the process he was able to escape and reclaim his gear. Fleeing into the night and back into the dark tunnels that were his home. He made his way deeper and deeper until he came to passage that led deeper into the underdark and another passageway that led way off into the deep wilds. Taking his chances with the wilds, Szordrin traveled a few days until he met a creature that utterly terrified him. A Succubus stood there with an amused look to her stance. Szordrin you have been a very naughty boy. Now what am I going to do with you. It took all his mental will to not piss himself right there and beg for his life. Was he too scared or was it that he had a burning hatred for all females that look down there noses at him. This was a demon but even that did not stop him from glaring at her. That was his mistake. He awoke to soft light and a scent in the air that he could not place. There was the bed that he was just now sitting up in, how did he get there? Then a voice that spoke to him brought back all his memories to the surface. He turned toward the voice and there sitting across the room was the succubus. She stood up and sauntered over to him, letting her fingers trace a pattern across his chest.Good, I did not break you then. It is unfortunate that you drow are so...fragile, I do enjoy your company from time to time. Maybe in time you will learn to have a bit more stamina. She looked down at him and then at his chest. Szordrin could not help but look down at his own chest to see the wounds that were healing on his chest. scratches or better yet..they looked like deep cuts from a blade of some sort. He then looked back up at her. What.... She put a finger to his lips.Shhh. Your wounds will heal in time. Your screams were delicious...Now get dressed. You have a very important person to meet. Without another word she turned and walked from the room. He does not like to be kept waiting. Szordrin got up and dressed as he walk. Fresh blood stained his bandages from the efforts to keep up with the demon. Several turns later, Szordrin was brought before a man that he came to know simple as the Cardinal. He did not show any concern or mercy he just said what was needed and that was it. I am looking for some help in dealing with a situation in Balentyne. I think you will be able to help....or am I wrong.

Male Half-Elf Inquisitor (Infiltrator, Preacher) 1
LE Medium Humanoid (Human, Elf)
Init +8; Senses Perception +9, low-light vision
Hero Points:3
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DEFENSE
------------------------------
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+6 armor, +2 dex)
hp (To be Rolled Later)
Fort +5, Ref +3 Will +6
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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft.

Melee mwk Heavy Mace +7 (1d8+6) or Dagger +6 (1d4+4/19-20)

Ranged Dagger +4 (1d4+4/19-20) or Light Crossbow +4 (1d8/19-20)
------------------------------
STATISTICS
------------------------------
Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +2; CMB +6; CMD 18
Traits Blasphemy, Indomitable Faith
Feats Power Attack, Improved Initiative
Skills (9 points; 6 class, 1 INT 2 Bonus) Bluff +10, Diplomacy +10, Knowledge(dungeoneering) +7, Knowledge(planes) +7, Knowledge(religion) +9, Perception +9, Sense Motive +9, Stealth +8*(5), Survival +8
*ACP -3

Languages Common, Elven

------------------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Elven Immunities
Keen Senses
Multitalented
Conversion Inquisition: Charm of Wisdom
Judgment 1/day
Guileful Lore
Misdirection
Forbidden Lore
Detect Alignment
Cunning Initiative
Determination 2/day

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Spells
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0th (at will) Brand, Create Water, Detect Magic, Light, Read Magic, Sift

1st (4/day) Cure Light Wounds, Divine Favor, Heightened Awareness,
Protection from Good

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS
------------------------------
mwk Heavy Mace, Dagger, Light Crossbow, mwk Breastplate, Hat of Disguise, Cracked Dark Blue Rhomboid Ioun Stone
Carrying Capacity
Light 0-33 lb. Medium 34-67 lb. Heavy 68-100 lb.
Current Load Carried 0 lb.

Money 101 GP 0 SP 0 CP

Ordywyt was born the son of a minor noble, holding no real power except for the scraps of a name left from grander generations. It did not help Ordywyt was the 6th son, and as such his inheritance, in his own words, was no more than a peasant’s. Despite his education and upbringing, the future was bleak - he would be no better than the rest of the rabble.

Perhaps it was his overcaring father that brought this sense of self-entitlement, or simply Ordywyt’s jealousy of his older brothers that turned to pride. It hardly mattered to Ordywyt: he only needed to find what to do next to prepare for the future. Ordywyt first moved subtly, attempting intrigue to gain influence in the upper ranks, but his measures proved impossible, his words holding no weight considering his position. Ordywyt became more and more desperate, secluding himself in attempts to find any idea of power he could use.

It was in this private study Ordywyt stumbled across a book, bearing nothing on its cover but a red pentagram. Ordywyt realized it as it was soon after - a prayer book of Asmodeus, speaking his doctrines, reason, and authority. Ordywyt considered burning the book: all the teachings of Mitra rejected the cruelty of Asmodeus. But yet, Asmodeus promised something Mitra could not, personal power, that seemed all the more alluring as Ordywyt read.

In secret Ordywyt took upon himself to worship the Dark Prince, carving an unholy symbol out of wood. His prayers grew more extravagant, devoting more time and resources to his secret lord. His family and friends began to ignore him, finding him reclusive and strange. Ordywyt thought nothing of it, doubling down on his faith. Soon, he considered, Asmodeus would grant him strength for his service.

And it did. Ordywyt grew with divine power, gifted with a measure of subtlety to keep the nature of his religion secret. But it was not enough, never enough. His worship only continued, more and more eager from seeing results.

But not all was meant to be. He was discovered by his father shortly after, who in his worries of passing from age wished to ensure his sons would be safe without him. Visiting Ordywyt last, his first sight was a makeshift shrine in Ordywyt’s room, with his own son kneeling in prayer in front of it. The Mitran inquisition was called, on grounds of blasphemy - the punishment, as for all who worshipped Asmodeus, was to be death.

Ordywyt was wrapped in chains, to be transferred to Branderscar within the week. His father, overcome with grief, fought the passage for some time.. But the word of Mitra was absolute, and with Ordywyt bearing no remorse, the journey began without major incident.

The caravan holding Ordywyt was struck on the first night out, Ordywyt not able to see through the walls of his carriage but hearing the sounds of battle. Silence at last came, as the doors opened and he was released. His saviors garbed themselves in black, but one thing was clear: they bore the mark of Asmodeus. When they beckoned for Ordywyt to follow, he did without question, eager to join with those of his ilk.

Ordywyt considered the rest of the Asmodians to be those wishing for only strength as he did, until he met Thorn. In his eyes, Thorn was different, a beckoning signal of exactly what Asmodeus wished - strength in the form of law, an undeniable authority. As he spoke, Asmodeus’ word and Thorn’s seemed to be one, both granting power for service. Ordywyt swore fealty without hesitation, feeling a sense of purpose emanate from the man.

Ordywyt began to pride himself less as a master than as a servant, a tool of both the Dark Prince and the Cardinal to fulfill their ends. Sometimes he amused himself with the prospect that he would be better in the role of Cardinal, but never followed through. Thorn’s rule was to be expected, with his strength, and Ordywyt was more than palpable in helping him. Asmodeus spoke through Thorn’s will, and Ordywyt would be a fool to not follow.

Ordywyt is a white-haired man despite his young age, with a pointed nose that matches his ears. He regularly trains himself to keep his physique, knowing full well his physical prowess is his true talent. Ordywyt carries a tattoo on his left arm bearing a snake, one he received early in his youth in some attempt at individuality. He hates it, usually covering it under his sleeve, but can never take it upon himself to remove it.

Ordywyt has given up on the top, willing to settle for second or even third place. Still, those above him are a secular few, and the rest can be considered nothing but power-hungry fools. While most are quick to vengeance, Ordywyt keeps his head and hand steady, waiting for the most opportune time to act. Sometimes, however, his arrogance gets the better of him, a habit he curses every moment he reflects.

Edman listens quietly to The Cardinal's speech, the knight's face blank of emotion until the words spoken about vengance and Asmodeus's blessing. Like a dark cloud, anger seems to cross the knight’s face. Anger at those that condemned him, anger of his treatment at their hands, anger at the very nation he swore to defend.

Edman Al'Roth drops to one knee, holding his sword perpendicular to the floor with his left hand, his right arm crossing his chest.
" I pledge my fealty to you Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, and to Asmodeus the Prince of Nessus. Vengeance on those who have wronged us. Vengeance on Talingarde. May the Dark Lord's fire burn them. Burn them all."