Berzeral Hedark's page

Ready to go. Just shoot me the e-mail and post away.

Hey Fatespinner. It probably wouldn't hurt our cause any to create a brand new advertisement post for the openings, since it seems unlikely that new gamers will be drawn in by the title "Attention Lich-Loved" (though it is catchy).

Maybe something like:

Lose a bit of your soul! Join our dehumanizing Forgotten Realms Campaign!

Evil guy checking in.

I heard the game is going to be restarted here soon. Just wanted to leave my RSVP in human blood on the wall over here.

Cool. See you in the game.

Yeah...I'm a mite confused. I gathered that while everyone else was hanging around the window trying to blast the night watchwoman, that Berzeral was rummaging the room for items of interest. Trying not to take more than his share of things--mostly the keys, ring and the parchment with the interesting marking.

Granted in retrospect it seems as though he doesn't have any of them--nor even the opportunity to protest since Othos posted me "shambling off". I'm not sure where reality lies.

Certainly the express idea was for us NOT to just return to Othos' place...and it would be ideal to have the opportunity to talk that point over.

Calls dibs on the things with the strange design on them and the keys as well as the ring.

"We will have to come up with...other meeting arrangements" Berzeral says to Othos, an edge to his voice, his eyes touching briefly on Torbjorn before returning to the bloodied scholar. "I still have errands to perform."

He picks through the dead man's possessions, giving the room a quick search, still in his massive lycanthrope form. It was unfortunate that the dark skinned woman escaped, but perhaps less of a shame than if they had killed her--for her death would have been senseless and ungratifying. It was bad enough that this craftsman had to die in his nightclothes, attacking blindly those who meant him only a little harm. Killing of the worst sort, unpremeditated and haphazard.

"Where shall we meet?" the cleric asks, before turning toward the stairs, his monstrous form melting back into its more accustomed lean and rangey human shape.

From here it's off to the "guildhouse" to arrange things. Unfortunately "days" for a Malarite midwife of the Roar to get word of the situation is too long--I can't hold the girl that long without having to resort to binding her and keeping her prisoner. What I need is to contact the Hyenas for information, leads as to where I might find a quiet midwife outside our tribe who will not ask too many questions, will investigate the woman's condition and not be moved to help her or notify anyone. Likewise I will need a female "nurse" who can also function as muscle--to care for the woman, but also to prevent her escape or rescue. The Hyenas can provide me with leads to find both--but more than this I just want to let them know the tremendous boon the tribe stands ready to possibly inherit.

Cautiously the werewolf wheels its way over to Morn's body, tossing the corpse over onto its back and begins to search it over--more for papers or other information rather than valuables. He seems unconcerned, confident that the woman has fled, but also in his formidable visage that he will not be bothered in the meantime.

"She's likely gone." says the werewolf matter-of-factly, the lips and mouth moving in disturbingly perfect human diction. "Nothing to protect..." and head-flags in the direction of the stairs.

The werewolf backs off suddenly, leaving the desparate, injured woman kneeling on the floor. Its movements are smooth and cautious, shining yellow eyes fixed on the northman. As it receeds back it's coloration seems to darken as though stepping into deepining darkness, before crouching down on the balls of its feet, its heavy blooded foreclaws in front of it. It opens its mouth and lags a tongue hungrily, but remains still there, watching warily and ready to spring--eyes shining demonically in the darkness.

Backing off on my turn as a move action and taking a defensive crouch--full defense if I can get it. Certainly body language and demeanor is meant to radiate intimidation--but not sure if an actual intimidate roll is allowable.

I love my hat.

Berzeral lets forth a blood curtling yowl, his form swelling and ripping forth in a flash into a massively muscled fur covered form, wolf headed and claws outstretched--his clothes reduced to tattered shreds in the transformation. He surges forward in a whirl of motion, charging into the woman who attacked Othos with a roar ending in an upswing with his clawed gauntlets, trying to rip up and take her kidney straight through the hip--a calculated hit to not only terrify and incapacitate, but to hurt in such a way as to put his disguise at least risk.

The hope is that a successful kidney shot, razor claws cutting through such a sensitive area, will be more convincing to the tactile sense--or at least so brutal as to take her mind off analysis and onto mind obliterating agony. Oh and bear in mind, Berzeral is still somewhat cowed by the woman's intimidation, so a -1 is probably in order.

Berzeral affixes the clasp behind his neck, the necklace reverting to its former shape. His eyes shift about warily, but the nonchalance of his associates seems to settle him. He steps aside to let the woman pass. For one slight as she to put up such a ferocious display is engratiating as well as effective--he finds himself wary of her in a way that he has seldom encountered during his time in the city. Her desire to retain her weapon bestows her another positive mark--if for no other reason than that she resists bullying well with strength and composure. He follows her toward the stairs, keeping close enough to her to remain inside her sword arc--to limit the leverage and utility of her blade while maximizing the effectiveness of his beast claws. He struggles to avoid an overt sign of fear or submission, standing upright and looming, with his shoulders set forward ominously, yet there is something to the confidence of her last statement that chills him--forcing him to try to harden his eyes, to turn his thoughts to rage and bloodshed, to wash them of the fear that creeps in his heart.

As they approach the door he takes an ambush position a little further down the hall and away from the tight cluster of his fellows around the door, to give him room to charge if someone unexpectedly goes to flee. He looks to Othos, eyes narrowing and then glancing past the door into the room. Slowly and decisively he silently mouths the word

"Window?"

Make some noise...certainly there was logic to the idea, but Berzeral was hardly a thespian sort and how to make his entrance noisy enough to give cover to the flash and chanting of spellcasting had not occured to him until he was making his way through the door. After a bit of an awkward pause, looking about his companions, he begins to stamp his feet loudly on the floor and whip his cloak around to loose the water from it. Face flushed with the foolishness of his activity, he keeps up a frenic display for a good thirty seconds. Finally his thrashing is enough to dislodge his necklace which falls to the floor in front of him with a meaty thump--not a leather cord at all, but a pair of taxidermied human hands, fingernails grown out grotesquely, the flesh covered in tattooes. The hands are contorted into arcane gestures made permanent in death rictus and nailed together with crude carpenter's nails, palms facing each other with the fingers fanned out to either side. Berzeral looks up and around with wild eyes, stopping all activity and looking somewhat cornered.

"Does she have a name, perchance? I tire of referring to her as ‘that girl’. Ah - here we are. Everybody ready?"

Berzeral shrugged. "She must. But she is fragile yet. My first concern was not to question her. If we can get her what she needs quickly I will be satisfied..." his eyes and voice drift to the feral dogs growling in the darkness and he nods slightly, smiling a bit. So much artifice here, so much distraction, but yet in and amongst it all life still bears fangs. Such omens were a pleasant touchstone to him when all had become foreign, that the Beastlord's scent remained fresh.

Concerning Berzeral's disguise, while it is visually quite convincing, the suspicious sort might still be able to discern some of the truth through the guise using other senses. The smell for example of preserved human flesh and taxidermy herbs for example. Tactile investigation would be dangerous--but perhaps with a distraction and some sleight of hand. But yeah, since Berzeral dismissed the matron guise earlier he's pretty close to his actual appearance. Pretty much all he's hiding are his claw bracers (as normal bracers) and his totems (as more conventional belt buckle and leather strap necklace). Other than that he's pretty much as is--for the moment.

"Do not worry yourself about the girl. I will see to her protection, and find a midwife who can discern the other matter. I shall keep her there no longer than is needed." he gives a slight inclination of his head--perhaps something like thanks, or perhaps not.

"Your plan seems workable. I would be more comfortable if we knew more about the woman who keeps watch over the place. If it is true that she is with the group you are interested in, what should be our treatment of her? I may assist you, but shortly I must tend to the woman, as well as take care of my errands. We must make haste."

"By the Lady! This is amazing! How did you do it?", he whispers very quietly as they leave the living room, awestruck at the Malarite’s hidden talent. "And how long do you plan on keeping her here? No matter - we will discuss that at a more opportune time. We will move on now."

He just nods along, his eyes still severe, until Othos finally steps outside. Berzeral has his own promises to keep and after a few last bits of tending, leaves the poor traumatized woman to go see to the errands she has sent him on--as well as a few of his own.

As he slips out and closes the door behind him he lets the disguise slip away, back to his adventuring clothes, gory totems still hidden within the illusion. He makes his way down the short steps to Othos and the dwarf in the downpour.

"The woman has requested some things to make her comfortable. Sorry I could not ask you before, but...under the circumstances."

Berzeral fights back the growl rising in his throat. This was, after all, formally Othos' lair and the unexpected guest--no matter her importance--was something that required explaination. Still it was awkward and endangered everything. Never glib, Berzeral would have to do the best with what he had, to minimize the damage.

He turned around the corner of the kitchen wall, a long finger over his lips, still in the guise of the old woman. Without word he laid his hand flat toward the door, an invitation to go back outside into the storm and in his same bad approximation he had been using for the matronly woman loudly calls into the bedroom.

"Yes dear. This is Othos, the good friend whose house this is. We'll go and fetch those things for you now. Just relax."

His eyes never left Othos', and though his voice to the girl veiled his demand that they leave as a request--his eyes held no such ambiguity. He would hate to have to kill the wizard and his friend in front of the woman, for she had had a hard time of it already and could hardly use more stress--but he did need this place, and the urgency of this need was present in the familiar hard steel eyes of this matronly woman.

The woman Berzeral is escorting begins to control her sobbing somewhat, still clutching the sheets close to her body as she looks at his matronly guise. "Is... is this your home? Why are we here? I want to see my husband!" Tears of frustration begin to form and she shivers from the rain-soaked sheets around her naked form.

Berzeral makes a kindly hushing sound "Yes, yes child. The house is not mine, but belongs to a dear friend of mine. It was raining so dreadfully and I did not want to disturb you for directions. Feel free to rest here until you are well. You are welcome here. Your husband is being tended by the clerics, and from what I have heard, is resting comfortably. I will go and check on him, and get whatever you might need. Would that make you feel better? Here, please take your rest. I will find someone to come and tend you." he leads her inside and parts the curtain, shooing her gently inside. "I will make you some tea."

He quickly put on a teakettle and then pads back to the curtain, poised just outside, listening intently until she's asleep, lurking poised to respond to any sound that might indicate she might be harming herself. He would hate to restrain her so early, as delicate as her condition might be. These next hours were crucial...

"Right up here miss, right up here..." he said in crooning lightened tones. It was a good thing that she was still a bit dazed, in the short term, as it saved him a lot of explanations that would be difficult under the circumstances. There was a lot going on inside her though, and he would have to find some way to soothe her, lest her agitation foul the process. He would need to speak of this to the midwife. Fortunate also that she seemed so exhausted. She might be left to sleep with some measure of privacy while he attended to business. His only fear was that she might wake and do something foolish while he was away--that and the thought that perhaps Othos' taste in furnishings might stray toward the morbid. No good that would do.

He casts a wary eye at the unlocked door, scrutinizing it for obvious signs of magic--glyphs or symbols and the like no arcane training here--just looking for obvious things like little drawings or seals (search +2)

"We'll have you in in a moment..."

As Berzeral whipped open the door, he gained a true sense of how bad the storm really was. Inside, with the shutters drawn it had been but a whistle of mournful howling--now it was everywhere lashing with stinging whips of frigid rain. He seldom understood the attraction the Stormlord's faith drew, how anyone could be drawn to the dispassionate and uncaring lightning and gale, but now as he felt the fury sizzling in the dark sky and the hate that seemed to burn there he could not help but be awed by the sheer scale and magnitude of it. Still he understood the necessity to get her quickly through the onslaught. Somewhere warm. He could hardly go about the process of acquisition now, for no landlord was idiot enough to discuss business in this weather. No he needed somewhere established. The thin lips of his matron disguise curled up into a grin as a plan took shape. He was planning on meeting the man Othos back at his lodgings. He had given him the address. "Just this way, child. I know just where to go." He would take the girl there. It was already established, which meant no questions. Perfect...

Berzeral enters the room quickly. "Oh you poor dear..." he lightens his tone a bit, making his voice softer and more feminine--but takes no great pains to insure a great performance, relying primarily on the visual disguise to do the work for him. He takes the washbasin in the room and goes to work cleaning her. Carefully he does together what fabric of her clothes are still intact, continually whispering soothing consolations to her. He looks her over, both to get a sense for the extent of her injuries when it comes time to move her--but also to get a general sense of the quality of her breeding, her strength and tone. He moves to get extra sheets if they are provided, or else a nice clean tablecloth to wrap over her--not wanting, for a variety of reasons, to use the bedsheet.

"Everything will be fine dearie...just fine. You just let me take care of you now." Presuming she was able to move, he would assist her down the stairs, and out of the tavern. He had directions to the residence of the tall thin one, and a time to meet him--and he would when things were cared for. For now he would need to find a proper place for her to stay--someplace private and comfortable. Gold he had plenty, which was good. He would be wanting to buy some privacy as well--a nurse to tend her and feed her, and most importantly a midwife to make the appropriate determinations...

Quickly and deftly, knowing his time is short, the cleric guised as a woman glides up against the half-orc, putting a hand across his chin and slicing across his windpipe with the holy weapon of his tribe. He drags the guard down the hall to his room, every few feet looking back to see if there are signs of resistance from his prey, ready to once again slice him if he is uncooperative. Then unlocking the door he drags the thug inside to finish the job. Regrettably the business with the half-orc would take more ferocitiy and brutality to make up for the little time they would have together. Then wash up quickly in the washbasin and make his way to quickly find the woman...

RE: Berzeral's most recent post - I assume you're casting 'Command' on the half-orc?

You bet! That pig messed with the wrong Malarite and now he's gonna' get it! Bwa-ha-ha! Heh. This game is such a blast! Thanks.

Berzeral growls deep in his throat and lets the divine energy of Malar enter his voice. "Cower!" The word is thick with the howling power of the predator, vastly out of seeming with the motherly figure pronouncing it--a command issued through the lips of the servant of the great Beast God, hunter of all flesh.

Erhem...is casting Command

Berzeral draws back, scowling a bit at the behavior of his new partner and a little irritated at being drawn so intimately and drastically into this vastly dangerous gambit. He'd seen personally what this massive seaman was capable of--as well he understood what dire emergency underlay his smiling exterior. Cautious and wary Berzeral takes several nonthreatening steps away, distancing himself from his wizardly companion whose unfortunate loss of composure might easily force him into an unsavory conflict. Now was the time to slip away quietly. His unwise companion seems too irate to take notice, the giant too nonplussed to yet care.

He shadows his way back toward the stairs, and slips up toward the rooms. Tugging his wolf cowl over his forehead he visualizes a guise in his mind, mouthing some phrase in orcish, incomprehensible to him--to begin the transformation. Suddenly he is a fair matronly lady in a long carmel and brown dress, the hat is now an elaborate wooden wolfhead hairpin. The gory necklace around his neck becomes an orange scarf, the belt turns into an embroidered apron. He would go younger, but for the need to use his voice--which while offputting in an older woman would be enough to ruin a younger guise. He stalks down the hall--listening for telltale sobbing.

Fair enough. Guidance works instead. I just like being able to do single points of damage with a touch to undo stabilization and whatnot.

Read my e-mail. Good thing I have money sitting around. Okay so two trophies, a necklace and a belt. The necklace is the nailed together tattooed hands of a human, twisted into a spellcasting gesture. The belt's buckle is the front ribcage of a halfling and the belt is studded with his teeth. That's my 1000 gold.

Proficiencies: Basic, Claw Weapon, Exotic, Improved Unarmed.

Also it occurs to me I haven't picked daily spells yet:

Domain: Endure Elements (Str)
0
-Create Water
-Purify Food & Drink
-Inflict Minor Wounds
-Detect Poison

1st
-Command
-Magic Weapon
b)-Obscuring Mist

As the extent of the boy's injuries become more apparent, and those who knew him recoil, Berzeral sits up in his seat, a gleam in his eye, his mouth twisting in a mix of amazement and fear.

"Such ferocity...this man is a beast..." there is a deep reverence in the words, that come out slow in a hoarse whisper.

The guards come and go, hearing nothing but easy lies and the loud clatter of coin in their ears. Berzeral waits and listens, not to the goings on in the tavern, for they are inconsequential. He mutters to himself, though it's not clear if his friends at the table are meant to hear him or not. "The seed of this one...if it takes hold...must be allowed to come forth. I will see to it."

He contemplates using some of the power of Malar to stifle the weak mewlings of the ruined boy, to finish what had been begun. The fight had been for a mate, however, and the big one had chosen no end it in such a way that the youth would remain a wreck for the rest of his days--who was he to interfere. Soon enough weather or illness would take him and things would be set right.

He watches the stair, waits for the forthcoming time when the woman is to descend, waiting to gauge her condition, ready to find her a place where she may be safely kept. He will have to notify those of his pack, and arrange a midwife to tend her for the next months. He will pay her all he has...

I thought it was the enhancement bonus that got converted into the enchantment--so that to make a holy sword you'd need a +2 sword, which then loses it's bonus but becomes holy.

Anyhow it really doesn't matter one way or the other. Your game. Just ditch the armor. I'll just take regular studded leather instead. I'm okay with eating the 1000 gold.

EDIT- It feels weird to say that there's nothing worth buying for 1000 gold, but really--it would take 2000 to get a +1 ring of protection or a +1 weapon. +1 bracers are 1000, but I'd have to ditch the claw bracers--which aint gonna' happen. Man, magic items are crazy expensive.

"The four of us will walk in the shadows, striking suddenly with overwhelming force and deadly precision; our enemies will never know us before they fall. Does any of this sound at all interesting to you? If you need time to think it over, that is fine with me. However, the longer we take, the higher the chance is that somebody else will walk the path I have delineated for you”.

He nods immediately. "I need not think it over. I accept. You seem to understand me, and that speaks well of you. It seems that what you desire will give me what I want as well. So long as that remains the case then we have an agreement."

He pulls out the chair and sits, looking over toward the hulking fighter and his throng of devotees. "What is the plan for securing the services of the large one there?"

"About 25 by my count, too. However, if you're interested in more money, and perhaps some more bloodshed, my companion would like to speak with you."

"Look around you, frail one. Too much money is what binds a fool to society, saps him of strength--turns him into a slave, fat and worthless, longing only for greater comfort and helplessness. I take only what money I need, keep it carefully, spend it only out of necessity. You understand? You endanger yourself by counting it, by looking at it--even by mentioning it. You understand? It is like meat to the beast, and you come to tug on it? Why? To see if I will maul you, frail one? I will."

He levels a heavy lidded gaze at the halfling, a hunter's gaze. But then scoots his stool backward and without another look makes his way to the table he gestures toward. He doesn't sit, just lurks there at the edge of the table. He leans down toward the other man seated there, his voice a cold whisper. "You the one wanting blood shed? What manner of blood?"

"Alright then..." he looks around for someplace to put the ear and then begrudginly places it in his own pouch before reaching under the bar and producing a small bag which jingles as he places it before the grinning cleric. "That should settle our deal. Food and drink are free for the night. After that, I want you gone. You know how you frighten the maids."

Berzeral nods curtly and snatches the bag to his chest. "Fine. Whatever you say. Your maids have nothing to fear from me."

He withdraws to a far dark corner of the room and begins to sift through the coins, counting and recounting them. His eyes dart back and forth from his task to the others in the room a dark warning in them.

The big man is intriguing, a massive frame seemingly chiseled from the gory work of death amid the worst furies of the elements--and loved by the young and virile. A paragon. He could not help but smile. He could almost smell the blood on him.

He also noticed the halfling's eyes on him, but paid the small one little mind. Halflings make good prey, but one best not hunt where one sleeps...

Skills: (12/3/7/5)
Climb +5(2r)
Craft (Taxidermy) +6(6r)
Jump +5(2r)
Knowledge (Nature) +5(5r)
Knowledge (Religion) +5(5r)
Listen +7(3r)
Search +2(2r)
Spot +6(2r)

That should do it. The knowledges and most of the craft were cleric, the search and spot as well as some listen and the rest of the craft I needed were ranger, and the climb, jump and remaining listen were barbarian.

If you could take care of that for me, that would be awesome. Thanks!

It looks like you had both TWF AND Toughness already. If you really want the hit points, I would recommend Improved Toughness from Complete Warrior. It gives you an extra hit point per hit die (as if your CON modifier was one higher) and it continues to add hit points as you add hit dice.

Right. Sorry. I meant Alertness. Before I lost the TWF I had Toughness and Alertness. I thought I'd axed Toughness, but I remember that I'd dropped Alertness instead since I was getting more skill points (I NEVER remember to add the extra points for being human--I always forget). So yeah, I meant to say to swap TWF for Alertness. Blarg.

The prerequisite for Two-Weapon Fighting is Dex 15. Yours is only 12. The free feat granted by the ranger's Combat Style ignores the prereq, but again, you would have to wait for another ranger level to take advantage of that.

A 15?? Yarg! Forget it--just change me back to Toughness. Yuck. My character is not a Dexburger.

Looks pretty good. I'm guessing that you're opting to use 'average' rolls for hit dice instead of trusting me to roll your hit dice for you? Heh. I don't have a problem with that if that's what you want and other people are free to assume 'average' hit die rolls as well if they wish.

Nah. I just rolled for them. Feel free to roll for mine. In fact go ahead and reroll mine if you want. I rolled pretty bleh stuff. Nothing but love.

Also, are you ever planning to raise your ranger level? By taking two-weapon fighting now, you will eliminate the benefit of gaining a second level of ranger since the ability does not allow for the taking of a different feat in the Combat Style's place. I suppose you could choose the archery path if you wanted, but that doesn't really seem like the character's style. It's up to you, I'm just letting you know that you might want to hold off on TWF for now if you plan to raise your ranger levels in the future.

I don't know where the character's going. I don't usually plan my characters out too far in advance. I just wanted to have the Two Weapon Fighting right up front since he's going to be fighting with clawed gauntlets. I figure it's going to wipe out a free feat, but I'm okay with that.

Alternately (and I hate to suggest reworking a perfectly good character), you could do Cleric 1/Ranger 2/Barbarian 1 to start? It seems like a natural progression to me since (assumedly) the character spent more time living in the filth on his own (Ranger/Barbarian) than he has since his induction to the clergy (Cleric). That's what your background seems to suggest, unless a rather significant amount of time has passed since his induction? I think the character is fine as it stands, but I think these ideas might help you get the most out of him mechanically. I don't mind a little bit of min-maxing as long as it's justified. :)

I imagine my character being most heavily a cleric (and though I considered a level of rogue to reflect his early years of gutter-snipeness it seems more like his background than his first class--sort of like a former farmer not taking a level of Commoner). I like the idea that he has as many cleric levels as every other class combined. I figure the Ranger and Barbarian classes came later, a reflection of his increasingly combat oriented and socially deteriorated condition. I know I could get more stat umph by swapping the levels around, but it just doesn't make much sense to me from a story angle. I'm comfortable living with some disadvantages if it means the character is more the way he feels like he should be. I see him having spent the first while learning the religion and then growing into more of a savage hunter. That work okay?

As far as Traits (I went ahead and looked them up on the SRD) I'm looking at Musclebound (+1 to Str activities/-2 to Dex activities). It isn't that he's super stacked with muscles, he's just really ferocious which tends to benefit his strength and penalize his dexterity--lean and rangey more than thick but super aggressive. If the name of the trait is too disimilar to the way I'm describing it, I could go with Relentless instead...

Oh and I reprinted the character sheet here in it's modified form. I hope everything checks out. This should finish my guy off.

My character sheet is up over on the Deathwish post if you care to take a look. The traits you guys are talking about are the ones from the PHBII right? I seem to remember a "savage" one but don't remember what it does. Might be cool for my guy. As would the guttersnipe background, though similarly I have no idea what that does. Also I had a question about starting funds. Are we going with the 5,400? Oh and let me know what you think of my character's background. Oh and alas my character was made with the 3.0 books. I think he's fine, but if something's wonky likely that's why.