Menethil Lemnarae's page

If a rogue can catch an opponent when he is unable to defend himself effectively from her attack, she can strike a vital spot for extra damage.

The rogue's attack deals extra damage anytime her target would be denied a Dexterity bonus to AC (whether the target actually has a Dexterity bonus or not), or when the rogue flanks her target. This extra damage is 1d6 at 1st level, and increases by 1d6 every two rogue levels thereafter. Should the rogue score a critical hit with a sneak attack, this extra 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 an unarmed strike), a rogue can make a sneak attack that deals nonlethal damage instead of lethal damage. She cannot use a weapon that deals lethal damage to deal nonlethal damage in a sneak attack, not even with the usual –4 penalty.

The rogue 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 rogue cannot sneak attack while striking a creature with concealment.

An active and often unrestrained childhood running through the streets and slums of Riddleport have left a mark on Menethil in more then one sense. He often swaggers with a confident and carefree attitude after seeing the shadier side of life growing up among prostitutes and assassins. His body also bears the mark of such an upbringing with numerous scars on his face and upperbody. One in particular is a prominant and vicious example given to him from a childhood argument involving bricks and broken bottles that marred his left temple and traveled back into his have, giving his black hair a streak of white. Despite the almost 20 years since that fight the scar has faded only slightly. His face is more angular then a humans, especially along the jaw and facial structur but no where as extreme as an elfs'.

His hair is midnight black and long, going an inch past his shoulders before curling at the tips which despite his sincerest efforts will not stop curling. As such he often keeps it bundled up in a simple ponytail held up with a leather tie which leaves his pointed ears exposed. His right ear has a slight notch just below the tip which is not as severe or long as a pure elf would have, a result of his human father.While his eyes are human they are a deep sapphire blue color that almost seems to reflect light, giving him excellent vision even with only a brush of starlight.

The often harsh lessons in fighting and subterfuge from his father Yori taught the Menethil the value of a minimal approach to clothing, wearing only what he needed to fight and survive. As such his most common form of clothing is his studded leather armor, a white tunic, sturdy leather boots, plain brown pants and a thick leather belt that held various pouches and his weapons. A charcoal grey cloak is worn only when the weather or combat situation demands it. The only concession to decoration he wears is a is a green silk scarf that he keeps wrapped around his neck and under his shirt, a momento from his slain mother.

Riddleport does many things to someone who grows up there; stain yourself with every decadence and sin that pervades the city or rise up and become a legend. Meneth was blind of that fact growing up, understanding only carnal desires and the more base of emotions. While his mother was as loving as she could be, she loved many a man and sometimes women, a new one every night. She understood that the most damaging secrets could be learned in the bed chamber and her control over her paramours extended beyond the temple. Meneth saw this every day as he grew up and began to wonder how this woman who was just his mother seemed to be at the center of so many nets.

At the very center of this web was the High Preistess of the Temple to Calistria, a woman whose control extended out far into the city. He learned that secrets can be damaging and instead of adhering to such technqiues he decided to live his life straight forward. Manipulation and control was not his particular skillset and while he believes whole heartedly in Calistria's teachings of revenge as justice he also understands that the world is made of many differing and sometimes opposing view points.

At the time the leader of the temple guards was an older human named Yori Berinson, a fighter who relied on speed and qits then brute strength. They had similair body types so Yori took upon himself to teach this wild child how to use all that energy and focus himself into something more then just a brawler or schemer. "There is a dance, an art of flow to everything. Learn to read the patterns of this flow, learn to insert yourself at the critical juncture and you will command that flow. No purer truth can be applied to the art of life. Read the people around you, watch, slip between shadows and act only when the time is right."

While his training sessions were often nonsensical and sometimes brutal, Meneth found himself enjoying the challenges the old man gave him such as running across the rooftops of Riddleport while balancing a cup of water on his head and not spilling a drop. The half elf failed at this particular task dozens of times over the years and it wasn't until he spent hundreds of hours balancing that damn cup on his head did he realize the real lesson behind Yori's tasks; practice, study, think, perservere . And above all else, focus.

Menethil Lemnarae or Meneth he likes to be called is a child spat out of more then born into the streets of Riddleport. Being born to an elven holy prostitute of the House of the Silken Viel and not posessing the stunning looks or personality of his mother meant hard choices for the half elf growing up. His mother seemed frozen in time as he quickly grew, relative to her. While some of the other children who had been born at the same time as him were already dealing with the criminal element is entry level beggars and enforcers, he was learning how to fight from Master Yori, leader of the temple guards of the House of the Silken Veil. Meneth remembered the old human being much younger when he first met him though those early memories from childhood were a bit vague. Whatever the situation this irascable rogue with a silver tongue had several hilarious stories of his own exploits during his so called 'golden years'. Now his reflexes were a bit slower and deaths cold grasp was starting to tighten around his neck so he had retired to the temple to which he had been so loyal all those years as a 'wetboy', an assassin in service to the 'other' part of the faith.

Being the son of a whore, no matter how holy she was, made life a bit harder for Meneth then perhaps being born to a seamstress or herbalist. Names, insults and beatings when he took offense to such things were a regular occurance as he aged slower then the humans. As he got older he came to realize the words were just that, words. But the right words were a weapon finer then any dagger or rapier. Under Yori's instructions Meneth learned to climb, sneak and break into the tightest security with a flair that only the best could have. And when he wasn't training he availed himself of some other services that could be found in the temple. To fully initiate him into the full faith the Mistress of the Temple herself instructed him on the 'finer points' of pleasing a woman and the information that could be gained from the bedchamber. Or from listening on the other side of the wall of the bedchamber.

Things were ideal for the increasingly brash half elf as he neared the end of his 'training' as it were. Yori had recently purchased Meneth his first suit of armor, good sturdy leather that would not impede him in battle or skulking through the shadows. The old human, well into his fifties at this point, was nearly bald and his skin beginning to thin but he still had a spring in his step and what he lacked in strength he more then made up with skill and intelligence. When Meneth began to sense that maybe it was time to defy his mother and leave the temple it was Yori who saught him out and turned his life upside down.

Revealing that he was Meneth's father the old human handed over his own rapier with a sigh and little explanation.

"Don't ask what you aren't supposed to know son. I've been given a task that this will do me little good in so I want you to have it." Yori had said. Meneth understood the retired adventurer had scores of other weapons to choose from but this plain weapon had been the old mans' companion for as long as he could remember.

"Why Mast-...father. Give me a few minutes to get used to that." Meneth stood up and walked to the other side of the small courtyard at the back of the temple that served as the guard's barracks, messhall and training area. Things finally clicked from all those years of instruction and stories from the human. No fee, no compensation asked for, nothing but giving from the old man. He hadn't been teaching a promising pupil, he had been raising his son. Meneth and spun around and began to ask "Why have you remained sil-?"

"Because I didn't learn about you until you were five years old." Yori cut across his while learning back comfortably on the bench. "When I saw this young half elf running out of the temple who some of my facial features I immediately sought out my favorite...woman. Yes, your mother was my favorite when I would come into port. She had been hiding you from me because she didn't want me to get some kind of marriage or father complex stuck in my head. Well I wasn't having any of that so we argued." he said, pointing at the thin scar that ran along the left side of his neck. "And she won. Don't ever let that beauty fool you son, your mother is a snake. If you ever turn your back on her she will bite."

"That is my mother, by the way." Meneth drawled with an arched eyebrow. He was full aware of Aurelia's dual nature, she had exposed him to it his entire life. It was her own unique way of raising her son.

"I'm aware." Yori sighed. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees. "I've done the best I could given the situation Meneth. Look, this isn't why I came here. If you hadn't figured it out yourself then your just plain stupid. You knew something more then student-master existed between us. It doesn't change anything, I'm still your teacher AND father and I'll whip you up one side of this court and down the other if you think I answer to you."

Meneth took a step back from the sudden chill his father's words had taken. The old man was no longer the simple instructor and temple guard captain. No, temple guard captain was just a cover for him to live in public view and keep an eye on everyone who came and went. This was a veteran of hundreds of silent kills and viscious battles, a soul stained in blood and refined in the art of murder. His father the assassin.

That night Yori vanished on a mission only he could handle and Meneth was left with a well used rapier and a head full of questions. He wasn't just the son of a prostitute. He was a child of the temple, born of a Sacred Companion and Assassin. Suddenly the world didn't seem so big to Meneth anymore. He wasn't just a by product. There had been intent behind his birth, an intent beyond carnal lust. If he chose, he could become a greater weapon this his father.

A week later his mother was murdered by a drunken paramour who used his great size and strength to bull his way through the temple guards attempting to arrest him and escape. It took Meneth a few days to track the man down and catch him by surprise in the dead of the night. The next day found the man's corpse in front of the entrance to Zincher's fighting arena with a wasp carved into his chest, around the wound that had ended his life. Two days later Yori's head was found on the ground in front of the temple entrance with a note stuffed into his mouth. If Mother Pamodae had not made the decision to cast Meneth out the city would have erupted in open warfare between the two powerful factions. She would send him away to gather what strength he needed or never return and to end hostilities with Zincher until the time was right to topple him. And to make it look convincing she was going to tell the crime lord when Meneth was leaving. All she would say to that is "Survive until the dawn and you will have proven you aren't worthless."

After a harrowing escape in the dead of a rainy night Meneth found himself traveling south towards Maginmar with several half formed plans circling in his head. After a week he found a caravan willing to take him on as a guard. He had no horse so he rode on top of the wagon and used his sharp eye sight to watch for brigands or monsters. Disaster found them one night when they were surprised by a warband of goblins who made up in numbers what they lacked in strength or skill. Only by slashing wildly as he dodged and rolled through combat was Meneth able to escape with only his pack and weapons.

What followed was a harrowing ordeal as several of the goblins gave chase after the only survivor and followed him into the great forest. This was a mistake as he waltzed directly into their territory and was pressured from all sides. Clinging desperately to his father's teachings had given Meneth the strength and drive he needed to outrun and outwit his pursuers for a time. He made a fatal mistake one day when he turned into a small box canyon and they trapped him there. It if were not for the narrow confines they would have surrounded him. As it was the narrow confines were perfect for Meneth's style of fighting and his rapier claimed many goblin lives that day. After several minutes of fighting he had killed over twenty of their band and the rest broke in panic as the blood drenched rapier seemed to be everywhere at once.

Collapsing in exhaustion as the final goblin vanished from view Meneth had been completely surprised when an elf ranger suddenly appeared from the bushes nearby and commended him on his fighting skill while at the same time chiding him for the mistake of turning down this canyon when it was obviously a death trap. This ranger, a female elf named Shalelu, had been following this particular band as they had chased an elusive prey up and down their territory. To say he was extremely embarassed was a mild understatement as Meneth realized the only reason the chase had gone so long was because he had gotten turned around several times.

He begged the ranger to show him the way out and she refused, saying she would help him only if he learned to keep track of north and how to read the land. At the prospect of food and a safe bed Meneth had jumped at the chance, not thinking clearly of the rigorous training she would be putting him through over the next few years. Long nights silently tracking a great hunting cat, early mornings to watch the bear rumble out of his den with a grumble and above all else, tracking goblins. Meneth was amazed at the sheer number in the nearby forest that Shalelu took it upon herself to watch and protect the local town of Sandpoint. She introduced him to her freind Ameiko Kaijitsu, the beautiful owner of the Rusty Dragon Tavern who plied Meneth with numerous questions about Riddleport and his own life which he downplayed as much as he could. And before he knew it he was part of the town, the strange and scarred but vibrant and often smiling half elf rescued after getting so turned around in the forest that he had ended going in circles.

"Find him!" the thug roared. The motely mix of humans and a single half orc spread out into the alley they had seen their quarry run down. The rain barely held back the stench of refuse and dead animals that spread out from the piles of garbage like a miasma. Beyond the few feet of illumination provided by their guttering torches the alley was pitch black. Already the drops of blood leading them on this merry chase through the darkened streets of Riddleport were being washed away to mix with the rest of the filth that flowed through the choked gutters and drains.

Meneth breathed hard and clutched at the slice across his ribs that had long ago soaked his filthy tunic in blood. He still held the broken wine bottle had used to kill the first of the humans who had sought him out. It shook now as did his entire body from exhaustion and cold. "Looks like this war is up." he whispered to himself, slinking further back into the darkness and looking for some way out. "Calistria, I beg of thee. Give me a path to freedom so that I may continue my retribution."

"I heard something!" one of the thugs yelled suddenly and Meneth bit down on his tongue to silence himself. He froze in the shadow of a pile of garbage, ignoring the stomach churning stench. He had no issue with the darkness of the alley, the light from their torches fifty feet away more then enough for his elven eyes to see. Raven black hair was plastered to his head and weary sapphire blue eyes sought a way of escape.

"Damn you Zincher." the half elf breathed. After several minutes of searching the only method of escape was the way he had come in which was now blocked by the lynch mob. He gripped his bottle tighter and prepared to make his move, the final retribution he could enact on what had started out as a simple revenge and turned into all out way with Clegg Zincher. It was his man who had killed Aurelia in a drunken stupor before the temple guards could kick in her door at the sound of her screams. By then she was already dead and the human was a giant of the species, his strength fueled by a berserk rage and alcohol.

Now he was dead two weeks, his body left in front of Zincher's headquarters as a warning to the crime lord that even he was not above retribution. In response one of the wetboys of the Silken Veil had vanished in Riddleport, his head being delivered to the temple door three days later. What had begun as a simple enactment of the goddesses will had threatened to turn into all out war that threatened the fragiled stability of the crime ridden city. Meneth had been given two choices by Shorafa Pamodae, high preistess of the temple; face Zincher now and die or leave the city and come back later with the skill and resources to end the crime lord. His presense threatened everything she had built and it was only out of goodwill for his mother that she didn't have him removed permanently.

"You aren't strong enough now. If you truly feel the goddess power then you are more then welcome as a devotee and a priest in training. You will be protected and trained as a holy assasin. But, my young killer," she had leaned in close, the sheer and plunging neckline of her 'work' clothing demanding for his eyes to move down, "be truthful with me. You don't have the drive to enact vengeance for all who deserve it. This is only about your anger. You are too unfocused, too undisciplined. Leave this city and come back a true killer. Then the goddess will have need of you."

With a small bag of gold slimmed down from the purchase of armor, weapons and the supplies he would need to survive Meneth had attempted to leave the city an hour ago. Word had somehow gotten back to Zincher's men of his movements and they were waiting by one of the gates, chatting amicably with one of the city guards. In the rain his sharp sense hadn't been fast enough and they had caught site of him. He had killed three of them before recieving the wound across his ribs and being forced to run or die. He had lost his rapier and been forced to pick up a wine bottle lying near the body of an unconscious reveler sure to be stripped of all his posessions and possible killed from the chill. All in all a normal day for the city.

"What goes there?" a voice called out suddenly, a bright flood of light filling the head of the alley. All of Zincher's men turned and squinted against the bright light as a full squad of heavily armored city guards surrounded the mouth of the alley, swords and spears already drawn and leveled.

"That lying-" the lead thug began.

"Private Eriks had already been relieved of duty and imprisoned pending further investigation of his criminal activities. Luckily for you I happened to be inside the guardhouse you so convienently thought was empty. Wonderful conversation you had, looking for the young man who has been thinning your ranks?" the guard captain cut him off. The human, in his late fourties to early fifties with a short brush of blonde going on white hair, wore a smug smile as he kept one hand on the pommel of his still sheathed sword. "You know the rules. The guard remains handsoff as long as you don't involve us. You involved us. You know the punishment. Lower your weapons or we will kill you."

For several long minutes the leader of the thugs thought, his face going through several expressions of anger, thoughtfulness and finally frustration. "Lower 'em boys." he finally spat tossing his knife on the ground. The others followed suit and soon there was a sizable pile of swords, clubs and daggers that were quickly collected by one of the several guards who had dismounted. Shackles came out and one by one the men were lead out and brought into a line.

"Alright boy come out, I know you're in there. We want to ask you a few questions as well, mainly revolving around the issue of why the Silken Veil and Clegg Zincher are at each others throats and the very public death of a well known basher of Zincher's. Come out willingly and you wont be hurt." the captain called out. He motioned with his head and four guards split off and entered deeper into the alley. Meneth's mind race as he thought of and discarded several plans before settling on pity and gullibility.

Biting down Meneth opened the wound on his ribs further, nearly collapsing from the fresh wave pf pain. With a fresh flow of blood he caught as much as he could and sliced open his pants with the jagged bottle and smearing as much blood onto the opening as he could. Laying down on the ground he assumed a pathetic position of barely able to hold himself upright and called out "I...too hurt...move." he panted weakly. "Help...please."

The guards zeroed in on his voice and soon light spilled over his very filthy and bloody form. Meneth squinted against the sudden bright light of the lanterns and weakly held up a bloody hand as one guard knelt. The man ignored the hand and looked at Meneth's wounds for a moment. "He's badly injured captain. Ribs and legs, lots of blood. We're going to have to get him to a healer if we want to question him."

The captain was silent for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes sir. I know blood when I see it and there is alot."

A tinge of anger touched the captain's face as he pulled his horse around to step away from the alley. "Fine. Someone let him ride with him and end this charade." he snapped. The guard who had knelt down now took Meneth's hand and pulled it over his shoulder and stood, bringing Meneth to stand and lean heavily on the man.

"Easy does it elf, you can ride with me." the guard said, dragging more then helping Meneth along. The leader of the thugs and Meneth shared a long look and the elf threw as much smug mockery into his eyes as he could. Coming out of the alley felt and smelled like walking into a sunlit meadow, the rain completely erasing what it could only barely suppress inside the alley. Meneth tilted his head back and enjoyed the feeling of the sweat and filth being washed away and imagined the of the freedom that lay so close. He was snapped out of his reverie when the guard carrying him hooked Meneth's hands over the saddle horn and pushed him up.

"Just hold on for a minute I'll be right u-ahh!" the guard sputtered as Meneth straightened suddenly and landed a savage kick into his face. Seizing the reigns he kicked the horse into action and it bolted directly into the other horses.

"HYA!" Meneth yelled as loudly as he could hoping to panic the other horses and get as much speed out this one as he could. The other horses spooked at the sudden motion and noise and moved away from the source as quickly as they could. Giving the half elf a straight shot out of this group and towards the gate he had been trying to leave before. In seconds he was racing away from the group, the gentle rain now stinging on his face as buildings whipped by only to vanish into gloom. He had only basic knowledge on riding horses but figured it was a simple matter to point the beast and let it run.

It wasn't too long before he heard the sound of a large portion of the guards giving chase, the thunder of their horses cutting through even the heavy rain. It was only a matter of time before they caught up but Meneth had a few things going for him then simple luck. He was lighter then all of them in their chainmail and weapons and humanity and he had a head start.

And he had no intention of using the main gate to leave.

He simply kept the horse from turning and kicked it's side to keep it going at full speed, no matter how hard it was starting to breathe. He felt slightly bad about that but was more interested in freedom then it's welfare. Pushing the horses condition from his mind he began to look for the telltale rope hanging from the side of the house enabling the more nimble citizen to clamber up on the the thieves highway and rise above it all. There were all over the place it one knew where to look and...there!

Nearly invisible in the dark Meneth caught site of the worn rope and prayed to Calistria it would hold under the stunt he had in mind. Slipping his feet from the stirrups he hopped up and balanced precariously on the saddle. He kept his eyes on the rope as he took several deep and slow breaths to calm himself, closing out everything but the speed of the horse and that rope. Closer and closer it swept until that moment of clarity took hold, when the world slowed down around him.

With as much strength as he could muster into his legs Meneth launched himself from the saddle and sailed through the air. He actually managed to grab the rope with both hands and a fierce grin plastered across his face as his moment swung the rope up high and up towards the thieves highway.

Then the rope snapped. Meneth's grin turned into panic as he cartwheeled through the air now with no control and no idea what he was heading for. There was a jarring impact and the sound of glass breaking as he slammed into the metal bars over the shops windows and they gave way under the terrific impact of the half elven missile. Most of his momentum was robbed from the impact, thankfully, and he only flew far enough to bounce off of a counter and land on the floor with a grunt and then groan.

For several long seconds stars danced overhead as the world spun around him and a great big ache began to spread through his body. Glass crunched whenever he moved and small shards poked him but there seemed to be no new cuts by some miracle. A minute later thunder passed by as the guards chasing the now free horse went by without a glance towards the darkened shop. Moments later they were out of view as they passed into the next neighborhood and the shop fell under silence again. Meneth continued to lay where he had landed, silent thanking Calistria over and over as his senses returned just in time for him to feel all of the aches and pains that he had earned this night.

When he had the strength he sat up and took stock of his amazing luck. Not only had he survived his impromptu landing but by some other miracle had not impaled himself on the dozens of swords, spears, axes and various other weapons that sat in barrels along the wall in what was apparantly a weapon shop. "Ow." he muttered as he pushed himself to standing and brushed some of the pulverized plaster and glass from his body. The iron grate crunched under his feet as he stepped off and took in his sudden bounty. With a smile he began to mosey by each barrel, his sharp eyes having little trouble seeing in the faint light coming from a single candle that burned in an alcove by a door that looks like it might lead to an apartment on the next floor.

"Quick and quiet as a shadow-" Meneth cut off suddenly as the sound of heavy foot steps came thundering down into the silence of the shop. Realizing he had only seconds the thief scanned the barrels one by one before seeing nothing that suited his style of fighting. Cursing the humans for only relying on speed he began to knock over every barrel as he moved towards the broken window, making an impassable field of razers between the door going upstairs and the exit. Grimacing he hopped over the window into the dark street outside, walking with a noticable limp as he vanished into another alley. Within moments the owner of the shop was shouting "Thief, thief!" but by then it was already too late and Meneth was three streets over and heading for the sewers. Being so close to the water most of them led that way but for a fee, one already payed by the thief, a door closing off access to an escape route out of the city was left open. Therein lay his ticket to freedom.

First however he headed back the way the thugs had originally spotted him. The rapier his father had given him had been knocked from his hand when a just killed thug fell forward. With no time to retreive it Meneth ran but there was no way in heaven, hell or earth that he was leaving that blade behind. It didn't take him long to backtrack and find the street that still contained the two bodies of the slain thugs. And right where he left it, the sword. Ignoring his wounds he knelt down and picked up the blade, the reassuring weight burgening his spirits.

-Some Time Later-

A feeling of wild elation bubbled up in Meneth as he stopped outsite the city and looked back. His entire life had been spent among those crooked streets and minds, slogging through the filth of mind and body. Growing up among such decadence and corruption had tainted the young man barely old enough to leave home. No more bowing his head to the authority of church or state. No more fearing retribution. If someone tries to kill you, kill them first. He checked the fresh bindings on the cut across his ribs to make sure the strange old witch he had found in the sewers had done her job properly and found them clean and secure. It still hurt like hell but it would heal in time. Until then there was a world just begging to be taken advantage of.

"Where to go hmm?" he wondered aloud. The sky to the east was starting to lighten as Sarenrae burned her away across the heavens. He stood there for several minutes and enjoyed the unobstructed view as the sun slowly crept above the horizon. Struck by an idea he pulled a dagger from his belt and tossed it high in the air, stepping back so it wouldn't come down and end his journey prematurely. The cheap metal spun end over end until a sudden breeze off the ocean caught it and it began to move sideways as it fell. Meneth jumped back as the dagger buried itself not a foot from his toe, lodging itself in an old log half buried under moss and vines.

Stepping back the half elf followed the direction the log lay and looked south. The long road from Riddleport to Magnimar ran along the coast in the same direction. "Hmm. Never been there." he mused as he bent down and yanked the dagger from the log and sheathed it. He straightened the plain grey cloak that covered his leather armor and weapons and pulled the hood up. Whistling a tune he had heard the sailors on shore leave visiting the temple whistle he began walking along side the road looking as innocent as the next traveler. Maybe if he was lucky he could hook up with a caravan.