Penanggalen

Zanithane's page

11 posts. Alias of TheBait.


Full Name

Zanithane

Race

Tiefling

Classes/Levels

Commoner 1

Gender

Male

Age

54

Alignment

Lawful Neutral

Strength 12
Dexterity 14
Constitution 12
Intelligence 10
Wisdom 9
Charisma 15

About Zanithane

Statistics
Name
: Zanithane
Sex: Male Race: Tiefling Class: Commoner Age: 54
LN Medium Outsider (Native) 

Init +2; Senses; Perception +5 (Darkvision 60')

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DEFENSE

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AC 12 , touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex) 

HP 7 (1d6+1)

Fort +1, Ref +2, Will -1

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OFFENSE
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Speed 30 ft. 

Melee Unarmed (Untrained) +1 melee (1d3+1)
Ranged +2 (No ranged Weapon)
Space 5 ft., Reach 5 ft.
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Fiendish Resistance: Cold Resist 5; Fire Resist 5; Electricity Resist 5
DR 2/Silver
Skilled: +2 Disable Device and Perception
Prehensile Tail

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STATISTICS

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Str 12, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 9, Cha 
15
Base Atk +0; CMB +1; CMD 
 13
Feats
1st: Fiendish Heritage

Traits: Repel Sin
Skills (2 ranks, 0 Int):
(1) Perception +5
(1) Profession (Laborer) +3
Languages: Common (taldan), Abyssal

GEAR/POSSESSIONS

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Traveler's Outfit
Currency: 0 gp
Total Weight: 0 lbs.

Harrow Sign:

The Lost
Chaotic Evil(Wisdom):This is the card of emptiness and loss of identity. The bodak shown is forever mad, lost in a world of lunatics, insane asylums, and mass killers. For those under its influence, the world makes no sense. It evokes times where all is babble, as when meeting someone who speaks only in another tongue. Misaligned, it can indicate clarity of mind under duress.
Aligned: Emptiness and loss of identity
Misalgined: Clarity of mind under duress

Background:

A scream shattered through the night of the Fitz manors slave quarters. The young Hellknight master and his young bride could be seen arguing in the upper window of the main manor house, their silhouettes flailing animatedly with roused anger. In the slave quarters themselves, Arianne lay feverish and sweating as several hands bustled around her tending to the pregnant woman's needs. Arianne looked down at the pale faced midwife, but was in far too much pain to inquire to the expression. The midwife looked around to the others calling for more fresh linens and another bucket of water as she wiped the seemingly endless flow of blood off her hands on her apron. The door smashes in as Master Fitz kicks in the door, his face grim and his jaw set.

What is taking so long.

He pauses as he sees the blood, a scowl crossing his face. He moves into the room and grabs the back of the midwife's collar to stand her up. Turning her to face him he glares in her eyes, a murderous look plastered on his features. The pleading look the woman gave him showed him all he needed to know. The midwife could do nothing for the woman, and there were no clerics available to save the pregnant maid. She would not survive the night, let alone the pregnancy. Fitz dropped the woman and turned to the pregnant maid, a frustrated growl escaped his lips. As if on cue, Arianne lets off another ear piercing scream of pain. The midwife and the other maids start to attention as the long scream peters off to the exhale of death. A sudden rush comes over the midwife as she realizes she no longer has any time to wait. She grabs a dagger to the now dead woman's belly. She attempts to be very careful as to not cut the baby while she cuts open the stomach and uterus wall. Her hands shake at the presence of the master of the house hovering over her. As she cuts she gasps realizing that her unsteady hand slices deeper than she wanted but striking something that felt like stone. She hesitates for a moment filled with horror and confusion. The master's eyes were skilled and sharp. He did not miss the depth of the slice or the midwife's hesitation.

Get on with it! You have already lost the maid. You will NOT lose the child too.

The midwife driven by the masters hanging threat she went to work with renewed focus, steadying her hand and finishing the cut. Pulling the child out she saw, it was a healthy looking child despite the mother expiring just moments earlier. In the dim flickering light she lifts the child out of the cavity and is about to place it into a towel when a spiked length she originally thought was the umbilical cord writhes around her wrist on reflex. The midwife starts, eyes wide as she drops the creature to the ground. A thud resounds and the child begins to cry, though the drop didn't seem to hurt him at all.

A Demon my lord! She as birthed a demon!

Fitz throws the pitiful creature a disgusted look. A tiefling. She birthed a disgusting little tiefling. He had lost his best maid in exchange with this little piece of filth. What was he going to do with such a useless creature. But, the thing was resilient. It had withstood a stab and a three foot drop with no visible wounds. The thing might be useful once it is older. Unfortunately, it was a newborn and these creatures were notorious for their slow development. He glared over to the still stunned midwife. He waited until his stern gaze got the attention of the whole room. After a few seconds, the whole group of slaves stopped and looked to him.

I don't care who among you do it, or even if all of you do it together, but this child survives. You all will be punished severely if this abomination parishes. Am I understood!

Their look of horror grew more pronounced at the proclamation. They nodded though as they all understood that punishment at the hands of Hellknight Fitz was a worst fate than death. With that, he spun on his heels and walked out of the slave house to leave them to their planning.
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A thin emaciated young boy could be seen peeking out of the cracks in the stables. His slate gray skin and orange eyes scared the slaves to their wits ends as they communally refused to allow the cursed creature into their midst. From birth the slaves prepared several meals a day to offer the illusion he was being taken care of, but in fact, only fed him just enough to keep the tiefling alive. They all hoped he would die of malnutrition and no one would be the wiser as they could not be blamed if the thing didn't eat. Mistress Rayesha was a strong proponent for the treatment of the child, planting the original idea to starve the child. She had despised the lowly creature since before its birth, suspecting the tiefling to be the bastard child of her husband. Unfortunately to the dismay of the mistress and the other slaves, the young tiefling child was resilient and stubborn, refusing to go into death so easily. He spent his nights catching rodents and insects inside the bar just to keep himself alive. At the age of 20, the youth still had the appearance and demeanor of a five year old. His slow progression only reinforced the fear and disgust the slaves had toward him. His still developing brain had a difficult time grasping why it felt as if the whole world around him was moving by so quickly. He watched the old maids die off. The youths that used to throw rocks at him from the barn's upper level, and spit into his eye through the barns cracks, grow up into adulthood had their own children, while he remained forever a child. As his mental acuity sharpened, his physical body lagged behind. Despite his disposition though, he looked at the world with wonder and awe.

All this ended one morning as the mistress stormed into the barn with a pair of tall, burly men covered in soot and dirt. Mistress Rayesha buffeted herself softly with a fan looking down at the huddled mass in the corner hiding the rat he was about to bite. The thin, bony child looked over his shoulder from the dark corner, his eyes piercing the shadows, bright orange. The men scrutinized the tiny emaciated frame and whispered a discussion to each other. Then, with a shrug, the two surged forward and scooped up the child, placing him in irons, and dragged him along in shackles. Not a word escaped the mistress' lips as they did so. She merely extended a hand to her side as the men passed, and they dropped a gold coin into her palm without any looks back to one another. A bag is thrown over his head as he is dragged just past the manor's front gates. The last thing he saw before the sack was placed and tied around his neck was his chains being connected to a wagon carrying a cage filled with a pair of halflings and half a dozen humans, all looking at him in fear. The young tiefling did note, that among all the slaves present, he was the only one being forced to walk.

A after an hour or two of a hard march, the clopping of the horses and the jittering of the wagon on the uneven trail comes to a halt. The young tiefling squats down gasping, never having been out past the manor gates, let along nearly jogging the hole trip. His blood is pounding in his ears and his chest burns as his breath comes sharp and labored from within the woven hood. A pair of heavy boots comes toward him as the hood is torn from his head. The boy's eyes adjust slowly to the bright noon day sun. Once focused, he sees the man that removed his hood is now unclasping his chain, the other is opening the cage to the other slaves. His eyes scan the area seeing a few sparsely spaced buildings and a ten foot deep pit ahead of the wagon.

The first brute drops the chain to the ground, drops a pick axe in front of the child and gestures to the pit. When no reaction was forthcoming from the tiefling the brute struck a back hand across his face at the boy's disobedience. The man clutched his hand in surprise as he made contact with the tiefling's face. It was like backhanding a stone pillar. The child offered the man a wide eyed look, but took no actions as his ashen gray cheek too on a slightly rosy color. Having never been exposed to the outside world, did not know what he was supposed to do let alone why he was being gestured into the hole, not that it mattered to the large, now angry, man. The tiefling boy watched as the other slaves filed out one by one, picking up the shovels and picks and moved down into the pit. Before the brute could recover from the pain in his hand, the boy picked up the pick on the ground and followed in suite with the rest of the slaves. Once in the pit, the others had moved as far away from him as the space allowed and began work, throwing suspicious glances at the child. The boy watched for a few minutes as the others humans chipping away at the hard pit walls, widening the hole a swing at a time, while the halflings dropped the rubble into large buckets to be lifted out and dumped to the side. Seeing no help coming his way, he began to emulate the humans grabbing the pick in his bound hands and taking a wild swing at the wall. The pick rang harmlessly against the hard surface reverberating through its handle into his small arms and through his core. His eyes rattled in his head with that initial strike and he almost lost his balance. A murmur from above showed the two large men talking to one another and staring down at the boy. Determined, the tiefling began at the wall again, getting the feeling and the balance of the pick just right and broke into the side of the pit with a resounding *Tink* as the tip embedded itself an inch or so. The boy went to pry the item lose and fell back as a large slab of the pit wall sheared off and dropped on him. The boy grunted in pain as the inch thick slab fell and split in half on the tiny boy. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch thinking the seemingly young five year old was crushed to death on his second swing.
From the settling dust, a tale came up from between the slabs as did gray bloodied fingers and slid the slabs off of him. For such a young child and thin child, he showed a decent amount of strength and quite a bit of durability.

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The decades passing, the young boy's endurance is tested more times than the boy ever learned to count. Due to his great resilience, the labor's guild thought it was prudent to put him in the more hostile and dangerous tasks in order to make the most of his "unique skills". From building during the bitter cold winter to helping with additions in the alchemists labs where acid spills and explosions were common place and quite hazardous for other workers, the tiefling was always there. It seemed almost as if after every job, the foremen would try to find a more dangerous place for the creature. The long hours they would work him with no food or water would leave him weak and clumsy. Focus was always quite difficult for the young boy as starvation, fatigue, and dehydration where common place for him. It seemed that the mistress was still influencing those around the boy, still trying to find a way to kill him without laying a hand on him. After all, accidents happen all the time, and who would miss a single tiefling slave. Just recently they had him working to build additions to the Chelaxian foundry. This wouldn't have been so bad if it were not for the fact that the foundry was in full production due to the broiling civil war against the Imperial military and the constant sabotage by the council of thieves, whomever they were. But despite all this, he found peace. He found contentment. He found the first bit of kindness in his life. In three generations of slaves within the manor, he never had a name. It was always "Hey You!" "Boy" "Creature" "Freak" "Abomination". It was not until this young, unassuming little girl that his whole life changed.

She was a tiny little thing when they first met. She was maybe four years of age and had stumbled into his barn late one night. Hiding from some of the maids trying to discipline her for not wanting to eat she burst in and slammed the doors behind her. When she realized that she had hidden in the barn with "it", she turned on him with a fierce boldness that piqued the tiefling's interest. She was the first he had ever met not to show fear or reserve toward him. All there was in her eyes were a fiery curiosity. She had even gone as far as giving him the name Zanithane, saying it was from a story her mother told her of a man made of stone. From then on she would visit him nearly every night, sneaking out the slave quarters once everyone had fallen asleep, sneaking books and food when she could. The two would sit up for several hours each night teaching him what she had learned at her lessons that day and talk about the chores she performed during the afternoon. In turn, he would tell her of the exciting new places he worked at and what dangers sought him this time. He had never known companionship until she came along. Unfortunately for the long lived races such as him, a decade passed in the blink of an eye. He remained the same while she went from the tiny four year old to the budding beauty on the cusp of adulthood before him. She didn't seem to notice though. She just kept coming by with no heed for herself.

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Zan... ZAN! Hurry up! Day gunna notice I ain't in da house! If da Mistress catches me again, she gunna make sure I ain't gonna be able ta walk fur a week.

Melaya was nudging the cup full of soup up as Zanithane chugged it down greedily. As he choked down the last few chunks, the young slave girl snatched it out of his hand and darted back to the manor at full tilt. The boy looked to be no more than fourteen now, though in actually he was closer to 55 years of age. His stomach twisted and churned as the food settled uncomfortably into it. It had been almost two days since his last meal and his stomach had almost forgotten what it felt like to have any sort of contents in it. Since Melaya's thirteenth birthday, she was allowed to leave the manor for errands. She took these opportunities to pass by Zanithane whenever should could get her hands on some food so he could have a bite to eat during the day time hours. Melaya would show up with a dish of scraps or some soup in a bowl for him to inhale, then dart back to the manor with barely a word between them. He would have to wait until night fall to speak with the sweet girl. This was a common practice for the two for about a year now. It gave him purpose. A reason to work hard. A reason to stay in line and to not cause trouble. Trouble meant a break from routine, and a break from routine meant a possibility of missing Melaya's passing.

He honestly didn't mind it too much. In fact, he began to enjoy his life. He was simply grateful that he was at the very least outside the manor. Out here in the ditches, people left him alone for the most part. The few glimpses he would get of the kind girl was all he looked forward to anymore. He figured, if he did a good job, they would let him stay out there, and she would come and visit him. When the sun set he would make his way back and wait in the barn for his nighttime lesson and a chance to catch up with Melaya. The lessons grew shorter as time passed and their discussions of what it would be like to be free tended to dominate her side of the conversations. He always talked about how nice it would be if things never changed. She yearned for independence and freedom as she clutched onto her novels of great adventures and far off lands, while he yearned for the status quo as he was grateful for simply having her company. He was satisfied with his lot in life. That was until fate had forced him out of that life. Fate had brought Hokuto into his life.

Appearence:

There was a commotion outside the main house as the other slaves began to gather around the front door. Over the murmuring din, a voice rose up above the rest.

"Take it! Take the abomination! It is about time I got rid of that eye sore."

The old mistress of the house spat the words out at Hokuto with no hesitation. The group of slaves parted to show a relatively short and stocky youth. Even at this young age, they boy was well muscled from years of working among the laborers. His skin was a dark, ashen gray and seemed to have the texture of a marble statue. The lifetime of malnutrition had emaciated his form, his presence let off a strength and sturdiness in direct contrast to the bony fragility people saw at first glance. He slowly raised his head to Hokuto revealing a pair of bright orange orbs peering through a mop of black hair, that shone with the serenity that could only be gained by life's contentment. But his features now twisted in confusion as his tail swiped back and forth nervously. The sleep appendage looked like something out of a nightmare, a four foot length of bristled spikes that undulated over its length in waves displaying plainly his growing agitation.

Personality:

Mistress, I do not wish to leave.
Who said you could speak, let alone have an opinion on the matter.

The boy shrank at the shrill retort of the mistress of the house.
The woman looked to Hokuto raising her nose into the air as she turned her head.

I don't expect to ever see this... Creature... soil my steps again.

He was usually very subdued having lived his whole life as a slave. He was soft spoken and always did what he was told. He took in a deep breath and looked between Hokuto and his mistress.

Does this mean I am no longer a slave?

The mistress spun back on him with a gawk of disbelief, stammering and sputtering, not having realized the implication of letting the tiefling into the hands of Hokuto in such a way. Hokuto on the other hand remained stoic and emotionless, looking deep into the boys eyes, as if that should be enough of an answer. Without a word, the boy turned his back on the mistress and directly to his only friend in this world, Melaya. He took her hands into his and leaned forward placing his lips close to her ear.

I promise you now. I will return one day. Return to you and save you from this life. I will take you from here and give you a life you deserve.

He then moved out toward the caravan not looking back again. Everything was changing. He was confused, lost, and had no sense of who or what he was. He didn't know any other life than this. It was a bitter sweet sensation. He simply hopped that this trip would teach him that truth.