About Zemuth, the Soul-ScarredBackstory
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Miniri Jilane was a sweet child. She was brought up in a small non-human neighborhood in Nex. Growing up in a human-dominated city was a very different life than most catfolk experience, but she was more than content. She was happy. She lived a quiet life with her parents, and three siblings. Her mother was a seamstress; her father a baker. They had a happy quiet life. Before the Deeping Tome. As Miniri grew, she became a beautiful woman. People of all races were taken aback at her beauty, and she was propositioned by non-catfolk regularly. She never did feel too attracted to people of the other races though, aside from a few dalliances, she mostly kept herself out of romantic entanglements. The only real relationship she had was with a young man, visiting the town from one of the wasteland tribes. He brought goods for trade occasionally. It wasn’t even young love, not really, but it was all she’d ever had. Before the Deeping Tome. Upon maturity, she began spending her time assisting her parents with their businesses, bouncing back and forth from one to another to fight boredom. She loved to run; she loved to move. She was always so nimble. She would spend her days playing, teaching the neighborhood children one game or another, and always put herself out there. She was so innocent. Everything in life was simple, but she liked it that way. Before the Deeping Tome. It wasn’t long after her 19th birthday that it happened. Running to a grocer for her father, she darted down an alley shortcut she frequently used. She was cut off by a small group of men. Fearing she was about to be assaulted, she began calling out for help. Much to her surprise, they offered her their bare hands in a show of peace. The leader, a minor noble by the name of Rickard Brey, knelt before her. Slowly, he leaned forward, until his face was against her fur. He embraced Miniri’s legs, and began to weep openly. The other men walked forward, laying hands on her, asking for her blessing. After several awkward minutes, she finally worked up the nerve to ask what was happening. It was Rickard who spoke first. “It is simply this. We are so gracious to have been able to meet one so blessed as yourself.” This answer took Miniri aback. She hadn’t been expecting such obsequiousness, let alone to survive this encounter. Now that she had time to calm herself, she noted that the men didn’t look like criminals. She felt bad for assuming the worst, and was willing to hear them out. Rickard went on to explain that he was the Mother’s Voice, and he represented a church known as the Deeping Tome. They were a group dedicated to the preservation of knowledge that some would consider worthless. Miniri agreed to attend a meeting later that night, if for no other reason than to get rid of these strange men. And her curiosity. Always her curiosity. She attended the meeting, held under a slaughterhouse in the butcher district.
Several hours, and one strange evening later, she realized she was now apparently not just a member of a cult, but apparently a high priestess-in-training. The Deeping Tome was, in truth, a cult dedicated to Lamashtu. They believed that races like humans, elves, and halflings, were perfect. And flawless perfection is a terrible thing. Races like gnolls, strix, and catfolk all had elements of animal combined with a humanoid body. These “imperfect” races were what the Deeping Tome strove to become. They practiced ritual scarification, self-mutilation, and other various horrid acts to try to “better” themselves. Of course, Miniri didn’t see all of that. At first. When she was first initiated, they seemed like nice, albeit strange, humans who wanted a bestial-raced figure to lead their rituals. She was initially asked with low-level acolyte work. She blissfully did as she was asked, sweeping up after ceremonies, snuffing the black candles, all because she felt welcomed. They had embraced her into their fold, and she had never had so many friends before. She was especially close with Vanail, a young housemaid who she worked alongside. While yes, she thought it odd that the various members didn’t associate outside of the worship, she didn’t care. She was welcomed in a way that was so new and exciting, she was fit to burst. As the months went on, she began taking a more active role in the ceremonies. She still wasn’t introduced to the terrible aspects of the religion. Her time was largely spent apprenticing under Rickard, and learning the basic tenants of the Mother’s Love. Then came the Black Harvest. She was awoken in the middle of the night; a hand over her mouth. It was one of the acolytes, sent to fetch her. He calmed her fears, and quietly led her out of the house. She was taken to the slaughterhouse, and she soon found why the church met there. Upon arrival, she saw several blindfolded people on their knees in a line. Rickard had already started a ritual she wasn’t familiar with. The gory, profane ritual ended with the slow torture of the first victim. The next highest ranking member began the ritual anew, and made their way to the next victim. And so it went, down the line. After the ninth victim, Miniri was led to the last four. Ninety-Four was a sacred number to Lamashtu; the significance wasn’t lost on her. She was told she would be allowed the four remaining offerings to be her playthings, while the others would eventually be sacrificed to Lamashtu. Handed a wicked-looking hooked torture implements, the rest of the Deeping Tome stood back to watch her work. She had obviously never done anything like this before, and was very much out of her element. After a long, awkward period of silence, punctuated by the grunts and moans of the torture happening nearby, Vanail stepped up. She took the hook from her hand, and started cutting. The cult pressed in, and kept watching Miniri expectedly. After a long while, Vanail turned and put the hook back into Miniri’s hand. Miniri reluctantly followed her friend’s example. She tried to emulate what Vanail had done, to not displease her new family. It didn’t take long for the ritual’s effect to take hold of her, and to corrupt her utterly. The Deeping Tome had been building to this for months. All they had to do was get her to willingly make a single incision to one of the bound four, and all the evil from the torture around her would flow into her, scarring her soul irrevocably. When the darkness finished coalescing in her heart, she set upon the other three with gusto. Her zeal was an inspiration to the rest of the cult, and soon they were finished. They bathed in the blood of their victims, and left a few of the novices to clean up. It took magic to get all the blood out of her fur. Several months passed, and she continued to move up the ranks, until she was Rickard’s second-in-command. She led weekly rites, and continued the bloody swath they cut through the city. Eventually she was ready for the Rite of Perniciousness. She would ascend to rule the Deeping Tome, and receive Lamashtu’s blessing. She had been being groomed for this for over a year. The night came. She was to receive the Mother’s Blessing after the Rite was complete. The Rite came and went in a blur; to this day she barely remember much more than flashes of memory, and the sensation of sexual pleasure as she took Rickard’s life. He begged at the end. She wasn’t supposed to kill him. She did more than that. The taste of human still lingers in her darkest fantasies. The power that flowed through her was great and terrible. The black, swirling shadows of chaos and despair reached out and slew several of the cult, largely those weak in their faith. Those strong, however, were reshaped into a terrifying amalgam of man and beast. No two looked the same; none would be able to walk the streets in the day again.
A voice cried out. “Why did the Mother grant her power, but not heal her barrenness?” Another spoke up. ”What do we do now?” Vanail had the answer. “The Mother told me I am to lead you all from this place. You have two days to set your affairs in order, and we are leave this city. The Mother is calling us to our destiny.”
“Gracious, is the Mother, for sparing us. Wise is She, for knowing her faithful so well.” The Deeping Tome also realized that Lamashtu had given them another gift. They were able to walk among the masses, and appeared as they had been to anyone who wasn’t one of the Faithful. But to any Truly Faithful, they appeared as they now were. After they had finished preparations, they began their travels. Their little wagon train met up with a flood of refugees from elsewhere in Nex. It seemed that Geb and Nex were fighting. Eventually word reached the Deeping Tome that their city had been destroyed within hours of their departure. They moved in Alkenstar, and tried to establish themselves. Shortly after their arrival, Vanail came to Miniri. She told her of her true calling. “The Mother wants you to go forth, in her name. She has tasked you with going to Absolam. There, you will meet and infiltrate a peace conference,” she spat out those words, as if they disgusted her, “and assist the alliance in fighting back the demonic hordes spilling from the Worldwound.” Miniri looked shocked at this. “But, surely you can’t mean that the Mother wishes for me to fight her own!” Vanail responded with a smile. “Surely, I don’t. These demons are not hers. They follow another, and deserve to die a heretic’s death. They should have learned to worship the Mother.” Miniri nodded. “Stick with the alliance. Your true destiny will be revealed there.” Taking the name Zemuth, a sacred name in their faith, she headed to Absalom, and her fate. The road to Absalom was long and arduous. She went over the mountains, and skirted the Mwangi Expanse, never actually setting foot in the jungle. When she reached the plains of Nex, she cut northeast, and made a beeline for Katapesh. Katapesh was a city unlike any she'd seen before. She found her way to the Nightstalls, a place only spoken of in whispers. Here she was able to indulge some of the dark fantasies that she had begun to develop since her internal transformation. The boat to Totra was a few weeks out, and so she worked for a while at the Nightstalls. She did mostly bodyguard work for the first two weeks, staying in the shadows. It wasn't until her 15th day in Katapesh that her status as an antipaladin was discovered. Thankfully for her, it was a man who was as vile as they come. His name was Lajalla, and he had use of Zemuth. He paid her well, and he had a plan. Due to his own dark dealings with evil, he was aware of an antipaladin's ability to carry diseases and not feel their ill effects. He had devised a plan wherein he would pay for enough Remove Disease spells to get anything that may be in Zemuth's system purged, and then would deliberately infect her with a deadly disease. She went undercover in a brothel, and eventually found Lajalla's enemy, a regular at said brothel. After an entertaining romp, Zemuth returned to her employer, who had another Remove Disease cast upon her. After the man's quick, painful, and untimely death, an inquiry into his death led to several spellcasters being employed to determine who had given him the disease. As none of the brothel's girls were infected, they were in the clear. Lajalla and Zemuth continued this trick against several of his enemies, and were never caught. She caught a boat to Totra, in Osirion, and switched to a boat bound for Absalom. She should arrive tomorrow. Personality and Character Notes Spoiler:
Zemuth is a fun, free spirit. She is easy-going, and fun to get along with. She has a quick wit, and is often mistaken for a bard, or sometimes a paladin. She has gotten quite good at convincing others she is something other than the truth. Appearance-wise, she is tiny. She’s 4’9”, and under 100 pounds. Her fur is a mottled gray, and she has yellow-cat eyes. The Icon for this character really, REALLY fit her well. She is now just a few months away from her 21st birthday, and has developed a love of traveling. The journey from Absalom was along one, and she has had time to develop her mannerisms to seem even more disarmingly charming. She is excited to see what Lamashtu has in store for her, and is furious with the destruction of her homeland. Given a chance to right that, she would in a heartbeat. The rest of the world in a state of chaos, but even Lamashtu seems to be opposed to the state of things. If the world’s chaos isn’t Lamashtu’s chaos, then it needs to be corrected. Zemuth combines her Lamashtu-Given Power with her natural Catfolk Dexterity to make a fast, aggressive fighting style. She hits hard and fast, and rarely leaves survivors. Lamashtu has given her the Dread Vanguard Antipaladin powers to increase her ability to work in a team. It’s Beacon of Evil aura will make her a valued party member, though of course she won’t call it that. Notes to the GM:
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This is a really exciting premise! I’m able to post from work, so I can easily do more than one post a day if needed. I don’t envy you the character selection process though; I’m sure you will get a TON of good submissions. I will keep adding to her, and I’ll get equipment done soon too, but she is largely finished. I didn’t want to get too far along on the character sheet until I really knew who I was working with. Statistics:
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Strength: 16
Hit Points: 25
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