Doug M's Way of the Wicked (Inactive)

Game Master Douglas Muir 406

Background

[The black and white dressed merchant looks through the magnifying glass once again. “I still don't see what you're referring to. There's nothing here to indicate a forgery.”

Across the scarred wooden table, a man with impeccable black hair pulled back in a short ponytail lets out a sigh and cracked his fingers. He leans over the table and taps a gloved finger on the scroll. “Right here, the curve of the lettering indicates that the left hand was used to sign this. Sir Rosencruz is right-handed, sir. I do believe you have a forgery on your hands.”

The merchant's brow furrows and he nods. “Okay, alright..I see what you mean. I'm glad that Sergeant Jennings sent you over here to identify this. So, I shouldn't transfer the funds, Mr. Warrington?”

“No, of course not. Unless Sir Rosencruz's family heirlooms are to end up in the hands of a scoundrel. The proper documentation is what Jennings sent me here with. Its a very good forgery, but not quite good enough to fool Sir Rosencruz's assistant, luckily for you and him. Hmn..wonder if I'll get a raise for noticing this.” The man in the red and gold coat laughs, smiling at the merchant. “Thank you for contacting us about the possibility of a forgery, I'm glad I could help prove the matter. Now if you'll just furnish the case..?”

The merchant nods and turns, pulling a long, black leather case off of the shelves. The box is covered in silver embroidery and, by the way the man struggles to lift it, is carrying a small fortune. “Right you are, my man. Good fortune to you on that raise. Give me best to Sir Rosencruz and that delightful daughter of his.”

A sly smile crosses the Sparrow's face and he nods once while taking the case. “Quite right, I will indeed. Good day to you, Mr. Grunin. Give my best wishes to Jennings.” He spins, his tailored coat flaring out behind him and strides to the door. Expensive, black boots clicking with each step. As he reaches a hand to open the door, it swings open and a fat man in a uniform with a large mustache blinks in surprise. “Ah..bugger.”

The uniformed man swings one hand, clubbing the faux noble across the skull with his baton. “Got you, scoundrel!”

Jax Naismith is a man known by many names. The mysterious, faceless Sparrow. The well-dressed and mild-mannered noble Jacob Warrington III. The silver-tongued merchant from foreign lands Filippe Demiso. The ever-friendly soldier Argon Steeljaw. He is a man who takes whatever face he can when he needs to, or did, anyway, until he forgot to add enough taggit root to Sergeant Jennings morning meal. Jax grew up with his aunt, his father a corrupt policeman who'd been hung when Jax was only eight. His mother ran away, leaving him in the care of her sister. Despite a rough upbringing, he's friendly toward nearly everyone—usually lying through his teeth the entire time. Jax is a con-artist and a forger, he grew in talent until he was, presumably, one of the best in the city. He's attractive, but his demonic features usually put others off a bit. His eyes are a pale yellow, his nails are hard and dark, and he has a slender, pale-skinned tail. Most of these features aren't hard to hide and he does his best to do so.

Jax doesn't think about the effect of his crimes on others, and frankly cares little about that. What he cares about is his own greed-acquiring a massive amount of money and enjoying the process of getting that money. He has a love for luxury, the exotic and challenge. Obeying the rules is simply too easy. Working in a salt mine seems so...unappealing. Jax has sworn to escape his prison and amuse himself by getting some revenge. Its perhaps time for the Kingdom to have a new leader. Not himself of course, way too much attention that. But..perhaps he could cozy up to someone who's interested in that role...

Jax Naismith
Male Tiefling Magus (Fiend Flayer, Bladebound)
Neutral Outsider (Native)
Init +4; Perception +0

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DEFENSE 

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AC 1, touch 1, flat-footed 1 (+ armor, +4 dex)

HP 10 (1d8+2)

Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +2

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OFFENSE 

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Speed 30 ft. 

Melee
Ranged
Space 5 ft., Reach 5 ft., Range 120 ft.
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Internal Mortification (Su): Standard action: Sacrifice blood to increase your arcane pool by 1 point for each 2 points of Constitution damage taken. Any arcane pool points gained this way and not spent disappear the next time the magus prepares spells. This damage cannot be healed by lesser restoration, only time.
Arcane Pool (Su): [Pool Size: 4 (1/3 level + Int modifier)] By expending 1 point as a swift action, you can grant any weapon a +1 enhancement bonus for 1 minute.
Spell Combat (Ex): This functions like Two-Weapon Fighting, but the off-hand is used to cast spells. As a full-round action, make all of your attacks with a melee weapon at a -2 penalty and cast one spell with a casting time of 1 standard action. Can only be used with a light or one-handed weapon and you must have a hand free.
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STATISTICS
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Str 14, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 8
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 16
Feats: Weapon Finesse (1st)
Traits: Forgery
* Forgery
You have forged documents issued either by the crown or by the Church of Mitra. Alas, that your forgery while competent was not entirely undetectable. To be sent to Branderscar, this was no minor finagling of paperwork. This forged document could have cost lives, undermined the reputation of the Church or endangered the security of the realm.
Punishment: Life at hard labor in the salt mines
Benefit: You gain a +3 trait bonus to Linguistics skill checks to commit forgery and Linguistics is always a class skill for you.
* Magical Lineage (Shocking Grasp): When you apply metamagic feats to Shocking Grasp, treat its actual level as 1 lower for determining the spell's final adjusted level.
Skills: Knowledge(Arcana) +7, Bluff +0 (+4 when lying), Linguistics +7 (+10 forgery), Spellcraft +7, Use Magic Device +3 [No ranks: Stealth +4, Perception +0]

Racial Modifiers: +2 Dex, +2 Int, -2 Cha, Beguiling Liar [+4 Bluff to lie], Prehensile Tail [Recover item with swift action], Scaled Skin [Fire resistance 5, +1 natural AC], Darkvision 60', Darkness 1/day

Languages Common, Infernal, Draconic, Abyssal, Auran, Aquan

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GEAR/POSSESSIONS 
(Gear Jax would have had on him when captured, if it matters)
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Wealth: 5GP, 4 SP, 8CP
Armor: Studded Leather [25 GP] {+3 AC, +5 dex, -1 pen, 20lbs}
Weapon: Scimitar [25 gp] {1d8/18-20 x2 S 4lbs}, Shortbow [30GP] {1d6/x3 2lbs}, Sling {1d4/x2 50ft}
Ammunition: 20 arrows [1gp] {1lb}
Backpack [2gp] {2lb}
--Potion of Shield of Faith (+2) [50Gp]
--Rice paper (10 sheets) [5sp]
--Charcoal (2 sticks) [1gp]
--Chalk [2 pieces] [2cp]
--Acid Flask [10Gp] {1d6 acid damage, +1 damage with Acid Splash}
Spellcasting: Casting: [Prepared]
Caster level: 1
Spells per day:
0: 3
1: 2 [Prepped: Shocking Grasp x2]
Spells Known (Spellbook):
0: All; Acid Splash, Arcane Mark, Dancing Lights, Daze, Detect Magic, Disrupt Undead, Flare, Ghost Sound, Light, Mage Hand, Open/Close, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, Read Magic, Spark
1: Color Spray, Grease, Ray of Enfeeblement, Shield, Shocking Grasp, Vanish

They call it a good kingdom, don't they. A bright and shining state. But I know the truth about it. That's why I'm in here. Yes, me, one of the Royal College of Heralds. We keep track of marriages, you see. And inheritances. And crime records. You'd be surprised what you learn. Particularly if you check the sealed records -- crimes that were never prosecuted, never punished.

Oh, they go on and on about how the King watches the nobles, and the nobles watch the King, and the priests all watch them both -- but if you're rich enough, you can make spaces where nobody's watching. And when nobody's watching, there's no evidence. Unless you take a little look, and see how many times something almost comes up. Over and over again. I found my way in there, oh yes I did.

You say I'm a noble's son. So what? My family had too many children for too many generations. Split the wealth, share it equally, leave me about as close to starving as an alley cat in winter. They threw me into the Heralds because they couldn't find anybody noble enough who'd take me in marriage with no lands, no castle, no rents, no -- well, you get the point.

But I'm smart, not like those witless fools who like to read off all the names in their ancestry -- like names will buy you food, or a roof, or a wife. I looked through the records. I learned some clever little trick like you're not supposed to know. I saw my chances and I took 'em. Like the Duke they never could prove the fraud against -- you remember that case, right? Well, I knew he'd been looking for money for years, so I had a quiet word with him one day at Court. There was a baron out by the coast that had some money -- so I hooked them up. Claimed I was promoting a nice marriage, when my boss asked. Got it arranged, too -- but really, the Duke needed money, and the Baron had some to offer. Where'd he get it? I dunno. Doesn't matter. I got my share. That was the first. Wasn't the last, either, not by a long shot. And when they hung the Baron for piracy, a few years later, why, I was on the other side of the Kingdom. You'd be surprised what kind of vacations a Duke will pay for if you pitch it right.

And then I got him to introduce me to, well, you wouldn't know the name. Grew some plants out in the marshes, she did. Ones some people would pay a pretty penny for. And they knew other people....

So I hooked 'em up. I saw my chances. I got a lot of gold salted away somewhere, and if we ever get out of here, why, I'm generous to my friends.

I am. They aren't. They stuck me in here. Wouldn't speak up for me, when I know all their little secrets. Said I was an extorter, a liar, an arsonist. Well, I did do the arson -- nice way to cover up a lot of little fiddly bits in the records, isn't it? They can't prove anything now. Except that Prince. Why, I could tell you things about him -- that little place he keeps above the docks. The little boys that show up there. The very well-fed fish underneath that house. Oh, no, they won't tell you about those. And they won't let me talk about them either. Said I was buying and selling them. Just taking them somewhere as a favor for a friend, I was -- did I mention I do lots of favors for my friends? And I have a lot of friends. They won't let me die in here, you'll see. I did too many favors for them. All of them. Every single stinking noble family in this kingdom has its black sheep. And I know them all -- they'll save me, you'll see.

You'll see.

25-point buy

Bernald Jehannum
Male Human Bard 1
Init +2; Perception +3

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DEFENSE 

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

HP 10 (1d8+2)

Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +2

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OFFENSE 

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Speed 30 ft. 

Melee
Ranged
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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Bardic knowledge
Bardic performance (countersong, distraction, fascinate, inspire courage +1)
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STATISTICS
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Str 10, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 16, Wis 10, Cha 18
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 14
Feats: Alertness

Skills (12/lvl - bard 6, int 3, human 1, favored class 1, trait 1*): Appraise* +7, Diplomacy +8, Knowledge (architecture) +8, Knowledge (local) +8, Knowledge (history) +8, Knowledge (nobility) +8, Knowledge (religion) +8, Perception +3, Perform (oratory) +8, Profession (herald) +4, Sense Motive +5, Stealth +6

Traits: Slave-trading (campaign) - one free rank/level in Appraise, which is a class skill
Suspicious (social) - +1 bonus on Sense Motive, and it's a class skill (In this case, more to reflect Bernald's unsettling ability to zero in on people's weak points.)


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GEAR/POSSESSIONS: Prison loincloth
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Caster level: 1
Spells per day:
0: at will
1: 2

Spells Known (Spellbook):
0: dancing lights, detect magic, ghost sound, read magic
1: charm person, disguise self

It wasn't the arson, or the extortion, or the involvement in piracy, or the forgery -- none of which were ever proved. It was getting caught red-handed as a slave-trader with the four chained-up kids in the bloodstained back room, and the altogether too large amounts of gold. (Which was all confiscated, by the way. Ignore any claims otherwise.) Bernald is very untrustworthy and somewhat self-delusive, but he's quite convinced that everyone is corrupt, some just hide it better than others. And all the people he did favors for, and didn't help him when he was in trouble -- why, he wants all of them, and their whole stinking sanctimonious families, dead and rotted. Or maybe addicted to poppy dust and sold to slavers -- it would be more profitable that way.

Greedy little arranger with an eye for the main chance (his own!), not inclined to violence unless he must (too messy), knows everybody and every black secret (he thinks), and slippery as a bar of wet soap in a grease factory. But very friendly, oh yes, very friendly. Just... don't turn your back on him.

And the slave-buyer? Bernald knows, absolutely, it was the King's youngest son. Of course, Bernald is not the only person who knows how to disguise himself... or lie to implicate others. [IE, DM's call...]

Here is the alignment stuff from the free download.

"Step 6 -- Finishing Details
As normal except that good and chaotic alignments are not allowed. Every character must be lawful neutral, lawful evil, neutral or neutral evil. Of those four align- ments, lawful evil is definitely the preferred choice. At the Game Master’s discretion, lawful evil may be the required alignment."

Also, will you allow the bonus non-combat feat and the 2 extra skill points per level as recommended in the pdf?

I have been very careful to not read the actual campaign part of the download, but needed some of the data when I was creating a submission for one of the other campaigns.

--Defense--
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10
CMD 17
hp 12/12 (1d10+2 CON)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will -1

--Offense--
BAB +1; CMB +5;
Melee Unarmed Strike* +5 (1d3+4 / x2 / B / Nonlethal)
Ranged --

Speed 30 ft.
Init +8
Languages: Common

Str 18 (16+2), Dex 15, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 8, Cha 14

Languages: Common

--Carrying Capacity--
Light: 100
Medium: 200
Heavy: 300
Lift Over Head: 300
Lift Off Ground: 600
Drag & Push: 1500

--Traits--
Reactionary: You gain a +2 trait bonus on Initiative checks.
Desertion: You have deserted from the Talirean military and been recaptured. To get sent to Branderscar this was not some minor or routine dereliction of duty. Instead, you abandoned your post during a time of crisis -- perhaps battle or while defending the Watch Wall. Regardless of the exact circumstances, your laziness, cowardice or neglect must have caused loss of life. Punishment: Death by hanging. Benefit: You receive one bonus skill point per level that must be spent on the Profession (Soldier) skill. Profession (Soldier) is always a class skill for you.

--Racial Features--
Human
Skilled: Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.
Bonus Feat: Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.

--Feats--
Lvl 1
Two-Weapon Fighting (Combat): Prerequisite: Dex 15. Benefit: Your penalties on attack rolls for fighting with two weapons are reduced. The penalty for your primary hand lessens by 2 and the one for your off hand lessens by 6.
Improved Initiative (Combat): Benefit: You get a +4 bonus on initiative checks.

--Class Abilities--
Ranger; Trapper; Falconer
Favored Enemy (Ex): Humanoid (Human): At 1st level, a ranger selects a creature type from the ranger favored enemies table. He gains a +2 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks against creatures of his selected type. Likewise, he gets a +2 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against them. A ranger may make Knowledge skill checks untrained when attempting to identify these creatures.
Track (Ex): A ranger adds half his level (minimum 1) to Survival skill checks made to follow or identify tracks.
Class Skills: A trapper adds Disable Device to her list of class skills in addition to the normal ranger class skills.
Trapfinding: A trapper adds 1/2 her ranger level on Perception skill checks made to locate traps and on Disable Device skill checks (minimum +1). A trapper can use Disable Device to disarm magic traps.
Trap: At 5th level ... This ability replaces the ranger's spells class feature. Trappers do not gain any spells or spellcasting ability, do not have a caster level, and cannot use spell trigger and spell completion magic items.
*Feathered Companion (Ex): At 1st level, a falconer earns the trust and companionship of a bird of prey. The bird can be of any type of large hunting or scavenging bird (even a vulture). This ability functions like the druid animal companion ability (which is part of the nature bond class feature), but the falconer must take the bird animal companion,
and that companion has only half the normal hit points. The falconer cannot teach the bird of prey the work trick, but can teach it either the roam or distract trick for free. Whichever trick the falconer does not pick then can be picked as a trick later.
Roam (DC 15): The falconer can let his animal companion loose to roam and forage. He must let it roam for no more than a week. When the falconer lets it roam, it agrees to return to the place he let it loose within the time period he designates.
Distract (DC 20; bird only): The animal companion flutters wildly around any enemy it would normally attack with the attack trick. It makes an attack roll against that enemy. On a hit, the enemy is shaken. This ability replaces wild empathy.
*I am aware that I will not begin play with a bird companion for Way of the Wicked; but sometime after play begins this becomes an option.

+3 Acrobatics*
+0 Appraise
+3 Bluff*
+4 Climb
+0 Craft
+2 Diplomacy
+7 Disable Device*
+2 Disguise
+2 Escape Artist
+2 Fly
-- Handle Animal
-1 Heal
+2 Intimidate
+1 Knowledge (Local)*
-- Linguistics
+3 Perception*
+2 Perform
+3 Profession (Soldier)*
+2 Ride
-1 Sense Motive
+3 Sleight of Hand*
-- Spellcraft
+6 Stealth*
-1 Survival
+4 Swim
-- Use Magic Device

--Combat Gear--

--Other Gear--

--Money, Gems & Jewelery--

--Appearance--
24 yrs old; 5' 5"; 155 lb; pale skin, brown hair, green eyes.

--Personality--
James is a law-abiding citizen. In fact, James is very much a fan of abiding by the law--to the point that he cannot STAND people who do not. James has a problem, however. He has a deep-seated, desperate love of blood and the feeling of sticking a knife into warm, meaty flesh. James is very careful about who he sticks knives into; he only stabs the rich, corrupt people who are allowed to run lawless in the country, and he is very, very careful not to get caught when he does so.

--Background--
James was the son of a formerly well-to-do family that fell on hard times. His father ran a butcher shop, and James used to help him there. He loved the days in that shop. He could spend all day just taking a knife to meat, feeling the blade grind against bone, watching the blood dribble from the cuts. But "those damnable bastards" (as his father called them) who drove his family into "labor" in the first place weren't satisfied with that, oh no. They taxed the butcher shop, and then raised the taxes, then raised them more, and came by to taunt his poor father each time. They loaned him money to keep the shop open, but "those usurous bastards" charged so much interest his father couldn't keep up. Times grew worse and worse, and finally... his father killed himself by slitting his throat with a butcher knife in front of James, and James felt the spurt of fresh, warm blood upon his face... and it was glorious.

The family was, of course, destitute. James' mother had options only to go to debtor's prison for her husband's debts, or be sold into one of the "Houses of Ill Fame." At the pitiful funeral, "those fat, corrupt bastards" had the gall to show up... and they laughed. They laughed at the fallen man, and his fallen wife, and that silly child. James giggled along with them, for he knew--he KNEW--what he must do: the warm spurt of blood, the feeling of blade on bone, the flesh parting beneath the blade--he would bring that to these men and all the fat, corrupt bastards like them, all the way up to the king if necessary!

James joined the army. He could think of no better place to learn to fight and get news of the corrupt officials travels. After several years, James came upon a stroke of luck. One of the bastards was an officer in the army, and James was on guard duty on the night of a celebration! All the soldiers and officers celebrated raucously late into the night, downing drink after drink. James bided his time. He watched, but not as he was told to: no, he watched "the bastard" slink off to his quarters and fall dead-asleep. And James picked the man up, and took him out of the camp quietly, and slowly, such that nobody noticed at all. James was found the next day soaked in alcohol, dead drunk like the other soldiers who had not been on watch and was put in the brig for a day. Two days later they found the VIP's body... or what was left of it. Crows had made a merry feast of the mess that was the corpse. James was moved from the brig to court for dereliction of his duty: he had been drinking with the others while he was supposed to be on watch, and a man--an important one--had died by the hands of some enemy spy. At least, that was the most that they could prove happened. Besides, James was sentenced to death by hanging, it mattered little what part he had played--mere negligence or treason or murder--he was just "one of those poor" people that the rich and corrupt tread on to stay at the top.

Dark, cold, callous, calculating. These are all terms that others have used to describe Tohram over the years. Although blessed, or perhaps cursed, with nearly unlimited personality, Tohram tends to only use his charisma when it is needed. Usually to intimidate others to do his bidding. For all the years he sat on the bench, those before him, not only defendants and criminals, but also the counsel and representatives of the state and of other parties, usually remained as silent as possible. For they were well aware of the tall and lanky Tohram's skill in instilling fear in others.

This is the personality others see. Tohram is not necessarily an evil person, it is more that he simply does not care how his actions affect others. However, what actions he takes are always in compliance with the laws, although if there are loopholes in the laws, Torham will be the first to exploit those for his own benefit. After all, following nearly a century handing down justice, he knows the laws, and how to use or abuse them in his favor.

Jill's crime is that of Arson. She wanted to demonstrate how good her alchemist's fire recipe was and the firestorm that burnt down the alchemist guild spread to take out several city blocks killing hundreds and injuring thousands.

She would love another opportunity to 'show-off' her recipe.

Jill has always been a bit arrogant about her skill in alchemy. To the point where she would revel in revealing the errors others made. Her boasting caused her to enter into a bet with another alchemist on who could make the better alchemist’s fire. Jill worked feverishly to make a better version than that hack James Carder.

When it came time to demonstrate the effectiveness in front of the membership of the Alchemist Guild, Jill’s version fizzled. Furious to be embarrassed in front of the whole guild, Jill returned to her lab and discovered that James had mislabeled one of her key ingredients.

Making a new batch, Jill returned to the guild headquarters and proceeded to lob her new version at the entrances of the building, with a few for good measure at the surrounding buildings. As Jill walked away from the building firestorm, she smiled as she contemplated all those fools trying desperately trying to put out her improved recipe.

The fire ripped through several blocks of the city, killing hundreds and injuring thousands. At her trial Jill freely admitted that she was responsible and that her recipe was obviously superior to that of her now dead peer. She was sentenced to Death by Burning.

If she got the chance she would love to see all those fools burn for their ignorance of her greatness.

Grafelda was born into a clan of Darklands orcs. They were for the most part, paradoxically, peaceful mushroom farmers. There were warriors amongst their number, but only enough to keep the fields safe. It was the high value of their product that was the real guarantee of their safety. However, this did not matter to the Eyebiter clan of Derro. They served the Demon Lord Shax, a master so insane that nothing but blood and chaos mattered to them. When she was still a very young child, the Eyebiter came and slaughtered Grafelda's people, taking her captive. As she was so young she became the 'pet' of the Eyebiter priest, Vintacken, his personal pincushion and plaything. When not assisting him in his dark rituals, she was often the subject of them. Grafelda was the victim of countless sessions of torture, more often than not with various types of blades. Vintacken would always heal her back from the point where life met death, so that he might do it all over, again and again.

This was Grafelda's life for as long as she could remember. Eventually Vintacken taught her to read, in order for her to assist him more easily with his rituals. Some time after this, he commanded her to clean and organize his library on her knees, but first he threw shards of glass and caltrops all over the floor. While completing that miserable task she came across a strange book covered in dust, forgotten in its place on the floor behind the shelf. Not knowing why, she felt the urge to take and hide the book, despite the punishment she would receive if Vintacken ever found out. She grabbed it, and hid it inside her straw bedding. Slowly in fits and starts she stole a minute here, a minute there, to read the book. She learned it was called the Umbral Leaves, and that it was the holy text of a being called Zon-Kuthon. The book was written with blood, on human skin. Something about the way this mirrored the bloody scars of her own body drew her in, and she became increasingly reckless in her reading. Luckily for her Vintacken had grown less fond of her over the years, and had newer younger playthings to torture. The text spoke of accepting and loving pain as the highest form of being. Its words reassured her that everything was all right. The mental and breathing exercises contained therein led her to eventually enjoy the pain she regularly received.

One night after this change, she had a dream. She was swimming in an endless black sea, under a starless, moonless sky. She could see nothing, and was in pain worse than even she had never experienced. Emerging from the darkness above came a cracked skull, with long spiked chains coming out of its eye sockets. It rushed down at her, somehow visible through the stygian night. The faster it came the slower it seemed to go, morphing into a twisted wooden visage of pain. It slammed into her face, driving her down into the freezing black depths. As the life was sucked out of her, she awoke in a frenzy clawing at her face. She knew that she had found her purpose. Grafelda would be a vessel for pain, and teach others of its greatness. Teach them of the power that could be found in oblivion.

Grafelda set about carving a mask in the shape of the wooden face she'd sheen. She used her own fingernails as tools, a long, painful and bloody process. Eventually the mask was completed, stained a dark reddish-brown from her dried blood. The first time she put it to her face, she felt a rush of power and understanding, arcane knowledge was seeping into her being. It took her several days to really understand what the mask was teaching her, but eventually she discovered she could do magic. She knew that her next step had to be escape. She caused confusion with a spell of mist, and momentarily stunned anyone she came across on her way out. Grafelda headed straight for the surface world, knowing that it was the safest option she had. She took only her copy of the Umbral Leaves, her clothing, her mask and some food.

Once on the surface she quickly came across a small human logging village. She attempted to preach the word of the Midnight Lord, but most people just drove her away with stones and threats. Though in each place she went there was always one who had ears for the sweet whispers of pain. These twisted few aided her enough for her to survive, moving from place to place spreading the seeds of pain and sorrow. Eventually she made her way to Talongarde and the great temple of Mitra there. She stood upon the steps at midnight, and calling up several witch-lights gave the following reading from the Umbral Leaves in a loud clear voice:

O blessed the twisted passion we share.
O unbounded love fused with heartlessness.
It leaves us breath which makes us gasp for air,
Our pleasant dream promoting restlessness.
As we kiss and grope and profess our love,
Our lives' misgivings come out in that talk
And to life, the skies, we shall send a dove
So we may watch it be plucked by our hawk.
We test the breaking of each's heart,
The ultimate goal to make cry and bleed
And watch as the other falls apart.
And we'll cause each other so many harms
So that we can die in each other's arms.

(Taken from Masochist's Creed)

The good people of Talongarde did not take kindly to this, least of all the priests of Mitra inside the temple. They arrested her immediately and had her charged with blasphemy. Grafelda's been locked in prison ever since. If she could somehow manage to escape she would attempt to continue the work of spreading the gospel of pain throughout the land. She understands now that task will not be easy, and that she won't be able to do it alone. She seeks pain for herself first and foremost, and only provides it to others when they want or deserve it.

Rosa Luminass LE Cleric of Asmodeus Lord of the Hells.
Domains Trickery and Fire.

Description:
Rosa dos not hide who and what she is, she is not in any way a Tiefling who lives in Shame. Why, well for a start shes 8'9'' feet tall, is a
LE Cleric of Asmodeus and if you do not like that your in for a very bad day. Rose is proud if who and what she is, age wise she looks around 30, shes well spoken and if you talk to her for a wile, she comes across as hard but some one with a sharp mind and wit. She has with her at all time a large Black and red Hell blade, at times it even talks to her in Infernal. She dos not get upset around goodness but has a hard time with Chaotic beings, Shes comes over as being far more Law then Evil. She has no tail but Horns, Her voice seems to have an odd echo, her shadow just will not stay still, her skin white seems to have some thing living under it, and there is always a heat haze off her body. She has good manners and is always well kept, mind you her Armor is most odd, why not ask her about it.

Rosa Luminass LE Cleric of A.

Rosa remembers a time of rooms and play, in the house of her farther, there nana would look after her and tell her story’s of the world outside. Rosa knew she could not go out, it was a bad thing and if ever her father found her close to a door or shaded window, he was be very angery. Life was sunbeams for shuttered windows, play and sleep. The servants had a party for her, and nana gave her a new dress, rosa had just put it on when her Farther game. He told nana he needed rosa to come to his work shop and that she had to stay, nana was very upset, but Rosa went with her Farther. The room was big and rosa looked at all the books and bottles. A strange Patten had been made in the middle of the work area floor. Some thing was there, a monster, Rosa was not scared she had seen her father with Monsters before. Monster Held out its hand, “You come with me now” it said, Rosa looked at her Farther who just nodded, Rosa held her hand out, the Monster smiled, “The deal is done, you have want you wanted “ there was a flash and Rosa was in a hot place, all around Monster walked and worked, The one holding her hand held out a metal collar he placed around her neck. “You is slave now, you work here, carry and do fast or pain” he placed a drinking jug in her hands and her mind fogged over. Time passed, she worked with others like her in a great tent made of skin and bone. Sleep, eat work, if she was slow hes was crushed under foot, to awake the next day in the blood pits, Her body whole once more to be sent back to work carrying food and drink to the Monsters.
The tent moved, as its owner the lord of hell willed and she with it, she never once looked outside the tent, she knew only work, pain and sleep.

Then came the time of a fight, another slave, a new one was being slow, if he was not faster she and he would be crushed, he would not move more or let her past, so with one swing she smashed he head in and walked over his body to the tables. The Monsters seem to think this was funny, one of them picked Rosa up in its clawed hand, “Fine one this, she has fire in her, you wast such fire in slave, place her in the army she will do well.” With that he broke her neck. When she came to she was in a blood pit she had never seen before, it was a cell and standing over it was a Monster holding large knifes. There was others around her, “worms you are mine, so heed me well, lean to fight and die well and I may let you live again, you will fight and you will die, each time as our lord wills and you will do so no matter what” with that he throw the Knifes into the pit. "Last one standing gets out". Rosa did not win that day or the next, but soon she did and in doig so joined the ranks of hells army. There she became fodder fight and die in endless wars.

Time passed, then came to time of the sword.

She and others had been sent to frontally attack a Devil, “You will charge at it all of you and keep it distracted while and agent of our master deals with it, most if not all of you will be sent back to the blood pits and death, this is what you are meant to do, Now go and die has our lord wills”
They ran over the hill and down to the waiting Devil, they died, its grate hammer smashing them while it tail flicked from side to side. Rosa was hit and thrown next to a rock, there she waited for death.

But as she lay dying she had time to see a shape move up behind the Devil, now eating some of her fellow dead. The Shape held in its hands a huge black and red sword, Then it moved to smite the Devil, but somehow it gave its place away, the devil move so fast she could not see, spinning it held in its hand a small bird.

“Do you think you could get me like that hell hound” The small thing In its hands screamed and the one with the sword stopped dead.

Why is he not moving

Rose thought, and then she could see, he had become stone. “Silly little hell hound”, the devil said, “he should know better than to send the likes of you, such and insult,” then its head high it screamed “if he wants ME! He can come himself” with one move of its tail it smashed Stone form.

Rosa closed her eyes as the rubble fell around her, she could hear the Devil had gone back to its meal. When she opened her eyes again, the pain was grater, but she could also see that the hounds sword had fallen by her side. She looked at it, it was a work of art, the runes on it seemed to flow and shift, so pretty, slowly she moved her hand to touch them.
“Arr” a voice said in her head “who do we have her, weak and small but there is room for improvment, you are one with a soul, but life yet, you must do”

They found her 2 days later, Still holding the Sword in the Back of the Dead Devil.

"This one is mine now" Said the sword "Make her whole once more and send her to me"

So it was Rosa life as a Hound of Hell Started

Sex - Female
Race - Tiefling (Humanoid outsiders, native)
Classes - Fighter [1] Cleric (Asmodeus)[1]
Alignment - LE alignment.
Age - Unknown (Most of her life she was a mindless slave.)
Hight 8'9" (Size Large)
Wight - 860kg
Hair - White
Skin - Steel
Eys - white

In Form -
Rosa is big, Not wide so much as willow thin and tall. she stands some 8 feet 9 high, she has two large horns front to back on her head. {She has no tail) Her body always seems to give off a heat haze even on the hottest day its covered in very fine gray tattoos of some kind deep in her white skin, 1000 fine veins that seem to make up a vast intricate pattern of some kind, they shift and move over time. She walks with grace and pride, and always keeps herself clean and well kept, in dress she likes whites and Blacks, Reds and fine garments. Her only weapon seems to be a 12 long Great sword that from time to time talks to her in Infenal. Her Armor is odd, it seems to be alive some times, she dos not so much take it off as it unwinds from her body. When she talks her voice has an odd eco and her shadow seems to move just a moment after she dos.

In Action -
Rosa is a Hound of Hell, where hell will's so she gos, sent to fight Demons or Devils who have Broken hells laws. Rosa knows a lot but says litte of things she feels others should not know. She clever and cunning of mind and deed. She can win with a smile or intimation to make others do her bidding. A skill warrior and Clerc of the hells who you may find seems to keep her cool in most situations. If you spend some time with Rosa you may find she only has mild emotions even under the greatest duress. You may also find her polite and well spoken with a rye smile at all times.

You asked a pertinent question about what character motivations would be.
At first I see Dren's only motivation to be survival.
Longer term though I see him listening to the voices though. He is an Oracle, though he doesn't really recognize himself as such. It will be the voices though that guide him and will probably push him to the path of this adventure.
The dark voices want a hold on this world and they see Dren as a conduit for that path...slighly chilling but I see lots of interesting roleplay opportunities for him.
Sometimes he will act in an evil manner, sometimes it might be good one, his motivations may often seem strange, almost random. Overall he is evil though and for the most part he will act accordingly. He is probably in the NE/LE range for alignment but being a little mad his actions can be a little sporadic.
Haunted was the curse I was going to take...the voices and odd happenings around him...
One last item, I plan to take cure spells, so I can be a spy/healer in the group.

Aiden Lightfoot
Male Halfling Ninja 1
LE Small Humanoid (halfling)
Hero Points 1
Init +4; Senses Perception +5

AC 17, touch 15, flat-footed 13 (+2 armor, +4 Dex, +1 size)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +2, Ref +7, Will +1; +2 vs. fear

Speed 30 ft.
Melee Wakizashi +5 (1d4/18-20/x2) and
Wakizashi +5 (1d4/18-20/x2)
Ranged Shuriken +5 (1/x2) and
Sling +5 (1d3/x2)
Special Attacks Sneak Attack +1d6

Str 9, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 16
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 13
Feats Weapon Finesse
Traits Murderer, Reactionary
Skills Acrobatics +8, Bluff +7, Climb +4, Diplomacy +7, Disable Device +8, Disguise +7, Escape Artist +8, Fly +6, Perception +5, Stealth +12, Use Magic Device +7
Languages Common, Elven, Halfling, Varisian
SQ Fearless, Hero Points (1), Poison Use
Combat Gear Shuriken (20), Sling, Sling bullets (10), Studded leather armor, Wakizashi, Wakizashi; Other Gear Backpack (empty), Bandolier, Chalk (5), Piton (2), Saw, Soap, Thieves' tools, Twine (50')

Shuriken - 0/20
Sling bullets - 0/10

Murderer +1 damage when flanking.
Reactionary +2 bonus to inititiative
Fearless +2 racial bonus vs Fear saves.
Hero Points (1) Hero Points can be spent at any time to grant a variety of bonuses.
Poison Use You don't accidentally poison yourself with blades.
Sneak Attack +1d6 +1d6 damage if you flank your target or your target is flat-footed.

Do. Not. Fear.

He had told himself this so often it had become a mantra.

He stood at the corner of Wind street and Long alley, dressed in black, cloaked in shadow, palms sweating, a knot in his stomach. Aiden had melted into the shadows like smoke on the wind. He had followed his mark for days to become familiar with his movements. Within minutes he would be in sight, heading toward the dock on Mill Pond.

The man was a half-orc named Belok and Uncle Emmitt wanted him to get a message. He didn't question his Uncle. Talingarde is a large city with plenty of room for 'businessmen' of all persuasions to have room to operate. Unfortunately for Belok, he had strayed into Emmitt's territory. Aiden, was to deliver a message.

The city watch had never really bothered with Emmitt. So what if a few crates went missing from the ships in the harbor? Who cared if some of the passing caravans didn't fully declare their goods? Emmitt had done more to keep the peace than half a dozen guard captains in years gone by. Those had been the good old days. Now, there were more and more Paladins and Inquisitors of Mitra prowling the streets. Their interminable presence had all but choked Emmitt's peaceful smuggling operation. Aiden knew of a potentially lucrative deal between his Uncle and the Long-hand gang but unfortunately, Belok had moved in and within months had a lucrative protection racket operating. Aiden had a soft spot for orphans, beggars and needy. Long years in this city had taught him they were often the best sources of information on the street. He looked after them and they looked after him. It was something he had learned from Emmit after he had rescued him as a squalling babe from that grim, disease-ridden whorehouse. Worse still, Belok's presence seriously jeopardised the deal with the Long-hands.

There. The half-orc turned the corner. But he wasn't alone, a tall, broad shouldered human man accompanied him. Protection. Wise, but futile.

He moved swiftly and silently. "Do not fear" he told himself again. First, remove the threat.

His first strike sliced through the human's knee, driving him down to the ground with a grunt, his second ended hilt deep in his throat. Send a message. Twist. Let Belok see the blood flow.

The Half-orc turned to run. Despite his small size, Aiden was faster than most of his kind and, living up to his family name, he closed the gap between them in a heartbeat. Leaping, impossibly high, he vaulted over his prey, his left arm grasping in a kind of headlock. With a twist, he threw his weight backwards and flipped them both, somehow landing on Belok's chest, the razor sharp blade a fraction from his throat.

"You were foolish to come to Sandpoint, Belok."

"P...please. I have money.

"I know." said the halfling with a snarl. "taken from the folk of Emmitt's Place. You should have remembered, Belok, there are eyes in the darkness. Always. I am to deliver a message so you should not forget your foolishness."

The blade pierced the half-orc's right eye as easily as if it were passing through water.

Suddenly, the air was filled with noise and light, several thunderstones cracked all around him. He was dimly aware of being thrown to the ground by a well armored human, a dog snarling in his face, straining at the leash, eager for his blood. Stripped of his weapons, bleeding from nose and mouth he was hauled away. To his amazement he saw Emmitt standing in the gathering crowd. He was laughing with a man Aiden didn't know but recognised from his clothing as a member of the Long-hands.

It was in that moment that he realised for the first time what he was. A tool. A disposable tool that had served its purpose. The man he called Uncle but loved like a father had betrayed him. Used him to remove the competition and to gain favour with his new business partners. He swore to himself that no matter how long it took, no matter what he must do, one day he would look his Uncle in the eye and demand to know if all the gold was worth his life. Then he would remove his lying tongue and watch him choke on his own blood.

Aiden stands just over three feet tall. He is small and slight but fleeter of foot than most halflings. He is handsome and quick to smile amd laugh. He has something of a silver tongue, particularly with the ladies but this is all part of his demeanor. what he really seeks is information, a weakness or a way out. He comes from humble beginnings as an orphan in a whorehouse after his mother died in labour and since being given a chance at life by his benefactor, he feels duty-bound to honour 'Uncle' Emmitt, repaying the dead of life he owes him. He is very disciplined which can also be a weakness. He is unquestioning of the person he decides is his leader or teacher, seeing it as his duty to obey, no matter the order. He may question the method, but never the act itself. He believes that every life he takes leads him inevitably toward his former master and father-figure. All he wants to know is 'why?'

Could easily be the party face with a good charisma score, high bluff and diplomacy. His stealth is very high also so would make an excellent scout and trapspotter. All skills necessary in his previous employment as a 'messenger.'

You are Mass Murderer killing more than one for your own ends, you have taken the lives innocence. You go to Branderscar Prison by means of an Infamous crime. One that follows you. Your act/s where cold and heartless, calculating and curl and unforgivable act.

Punishment: Death - hanged, drawn and quartered in Public.

Benefit: Evil Reputation +2 to all Charisma basted rolls when dealing with Evil Aliments.

Melara was brought to the church of Mitra as a baby, her parents unsure what to do with a son that obviously was different in some way as was clear from his ivory skin.

He grew up in a Mitran orphanage was recruited into the clergy as a young teen. At the temple he was trained as a holy warrior, a duty Mogander fulfilled with pleasure.

This ended when an influential priestess called him to her. She had decided that Mogander would make a good bed partner and when he refused, citing his vows to Mitra, she seemed disappointed but that was all. He later found out it in fact wasn't as soon rumours spread of Mogander breaking his vows and sleeping with various, married, women in the city.

He went to other priests in the temple to tell them what really happened but none would listen to him. Eventually he returned to the high priestess who only laughed at him and offered him to undo it all if he accepted her earlier offer. Enraged at the gall of the woman he pushed her away as she pushed herself against him. Unintentionally she hit her desk and broke her back. Mogander ran.

At least a dozen years he spent running from the church, avoiding the hounds sent after him by the priestess, who was confined to a chair now. Mogander found that most of the soldiers sent after him were carefully picked by her, all coming from the groups Mogander had trained or worked with and to his own regret he had to kill several of them.

Eventually he was done running and decided to turn himself in at one of the high priests of the faith. He hoped to atone for his sin and told the man everything, including the events leading to the accident. He nodded. Those circumstances however were irrelevant the high priest proclaimed. In fact, it was all his fault as he simply should have obeyed the orders of his superior to begin with. She had been a high ranking priestess, he but a lowly paladin. He should have obeyed. Now he would be put to death, burned at the stake for denying the divine servants of Mitra and killing several of his friends. At that point Mogander snapped and with one fell thrust pushed his sword into the high priest's stomach.

When the guards arrived they came upon a grizzly scene: The high priest's lifeless body laid splayed out on the floor, his entrails hanging in front of the door. On the walls texts were written in the old man's blood, all of them talking about the corruption and misdeeds of the church and slandering Mitra as nothing but a fraud.

Amidst this all Mogander sat on the floor meditating, sword across his lap. His ivory skin unmarred by blood or gore.