Way of the Wicked (Monster Edition)

Game Master Diamondust

PLAYER----CHARACTER----CREATURE----CLASS----BACKSTORY
Philo Pharynx----unknown----unknown----unknown----no
Sapiens----Eat-in-Shadow----Bogeyman----Shifter----Yes
Nemroider----unknown----Serpentfolk----Cleric----no
caster4life----unknown----unknown----unknown----no
zefig----Dahlia----Medusa----Hedge Witch----Yes
rorek55----Reginald Oswell----Ogre----Wizard----Yes
DBH----unknown----Vishkanya----Rogue----no
Andrea1----Aggghhh the Unclean----Orc----Barbarian----Yes
Joynt Jezebel----unknown----unknown----unknown----no
Phntm888----Igoroskandrallanotly----Doppelganger----Alchemist----Yes
Nyaa----unknown----unknown----unknown----no
Ictoo----unknown----Vampire----Alchemist----no
Storm Dragon----Fiaincosranboladhrianoir----Hound of the Wild Hunt----Stalker----Yes
Aipaca----Captain Richter Kruegar----Dread Skeleton----Mageknight----Yes
Jereru----unknown----Ogre or Minotaur----unknown----no
Helix Missionary----Ngogh'gnish----Rogue Eidolon----Summoner----no
ImperialSunlight----Gop----Goblin----Witch----Yes
Fenris105----Fjori Unnason----Fire Giant----Cleric----no
Cuàn----unknown----Aopstle Kyton----unknown----no
Odentin----Lierin----Dread Ghoul----Rogue----no
Simling----Edward Mulligan----Skinwalker----Druid----Yes
Tharasiph----unknown----Bugbear----Monk----no
DarkLightHitomi----unknown----Blob----unknown----no

I got sloppy. Again.

And it's doomed me. Again.

I should start at the beginning. My name is Lierin. No family name, not anymore. I left that behind with my last life. When I was alive, I was a duelist. A good one, too. My and my curve blade cut a swatch of death across the dueling scene. Nothing brought be greater joy than watching the light fade out of an enemy's eyes.

Until I fought her. I should have known she was a caster. I didn't realize until too late, when I felt her spell rush through me. That was the end of my life. As I lay dying, she stood over me, asked what I wanted done with my remains. I cursed her. She cursed me right back.

She raised me from the dead, as this...thing. Made me her own personal toy. Mocked me. It took years to break free of her control, to turn her other toys against her. To finally watch the light fade from her eyes. It didn't bring me joy, though. Not like it used to.

But it did bring me peace, if only for a moment. So I set out to do it again, and again. I took up my blade again, and turned my new powers back toward dueling. I can disguise myself as a living elf, so no one knows any better. I always make sure I'm hidden away when the sun goes down, when my disguise melts away.

Most duelists use swords, which don't actually do all that much damage to me. Makes it easier to kill them.

But I got sloppy, I got careless. I had just killed a man in the street. I was in the bar, bragging and partying. I issued an open challenge. Someone accepted.

I didn't expect him to pull a hammer. I didn't expect the hammer to hurt so bad. I didn't expect my flesh disguise to disintegrate immediately. But he did, and it did. I stood exposed before the town. I expected them to destroy me there and then, but they didn't.

They bound me up, shipped me off. And now, here I am. Waiting to be obliterated in some ritual show of force.

They call me a monster, but at least I always gave my victims a chance. This isn't a duel. This is an execution, dressed up to look good for the masses.

But I'm the monster. Right.

Berthold Steel wasn't born to do what he did with his life. He was born well within the borders of Talingarde, in a small but growing town of respectable, if traditional and somewhat insular, rural folk. His father was a second-generation half-orc, born and raised in Holmesford, and worked as their smith. Bert's mother was a first-generation half-orc, serving as the midwife and healer-woman of the town; she combined prayers to Mitra with old remedies, using herbs and practices she'd learned before escaping her brutal early life beyond the northern wall. Both his parents liked Talingarde, liked their town--certainly, there were old prejudices and suspicions, but Garrett Steel had proved a respectable smith, like his father before him. Rarely did bigotry, when it reared its head, go beyond tasteless jokes, off-handed insults, and half-meant comments from drunkards in the tavern. The couple raised their son to be a citizen of Talingarde and a worshiper of Mitra, first and foremost. He only learned scraps of Orcish in the forms of the odd curse from his father working the forge, and the occasional prayer, phrase, or plant name from his mother.

Bert, however, hated every moment. He wanted to be more than what they planned, or at least different; what he wanted to be was an orc. He saw his father's silent acceptance of ill-mannered jokes as weak groveling; every comment on his ancestry seemed to him a biting accusation, bitter cruelty and oppression by a hostile nation he never asked to join. When he heard the rare tale of orcs beyond the border, he pictured strong, dangerous, proud peoples, who would never grovel before fools--everything the skinny youth dreamed of being, everything he wasn't. When he asked his mother what life was like out there, her remembered horrors spoke to him of great and terrible power; her lingering hatred of the shamans she had been meant to join only further spurred Bert to think that this was his destiny. In his dreams he imagined a way to greatness, a life far from his quaint town. And in his dreams, a plan not quite his own was hatched.

So by the time he neared adolescence, Bert absconded in the night, taking meager supplies and making for the border wall. Just how he reached the other side isn't clear, but there is more prejudice in that place, and a cursing and hostile youth of orcish blood may well have been abandoned to the hostile frontier. However he managed it, joining an orc tribe was more difficult; they are not keen to take another mouth to feed, especially an unproven outsider. But he found favor with a tribe, and so began his true trials: apprenticing to a shaman.

It was Rot-Bones of the Dead Hands tribe who took him, seeing in this whelp of a half-breed cunning and tenacity beyond that of true-blooded candidates. Rot-Bones pushed his apprentice hard and far, liberal with his beatings and quick with the rituals of proving that would either maim or kill. Bert took it all, growing hardened and tough, and he happily sported the ritual scars and tribal tattooing blessed by the old gods of the Orcs, as well as the Dark Lord Asmodeus who Rot-Bones paid some service to. But he never grew strong, keeping his small and weak frame, and after a handful of years, Rot-Bones declared that his apprentice--now called Scar-Taker--would never be a war-shaman. He would remain a shaman of the camp, respected and influential, but not the revered and fearsome leader of raiding parties who would exemplify the orcs' strength.

Scar-Taker was filled with rage and self-hatred, and in his heart he refused to accept this fate. His sleep became restless, filled with nightmares where he cried into the dark void. His primal anger screamed for the power to fight back against the senseless injustice of his existence. And once more, something not entirely of himself answered, but more powerfully. He called to the void, and something called back.

Once more, Bert stole away in the night, this time to an ancient and haunted place, shunned even by the most savage of orc shamans for its cursed aspect and the cyclopean altar which stood there from time immemorial. In his mind he felt the touch once more of whatever had spoken to him in his dark dreams, felt sure it was what had called him north of Talingarde to begin with. It spoke of strength and terror, of changing his weak form to one capable of breaking and crushing all who would stand against him. It offered to take form in this world, using Bert as the connection, if only he would perform the profane ritual it whispered into his mind.

Scar-Taker might have shown surprising force of will to his master, but Bert wanted recognition and power, damn the costs. He completed that archaic, horrific ritual, and at its zenith, he had a single moment to realize his mistake. Then his mind was torn asunder, his vitality stolen away, his very being consumed by the new entity which used him as a host for its arrival in this plane.

Ngogh'gnish the Unknowable rent the half-orc's feeble form and subsumed it with its presence. It stalked away, gleeful in its alien way, making for Talingarde. At the wall it slew a few guards before being captured and sent to Branderscar. Its seeming acceptance, even appreciation, of this turn of events is unsettling to say the least, but the guards get their fitful rest believing that the bizarre creature will be thrown to the pits and be slain.

from the body of a drow, warped and mutated through special poisons and elixirs to take on the characteristics of a giant spider, the drider is a dangerous creature.

Driders are sexually dimorphic. A female drider’s lower spider body is sleek and graceful, often similar to a black widow’s body, while its upper drow torso retains its alluring curves and beautiful face (with the exception of sharp, poisonous fangs). A male drider’s lower body is bulky like a tarantula, while its upper body is wiry and bears a hideous face more spider than drow, complete with fanged mandibles.

Racial Traits

Ability Score Racial Traits: Flexible (+2 Con, +2 Wis) (2 RP)
Advanced Constitution (+2) (4 RP)
Advanced Dexterity (+2) (4 RP)
Advanced Strength (+2) (4 RP)
Type: Aberration (3 RP)
Size: Large (7 RP)
Base Speed: Normal (0 RP); +10 ft. due to extra legs (see below)
Languages: Standard (0 RP)
Defense Racial Traits

Greater Spell Resistance (3 RP) Driders gain spell resistance equal to 11 + their character level.
Natural Armor: Driders have a tough exoskeleton, granting them a +2 natural armor bonus.
Hard to Trip: Due to drider’s 8 legs, they gain a racial bonus vs. trip attempts (see Quadruped below.)
MOVEMENT RACIAL TRAITS

Climb Driders have a natural climb speed (2 RP) They have a climb speed of 20 feet, and gain a +8 racial bonus on Climb checks.
Senses Racial Traits

Darkvision: Driders have darkvision and so can see perfectly in the dark up to 60 feet.
Other Racial Traits

Quadruped Driders have 8 legs. (4 RP) They gain a +12 racial bonus to CMD against trip attempts and a +10 foot bonus to their base speed. In addition, driders may use weapons and armor as if the weapons and armor were Medium-sized (instead of Large).

Race-Builder for (Imperfect) Rakshasa
Race: (14 RP)
Native Outsider
Type: Native Outsider (3 RP)
Size: Medium (0 RP)
Speed: 30 Ft (0 RP)
Ability Scores: Standard (0 RP)
Language: Xenophobic (0 RP)
Racial Traits:
Stubborn (2 RP)
Beguiling Liar (2 RP)
Focused Study (4 RP)
Change Shape, Lesser (3 RP)

Name: Kahmunash
Race: Rakshasa (Custom)
Class: Mesmserist
Alignment: Lawful Evil
HP: 11
AC: 11
Movement: 30
Deity: None
Fort: +3
Ref: +4
Will: +3, +5 vs Charm/Compulsion Enchantments

Strength: 7
Dexterity: 12
Constitution: 14
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 20

Traits:
Reactionary: +2 to Initiative
Criminal: +1 to Disable Device, is a Class Skill

Feats:
1: Spell Focus: Enchantment
Skill Focus 1: Disguise
Monster Feat: Ability Focus: Painful Stare

Racial Abilities:
Change Shape, Lesser

Skills:
Bluff: +10, +14 to convince others they aren't lying
Diplomacy: +9
Disable Device: +6
Disguise: +12
Intimidate: +9
Linguistics: +5
Perception: +4
Sense Motive: +4
Sleight of Hand: +5
Stealth: +5

Languages Known: Infernal, Common, Celestial, Abyssal

Class Features:
Consummate Liar
Hypnotic Stare
Mesmerist Tricks: Fearsome Guise
Painful Stare 1/1d6 self

Spells Memorized:
0th:
Daze
Light
Mage Hand
Prestidigitation

1st:
Charm Person
Color Spray

Combat:
Finesse Weapon for +1 to Hit

Kahmunash's previous life ended far more abruptly than he had hoped. After ascending to the level of minor nobility in Vudra by the strength of his silver tongue and domineering magical mind, he found himself on the wrong side of a greatsword wielded by a Paladin who had sworn to slay him after he killed and ate her parents with a rich peanut sauce and sweetened Varisian Wine. His last thoughts in that form were of annoyance, as he would have to be reincarnated and start all over again before he could get back to enjoying the finer things in life.

But he underestimated how prepared his killer was, and the determination she had to end the Raksahsan cycle of rebirth. The combination of a custom soul-rending effect on her blade and soul trapping magic meant that as Kahmunash's spirit left its lifeless mortal body, it did so as a shattered, hollow shell of its previous self. Kahmunash spent over a century as a spirit, furious that his tattered soul was unable to properly resurrect itself inside a newborn as the result of this for so long. He was only finally able to do so via a haphazard and heavily diminished process, one that to his dismay left him considerably weaker than any of his previous resurrections.

His "Parents" quickly discovered his true nature due to his inability to properly control his shape-changing abilities, and he spent his formative years fleeing from the law in what he soon discovered was a far more righteous and just land than he was used to. Paladins and Holy Knights seemed to spill out of the woodwork to break up his fledgling endeavors, and kept him cold, hungry, and on the run for almost two decades as rumors of the "Crocodile Child" quickly began spreading throughout the Church of Mitra. Much to his dismay, he gradually learned that the easiest way to survive this horrid imposition was to squelch his usual grandiosity and and hedonistic nature and rely on subtlety and misdirection. If he couldn't warp the minds of the sheep around him into servitude, he would have to make do with lies and aliases that could only get him little more than food scraps and loose change. Overtime Kahmunash built up an intense hatred for this "Talingarde" place, and the indignities forced upon a being of his majesty. We would see this nation either burned to the ground, or enslaved under him like the Goshta they were.

As he grew older, he found himself gradually regaining use of some of his rightful fiendish powers, and unfortunately this started to make him reckless. Charming a trader out of most of his goods was one thing, but his pent-up resentment led him towards more and more brazen attempts to seek revenge on those who "wronged" him in one way or another. Trying to force the local mayor to lie down in an oven and cook himself to death in front of the whole town was a step too far, and Kahmunash was swiftly captured and thrown into this hell-hole of a prison. But this is not the end. This country has not yet suffered for its crimes.

Life in Talingarde was dull these days. Way back in the days under House Barca it hadn't been a whole better, but at least it was bearable. Then came the joyous years of war, followed by a dull period. Then came the mad king, a short lived bonfire of excitement. After that, dull again. Sure, there were the Asmodean purges but does were only fun if you got to partake, and she rarely had been. Now even that was over. If it wasn't for the great mercy of her kyton, or actually velstrac friends, she'd be pale and rotting in a ditch with the rest of her kin. Or worse, she'd be one of those boring Bleachlings, like her sister.

It had all been fairly simple really. King Markadian II the superbly bland had had the great library of Matharyn built and since her family had close connections with people close to the king they got access to it's long halls and even it's vaults. Now if there was one good thing about the bland king it was that he didn't believe in censoring knowledge like his son and grandson did. That meant that among the stalls there were all kinds of books on less than savoury subjects.
Now this was right up Muriel's, as she was still called back then, alley. She had seen friends and family suffer from the Bleaching due to lack of excitement and they had tried all the normal pursuits, so it was time for unorthodox methods.

She was still researching when the bland king met his end at the hands of his own brother. What followed were months of excitement which in turn caused Muriel to neglect her research. Alas, it was all but short lived as the mad king met his end at the base of one of his castle spires. Muriel hurried back to her research in the book of the library.
She had only just started experimenting with the exquisite exultations of pain when disaster struck. The new king, whom she called Markadian IV the Truly Mad, son of Markadian II the Bland, had blamed all the excitement of the previous period on the temple of Asmodeus and had started to purge them. With the temples destroyed and high priests burned some of his underlings had turned their eyes on the library and had begun purging it of all "sinful" literature. That included more or less all books Muriel had been using for her studies. Afraid they'd turn on those reading the books next she left the library behind her. Instead she tried to join the zealots purging the cults but most rebuffed her, claiming she wasn't pure enough or some nonsense. She did get to partake occasionally, joining those less scrupulous. It were these times that allowed her to continue her experiments.

Then the king died once more and was replaced by his son, Markadian V. The people called him "the Brave", she called him "the Meh". He ended the purges, ending Muriel's opportunity to conduct her experiments. It was during these moments of despair that she had spotted her first grey lock of hair, only worsening said despair. When, a few years later, she saw in a mirror that one of her eyes had lost it's lustre she fainted.

While she was out she had a vision. A vision of perfection. Of escape from the dreaded Bleachling. A vision of excitement and joy. More importantly, it showed her how to get there. When she woke she completely ignored the bystanders checking how she was doing and immediately set out to gather the things she needed for the ritual to summon her saviour.

It was a few days later that she conducted the ritual, which culminated in her removing her own discoloured eye with a broken knife. Then nothing. For a moment she sat there, bleeding, and despaired. It was then that the shadows in front of her rippled and a humanoid figure stepped out. He was glorious, with bloody tears crossing his skin in elaborate patterns and an iron crown jutting forth from inside his skull. He smiled and she passed out once more.

The first time she saw herself after the transformation she was shocked. Her skin was pale and her hair was grey as if she'd become a Bleachling. It only took her a moment to realise she wasn't, she was more. She was better, she was ecstatic. She didn't know what had happened exactly as she was still at the same place that she performed the ritual. Yet a think layer of dust had gathered on the instruments she had used and of her sacrifices only bones remained so it must have been at least a year. She smiled.

She still wore that smile when she stepped outside on the streets of Matharyn shortly after. She however had not counted on running into Mitran paladins so quickly. Paladins who instantly realised something was wrong about her when peasants just stared at her in fascination and who captured her with very little effort. Before she knew it she was literally bagged, so none would be beguiled by her appearance, and carted off to Branderscar.

--------------------
Defense
--------------------
AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex)
hp 12 (1d8+4)
Fort +6, Ref +5, Will +5
Immune undead traits

--------------------
Offense
--------------------
Speed 30 ft. Swim Speed 30 ft.
Special Attacks sneak attack +1d6
Alchemist (Beastmorph, Vivisectionist) Extracts Prepared (CL 1st; concentration +3)
1st—cure light wounds , shield

--------------------
Statistics
--------------------
Str 16, Dex 14, Con —, Int 14, Wis 14, Cha 16
Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Blood Of The Deep, Brew Potion, Iron Will, Throw Anything
Traits murder, reactionary
Skills Craft (painting) +4, Disable Device +4, Heal +6, Knowledge (arcana) +6, Knowledge (nature) +6,
Sleight of Hand +6, Spellcraft +6, Survival +6
Languages Common, Elven, Necril
SQ alchemy (alchemy crafting +1), finesse weapon attack attribute, mutagen (+4/-2, +2 natural armor, 10
minutes), rules changes
Combat Gear mutagenAPG; Other Gear alchemist starting formula book

--------------------
Special Abilities
--------------------
Alchemy +1 (Su) +1 to Craft (Alchemy) to create alchemical items, can Id potions by touch.
Blood of the Deep Though you are a vampire, somewhere in your history there is a powerful connection
to the sea. Running water is no threat to you.
Benefits: You are not harmed by running water as most
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white only).
Finesse Weapon Attack Attribute The “light weapons” category has been renamed to “finesse weapons.”
Immunity to Ability Drain Immunity to ability drain
Immunity to Bleed You are immune to bleed.
Immunity to Death Effects You are immune to death effects.
Immunity to Disease You are immune to diseases.
Immunity to Energy Drain Immune to energy drain
Immunity to Exhausted You are immune to the exhausted condition.
Immunity to Fatigue You are immune to the fatigued condition.
Immunity to Mind-Affecting effects You are immune to Mind-Affecting effects.
Immunity to Nonlethal Damage You are immune to Nonlethal Damage
Immunity to Paralysis You are immune to paralysis.
Immunity to Physical Ability Damage Immune to ability damage to your physical abilities.
Immunity to Poison You are immune to poison.
Immunity to Sleep You are immune to sleep effects.
Immunity to Stunning You are immune to being stunned.
Mutagen (DC 12) (Su) Mutagen adds +4/-2 to physical/mental attributes, and +2 nat. armor for 10
minutes.
Sneak Attack +1d6 Attacks deal extra dam if flank foe or if foe is flat-footed.
Throw Anything Proficient with improvised ranged weapons. +1 to hit with thrown splash weapons.
Undead Traits Undead have many immunities.

Allston Brent -

Morian stifles his screams of pain as he rocks about on the cold filth covered cell floor. He can think of nothing else but the pain of the ever burning hunger that wrecks his body. He had taken the beatings from the guards and his fellow inmates from his constant crying his feverish visions of before his capture. ”Zura! take me in your embrace feed me the life.” He shouts out, clawing at the cold stone floor and biting at the air. ”The blood is the life…” He shouts out just before getting kicked in the guts by a large brutish man.

He then swims in his mind, visions flood over him. In such a vivid dream, he is thrown back to the day he met his sweet release. With a crash it happened so fast, it was a bittersweet end. She had asked and so he followed her every word. He had wanted it more than anything, he was beyond obsessed he had cried out for it so many times. It was like the sweetest kiss, an embrace he never wanted to end. He felt euphoria like he had never before.

It started with frustration, it started with a single reason to want to break out from the stifling society and truly expertise something outside the norm outside of the exception. He was born into the high life the son of a diplomate, everything was given to him but everything was expected of him. He was never given a moment to himself and in turn he was never truly able to be himself or experience exactly what life had to offer. He had a particular skill in alchemical study and it was this endeavor that gave him the more freedom the more excitement in his life as he was able to delve into libraries full of old knowledge.

That is where it all started, he played with this new knowledge and didn't plan on stopping. He ran from one extreme to another, devisising drugs and other conconsions to test on himself and others. It was immensely freeing but he needed more and that’s when he really delved deep and started to learn of the monsters of this world, one in particular the Vampire. A creature sinigual need to live on blood, a component to life and one that could fuel such a creature he needed to know more he needed to meet one.

So he left the comfy trappings of his father house and setout on his own, his path took him to the worse places you could find in a country full of worshipers of light. But he dived head first in the depravity and did things he wouldn't have dream of before but it all came as second nature to him. He loved every moment of it, taking advantage of people maybe even some of the drug he sold could have killed a few people but it didn't matter to him he loved to rush of it all. He still read, searched for knowledge deemed to dark for most libraries and still on his hunt for a vampire for a creature of the night. He did everything in his power to track one.

That’s when he met her then, in the middle of nowhere in some god forsaken bar he met this creature. He couldn't tell if she was an angel of a demon but he knew she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he knew she was a vampire. When he entered the bar she only had eyes for him and with his devilish charm and quick wit he moved to her, then it was all a flash. A night to remember but he only remembered in in short burst, she had made him hers and he was more than happy to do whatever she wanted. She was the strongest of drugs she held eternal life and it was all just one bite away.

Months went by and it was the greatest time of his life, he loved her he needed her. But she showed no signs of affection he felt like it was just a game for her. But he was infatuated. He did everything for her, he bring her food it was anyone he could get his hands on and then it got a lot worse. She kept pushing him ask more of him, he would charm his ways into houses and throw people outside for her to take. But things could last so long in a country like Talingarde there was a step to far and it’s the reason they were caught, she wanted his father and with a smile he throw him out into the cold.

With the deed done she kissed him, it was the greatest of pleasures a simple kiss but then she spoke to him so softly. She thanked him and spoke of the greatest of gifts she wanted to turn him she needed him now more than ever. But that’s when it happened, shouts of partols and arrows rain down one hitting him in the shoulder as she stood taking the most. She hissed and ran dragging him with her, the chase was relentless. But he was not going to be left behind and ran breathlessly alongside her.

They got to the ocean, her wounds clear to see now in the moonlight. She had asked him to jump, so he jumped. He stood at the edge of the cliff looking down at the crashing waves, he had followed her this far he was an addict waiting for the next touch the next time she would give him just a moment of her time a glance of a smile. It broke him every time, he was a wreck. With the large collection of men shouting at him he turned to have one last look and jumped.

He was lost in the wash wave after wave hit, for a moment he felt it was over he didn't know what way was up or down. But then she was there, she took hold of him, she swam around almost like she was floating about the water it was effortless. Flashes of knowledge hit him then and panic sets in that vampires and water shouldn't work like this. But she surprised him again, seeming just at home in the water. As she swam to him she showed her wounds and he knew what she wanted, so he offered himself to her fully he wanted to give his life for hers.

As she drank deeply he felt the life draining from him but he was happy, there was a point he felt himself not even holding his breath. He just was in the water with the love of his life. Then it happen a large bolt show through his chest and into hers and they started to pull them out the water.

It happened so fast, he was so weak so drained there was nothing he could do for her as they surrounded her and hacked her to bits they went about burning her body and making sure she didn't come back as they chained him up, saying he would hang but they had a special plan for him.

--

It all comes crashing down the euphoria of the most perfect moment he had ever achieved. Replaced with pain flashing over his face, another boot from his fellow inmates handed out freely when his hunger got the best of him and he would scream out uncontrollably. He licked at his broken lip tasting his own blood, the black clotted sludge didn't flow from his wound it was like a think puss, it almost turned him sick the blood so deceased from the starvation of blood. He begged again for just a single drop from the other prisoners but whispered it this time, he remembered all the other times and he expected there would be more than a few hard hits this time. With a cold shiver, he crawls slowly to the corner of the cell pulling himself up he looks across the room finally looking at each of the other prisoners, planning who he might be able to take advantage of who he could feed on.

He smiles a half crooked smile, this wasn't where he was going to die. He would pray to Zura he would work with anyone to get his way, to get out and make the most of his new life he would remember his maker and make sure those who took her would pay in blood.

Overview -
Allston will start the campaign a broken thing, not at full power not knowing how he works. He had researched the lives of vampires for so long he longed for it more than anything, he was a drug addict and wanted nothing more than to become more.

I will be playing up his addiction, and hopefully when and if he gets out into the open world with some freedom he will become more of his former refined self. But as the start he will be something like Gollum from lord of the rings just wanted a taste of fresh blood. But he will evolve and become everything he’s wanted to be.

He found the taste of the high and holy life to be distasteful so was happy to seek anything different. He found it and was content to serve and take what pleasure he could but with his maker dead and him unsure of what it’s like to be a vampire I will play up alot in that regard.

Wulf is steady, determined, loyal and ready for anything that's thrown at him. He is aggressive and gets angry very easily with situations he has no control over. But knows how to read a situation.

He calls very few people friend but those he does he would do anything for.

He's wracked with nightmares over what happened to him and the situation of how he left his village. Ashamed that deep down he wished he had just run away. He also feels guilt over what happened to his friend Ton and the fact he was taken down so easily.

Allston is a shell of a man when people first meet him, as I said earlier think Gollum from Lord of the drinks.

But when he's drinking his fill and fully healed he will be a lot more refined in the way he looks and dresses. Think a somewhat classing Dracula/sherlock holmes I might even use a sword cane for some class.

He will stand at just over 6 foot a very slim build but from the way, he holds himself people will know he’s not to be messed with. Sporting a short pit black hair and a close-shaved look.

He will be skilled, with trapfinding and lock picking and knowledge. But will be a deadly more frontline with his more beastly form coming from the feral mutagen. (Played off as turning when he's had blood and running out when he's hungry.) With Sneak attacks and augments from spells he will play off as his vampire side coming more forward with the lives he takes and the blood he drinks (Maybe learning new spell?/Skills? From the people he drinks)

I was born the first son of my father Unna, the clan chief, and so was destined to become the next chief. And as such my life was a good one, my clan would travel all over the land going from village to village and town to town looking for good fights and good drink. unfortunately most villagers or townsfolk died without really giving us a good fight. Many were weak, more were cowards, but every once in a while we got a good scuffle. It was after one such fight that my life fell apart. An elf, named Indri I believe, had arrived at our camp, apparently we had been by his home village some time ago and his family had died fighting us, no one remembered them so they must not have been very good. The elf said he wanted to fight whoever was in charge and my father pushed my forward, it was a great feeling knowing that your father had faith in you, so I stepped forward eagerly. It was the best fight I had ever had, the elf was good, good enough to leave a scar on my arm. He used a long curving blade that had never seen before and we fought for over an hour. In the end I managed to take off his head and cleave his blade in two, and we laid him in the fire in respect. That evening we celebrated late into the night though we'd all fallen asleep by morning. That's when they came, knights or paladins or something of the nature, we never really paid attention to human politics and such, they snuck into camp and killed my family as they slept with cursed or poisoned swords. The only reason I survived was that I had woken up to take a p**s, and even then they got me with those swords of theirs, the next thing I know I'm waking up in this run down hellhole. I will find the men that killed my family, and when I do. They. Will. BURN!

race point name notes

3 Aberration type For obvious reasons I hope.
0 small size
0 normal speed The ability to change it's basic form means it can use an efficient shape for moving
0 normal languages the seven being, draconic, sylvan, terran, undercommon, elven,drwaven, and infernal. They live in forests and caves, and thus know the languages they most encounter, as well as the language of magic and the language of those most often contacted from the outer planes
-2 mixed weakness -4 str, -2 cha, +2 dex, +2 int They are not actually that much weaker than other races, but they can't really apply their full strength to most activities given their lack of skeletal support. They have little contact with others, and what connections they do build are generally based on practicality and logic rather than emotion, thus they seem offputting to other peoples. They are logical and practical in thought and their bodies are of course very flexible.

2 climb
2 swim Climb and swim speeds because they can change form to easy move as needed, grabbing handholds easily and shaping fins easily
4 all around vision They have no specific eyes, rather, they absorb light with their skin to see, allowing them to see with all parts of their skin

1 stalker (stealth & perception are class skills) They are predatory in nature, and thus naturally hone these skills , not to mention the great vision, shifting form, and black color helping out these skills.
2 silent hunter penalty for moving in stealth reduced by 5; can run while stealthing at -20
3 swift as shadows penalty for moving full speed reduced by 5, and sniping reduced by 10. These are of course about their ability to hide and move
-1 negative energy affinity heals from negative energy, hurt by positive

These creatures live solitarily or in small family groups, with only loose affiliations with neighbors. Generally considered more evil than are, though they are actually mostly just practical and cold hunters focused on themselves, with only a few enjoying the infliction of pain on others. A good description would be machievellian. They are smart, utilizing magic to do most of their activities and relying on physical ability only on hiding or moving around.

They are born from a rare form of black blood, and they say among themselves that they were experiments in creating artificial life. If true, that may be why they are based -on negative energy.

Incanter (a spheres class)
No specializations
bonus feat extra talent

thus, 5 talents total
warp sphere
-quick teleport (move action)
-extradimensional storage (10lbs per cl of storage)
destruction sphere
-crafted blast (turn 1s and 2s into 3s and can choose B, P, or S)

casting tradition
drawbacks; mental focus, skilled casting (profession mage which I treated as an adventuring skill)
benefit; easy focus (conentration on a spell is a move action)

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25 point buy
10 points dex
10 points int
5 points wis

lawful evil

final array
06, 16, 10, 16, 14, 08

traits
deft dodger (+1 ref save)
pragmatic activator (int for umd skill)

feat
combat casting

skills (favored class bonus, 2 from class, 3 from int)
regular
climb
swim
perception
stealth
survival
profession Mage

bg skills
craft leather
craft woodworking