The Harrowing - DM Puppet Master (Inactive)

Game Master Anon A Mouse

2) What is your character's alignment, and why did you pick it? What do they believe that causes that to be their alignment?

3) Write me an in-character scene from your character's backstory. This will be primarily how I judge your submission, and should be at least a couple of paragraphs (please try to avoid writing a novel though). The goal here is to let me see your writing style and to give me an idea of what kind of person your character is.

Starting level: 9th. You will not be leveling up over the course of the module
Stats: 4d6 drop lowest. When a party has been selected, you may choose a stat array rolled by any of the players.
Materials: Any Paizo that appears on an online reference site
Races: Any Paizo with 15 RP or less
Classes: Any Paizo. However, please note that summoning magic and planar travel are harder to pull off in the setting of the module, so you may not want to build your character around those ideas. If you want to play a Summoner despite that, you must use the Unchained version.
Gold: 23,000 gp (1/2 WBL since we'll be using Automatic Bonus Progression). No more than 1/2 on a single item
HP: Max at 1st level, 1/2 HD + 1 on later levels
Traits: 2 or 3 with a drawback (I reserve the right to veto drawbacks that will never come up like Family Ties). No campaign traits
Special rules: Automatic Bonus Progression, Background skills (if you're a bard, Performance does not count as a background skill)

He went over to one of the bodies to cut it down, and the head turned towards him. Dead eyes stared vacantly at him as the corpse feebly tried to bite him. He backed away as he heard laughter echoing around him. From out of the buildings shambled the long dead elven soldiers. Men and women, wearing the tattered remnants of their armor.

The waves of undead fell upon him. Dozens upon dozens of zombies and skeletons. Lokhir cut the first one down, and then the second. Nails broke and bled as undead hands scratched at his armor. Teeth broke as a woman tried to bite his pauldron. There was little that they could do against him individually, but with their numbers they sought to drag him down and devour him.

Arcane energy shot from the elf’s outstretched hand, causing the zombies to burn in droves. The dark energy holding them up fading. But as soon as they did, a second group began to converge on him.

Again and again Lokhir cut with his blade. Soon there were mounds of corpses around him. All falling like puppets with their strings cut.

"Are you getting bored with my children...elf?" The voice oozed out of the darkness. "Blind little fools who could not see the potential. Just. Like. You."

Out of the darkness came a smiling elf, his eyes blank and with a twisted smile on his face. The elf wore a tabard with the symbol of Alseta on it, which was covered in dried blood.

"Say hello to Brother Sylus. He thought that Alseta had power here..." The creature laughed, the sound echoing in Lokhir’s head. "Oh how he cried! For weeks he tried to deny me. But in the end, he gave in. And look at the beauty that we have created. We are so glad that you have decided to add to it..."

The long dead elf floated forward, it's hands trailing behind it. With speed greater than Lokhir could have predicted it lashed out. Lokhir raised his buckler, barely smacking the hands away. He stepped forward, and parried a second strike as he tried to get within range. He stabbed with his blade, but the creature didn’t seem to noticed being cut. More laughter came through the empty streets. The heads on spikes joined in with a chorus of merriment.

The two combatants circled each other. Blow for blow they parried the attacks, until Lokhir spoke a word of power, making flames dance along his blade. He made contact and smiled as his blade bit deep, but he was overconfident, judging its strength by the weakness of its servants. It reached out and grabbed him with it's stolen hands. The elf’s blood ran cold. He felt the warmth within him dying. The laugher echoed in his mind. This is what had destroyed the town. This is what had caused the death and enslavement of the populace.

”Alesta abandoned me." The voice sounded different. Pained. Scared. ”The gods abandoned all of us. But I have been rewarded...you shall join me! You shall join usssss!" The voice changed back to the creature’s.

Lokhir fought to break free from the creature’s grasp, but he was never known for his strength. Holding his blade right under it's head he stabbed at the creature again and again. It howled in pain as it's grip tightened. Arcane light against the darkness of damnation. The two were caught in a deadly embrace, with neither side willing to back down.

All around him the impaled bodies and the heads on stakes began to laugh. A cacophony of unholy mirth. Lokhir could feel the anguish of the enslaved souls, kept away from Pharasma's embrace. The pain was almost unbearable, as a stream of blood rolled down from his eyes.

Lokhir didn’t fight for the damned souls. He didn’t fight to free the city. He didn’t fight for the glory of his people. He came out of greed and now he fought for survival. Again and again he stabbed until the host body began to fail. The corpses were no longer laughing. The wraith didn't have the strength to control them anymore. It tried to break free, but now it was Godwyn who was holding it in place.

"Calistra!" Lokhir hissed. "Look upon the work of this damned priest! Judge him, just as you must judge his victims!"[/b] One more stab and it let go him, the body falling to the ground. Whatever had possessed it was gone.

Lokhir fell to his knees, breathing heavily. He looked up, and he could feel that the taint was no longer present. A breeze rolled through, and the hanging corpses swayed with it. He knew that the souls had all moved on. Within seconds the last of the damage done to him had vanished, and the bloody tears ceased. He had done what he set out to do. The elf began to go through the corpse’s robes, looking for something worth stealing.

Evocation Spells: Light (lvl0) Burning Hands (lvl1) Flaming Sphere (lvl2) Fireball (lvl3)
Abjuration: Prestidigitation (lvl0, two world magic) Shield (lvl1) Resist Energy (lvl2) Dispel Magic (lvl3)
Transmutation: Mage Hand (lvl1) Liberating Command (lvl1) Versatile Weapon (lvl2) Fly (lvl3)

This gives him Dex to Hit and Damage, and lvl to damage, with the option of enchanting his sword on the fly. Add in Occultist spells, and you get what I think is the most elven type of warrior. Full BaB, dex based and full of arcane tricks. Not as good as fighting as a fighter, not as good at spell casting as a Wizard. But somewhere between but closer to the fighter.

Doctor Irivetta is a thundercaller, able to use her voice to shatter wood, flesh, stone and metal.

In combat, she will be using bardic performance to damage her enemies and use a little support magic as well; outside of combat, she will have extensive skills that assist the party, as well as some support and healing magic.

2) What is your character's alignment, and why did you pick it? What do they believe that causes that to be their alignment?

Chaotic Good. She's from a River Kingdom ruled by a bandit king, so she doesn't care much for laws, but she does believe that people should take care of each other.

3) Write me an in-character scene from your character's backstory. This will be primarily how I judge your submission, and should be at least a couple of paragraphs (please try to avoid writing a novel though). The goal here is to let me see your writing style and to give me an idea of what kind of person your character is

...then came the great debate, where the heads of four seperate classes in the Academy argued about the meaning of the word "Linger" in the fourth quatrain of the second stanza. Each side had mountains of research backing up it's points, each clearly written and well-spoken; this WAS a bardic college, after all.

Doctor Irivetta had never been good at that game, and this outing was no different. Sighing at the outcome, she packed her gear and began searching for the mysterious scholar...

str 8
dex 14/16
con 14
int 14
wis 11
cha 18/20

HP 66
AC: 24; T: 16; FF: 20 (10 base +8 armor +3 dex +1 deflection +1 size +1 dodge)
BAB 6
Init +4

Fort +8
Ref +12
Will +9

Speed 40'

Weapons:
1) Ranged Touch: +10 to hit

2) Dagger: +7/2 to hit; 1d4+1 damage; 19-20/x2 crit

Adventuring Skills:
*Bluff r0 +20
*Diplomacy r0 +20
*Intimidate r0 +20
*Knowledge (Arcana) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Dungeoneering) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Local) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Nature) r6 +xx
*Knowledge (Planes) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Religion) r6 +11
*Perception r9 +19
*Perform (Sing) r9 +20
*Perform (Keyboard) r9 +20
*Sense Motive r0 +20
*Stealth r0 +
*Survival r9 +16

Background Skills:
*Knowledge (Engineering) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Geography) r6 +11
*Knowledge (History) r6 +11
*Knowledge (Nobility) r6 +11
*Linguistics r9 +14

Languages:
Common
Celestial
Abyssal
Infernal
Draconic
Dwarven
Elven
Aklo
Auran
Ignan

Alternate Racial Features:
*Fleet of Foot (speed 30'; replaces sure footed and slow speed)

*Blessed (+2 to save vs. Hexes and Curses; stacks w/Halfling Luck; replaces fearless)

Class Features:
*Bardic Performance (37 rnds/day)
- Countersong
- Distraction
- Fascinate
- Inspire Courage +2
- Thundercall (sound burst - 3d8 damage)
- Incite Rage (can make people rage; DC 19 Will Save for unwilling targets)
- Call Lightning (generate lightning per Call Lightning, including increased damage in storms)
- Inspire Greatness

*Versatile Performance
- Sing (Bluff, Sense Motive)
- Keyboard Instruments (Diplomacy, Intimidate)

*Well-Versed (+4 bonus on saves vs. bardic performance, sonic, and language-dependent effects.)

*Archetype (Thundercaller)
- Bound to the Land (1/2 class level to Handle Animal, Know: Nature, and Survival)

*Lore Master (take 10 on any knowledge check; can take 20 once a day)

Traits:
*Pitaxian Improvisation (1/day; after rolling a performance check but before results are known, can roll bluff and use it in the place of performance check)

*Arcane Temper (+1 trait bonus to initiative and concentration)

Feats:
Dodge
Extra Performance x2
Noble Scion (Scion of War)
Noble Stipend

Spells:
*Spell DC: 15 +Spell Level
*Spells/Day: 7/5/4

*Cantrips:
- Detect Magic
- Light
- Mending
- Message
- Prestidigitation
- Summon Instrument

*First: 5
- Cure Light Wounds
- Ear-Piercing Scream
- Liberating Command
- Tamer's Lash
- Vanish

*Second: 4
- Cure Moderate Wounds
- Heroism
- Sonic Scream
- Sound Burst

*Third: 4
- Cure Serious Wounds
- Haste
- Thundering Drums
- Slow

Automatic Bonus Progression:
Armor Attunement +2
Deflection +1
Mental Prowess +2
Physical Prowess +2
Resistance +2
Toughening +1
Weapon Attunement +2

Equipment:
Mithral Breastplate (+2) -4200
Circlet of Persuasion -4500
Boots of Striding and Springing -5500
Cloak of Elvenkind -2500
Eyes of the Eagle -2500
Masterwork Dagger (+2) -302

2,498 gp

Fayn stirred his mount and looked over his glasses. Tired, yet trying to look regal, he scratched the light beard on his chin while waiting for his companions.

They're definitely there, over that mount on the east. - he finally spoke, signaling - Hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush us.

He moved his hands and started chanting. His voice wasn't loud, but his words were still dangerous; he knew his spells were controversial, at least, but didn't bothered at that moment. When he finished his gestures and touched his mount, its fur immediately thickened.

I don't plan to wait here all day anyway. Lead the way - we're right behind you. - he completed, making clear that they were ready for blood.

2) Alignment:Lawfulish Good, but not nearly consistent enough about it to be a Paladin-paladin. He believes wholeheartedly in the power of sacrifice, and in the idea that the innocent must be shielded, but though he sees the alignment of his patron, Vildeis, as an aspirational goal, he has made more than a few shortcuts in his extended life. Laws are only as wise as the one who wrote them.

3) Scene!

It's always the small things you regret paying too little attention to. Kyuzon and his companions had come to Thistlerush following after reports of Urgathoan cultists, and they had found a town too beaten down by fear to so much as open their doors to strangers - even if they were here to help. Horrors had stalked the streets by night, and by day the villagers feared to do more than shuffle along, praying that they and their families might escape notice for as long as possible.

The demented wretches and plagued undead had not stood long against their fury, but once the Urgathoans were dead or fled, their corruption still lingered. Kyuzon's prayers and spells were long since exhausted; there were still so many sick, but he had done his best to help those who might not otherwise survive the next night.

But his sleep had not been peaceful. In the night, a half dozen villagers had worsened quickly, clusters of boils and buboes erupting as if waiting for him to let down their guard. He had treated each of them the day before, judging that the small signs of infection were weak enough to wait for his ministrations. And now they're paying the price for your foolishness.

"I am sorry." He passed among them with searing needle and soothing herbs. "I cannot remove your pain. It is a burden you must carry until dawn comes." All the healing that rested in his own hands was spent; it would not be enough. "But together we can be strong. Together the night will not be so long." He brought their pains to himself, sharing the loads that he could not dispel. Their fevers flamed behind his cheeks; the wounds and sores appearing as stigmata along the lattice of scars that already covered his powerful frame. His face was pale, his smile strained, but his eyes were bright as he passed around strips of willow bark. "Chew on this for a while. It is a small thing, but it will help."

2) Alignment: Lawful Neutral. Chisomo is Lawful because she values order in her life. She likes things to be scheduled; even if she doesn't have as much of a say in things as she would like, as long as someone's in control, she's happier. She also has a strong resentment towards what she sees as 'unfair.' Which to her usually means 'breaking the rules I thought we were playing by.'

Chisomo is Neutral because even though she's warm and compassionate towards her in-group, before then you're really just more of a concept to her. She doesn't like the idea of pointless murder, but the idea of endangering herself to save a total stranger is at least alien. Then again, she can be pretty easily talked into things like that if she thinks it would be possible, but tough - she likes a challenge.

3) Scene!

"How are you this boring?!" Another flurry of her blades saw the two twitching zombie-things collapse before they could reach her with their outstretched claws. "It's all 'remove the head or destroy the brain,' but you're necromancers! Skeletons walk around without muscles or ligaments, so it's not like you really need the connective bits, is it?" She looked up with a smirk at where her quarry was skulking on a distant rooftop, all black robes and skulls and scythes and boring, boring, boring!

"Do you want to just come down? I'll even let you monologue if you don't make me climb up after you." "You insolent pup! When you are cast screaming into the maw of-" Chisomo rolled her eyes and stretched out her blade as the madman ranted, a hum building in her chest, until she spun around in a brutal arc, starting on the ground, but abruptly appearing across the street, atop the roof and with the teeth of her blade resting against the Urgathoan's throat!

"Y'know, fair's fair. I didn't have to climb..."

2) Alignment: Chaotic Good. Ana believes that her strength isn't for her alone, and that the strengths of others need protecting while they grow. Still, she has an instinctive revulsion to the idea of being yoked to someone else's will, and can scarcely abide the thought of others willingly accepting what she views as thralldom. The only thing that binds her to a person or cause is her own choice.

3) Scene!

By now even she was getting tired. Her arms burned with fatigue that Kyuzon was too far away to relieve. He hadn't wanted to withdraw, but eventually he'd seen the right of it; they should be enough to succeed without him tonight, and if not, they'd need his strength all the more tomorrow.

Chisomo was off trying to cut the head from this snake, Yattle hadn't exploded anything for a while, which meant either they were dead- Not bloody likely -or they thought they were being 'clever' again.

So zombie duty was hers.

She'd lost count of how many of them had been cleaved or crushed by a swing of her axe, or how many she'd tossed with her horns to trample later. Number's not what matters anyway.

Once Thistlerush had turned into all out war she'd slowly but surely carved out a sanctuary for the villagers, where even the undead feared to tread, but they'd clumped around the last few innocents, making sure that if she wanted to save them, she'd have to go where they were strongest.

The last knot of them had been clawing down the childrens' door when she arrived.

The room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Whatever Ana might be, delicate wasn't part of it, and whatever these last wretches had been, they'd died hard and ugly.

She tugged at the door, and the frame cracked to the scream of the children within. "It's okay. I'm a friend."

She ducked inside, horns carving grooves in the cheap ceiling. The kids stared up at her wide-eyed and trembling. This should be Kyuzon to give them courage, or Yattle to make them laugh. Not me. What am I supposed to say to make them- "Are the monsters scared of you too?"

She nodded, a sad glint in her eye.
"They are."

2) Alignment: Chaotic Neutral. Yattle's not actively malevolent, and isn't so negligent that they're actually harmful, but they're essentially selfish, even if they do vaguely acknowledge that teamwork exists and is helpful. Still, that doesn't mean that they're a PART of something. Just that they're helping, for now.

3) Story: "Y'know, fair's fair. I didn't have to climb..." Yattle rolled their eyes as they called together a ball of fire, squishing and condensing it in their hands until it was the size of a very small, very deadly pea. "I GET IT - SO DRAMATIC!"

They flicked the pea away and Chisomo's prey exploded in a gout of flame, FINALLY getting an emotion on her face other than boredom or a sneer.

They paused for a moment in thought, tumbling along the night winds until they were close enough for Chisomo to hear.

"Hey Big Cheese, are entrails an emotion?"

Out of combat, he’ll have a surprising number of skills and social talents for someone whose main combat role is to hit things with metal while yelling insults about their genetic makeup.

Lore Warden Fighter (1) - Artful Dodge, Two-Weapon Fighting, Combat Stamina
Lore Warden Fighter (2) - Double Slice, Combat Expertise
Lore Warden Fighter (3) - Skill Focus
Lore Warden Fighter (4) - -4th Level Fighter Feat-
Lore Warden Fighter (5) - Advanced Weapon Training
Lore Warden Fighter (6) - Improved Two-Weapon Fighting
Style Shifter (1) - Kirin Style, -7th Level Feat-
Student of War (1) - No Feat
Student of War (2) - Kirin Strike, -9th Level Feat-

The scream outside made him jump with a curse, then a second as the pile collapsed in a heap beneath the card still in his fingers. Did it count if he was still holding it? Surely it should...but no. Everyone knew a house of cards was only complete once you’d taken your hand away. Muttering a complex curse he’d once heard from a lich Kaldwell rose to his feet and moved to the window of the inn.

He’d hoped it would just be someone who’d been spooked by a friend, the old ‘Hah, didn’t see me behind you did ya!?’ But no, it was never that simple. Looked like...yeah, some local toughs. Criminals and thugs. The ones that thought having a bigger sword and little more skill made whatever they wanted there own.

And, of course, they were harassing a few pretty girls. One especially grabbed the eye.

If this scene was more stereotypical then a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man on a white horse, silvered armour gleaming and cape fluttering would ride in any moment. Kaldwell snorted in amusement. Well, he could ride, but his hair was long gone, and the only thing silvered was his beard.

Still, he couldn’t allow what was about to happen to occur. He could see the violence brewing from here, the look in the eye that spoke of flowing blood and pain. He sighed and moved to the door, opening with an easy swing just as the fight began.

The pretty girl had just cracked the leader’s ribs with a brutal kick accompanied by his short, airless scream of pain. It was a little like the first whistle of a boiling kettle. His lackeys were startled, jumping back, reaching for those oh-so-impressive weapons, and the girl's firsts were curling…

”HOLD!” Kaldwell barked. Both sides paused, looking at him. Fear and dread was reflected in their eyes. Even the thugs were smart enough to look past the wrinkles, past the grey hair and bald head to the muscles in the arms, the towering height, the long falcata’s sheathed at his hips. For now.

The dread was from the girl. She knew better.

”Alarie,” he said in a gentler tone. ”Now, I know he no doubt said some untoward things, and no doubt deserved a bit of a kicking on account of poor manners, but did you need to shatter his ribs, child? Now he’ll have an excuse to be neither use nor ornament until they heal. Think of his poor family, lass, before you inflict his company on them.”

”Sorry Grandfather,”

The thug decided now was a time to prove his lack of wisdom by getting his breath back. ”Hu-hu-how dare you, you little bit-” Kaldwell stopped him from speaking by pulling him up straight. And off his feet.

With one hand.

It was a ridiculous display of brute force, Kaldwell knew, but it certainly put most arguments to bed. ”Oh no, lad. Don’t be so stupid as to think finishing those words will result in anything good happening.”

His eyes widened as he was pulled to eye height. ”Wha-what are you going to do to me?”

Kaldwell grinned. ”Give you back to her, boy, and go back inside.” Alarie looked away. ”Now, are you going to be a smart boy, keep your trap shut, and go find a healer for those ribs, or am I ordering a pint and bailing my grandchild out of the sherrif’s office later?” The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. ”Smartest thing ye’ve done today,” Kaldwell said as he lowered the young man down again and shoved him towards his friend.

Turning to the girl, Kaldwell sighed, ”Finish your business and come find me, please, so we can speak once more on discipline.” She winced and nodded before hurrying off - in the opposite direction to the idiot youths, quickly going the other way.

Kaldwell watched them both go, then snorted and headed back to the inn. Perhaps if he was closer to the fire and his old bones were warmer then he would be able to stack the cards a little better. He’d been close last time...

An Ulfen man wearing a mithral breastplate and carrying a shield greets his fellow comrades as the set out seeking quest that is the namesake of the land of Linnorm Kings. " I am Eirnar, a shaman of Pharasma. If you'll accept the lady's blessing upon you. I should be able to keep you out of the boneyard today. She lets me twist the threads of fate to forestall your untimely demise for a short while, but she always gets her due regardless. For the dragon, my fate thread meddling will be far less benign."
…
They'd managed to make a few solid blows against the creature, but then it grew cautious and stayed in the sky. Eirnar watches as his ally’s arrows and bolts fall flat against the thick hide of the dragon. It finally descended to breaths fire upon them all, he takes the worst of it. Despite his injuries, he refuses to yield, and makes a quick gesture, tugging on his ally’s fate threads. As he does so, the burns on Ven, Erik, Gledrel, and Valros begin to close, and at the same instant he coughs up a large amount of blood.

A cautious man would channel the lady’s gift, heal them all, and wait for another opportunity, but the dragon is still close enough! Eirnar spits the blood as he gives the creature an evil eye, lessening its abilities to ward off the assault of his friends as he says, " Send this thing to the boneyard, quickly!."

His allys take the opportunity afforded to them, unsure of if there will be another. Gledrel charges in her tiger form, and savagely rakes it. Ven mutters a quick incantation and reaches out to touch Valros and Erik. All 3 instantly appear on the other side of the dragon. Erik's axe cuts a mighty swath through the it, and Valros makes a series of blindingly fast cuts against it. As his short sword finishes its final attack, the beast falls limp to the ground. If this were only a dragon, that'd be the end, but this, is a Linnorm...

…

Eirnar returns from the quest, “successful”. The Linnorm may have died, but so did almost all of them. Only Gledrel and he are left, and she'll spend the rest of her days cursed, a final taunt from the damned beast. Valros could have claimed a throne, as is his right, but succumbed to the curse the same night. As Eirnar beds down, after his prayers his final thought is This will not happen again. Next time, I’ll know what we face. I’ll be prepared!

The bodies of the four thugs that Pastor Fitzsimmons, his current prey, had hired to ambush him were scattered up and down the alley. The first two were humans that were cut down with long sword wounds, and Delroy's longsword was still lodged in the second man's abdoman.

Another had a pair of throwing daggers buried in his throat and shoulder from quick casts Delroy had made when Fitzsimons had first led him into the trap. The last man was laying next to Delroy, his eye's screwed shut from where he had been blinded and the cords that Delroy had used to strangle him still wrapped around his throat.

A combination of the pain in his leg and the frustration at having his prey narrowly escape filled him with frustration and screwed up his scarred face into a grimmace.

”So damned close, but he slipped away again. I can't believe I fell for this stupid trap...” he growled to himself.

A clatter from down the alley warned him of men approaching. He swiftly reached for his third dagger, but relaxed as the forms of a squad of city guards came cautiously into view with their halberds lowered and pointing at what appeared to be the perpetrator of bloody murder sitting down before them.

”Who's there and what's this all about?” the sergeant leading the men called out.

”Easy there lads ….” Delroy called back to the approaching guards.

”Just old Delroy here ….” he continued, pausing to cough once and clear his throat.

”I about the business of the courts tonight and I just had an unfortunate encounter with these perpetrators while I was conducting my lawful business.”

”Here..” he continued, pulling an oiled leather scroll tube from ”This is my warrant, stating I am on the business of the courts.” He tossed the scroll tube to the sergeant, who took one hand from his halberd and caught it.

The sergeant leaned his weapon against the wall of the alley, withdraw the parchment in the tube, and studied it in the dim light.

After a moment he spit in disgust. ”Bounty hunter....” he said to his men with a slur. ”His papers look legitimate, so we'll be leaving him alone and just cleaning up this mess tonight.”

At this the men relaxed and lowered their arms.

The sergeant tossed the warrant back to Delroy and continued to his men ”Gather these bodies and pull them out to the street. We'll get a wagon and take them to the undertaker before the sun comes up and decent people are out on the streets.”

As he rolled up his warrant and replaced it in the leather scroll tube, Delroy spoke back up ”Easy now sargeant … I'll be wanting to check if any of these assassins are carrying a bounty on their heads, because that's money I'll be due....”