FairyGM's Way of the Wicked

Game Master Therenger

The holy inquisitor licked through the papers of the report in front of him. Absentmindedly making making muberling sounds to himself at some of the parts. The room was simple, a high window with bars, clean-ish, a simple table and two seats a clean table and over to one side a wash basin. For Branderscar Prison this was positively luxury. The occupants of the room where one middlages and fat, holy inquisitor, by the look of the stains on his robes, not long from the Ale house. And one young nobel lady, the subject of this interview. Now Chained to the seat she was sitting in. The holy inquisitor looked up from the report.

"So Lady Zallena Rol-Jackaroon, would you like to explain to me just what happened with young mater Filchip Van-Brook"

He looked at her now, Lady Zallena Rol-Jackaroon was tall over 6 feet, and slim, long white gold hair, Golden eyes, with fine gold tattoo like markings. She was very active the inquisitor he thought to himself, in another time and place he may have asked for her hand. O will that head was for the Chapper now. Maybe after... He let the thought drift. But then he look at her eyes. As if she could have read his lasivus mind.
They where cold hard, behind them was an intelligence. He had been an holy inquisitor for over 30 years and he knew the eyes of a cold killer when he saw them. He controlled and involuntary shiver.

"And please do not try and lie, I have cast a spell so you can only tell the truth. So then Lord Filchip, why did you kill him"

Her eyes defocus off him, as if seen past events.

"It was just a sparring match that got out of hand"

The eyes were back looking at him, at him. Again that chill, he looked down at the report.

"It says here, that while studying your Noble collage, classmates overheard a altercation where you Challenged the young lord to a dual.
Apparently you accused him of, and I qoit "Of being mixed up with demons" and using "Demonic magics to harass you" do you have any evidence to support such accusations?"

Her face did not change.

"Again, it was a sparring match that got out of hand"

He was getting exasperated, her Noble statues gave her some privileges.
But he could tell there was more to this. She was known as deeply into religious matters, a hard worker at school, well read, and by all accounts fine curtly manners. She came from a good family, a trading family of good standing, most members like her having some planes touched features. A family Known for being trustworthy and honest. Yet here was the youngest daughter of five, locked away for killing a fellow noble in what everyone at the place called an offered and accepted duel. Explicitly against the new order, yes in years past it was acceptable but not now. And the boy she killed was of a much higher rank then her. His fmaily wanted blood, dear god gods above save us from these honor bound Novels

"Let's talk about this sparring match then shall we. No weapons or armor just hands and fists. And yet looking at this report. Lord Filchip, hand one Broken arm, a dislocated knee, Seven broken ribs, punchered lung, 5 fingers broken. The left foot shattered, a fractured skull, and last of all, crushed windpipe. He choked to death on his own blood. One eye witness said, She dropped him, then walked around him and dissimulated him like a doll, took her time too, and then when he went to submit, she punched in on the throat so he could not speak. That to me sounds like a cold hard killing to me Lady Zallena, care to explain?"

Her eyes did not waver but this time in a lower voice.

"It.. was.. a.. sparring match that got out of hand"

He looked round to the door, and called out to the door.

"Take her back to her cell, we are done here"

That low one, again, 7 + 10 = 17

Archetype Thassilonian Specialist (Inner Sea Magic)
LE Medium humanoid (human)
Deity Mephistopheles/Asmodeus
Init +
Senses Darkvision
Perception +
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Defense
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AC , touch , flat-footed ( )
hp 6 (1 HD)
Fort +, Ref +, Will +;
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Offense
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Speed 10 ft.
Melee
Ranged
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
Special Attacks

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Statistics
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Str 8(-1), Dex 13(+1), Con 10(0), Int 20(+5), Wis 15(+2), Cha 11(0)
Base Atk +4; CMB +8; CMD 23
Feats Wretched Curator (Agents of Evil if allowed), Spell Focus (Necromancy), Scholar Arcane, Religion (If WC is not allowed)
Traits
Skills
Acrobatics +1, Appraise +9 (1 rank), Bluff +0, Climb -1, Craft Jewelry +9 (1 rank), Diplomacy +0, Disable Device +1, Disguise +0, Escape Artist +1, Fly +1, Handle Animal +0, Heal +2, Intimidate +0, Knowledge Arcana +9 (1 rank), Knowledge History +9 (1 rank), Knowledge Local +9 (1 rank), Knowledge Religion +9 (1 rank), Linguistics +5, Perception +3 (1 rank), Profession Barrister +5 (1 rank), Ride +1, Sense Motive +2, Sleight of Hand +1, Spellcraft +9 (1 rank), Stealth +2, Survival +2, Swim -1, Use Magic Device +0

Languages Common, Ancient Osiriani, Draconic, Infernal, Osiriani, Necril,
CF Arcane Bond (wand/staff depending on the size of the first long bone found), Arcane School Necromancy (Opposed abjuration, enchantment), Scribe Scroll, Spellbook, Command Undead
Combat Gear
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Special Abilities
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Necromancy School
Power over Undead (Su): You receive Command Undead as a bonus feat. You can channel energy a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Intelligence modifier, but only to use the selected feat. You can take other feats to add to this ability, such as Extra Channel and Improved Channel, but not feats that alter this ability, such as Elemental Channel and Alignment Channel. The DC to save against these feats is equal to 10 + 1/2 your wizard level + your Charisma modifier. At 20th level, undead cannot add their channel resistance to the save against this ability.

Life Sight (Su): At 8th level, you gain blindsight to a range of 10 feet for a number of rounds per day equal to your wizard level. This ability only allows you to detect living creatures and undead creatures. This sight also tells you whether a creature is living or undead. Constructs and other creatures that are neither living nor undead cannot be seen with this ability. The range of this ability increases by 10 feet at 12th level, and by an additional 10 feet for every four levels beyond 12th. These rounds do not need to be consecutive.

Undead Subschool
Bolster (Sp): As a standard action, you can touch an undead creature and infuse it with negative energy. It gains a +1 profane bonus on all attack rolls and saving throws, as well as 1 temporary hit point per Hit Die and a +2 bonus to its turn resistance. The bonus on attack rolls and saving throws increases by +1 for every 5 wizard levels you possess. These bonuses last for a number of rounds equal to 1/2 your wizard level (minimum 1 round). The bonuses and temporary hit points are immediately dispelled if the creature is within the area of a consecrate spell. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Intelligence modifier.

Thassilonian Necromancy
Benefits: A Thassilonian specialist wizard receives two additional spell slots of each spell level he can cast. These bonus spell slots must both be used to prepare the same spell from the wizard’s school of specialization, allowing the wizard to cast that spell twice (as he has prepared the spell twice). The wizard cannot use these slots to prepare two different spells, even if they are of the school he is specialized in.

Born into a devout family, he was raised to become a Paladin. He had a strict father, who trained him daily from when he could hold a sword. Drills. Tenets. Every aspect of his life was to one day become part of the Holy order that protected the land. It was during his teenage years that he came face to face with death. Losing a very close a dear friend due to horrific accident. But instead of horror and pain, instead he felt wonder. Awe. But it wasn’t until much later that this sudden revelation truly took hold

When he was finally ready, he joined the part of a military unit while training and preparing to take his oath as a Paladin.

But after each battle, he became increasingly intrigued by the morbidities of death, decay, and rot. Death became a daily thing, and his mind often wandered to what could be if the body wasn't as frail as he has noticed. Even with the training to be a bulwark in combat, his thoughts always strayed back to the finality of being mortal. To the point where perhaps he was seeing visions. Unlike the paladins, he had no connection to any of the three, no divine magic to call on or any form of aptitude to suggest talent in the area. No priest or paladin could tell him why he could not call on the same powers they wielded. Though deep down, he knew, that it was because he wasn’t a true servent. Something else had his devotion, but what or who, he yet did not know or understand

One fateful day, he and his squad was sent to subdue and put a stop to a small Urgathoan death cult that was starting to become known in a small town not too far from the Capitol. There he finally realised that his thoughts, feelings and perhaps even his visions, were preparing him for this. He decided to try and abandon all that he was expected to do, leave this facade of a life, perhaps become a more useful instrument to his new beliefs.

But then he was caught and brought back. In his cell, days before finally being sentenced, he made a silent oath to Urgathoa, that he would become her champion on this plane, if she would only help him escape mortal death

STR 20, DEX 15, CON 17, INT 11, WIS 17, CHA 8

Female Human
Medium Size
LE Inquisitor of Asmodeus 1
BaB +0
Init +4; Senses: Perception +7, Sense Motive +7
CMB +5 (0BaB +5str)
CMD 17 (0BaB +5str +2dexterity)
Favored Class Inquisitor
FC bonus: +1 HP

Defense
AC 12, touch 12 flat-footed 10 (+2 Dex)
HP 15 (8 + 3 (3*1Con) + 1 (1*1FCbonus) +3 (toughness))
Fort +5 (+2 base +3 Con) (add 1 vs divine spells)
Ref +2 (+0 base +2 Dex) (add 1 vs divine spells)
Will +5 (+2 base +3 Wis) (add 1 vs divine spells)

Offense
Speed 30 ft
Space 5 ft, Reach 5 ft

Divine magic
CL 1
Concentration (CL + wis): +4

DC: 13+spell level

Spell level (slots): Known
Cantrips (-): Detect Magic, Daze, Guidance, Light
1 (3): Cure Light Wounds, Lend judgement

Domain
Trickery
Copycat (Sp): You can create an illusory double of yourself as a move action. This double functions as a single mirror image, and lasts for a number of rounds equal to your cleric level, or until the illusory duplicate is dispelled or destroyed. You can have no more than one copycat at a time. This ability does not stack with the mirror image spell. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Wisdom modifier.

Other abilities and SQ
Judgment (Su):
Starting at 1st level, an inquisitor can pronounce judgment upon her foes as a swift action. Starting when the judgment is made, the inquisitor receives a bonus or special ability based on the type of judgment made.

At 1st level, an inquisitor can use this ability once per day. At 4th level and every three levels thereafter, the inquisitor can use this ability one additional time per day. Once activated, this ability lasts until the combat ends, at which point all of the bonuses immediately end. The inquisitor must participate in the combat to gain these bonuses. If she is frightened, panicked, paralyzed, stunned, unconscious, or otherwise prevented from participating in the combat, the ability does not end, but the bonuses do not resume until she can participate in the combat again.

When the inquisitor uses this ability, she must select one type of judgment to make. As a swift action, she can change this judgment to another type. If the inquisitor is evil, she receives profane bonuses instead of sacred, as appropriate. Neutral inquisitors must select profane or sacred bonuses. Once made, this choice cannot be changed.

Destruction: The inquisitor is filled with divine wrath, gaining a +1 sacred bonus on all weapon damage rolls. This bonus increases by +1 for every three inquisitor levels she possesses.

Healing: The inquisitor is surrounded by a healing light, gaining fast healing 1. This causes the inquisitor to heal 1 point of damage each round as long as the inquisitor is alive and the judgment lasts. The amount of healing increases by 1 point for every three inquisitor levels she possesses.

Justice: This judgment spurs the inquisitor to seek justice, granting a +1 sacred bonus on all attack rolls. This bonus increases by +1 for every five inquisitor levels she possesses. At 10th level, this bonus is doubled on all attack rolls made to confirm critical hits.

Piercing: This judgment gives the inquisitor great focus and makes her spells more potent. This benefit grants a +1 sacred bonus on concentration checks and caster level checks made to overcome a target’s spell resistance. This bonus increases by +1 for every three inquisitor levels she possesses.

Protection: The inquisitor is surrounded by a protective aura, granting a +1 sacred bonus to Armor Class. This bonus increases by +1 for every five inquisitor levels she possesses. At 10th level, this bonus is doubled against attack rolls made to confirm critical hits against the inquisitor.

Purity: The inquisitor is protected from the vile taint of her foes, gaining a +1 sacred bonus on all saving throws. This bonus increases by +1 for every five inquisitor levels she possesses. At 10th level, the bonus is doubled against curses, diseases, and poisons.

Resiliency: This judgment makes the inquisitor resistant to harm, granting DR 1/magic. This DR increases by 1 for every five levels she possesses. At 10th level, this DR changes from magic to an alignment (chaotic, evil, good, or lawful) that is opposite the inquisitor’s. If she is neutral, the inquisitor does not receive this increase.

Resistance: The inquisitor is shielded by a flickering aura, gaining 2 points of energy resistance against one energy type (acid, cold, electricity, fire, or sonic) chosen when the judgment is declared. The protection increases by 2 for every three inquisitor levels she possesses.

Smiting: This judgment bathes the inquisitor’s weapons in a divine light. The inquisitor’s weapons count as magic for the purposes of bypassing damage reduction. At 6th level, the inquisitor’s weapons also count as one alignment type (chaotic, evil, good, or lawful) for the purpose of bypassing damage reduction. The type selected must match one of the inquisitor’s alignments. If the inquisitor is neutral, she does not receive this bonus. At 10th level, the inquisitor’s weapons also count as adamantine for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction (but not for reducing hardness).

Monster Lore (Ex):
The inquisitor adds her Wisdom modifier on Knowledge skill checks in addition to her Intelligence modifier, when making skill checks to identify the abilities and weaknesses of creatures.

Stern Gaze (Ex):
Inquisitors are skilled at sensing deception and intimidating their foes. An inquisitor receives a morale bonus on all Intimidate and Sense Motive checks equal to 1/2 her inquisitor level (minimum +1).

Traits:
Crime: Desecration
Reactionary

Feats:
Lvl 1 - Toughness
Human - Judgment Surge

Skills:
Heal +7 (1 Ranks +3 Wis +3 CS)
Intimidate +4 (1 Ranks -1 Cha +1 Stern Gaze +3 CS)
Knowledge (arcana) +4 (1 Ranks +3 CS) (add 3 to identify creatures)
Knowledge (dungeoneering) +4 (1 Ranks +3 CS) (add 3 to identify creatures)
Knowledge (nature) +4 (1 Ranks +3 CS) (add 3 to identify creatures)
Knowledge (planes) +4 (1 Ranks +3 CS) (add 3 to identify creatures)
Knowledge (religion) +4 (1 Ranks +3 CS) (add 3 to identify creatures)
Perception +7 (1 Ranks +3 Wis +3 CS)
Sense Motive +8 (1 Ranks +3 Wis +1 Stern Gaze +3 CS)

Languages: Common

Equipment:
-
Wealth: 0gp

Vormog Lough was born in the great city of Matharyn. His mother Katya was a proud follower of Asmodeus and his father Morris was a hard working fisherman. Vormog's life was happy until he was 12 years old, when the Zealot started the inquisition against his family's faith. He was in one of the congregations when the paladins came. His mother held him close while his father stood against the zealots.

The years that followed were harsh. His once strong and capable father became a cripple and his fishing trips were always less and less fruitful. Katya became bitter, not only because her husband became only the husk of the man he'd once been, but also because she was not allowed to openly practice the faith she so proudly proclaimed in the past. Both Vormog's parents loved him separately, but whenever they were together, they could not stand the sight of each other. While Morris told his son to make the most of his life while he could, Katya taught him that he could rely on noone but himself in the world.

One day, Vormog met a girl named Regina. Together, they shared a vision of individualism. They wanted to bring Cheliax's glory back to the island of Talingarde, where people are encouraged to be their best self, at the expense of others if need be. Of course, they could not voice their opinion out loud, but together they found the companionship and complicity that fed their hope and their love. The day they exchanged their first kiss was the day that Morris never came back from a fishing trip. Vormog later learned that the sea had claimed his father.

Vormog blamed the paladins that had crippled his father. But that anger was hidden by the newfound love he had found. Katya, however, became more and more aggressive. She did not relent in berating the young Vormog. She said again and again that he would never become a man as long as he didn't follow Asmodeus' teachings. In addition, Katya never accepted Regina, saying she was a hidden agent of the Trinity, sworn to root out the followers of the forbidden gods. The fact that Regina got on her knees and proclaimed servitude to Asmodeus didn't help to appease Katya's paranoia.

Vormog spent years torn between obedience to his mother and the secret life of loving Regina. To gain Katya's approval, he devoted himself to Asmodeus' teachings, but at the same time, he had to hide the love affair from his mother and his religion from the authorities. Katya kept on pressing Vormog, especially since his apparent devotion was not yielding result in the form of divine magic. Vormog was sure that the triple life he was living was the root of his failure, but he could never reveal the truth to Katya. Only Regina was the person he could confide in. He leaned heavily on this affair. The talks they had about bringing Asmodeus back to Talingarde in the form of a new nation based on merit and strength kept Vormog invested and strong. Regina always found out how to discover potential recruits, while Vormog's aggressive and intimidating nature kept everyone in line.

His trial by fire came when Katya discovered a love letter from Regina. She confronted her son in the most brutal way. Vormog needed to make a choice. However, the choice had already been made years before, it just needed to materialize. He chose his lover over his own mother. In the struggle, Vormog hit his mother hard. She fell unconscious. He didn't have the heart to kill her himself. Instead, he went to the paladins and told them that she had shrines to Asmodeus at home.

As he was exiting the garrison, he saw Regina being dragged in. It turned out, she had been careless and tried to recruit the son of a paladin to participate in the Darkness Eternal a week later. Both his mother and the love of his life were taken to Branderscar prison and shared not only a prison cell, but hatred to each other and their love for Vormog. Vormog witnessed both women get burned alive for worshiping Asmodeus. Watching them scream in agonizing pain was burned in his cornea. He could not even scream in sadness, but inside his soul was gushing blood.

That night, he could not sleep, but drank alone. He eventually passed out in pain and a drunken haze. This lasted for days. He doesn't remember when the visions started, of fire, pain and death. But when he came to his senses, he could summon Asmodeus' power, he could produce magic, he had special trickery powers and a special hatred for the current order of Talingarde. All too carelessly, he climbed the first altar to the Trinity he found and desecrated it in open daylight. After painting it with his urine and feces, he broke every piece he could find. He screamed in pain and anger, while threatening the horrified onlookers. When the paladins came, he stayed no effort to resist arrest, he punched them and actually put up quite a fight before being knocked out. He woke up with a runic F branded on him. He knew what it meant, as he witnessed his mother and lover be branded similarly. But he had faith in Asmodeus. This was not his end. This was the beginning of his journey. He would find revenge, and he would bring his lord's glory to his country once more.

Part 1

"Look at him, he's so weak!" The shove that came next put Merrick on his backside, his school-grays fouled on the muddy cobblestone.

Another bully kicked him in the side. "Go home and cry. Mother will take care of her little boy!" The pack of older boys laughed and took turns kicking the smaller child, finally leaving him to sob face-down in the dirt outside the school gate.

"Well now, aren't you a pathetic soul," announced a gravelly voice.

Merrick turned his head to see a gaunt older man staring down on him from around a post on the opposite side of the thoroughfare.

"Why do they torment you, boy?"

Forcing himself up, Merrick sat on his feet. "They hate me. The hate my father."

"Hmm? And who is your father?" asked the strange man.

Merrick considered him before answering. There was a sinister tone to his concern, and he looked disheveled, out of place. How long had he been standing there? Was he waiting for someone at the school? But he seemed interested in Merrick, which was enough to loosen the boy's tongue.

"Davos Falconbridge. He's a merch--"

"I know who he is!" the man snapped. He paused to regard Merrick. Then he smiled. "Well, the best revenge is revenge, I always say. Toughen up, boy. Here, take this." He produced from a pocket a little knife.

Merrick took to his feet and stepped closer, struck by the notion that he could do anything about the bullies, and that it should involve greater violence. But how he hated them. And then he was standing next to the older man, and the knife was pressed into the palm of his small hand. It felt warm, almost familiar.

"There now. It's not hard to figure it out. Good luck, boy." And with that, the old fellow drew a hood low, covering the exaggerated features of his face. A moment later Merrick stood alone, wondering what to do next.

*****

It wasn't difficult for Merrick to convince his father he needed to learn how to defend himself. A new conviction stirred in the young boy, and Davos, who was embarrassed by weakness in his son, was all too pleased to pay for private martial training with a member of the Daveryn Guard. Each day after school Merrick was given a gold piece to pay for the lessons. Although he benefitted from rigorous exercise, he was unable to shake a natural clumsiness with a weapon in his hand. When he asked to be trained with the little knife, the guardsman laughed at him and boxed his ears.

Not long after that, Merrick took his gold piece elsewhere. Afraid to tell his parents, he looked to the outskirts, away from the keen eyes of the guard. There a gang of boys beat him and stole his gold, but another older figure took pity on him and carried him to a ramshackle rooftop abode.

The man settled on a wooden bench and appraised the broken boy. "Why are you here?"

"I'm a disappointment," Merrick explained, his voice low. "Wherever I go I get kicked in the mud. I was hoping..." His voice trailed off.

"To be treated with compassion, is that it? Daveryn's self-righteousness punishes you, for no reason?" The man stared at Merrick coldly. "You are angry. Your heart is filled with a rage you do not know how to channel. You come to the outskirts looking for, what? A way out?"

Merrick shivered. There was something not right about this man. Sort of like the man that gave him the knife, but darker still.

The old man slouched to one side. There was an almost snake-like suppleness to his movement. "I could teach you to fight. Do you want to learn to fight?"

Merrick's mouth hung open. He felt stupid and insecure. But the man had him figured; he was angry. Hateful, even. And everything in this gods-be-damned city made him feel out of place. All he wanted was to disappear, but that was impossible. His father would find him and humiliate him, and the bullying would get worse. If Merrick was going to survive, he had to find a way to deal with all of the s&*@ in his life.

"Yes."

The man continued to stare at him, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something. "I will take you as my student. You will learn how to fight, and how to kill, if necessary, for that is reality of life outside Daveryn's disgusting facade. Do you understand?"

Merrick swallowed and stood a little straighter. "Yes."

"Good. But I'm not taking you on from charity. You must pay me. Let's say, ten gold crowns each week. Can you manage that?"

The boy felt ill; it was an outragous sum of coin. But... he could take it from his father if he was clever. "I can."

"Tell no one of our arrangement. Come in the morning, while the brightest stars are still visible before the dawn. Bring the gold, and bring your anger. Never lose that."

Merrick nodded. "What do I call you?" asked the boy.

The man stood up to full height, his frame wiry but muscular. "I am your Master now. You will call by no other name."

Part 2

The beatings did not begin right away.

Every night Merrick would steal one or two gold coins from his father's chest in the study - the key was hidden in a secret comparment under one of the drawers in the elder Falconbridge's massive walnut desk. The boy had long known his father's habits and it was easy to sneak into the darkened chamber and feel his way to key and coin. He made up a simple story about dedicating himself to a physical routine that required he wake before dawn and go for a long run prior to the beginning of the school day. There was enough truth in it that Merrick felt ease in telling it. He would arrive at the Master's home in the heart of the outskirts, a slum by any other name, his pockets heavy with gold. Having run that far, he was already tired, but the Master would have none of it, and sent him into the broken, crooked thoroughfares, catching the odd cat or small dog for the Master's supper. When Merrick returned he was flush, heart racing, gulping air into his chest, but the Master allowed no rest. Right away he was on his hands, pushing his body weight up and down, and then the same while on his back. Next the Master would throw things at him - wood plates, spoons, a pot or two, and the cat, forcing Merrick to catch or deflect on command. But this was nothing compared to what would come when the Master matched fists and feet with the boy.

The Master never hit Merrick about the head; it was best not to arouse suspicion. But he punched and kicked the boy with great force across the arms and legs and torso, front and back. At first he would tell Merrick what was coming, and then later he would telegraph his attacks, but eventually he merely rained blows on the young man. Merrick either defended correctly or took the bruise, but he learned quickly that complaining only made things worse. And yet, when given pause to counter, Merrick showed what he had learned. He was stronger now, faster, and confident. One might say deadly.

That a year passed almost escaped Merrick's thought. The bullies continued to mock him and box his ears, but then the day came when Merrick struck one of them so hard with his elbow that the other boy's jaw cracked sideways and he fell, laying on the cobblestone bleeding and twitching with his tongue hanging out. The other boys vomited and s$&* themselves, then ran away screaming. The Lord Merchant Davos Falconbridge received a call that hour from the school Camerariat and the High Cleric. Merrick's father was incensed; the other boy was nearly killed. The resulting lecture rattled the boy's ears and shamed his mother, but in his heart, Merrick felt... power.

After a month of daily penance and home confinement, Merrick was allowed to go to school, but he also returned to the Master.

"Show me how you hit him." the Master asked. Merrick closed his eyes, replaying the fight. He dodged the clumsy punch, then jabbed a fist into the larger child's gut, following with that hard elbow to the side of the face. The altercation lasted three seconds. "Excellent," said the Master. "Now try that on me." Merrick was kicked so hard on his back he thought he might die. "Now go fetch me something to eat."

*****

Another year passed. Merrick transformed - he grew taller, faster, and stronger. One early morning Merrick spied a street urchin skulking in the shadows, eyeing an older woman carrying a small loaf of dark bread. The dirty child leapt at her with a little knife and she gave up her daily meal. Merrick watched and did not intervene. The next day it was Merrick who faced the knife.

"You've got gold in your pocket. Give it to me," said the other boy, his voice a mix of desperation and fear. The knife was worn but sharp and it reminded Merrick of the one given to him by the stranger at the school so long ago.

Seizing on his assailant's hesitation, Merrick grabbed the boy's arm and pulled, tripping him and landing atop his back. The boy's wrist snapped and the knife clattered to the ground. The child howled and cried out.

"Who do you steal for?" asked Merrick.

But the boy wailed and could not speak. He clutched at his twisted hand and squirmed to get away. Merrick let him go, not for pity, but rather to observe him flee into the sewers. Two days later the same boy was back, has arm in a sling, and three others were with him. This was the moment. If Merrick showed weakness he would never be able to return. He had to fight. He had to win.

The boys were aggressive but not coordinated. Merrick slipped the first knife attack and threw his attacker down. Then as the next boy came at him he kicked him in the chest, then immediately crouched and spun, cathing a third boy in the knee. When the last boy tried to get around him, Merrick caught him by the arm and broke his nose. The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun.

"You've done well, boy," said an old familiar voice. The gaunt man - the one who had given Merrick his knife - emerged from the shadows. "Took my advice. Good for you. Now I need something in return. You see, those were my boys. They're just like you, only they don't have rich families to run back to. I show them how to survive, and there are many more of them."

"Who are you?" Merrick asked. He looked side to side for another ambush.

The old man smiled but his eyes betrayed cold malice. "Some call me Horace DeShane. Honestly, I've forgotten whatever my name used to be. A name is just a name; it's what you do that matters. I look after those who got no one else. You were that child some time ago. You know how I mean. But you ain't from here and my Little Devils are hungry. You can start paying me back by giving me that gold in your pocket."

Merrick was afraid of DeShane, but he also felt a pull of sympathy, and possibly some measure of gratitude. But he could not part with the gold. "No."

DeShane eyed him deviously. "What's it for then?"

Merrick remembered the Master's first order: tell no one of their arrangement. "You'll have to kill me for it." he said with a bravery that was unnatural to him.

DeShane said nothing for the longest time, then laughed. "I won't do that. But here, let's talk about your father."

Part 3

Everything happened too fast. Merrick didn't tell the Master about Horace DeShane for the same reason he didn't tell his father about the Master. He just didn't want things to be complicated. That happened anyway.

Within a month DeShane was plotting to break into the Falconbridge estate. "No one would get hurt," he promised. Besides, Merrick hated his old man as much as everyone else did, and his reasons were personal, so why not give the bastard a taste of his own medicine?

For a creepy old guy, DeShane was surprisingly nimble in the shadows. He and his band of Little Devils emerged from the sewers and evaded the Night Watch stationed outside the Falconbridge estate. He showed them how to get into the house so that the watchman wouldn't know until it was too late. He told DeShane where the most lavish valuables were kept, and where to find the key to the chest in the study. He explained where his parents would be at this hour and that they would be unquestionably willing to be locked in the cellar when confronted. And of course, they wouldn't be overly concerned with their son's wherabouts or welfare, because when had that ever been the case?

Merrick remained out front on lookout. It was his job to deflect the Night Watch from suspicion. DeShane led his crew inside from the back alley but things almost immediately went sideways. Merrick heard a scream, then the sound of children hooting and hollering like devils. He rushed back inside too late. His mother's throat was cut and his father lay face-down on the floor, bleeding out from a rough castration. DeShane held a bloody dagger and a fistful of gems and was reaching for more.

The old villain sneered as Merrick stood mortified in the hall. "You are your own man now, kid," said DeShane. "How's it feel to be free?"

Merrick coiled up against his mother's lifeless body until the Guard arrived early the next morning. Little of the Falconbridge fortune remained and his father's creditors demanded the estate. Left with nothing, his spirit crushed, he returned to the only person who had helped him in his miserable life, the Master.

*****

"He stole your birthright," the Master replied once Merrick had told him the full story. The old man was indifferent to the murder of the boy's parents. "Take it back." That the old man's first instinct was revenge did not surprise Merrick. Now a young man of fifteen years, remorse and pity were long ago beaten out of him. Once his mother had been laid to rest he became incapable of sadness.

"Do you know him?" Merrick asked.

"Of course. As I have known that for the past months you took in with him and his Little Devils. I wonder, what do you feel now?"

Merrick shook his head. "I hate him."

"Why? Did you not also hate your father? What care did you have for your mother? Did they not leave you to fend for yourself, giving you nothing when they had everything? Did they not deprive you of all but food and shelter? Did you mother ever challenge the Lord Merchant in his home when it came to your welfare?"

The questions were unbearable, and Merrick stared back at the Master with empty hatred. But the Master only slouched in his snake-like manner, the edges of his mouth curling into a thin smile. "Good," he said plainly. "There's your power. Use it. Kill DeShane and take what is yours. All of it."

*****

Merrick descended into the fetid sewers, the knife from DeShane tucked between his thigh and the hem of his pants. The air was thick with rot and despair, and from all directions distant laughter echoed ominously. His steps echoed through the labyrinthine passages, each one a haunting prelude to the confrontation that awaited him.

The first attack came abruptly, a feral boy lunging at him from the shadows. Merrick twisted away and sent a kick to the child's head. The attacker recoiled, shrieking, and dissolved into the darkness. More followed, their faces twisted in cruel glee as they tested him, but Merrick’s determination was unyielding. He fought them off, his fists and feet carving a bloody path to his final destination, a central intersection beneath the distrcit where the city's wealthiest residents lived. Where Merrick once lived.

When he reached the heart of the lair, Horace DeShane awaited him with a crooked smile, surrounded by his small army of murderous kids. "Ah, my precious boy," DeShane sneered. "Come to claim your share of the spoils, have you?"

Merrick's rage boiled over, his voice shaking as he spoke. "You took everything from me. Now I'm taking everything from you."

DeShane regarded him seriously, shadows playing tricks with his expressions in the torch light. "You mean that. After I befriended you, gave you courage, freed you from your awful father, you come here to what? End my life?"

Merrick spit, taking several steps toward DeShane. "You used me and threw me away, the same as you treat all the rest!"

The old man retreated and was about to say something, his hands reaching behind his back, but Merrick was faster, and in a flash the old knife was in his hand, slashing out, cutting through the soft flesh of DeShane's belly, dropping the villain to his knees. His guts spilled onto the piss and s&%+ on the sewer floor, and then he collapsed into a heap.

The Little Devils watched in stunned silence as Merrick stood over their fallen leader, but they instinctively knew what had just happened. This was no mere murder; it was a change of leadership. Merrick dropped the knife onto DeShane's corpse and cast his eyes around the intersection. "Follow me, or face the same fate." His voice was confident and commanding. He felt exhalted, not only from the killing but from the power he had taken from it.

The children looked to each other, then stepped before him one by one, their loyalty transferred in an instant. Gathering the stolen loot from untold plots, Merrick led them out of the sewers and back to the Master.

Any hope Merrick might have had for redemption was quickly dashed. The Master’s expression was calculating as he regarded the boy and the group of dirty street urchins in his wake. "Very good," the Master said, his tone almost approving. "Your training is complete and now the real work begins. You’ll tear this whole wretched city down, my son. You’ll make them bleed. Every last one."

From behind him, the army of children took up in cheers at the Master's words. Merrick exhaled slowly, reveling in his new power. He realized the violence was never going to end, and he didn't want it to.

Merrick, an adolescent boy, is bullied relentlessly by older boys outside his school mainly because of his father, Davos Falconbridge, a prominent merchant. The father's sins are not made clear, but the story hints at the man's greed and cruel temperament. While wallowing in pain and despair, Merrick encounters a mysterious, disheveled man who takes an unsettling interest in him. The man provides Merrick with a small knife, urging him to toughen up and seek revenge.

Inspired by the man's words and his own simmering anger, Merrick convinces his father to pay for his martial training, though he struggles with clumsiness and is mocked for requesting instruction with his knife. Frustrated and desperate, he takes his training elsewhere, only to be mugged by a gang of boys. An enigmatic man rescues him and offers him a chance to learn to fight, recognizing Merrick's deep-seated rage. The boy agrees to become the man's student despite the heavy cost of ten gold crowns a week, vowing to conceal their arrangement. The man, who identifies only as "the Master," assures Merrick that his lessons will align with the harsh realities of life outside the city's facade.

Merrick begins training under the Master, paying for lessons by stealing gold coins from his father. Under the guise of a morning fitness routine, Merrick endures grueling physical and combat training. The Master subjects him to relentless exercises and later withstand brutal beatings. The Master's unorthodox methods leave Merrick bruised but increasingly skilled, resilient, and dangerous.

A year passes, and Merrick's newfound strength manifests violently when he retaliates against a bully at school, breaking the boy's jaw and nearly killing him. Despite punishment and his father's outrage, Merrick feels a dark sense of power. Returning to the Master after his confinement, Merrick demonstrates the attack, earning the Master's praise before being reminded of his subordinate place.

As time goes on, Merrick becomes stronger and more confident. One day, a street urchin attempts to rob him with a knife. Merrick disarms and injures the boy, allowing him to flee but taking note of his retreat into the sewers. Days later, the boy returns with reinforcements, and Merrick decisively defeats them in a swift and calculated fight.

The gaunt man who originally gave Merrick the knife, now revealed to be Horace DeShane, steps from the shadows. He commends Merrick but demands repayment for the guidance and strength Merrick gained from his initial gifts. DeShane introduces himself as the leader of a gang of street children, whom he calls his "Little Devils," and pressures Merrick to hand over the gold in his pocket. Merrick refuses, deflecting DeShane's prying questions about his coin and allegiance, showing a blend of fear and defiance. DeShane, intrigued, does not press further but shifts the conversation ominously to Merrick's father, hinting at deeper entanglements to come.

In the final part of the story, Merrick becomes entangled in Horace DeShane's plot to rob the Falconbridge estate. Despite his hatred for his father, Merrick's role as lookout spirals into chaos when DeShane and his gang murder Merrick's parents. Left destitute and emotionally shattered, Merrick returns to the Master, who manipulates his anger and thirst for revenge, urging him to kill DeShane and reclaim his stolen birthright.

Merrick descends into the sewers, fighting off DeShane's gang of children before confronting the man himself. In a climactic showdown, Merrick kills DeShane, asserting dominance over the gang and declaring himself their new leader. He leads the children back to the Master, who praises Merrick's transformation and reveals his ultimate plan: to use Merrick and his new army to bring chaos and destruction to the city.

Merrick, now fully consumed by power and violence, accepts his role, realizing that the cycle of brutality will never end—and he no longer wants it to. This conclusion cements his descent into darkness and sets the stage for the Master's larger, sinister ambitions.

Dargon fancied himself a gentleman's gentleman until the day he caught a man making time with the woman he was interested in, even if she was luke warm in her return affection. Challenging the man to a duel was easy. Blooding the man easier yet...The man said he yielded, but one look in the eyes of the young lady and Dargon realized he would not have her, so he decided right there in self-righteous determination, that she would not have love either. He continued to press his advantage until the man lay dead at his feet. When the guard caught up to him, he sneered at them and became boisterous. They beat him within an inch of his life permanently injuring him. Something was just not right internally. He becomes sick easily now, and does not have the stamina he once had....The long weeks, months in a prison cell has found him planning all sorts of ways to escape his sentence....none able to occur...yet.

Tarquin was a very bright student. He knew how to turn every deal to his advantage. When he started his study of magic, he spent his off time working in a the Temple of Abadar in Daveryn. While working on a very technical contract, Tarquin spoke with the librarian in the temple who directed him to a book dealer in Ghastenhall. While looking through the dealers books and scrolls, Tarquin acquired a copy of Three Lies (https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Mephistopheles), Black Book or the Kardosian Codex (if allowed not knowing what they are https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Zutha), The Emancipation Edict (https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Emancipation_Edict), a book on writing contracts (https://pathfinderwiki.com/wiki/Asmodean_Monograph), and a copy of loan laws from Absalom. Noticing the books and knowing what they actually were, the dealer smiled at Tarquin and said if he ever needs more books like those to return. Tarquin was not sure what he meant yet, but said he would. After a weeks study with these books, his thoughts were filled with the ideas that those who are not smart enough the read and understand the contracts they sign deserve what they get. He set the interest rate of that loan a few points higher than usual, but the client did not seem to matter. And so, Tarquin's studies continued, time learning magic, time learning contract law. At his desk one day, a grieving family came in and told one of the other barristers that their father had died and his loan was not yet paid off. The barrister was touched by their grief and told the family not to be concerned, he would forgive the loan. Later that afternoon, Tarquin looked up the loan and noticed that he did indeed have a clause that forgave the debt in case of death. And then he had an idea, what if he made loan contracts with such low interest rates that it encouraged people to not pay and wait for death, expecting for the debt to be forgiven, but he instead includes a clause that their remaining debt would be paid by animating their corpse and renting it out as menial labor. He looked through the various books he had bought and found how to word the contract as subtly as possible. He slipped the clause into a few contracts and when he went to collect on the first one after a death, the family objected. He presented them with the contract, and then took the body away. However, they took the matter to court, and the court decided to charge him with slave trading.

The half-orc had come to close, this was there time to walk outside on the small high walled courtyard. A privilege of nobility, but today was different, today she had company. A large male Half-orc. Already walking the line around and around. half an hour a week she got out side the cell, and the coin for this came from her family. No other was meant to be here. As she came out the door into the small space, she saw the him, and looked up. Two guards as always but this time as she looked up the turned away, Then the half orc charged. She know at once what was happening, it seemed the dead lads family wanted her dead now and not wait for the sword. Time slowed, she took in her options. Slow him down 1st, Her voice rang out,

"STOP!" It hit him like a wave, looking now bewildered. That was all the time she needed, she ran and jumped her knees coming up, legs folded she stunned head, snapping it back, and him with it, as he wend backwards so she rolled coming up and kicking out. He was trying to get up, missing the body but hit a leg. It folleded. Good now he would be slower. Let him come to her she thought. She backed way, fists up. He staggered now, She glanced up seeing the two guards looking on, grins on their faces. BA(*&^)s The half-orc move closer, She had to finish this now, eh went to grab her and then she hit him. for her size she was a lot stronger than she looked. A one two at the head, stunning him again, she dropped to her knee and punched his groin. There was a moment, the his folled, falling over holding his Orc-hood.

Breathing hard she called to the two guards now looking at here with a small amount of shock.

"Thank you for the work out, same time next week."

She walked to the door and knocked on it. She had to get out of here, one way or another this place and outside forces wanted her dead.

Ok she uses her verrant challenging and combat skills, he was not so hard and they felt he could handle here.