Agatha Geist's page

About Agatha Geist

Equipment: Masterwork silver falchion, Masterwork leather lamellar armor, skinsaw mask, 1200 gp.

Skinsaw Mask This hideous mask resembles a patchwork deformed face, with
one bulbous eye, a grimacing mouth of long teeth, and no
noticeable nose. When worn, the mask fills the wearer’s
mind with hideous whispers and images of murder
and violence. It heightens his ability to sense fear.
He can smell the cold sweat brought on by terror
and hear the thundering beating of a frightened
heart. Further, fresh blood glows brightly
to him, to the extent that he can see the
shimmering traceries of living circulatory
systems pumping away in the bodies of
those around him. These enhancements
grant +2 competence bonuses on Listen,
Search, and Spot checks made against
creatures that aren’t immune to fear. Further,
the ability to see so plainly the map of a target’s
arteries and veins grants the wearer a +1 profane
bonus on damage with slashing weapon attacks made
against living creatures. Wearing a skinsaw mask leaves
hideous mental scars; when the mask is donned, the
wearer takes 1 point of Charisma damage as his thoughts
become tangled with images of murder.

Feats and Features:
buffy form +2 Str/Dex, -2 Cha
+2 sv vs disease, +4 sv vs mind eects
resist level drain
manipulative +2/+3 to blu or intimidate
vampiric form: darkvision, bite (1d4 +2 temp hps)
light sensitivy, negative energy anity, garlic revulsion
Rage Power: Overbearing advance (4 dam w/overrun)
Fast Movement
Feat: Power Attack
Feat: Improved Overrun
Trait: Berzerker of the society
Trait: Highlander +1 stealth, it is class skill
Invulnerability: DR 1/-

Some days just suck
The sun reaches the Shadows of Magrimar weakly, if at
all, and the night is no time for children. Born to a
bitterleaf-addicted whore and some nameless John,
Agatha Geist grew up here, surrounded by crime,
poverty and desperation. Such is fertile ground for
resentment and Agatha’s sprang forth one day when Sir
Rowland’s men were rounding up vagrants for another
“Display of Decency” down at the stocks.

Normally, little would come from the raging of a fifteen
year old, but Agatha’s nameless father’s blood ran true
that day as she gorged herself on the corpses of the
men-at-arms. Her fellows in the Shadows would have
protected her had it been a simple knife in the dark, but a
monstrous blood feast was something else altogether.

Fleeing the city, she spent the next several years on the
run from her thirst, cursing her nameless father. The man
had compounded the miserable circumstances of her
birth with this unreasoning curse. Agatha’s life became
one of hatred, for both the living and the undead, as she
dedicated her life to the destruction of both.

Agatha would next see Magrimar from behind the
one-eyed mask of a Skinsaw cultist. Norgerber’s church
had initially appealed to her as a means of vengeance for
her birth. It was only upon joining that she learned that
her fellow cultists cared nothing for their nefarious god
or his empty promises and murdered only for political
gains in this world. Still, Agatha stayed with the cult for
the opportunities to kill were both frequent and easy as
most of her fellows didn’t really want to do their own wet
work.

Agatha spent many years in the Skinsaw cult - in both
Magrimar and Korvosa, yet it was the mission in
Sandpoint that would nally bring their relationship to a
close.

Slipping into Sandpoint, Agatha quietly slipped toward
the residence of Sheriff Hemlock. Climbing the back wall
of his estate, she froze, shocked to see cavorting figures
inside the structure, loose garments flapping with their
gyrating movements. Gliding up to a rear window, the
young dhampir slid open a shutter, revealing the interior
of the house and a scene out of nightmare.

The sheriff and his family lay in the main dining hall, their
limbs scattered about, the floor pooled with blood.
Several figures in red and yellow motley danced amongst
the bodies while a tall, thin man sat at the table, feasting
on the viscera of his erstwhile hosts. Those cultists, for
these men wore the same motley as she herself, waved
haunches of meat vigorously, their jaws biting and
chewing the entire time.

Enraged, Agatha slipped to the mudroom beside the
stable. She’d signed up for murder, enjoyed murder, but
the walking dead were an entirely different matter. First
lighting the stable and then the house, she spent the rest
of the evening hunting ghouls through the streets of
Sandpoint before disappearing once again, now hunted
by yet another group.