Alana Brienne DeVere's page

Making Good on Promises: At some point in the past, Professor Lorrimor did you a favor under the condition that he would someday call on you to repay it. After he came to your aid, however, you never saw nor heard from him again, leaving you with a sense of unending anticipation that each day might be the day you were asked to return the favor. Yet that day never came, and your fears and anxiety about what the professor would call on you to do abated. Assuming the old man had either forgotten about you or died, you eventually assumed you’d never have to follow through on your end of the bargain. When you received word of the professor’s death, and that he had named you specifically in his will, your dread of what he could possibly want from you has grown throughout your entire journey to Ravengro. Years of living with the fear and uncertainty of the unclaimed debt to Professor Lorrimor have inured you to extreme anxiety. You gain a +2 trait bonus on saves against fear effects.

Trap Finder Forgotten dungeons and ancient tombs have always held an appeal for you, and you've never been able to resist the urge to delve into these lost sites in search of knowledge, treasure, or both. You may not have received any formal training in the roguish arts, but you've nonetheless become skilled at spotting and disabling hidden traps.
Benefit(s): You gain a +1 trait bonus on Disable Device checks, and that skill is always a class skill for you. In addition, you can use Disable Device to disarm magic traps, like a rogue.

Fate's Favored: The fates watch over you.
Benefit: Whenever you are under the effect of a luck bonus of any kind, that bonus increases by 1.

Self Conscious: You are uncomfortable with your body, especially in the presence of those you are attracted to. You take a –2 penalty on Bluff and Diplomacy checks against all creatures you find attractive, unless their Attitude is already Friendly or Helpful.

Height: 5'6"
Weight: 117 lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Gray

Alana is a raven-haired beauty, though she does little to maintain it. Her eyes are large, ringed with heavy black lashes and dark, arched brows. Her full lips are set in a perpetual frown, though her smile is exceptionally pretty when she deigns to.

She is small of frame, but has decent muscle tone and is very lithe. Her movement is deliberate and precise, indicative of natural grace honed by practice in swordplay and a variety of athletic pursuits.

She favors dark clothing, high boots, and practical breeches and shirts. She wears a black, fur-lined cloak whenever she ventures outside unless the weather is exceedingly warm.

"You know it's my birthday tomorrow, right?" the dashing youth pleaded. His cocksure grin was effortlessly charming.

"Alvaren Brynnoch DeVere!" Delani said. "You brought me down here in this creepy crypt for that?" Delani rubbed her shoulders nervously as she looked around the dank and musty chamber that the reckless youth had managed to open and entice her inside.

"No, not just for that," Alvaren said as he placed his hands over hers. "I figure these chambers dated back to before the Tyrant's reign. I knew you're interested in this just like me. But since we're down here..."

"Have you no respect for the dead?" she scolded, although his touch sent little currents of electricity up and down her spine.

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. "Plenty. But they're dead. We're alive. So why don't we--?" Delani cut him off as she spun around and kissed Alvaren passionately. The dead remained dead as the living enjoyed the thrills of youth.

=============================

"You're late." Alvaren's father looked impatiently at the long shadows through the window and the fading twilight. He was seated in the long dining hall of the DeVere's ancestral home. Alvaren's mother was also present in her high-necked blouse of Ardealan fashion. His younger sisters were absent, as were the house servants. The only other figure in the room besides Alvaren was an elderly gentleman who looked grave and solemn.

"Yeah, sorry. I was... delayed." Alvaren couldn't help but grin, though he tried to look abashed.

His parents exchanged a knowing glance. Though his mother looked paler and more frail than usual, her mouth was still set in disapproval. His father seemed to wave away Alvaren's dalliance. He gestured to the mysterious man. "Alvaren, this is Professor Petros Lorrimor. He's visiting to help us deal with a... problem."

Alvaren folded his arms, looking defensive. "Look. It's not a problem. It's my birthday, so--"

"Precisely," the professor stated as he unfurled an old piece of parchment. "Your eighteenth birthday, to be exact. Which will be upon us at the stroke of midnight, so we have little time."

Alvaren's confusion showed plainly on his face. His parents' grim faces worried him. "Little time to do what?"

"To prepare. Now, I must explain a few things to you. Your family has done exceedingly well here in Ardeal, even as the rest of the region crumbles about them. Your grandfather was very shrewd in his dealings and his investments have kept you in a very secure state. Well, shrewd in all his dealings save one."

At this, his father lowered his head sadly while his mother made a furious glare at his grandfather's portrait hanging above the mantle.

Professor Lorrimor cleared his throat and continued. "Part of his great fortune was due to a deal he struck. A deal with a literal devil." He traced his finger over some of the writing on the scroll in front of him. "In exchange for wishes and boons, your grandfather bargained away the firstborn son of his firstborn son. You."

Alvaren looked around in shock, disbelieving. He barked out a sharp laugh. "That's ridiculous. Absurd," he said, though he wished his voice sounded as certain as it should have.

The professor looked at him sadly and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I truly wish it were so. But I have confirmed that this contract is authentic. On the very eve of your eighteenth birthday, the devil will come to claim you."

Fear truly began to settle in Alvaren's stomach. He looked at his parents, who remained silent. "Wait. This isn't right. I didn't do anything!"

"Unfortunately, you have reaped nearly eighteen years of the bounty that your grandfather had procured. I fear that your innocence is not enough."

"NO!" Alvaren shouted as he stood up, ready to run.

"Ren, darling, just listen. Please," his mother finally broke her silence. It worked, and he sat down.

Lorrimor adjusted his collar and continued. "I believe there is a way out for you. I expect you will not like it, but it is at this point the only way. We have but a few scant hours." He opened a satchel sitting at his side and produced a flask. "The contract is very clear. Only the firstborn son is to be taken. A daughter will be safe."

Alvaren stared totally dumbfounded at the flask that the strange professor pushed toward him. Realization slowly crept over him, and he recoiled in horror. "That's going to turn me into a girl!?!" he shrieked.

At the slow, solemn nods from the stranger and his parents, Alvaren panicked. He pushed himself back to his feet and spun, trying to get to the door. He grabs at the knob as the professor chants something. "I'm sorry, son," was the last thing he heard as a spell burst around him and he faded into unconsciousness.

======================================

"It's time to wake up. You have little time. The devil will be here soon."

Alvaren stirred at the voice. His eyes fluttered open, and he realized he was in a bedroom. His sister's bedroom. He saw the old professor sitting on the edge of the bed in which he lay.

"Whu--?" he tried to speak, but his voice sounded wrong. Soft. He sat up and felt... off. His hands immediately flew to his body to find shapes and curves and features that should not have belonged to him. He drew in a breath to scream.

Lorrimor clapped a hand over his -- her? -- mouth. "You will have time for all of this later. But for now, you must remain calm. You must be the daughter that you have always been. Your father never had a son. You must do this. Perhaps once the devil leaves, we can restore you. But you must remain calm. Do you understand?"

Strange sensations from his new body assailed Alvaren, tearing away his focus, but eventually he -- she? -- nodded. Lorrimor removed his hand from her mouth.

"Oh gods. Oh gods. Oh gods," she repeated as a mantra as she drew herself to her feet.

"You're doing fine. Now get dressed and come downstairs. The devil is coming for his due. If you are lucky, he will go back to the pit unfulfilled." He handed her a dress from which she recoiled as if he'd offered her a serpent. "Put this on, now," he instructed.

Alvaren fumbled through the process of getting dressed in the type of clothes he couldn't help but recall he'd assisted in removing numerous times. Once clothed, he -- she -- followed Lorrimor downstairs and stood before his -- her -- parents. She couldn't look at them.

Her mother cried out and ran to the trembling girl, taking her into her arms. "It'll be okay," she whispered as she held her new daughter close and stroked her hair.

The professor cleared his throat. "Remember," he instructed, you are not 'Alvaren.' He never existed. You are Alana. Alana Brienne DeVere."

===================================

The DeVeres sat in the parlor awaiting the stroke of midnight. Alana had received a crash course in being a dutiful daughter from her mother as Professor Lorrimor had given them all instructions on how to respond to the devil once it appeared.

Alana sat rigid, her unfamiliar attire clinging to her unwanted curves and shapes. Sweat trickled down her back and, worse, down her front, leaving her garments damp and uncomfortable.

Everyone jumped when the clock struck its gongs suddenly and all too loudly. The peals of the bells chimed on and on as the dread crept over everyone in the room. When the final bell struck, the ringing silence was somehow worse, stretching into a tense, drawn-out agony.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. DeVere," said an unctuous voice from the middle of the room. Instead of some grandiose entrance, the devil spoke as if he'd been there all along. He was tall, but man-sized, crimson, and had huge black horns jutting from his head and shoulders. He wore a simple robe and was draped with long stretches of parchment and scrolls. "Where is your son? It is time."

Her father fought to find his voice. "We don't have a son."

The devil looked mildly surprised. "Oh? Why do I find that hard to believe? Part of the contract guarantees that there will be a male heir. It's right here in paragraph 212, subsection 4.2." One of the strands of parchment animated and flew directly into her father's face.

Though shaking with fear, he stuck to Lorrimor's script. He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't have a son. We cannot fulfill the contract. So please leave."

Calm up to this point, the devil scowled and suddenly looked much more terrifying. "I am here for Alvaren Brynnoch DeVere."

At the sound of her old name, Alana gripped the sides of her dress and squeezed her eyes shut. He knows me, she realized and worked to swallow a mouth gone dry. Her slight movement drew the devil's attention. "Hello. You look to be the right age. Who are you?" he asked as he steps to loom over her.

"A-- Alana," she said in a hoarse voice. "Alana DeVere."

The devil shook his head. "I don't think so. Tell me who you truly are."

"That's our daughter!" her mother cried. "She's our oldest. We have no son."

Denied, the devil's visage grew terrible. He bore his gaze into first her father, then her mother, and then Alana herself. She cringed under the knowing stare, terrified that he would find out the truth.

And then, the devil threw back his head and laughed. "So, you would deny me my due by making a son into a daughter! Your thoughts are laid bare to me. Do you think this ruse is clever? That it would save this pathetic boy?" he bellowed. "I will have him!"

"She's our daughter," her father said, voice quavering but still following Lorrimor's instructions. "We have no son."

"Indeed? You would deny your male heir? Your legacy?" The devil then began a grueling interrogation of her parents, but at no point did they acknowledge her as their son. Each time, they insisted she was only Alana. It stung her heart and soon tears were falling down her cheeks.

The devil then turned his attention to her. His demeanor shifted, he smiled and spoke softly as he leaned in close and touched her wet cheek. "Come now, Alvaren. You're a man, aren't you? Show me! Are you going to sit there and cry like a woman? Like a girl?"

Trembling, but warned of the attack to her ego, she said softly, "I am Alana. I'm their daughter."

The devil shook his head, anger creeping into his voice again. "Alvaren. I'm going to give you one chance or I will skin you here in front of your parents. Answer me, Alvaren Brynnoch DeVere!"

"I'm Alana."

The devil grabbed one of the sheets of parchment and waved it in front of her. "I can give you whatever you want. Your manhood back. Make you irresistible to women. As many as you want! I just need your name. Look, it's already here, written on this parchment! Alvaren"

"That's not my name. I don't want anything you can give me," she said, growing calmer in Lorrimor's instructions.

The devil exploded in rage. He roared, causing Alana to flinch and her mother to cry out. He pointed a black-nailed finger at the prize denied him. "Very well. A woman you are, a woman you shall be. I curse you, Alana DeVere. You will be a woman to the end of your days for if you ever become male again, I shall be waiting to claim my due."

Weeks passed.

Alana haunted the DeVere estate as if she'd been killed on her eighteenth birthday. She barely left her room, coming down for extremely brief periods to pick at her food, shudder at the giggles of her younger sisters, and then retreat back to the sanctity of her room.

Her parents gave her space. Her father could barely look in her direction. Her mother tried numerous times to talk with her eldest daughter but was repeatedly rebuffed.

The professor had left the DeVere's home after a few days. He had spent some time with Alana, speaking with her about the importance of accepting her curse. Denying her reality, he counseled, could bring the devil back to claim his due. Thus, he emphasized that she accept it for the time being. Freeing her from her grandfather's contract would be difficult, but not impossible.

Lorrimor left with the promise that he would continue to research into the nature of devils' contracts and the means of escaping their terms, but he left her all the same.

"Hello? Is Ren here?" came a voice echoing through the lonesome hallways of the estate. Her father was at his men's club, and her mother had taken her younger daughters out for new dresses, leaving Alana alone in her room.

"Alvaren! I know you're here!" Delani's voice was loud and insistent. She had slipped in through the servants' entrance; Alvaren had showed her a trick to bypass the lock.

Resignedly, Alana slips out from her room and steps out to the balcony overlooking the foyer. "He's not here," she says softly.

Delani plants her hands on her hips. "Who are you?" she says accusingly.

"Alana. I'm a cousin. Alvaren's gone. He's been sent to a university in Cheliax," she says, repeating the lie the DeVeres have agreed upon.

"I don't believe that! He would have said something," Delani scowls and begins climbing the stairs up towards the mysterious black-clad girl. "You do look sort of like him," she says when she nears. "Which is good for you, since I don't have to beat your skinny behind."

Alana recoils, mouth agape. "You think that I'm-- You think that Alvaren's... cheating on you?" she asks incredulously.

Delani folds her arms and shrugs. "He's cheated before. With me. But I'll be damned if he cheats on me. So where is he, really?"

She shakes her head. "I told you. He's gone."

The spurned girl pushes past her and runs to Alvaren's bedchambers, calling for him. She throws open the door and sees his belongings packed up, boxed for shipping. She blinks a few times in shock. "Why, why wouldn't he tell me?"

Alana fights the urge to give Delani a hug. She hangs back. "He didn't have a chance. It was very sudden. That's all I can say."

Delani glares hotly. "I don't believe you. He never mentioned a cousin. Where are you from?"

"Lozeri. I grew up outside of Courtaud. And I'll bet he didn't mention a lot of things. Probably just enough to get you into bed." She hated to do it, but she wanted this girl gone.

Delani screeches and throws a wild punch at Alana, who deftly dodges it, sidesteps and lets her tumble to the floor. "Sorry about that. I think you should go. I'll pass along the message that you came to see him."

The spurned girl climbs to her feet, tears starting to form in her eyes. "You can tell him to go to hell!" she shouts, then flees the DeVere estate.

It had been several months since Alana DeVere became a part of the family. Still a sullen, caustic teen, the girl had started showing a bit of life and had ventured from her room a bit more frequently.

"What do you think if I went by 'Ren'?" she asks her mother while having afternoon tea. She eyes her over the steam rising from her cup.

Her mother shakes her head vehemently. "Absolutely not! You know how dangerous that is!"

Alana shrugs. "How bad could it be? My middle name's Brienne, right? Bree-- enn. Ren. It could work."

Her mother sets her cup and saucer down. "We will not discuss this further, Alana," she says pointedly.

A servant steps into the parlor, interrupting the glares the two ladies were throwing at each other. "You have a missive, milady," he says, surprising them both by placing the sealed parchment in Alana's hands.

Her mother recognizes the seal. "Oh, that's from the professor!" she exclaims as Alana turns it over in her hands. "It's probably details about your enrollment into the Lepidstadt University. He said he'd make sure you were accepted. Not that you wouldn't be otherwise -- so long as you put forth any sort of effort into the entrance exams," she chides.

Alana ignores her mother while she breaks the seal and begins reading. Her normally pale skin grows positively ashen as she reads, causing her mother to lean in attentively. "What is--"

She cuts her mother off with a shake of her head, as she reads the letter again and again. Tears begin to well in her eyes and then fall in big drops, splashing on the parchment. "The professor... he's-- he's dead! No! No no no no!"

Her mother snatches the letter from her and reads it herself. She sits, stricken while her daughter rises, pacing frantically. When her mother sees the same information, Alana screams, falling to her knees. She throws herself to the ground, stricken.

Her mother cradles her, rocking back and forth, commiserating with her daughter. "It says... you're requested to visit. His home in Ravengro. Maybe, maybe there's something there. Something he's learned. You should go. You should go."

Alana walked barefoot through the gravestones, the grass cool and wet on her feet. A low fog clung to the ground and made everything hazy, and the fat moon hung low in the sky bathing everything in a silvery glow and casting long, black shadows.

She didn't recognize the graveyard, though she had explored numerous cemeteries. She vaguely remembered being in one recently, and wondered if that was where she was. She looked at the headstones but couldn't make out any of the names through the fog and in the soft light.

The faint stirrings of nervousness crept in Alana, but she reminded herself that she always came prepared. She reached for her rapier on her hip, but found nothing. Glancing down at herself, she saw she was in a slip of a gown made of a diaphanous material and cut to emphasize her curves.

"This has to be a dream," she said aloud.

"Bravo! She gets it!" a smooth, masculine voice responded. Stepping from around a large tombstone, a tall, handsome devil appeared, clad in an elegantly tailored suit.

She recognized him immediately and the slight nervousness from before turned into a icy river of fear. "Go away. You can't have me," she said, taking several steps back.

The devil smiled as he approached her. "I am merely here to offer my condolences. Such a shame that the professor has passed, leaving you so soon, and without hope."

Alana said nothing, but still shuddered as she remembered the funeral and the gaping loss of hope that his passing meant. The devil circled her where she stood and stopped behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, "It's been a few months now, so I wanted to see how you like it?"

Her flesh crawled where he touched her, and an intense feeling of revulsion passed through her as his unspoken implications struck her. Seething with disgust and hatred, she wrenched herself from his hands and took several steps back. "I like it fine. It's nothing I can't handle," she said through gritted teeth.

A brief flicker of anger passed across the devil's face, but then his fake smile reappeared. "That's so good to hear. This calls for a celebration, then." He waved a hand and a quartet of lesser fiends bearing musical instruments stepped out of the fog. They began playing a haunting melody. "Dance with me," he said.

"No thank you--" Alana began.

"It's not a request," the devil said and he was on her in an instant, holding her right hand with his left and with his right arm around her waist. "Remember, the man leads," he said through a humorless smile.

Alana tried, but the music took hold of her and she was suddenly dancing in step with the devil. He guided her among the tombstones, spinning her out and back and lowering her into dips as if they had practiced the elegant and refined ballroom dance for months. The music continued on and on and they danced and danced...