Alfred Black
Male human (Chelaxian) fighter (unbreakable) 2 (Pathfinder RPG Ultimate Combat 49)
CG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +2;
Senses Perception +1
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Defense
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AC 21, touch 13, flat-footed 18 (+5 armor, +2 Dex, +1 dodge, +3 shield)
hp 29 (2d10+9)
Fort +5,
Ref +2,
Will +1 (+1 vs. mind-affecting effects, +2 Trait bonus vs. mind-affecting spells and effects from demons)
Defensive Abilities unflinching +1
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee +1 morningstar +7 (1d8+5) or
. . light flail +6 (1d8+4)
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Statistics
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Str 18,
Dex 14,
Con 14,
Int 10,
Wis 12,
Cha 8
Base Atk +2;
CMB +6;
CMD 19
Feats Diehard, Dodge, Endurance, Shield Focus, Toughness
Traits asmodean demon hunter, stolen fury, unpredictable
Skills Acrobatics -4 (-8 to jump), Bluff +4, Climb +2, Knowledge (engineering) +4, Stealth -2, Survival +5 (+9 in urban and underground settings);
Racial Modifiers +2 Stealth
Languages Common
SQ heart of the slums[ARG], unlearned
Combat Gear potion of cure light wounds;
Other Gear scale mail, heavy wooden shield,
+1 morningstar, light flail, 35 gp
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Special Abilities
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Diehard You are stable and can choose how to act when at negative Hp.
Endurance +4 to a variety of fort saves, skill and ability checks. Sleep in L/M armor with no fatigue.
Heart of the Slums +4 Survival in underground/urban environments. Save twice vs. disease, and take the better roll.
Unflinching +1 (Ex) Gain +1 bonus to Will saves vs. mind-affecting effects
Unlearned (Knowledge [engineering]) You cannot attempt untrained checks with knowledge skills other than the one selected.
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It was not easy being me. The nightmares that plague my sleep even now... confronting nightmares in the flesh torment me still. Only vague shadows remain of the truth of that first night, and even those I question... Still I am here because of these terrors, and perhaps here I shall find my salvation.
I remember the smell of blood, and the sound of vile chanting. I remember the dancing shadows taking on grotesque shapes in the light of the sacrificial flames. I remember my mother taking up my two year old body in her arms whispering words of "comfort" as she carried me towards the cold stone alter. I remember my fear as both she and my father abandoned me on that cold stone slab. And the piercing glowing eyes of the man in black as he approached my tiny form, with the gleaming black serpentine dagger in hand. The whispering words he spoke as he neared coiling in my mind like leather clad snakes writhing against each other. Then my memories desert me.
My next clear memories are of the stern rod of dicipline and the angry glances of the nuns in the orphanage. Though funded by the church of Asmodeus the generous funds mostly ended up in the pockets of the priests, instead of the pots of the orphans. I was a big kid even then, and often my temper got the best of me. I was found as often scouring cook pots or scrubbing floors as I was in my bed or in lessons. But, it was ensured that I never missed a lesson extrolling the power and glory of the church, and the superiority of the faith. I was a Chelxian and by birth superior. As I grew, and my fists hardened the bullying and name calling subsided, but by then I had learned to use force to get what I wanted before it got me first. Friendless, and bitter I took advantage of an inattentive nun, and bashied her on the head with my learning slate, and took off into the streets of Westcrown, never to cross the threshold of that church again.
I craved the freedom of the streeets. As a strapping lad of 14 I thought I had all the answers, and spent much time convincing those who disagreed with me that that was not neccessarily a wise stance. But you know what they say about idle minds. Without the exhausting toil, and structure of the church, the nightmares came... frequently and with increasing strength. My eyes grew dark, along with my reputation, until I found true salvation... The bottle. With enough of it's firey contents I was able to numb my mind and hide from the images that haunted my sleep.
For years I wondered the streets, stealing, mugging, working short term labor gigs... whatever I could to keep the demon rum flowing. I lost count of how many people I hurt, and learned to not really care. It was all about escaping into the sanctuary of the bottle where I could lock my mind away, at least temporarily from the demons that tormented me. At times I grew careless, almost hoping to be caught for a good meal. Countless times I tried to convince myself that "This was the last time. I've got to clean myself up". But then the nightmares would return, and Alfred the Black would once again seek out the respite of the bottle.
Then I met Father Pathon. He was a priest of Cayden Cailean. Instead of pitying or fearing me, he understood me. He realized that though his god promoted ale and good times, he also understood the other side of the coin, and that for some abstinance was vital to our survival. He found a place for me in the recovery program of his church, and I found that by refocusing on removing evil and bad influences from existance I could learn to fight my personal demons, even as I fought learned to deal with the real demons that plagued our world. Crooked shopkeepers, those that hurt animals and weaker people for fun, Slaver, and those who took away our freedom to act and do as we liked. Those became replacements for my inner demons, and I was able to successfully redirect my rage.
And now the untimate test. To the Woldwound. To where demons strove to take the world and make it's reality like that of my nightmares. Here was my chance to redeem myself for the pain and suffering I had spent my life projecting on others. Here was my chance to make a difference. If I died trying to alleviate the world of these problems... Well then... So be it.
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