Channel Positive Energy, DC 16, Damage 1d6+1, no channel resistance.
Osirani, Ancient Osirani, Kelish
About Anset Ossari
My order keeps the old ways. We are the last, the keepers of knowledge and tradition. We keep the books and the tombs., or, rather, we are supposed to. For generations now the line of Princes has kept the tombs sealed. The Pharamsans built a wall to contain and protect them. They call it the Necropolis, but it is less a city for the dead, and more of a cage. Like most monuments to the dead, it is actually there to impress and placate the living.
The Pharamsan priests care not for the strife they cause.
They only care to funnel the angry souls to their mistress' Boneyard.
They want the unruly souls to be still and quiet like a dutiful child.
They care not for what came before.
They care not for the dead themselves.
They care only for the preservation and presentation of the tombs without thought to who the tombs house.
Their goddess is heartless and uncaring of those things which cause the dead to stir.
The young dead have sworn no oaths and must be brought to heel. They must be taught and they must be heard. Then, they must be judged and laid to rest. It is a right of passage as important as any other which has largely been forgotten by the world. It is why so many souls refuse to quiet. Nobody wants to feel silenced, yet that is what we do the moment a heart stops beating.
The old dead, the dead of Ossirian, they must be made to remember their oaths. They must be counted and added to the great book. Only then will they slumber peacefully.
Now, the Ruby Prince has opened the tombs. Not because of us, though we have petitioned many times, but because of the love of gold. He opens them for plunder and desecration. He is a fool.
My order has gathered, joining many parties, hedging our bets in this lottery. It is imperative that we be among those selected. All of our order, save for the Old Masters, is numbered among the petitioners. Even Acolytes like me ready to enter the tombs.
I can only pray that if I am lucky enough to be chosen that I will also be strong enough to fulfill my duties.
If I am chosen I will judge the dead, or, the dead will judge me.
Tomorrow I will know.
Anset belongs to an ancient sect of priests called the Ossari, also called the Scribes. They follow the old gods of Ossirian, dedicated primarily to Anubis, though they also revere Osiris and Thoth.
The oldest of his sect are ancient, long since having become Living Monoliths. They rest like statues in their reliquary, still as stone, contemplating the deep mysteries of the Book of the Dead. Those who's flesh is still blood and bone tend to them, training and preparing for the time when the tombs will be opened. There are many names to be added to the book.
Now, with the Ruby Prince's Lottery, they have the chance they have waited so long for. The old ones are stirring and the young ones have put their names into the Prince's draft.
Anset is a young acolyte, but he is strong in the old ways. He was even born with the Jackal's Ankh emblazoned on his palm. He does not know who his parents were. He was told they were slaves, and he would have been too had the Scribes not found him. While he sometimes feels sad for having never known his family, he realizes this was always his destiny. The mark on his hand is proof enough of that.
Anset is dusky skinned and tall. Lean, but well muscled. He wears a burnoose the color of old ivory over utilitarian armor and carries a two-rod flail hanging from his belt and a shield on his back.
He keeps his face and head shaved clean and his eyes are the color of pale sand. His heritage is obviously mixed, no obvious features giving away where his parents might have hailed from.
He is rather unremarkable in appearance, but in behavior he is a bit odd. He tends toward stillness far more than most and when not under duress he moves slowly, as though everything he does is carefully done and purposeful.