Aren Brighteyes's page

0 lvl: Guidance, Enhanced Diplomacy, Stabilize, Detect Magic
1st lvl: Bless x2, Cure Light Wounds, Shield of Faith, Cause Fear
2nd lvl: Lesser Animate Dead x2, Cure Moderate Wounds, Ghoul Touch

Selres
Giant Skeletaon Chameleon
NE Large animal
Init +7, Perception +0
---------------
Defense
---------------
AC 17, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (+3 Dex, +5 natural, -1 size)
hp 27 (4d8+4)
Fort +3, Ref +3, Will +4
DR 5/bludgeoning, immunity to cold
---------------
Offense
---------------
Speed 40 ft., climb 40 ft.
Melee bite +6 (2d6+4) and x2 Claws +6 (1d6+4)
Full Attack: Bite +6 (2d6+3) + x2 Claws +6 (1d6+3)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft.
---------------
Statistics
---------------
Str 16, Dex 17, Con -, Int -, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +3; CMB +8; CMD 20
Feats Improved Initiative

Selres is the very first undead that Aren ever made and as such earned itself a name. It is infernal for seed, somewhat twisted from its original meaning. Instead of just a seed of life or a seed of distrust or ruin, the seems to be an odd, almost horrid amalgamation of all three meanings. Selres, as Aren called it, was a riding lizard for the Drow noble house that Aren and the other experiments belong too, but was injured and too old for practical healing to be of much use. He was large for his size, faithful for a steed of a drow and experienced. And he was pitted, wounded and unhealed, against a drugged up tiefling. Aren.

After the battle, with its flesh rotting, Aren was struck with inspiration. Before they could pull him away he began a horrid ritual that was somewhat like the spells that animated undead, but somehow more permanent and binding to the cleric. Any who tried to stop it were blasted back by unholy energy from Aren, though the Doctor in charge quickly stopped their fool assistants to see what would happen. When the ritual ended, the flesh literally melted off the creature and into a pile of goo and rotted gore on the ground, leaving not but the large skeleton of a massive lizard with razor sharp claws and an eyeless skull. Within that skull glowed a dim light of pale white and sickly yellow.

Selres was created. Seed. Seed of the drows destruction, perhaps. Aren grinned, and passed out. He was usually quite... respectful. The tiefling seemed to know just how to play everyone. But for the first time in a long time, he was flogged as a punishment instead of just for the sake of flogging him. But the results, Selres, were worth it in Aren's mind. The undead thing was sealed and dragged away by a wizard of some power, but not destroyed.

Aren Brighteyes' probably got the most subtle experiments physically speaking, but the most pervasive in other senses. What drew us to him was his rather unique ability to discern the nature of those near him in ways that had nothing to do with choice or preference. He saw the state of ones body and soul. We decided to delve further into his heritage during our testing and found out he descended, of all things, from one of Charon's vassals. We are not entirely sure how this is possible, but it had nothing to do with reproduction that's for certain. We decided to experiment and see what we could do about strengthening this connection with the avatar of death and undeath.

Our experiments were largely a success. A couple of people were lost in the initial process when we accidentally unlocked his connection to negative energy, which explodes from him as some kind of sickly pale white and yellow lightning, but since we have taken the appropriate measures to protect ourselves. We also strengthened his skin, since our experiments appeared to weaken him over all physically. It looks the same, even feels the same, but it turns a blade more like scales might. While he's not that hardy we feel we have done what we can.

These days he seems thin, frail even, and has far paler skin then he used to that's very nearly white. His eyes are of a similar color, glowing with a gentle, yet foreboding, light. Both are unsettlingly close to the pale yellow/white negative energy he can summon. Sometimes he even winces at the feeling of the mark we grew upon his back, a profane symbol of one daemon in particular that we have forced him to hide beneath clothing but one that allows him infinitely more control over his newer powers. He does not even show a reflection, though few people seem to notice at first. And when he breathes, a small, almost invisible cloud of what appears to be smoke comes from his mouth.

But... despite all of this... there is something... unsettlingly trustworthy about him. When he speaks, his words are calm and gentle and ease the mind. When he says things, people believe them. And when one gets close enough to smell that smoke, there is something... comforting about the scent. It is cold and distant, yet one could almost swear it reminds them of a long since passed relative or friend or even pet they were particularly proud of. Though it was very, very hard to gather as the stuff seems to fade into the air almost instantly, we were able to determine the fact that the smoke is actually a mix of smoke and ash for some reason.

I warn all of those that deal with this subject, be careful. He is clever, charismatic, and worst of all, patient. We cannot connect the disappearance or even out right betrayals of two of our own to him, but that does not mean we have dismissed him as a suspect. Over all, I consider him quite a success.

Aren Brighteyes was born to a simple family. His mother and father were both poor, but not so much then anyone ever starved in his family. His father was a day laborer that helped build homes. His mother was a mid-wife and herbalist who saw to the healing for people that couldn't afford the rates at the temple. It was a meager, but somewhat happy life. And despite his nature Aren was not treated very poorly by either his older siblings, a brother and a sister, his parents, or his neighbors. A couple of people certainly took offense at his existence but save for a couple instances, Aren was neither noteworthy nor special.

Until the day he discovered his unique ability. He was helping his mother as her duties as a midwife, fetching towels and filling buckets of water and all the things meant to keep him busy, when out of nowhere he predicted that the child would be dead when it was born. His mother, of course, slapped him for saying such a thing, but she was grateful the woman in labor was in too much pain at the time to notice. It wasn't until an hour later that his prediction was proven right that his mother began to question why he said it.

They discovered, mostly inadvertently over time, that he could see the state of a persons body and even soul to a degree. It was unnerving, t be sure, and his parents tried to keep it quiet. After all, such a special ability was enough to start rumors. Rumors that were one step away from saying he was causing illness and death rather then seeing injuries. But one particular client overheard him and the rumors spread fast. The parents, fearful of being attacked or even having their children attacked, tossed him out onto the streets.

Now a street urchin, the horned youth learned quickly that things were not as simple as he had once believed, that honestly got you very little. He learned to lie, and over time he became quite good at it. By his 13th year he had half the tavern keepers convinced he was too sick to earn food and was getting mistreated by others. The other half didn't care for his kind, but those three would often give him food or, on particularly rough nights with poor weather, a place to stay. And then he was taken.

He's still not sure how they tracked him down, but he supposed that there were only so many tieflings of his distinct nature. Pale skin, slightly glowing eyes, two small horns from his head and all that. He didn't know why he had been taken, but apparently the Overlord thought the drow he was selling people too would be interested in the rumors of his ability to see peoples souls and their physical conditions. He was right, and for the past ten years, though he has no idea himself how long it was, he was experimented on and indoctrinated. Or, at least they tried to. He gathered bits of information here and there, and though he's nearly as clueless as many of his cell mates, he is not entirely so. And he is not alone. The fools that experimented on him did not realize the full implications of what they had done. They hadn't just opened him to his daemon heritage, they had opened his eyes to the god they forced him to pray to for his power.