STATISTICS Str 21, Dex 13, Con 18, Int 16, Wis 18, Cha 20;
Base Atk +0; CMB +4; CMD 15
Feats Weapon Focus (flail), Angelic Blood
Skills Diplomacy +9, Knowledge (religion) +8, Perception +5, Sense Motive +8, Spellcraft +7
Languages Common, Celestial, Draconic, Elven, Sylvan
SQ aura
Traits Charming, Child of the Temple (Knowledge [religion]), Touched by Divinity (Charm Domain)
Gear flail, light crossbow, scale mail, light wooden shield, silver holy symbol, mwk backpack, bedroll, belt pouch, candles (10), cheap holy text, flint and steel, iron pot, mess kit, rope, soap, spell component pouch, torches (10), trail rations (5 days), waterskin
Funds 141 gp
SPECIAL ABILITIES Aura (Ex) Emits a faint aura of good.
Blessings (Su) Possesses the Liberation and Strength blessings. Can use blessings in any combination up to 3 times per day. The save DC for these blessings is 15.
Liberation For 1 round as a swift action, can ignore impediments to mobility and effects that cause paralysis (as freedom of movement). Can be activated even if otherwise incapable of taking actions, but not if unconscious.
Strength Surge As a swift action, gains a +1 enhancement bonus on melee attack rolls, combat maneuver checks that rely on Strength, Strength-based skills, and Strength checks for 1 round.
Sacred Weapon (Su) Any weapon for which the Weapon Focus feat has been selected can inflict 1d6 on damage rolls instead of its base damage. Weapons with base damage higher than 1d6 are unaffected.
Background:
Cereza was born and raised in the city of Magnimar, by a cult dedicated to one of the Lords of the Empyrean. She was never told of the identities of her parents, but the priests cared for her as though she were their own. Or perhaps it is more precise to say that they treated her with greater care than their own children. For as a scion of holy blood, she was a venerated member of the church. In spite of everything, the young Cereza was always perplexed by her “family’s” treatment of her. She had grown to enjoy being put on a pedestal (quite literally), but regardless, she questioned the temple’s motives. It was not until she came of age that the truth was revealed to her - the cult had reason to believe that she herself was a descendent of the angel Arshea, the very Empyreal Lord that the cult bowed to. To them her birth had been a sign of prosperity, for as a daughter of a demigod, she could only be destined for great things. This revelation greatly troubled Cereza, but at the same time, it instilled in her an even greater sense of self-importance. Her heart was a benevolent one, but it was all too easy for her to fall into the trap of vaingloriousness. Embracing her role as the cult’s icon, she herself soon became a priestess, a conduit for Arshea’s power. Unbeknownst to her, it was a sign of things to come. The dreams came slowly at first, but in time grew more vivid. An angel - Arshea, she presumed - would visit and speak to her in a whisper that she could not quite understand. When she spoke of this dream to the other priests, they hailed it as a sign they had been waiting for. The Fifth Mendevian Crusade, she learned, would soon be commencing. As the scion of an Empyreal Lord, it seemed only appropriate that she be there to battle the Worldwound. Cereza knew how to fight, but the idea of meeting demons in battle utterly terrified her. Nonetheless, her sense of duty and pride won out in the end; never should it be heard that the child of an angel was a coward. With her head held up high, the priestess armed herself and prepared to make the journey to Kenabres. The Worldwound would be waiting…
Mythic Path/Character Plans:
Will in all likelihood be the hierophant path. As far as feats go, planning on taking all of the aasimar-exclusive Angel Blood/Flesh/Wings feats, to flavor it as though Cereza is becoming more and more like her celestial ancestor. As she grows more comfortable with it, front-line fighting will become more of a focus for her, with spellcasting mostly encompassing buffs and healing. Skill-wise, she is certainly a great negotiator.
Also, it has not really come up in the roleplay thus far, and it might never really come up at all, but one of the themes of Arshea worship I kind of wanted to convey was the freedom from gender conventions. Arshea's gender is actually ambiguous; thusly, Cereza was a born male that chose to be female. Confession: The idea really struck me as being neat after reading the M:TG short, "The Truth of Names". Frankly, it won't exactly have a huge impact on how I play the character, but I just thought I should mention it; if I ended up getting selected (from the number and quality of submissions, I'm sweating) it's not the kind of thing I wanted to spring out of nowhere.
Roleplay Example:
To say that the journey to Mendev was long was a hilarious understatement. Weeks had already passed since her departure from Magnimar, and only now did her destination seem to be over the horizon. Cereza was fortunate to have found a caravan willing to take her around the Sarkoris Wastes, though a small bit of persuasion had been necessary. Not that it had been particularly hard. The friendly Varisians she had traveled with had only been able to take her so far, and those portions of the journey she had to make on foot were the least comforting.
Why oh why did I not ask for a horse? she thought with a pout, though the truth was, she was quite terrible at riding. Even so, at the rate she was going, the crusade might well be over by the time she arrives.
She glances around the moving wagon, which with the exception of some supplies, was thankfully empty, save for her. Not that it particularly mattered. She had already learned the hard way some weeks ago that her typical practice of prayer did not quite work out here. Worshiping in the nude when one had adequate privacy and sanctuary was well enough, but not so much when one was in the forest, surrounded by hungry beasts while unarmed and unarmored. Cereza shuddered at the memory; it was not a risk she could afford to take again. She was sure that Arshea would not mind her bending the rules, a bit. She was, after all, the angel’s champion. At least, that was what she was told to tell herself.
Sighing at the thought, she closes her eyes. The wagon was hardly a temple, but anywhere with a moment of peace would do. In a soft, hushed tone, she recites her prayer.
“Lord Arshea, Spirit of Abandon… I will soon arrive on the eve of battle, trained but untested. Please guide my hand, so that I might face the trials to come without fear… So that I might protect the innocent, heal the wounded, and strike down the wicked…”
It seems that this crusade has its way of joining birds of a feather, Cereza muses to herself, her eyes twinkling at the sight of Rakeesh's holy sign. They then flick to Tarren, no less astonished. And another one. Does she too descend from the Empyrean? More allies from the heavens - perhaps they had a chance after all.
"I have been told before that there are no such things as coincidences," she says with a smirk. The bartender approaches, offering up a jug of water, but the aasimar merely shakes her head.
"Sah...? Are those the names of your father, and his before him?" Cereza inquires, raising a thinly-trimmed brow, "A pity that I did not know mine. But at least I still know where I came from." Raising her cup, she finishes her water as one would a stiff drink, before setting it back down. Perhaps her mind was just playing tricks on her. "Cereza Morah. A pleasure to meet you."
"They have coffee here? From Osirion?" Cereza asks aloud of the paladin, her eyes going wide with disbelief. Her sad little mug of water (which she swore tasted funny) seemed rather inadequate, then. Naturally, it was that triviality and not the strange eminence of familiarity that bade her to speak to him. The aasimar thinks to the drink orders that the others had made, glancing at the bartender, before challenging: "What drink does this place not serve?"
It was all a very welcome distraction from the tumultuous atmosphere. One moment there was music and cheer, and the next people were speaking of gloom and doom. Or perhaps it was all going on at once. It was all so very chaotic, but then, everyone had good reason to be.
Cereza wrinkles her nose, a marked improvement over her initial fit of coughing upon first entering the establishment. The pampered girl had grown up surrounded by beautiful scents, the fragrances of flowers, incense, and expensive perfumes. Her upbringing had not prepared her for the smell of the... real world. She had already learned that the hard way, after getting her first whiff of horse manure. This was the celestial scion expected to fight abominations that crawled straight out of the Worldwound.
It must smell absolutely horrid down there, she thinks with a shudder, before being shaken out of her reverie by the bartender.
"H-huh? Oh, um..." she trails off, pondering what "poison" to select. She could not deny that she was actually quite curious about what drinks the bar had to offer. Another quick whiff of the alcohol-ridden atmosphere however, quickly expels the thought from her head. "Water, please?"
Her mood abruptly brightens when the sound of (gasp!) music fills the air. She spins on her stool, to face the musician, her eyes widening when she sees the strange, cat-like creature. Today, she figured, was going to be filled with many firsts. She needed to get out more.
Cereza nods, feeling more than a little ashamed by her relief over not having to go after giant spiders. "We will return first thing in the morning! But the most important thing now is getting you all to safety!" she assures Hecktor, believing every word of it.
"Let's just take them back to the ferry. It's not like we got very far! If anything, they'll be safer back there," Cereza reasons, before looking off into the distance warily. "It is not as though Rappan Athuk is going anywhere... it will be waiting for us."
"You go with the others, Sapharael," Cereza tells her eidolon, nudging her head towards Mai and Mordin. "Let me know if anything goes up." The aasimar taps her the glowing rune on her forehead pointedly to describe the method.
"Eh, that thing is creepy. Especially with Pieter lugging it around like that..." Cereza says nervously as she casts wary glances at the mysterious effigy. "Do we really have to carry it around with us?"
"That happened once!" Cereza snaps back at her companion, "And it was an ambush!"
"At any rate, I'll take a trap over spiders any day. Unless the trap involves spiders somehow..." Taking this into account, the aasimar falls quiet, stroking her chin.
"Dang it," Cereza says to Pieter, snapping her fingers once, "I knew I was forgetting something. I didn't want to invoke her in front of all the townsfolk. Might have given them a scare."
Looking about warily, hardly at peace in their current locale, she looks to the others as they observe the aptly-placed arrow. "Er, could you watch my back for a moment? This will only take a minute."
Kneeling down, glancing about nervously one last time, the aasimar prepares the usual ritual of summoning forth her eidolon.
"The spiders are in the forest... aren't they?" Cereza asks thoughtfully, before her expression suddenly darkens. "We will have to be careful if we go into the woods. I've heard rumors that there's a dragon lurking somewhere in there..." Her foreboding tone then becomes cheerful again as she smiles at her comrades. "But if we exercise caution, I'm sure we'll be just fine!"
"Come on Pieter, I don't think they need a swim in the river," Cereza says with a titter as she hops aboard. She loses her footing for a moment when the weight shifts again, but regains her balance.
"Pappy's story certainly seemed... colorful. But perhaps this 'Mouth of Doom' would be a good place to start. I use the word 'good' lightly, mind you. I still think coming here was a terrible idea."
