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When the human colonists arrived, the Windwalkers decided not to interact with the humans, only trade some goods. Eventually, as humanity began to spread, the elves became overshadowed by their presence. They eventually had to form alliances with the new kingdom of Talingarde and eventually became a royal house of the new kingdom. The Windwalker house maintained control over a sizeable portion of the eastern coast for centuries to come, keeping most of its elvish traditions, and endured a time of relative peace with the ruling house. However, there was a minority of clan members that did not want to become a part of what they saw as “indoctrination”. This group of elves fled to the savage north of the island and, as centuries past on, became more cold and bitter toward any culture besides their own. They became known as the Ice Elves, and they did not take kindly to outsiders.

The peace that the Windwalkers maintained with the humans would not last. In the civil war that took hold of most of the island, the Windwalkers provided elvih archers to fight alongside the ruling House of Barca, against the upstart House of Darius. This would prove to be a fatal mistake, as House Darius won the war using advanced tactics against the sheer numbers of Barca. The Windwalkers, would suffer more than most.

The Windwalkers were forced to pay war damages for their part in serving House Barca. Their lands and holdings were greatly reduced and divided among the winning houses. But worst of all was that they were forced to rename their house, in order to “cleanse” their family line of the old “traitorous” ways. The defeated Windalkers became the house of Devel; named after Devel Windwalker, who brokered the indoctrination into Darius aristocracy.

The House of Devel became a minor house, mostly under the thumb of House Darius as other houses would. Their culture and ways faded into legend as the human traditions and culture replaced the old ways. This lasted for centuries…

Merduil Devel was pleased with Cyril’s diplomatic success, but she saw a greater purpose in him. When Cyril wasn’t sharpening his political skills, he was learning the old ways of the Windwalker clan with his mother. Merduil taught him their family’s history in great detail, she taught him of his family’s once proud dominance of the island, and to despise House Darius for their defilement of their family’s traditions and land.

This brought Cyril into conflict with his Talingarde-indoctrinated father, and one of his father’s best friends, Thomas Welldal, a powerful lord, loyal to the king of Talingarde: Markadian Darius V. Cyril once looked upon Thomas with respect as an uncle-figure in his life, but eventually all he could see now was a member of the family who ruined his. He became cold and distant to Thomas, who was concerned for Cyril, questioned Aegnor about this sudden behavior. Aegnor usually changed the topic of conversation by stating:

“The boy has a lot in his mind.” Cyril generally did, specifically, on Lady Natalie Hastrin.

Natalie was the human daughter of a duke, and secret lover of Cyril. While love between an elf and a human was not frowned upon in Talingarde, the house family separation prevented marriage. So once a month, Cyril and Natalie would meet up and share in conversation that would last into the night. Cyril was planning to reveal to his parents of his relationship, and propose marriage. However, the couple’s love would not last the tragedy that would follow.

Hard times fell upon the Devel’s. The harvest was sparse, and the family was massively in debt. When Aegnor and Merduil turned to Iomedae and Erastil for their blessings, they would not return. Aegnor remained optimistic for a miracle, but Merduil would not stand idly by as her own family drowned in famine and debt. In desperation, she turned to a darker, forbidden power for help…

When Merduil called to the spirits of Hell, they answered, and unlike the pious gods of good, they answered in person.

Merduil begged the devils to reverse her family’s bad luck, and grant her family riches and bountiful harvests. The devils agreed to help, on the condition that she swore loyalty to Asmodeus and deliver a monthly sacrifice of a virgin maid. Reluctantly, Merduil agreed.

Suddenly, the harvests of the Devel family became bountiful and fresh, and they were eventually able to pay off their debt. Aegnor belived this was the miracle he’d prayed for, Merduil knew better. In the next two years, nobody noticed that young girls were disappearing off the streets…

All this would come to a head…

One night, when Aegnor was holding a celebration with his friends, Thomas in attendance, the cheerful mood turned sour fast when screams echoed through the halls of the Devel estate.

A young maid, who has escaped Merduil ran through the halls, leaving a trail of blood from a knife wound in her gut. She came upon Aegnor and hs friends in the great hall and screamed of murder and blasphemy. She collapsed and died in moments. When Thomas followed the trail of blood into the lower levels of the estate, what he found shocked him. Merduil, the wife of a trusted friend, sat in defeat, covered in the maid’s blood and surrounded by asmodean symbols and relics. The only words coming from her mouth were,

“I’m sorry.”

With great sorrow, Thomas placed Merduil under arrest for witchcraft and murder. What followed was an investigation of the entire Devel family by the inquisition. Merduil was placed on trial in the capital. Cyril, who was away at the time, rushed to the capital to defend his mother. But the evidence was overwhelming.

One by one, prosecutors and witness provided testimony of Merduil’s sacrifices and worship of the Great Enemy. Merduil told the jury everything, the harvest, the sacrifices, and the worshiping. All while Cyril, Aegnor, and all of Talingarde listened with horror.

Her fate was sealed, she was accused guilty, and was burned at the stake. Aegnor, mad with grief, went into hiding, unable to cope with the shock of his wife’s betrayal, and the scandal brought to the family line. Cyril watched his mother burn, the woman who gave birth to him, and taught him to respect tradition, turned to ash. He watched his father abandon his household. He did not hear from Natalie, no one would interact with him. He was at the landsmeet following the trail, he watched as his lands and possessions were divided amongst the other houses. He watched his family fall into ruin. The Devel line was no more.

All in the name of Darius.

At the lands meet, in the capital, all the lords and laides had arrived to divide the Devel land. The King, Markadian V sat upon his throne with studying eyes. His daughter was not here, he wanted to keep her away from this dirty ordeal. Thomas stood beside him, watching Cyril sit alone and silent, the once charismatic diplomat was gone, shattered by tragedy. His lawyer would do the negotiating.

After hours upon hours of negation, the contract to divide the Devel lands was nearly finalized; all that was left was for Cyril to sign it. His lawyer gave him the paper, and a quill.

“All that’s left is for you to sign, my lord.” The lawyer said.

Cyril glanced over the document. It would allow him to keep nothing but the small family fortune, the estate, and its servants; a haunted piece of property that nobody wanted. All that land, all that history, ready to be defiled by the vultures around him. He looked down at the signatures, all of them, people he once trusted, however they were all overshadowed by one signature.

Markadian Darius V

Darius… that name filled him with vile hatred…

Thomas looked on at Cyril, he was standing alone, surrounded by lords and ladies who had cast out his family. Markadian grew tense, this whole situation felt wrong to him, any event having to do with Devil’s made his stomach twist with uneasiness; he could feel the Dark One’s presence in this horrid affair. The elf was poorly treated in his mind, but the law is the law, and better to be safe than sorry when dealing with Asmodeus.

“Well, Devel, what say you?” he said in his commanding voice.

The sound of the king’s voice caused Cyril’s eye to twitch. All the rage, all the hate, all the centuries of oppression under that family boiled back up within Cyril.

A look of concern spread across Thomas’s face when he saw Cyril start to shake. It didn’t take an extreme study of elven behavior to see that he looked as if he was about to explode with anger. Thomas advanced towards Cyril.

“Cyril?” Thomas said. Cyril didn’t respond. Thomas advanced closer, as some of the lords began backing away.

“Cyril, you alright m’boy?” he asked. Thomas reached out and put his hand on Cyril’s shoulder. Like a snake, Cyril pulled away from Thomas.

“Don’t touch me ever again!” he yelled. The entire gathering gasped. Cyril paid them no mind; he was beyond their petty grievances now. He continued.

“You, who would accuse my mother of witchcraft! Who sent her to the flames, in the name of your god!” he yelled. Thomas backed away. Cyril looked toward the king.

“And you!” he yelled toward the king. He began to advance.

“Don’t do this Cyril.” Thomas begged. Cyril did not listen, rage guided him now.

“Markadian V, son of the Darius line. You will not address me as a Devel!” he turned towards the members of the court. “None of you will!”

And with that he tore up the document and threw it to the ground. The attendants gasped once again. Markadian leaned back in shock. Cyril stood defeiant.

“Keep the estate and the lands for yourselves, I do not care! I am not a Devel. That is the name you people cursed upon my line when you won your precious war. I am a Windwalker!” he screamed.

Markadian sucked in a breath.

“Remember that name, Markadian? The one your forefathers defiled and oppressed!? I do, and let me say this.” He said. He spat at the ground in defiance, many ladies had feinted at this point.

“I curse the line of Darius, and all within it! May you all burn in hellfire and ruin! The way my mother did! The way my family has!” With that, Cyril dashed out of the hall.

”Guards!” Markadian yelled, but it was too late, Cyril had fled the premises before the guards could close the gates.

Cyril ran for miles, he traveled to the north, eating what he could, stealing what he needed. His clothes ripped and tore, until he was left bare. He lived like a rat for a month; until he was at the end of his ropes, pale, thin, and dying in the wilderness. Suddenly, he reached a great black mountain. He felt something within him, he felt drawn to the mountain. Something was calling him, a feint whisper, like a child’s. If Cyril wanted some form of salvation, he’d find it within this mountain. He stared up at the foreboding peak, and began to climb.

As he climbed high and higher, it grew colder and colder, pain was followed by numbness and stiffness. He climbed for hours, not knowing his final destination, only that it awaited him at top.

After what felt like an eternity, he climbed over the last bit of rock, to find himself on the edge of a small cliff, with the dark mouth of a cave greeting him. He could hear the whispers much more clearly; they were beckoning him into the darkness. Cyril, unable to summon the strength, was forced to crawl like some degenerate humanoid out of the stinging cold, and into the inky blackness that awaited him.

As he crawled deeper and deeper into the black chasm, he could feel warmth return to him again. He began to see light in the tunnel, a red glow, flickering like a flame. He followed the glow and entered a huge chamber of black stone. The floor was covered in a blanket of undisturbed white sand, the are was lit by some unseen light, Cyril did not pay it any mind, for he was focused on one thing.

Lying in the center of the chamber, like a black rock in the middle of a white sea, was a great shard of obsidian. And carved into its center, was a pulsing red pentagram, pulsing like a heart, with black smoke, seeping from its runes. The whispers were very clear now; they were coming from within the stone. They told Cyril what he had to do.

He stumbled his way through the sand, disturbing its century long stillness. As he neared the stone, the pentagram glowed brighter, almost in anticipation.

Cyril kneeled before the stone, and prayed to Asmodeus. He prayed for hours upon hours, chanting in a black tongue that he never knew he could speak. He asked the dark prince for the power to destroy his enemies, to kill every member of the house of Darius, the family that destroyed and defiled his family. In exchange, he would become his most loyal servant; he would bring Talingarde to Asmodeus on a silver platter. All he wanted… was the power to reap his vengeance.

The darkness answered in the tongue of the devils.

Cut your hand.

Cyril picked up a sharp rock and slid its edge along his right hand; his red blood dripped and darkened the white sand beneath him.

Touch the stone. Finish the pact.

Cyril held is hand outward and, without hesitation, laid it directly onto the pentagram. It began to burn brightly, searing his flesh and sucking away his blood. The whispers turned into inhuman howls of joy and suffering, piercing his ears. Cyril grunted in pain, but he stood fast, for only the strongest can serve the dark master.

Suddenly the stone exploded into black powder, sending the elf flying back into the sand. Yet, he felt no pain. He stood up, feeling rejuvenated. Then, he heard burning from above.

He looked up to see no fire, but he still heard it. Then he saw it, feint slivers of grey falling to towards him. The smell reminded him of something…

It reminded him of the smell after his mother was burned alive.

He realizes that this was ash, the ash of Hell, falling to him, ready to touch him. The elf opened his arms out wide, ready to embrace the blessing he was to receive.

An ash strip floated down to him, and landed on his skin. In a feint glimmer of red, the cinder bonded to his skin. As more ash fell upon, his complexion changed. The ash turned his skin to pale grey, his hair turned to stark white, and his eye sockets became dark and blackened. The ash continued to fall until he was completely changed. By the time the ash stopped, the whole chamber was covered in a haunting grey.

The figure let his arms down and breathed in his newfound strength. Suddenly, he opened his eyes to reveal two pale blue slits. Azure pearls in a sea of blackness. He smiled, for his master has given him strength, and he intended to use it.

Cyril Windwalker was dead, the Darius family killed him.

Melphael, servant of darkness, was born.

He began by seeking out servants who would easily sway under him. He found that in the Bonecruncher goblin tribe.

While walking through the western woods of Talingarde, he came upon a small hunting party of goblins; or rather they came upon him.

This party tried to ambush and intimidate the elf, but Melphael was beyond their petty ambush attempts. He slaughtered most of their numbers except one who was smarter than the rest, who surrendered after seeing his comrades’ fall to a greater power. This goblin had the distinction of being much bigger and than the rest of them, and instead of being moldy green in skin color; he had a leathery grey skin completion.

He was called Gorgutz, and he had a glint of ambition hiding behind his uneducated, savage eyes. Melphael demanded the goblin to bring him to his tribe; the brute complied, and asked the elf why he was so powerful. When the elf explained how his master Asmodeus granted him his strength, Gorgutz pledged his allegiance to Melphael, wishing for the strength to rule over his tribe. Melphael, impressed with the goblin’s desire for power, made him his servant.

Gorgutz lead Melphael to the Bonecruncher camp. When they arrived Gorgutz proclaimed a new age for the tribe, that under their new elf master, and the dark lord Asmodeus, they would have plenty of food and pillaging to last “a hundred sundowns”. The chief and shaman were not happy, any threat to the chief’s status, or the shaman’s deity, Lamashtu, was mutiny. Melphael quickly slew the chief and shaman, and defiled the unholy shrine to the mother of monsters that the goblins had made. He proclaimed that only through Asmodeus, will they survive. The goblins, quickly complied.

With Melphael in command, and Gorgutz as his right hand as the new chief, the Bonecruncher tribe was transformed from a scrappy goblin tribe, into an effective raiding force. Using tactics and guerrilla style attacks, the goblins were able to effectively attack and pillage unsuspecting villages with great effectiveness. This savage streak of attacks did not go unnoticed by the Talingarde authorities. Goblin attacks were not this precise, and the news goblins specifically capturing neighborhood priests of Iomedae was most disturbing. This brought on the attention of the Inquisition, but they were far too late to stop the coming butchery.

Melphael had been pleased with the effectiveness of the Bonecrunchers, and Gorgutz was proving to be a capable leader, as more goblins were flocking under the Bonecruncher banner, eager to see how this “pointy eared tally and his big gray goblin” could get a goblin force so effective in attacking. The raids were quite successful, but Melphael knew that the success would not last. Eventually, the Taligarde soldiers would hunt down the tribe and discover him. Melphael’s ambitions would not allow this. He needed to do something big, something that would catch the attention of all of Talingarde, to remind them of what it is like to live in fear, and he had the perfect way to do it.

The seaport town of Brighttide, was a small community that made its profits off of fishing and trade. It was the night of the Inheritor’s Ascendance; the town was having a nighttime festival in celebration of the day Iomedae was chosen by the god Aroden to become his herald. Fireworks lit up the night sky; music was playing in the town square; children were running though the streets laughing; and townspeople were trading goods and enjoying good food. All were unaware of the horror that would soon befall them, as silent figures stalked the roofs of the town, snickering under their breath.

The town priest of Iomedae, a round man with a shaven head and a jolly demeanor, was walking through the crowds, being greeted by friendly neighbors and merchants. He made his way to the town square, to a podium that was prepared for him. He stood atop the podium and raised his hands above the crowd. The music went silent, and all eyes fell upon him. He lowered his hands onto the podium and smiled. He opened his mouth, ready to begin his sermon. But he would not be able to speak, for the pale elf, would wait no longer.

”Citizens of Brighttide!” a voice called in the distance. The townsfolk who had gathered around the priest now turned to see a sinister shape advancing towards them.

A tall grey elf with sunken-in eyes, dressed in black studded leather, and wielding a black mace in his hands; a silver upside down pentagram hangs from his neck.

As he advanced foreword, young children who happened to be close to this threatening figure ran back to their mothers and fathers. Dogs growled as he passed by, unaware that greenskined enemies were inching from behind, Dogslicers in hand. The elf continued his speech.

”You have been accused of heresy, against your true master, Asmodeus, the lord of the pit.” he said. The townsfolk gasped at this audacious and dangerous-looking elf who would dare speak the Great Enemy’s name in public.

”You have instead chosen to follow the pathetic teachings of the foul goddess Iomedae, and pervert this land with a festival in her name!” He within the crowd now, people backed away from his haunting figure, mothers covered their children’s ears to prevent such horrid words entering their minds. The priest was horrified as this dark servant of the enemy, so much so, that he didn’t notice torches being lit along the rooftops of the town, illuminating the hideous grins of the goblin strikers.

“Your shameful actions have called me here, to punish you for your crimes. In the Asmodean laws, punishment is swift and merciless. Today will no longer be the Inheritor’s Ascendance, today will forever be remembered as the beginning of hell’s ascendance upon this country. Come now, children of the Inheritor!” Melphael raised his arms to the crowd around him.

“For the hour of your judgment is upon you!”

Suddenly, a great collective war-cry roared through the town, as goblins began firing arrows upon the unsuspecting townsfolk, and lighting fires to buildings. The crowd began to scream in panic.

Melphael reached towards his unholy symbol around his neck, and conjured forth from it’s runes a ball of hellfire. He transformed it into jet of unholy flame and sent it into the crowd of people, turning them to petrified statues.

The crowd began to part as many people tried to flee, only to be taken down by the ruthless goblins. A group of children, separated from their parents, ran down a narrow street to escape the chaos in the square. Their retreat was stopped when the huge, stone-colored Gorgutz, welding a studded greatclub, came round a corner, leading a squad of goblins riding atop vicious rodent-faced canines. The children screamed and ran over each other to escape the horrid creatures.

“Cut them down!” Gorgutz screamed in Goblin, as the goblin ridden rat creatures ran down their prey. Meanwhile, Melphael was being rushed by the town guards. They were no match to the pale elf, as he swung the mace with deadly accuracy, breaking arms and smashing skulls with a grace unseen by a wielder of the mace.

One girl of 18 hid behind a cart as she watched her father, the town sheriff, charge the dark figure with his longsword. The elf easily dodged the attack and smacked the man’s head to the side with a sickening crunch. The men fell to the ground. The elf picked up the man’s sword and finished the job by sending the weapon into the man’s neck. The girl screamed in horror, she watched her father be murdered by this servant of evil. Instead of going to her father, her survival instinct took over, commanding her to flee her hometown.

As she fled over the countryside, she let her hatred fuel her desire for justice. This wickedness will pay for what it has done tonight.

As the town was set ablaze by the marauding goblins, the town priest had retreated to his temple. Within, he had just finished writing a letter for his raven to send, a plea for help to the nearby city, when suddenly the church’s doors burst open.

The priest turned around to see the shadow of Melphael advancing toward him, with the flames of the priest’s beloved town cast against him. Goblins scurried in behind, ready to loot the temple of its relics and riches. Quickly, the priest gave the letter to his raven and sent it out a nearby window. Melphael watched the bird go, a look of amusement went across his face. The priest stood fast.

“Talingarde will know what you have done!” he yelled. Melphael smiled as he drew his dagger, and edged towards the priest, and uttered one word,

“Precisely.”

By the time the authorities had arrived, it was too late. The town was burned to the ground, and all within was dead. Melphael and the goblins, were long gone.

The soldiers searched through the ruined settlement, and what they found was shocking. Petrified statues of people, frozen in time, with expressions of extreme pain on their faces. There were slaughtered men, women, and children piled and positioned in sick, degrading poses all along the streets; providing food for the flies and crows. The only standing building was the temple, within it all goods were ransacked or destroyed, but the worst sight of all lay upon the alter.

It was the body of the priest, with an upside-down pentagram etched into his chest, and the heads of the temple choir, all lined up along the alter, stained with blood.

The Inquisition tried to cover up the crime, but it was too late. Too many survivors had escaped the butchery, they all told their stories of the “pale elf” and his band of goblin raiders. No one knew about the Asmodean reasons behind the slaughter, the inquisition saw to that, but it didn’t matter. The story spread and the whole nation was horrified. It became known as the Brighttide Massacre. The day became a day of national mourning for Talingarde. And a manhunt began for the pale elf, and the Bonecrunchers, led by the famous witch hunter: Sir Balin of Karfed.

The manhunt lasted for a year, Melphael managed to evade the witch hunter through trickery and deception, however, all things must come to an end.

Almost a year after the massacre, Sir Balin managed to intercept the band of goblins in the Northwestern woods from an anonymous tip. His band of paladins managed to find the Bonecrunchers, and their infernal leader.

Melphael, tired from running, was able to kill some of his hunters before being outnumberd by Balin and his troops and was eventually knocked unconscious by a sudden bash to the head from a shield. Gorgutz, seeing his master fall before a much stronger foe, acted like a smart Asmodean and covered his losses by abandoning his master and managed to escape with his tribe. They were never caught, but the hunters were still happy, they had finally caught the infamous pale elf, and he would hang for his crimes.

Melphael was weakened, without a weapon or an unholy symbol; only chains kept him company, as Balin sent him off with a squad of his most trusted warriors to escort him to Branderscar, before he would receive his final judgment. Balin watched as the devil worshiping murderer was chained up, ready to be sent on his final journey to the worst prison in Talingarde.

“May Iomedae have mercy on your wretched, dammed soul.” he said to the chained Melphael. The pale elf only looked back as was being escorted away.

“Your god will not save you, Balin, from me sending your soul to the realm of mine.” H uttered, before a sack was tied over his head. Good, Balin thought, no one should look at that haunting face.

As Melphael was being dragged to prison, he felt an almost calm. He could not place it, but he was not afraid. Something was telling him that this was not the end… only the beginning. With that thought in mind, a smile stretched across Melphael’s lip, unseen by everyone around him, he still smiled. His master is guiding him now, and the master will provide…

1. He wants revenge against House Darius, any encounter with a member can should be played out as epic and momentous for him.
2. He sees himself as the avatar of Asmodeus’s will. If say we do take over the kingdom, I would imagine him as becoming sort of the religious leader of Talingarde, not a king (I’m sure someone else would be willing to do that), but sort of a demented pope. Feel me?
3. I would like to see this character fit within this campaign to the best of my ability, if accepted; could I use the Unholy Barrister cleric archetype provided? Also, the crime I would chose would be Murder.

1. He is unaware that Natalie, the woman he loved is still alive… and has given birth to a child… a half elf child…

2. His father still lives… as a wandering traveler, wishing to remain in isolation.

1. Gorgutz: Chief of the Bonecruncher tribe and former servant of Melphael. He is a big goblin, who’s smarter than most of his species. He worships Asmodeus, and has taught his tribe to follow his stead. He looked upon Melphael with respect, as a partner in crime.

2. Thomas Welldal: Thomas knew Melphael from his former life as Cyril, he used to treat him as a nephew. He is unaware of what Cyril has become, but still hopes the best for the elf, unaware that it is a lost cause.

3. Heldra Steel: The woman who watched her town and father get destroyed by Melphael. She has joined the knights of Talingarde and desires justice against her father’s killer.

Melphael is sociable and charismatic with others of like mind, but he quickly switches to a ice cold, predatory concentration when dealing with serious things, like combat, minions reporting failure etc. Also, he trusts no one, his life had been ruined upon trusting others...

2. What is your character's role in a group?

Spiritual guidance for the party, he serves as a leader and mentor to fellow asmodeans. He can also pack a mean punch in combat with his flame centric powers.

3. How is your character not as they seems? I want one or two skills that would surprise others if they found out he knows them. Also include personality traits, positive or negative, that would similarly surprise others.

While he may be a psychopathic fanatic, he holds a lot of pain from his past within. He knows what it was like to love and be loved, and while he may abhor the goody-toe shoes ways of Talingarde, he still comprehends why people love and care; he’s simply abandoned all mercy and compassion from his system. Additionally, his training as a diplomat has gained him good skills for interaction and diplomacy with others.

4. What are your character's goals, conscious and, perhaps, subconscious?

To wipe out the line of Darius, whose members betrayed his own; and create a new Asmodean empire, forged from the ashes of the old kingdom.

5. How easily does your character love? Have they been in love?

Melphael did love once… but that love expired when he devoted himself to Lord of the 9th.

6. Is your character racist at all, either now or in their past?

Race does not matter to Melphael. You are either useful, or not.

7. All people believe something that is not true, both about the world around them and about themselves. What lies/untruths does your character believe about themselves and the world around them?

That only through himself, can his dark god achieve dominance of Talingarde.

8. How is your character about material possessions?

Unholy symbols, and relics suit Melphael’s fancy.

9. What does your character perceive their major problems to be?

That the royal family still lives, and he is not controlling Talingarde.

10. What does he perceive the solutions to those problems to be?

Purge the royal line from the world, and take over the country, serving as it’s prophet of darkness.

11. What are your character's religious beliefs?

Fundamentalist Asmodean.

12. What does your character fear?

Failure through death, for the Prince of Darkness punishes those who cannot live up to their end of the bargain…

13. How much of a temper does your character have? What sorts of things set them off?

Failure, and betrayal. When Melphael is angered, he becomes like a snake, ice-cold, and quick to punish those responsible.