Dorek's page

Name: Dorek Devaimai-Windstep
Male Tiefling (Grimspawn) Rogue (Unchained, Escapologist) 7/Shadowdancer Rank 2
CG Medium Outsider (Native)
Init: +6 (+1 equipment); Senses: Perception +10; darkvision 90 ft
------------------------------
DEFENSE
------------------------------
AC: 24, touch 17, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +5 Dex, +1 dodge, +1 deflection, +2 natural)
HP: 58
Fort: +4, Ref: +11 (+2 trait), Will: +3, +1 in dim light or less
Resist: Fire 5, cold 5, electricity 5
------------------------------
OFFENSE
------------------------------
Speed: 30 ft
Melee: Cold Iron Gladius +10 (1d6+6 P or S) and Cold Iron Gladius +9 (1d6+2 P or S), Dagger +11 (1d4 P or S), or Claw +11 (1d4 P or S)
Ranged: Dagger +11 (1d4 P), Shortbow +11 (1d6 P)
------------------------------
STATISTICS (25-pt)
------------------------------
Str: 10, Dex: 21, Con: 12, Int: 18, Wis: 10, Cha: 15
Base Atk: +5; CMB: +5; CMD: 19
Traits: Twilight Zeal, Chance Encounter
Feats: Dodge, Two-Weapon Fighting, Combat Reflexes, Mobility, Armor of the Pit
Skills:
Acrobatics - 7 ranks (+16)
Bluff - 7 ranks (+13)
Craft (Locks) - 7 ranks (+15)
Diplomacy - 7 ranks (+13)
Disable Device - 7 ranks (+23)
Disguise - 7 ranks (+13, +5 in normal light or less)
Escape Artist - 7 ranks (+21)
Intimidate - 7 ranks (+13)
Knowledge (Local) - 7 ranks (+15)
Linguistics - 1 rank (+10)
Perception - 7 ranks (+11)
Perform (Dance) - 2 ranks (+8)
Perform (Storytelling) - 4 ranks (+10)
Sleight of Hand - 7 ranks (+18, +4 to conceal daggers)
Stealth - 7 ranks (+16, +5 in normal light or less)
Use Magic Device - 7 ranks (+13)
Languages: Common, Abyssal, Hallit, Infernal, Elven, Draconic, Orc
------------------------------
SPECIAL ABILITIES
------------------------------
Fiendish Resistance, Prehensile Tail, Maw or Claw (Claw) Skilled, Elusive, Finesse Training, Sneak Attack (4d6, +3 vs outsiders), +1/2 Sneak Attack damage/level vs outsiders, Evasion, Rogue Talent (Aligned Sneak Attack, One Of Those Faces, Positioning Strike), Danger Sense +2, Unfettered Mind, Finesse Training (Shortswords), Debilitating Injury, Rogue's Edge (Escape Artist), Hard to Kill, Mythic Power 2/day, Surge +1d6, Hide in Plain Sight, Darkvision +30 ft, Uncanny Dodge
------------------------------
GEAR/POSSESSIONS
------------------------------
Money: 10 GP, 4 SP
Mithril Chain Shirt
Cold Iron Short Sword
Short Sword
Dagger (10)
Wrist Sheath (2)
Pickpocket's Outfit
Locksmith's Tools
Bandolier
Masterwork Backpack
Bedroll
Belt pouch
Caltrops
Chalk (10)
Flint and steel
Grappling hook
Iron pot
Ink
Inkpen
Journal
Mess kit
Mirror
Pitons (10)
Rope (50 ft)
Soap
Masterwork Thieves' tools
Torches (10)
Trail rations (5 days)
Waterskin

Dorek is a singularly unlikely hero. Most in Kenabres describe him as 'a thoroughly unpleasant person,' though some of the more hard-line Iomedaeans disagree on the 'person' part. A sharp-featured head tops his tall, grotesquely emaciated form, a lanky mop of greasy black hair crowning his brow. His skin is a singularly unhealthy-looking shade of gray, and those knowledgeable in fiendish lore might be able to identify the faint daemon taint on his blood from his lambent red eyes and his mouthful of fangs. A pair of medium-length horns are nestled in his hair, and a long tail tipped with a scorpion-like stinger trails behind him. His hands end with blade-like claws where fingers would ordinarily be, though he still retains significant manual dexterity. At his full height, he would easily be six and a half feet tall, but his hunched posture leaves him at around 6 feet in most situations. In casual situations, he generally wears poor-quality, drab-colored clothes with a vest, but given his home city's proximity to the Worldwound, he frequently supplements this with a tattered suit of studded leather armor, and he is always sure to keep at least three daggers on him at all times - two hidden and the rest visible. From a meeting with his thanadaemon grandfather as a young child, he has lost the use of one of his eyes, and he wears an eye patch to cover his old injury. His right wrist is acid-branded with a 'T' for thief, with his prisoner number, 33432, branded below. His voice is halting and uncertain, and he has a severe stammer.

Height: 6'7"
Weight: 140 lbs

Blessed with a keen mind and cursed with an altruistic nature, Dorek often finds himself in trouble when his plans fall apart - more than once, he has picked the pocket of a traveler, only to realize the dire straits they are in and return their money to them. He reviles demons, as any thinking person does, but this revulsion does not extend to their half-mortal descendants like himself. He is a faithful worshiper of Azilash, a six-eyed amalgam of fox, snake, and bat-winged monstrosity that serves as his family's household goddess, and he takes a dim view of worshipers of Iomedae, though his self-preservation instinct is strong enough that he keeps his opinions to himself. When confronted with an especially cruel or bigoted Iomedaean, however, he tends to lose his temper and speak his mind about the Crusades - this has contributed to his troubles, as those who tend to cause him to lose his temper tend to be important enough to do something about his blasphemies, and he has been beaten twice by indignant townspeople for his harsh language about Mendev's patron goddess. He has left his earlier life as a thief behind him, and he is quite happy in his current position in the foundry. He is quite proud of his family, and he often talks about his uncle Zuron, a wine merchant in the town of Gundrun. Dorek has a great fondness for animals, and he often feeds stray dogs that come by his family's home in the Gate District. Dorek is a meticulous note-taker, writing down the details of what he sees in the journal he carries with him in the hopes that it may someday be useful.

Dorek was born in a poor Kellid family in Kenabres's Gate District, the son of Kemlik, a simple shoemaker, and his wife Rilda, secretly a god caller of the Windstep clan. Both his parents were proud survivors of the old Sarkorian faith, giving their worship to the obscure Sarkorian goddess Azilash, and they kept their tainted child partially out of love for the strange boy, but partially also as an act of defiance against the Kenabres authorities.

Sarkorian tradition states that the third-born son and the second-born daughter are trained as god callers - while Dorek's older brother Adar, another fiend-tainted like his younger sibling, was trained as a warrior and Dorek himself learned the ways of the lorespeaker, his younger brother Huresk was taught the rites to summon the family's goddess Azilash, becoming a god caller as his mother was. Adar was a role model for the young Dorek throughout his early life, and the three Devaimai-Windstep children frequently played in the marketplace, running in and out of the stalls re-enacting old battles of their lost clan's myths. Shortly after Adar reached adolescence, however, he was kidnapped by a group of opportunsitic cultists for a sacrifice to Baphomet, leaving Dorek to find his older brother's severed head when he went searching for his missing sibling. The ensuing investigation caught the Prelate's eye, less for the gruesome death of a fiend-blooded child and more so for the implication of a group of cultists operating under the nose of the inquisitors. Driven by his suspicion of the Sarkorian eidolon worshippers, his investigation into the death led to his dicsovery that Adar's mother Rilda still performed the blood sacrifice rituals to the old gods and that his father Kemlik was fully half-fiend - horrified, Hulrun and his witch-finders executed both of Dorek's parents, sending Dorek and his younger brother Huresk to be trained as priests by the Iomedaean cathedral in the hopes of 'redeeming' them from their family's evils, though Dorek only stayed a week before escaping with Huresk into the streets of Kenabres. The two orphans grew from young adolescence into adulthood with only each other to rely on - they scraped by doing odd jobs around the markets of the Gate District, supplemented when the need arose by pickpocketing.

He has had one eye since he was a child - during a long illness, his mother told him the circumstances while delirious. Shortly after he was born, a man showed up at the door, claiming to be Thelvihix the Demise, Kemlik's father - and thus, Dorek's grandfather. He was very tall, almost eight feet, and from beneath his hood, two horns much like Dorek's jutted out into the night like a twisted mockery of eyebrows, their lengths carved with sigils of death in a dozen languages. Everywhere he went, he grasped a simple, worn staff that itself radiated an almost palpable air of menace. He forced his way in to where the infant Dorek slept, plucking his left eye from his skull (that he might see the world as his grandfather does) before vanishing with a promise that someday, when Dorek was ready, he would pluck out his other eye so he could join his grandfather in his duties. When his distraught parents finally managed to get into the room, they found Dorek turning fitfully in his sleep, his eye missing.

Determined to make a better life for his family than what one apprentice could make, Dorek devoted all his time to learning the locksmith's craft, intending to take up a high-paying position in the local guild, but due to his fiendish taint, the Kenabres Locksmiths' Guild rejected his application. Soon afterwards, he began to pick pockets to make ends meet. His first arrest for theft was a petty matter, not costing him more than his position in the shop and a month or so in prison, but the second time, he was assigned to the fantastically dangerous prison work detail, where he labored alongside the other condemned prisoners to maintain the roads and bridges the crusaders used.

On the work detail's fourth trip into the blasted wastes of the Worldwound, his fellow workers and their overseers from the prison were killed by a demonic patrol, leaving him miles behind enemy lines alone. Finding refuge with the survivors of a similarly decimated group of scouts, he managed to scrape by for a week until he encountered a strange woman with a longbow - originally assuming her to be a demon cultist, he tentatively accepted her help when she revealed the holy symbol of Desna that she wore. Guided by the strange woman, the ragged group of survivors managed to return to Kenabres, bluffing their way past the rather stupid cultists between them and the city and resorting to weapons when words proved not enough. Shortly before reaching the gates of Kenabres, the woman who had served as their guide vanished, claiming that there was 'much left undone.' Dorek assumed that the woman was a fugitive of some sort who wasn't welcome in Kenabres, but thought little more of it.

On his return to Kenabres, he tried to search for other employment, but every workshop turned him down - moreso due to the thief branding on his wrist than his fiendish nature. Eventually, however, he did manage to find a manual labor job in the Maratek Metalworks, Kenabres's third-largest foundry, where the owner was willing to give him work in spite of his record. The true turning point in his life, however, was when he found Saba. The orphaned daughter of a pair of crusaders from Garund, the little girl was begging for copper pieces in the street in front of Dorek's simple home when he met her. Touched by the child's plight, Dorek shared what little he had with her, taking her in and adopting her as his own daughter.

With his act of kindness, Dorek's life changed dramatically - now, he had to worry about not only his own livelihood but that of his daughter. Knowing that if he were arrested again, Saba would starve, Dorek forswore the criminal life entirely, throwing himself into his work to make up the money he once made through theft, and while he now makes enough money to live comfortably, he once frequently went to bed hungry so his daughter could eat. He has also turned his attention to making the Gate District a better place in what small way he can, and while he has been careful not to commit any crimes, the Kenabres authorities are vaguely aware of him as a troublemaker and minor firebrand in the Kellid community - twice now, he has been beaten by overzealous Iomedaean townspeople who take exception to his criticism of the Crusades for their persecution of Sarkorian god caller faiths and the city's sizeable tiefling population.

As Armasse draws near, he is 34 years of age, and his adoptive daughter Saba is 9. Though his job at the foundry is fairly secure, he has been given the day off for Armasse - something he is quite upset about, in fact, as he's not being paid for a day so he can attend a festival for a faith he hates. He had initially planned to let his brother Huresk take Saba around to the festivities while he looked for an odd job somewhere else in the city, but he heard about one of the events held at the Armasse festival - a lock made by the Kenabres Locksmiths' Guild, with a promise that the first to crack it would be offered a position in the guild itself. Inspired by the prospect of finding a place in the guild he had always hoped to join, Dorek made his way to the festival, his tools in tow, with the hopes of making a better life for his family. His mood has soured upon learning that the butcher Hulrun will be presiding in the festival square, but he is willing to make an honest effort to enjoy the festival with his brother Huresk and his adoptive daughter Saba.

Anwara Salik rushed through the busy streets of Kenabres's Gate District, feeling the reassuring weight of the coin purse at her side. Though her clothes marked her as a merchant, worn spots in her shirt and rough patching over her elbows showed where she had tried to save what money she could, desperately trying to bolster her failing business in a city perpetually poised on the brink of destruction. Her frugal life, however, had not saved her son from the fever that wracked his sickly body - demon fever, the doctors had said, only curable with the magic of an Abadaran priest. Without a second thought, Anwara had gathered all the money she could find, rushing to the Empress Yin Mission in the hopes that the notoriously stingy merchants' god might smile upon her son.

Her thoughts were abruptly derailed as she crashed heavily into a tall figure near the entrance to the Market Square. Tall and gaunt, looking for all the world like five feet worth of skin stretched over a six and a half foot skeleton, the man was clearly drunk - at the very least, the unsteady wobble in his loping stride made it appear that way - and from the glimpse of lambent fire she had seen in his one remaining eye, he had more than a drop of demons' blood in him. Mumbling a slurred apology as he staggered back, the man lurched off, leaving Anwara to continue on her way towards the cathedral, and hopefully, her son's salvation...

In the safety of a nearby alley, Dorek grinned as he hefted the coin purse experimentally, running his spindly fingers through his lank hair as he estimated its worth. There has to be at least one-seventy - no, one-eighty gold in here! No more scrimping for coppers - my brother and I will eat well for months! At the sound of raised voices from the market square, his head snapped around towards the mouth of the alley, and he moved forward cautiously, curiosity gleaming in his one remaining eye as he tried to see the source of the commotion. Across the square, the woman he had just robbed was pleading with a priest in Abadaran garb at the steps of the temple. "...is sick, we need your help! Look, I don't know what happened to the money I had, but you must come and cure my son - I'll get the temple's donation together afterwards! Pity flashed in the priest's eyes, but he shook his head sadly. "Miss Salik, I'm afraid our temple does run on a tight budget, and with the demons of the Worldwound growing ever closer, I'm afraid we can't just cure anyone and everyone who comes seeking our help. I wish I could aid your son - I'm sorry."

In the mouth of the alley, Dorek looked contemplatively at the coin purse he had snatched, feeling its weight in his palm. I've got a choice here - I could just walk away. Make a better life for me and my family. Nobody would know... except me. The child would die, and I'd be responsible, and for the rest of my days, I'd have to live with the knowledge of what I'd done. His fingers clenched around the jingling bag as he made his decision. Not much of a choice at all, is it? We'll tighten our belts, but we'll make do. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped out into the sunlight of the Market Square, striding towards the temple. "E-excuse me, lady? I t-think you dropped this!

Dorek peered over the edge of the ridge, grinding his pointed teeth as his one remaining eye surveyed the camp. Ducking back below the ridge to avoid detection, he turned to Lieutenant Sena, the leader of the remaining survivors of the disastrous scouting party he had fallen in with after the destruction of his work group. "C-cultists, boss. Lots of t-them. We could t-try to bluff them - they look p-pretty stupid." As the Iomedaean thought, Dorek's left hand absentmindedly tugged his sleeve down around his wrist, the worn cloth covering the acid-burned lettering that proclaimed his crime to the world. After a moment, the crusader nodded, motioning to his remaining troops as he moved towards the crest of the ridge. "Right - everyone, follow me, and we'll..." He stopped short as Dorek yanked at his arm, hissing through clenched teeth. "You m-morons! Half of your s-soldiers still have your g-goddess's colors all over them!" Sena looked down at his tabard - tattered and stained almost beyond the point of recognition with mud and blood, but still recognizably the white and red of Iomedae. He glared back up at the spindly tiefling. "Now you go too far, prisoner - we represent the Crusades, and there are certain standards that must..." Dorek interrupted the crusader, scowling. "T-take them off or we d-die. Is f-faith so weak in M-mendev that you s-stupid soldiers need a t-trinket to remind you who you w-worship?" The silence that followed seemed interminably long, the lieutenant looking between his holy symbol and the convicted thief in front of him. Eventually, he sighed. "Pitborn is right - take off your tabards, your holy symbols, anything that could blow our cover." With some grumbling, the crusader survivors grudgingly removed the trappings of their faith and followed the lieutenant over the hill.

As the ragged band approached the cultist camp, the guards at its edge advanced cautiously, scythes held at the ready. After a moment, a bony man wearing the blood-stained robes of a priest of Deskari pushed his way through the defenders, looking the crusaders up and down. "What is your business here?" Lieutenant Sena made a motion forward, but was cut off by Dorek, who rushed to the head of the group. "W-warriors, your holiness. From R-raliscrad. We were s-sent by Minagho to t-test the crusaders' defenses at K-kenabres." The cultist raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious, before replying. "From Raliscrad, you say? Tell me, what is the name of the bridge over the Isk River?" Dorek went pale as he stammered out prevarications. "T-the bridge? W-well, it's... um..."

The cleric's gaze darkened, and he turned to the guards. "They're crusaders! Kill them! KILL THEM ALL!" The furious cleric barked orders at his minions, and the cultist guards began to raise their scythes menacingly, closing in on the group of survivors. As the bony man began to wave his hands in the complex patterns of a spell, Dorek's keen ears picked out a bowstring's twang from a nearby hill, and he looked in that direction just in time to see a strange woman with a longbow atop a nearby hill - with a whistling noise and a solid thud, the Deskari priest fell, his chanting stilled by the arrow through his throat. The cultists scattered, the undisciplined guards breaking ranks as they dove for cover, their eyes frantically sweeping the hillside for their unseen assailant. As their foes routed, the crusaders rallied to arms, drawing their weapons and joining the fray. Within a minute, the battle was decided, but as the woman descended from the hill towards the ragged band of survivors, their blades turned almost as one to face her. Lieutenant Sena was the first to act, stepping forward with his sword at the ready. "Friend or foe to Queen Galfrey?" Just as quickly, however, Dorek stepped forward, pushing the overzealous Iomedaean's blade aside with a scowl on his face. "Are you s-stupid or something? This l-lady just saved our l-lives!" After a moment's consideration, the crusader officer hesitantly lowered his sword, his expression apprehensive. "There's some truth to what you say, prisoner - but mark my words, pitborn, I'll hold you personally responsible if this goes wrong." Raising her hands in a conciliatory manner, the woman stepped forward, one hand dipping into a pocket and emerging with a holy symbol, the wings of Desna almost shimmering in the demon-twisted light of the Worldwound. "Stay your blades - I am a friend." Reaching down again for a scroll case, she produced a tattered scroll and handed it to Dorek. "This map will show you the way back to Kenabres. There are Deskari worshipers at checkpoints along the West Sellen, and its fords are tightly controlled - if you go south, through the Marchlands, there are a few trails they don't yet know about. Go quickly, or patrols will find you - this is no place to die." Snatching the map out of Dorek's hands, the Lieutenant perused its contents for a moment before rolling it with a snap and barking orders at the survivors. "Right - let's get moving. We'll be marching double-time, but we'll also be looking out for each other. Nobody gets left behind." As the crusaders began their march towards Kenabres and their salvation, Dorek paused for a moment, turning to look at the woman who had saved their lives. "Hey l-lady? T-thank you. You've s-saved us all, I hope you k-know that. Stay safe, m-miss."