Ialia Frostmoon's page

Publicly, Ialia Frostmoon is confident and headstrong. Her family is well-known and popular, her father a retired Captain with the Imperial Navy and decorated hero, and her mother a well-spoken and educated philanthropist. Ialia's grandmother is secretly a great witch of the white-haired variety, and those traits were passed down through to the younger version. Beneath the bluster, Ialia fears the judgment of others. She stood out immediately when she was old enough to remember and always felt like she was at the periphery of the play circle, rarely invited in. Her grandmother took her under her win, so to speak, and through that private tutelage, Ialia learned how to harness her natural abilities and blossoming talents. Her father taught her how to fight, but he had to fight his own battles for most of her life. She was adopted. Or rather, she was left on her parent's doorstep by a stranger in the night. But in truth, her adopted father is her real father. He was magically charmed and seduced by a disguised changeling, a Storm Hag named Magreth, and it was she that put the child on the father's doorstep, along with a note as to the baby's true identity and a demand for regular payment in exchange for silence. Ialia's adopting mother knew the truth but raised her as her own, and this truth was revealed to Ialia when the time was right. For all of this, Ialia still had to face The Call, when she confronted Magreth and returned to her father, still human in all the ways that matter. When the day came to set out on her own, she knew her abilities as a witch could best be put to purpose defending her homeland and being ever vigilant, should Magreth and her coven return.

Age: 19
Height: 5' 7"
Weight: 110 lbs
Eye colors: Deep Sky Blue and Pale Moon Gray
Hair color: Bright White
Skin tone: Pale Ivory
She is fond of colorful clothing, as her features are mostly without pigment

Ialia Frostmoon is attractive in a generic sense, but to many her features appear exotic or even lifeless. Porcelain face inset with different-colored eyes - one a pale gray and the other a deep sky blue - perch above an angular nose and strong jaw. Inviting lips may intrigue those willing to tempt fate. Otherwise tall and lithe, her most prominent feature is a flowing cascade of snow white hair which she meticulously combs and then braids each morning before tying it into a loose knot, lest it spill onto the ground about her feet. She exudes youth and sexuality, but does not fall in love easily. A child of lesser nobility but greater wealth, she is accustomed to fine clothing and expensive jewelry, and typically wears her most colorful outfits to contrast the empty palette that is her skin tone. Often this will be one of her dancer's outfits, weather permitting.

See "The Call" at the bottom of her profile. I felt inspired for this one. I hope that comes through in her story.

"Gold is good, blood is better."

Despite his crass words, the gang member, an uncommonly good-looking cutthroat named Quinnick, took the small sack Ialia offered to him. He was also a vampire.

"You'll have more blood than you can stomach if this works," the witch replied. Ialia was not at all comfortable and she feared the smell of her sweat might cause Quinnick to lose control of his appetite.

Quinnick was a recent addition to the brood that had taken the place of the Knight Knives when they were slaughtered only six months past. The gang called themselves the Crimson Shadow, which seemed more than a little pretentious to Ialia, but who was she to judge? As vampires, they were murderers first and thieves second, and as such they served as vagrant population control in the less refined areas of the city - the places where few would miss you if you disappeared. That they were modestly rewarded for this service was a dismissive way to say that their influence was paltry compared to the Eyeless Mask. More to the point, it was rumored that the Zhentarim had infiltrated the Knives and caused the prior guild's destruction, and against them the chances of survival for any criminal organization of scale was small. Being composed exclusively of a small group of vampires operating in the slums aroused no interest and was simply smart, if lean, business.

But things were changing, or at least Quinnick intended to make things change. He eyed Ialia with a look that could have been cast toward a perfectly prepared tenderloin smothered in butter. She was beautiful in a virginal sense, but that's not what the vampire craved. She felt the artery in her neck throb and covered it with her hand. She was physically attracted to him in a way that would never work, and that made this exchange all the weirder. Speed it up, she prodded herself.

"Who do you want killed?" he asked plainly.

"Nobody," came her terse reply. "I need to get into Selgaunt without the Eyeless Mask knowing."

"The City Gate won't stop you if you have coin, and you clearly have that. The Guard will take no notice."

"They'll notice me," she said as if her rationale was obvious.

"You need a disguise?"

She shook her head. "I need to be smuggled in."

Quinnick licked his lips. His sensuous, full lips. "Alive?"

Ialia swallowed. She couldn't tell if he was making a joke. "Very much so."

The vampire seemed closer to her suddenly, as if she blinked and in that moment he halved the distance between them. She could touch him now, if she wanted to. Where did that thought come from?

"Well it's not like we have a teleportation circle. I could hide you on a merchant ship."

"If that were a viable plan I wouldn't need you," she replied to sharply. "The port in Selgaunt is among the most studious in Faerûn. My odds of getting through undetected are poor."

Quinnick took the light admonishment in stride, or perhaps he was preoccupied with his more basic desires. "What do you propose?"

The young witch straightened. "Sell me."

If the suggestion surprised the vampire, he didn't show it. "Go on."

"The Crimson Shadow will infiltrate one of the slaver rings in Selgaunt, one that specializes in entertainment - dancers and prostitutes. Then you'll bring me in on a slave wagon through the entrails of the city, and in the market your associates will act secretly as both sellers and buyers."

"That's not what we do," said Quinnick.

"You want more blood? Then you want a foothold in Selgaunt."

The vampire leveled his cold gray eyes on her. The torchlight leaking into the alley made his features even more severe, if that was possible. Ialia briefly fantasized about what he would look like in the light of day.

"You're willing to be a slave? What if this goes wrong?" he asked. Did he actually care?

Ialia demurred and took a deep breath, gathering conviction. "Saerloon will be at war with Selgaunt soon. The destruction of the Knives was a catalyst. We're being played against each other by outside forces: the Zhentarim... Something else. Right now it doesn't matter who is behind it or why; it's happening, and Saerloon needs spies inside the gates who can access the highest levels of power."

Quinnick studied her for a torturous amount of time. If he had been mortal, Ialia would assume he was undressing her with his eyes, but this was different, like he was imagining peeling her skin back instead.

"I'll need coin up front, more than this, to convince the coven of your faithful intentions. It is a risk for us as well."

Ialia exhaled sharply, relieved. "Of course."

"And you'll need to make an appearance and walk us through the details."

"Can you promise me safety around your brethren?"

Quinnick looked away from her; it was the first time he had broken his stare. "No." He looked back to her, his unblinking eyes boring into her. "Do be thorough. I'll plant the seed but it will be up to you to grow the fruit in their minds."

That sense of relief proved fleeting. "Any advice?" Ialia asked.

The vampire smiled, revealing dangerously sharp teeth. "Appeal to our vanity and our appetites, and do better to disguise your scent. I can smell every inch of you, and you are delicious." The space between them closed and Ialia felt Quinnick's cold breath on her. Her mouth opened as if to speak, or for something else, but he stepped away suddenly. "Meet me here in a fortnight. If we're open to the idea you'll join me that night. Do not disappoint."

And with that, Quinnick melted into the darkness and was gone. The lack of his intimate presence caused Ialia's legs to weaken, and she sat heavily on the filthy stone street and held herself, wondering if she'd made a terrible mistake. But no, her resolve was stronger than that. She was doing this in service to her family and her home, and for all the right reasons - to prevent a war, if possible, and to unmask the forces behind the chaos. She was born for this; it was in her blood.

Ialia's father is Gregor Falconbridge, retired Imperial Navy Captain and popular military hero in Saerloon. Her adopting mother, Melina, is a philanthropist with a passion for arranging flowers. She is also a notable herbalist. Ialia's grandmother is also a white-haired witch named Darsilla Frostmoon, but almost nobody in the local community knows the full extent of her powers. Her best friend is a boy her age named Keval, a handsome but quirky classmate she's known since they were six years old. Ialia loves him unconditionally, and for several years romantically, but Keval was never interested in her the same way. He remains a true friend and confidant, and one of the only people outside the immediate family who know all of Ialia's secrets. She is also in contact with a vampire rogue named Quinnick, who leads the Crimson Shadow, a thieves' guild operating in Saerloon and Selgaunt. Finally, Ialia mixes with a touring dance troupe called The Red Silk. They bring news and rumors from across the Eastern Heartlands.

While Ialia Frostmoon comes from a respected and influential family, her peculiar physical traits often make for difficult first impressions, with hair the color of new fallen snow and almost ghostly pale skin (Stigmatized drawback). Even more troubling for many new social encounters is the different colors of her eyes. For the well-learned or the conspiratorial, this is an obvious sign of a Changeling. The truth of her birth mother is known only to a very few, but anyone could suspect it. Ialia is always on guard for the possibility that her presence could raise uncomfortable questions, and she has several well-crafted and oft-tested lies prepared for such circumstances. She has learned over the years that her intellect allows her to study the nature of people better than most (Student of Philosophy trait).

AC 15 (Dex + Race + Amulet)
HP 36 (4d6+6+10+2)
BAB +2
CMB 5 (Agile Maneuvers) CMD 15
Saves (Cloak): Fort +5 Reflex +6 Will +8
Speed 30
Darkvision 60'
FCB: (lvl 1) HP, (lvl 2) HP, (lvl 2) 1st lvl Spell, (lvl 3) 1st lvl Spell,
(lvl 4) 1st lvl Spell, (lvl 5) 2nd lvl Spell

Str 12
Dex 16 (15 + 1 lvl4)
Con 14 (16 - 2 race)
Int 18 (16 + 2 race)
Wis 14
Cha 13 (11 + 2 race)

(Ranks+Class+Ability+Background+Trait/Other)
4 (1+0+3+0+0) Acrobatics (Dex)
8 (0+0+4+4+0) Appraise (Int)
8/11** (3+3*+1/4**+0+1*) Bluff (Cha) *Extremely Fashionable, **Student of Philosophy
8 (1+3+4+0+0) Craft (Int)
2/5**/2*** (0+0+1/4**+0+1*/-3***) Diplomacy (Cha) *Extremely Fashionable, **Student of Philosophy, ***Stigmatized
3 (0+0+3+0+0) Disable Device (Dex)
1 (0+0+1+0+0) Disguise (Cha)
10 (1+3+3+0+3*) Fly (Dex) *Bat Familiar
2 (1+0+1+0+0) Handle Animal (Cha)
6 (1+3+2+0+0) Heal (Wis)
8 (3+3+1+0+1*) Intimidate (Cha) *Extremely Fashionable
6 (2+0+4+0+0) Linguistics (Int)
10 (3+3+4+0+0) Knowledge (arcana) (Int)
4 (0+0+4+0+0) Knowledge (engineering) (Int)
6 (0+0+4+2+0) Knowledge (geography) (Int)
8 (1+3+4+0+0) Knowledge (history) (Int)
6 (2+0+4+0+0) Knowledge (local) (Int)
5 (0+0+4+1+0) Knowledge (nobility) (Int)
8 (1+3+4+0+0) Knowledge (nature) (Int)
8 (1+3+4+0+0) Knowledge (planes) (Int)
5 (1+0+4+0+0) Knowledge (religion) (Int)
7 (5+0+2+0+0) Perception (Wis)
8 (2+0+1+3+2*) Perform: Dance (Cha) *Dancer's Garb
6 (1+3+2+0+0) Profession: Spy (Wis)
4 (2+0+2+0+0) Sense Motive (Wis)
3 (0+0+3+0+0) Sleight of Hand (Dex)
11 (4+3+4+0+0) Spellcraft (Int)
3 (0+0+3+0+0) Stealth (Dex)
2 (0+0+2+0+0) Survival (Wis)
8 (4+3+1+0+0) Use Magic Device (Cha)

Ability Score Modifiers: Changelings are frail, but are clever and comely. They gain +2 Wisdom, +2 Charisma, –2 Constitution.
Size: Changelings are Medium creatures and have no bonuses or penalties due to their size.
Type: Changelings are humanoids with the changeling subtype.
Base Speed: Changelings have a base speed of 30 feet.
Languages: Changelings begin play speaking Common and the primary language of their host society. Changelings with high Intelligence scores can choose from the following: Aklo, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Giant, Gnoll, Goblin, and Orc.
Natural Armor: Changelings have a +1 natural armor bonus.
Claws: Changelings’ fingernails are hard and sharp, granting them two claw attacks (1d4 points of damage each)
Darkvision: Changelings see perfectly in the dark up to 60 feet.
Wind Breaker (Storm Hag): The changeling is treated as two size categories larger for the purpose of resolving wind effects.
Witchborn: Most changelings are talented witches. They gain a +2 bonus to Intelligence and Charisma instead of a +2 bonus to Wisdom and Charisma. This racial trait alters the changeling’s racial ability score modifiers. Source PZO9280

Storm Hag Covens
A storm hag is haughty and views her way of doing things as the only proper approach, forcing coven members to ride a fine line between flattery and submission. Coven members gain the child-scent ability as long as they are within 100 feet of the storm hag. In addition, a coven with a storm hag as a member has access to the following additional spell-like abilities: call lightning storm (DC 18), plague storm (DC 19), quench (DC 16), whirlwind (DC 21), and wind wall.

Reactionary: +2 bonus to Initiative and no race restriction.
Extremely Fashionable: You really know how to make a good impression when you’re dressed well.
Benefit: Whenever you are wearing clothing and/or jewelry worth at least 150 gp (and not otherwise covered in gore, sewage, or other things that mar your overall look), you gain a +1 trait bonus on Bluff, Diplomacy, and Intimidate checks. One of these skills (your choice) is a class skill for you.
Desperate Focus +2 bonus on concentration checks.
Stigmatized (Drawback): –3 penalty on Diplomacy checks to gather information or improve a creature’s attitude.

EiTR Free: Combat Expertise, Weapon Finesse

Lvl 1: Improved Initiative, +4 bonus on initiative checks
Lvl 1: Extra Hex
Lvl 2: Dirty Fighting
Lvl 3: Extra Hex
Lvl 4: Agile Maneuvers
Lvl 5: Brew Potion

Patron (Ancestors): Bless, Aid
Lvl 0 (All)
Lvl 1 (9): Charm Person, Comprehend Languages, Enlarge Person, Hex Vulnerability, Identify, Mage Armor, Nereid's Grace, Remove Sickness, Snowball
Lvl 2 (4): Cure Moderate Wounds, Glitterdust, Hold Person, Web
Lvl 3 (2): Heroism, Dispel Magic

Gold: 336
Raw Materials to Brew Potions 600
Scroll of Cat's Grace (2) 300
Scroll of Eagle's Splendor (2) 300
Scroll of True Strike (2) 50
Scroll of Shield (4) 100
Wayfinder (Standard) 500
Dusty Rose Prism Ioun Stone (Cracked) 500
Cloak of Resistance +2 4000
Ring of Protection +1 2000
Amulet of Natural Armor +1 2000
Dancer's Garb 100
Outfit, Explorer's 10
Boots, Stiletto 5
Goggles, Smoked 10
Jewelry 150
Sash, Adventurer's 20
Bedroll & Blanket 1
Tent, Medium 15
Grooming Kit 1
Bag of Holding, Minor 1000

"Pick a rock and land already. My bowels are cantankerous."

Magreth, the old hag, glowered possessively at her child, the young changeling who had heard The Call in her nightmares, and come to find she who had beckoned.

Ialia shook with cold, having found Magreth's secluded cavern among the cliffs of the sea only after ten days' search, the winter rain chilling her bones and her spirit. That she persisted to arrive here was beyond reason, but she lacked the sense to turn away from this collision with destiny.

They were not alone. Magreth's many daughters chided Ialia from around the cavern. She stood taller than any of them by at least a head, and her mane of pure white hair hung in stark contrast to their filthy unkempt snarls. How could it be that she might be one of them?

Uncomfortable introductions and less-than pleasantries exchanged. Ialia was exhausted and terrified. Magreth was crass, impatient, and mean. Fortunately for both, the dialog between mother and daughter by birth had arrived at the heart of the matter.

Ialia cleared her throat. "Why do you want me, now that you've seen what I've become without you?"

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," snarked the old crone. "You can brush that pretty mountain whitecap hair of yours and wear all the gaudy clothes you want. Don't be fooled into thinking that your father has anything to do with the stuff inside you. That's all me. You belong with us. We are your kind."

"I won't turn away from my life!" The words felt weak. Ialia was wounded, no different than if the hag had pulled a dagger and stabbed her through the heart. She felt dressed down, exposed, transparent. A knot in her gut caused her knees to tremble. Her mouth was dry. Why on earth did she obey Magreth's siren call?

A lipless smile curled on the edges of the hag's pruned mouth. She seized on Ialia's torment. "This is your life! All of it. Without me you're nothing. You don't exist!"

The crestfallen girl tried to parry the attack. "The same is true for my father." Softly, the words tumbled out of her, almost as if on accident.

Magreth cackled, filling her cavern with an echo that was nearly deafening. "Bah! He's a pollen sac. You owe him nothing. I'll give you power beyond imagination! Power to shape the very clouds and make the rain. Power to summon the storms and cleanse the land. What does he offer? Formal dinners with pretentious snobs. One after another after another hairless pickles, too quick on the draw--" the hag thrust her staff in the air mockingly "--young fools who can't possibly comprehend what you are. Endless drudgery boredom broken only by embarrassingly brief forays into the bed chamber that leaves you sticky and unsatisfied, and then a tedious human death. You're not one of them, so don't pretend to be." A thin rope of spittle ejected from the crone's lips on the last syllable.

Ialia swayed, the onslaught of spite so horrid and cutting that it left her slack-jawed and speechless. With the retreating echo of the hag's tirade, a strange peace filled the vacuous space. The girl exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath, then swallowed and let her eyes drift around the cavern, away from Magreth. A dozen of the old hag's daughters flanked her on either side, more or less evenly dispersed against the cold stone walls, watching, sneering, nodding approval. Had each of them gone through this verbal duel? Had each of them lost? What did they give up? What life had been lived that was then abandoned, and at what personal cost?

In that moment Ialia had never felt less powerful, or less like herself. It was like she had been impaled on a siphon and everything she was had been expelled from her spirit. She felt thirst, and not only for water, but for the kind of nourishment that her developing magical abilities gave her. That confidence and lust for life was missing, and she thought she would do anything to get it back. Magreth's offer hung in the space between them; within reach was all the power she could ever need and more.

The crone took a step forward and straightened, reaching out her staff. "Come, my daughter. Take my hand." Now her voice was pure, soothing, motherly.

Like an animated corpse, Ialia took one lumbering step forward, then another. Her arm raised on its own, needing no impulse from her mind, which had switched off so as to make no memory of the unspeakable changes that were about to take place. Her body would be sundered and warped, her beautiful hair turned ashen and mottled. The powers she once had would be exchanged for something else. She would be destroyed and reborn, and everything she knew wiped away. Magreth's storm was here, tearing through her, casting every piece of the human girl to the winds, forever lost.

Their fingers touched. Ialia felt a coldness like nothing she could have imagined. A great spear of ice shooting through her hand, into her arm, across her shoulder and turning toward her chest. It was a paralyzing discomfort, being frozen alive, and her mind awoke at the shock of it. She saw a face. It wasn't the old crone, it was her grandmother, white-haired and beaming, practically angelic, and it spoke to her: Fight, my dove. Fight!

Suddenly she looked through clear eyes at Magreth, and a fire rekindled in her heart. Ialia inhaled sharply, her brows furled, a look of fierce determination vexing her porcelain face.

Magreth saw the change but was too absorbed in the ritual to react. Ialia's clawed hand raked the hag's arm, rending it in five deep cuts. A mist of deep crimson painted the hag's robe.

"NO!" shrieked Magreth. But she couldn't force herself to break the connection. Instead, the hag willed all of her power into the girl to complete the call and bring her daughter into the coven.

Ialia spat out a hex, and her feet left the wet cavern floor. Her long train of hair parted and formed up above her head on either side, catching what pale light seeped into the hag's domain and glowing as if it held a light of its own. Magreth stared in disbelief but could not compel herself to react.

Then the twin cords of hair struck forward, faster than the blink of an eye, striking Magreth with such force that the crone's head snapped back and she went flying into the wall, her staff flinging out of her hand into the water.

In an instant, Ialia's lungs filled with cold, fetid air, and heat rushed to consume the cold and free her from Magreth's spell. Her hair recombined and braided itself in a column, then swung in a great arc, dashing the old hag to the ground. From around the cavern, the coven shrieked, unleashing a cacophony of sound onto the girl, But she barely heard it. Blood thundered in her ears, shielding her mind.

Magreth tried to gather herself, a storm forming on her lips, but now the hair wrapped around her head and face, constricting and suffocating her. Ialia floated up into the center of the great cavern, dragging her birth mother on the smooth stone, then pulling her onto her toes. There was such a force, Magreth screamed, feeling her neck straining, threatening to snap and snuff out her long, diabolical, unfinished life.

"SILENCE!" Ialia thundered, her voice stronger than it have ever been. The hysterical chittering stopped abruptly. Her hair coiled around Magreth's neck but revealed the hag's face. Magreth's eyes shone with terror, and she could not breathe. Ialia glared down at her mother, a sensation of warmth emanating out of her body. She felt immense pity for the old hag, and more for the daughters - Ialia's half-sisters - for this miserable predatory existence. The hag spoke of power to control nature, but in the end she was among its lowly creatures, obeying whim, hunger, and the urge to reproduce with no more care than a common serpent.

"I don't pretend to be something I'm not," the young witch said evenly. "You don't really know who my father is, and who his mother is, do you?"

Magreth bared her teeth and sneered but was not permitted to speak.

"I already have a family. I have power and I am loved. And I come from a long line of witches greater than you, Magreth. You might have known that if your interest in my father had extended even a little further."

Ialia gave the hag's neck one last squeeze, then released her into a heap on the ground. She spun in the air, addressing the coven in no uncertain terms. "Do not come for me. You have no more control over my family. If you threaten us again you will be hunted."

Finally, she turned to face Magreth one last time. "You gave me life, but I choose how to live it. Let this be the only time our paths connect."

Ialia flew from Magreth's cavern as fast as her magic would carry her, into the dark of night, winter air stinging her lungs. Fear and confusion and anger streamed out of her on a string of tears, and when at last she could see the torch lights of her town in the distance she felt the knot in her gut release, and she was overwhelmed with love, love for the future that was hers alone to find.