Jevalt Ardain's page

Jevalt's eyes flash a bright crimson for only a moment before returning to normal as he inhales deeply to avoid snapping on the young neophyte.

Jevalt grits his teeth and slowly and with great force of will calmly states, "I require an audience with your high priest of death. I assume this to be Father Grimburrow. You will take me to him." It is not a request. He'll be damned if he'll take this lip from a neophyte of all people, and in a town this corrupt! Can't this boy tell an agent of the Lady when he sees one?

Why would the temple be closed? Calmly, yet with ever increasing suspicion about the potential foul deeds being perpetrated in this town,
Jevalt raps his fist upon the temple's heavy door.

"Father Grimburrow?" he calls. "My name is Jevalt Ardain, and I wish to speak with you about matters of some import regarding Professor Lorrimor and the events of yesterday afternoon."

As the sun slowly filters in through the window, Jevalt jolts awake. Squinting his eyes against the rays and hissing in a somewhat cat-like manner, he stumbles blindly to the window and pulls the draperies forcefully closed. With the sun's rays suitably blocked for the moment, Jevalt begins to dress himself. He curses inwardly as he grabs his wide-brimmed hat.

Now fully dressed, Jevalt makes his way downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye he spies Ereviss, Merenso, and Eilinica sitting in the kitchen with Kendra. Paying them no mind, he heads for the front door. Sighing just as he reaches for the knob, Jevalt braces himself. Sure enough, the shock of the bright early-morning sun causes him to wince as though in pain. He pulls the brim of his hat low, ensuring that his eyes remain well-shaded and heads out into the town. He has a job to do.

Jevalt sets down the book without a word and begins to make his way up the stairs. As he walks down the hallway and the conversations of the others die down to a low murmur, he slows and lets the draft of the old home wash over him before turning into his temporary chamber. Thirty days shouldn't be so bad. Hells, the professor managed it for years. He shrugs. Best get what sleep I can. It'll be an early morning tomorrow.

Will Save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24

Jevalt looks at the rich purple cover inquisitively. He appears to be enraptured by it. He picks it up and stares at the unusually shaped key hole in the front. "Intriguing," he mutters to himself. He seems to be paying no attention whatsoever to the other goings on in in the room.

"We are doing what we need to do, Jevalt says evenly to Eilinica. "Obtaining the means to more actively combat those souls who have not moved on to the Lady's graces as well as those who would force them into such a fate is hardly a sin. It is, in fact, something that the church here should have done long ago." Jevalt's gaze once again turns introspective. Unless they're in on it. Something to look into later. "I only hope the church here sees it that way," he mumbles to himself.

"I agree with Merenso," Jevalt says flatly. "If there are indeed necromancers lurking in or around the prison, it is a fair bet that rumors of its haunting are to be believed. The professor certainly seemed to. It would be unwise for us to approach the situation without first gaining whatever advantages we can get." Jevalt stands and, still with a thoughtful hand to his chin, he addresses those gathered. "But it will be difficult getting into this false crypt. The majority of the town already seems to bear us no small amount of ill will, and somehow asking to dig through a mausoleum won't go over well I think. I shall maybe see if I can use what pull I have within the church to convince Father Grimburrow to allow us in."

"Most like the will was written before the professor knew the full extent of the goings on here. He probably meant the one month time frame exactly as he said. To help Kendra get her affairs in order," Jevalt mentions off-handedly to Merenso without glancing up from his internal reverie.

After hearing Ereviss's reading, Jevalt brings a hand to his chin in thought. Harrowstone? Knowledge (History) 1d20 ⇒ 12 The Whispering Way? Knowledge (Religion) 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

What do I know of these topics, DM?

Jevalt's face is unreadable as the will is being read. After the councilman has finished giving the reading, Jevalt points to the key that clattered onto the desk. "Show me this trunk, if you will," he asks Kendra coolly.

Jevalt pointedly ignores Merenso's comment, recognizing the half-elf's inebriation, but grins slightly at the half-orc's, Agrimar's, comment. I think I could grow to like this one.

Jevalt's eyes flick towards the dark-haired woman and linger only a moment before returning to their original position of staring into the flames. "He is entitled to his opinions on methodology as much as I am to mine. He assumed incorrectly that my intent was to kill when it was not. I am not unfamiliar with such accusations. Had I not been versed in some divine spellcraft, he would have been correct. Yet he had no way of knowing what I was capable of. He merely jumped to a logical conclusion based on the evidence he had without knowing that he was missing information. It is a common mistake, and I cannot fault him." Silence lingers after Jevalt's explanation before he adds, "But I thank you for the thought nonetheless."

Jevalt smiles ever so slightly, glad that everyone has calmed and is in such good spirits. He moves back closer to the fire, attempting to drive away the ever- present cold pervading his bones. Let them enjoy each other's company. Soon this reading would be over and he could return to Caliphas. He shuddered to think of what the "locals" we're doing in his absence.

Jevalt visibly relaxes. He continues to look the "knight" up and down, though, as if just waiting for it to lay a curse on the assembly. When he seems convinced that it is not up to any foul sorcery (for the moment, at least), Jevalt sighs loudly. "Where in the nine hells is the councilman? I would rather like to get this underway."

Just as Jevlat is about to say something inappropriate to the elf, a creature appears in the room almost without warning. Jevalt leaps out of his chair and, placing himself between it and Kendra, reaches for his hip only to find nothing. Gods blast it all! Never leave your armaments, even in a place you believe to be peaceful. Keeping his facing towards the suit of armor, he sizes up the apparition. Animated armor. Possible sorcery. Haunted? Don't remember seeing it here before, so not likely. Summoned outsider? Jevalt looks to the rune inscribed on the armor's helm and its match glowing on the woman's forehead. Highly probable. Best course of action? Distract to learn more of its capabilities and motives and attempt to escape back upstairs to reclaim weapons. A low growl escapes Jevalt's throat. To look at him now one would notices that his incisors are longer than normal. Not much, but enough to bare notice.

"What manner of creature are you, and be warned, I can sense falsehood?" Then turning to Dominnia, "And what is your connection to it?"

Jevalt looks up as the elf enters the home. He looks him over, noting anything of import, weapons, trinkets that catch the eye, etc.. before retreating back into himself while mumbling something softly to himself about missing the funeral but making the reading of the will.

You guys let me know if I'm overplaying Jevalt's antisocial-ness.

Jevalt glances over the half-orc just long enough for him to begin to feel uncomfortable before answering. His red eyes seem to be looking into your soul, seeing all that there is to know about you. Perception to notice any particular details about Agrimar and Sense Motive to get a feel for him.

"A minor disagreement with some of the locals. Nothing of great concern."

Jevalt allows the warmth of the fire to course through him before being escorted to the room Kendra has prepared for him. He graciously accepts her offer to heat him some water to clean himself before the reading. After she leaves he rigorously scours his body until his skin is practically scrubbed raw. Afterwards, feeling much better after his cleaning, in modest, comfortable clothes before heading back downstairs.

Returning to the living room, he seats himself quietly. Upon being offered the wine, Jevalt stares at the bottle for a long moment before thanking her but declining the offer. He continues to enjoy the warmth of the fire until the councilman arrives.

Jevalt glides silently to the fore of the gathered crowd. He is about to speak when he looks up at the tell-tale sound of a whippoorwill's call. He sees the small bird perched on a barren limb just by the grave site, and Jevalt grins despite himself. Fare thee well, old friend. He shakes himself out of his own thoughts and back to the present. "There are those among us who can count many they can call friend. I have never been one of those people. But there is one man that I could always, without doubt, call a true friend. That man lies before us here today. When I first met the Professor, he told me I saved his life. He was in Caliphas, and I happened upon him as he was being attacked by..." he pauses. "Creatures of the night. I did what any man in my position would have done. But I like to think he saved me. Because were it not for his friendship and guidance, I would probably not be here before you today. And so today my friend completes the cycle. The Lady is there with us when we come into this world, and so is she with us when we move on to the next." Jevalt glances back at the whippoorwill before drawing a beautiful wavy dagger from his belt. He begins to pray aloud, punctuating the verses with intricate movements of the dagger.

"Pharasma nostrum Matris,
Vestri vox addo nos ut ortus,
Vestri providentia rector nostrum ago,
quod per Vestri to order nos reverto ut unda.

Matris, qui intereo es levamentum in Vestri presentia,
suum ago abeo tamen operor non terminus.
Ego precor in spero prosapia,
parentes quod amicitia,
quod pro totus silenti etc notus vobis unus.

In vexillum vobis,
Quisnam dies quod iam ago
mae suum exsisto gauisus nostrum lacrima es deleo absentis.
Iunctum nos una iterum una prosapia."

After finishing his prayer, he stands in silence for a moment before sheathing the dagger and returning to his place by the casket.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
Wow... figures, lol.

"The huntsman is right," Jevalt says definitively. "Let us not allow agitators to completely ruin such a sacred ceremony. Such things have a way of causing the deceased to... sleep uneasily, shall we say." Jevalt turns and begins to walk back to the casket. "My friend deserves all the pomp we can give him," he says, almost as much to himself as to the others gathered.

DM, did any of my crossbow bolts survive the combat? Figured I'd ask before I remove them from my inventory.

Jevalt eyes the huntsman who seems to have only just noticed his nature. No matter. At least he didn't try to attack me. "I did what I deemed necessary," he says, leaving the half-elf for the other man he shot. Jevalt kneels down, removes the bolt from his leg, and begins to chant the same prayer. Noting the instant coagulation of the blood and the steadying of the man's breath, he sighs and stands. "For the record, I warned them, but they insisted on assaulting a funerary party." He then makes his way over to the elderly tian man. He kneels and feels for the old man's pulse. Noting that he still lives he performs the prayer one last time. "There. That should stop the bleeding, but he'll need more capable healing if he does not want to spend quite a bit of time in recovery. At the moment, however, he is not in danger of dying."

Casting Stabilize on the first guy I shot and Xiuj.

My bad, DM. I overlooked the part where it states that melee weapons may choose to take a -4 to deal nonlethal.

Jevalt stares at the blood flowing from the man's chest intently. He takes a slow step forward, almost as if the battle raging around him has ceased to exist in his mind. He begins to reach forward before squinting his eyes shut and grimacing as if in pain. He calms himself and sighs as he kneels next to the man he just shot.

"Lie still," he states softly. "This might sting." With that he places his hand upon the man's wound and begins chanting and the spiral symbol on the chain around his wrist begins to glow. "Gloriosissimum nomen tuum quaesumus lituus de mors una die." At the end of Jevalt's prayer, the blood has ceased flowing, and the man seems stable, yet it is difficult to tell whether Jevalt is saddened or relieved .

Moving back to the side of the one I just shot and casting Stabilize.

Jevalt springs back swiftly from the man swiping at him with the makeshift club, pulling a bolt from the case on his hip in mid leap. As he lands he slaps the bolt into place and, using the same trick his old mentors taught him, cocks it back while almost simultaneously flicking his lower fingers against the trigger in one fluid motion.The bolt streaks through the foggy air towards the man's right bicep. Let's see you swing at me with that in your arm.

Five-foot-step back, reload crossbow, and fire (nonlethal)
Attack roll (nonlethal) 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (13) - 1 = 12
Damage roll (nonlethal) 1d8 ⇒ 3

Jevalt sighs as he takes a cautious step back and reaches for his crossbow. They never listen. His red eyes glance skyward, checking the cloud cover. At least the sun's not out much. Perfect. He feels the wind tugging at his dark hair and mentally adjusts his aim. Then, quick as a lightning bolt, he slams a bolt into the firing mechanism. He cocks it fiercely before flicking the trigger with his bottom two fingers sending the bolt flying towards the thigh of the nearest farmer. Fools.

Crossbow attack roll (nonlethal) at the nearest aggressor
1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11
Damage roll if that hits
1d8 ⇒ 5

As if it takes every amount of restraint present in him, Jevalt slowly begins to set the casket down with the others. Once the coffin is safely on the ground, the dhampir's lips curl in an almost feral snarl, canines extending slightly. (These guys are showing a complete lack of reverence for his faith, so Jevalt isn't trying to be in the least way diplomatic here)

"What in all the gods' names do you fathom gives you the right to interrupt one of the Lady's most sacred affairs?" he asks darkly as he purposefully walks forward. His fingers twitch, and his palm itches for the haft of his weapon. No, not now. He approaches the men slowly until he is right in front of them. He looks them in the eyes menacingly, crimson gaze boring into their immortal souls. Then he says just loud enough to be heard, "I suggest you remove yourselves from here now and as swiftly as possible. This is your only warning. I'm telling you nicely because a friend of mine has passed on from this world. In about ten seconds I won't be nice any longer. You've got that long to get out of my way. So, what's it going to be, farmer?"

I'm going to attempt an Intimidate if I can. If not, well then there you go...
Intimidate 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

Jevalt's brow furrows and his eyes flash an angry crimson.

"This is a holy procession. Who dares interrupt one of the Lady's holiest of rituals?" He demands in a voice that despite not being in the least way loud, carries a tone that allows no argument.

Jevalt walks slowly though the gloom, blood-red eyes flitting from person to person gathered before the graves. He is studying them, taking their measure. He looks up to the sky, letting the rain fall onto his pale face before walking to the gates of the restlands. Fitting. He stares at them contemplaively for some time before moving to the rest of the gathered procession with a sigh. Do I belong in there? He approaches the woman who introduced herself as the Profesor's daughter. He moves to her and looks as if he is about to say something before simply patting her on the shoulder and moving towards the casket. He rubs his black-gloved fingers across the smooth wood. Farewell, old friend. May your journey to the Lady's arms be peaceful. He looks up and says in a resonous voice that is smooth as silk. "I shall be a pallbearer as well," He says definitively.

Jevalt here and all ready to fight the legions of the dead.

The carriage rocked violently, and Jevalt Ardain curses inwardly at the driver as he adjusts himself back into a comfortable position in his seat. The amount that the man was asking for payment was obscene. But it was a long was to Ravengro from Caliphas... and dangerous. Jevalt opens his small coin pouch, recounting what was left after the driver's highway robbery. 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6 gold, just like the last time he looked. Jevalt sighs and parts the small black window curtain to peer outside. His eyes are greeted by thick rolling fog and grim, barren trees. Dangerous indeed. Jevalt closes the curtain and reconciles himself that soon he would be seeing the beautiful rolling countryside Canterwall was known for.

Wow, if these cash rolls are indicative of how our rolls are gonna be when the game starts, it's looking grim for our heroes.

Alias all made, just need to get the relevant info filled in in the morning.