Jext Cursed Sword's page

About Jext Cursed Sword

Init +0; Senses Perception +1
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Defense
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AC 10, touch 10, flat-footed 10
hp 17 (1d10+7)
Fort +5, Ref +0, Will +2
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft.
Melee dagger +4 (1d4+3/19-20) or
. . longsword +5 (1d8+3/19-20)
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Statistics
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Str 17, Dex 10, Con 16, Int 13, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 14
Feats Iron Will, Toughness, Weapon Focus (longsword)
Traits armor expert, ex-asmodean
Skills Diplomacy +1, Intimidate +4, Perception +1, Sense Motive +1
Languages Common, Elven
Other Gear breastplate, heavy steel shield, dagger, longsword, belt pouch, whetstone, 61 gp, 9 sp, 8 cp
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Special Abilities
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I was nothing but an average person making my way in the world. My Mother and Father as well as myself worshiped Asmodeus, following the previous generations' example, because while we were aware that this religion could severely blur the lines between morality, we were never left feeling as if we wanted more. We were content where we were and as long as that persisted nothing else mattered. In this religion the weak are preyed upon, made into servants, humiliated and oftentimes enslaved by the assailants. I was very aware of this, and growing up in this lifestyle you quickly learn to become stronger, faster and more cunning every day to ensure your survival otherwise you were at risk of just becoming another victim with a nameless grave marker, if even that. These thoughts occupied my mind from time to time but I just tried to shake them away. I was strong, I could protect them if needed, and I prayed that Asmodeus would acknowledge my families long-standing loyalty to him and watch over them. Alas, as I would soon find out, it was all for nought.

On a beautiful day, unusually sunny for the time of year, not a cloud in the sky, I was returning home from training. Once I arrived at my house, I realized things weren't as they normally were; the front door was wide open, the stove was left on with no one attending to it, with groceries strewn across the floor. I stepped inside and walked quietly through the house fearing the worst that could have happened. My fears became reality but I didn't have long to dwell on that before I heard a voice speaking triumphantly emanating from my parents bedroom. “I can't believe it was that easy.” I listened in absolute disbelief as I heard what I thought to be the sounds of drawers being opened, the contents being rifled through, as if being searched for potential valuables. I could no longer sit there quietly and let this continue so I decided it was time to act. Trying to take advantage of the element of surprise, I burst through the door, quickly searching the room for the mysterious character. I also noticed a heap covered by bed sheets but I didn't have much time for that in the moment of the situation. I bolted towards him, knocking him to the ground and falling with him. We struggled and in doing so I managed to remove the sword he had strapped to his waist, knowing I needed to get to it before he did. I slammed his head into the floor and scrambled to the sword. Luckily, I was quicker than he was as I managed to draw the blade, freshly stained with blood, and my stomach filling with dread as I connected the pieces together. Now having the upper hand, I took a good look at the man standing across from me. It was a member of my church who had committed this atrocity. I desperately wanted to know the reason behind this, why things went so sour. But a part of me also didn't care, I had already lost it all and no reason in the world could be worth the lives of my parents. I tightened my grip on the blade and strode over to him, turning him from the hunter into the prey. I slashed once, at the knee to make sure he couldn't escape me, slashing again at his arms to make him helpless. As he lay on the floor bleeding out I stood over him, looking him in the eyes as if searching for an answer that just wasn't there. He opened his mouth as if to attempt to talk his way out of this but I didn't want to hear a word. I finished the gruesome deed by running the blade straight through his throat, ending his life with the same blade that had ended the life of my parents. As the life drained from his eyes so did the tension in my body release. I went to check the heap, just to be sure that it really was my parents until the arm I saw poking out had my Dad's favorite arm band on it. Wanting to spare myself the sight, I left the room, closed the door and never went in again.

That night I packed my things, some clothes, gold and of course the seemingly cursed sword across my back. My God had forsaken me, my parents were gone and I had no family left. I needed a new reason to continue on and I wasn't going to find that here. I wanted no trace of my family's existence here in the place that I used to call home. I lit a tindertwig, threw it inside and closed the door. As I walked away from home for the very last time, feeling the heat from the fire and the brightness of the flame, it reminded me of the sun that day. It's unusual clarity made me think vaguely of a Goddess, one that stood for everything that my last God didn't. On my travels, I made it a point to research as much as I could about it. The Goddess's name was Sarenrae and the more I read about her the more I felt a connection to her. She was the goddess of healing, honesty, redemption and the sun, and these were qualities that I felt I needed to again light the path of my heart and find true peace with the life that I now lead. I now found myself heading towards Kintargo. That was about ten years ago today and since then I have worked diligently to rebuild the life that was once stolen from me. I've made a few friends here and there, settled into my own home and life's been on the up rise ever since I first showed up. Through the word of mouth from my friends I've heard that there has been some civil unrest and tensions have reached the boiling point. Somewhere within the ranks of the leaders, corruption lies and as such I want to be there when it gets exposed so I may do what I can to exterminate it.