About Johnathan Eli HolbrookGender: Male
Description: A young man with messy dark hair, and a messy RHC uniform. Not tall, and very skinny. His eyes are brown and unremarkable. He has a vulnerable, sad smile. Something seems odd about him, his mannerisms, the way he speaks. Seems shy, but genuinely nice. Something about him makes you want to help him. Even with an RHC crossbow he doesn't look threatening at all. Johnathan's Journal:
The journal is solid, but looks like it's been through a lot. Inside, the entries seem to be written by at least four different people, sometimes one hand flowing into another. One is smooth, graceful, and academic. Clear and easy to read. But it often blends into a panicked, urgent scribble that's barely legible. Another hand writes in a strange language with sharp, alien movements and curves, often blending right back into urgent scribbles or graceful scholarly handwriting. Occasionally the handwriting becomes tensely printed, without curves or flourishes, as if each letter is an immense struggle. Some pages are blackened, bloodied, stained and torn in no discernable pattern. Illegible scribbles and notes fill the margins, complex formula and unknown languages.
I was born in Slate, the capital city of Risur. Between 40 and 200 years ago.
My father was part of a long line of wizards, going back to the early days of Risur's founding and the war against the fey. My parents were very wealthy, with a lavish manor, and my father's laboratory upstairs. I was cared for by my mother, as my father was always working. I wondered what my father did all day. I was often caught in father's lab, accidentally ruining his experiments or breaking expensive equipment. My father was furious, but controlled his temper, promising that when I was old enough he would train me. I was a normal child, and lived a normal life, with friends. I attended an expensive private school, had private tutors, and a doting mother. My father gradually became more reclusive, and I often saw my mother crying.
Through my whole life, my father's lab had been completely silent. I was woken by the most terrible sound I have ever heard, and my father's screams. I ran to my father's lab to find my mother in the doorway, looking in to the pitch-blackness of the laboratory. My mother grabbed me, stopping me from going in there, and held me until the screams stopped. The candles and magical light gradually came back, and my father was gone. The only sign was a spattering of blood on a large granite slab, right under the glass-ceiling, stars above. I was 5 years old. Athg ya nnn'bthnk sgn'wahl shugg Tsathoggua hupadgh wgah'n shogg k'yarnak, hupadgh mnahn'nyth nafm'latgh mnahn' ngllll ooboshu lloig llll, Azathoth nglui vulgtm nnnlloig Hastur sgn'wahl shagg lw'nafh. The years following were dark. My mother rarely spoke, and never smiled. I thought she may have seen what happened, but I was scared to ask. My schoolwork suffered, I lost friends, couldn't focus in class. Each day I came home, my mother was just sitting alone in her room. I began picking up my father's research, studying dusty tomes late into the night. I was 9 years old. My mother seemed unaware of all of this, becoming more and more detached from reality. I eventually had to take care of her completely, feeding and bathing her. The closer I got to answers on my father's disappearance, the more curious I became. It became an obsession. Before I had even hit adolescence, I had learned more in my own research than at school. Finally, I learned what my father had been trying to do. And I thought I knew why it failed. I gathered new components, barely scratching my family's vast fortune. I also gathered the components my father had been missing, including a mistranslated passage. Through the years of studying my father's ancient tomes, I could almost speak the language fluently. I waited for the proper star alignment, gathered the components on the granite slab, knelt, and began to read. A cultist ritual that supposedly reached beyond the stars into the Dark Tapestry, to the Outer Gods. I wanted to find my father, rescue him, and thereby rescue my mother too. I was 10 years old. 'aior lloig vulgtlagln zhroyar Yoggoth f'R'lyeh Chaugnar Faugn tharanakor kadishtunyth mg, nnnsll'ha gof'nn mg wgah'n ph'gnaiih 'ai gnaiih f'phlegeth, nog orr'e Tsathoggua ya ch' naflbug Shub-Niggurath ah. I remember nothing. When I returned, I didn't know how long I had been gone, and had only fragments of memory. I stumbled, speaking I stumbled out into the streets to search for her, and found myself in a new era, yet still 10 years old. Streetlamps were gas-lit, peoples' dress were strange. Wandering the streets, asking strangers if they knew the way to my relatives' houses, wearing tattered clothes. No one knew my family name, nor any of the relatives I asked for. Our manor had been abandoned for a long time. Eventually I was thrown into an insane asylum, and was treated with all the newest theories. Darkness, ice-baths, isolation, spinning to "re-arrange my brain", leeching, and more magic. Years passed in the asylum, and my I was still in the void, the nothing. Llll Tsathogguaog f'vulgtm wgah'n r'luh I hadn't come home yet. I remember nothing. I I couldn't forget what I had seen, in the Dark Tapestry, it had broken my mind. I was still there, in my head, somewhere, trying to gather all the pieces. They say I babbled about the end of the world, the opening of gates, the Old Ones, terrible prophecies. Stell'bsna y-uaaah hai ya syha'h nali'hee bug hai f'syha'h fhtagn, k'yarnak hupadgh nnnhafh'drn shugg y-sgn'wahl mg uln y'hah, hai cshugg 'ai uaaah uh'e athg gotha ngR'lyeh. Gof'nn nglui ah ph'y'hah kn'a fhtagn shugg ooboshu y-hupadgh uh'e 'bthnk kadishtu Chaugnar Faugn nagotha grah'nnyth vulgtlagln nilgh'ri cgeb y-hai li'hee, athg uln gotha mg sgn'wahlyar ngsgn'wahl fhtagnagl wgah'n geb, ron li'hee ee 'bthnk y-uln ch' shogg gotha. Shogg goka vulgtm chtenff nafluln I feared the dark so much, isolation was making me worse. I gradually learned I had other power, able to create little figurines of my mother out of nothing, levitate them. With my magic I kept my cell clean, flavored the dull asylum food, and kept light in the darkness. It was my only comfort. It offerred only temporary relief though, because each night the nightmares returned and I would wake screaming. One day I was saved, by pure chance. I was transferred from isolation to a cell with a barred window. I couldn't sleep for several days, terrified of the night sky. When I finally did sleep, I met not nightmares, but a soothing vision of The horrible treatments continued in my waking hours, but I was getting stronger, night by night. She taught me not to fear the stars, only what lay beyond, and to take comfort in the night sky. As my mind I was 16 years old, having spent I have started this journal. Everything prior was my recollection. I tried to make a living, but couldn't have a job. My sanity may have improved vastly, but I wasn't cured. I was still prone to outbursts of sobbing, babbling, speaking in Each morning after sleeping under the stars I woke feeling fine, but would deteriorate over the day. I ended up living on the street, begging and eating from the trash. Began to do parlor tricks with my magic to amuse passer-bys, which got me enough coin each day to eat. I still recieved visions and prophecies each night I slept on the street. One vision had a very particular face, a man who would walk into a terrible ambush, being tortured and killed. I had never seen this person before, and didn't know what to do about it. F'nglui naflk'yarnak Nyarlathotep Hastur gof'nn Dagon n'ghft zhro, gothaog gotha ftaghu ph'nw wgah'n ehye, hrii n'ghft bug n'ghft stell'bsnaoth naDagon. While performing for a small crowd, I began to feel an overwhelming presence, watching down on me from the void. My When I saw the officer's face, I started sobbing, it was the man from my dream, and he was going to die. I struggled to control my shattered mind, holding it together long enough to convey a warning. The RHC officer imprisoned me, and left. When he returned, unharmed, I was so relieved I burst into tears and laughter. He said, my vision had saved him.
Yoggoth hafh'drn vulgtlagln hupadgh bug cee shagg ron y-'ai, shogg uln nnnwgah'n Azathoth hupadgh kadishtu y'hah stell'bsna, lw'nafh throdnyth nafluln syha'h hupadgh mg fhtagn. Li'hee lw'nafh shagg zhro n'ghanyth ron sgn'wahl ehye shagg, shogg Tsathoggua 'bthnk k'yarnak y'hah n'gha geb gotha Azathoth, shogg fm'latgh naflhlirgh n'gha Yoggoth lw'nafh Azathoth. Nagoka hlirgh lw'nafhog nnnmg throd sgn'wahl h'chtenff zhro r'luh Chaugnar Faugn k'yarnak, y-bug hupadgh uh'e shtunggli li'hee vulgtlagln Cthulhu R'lyehyar gnaiih ya y'hah, ftaghu geb uh'e tharanak hrii n'ghft ph'hafh'drn ron mnahn'. Uln fm'latgh cbug nafls'uhn nnnsll'ha kadishtuyar f'ah wgah'n ftaghunyth li'hee, ya shagg hrii nw k'yarnak Nyarlathotep nog naflsyha'h nahai, goka shugg mg geb ehye nghrii hrii lw'nafh. Although I caused chaos and panic, no one was hurt. But they couldn't release an insane sorcerer.
The RHC officer petitioned for me to be recruited into the RHC, to be honed and used instead of locked up. I had no direction or purpose, no hope. I became fiercely loyal to the RHC that took me in and trained me. When the final interview and magical inquisition into my loyalty was peformed, I almost didn't pass. My loyalty was to the RHC, not Risur, but that was enough for them. I officially joined the RHC at 17 years old. Fm'latgh Tsathoggua n'gha ph'ehye nnnhrii ep. Had a dream about a smokestack, firedust, and a dead sailor. RHC sent me to the Coaltongue. Thought we'd all die there. People tried to blow it up but we stopped them, and shoveled all the firegems out of the boiler to stop it from exploding. We could have ran, let the ship blow. We had evacuated most people. But we stayed. I think we did the right thing. I think that's what the RHC are supposed to do. Would I see my own death? Wintry, Cretien, Mithas, Joseph, Merle. Names and faces blur together. Musn't forget. Friends and allies. Do not hurt them.
Interrogated someone. Don't remember who she is or why. Seemed important. Tried to help. A pretty Danoran woman had us all try a puzzle. Others are smart, calculating, but have no sense of the flow of magic. Easily solved. She seemed impressed. Hope to see her again.
We're to provide support on a mission to assault Axis Island. s'uhn Hastur gnaiih hai Yoggoth hrii. (Several sketches of an air elemental playing with corpses) Infiltration team never even made it to the island. We had to. I hated Joseph. He was everything I wanted to be. Confident and smooth-talking, charming. He died a hero, and I lived because I was too afraid to try and save him. We were the same age. Hunting someone, of shadows. A murderer. Contracts and mysteries. The voices are too loud to hear everything else, I can't keep track of all the voices, He said: "At last someone to talk to. I was wondering what had happened to you all. Well met, I'm Leone." I remember that clearly, but nothing prior. Strange. Liria was there, my godmother, my mentor. I killed her. Put the knife in myself. Cut her throat on the altar in order to win. Every choice is wrong. Nilgh'ri Nyarlathotep yaagl phlegeth. She's dead. I'm alone. The days pass slowly. Still chasing murderers and shadow men. I don't care anymore. Lloig sll'ha. Unseen Court Unseen Court Unseen Court Unseen Court Unseen Court Unseen Court. Cannot forget Liria. Not her. Nevard needs our help. I almost died again. kadishtu naflvulgtlagln h'ch'. Nevard is dead. He told me his last vision. I have to write it down or it will drift away like everything else. Liria Liria Liria Liria. Syha'h lloig ehye vulgtm fm'latgh goka Shub-Niggurath gothanyth tharanak nw ilyaa naflhlirgh nog ngphlegeth ep hupadgh kn'a, Azathothor shugg Chaugnar Faugn ehye ngchtenff geb llll Tsathogguayar fhtagn h'wgah'n nog ooboshu lw'nafh grah'nyar. Sarya, Falko, Cretien. Cretien is still alive. Agnus? Angus? His face doesn't hold still, warps around, shifts. It's lying. He's barely real. I need to stay away from him, for both of us. Were there others? A man tried to say something to me, tried to make some connection. Don't remember name. Witch oil. I wish I never learned of it. Gallons, runes, the Bleak Gate. Bleak Gate Bleak Gate Bleak Gate Bleak Gate Bleak Gatenagrah'n sll'ha ah lw'nafh ehye, hupadgh k'yarnakyarGate. Bring the manacles.
I have not felt well lately. The brightest stars have burnt out and I can't see my way. Need to cast my own light once more, as it was in the darkness. In those damp cells. Now my mind is that damp cell and I'm just as trapped. Don't know how to ask for help. Don't want to go back there. Following leads to the Mayor and his reservoir. Don't know what that means yet, but I have a bad feeling in my gut, like death. Azathoth vulgtlagln. The Dream Merchant tried to seduce a ghost. That was gross. Nevard isn't dead? We're still going to hear him speak. We have to protect him. Madness, madness, he's already dead. What are we doing? He's dead, he's already dead. I was almost killed by a jaguar. Strange. The others have seen Nevard die, now. I feel closer to them. Something was misaligned when Nevard was dead for me but alive for them. We're back aligned again. Mostly. I'm glad Cretien is still alive. Falko seems nice.
I am 18 years old now. I don't know what that means.
They seem frightened of me, or worried for me. I don't know which. They didn't like what I did to Creed. He wasn't alive to murder. Doesn't make sense. Mayor is in chains. Mayor will try to talk his way out. Something about a misfire? I think I understand Delft. He has a clear mind for these systems and mechanisms of law. I need to do what he says. I need to remember I didn't shoot him. I found another air elemental! Went down to the bottom and plugged the leak in the ocean's floor. I did not enjoy it. Visions are still unclear. I don't feel like writing more.
STATS
COMBAT BAB +2
SKILLS
SPECIAL
FEATS
EQUIPMENT
6 potions of cure light wounds, 2 scrolls of featherfall, 2 scrolls of shield, 1 scroll comprehend languages, 3 scrolls magic missile. SPELLS
Level 1: 7 known, 9 per day. (DC 16)
Level 2: 3 known, 7 per day. (DC 17)
Level 3: 1 known, 3 per day. (DC 18)
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