| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Have fun everyone!
Search Posts
Testing things out:
The midnight isles. A place that had become truly famous throughout Golarion, after the events involving the Commander of the Crusade. Deep within the bowels of the lower city there was a pale, towering humanoid with eight spider-like eyes that glistened hungrily. It's mouth contained dozens of sharp teeth and it carried a barbed spear with long, clinking chains attached to its end. The creature was waiting. It had been part of a hunting party which had captured, tortured and killed a uinuja azata. Usually that would not have been an issue, but in it's death the azata had laughed. It was a laugh that would have not been out of place coming from a demon, for it contained malice mixed in with it's pain. It had said that within it's nightmares it had hired an assassin and that it's tormentors would be repaid in kind. The painajai had laughed at this. Where the azata's laugher was filled with malice and pain, the demon's was full of derision. It never failed to amuse the demon what it's prey's last words were. The amusement faded though, when it's comrades began to vanish, one after another. Some had went out to challenge this assassin, but they never returned. Others fled, only for their bodies to be found. The rest were banding together, pooling their resources. And what they had found was that their hunter was an undead creature whose name was becoming known. For this assassin fed on fear. So the painajai decided to hide. Let the others face it together. He would wait until they solved the problem. Deep within the slums he just had to lay low until it blew over. Then...the door to the hovel opened. Standing in the entrance was a figure that was just shy of six feet tall. It was thin, with long black hair and deathly pale skin. It's eyes had a soft glow. Given that the demon was ten feet tall and several hundred pounds heavier than the assassin, there should have been nothing to fear. But the creature had an aura that emanated from it. An aura of death and despair.
Unused to feeling fear, the demon acted first. Raising it's spear it pointed at the 'elf' and yelled out arcane words. If the assassin wanted fear, then fear it would have!
For a long moment time seemed to hold still. The elf didn't move as the spell slammed into it. And...nothing happened. Then it looked up.
It only took a blink of an eye and the elf was behind the painajai. The ten foot tall demon began to turn around when the elf was on him. The first swipe of a claw ripped off the demon's right knee, sending it falling to the ground. It raised an arm to ward off the next blow, but the elf was already on him. Both hands gripped the demon's arm and the elf bit down. With a yank of it's head the lower arm and hand were ripped free and spat out. The painajai tried to stab with it's spear, but the elf was too close. The last thing it saw with it's terror stricken eyes was the bloody fangs of the elf descend upon it. --- Lokhir looked down at the corpse with a frown. The demon's fear had tasted good, but he did not have the time to savor it. Like any good assassin, he had done the research on his target. Many demons could teleport, and that usually wasn't an issue, as he could follow their fear. The problem with this kind was that they should shift between planes, and it would have been very troublesome to track it down again. Knowing that he only had a few seconds to do the job meant that it was rushed. It was by all accounts a tragedy, as the demon could have provided quite a meal. But he was a professional, and he had a contract to fulfill. Luckily, he had been able to contact the dying Azata while he did his morning ritual. Once his work was done, he would go collect his reward. A ring that could shield his mind. A prize worth it's weight in souls for someone in his profession. And with that in mind he left the hovel. His work wasn't done. Just rolling some dice to see how he works out in practice. So even if he isn't chosen, I at least got to use him for abit. :)
I don't envy you. Not an easy choice!
So it begins!
Thanks for the ruling. I’m quite happy with him now. When alive in the last campaign. Lokhir’s most common psychic spells were used to dispel, fly and protect himself in melee. Thanks to dual path champion/Archmage, he now has just that. It feels, to me at least, that the same character has been made into a monster. Different classes, but similar psychic tools. So thank you. :) Also, I have to say…even for non full casters, Archmage has some *amazing* abilities! * Enduring Armor = So…Damn…Good. Had to take it!
For a martial, Archmage can easily be a close second to Champion —- Also, for this PC I switched Antipaladin to Insinuator. It’s a downgrade for his fear…but it suits him better. Because it makes for the perfect assassin in the abyss. Commune with outsiders, and regardless of his employer become empowered to kill their enemies. It just fit too well not to take!
Lokhir is done! Will give numbers a once over. But the core is here. Combat
Defenses
Mobility and Senses
Spells
Weaknesses
——— And there we go. Formerly a psychic elf, now an undead monstrosity that feeds off of fear. Alignment is very much Lawful Evil. He has a moral code, in that he holds to his contracts. He is a professional, afterall, and reputation matters. He is evil in that he feeds on fear and, by his very nature, revels in violence and causing suffering. But he is not chaotic evil, in that he does this because it is how he survives, and he has no interest in returning to the mortal plane because he doesn’t trust himself to not indulge in the buffet he would find. Lokhir would be more than happy working with good aligned people. Even if they do tend to taste best.
Augmented Undead. But this guy has pretty insane fast healing. So don’t worry about him. The big question I have is whether to drop advanced template for a class level…it’s a hard choice
About +20 to hit and +35 or so damage. With 5 attacks.
Background:
Kyonin Lokhir was young. Headstrong. Bored. He had spent so many years studying the art of the blade and of the spell. He came from a long line of occultists, and he was ready to add to his family's long history of glory. Everyone said that he was too young. Too immature. That he needed at least another decade before he could go out on his own. But what did they know? He was easily the match for any human swordsman. And given his ability to force his will into reality, what else was needed? Granted, he needed a focus, which in his case was a sword and shield, but that was temporary. He would reach the levels of his father and his father before him. All he needed was the experience. He would return and when he did it would be in glory! The Umbral Circus It had seemed safe enough, to get a tarot reading. But the next thing Lokhir knew he was flat on his back, his head spinning. There was a blue sky above him, but it did not look...right. It was as if though it was a sky made out of old paint. Unsteadily he got to his feet, noticing strange tattoos on his body. That, and he was not alone. With him were Einarr, a human shaman. Delroy and Kaldwell, half-orc bounty hunters and mercenaries, and Yattle, a gathlain summoner of fire. He had just met them, but there they all were, in an unfamiliar place, each covered with tattoos that they had never seen before. Nearby was a circus, though not the one that they had been in. Forced together by circumstance, they had little choice but to figure out where they were, and why.... The end? The unfortunate group slowly pieced together the mystery of where they had been sent. They were in the prison of the Patchwork Lord, Zassrion. As far as Lokhir could tell, despite Zassrion's draconic form, he was a demon. One by one they had hunted down and defeated Zassrion's lieutenants, taking from each the key to their freedom. All that was left was to enter the lair of Zassrion himself so that they could earn their freedom. They had already fought their way through the guards to the fortress and had overcome the succubi servants within. All that was left was to get past Zassrion himself. The demon looked like a dragon, that was covered in the flayed skin of countless humanoids. This is what gave it the name that it bore... ...Briefly Lokhir's eyes flickered open. He found it hard to breathe. He tried to move his head but found that he couldn't. The elf looked up at the sky, seeing Yattle and the dragon battle it out. Einarr was dead. Delroy and Kaldwell were both bleeding out. Only the gathlain was left, facing the wrath of the Patchwork Lord. An intense feeling of sadness filled him. He was so young! There was so much that he wanted to do, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it. He had barely lived the lifespan of a human, of all things. And already it was over. He wondered if this was how humans felt when they died. He coughed up blood but couldn't move his head to let it out. He knew that he had only a few moments left. He wondered if he should pray. It was not something that he had ever done before. Would it matter? Would any deity listen, after he had spent so many years ignoring them? Would it even matter? He had just resolved to think of a prayer when his vision blurred, his eyes closed, and he died. The broken body of the elf lay there, unmoving. Ignoring the blood and singe marks across his body, Zassrion roared his triumph to the sky, unleashing a mighty blast of electricity up in the air. Through the wall separating the aetherium from the courtyard, one of the shadows moved to take cover in the lingering fog cloud. Breaking the necks of his conquests to ensure they would not come back to vex him, Zassrion growled at his minion. "Excellent work, Bishop Ezrael. Your intel about the intruders was most useful. Fetch my courtesans from the Sanguine Playhouse. Then remove their hides and add them to my suit. Perhaps between them and that other mortal I will finally be able to leave this accursed realm." As the souls of the adventurers drifted away to join the other unfortunate mortals who had perished in this world in the Demon's Fen. With the one being who had cared for these souls, the Barrow King, killed and sent back to the Manmolds to be reformed and the votive candles knocked over, the souls could find no rest. Even when they saw the dragon lord flying overhead, their hides added to his quilt of skin but still trapped in the Harrowed Realm, they felt no peace. As the years passed, yet more joined their ranks as the All-Seeing Hajeck was still compelled by Zassrion through her Harrow Deck to lure more mortals to their doom. But no matter how many mortals he killed, Zassrion came no closer to reaching his goal. He, and the rest of the Harrowed Realm, remained stuck in their never-ending story loops. Escape Years came and went with the peace of Pharsma's boneyard remaining ever elusive. But for all of the suffering that Lokhir and his fellow victims felt, so too did the Patchwork Lord rage. For the prison remained as closed as ever. In time, the demented lord's obsession with escape turned towards something else. Revenge. Revenge against the one who had betrayed him and trapped him, along with his court. But for that to take place, an assassin was needed. Zassrion could not escape. Not yet. But bit by bit a hole was being made in the prison. It is what would have allowed Lokhir and his companions to escape and now Zassrion was going to use it. The flayed skins that made up his clothes were reviewed and the tortured souls within carefully chosen. Once removed their suffering continued, for the Patchwork Lord had decided to create a Patchwork Assassin. An assassin who would slip through the hole and who would be powerful enough to kill Zassrion's enemies in the abyss. How long this took was anyone's guess. The half-insane mind that was Lokhir's raged and rebelled in futile agony as he was bound to that crazed souls of the other fallen. In this, the once-elf had an advantage. He was an occultist who had once wielded psychic power. Bit by bit he survived by battling and consuming the minds of the others who had been chosen. Each fight was one of the mind, with the elf forced to overcome and destroy other innocents. The shrieking. The crying. The rush of emotions and memories was enough to drive nearly anyone insane. But what choice was there? It was either them or him. And for all of the pain he had gone through, he was still afraid of the oblivion that awaited. The Undead Assassin had been created. It was supposed to be barely sentient, only able to follow through direct commands. The souls trapped within were to be fuel for the spell which would create the abomination, nothing more, nothing less. The collection of powerful souls, forced together and consumed would make a creature born out of their fear and suffering. Something strong enough to strike at the Patchwork Lord’s enemies and to make them suffer. But what stood before the Patchwork Lord was Lokhir, his mind half-crazed by what he had gone through. Through the portal he went, and into the abyss. The newly formed psychic vampire was trading one hell for another. The Assassin No longer did Lokhir need to eat or drink, but he still needed sustenance. What he now survived on was fear. No longer could he command his old psychic powers. The control and discipline of the elf he once was had been destroyed, replaced by countless years of torture. Fortunately for him, in the abyss a creature of fear and death fit right in. At first he merely preyed on lesser demons and slaves, and with each death his mind was slowly reforged. In time, higher ranked demons took notice of the undead abomination, and he went from being a mere predator to being a professional. Now he stands ready for another job, one that will take him into the depths of the abyss. But what is there to fear for one such as he? He is certain that whatever awaits him, it could not be worse than what he has already gone through, or what he has become. And there we have him! One augmented undead assassin ready to make his mark in the abyss. It should hopefully explain how he is here and where his powers came from.
Thanks for the ABP ruling. :)
Speaking of which…via template I have die hard and endurance. Neither of which really matter because of being undead. But that opens up fast healer. This character has fast healing 5 (10 if near a scared person). With fast healer and 30 Cha, would that mean fast healing 15 (20 if near a scared person)?
For ABP. With natural weapons, does weapon enchantment apply to all natural weapons (as in an amulet of mighty fists) or does it apply to just one type of natural weapon?
Btw, Lokhir, you can't buy stat items. We are using ABP, so certain AC items, stat items, saving throw items, etc. are off the board. Thank you for the second pair of eyes! Can't believe I forgot that rule. I appreciate the catch.
Dar' Talenth seems interesting. I’ve never seen a munavri before! I look forward to seeing his story. And for completed stats, it looks like we have: Grandfather Somnus: Brass Dragon!
Nearly done with crunch. Old PC died. He is now reborn. Stitched together with the forms of other fallen adventures, this former occultist is now a psychic vampire implacable stalker. Classes are: Shifter (2) Scaled Fist Monk (1) Thug Rogue (1) Brawler Fighter (6) with Champion Mythic Path. Has a total of 5 primary natural attacks. If any attack hits then it causes 1d4 stat damage to highest mental stat. Will have story up soon. But basically this is an undead monstrosity used as an assassin in the abyss. Still piecing together the full list of immunities and defenses. But it’s a creature that is hard to stop, and if his target is afraid then he can teleport to it. Glad to tone things down should he be outside of what you are expecting. But for a template/mythic game, I figured that I'd do what I planned and let the GM tell me if it is within expectations. |