Marina Mirna Tsetvanov's page

About Marina Mirna Tsetvanov

Marina is petite, pretty and undeniably athletic. Wearing ragged chain mail and carrying a bow, a nocked arrow on a golden longbow painted on the breast of her armor, it's hard to not notice that she's devoted to Erastil, God of the Hunt. Her long, flowing black hair is tied back, strands pushed behind her pale ears. Her hands are soft, and then, suddenly grow calloused around sharp, long fingernails. It's impossible not to notice her eyes-- starkly different colors. Pale blue and muddy brown. Marina isn't human.

Marina didn't know she was different from other girls until she came of age and began to hear the whispers on the wind. She had been left on the doorstep of a Temple of Erastil in the woods of northern Taldor as an infant, taken in and cared for by the priesthood along with the children of other casualties of Qadiran skirmishes and bloodthirsty monsters. The voice claimed to be her real mother, calling her forward, to the north, always to the north. She didn't tell anyone-- she couldn't, out of fear of what they would think of herself. Marina took solace in the teachings of the priesthood, working diligently to live by example. They would come and go as they pleased, intruding at its whimsy and leaving just as fast. Eventually, the voices stopped. That's when she began to care.

They had been a constant companion through her life-- whispering stories that had never been told, teaching her about the changes her body was going through as her fingernails hardened like iron and her muscle unnaturally bulked and thinned in cycles. It calmed her when her skin began to turn black and blue, whispering kindness until it faded away. Why could she see in the dark-- why did the smell of cooking veal or the sight of a child's injury start her heart pounding? The voice had said many things, all cryptic. And then it gave up. Why did it stop? That was the biggest question of all.

Marina still had questions. She was twenty years old, young, reckless and headstrong. She set out from the church into adulthood with a longbow and a leather knapsack. Six years later, through hell and high water, after sickness, injury and health, a few fights for her life and more than her share of boredom and misery, she was still nowhere near finding the voice.

Marina has taken up with Vivialla Steranus at the General Store of Heldren for the time being. Saving coin by doing odd jobs and lifting became a more lengthy partnership when the owner discovered she was a proficient baker. "We don't have a baker around here," Vivialla said. "You should show me what you can do." And that was that. The coin has piled up since then; her armor has been refurbished and her boots replaced. She's polished her holy symbol and spent days helping Natharen Safander and his wife. The townsfolk have gossiped about her strange eyes and monstrous claws, and then, the gossip ebbed away but for a few stray whispers. Those days quickly turned to another year.

She considers herself a priestess of Erastil, now. She preaches settling down and founding a family, of living by example and spreading goodness and love through the hearts of all those you touch. Men have proposed. But the voice is still out there, somewhere, waiting for her. So the proposals have been turned down, and settling down is less and less an option. Soon, it'll be time to leave again. Marina isn't sure if she's ready or not. Starting a family would be easier-- and it would be what Erastil would want her to do... but can she leave something like this unfinished?

Marina is vivacious, excitable and kind-hearted. She's confident-- in herself and anything she chooses to believe in. She's also stubborn, set in her ways and the ways of Erastil. She has a tendency to cut through to the core of the issue very straightforwardly and sometimes insultingly. She's proud of herself and her accomplishments, and anyone who undermines her or her God is marked as the enemy until they redeem themselves or Marina overcomes her own dazzling pride.

Her one greatest flaw is this: As a follower of Erastil, she cannot shoot a longbow with any semblance of aim. Try and try again doesn't matter; her hand-eye coordination is so clumsy that it's a wonder the arrow doesn't end up thrown on the ground half the time. It's her greatest shame.

Marina Mirna Tsetvanov
Female changeling cleric of erastil 1
NG Medium humanoid (changeling)
Aura faint good
Init -1; Senses darkvision 60ft., Perception +3
-Defense---------------------------------
AC 16, touch 9, flat-footed 16 (+6 armor, -1 Dex, +1 natural armor)
hp 11 (1d8+3)
Fort +2, Ref -1, Will +5
-Offense---------------------------------
Spd 30 ft.
Melee 2 claws +2 (1d4+3) or heavy mace +2 (1d8+3)
Ranged longbow -1 (1d8)
Special Attacks channel energy 5/day (1d6, DC 13)
Domain Spell-Like Abilities touch of good +1 6/day, calming touch 1d6 6/day
Spells Prepared (CL 1st, concentration +4)
1st - shield of faith, bless
0 - create water, detect magic, resistance
-Statistics------------------------------
Str 14, Dex 8, Con 10, Int 13, Wis 16, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +2; CMD 11
Feats Toughness
Skills Diplomacy +6, Knowledge (religion) +5, Sense Motive +7, Profession (baker) +7 All skills listed are class skills
Traits Warded Against Witchery, Inspired
Languages Common, Aklo
Combat Gear heavy mace, spell component pouch, dagger, longbow with 20 arrows, 5 grappling arrows, chainmail, silver holy symbol, cold weather clothing, backpack, 50 ft. of hemp rope, 50 ft. of silk rope, chalk, bedroll, tent, 5 torches, 5 rations, 30gp consumables under gear below
Special Qualities hulking changeling, natural armor