Merlovaur Fellnight's page

Merlovaur Fellnight
Male elf ranger (tanglebriar demonslayer) 1 (Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Inner Sea Combat)
LN Medium humanoid (elf)
Init +6; Senses low-light vision; Perception +7
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Defense
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AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor, +4 Dex)
hp 12 (1d10+2)
Fort +3, Ref +6, Will +2; +2 vs. enchantments, +1 vs. spells, spell-like abilities, and supernatural abilities of evil outsiders
Immune sleep
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Offense
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Speed 30 ft. (20 ft. in armor)
Melee elven branched spear +5 (1d8+3/×3) or
. . elven curve blade +5 (1d10+3/18-20) or
. . short sword +5 (1d6+2/19-20)
Ranged composite longbow +5 (1d8+1/×3)
Space 5 ft.; Reach 5 ft. (10 ft. with elven branched spear)
Special Attacks favored enemy (evil outsiders +2)
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Statistics
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Str 14, Dex 18, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 12, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +3; CMD 17
Feats Weapon Finesse
Traits indomitable faith, warrior of old
Skills Acrobatics +1 (-3 to jump), Climb +3, Intimidate +4, Knowledge (geography) +4, Knowledge (nature) +4, Knowledge (planes) +4, Perception +7, Profession (soldier) +5, Survival +5; Racial Modifiers +2 Perception, +2 Spellcraft to identify magic item properties
Languages Common, Elven
SQ elven magic, favored enemy, track +1, wild empathy +1
Other Gear hide armor, arrows (60), composite longbow (+1 Str), elven branched spear, elven curve blade, short sword, flint and steel, 19 gp, 23 sp, 10 cp
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Special Abilities
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Elven Immunities - Sleep You are immune to magic sleep effects.
Elven Magic +2 to spellcraft checks to determine the properties of a magic item.
Favored Enemy (Evil Outsiders +2) (Ex) +2 to rolls vs. evil outsiders foes.
Favored Enemy (Ex) +1 vs. spells, SLAs and supernatural abilities of evil outsiders.
Low-Light Vision See twice as far as a human in dim light, distinguishing color and detail.
Track +1 Add the listed bonus to Survival checks made to track.
Wild Empathy +1 (Ex) Improve the attitude of an animal, as if using Diplomacy.

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Merlovaur Fellnight is a proud scion of a once great elven house with roots deriving from ancient Kyonin. Merlovaur utterly believes in the superiority of his ancestral elven culture. Merlovaur is from the northern Lurkwood forest, just south of the Spine of the World. Merlovaur's defining life event is the enslavement of his people by demonic cultists. Merlovaur now is driven to save his people - he walks the land seeking information on the fate of his kin. Merlvaur is a consummate soldier whom specializes in ranged combat but is also proficient in the use of the branch spear for battlefield control and the two-handed curve sword for close quarter melee. Merlovaur's most notable quirk is that he absolutely refuses to fight with anything other than traditional elven weapons - the elven branched spear, the elven curved sword, the elven war blade and the elven crafted longbow (he believes both the bow and long sword were invented by elves and were stolen by the inferior human civilizations). Merlovaur now finds himself in the shadows of Magnimar, where he desperately seeks the meaning of his apocalyptic dreams.

Merlovaur Fellnight is a soldier of Erastil. As an early child, Old Deadeye spoke to him in his dreams and told him that his way would be the way of the curved sword and long bow. From that time on he would become a disciple of the martial studies. He would tirelessly practice archery and sword play with his brothers, under the tutelage of their warrior father, a captain of the house militia. Merlovaur aspired to follow in his father's food steps by also becoming a soldier and eventually became a member of the tribal guard. But two events would fundamentally and irrevocably change the trajectory of Merlovaur's life forever.

On the night of the winter solstice of his 13th year, Merlovaur woke to find a shadowy figure next to his bed. The shadow had glowing red eyes and smelled of brimstone.

"The end is near...", the creature whispered with a voice dripping in malice. "We have seen your destiny. You will not be allowed to travel to Gaping Maw."

Merlovaur felt a creeping paralysis flowing over him. Erastil, give me the strength to die with honor. His hand slid to the dagger under his pillow.

The demon raised a black gauntlet to his throat, "Where you're going it's darkness forever ..."

With a flash the creature was bathed in a nimbus of searing white light. Partially blinded, Merlovaur could just make out an armored figure locked in combat with the knight. Father, no ...

The shadow demon would be driven away, but his father would not survive the battle. Merlovaur was devastated.

Stunned by the loss of his role model, Merlovaur found solace in his martial training. As his physical size grew, so did his skill. But the loss of his father had unbalanced him. The militia would provide stability for some time, but eventually his insolence and drunken brawls would be more than what his comrades in arms could tolerate.

A second encounter would bring him full circle to the darkness of that winter solstice night. While hunting in the depths of the Lurkwood Forest, Merlovaur was approached late one night by a shrouded figure wearing the insignia of a twin headed demon. A cultist of the Demo Gorgon! But the glowing red eyes behind the vizier belied the demon within.

"Demogorgon does not forget the crimes of your fore-bearers. Your soul belongs to me!". It was the same insidious voice that haunted his dreams. With a prayer to Deadeye, Merlovaur swung his curved sword, locking steel with the demon's glaive-guisarme. Merlovaur would fight with honor and valor that night, but as with his father, the demon knight would prove to be too much. The world faded to black...

After many turns of the moon, he would eventually regain consciousness. "Am I dead ... ?". There was no one left to answer. His family was gone. The people of his village were gone. He was the sole survivor of a once prolific elven house. He had been spared, but for what purpose, he knew not.

In the years that followed, Merlovaur would walk the lands seeking answers to the fate of his people. Had the demon slain his people or were they taken for some nefarious purpose? Had cultists tortured and enslaved them? Were they imprisoned somewhere under one of the cult temples to their dark god? Had the demon taken them to the bleak reaches of the Abyss? Merlovaur will not rest until he has discovered the truth.

For a time, after leaving the Lurkwood, Merlovaur worked in the mercenary company called the Steel Fists. He served as the company's lieutenant under the leadership of his mentor and friend, Dargaryen Blanc. Merlovaur has fond memories of his time in Restov, where the company worked briefly for Baron Kawaler Chalm Kelsen Kowalskiy of House Surtova. He recalls a tense conversations that he and Dargaryen had with a rival company of Aldori Swordlords.

Merlovaur had accompanied Dargaryen to the flat occupied by a company calling themselves The Brilliant Sword School. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Darg nodded his respect to Zámoždom Duchovný. "Greetings, I am Dargaryen Blanc of the Steel Fists."

He gestured to the armored elf at his side. "And this is my lieutenant, Merlovaur. I apologize for the interruption, but we wanted to congratulate you on the selection of The Brilliant Sword School to accompany King Kowalskiy. The King is lucky to have such skilled swordsmen at his side. As it turns out, the Steel Fists have also been selected."

Dargaryen paused and smiled. "This will be a most glorious expedition to the Stolen Lands, no doubt, but the green belt is full of danger and treachery. In battle, it is always reassuring to know that your flank is secure. I would offer that both our organizations would mutually benefit if we work together in the field. For now, I would simply like the opportunity to drink with you and your men at the Gala tomorrow night to learn more about the Brilliant Sword School. What say you, sir?"

Merlovaur then respectfully joined the conversation and tried to put Duchovný at ease. "It would be an honor to drink with such renown swordsmen."

Zámoždom Duchovný shifted in his chair, lifting one leg to cross over the other, one hand rearranging the fall of the clerical robe with Sarenrae's symbol on it, while the other gestures towards the fireplace - one that Merlovaur vaguely recognized from his grandfather's teachings as being that of a simple clerical orison, which sets the logs assembled there ablaze. "I do despise being cold," he explains suavely as the fire's heat slowly begins to radiate into the room, "but the opportunities presented by this expedition were ... far too significant to pass by. The Steel Fists, you say?"

He pauses for a moment, head tilting back as he looks up at the ceiling in thought, and then gives what can only be described as a creamy smile - as in 'cat got into the cream'. "Ah, yes, I recall you and your fellows. Tell me, will they be sober enough to ride on whatever day we leave? And will the lot of you have food enough to last through until we can harvest - or afford resupply? I confess that it took some significant browbeating to make my boys realize that this would be a bit more than just an afternoon's ride in the country. Have you met Kacper Lisko? One of the foremost blades of the Brilliant Sword School, and a very good friend of mine."

Lisko gave a swordsman's bow - all shoulders, but neither his hands nor his eyes move from their current positions.

"I imagine," continued Zámoždom, "we shall all be raising a glass tomorrow, shall we not? But by all means, you and all your noble compatriots simply must make sure we take a glass or two together tomorrow night; as you say, it would be ... reassuring to know that your flank is secure."

Darg smiled at Zámoždom while looking him in the eye. "My friend, even while drunk, the Steel Fists are more formidable than most men in Brevoy, so I would not be too worried about our state. And you will be most impressed at our ability to survive off the land without the aid of a caravan. Merlovaur and myself fashion ourselves competent woodsmen - we have been hardened by many a frozen night in the tundra while defending the frontier of my beloved fatherland. But yes, you are correct to be leery of the Greenbelt - it is no place for the uninitiated."

Darg raised an eyebrow upon hearing Lisko's name mentioned. "I have heard of Kacper Lisko, but I have not had the honor to meet him yet. This will be a unique opportunity, indeed. Perhaps he can show me the finer points of using an aldori dueling sword? I must confess that I can't seem to get it right. But I digress Zámoždom Duchovný - we have wasted enough of your time. I look forward to seeing you again at the Gala. Please do not hesitate to call on me or my men if we may be of assistance in your preparations."

Zamozdom listened to Dargaryen's brags - whether about being formidible while drunk, or being able to live off the land - with indulgent amusement clear on his face. Lisko again gave a slight bow, murmuring, "Be delighted to meet you for a friendly match on a table somewhere."

"I can completely understand the role you are to play in his new Majesty's government", says Zamozdom, "and I certainly applaud Kowalskiy for selecting you; you are perfect for it, I could not have found anyone better. But yes, by all means, I'll be quite delighted to renew our acquaintance at the Gala tomorrow night. And thank you for making yourself ... known to me." He gave Dargaryen and Merlovaur a smile that blended charm with oil and, even as the two left, seemed to suggest a hint of the idea that they were the ones being left behind.

Upon leaving the flat, Dargaryen wiped the sweat from his brow. He turned to Merlovaur and shook his head. "That did not go as well as I had hoped, but perhaps we will have better luck at the Gala. We owe it to our king to establish the best possible working relationships with our fellow companies. Pride and petty squabbling will threaten the entire enterprise. I pray that we may somehow appeal to Zámoždom's better nature."

Later that night, at the Gala, Baron Kowalskiy and his entourage would be killed to the man by a devourer. Dargaryen and Merlovaur, after fighting valiantly, barely escaped with their lives. After a brief criminal inquiry, prompted by implications by the Brilliant Sword School, the Steel Fists would be disbanded and Dargaryen and Merlovaur would be exiled from Brevoy. Dargaryen and Merlovaur would then live off of the land in the Greenbelt until Merlovaur's killing of a group of suspected cultists at a local settlement forced him to return to Varisia.

The day was Shag Solomon's birthday. Not that Merlovaur would normally have known that, or cared; the wildman spent most of his time rubbing noses with the nobility in Magnimar, when he wasn't on display in the "Gallery of Science". But the Emporium was hosting a party of sorts and anyone with a ticket got in for free. Which was strange because the Emporium was not a natural venue for a party, but who was Merlovaur to argue? What was important was that he had managed to get his hands on a ticket. The door charge to get into the upper floor was 3 silver, typically beyond his means. But free... that price sounds much better. And he could definitely use a break from the tepid drudgery that made up his average day in Magnimar.

Inside, music played from the stage across the large gaming hall, its laid-back sound serving as a counterpoint to the eager players, gambling their money away with cards and dice alike. Right away, Merlovaur figured out why the "Gallery" was closed. The dealers and attendants were still working that day, but it looked like the freaks were out to play for the wildman's birthday. At one table, the combustible magician, the halfling Ariello Klint tormented a flirtatious "Three-Dragon Ante" dealer, casting his flames tauntingly near the cards, to the annoyance of the other players. At another table sat a little blue creature with a large bulbous head - the contortionist, Tom Shingle. Tom sat with his chin on the table, one foot casually casting dice over his head onto the table. Merlovaur was not sure where his other foot was.

Merlovaur entered the room and frowned at the large gathering of people. Looking around, he took an empty seat at a table with a view of Shag and his entourage. Ah, that fool Solomon. How is it possible that he has survived this long?

Sighing, he looked idly across the room at the blue, bulbous-headed contortionist. A boggle! That's unusual.

Merlovaur shrugged and motioned to a bar maid as he laid his silver on the table. "Strong ale please!"

Merlovaur smelled him before he saw him. It's not an unfamiliar smell in this part of Marnimar. Everyone in the city recognizes the poignant, one-of-a-kind "cologne" of Balabar Smenk. It's not the worst thing you've smelled, but it is absurdly aggressive. The balding, obese man wobbled up the stairs amidst a mismatched crowd of thugs and town guardsmen. And just behind him is a tall, scowling man with long, dark hair... Sheriff Cubbin. A man so renowned for corruption that many citizens assumed the announcement of his commission was a joke... until he started arresting people. The whole room goes still at their entrance.

Wanting to get back to his card game, an elven patron named Queslin dared to speak, "Mr. Smenk, Sheriff, perhaps you would like to test your skills while you wait?"

Balabar regarded Queslin with contempt. "My dear elf," he spits, his voice practically dripping with scorn, "why don't you go play with Moonmeadow at Lazare's. I don't need a simpleton game to know I'm better than you." The other elves in the room went unnoticed for the moment.

The Sheriff and the various lackeys launched into raucous laughter at Balabar's insult. The fat man joined them after a brief, angry scowl toward Queslin.

Merlovaur stood up upon hearing Balabar's insults. "Nay sir, you will not be allowed to address my elven kin with that tone! We have done nothing to deserve such treatment from you. I demand respect!"

He rolled up his sleeves and stomped over to Balabar and pointed a finger in his face, "I don't care who you are or what you own. You do not have license to disrespect elven kind. You will treat us with civility and deference. We will not be intimidated by you and your goons!"

Merlovaur then lowered his voice and growled. "Now, why don't you apologize?"

When the laughter died down, Balabar gave the elf a greasy smile. "Apologize? I won't. But you might want to apologize." The fat man nods over toward the nine-foot tall half-ogre bouncer walking slowly, deliberately toward the conflict.

"To Kurlag..."

"You went about it all wrong," Zomeraand, a local magician, said to the elven ranger. "Mr. Smenk is a businessman, one as ruthless and relentless as that cologne of his," he wrinkles his nose for emphasis. "Talk of manners and respect are of no interest to him, only profit."

Bergrom, a well known dwarven mercenary, noticed the confrontation happening and headed over to Merlovaur and Balabar to interject himself.

"Now now elf, no use wasting your words on the spineless coward. You would have better chances of converting a Drow to follow Torag."

Merlovaur turns and nodded at Bergrom. "Sir, I appreciate the intent of your comments, but I am afraid that you have insulted the drow race. Even my misguided kin from the Dark Lands would not act with such wanton, boorishness."

He then turned back to Balabar and bared his teeth. "I do solemnly apologize to you and Kurlag ... for the beating he is about to receive!"

Merlovaur then pointed to Kurlag and motioned the half ogre forward.

Turning back to Balabar, Merlovaur smiled as he unbuckled his curved sword and war blade and placed them on a nearby table. "But perhaps we can make this a bit more interesting? Why waste a good brawl without some sort of wager? I believe the mage is correct, Lord Smenk, that you are a business man whom understands profit, if nothing else. So perhaps you may benefit further this fateful evening if your peerless minion serves you as expected. I propose that in the unlikely event that I am able to beat the mountain Kurlag into submission, then you and your men will leave this establishment and you will allow my friends and the dear ladies of this exquisite emporium to celebrate the birthday of sir Shag in peace and without further intimidation. But on the other hand, if the beast Kurlag carries the day, then I will duly offer my services in the depths of your mine for one month, without cost and without complaint. What say you, Lord Smenk?"

The mauling that would follow would become the stuff of legend. In the nights that followed many bar room conversations revolved around the foolishness of a backwoods ranger who challenged the authority of a local tyrant. Merlovaur's arrogance would be repaid in weeks of unpaid labor in Balabar's copper mines. In those long hard hours of manual labor Merlovaur would learn the lessons of humility and caution - as well as a new hatred for the bourgeois humans around him.

Thus Merlovaur's eternal enmity was born towards Kurlag, Sheriff Cubbin and Balabar Smenk.

After spending several years as mercenary in Brevoy, Merlovaur's travels have taken him to the south lands of Varisia. Here, within the northern outskirts of the Mushfens, he settled in the City of Monuments - Magnimar. Why he had traveled to this god-forsaken city he knew not - other than the dreams. The recurring, apocalyptic dreams had haunted him for years now. They followed a cryptic pattern that aligned some complex manner with the phases of the moon and the constellations. The dreams had something to do with his lost people, but they also had a deeper, darker meaning. He would capture fragments - a familiar face or the voice of a family member, but then the details would be lost in a writhing darkness. The dreams became stronger as he traveled south and now they resonated here within the city of Magnimar. Somehow, he was meant to be here. Now, Merlovaur bides his time in Magnimar working odd jobs ... and waiting for fate to show its fickle hand.

Merlovaur's dark secret is that he has committed murder. While seeking information on his family he killed a suspected group of cultists in the Stolen Lands. Though the men turned out to be bandits, with long criminal histories, their crimes did not warrant their deaths. Merlovaur was excommunicated from his local Church of Erastil as a result, and his alignment was reduced from lawful good to lawful neutral. The killings prompted Merlovaur to leave the Greenbelt and travel back west to Varisia. Merlovaur is embarrassed by his zealous actions and seeks atonement for his crime.

Merlovaur has fond memories of his father telling him stories of their ancient elven house. His father would tell him that during the elves’ long absence from Golarion, the nascent demon lord Treerazer took up residence in the Fierani Forest in what is now the Elven kingdom of Kyonin. Eventually, the demon’s presence in the forest drew the elves back to Golarion, who sought to purge the fiendish blight from this once-sacred land. They defeated Treerazer but could not destroy him, forcing him instead into the southern reaches of the Fierani, a corrupted region of twisted plants and fiendish denizens called Tanglebriar. Merlovaur's family are direct descendants of the elves whom fought in the Tanglebriar. Merlovaur's grandfather and father have passed on their knowledge of the Tanglebriar demons to Merlovaur. Merlovaur often wonders if his family's fate is somehow tied to their Tanglebriar heritage.

Dargaryen Blanc. Dargaryen, a fellow disciple of Erastil, is Merlovaur's friend and mentor. Merlovaur met Darg while traveling through Brevoy. Merlovaur served as Darg's lieutenant in the Steel Fists mercenary company until the Steel Fists were disbanded after the violent killing of their liege in Brevoy.

Zámoždom Duchovný. Merlovaur has a bitter relationship with Zámoždom and the Aldori Sword Lords of the Brilliant Sword School after their rivalry in Restov.

Queslin Highsummer, Zoomerand the Magician and Bergrom Onyxarm. Queslin is a fellow elf and ranger in Magnimar. Zoomerand is a universalist wizard. Bergrom is a dwarf fighter. Merlovar became friends with Queslin, Zoomerand and Bergrom after the incident at the Emporium.

Kurlag, Sheriff Cubbin and Balabar Smenk. Merlovar has an intense hatred for Balabar and his thugs after his beating and public shaming by Kurlag at the Emporium.

Merlovaur has an irrational fear of dying in an evil place. Even though he is not evil, he fears that if he dies somewhere evil his soul will be trapped in the Abyss. As a result, he avoids any place that he perceives to be tainted by evil. His paranoia is further exacerbated by his fall from grace with the Church of Erastil after the killing of a group of suspected cultists.

Merlovaur also has a healthy fear of demons - based on the fate of his father and his own encounters. He studies the denizens of the Abyss and trains to kill them, but he also respects the lethality of his demonic enemies.

Merlovaur's aura is that of the consummate soldier. In the field he wears forest camouflage over his heavy armor and covers his face with shades of brown and green to better maintain tactical surprise. During the winter months in the Lurkwood he wears winter white camouflage and paints his eyes black to protect against the glare of the endless fields of snow and ice. During those rare times that he spends in his village home, he wears a uniform of tailored green hide armor adorned with flowing forest patterns of black. Merlovaur always carries his branched spear with the flapping banner of his ancestral house. Merlovaur also wears a leather sheathed curved sword and war blade - both of which are ancestral blades gifted by his late father.

Merlovaur's personality is shaped by his martial training. Merlovaur is a trained killer whom fights with mechanical precision. Merlovaur is known for his stoic presence in the face of battle. He effortlessly takes charge and galvanizes his comrades at arms into an efficient fighting unit. As a natural leader, he effortlessly guides his subordinates towards achievement of their goals. Merlovaur's creed is "death before dishonor". Merlovaur will brook no failure either from his comrades or himself - there is no question that Merlovaur will succeed in defeating his demonic foes or die trying. Merlovaur has always been highly independent. The decentralized nature of the elven militia has taught its officers to think on their own and to operate autonomously. He will kill any perceived threat to without question and without hesitation. He is utterly loyal to his people and lives to serve those whom are under his protection.

Merlovaur sought out the Pathfinder Society to seek answers to the fate of his family. After relating his experiences in the Lurkwood and Brevoy, and demonstrating a thorough knowledge of demons, Merlovaur was befriended by Sheila Heidmarch. Merlovaur has been working assignments for the Sheila in return for access to the lodge's extensive libraries. After spending numerous months with the Pathfinders, Merlovaur has become a defacto member of the esteemed organization.

T1. Warrior of Old
T2. Indomitable Faith
1. Weapon Finesse
2. Precise Shot
3. Combat Reflexes
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5. Weapon Focus (Long Bow)
6. Manyshot
7. Point Blank Shot
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9. Rapid Shot
10. Pinpoint Targeting
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