About Salem KasteliosStatblock:
Salem Kastelios
Summary:
Salem Kastelios
Alignment: Lawful Evil (with Neutral Tendencies)
She has never overtly identified with Asmodeus, despite his status as Cheliax's most immediate patron, but is a wholehearted Diabolist, insofar that she believes a proper structure and system to which other people can be held accountable is a necessity for order and security. Salem's feelings on the Infernal Magistrix are as you might expect for a blatant loyalist: she's a fan of Abrogail at the very least, and does occasionally wonder how that Barzillai chap is doing out in Ravounel.
Feats/Traits:
Traits
Having lived in Citadel Dinyar for the better part of a decade, Salem is still rather acclimatized to more mountainous regions, and a determination to appear unobtrusive to her peers within the Order has led to a knack for simply not appearing at all. Unfortunately recent events have led to her possessing an outright loathing for the church of Iomedae, the effect of which has had no small impact upon her arcane abilities overall. 1st Level Feat: Arcane Strike
Salem's always known a little magic; enough to clean and polish a sword, to clear a room, light a candle...but a hard trip back to Cheliax, mixed with certain poverty and a healthy vat of anger, have led her to channeling her gifts towards increasingly violent ends. Her talent in wielding her sword is one of necessity. The journey from Isger to the Chelish Heartlands proved as long as it was unpleasant, and she's had no small amount of time to devote her focus to the unusual blade in her possession. Appearance:
Had you met her in better spirits, Salem would stand before you at a formidable 5'11", her spine flat as pressed iron, with rust coloured eyes and a frame fit for the stout armour and uniform of a Hellknight squire. Now she is dark and hunched, her once pristine hair messily tied to reveal still-new scars across her eye, lip and cheek. Peasant clothes and an old, strong bag of goods are oddly lacking in the stains you might expect from one who regularly sleeps rough along Longacre's fringes, but the strangest, most out-of-place object in her possession is that of a large, dark, acid-etched blade wrapped tight in a blanket sheath, belted firm against her back. Bladebound Sword Details:
Clavisatrox
===================== Tall, lithe, and purposefully attractive, this dark robed figure appears human except for his snakelike eyes, a pair of devilish horns, and the occasional dart of a forked tongue... As might be implied, Clavisatrox isn't precisely the weapon's name, but rather a title given to the creature entombed within it. Clavisatrox himself (or simply Clavis, whichever you'd prefer) is a Hespierian, better known as an Accomplice Devil, and so far has spent the majority of his time on Golarion enamored with the thought of being eternally sealed inside a block of steel. Contractually bound to a pro-Thrune knight during the height of the Chelish Civil War, Clavis was slated for release once his wielder's soul had successfully taken its one-way-direct trip into Hell following Abrogail Thrune I's coronation, as per the specific wording of a poorly written agreement. Needless to say this clause doesn't seem to have ever been triggered. Whether the warrior's soul was ultimately claimed by some other realm, outright destroyed, or if his spirit still wanders the world is anyone's guess; Clavis is ignorant, having apparently passed from one set of hands to the next before Salem's claim to ownership. As an entity Clavis is swave, well-spoken, and incredibly ruthless, to the point that it's a matter of debate as to whom between the two of them is more deserving the title of "Master".
Background:
Salem doesn't need a name to tell her what she is, but it's often the only indicator others ever possess. The Kastelios of Senara have known Tieflings in their blood since long before the Age of Lost Omens, though there are none alive today that know why. Some claim ancient pacts and the tampering of dark magic, but Salem knows little of the specifics; only that the Kastelios are sons and daughters of service, damned to wait upon their clean-blooded betters till the debts of their forbearers is paid in full. Call their name in any Chelish circle north of the Inner Sea and before long you'll find fiendish retainers and chamberlains aplenty; well aware of their place in the world, but determined, and even glad to see it through, loyally following their charges to wherever their duties demand. For some, this is as far as Pezzack, Corentyn, even Egorian—but to Salem, human-skinned and free of the discrimination her family had so long endured, this place was much further than most; across the border to Isger, nestled atop the Aspodell Mountains, entombed within the iron-clad walls of Citadel Dinyar. Indentured to a young Armiger at seventeen, Salem was as perfect and poised an assistant as you could ever ask for; proud and strong and eager to please, with a self-nurtured gift for the arcane that set her apart from her peers. With her childhood lost to her father's persistent criticism and demands for excellence, Salem found solace in emulating the only picture of Chelish perfection she had ever known: that of a young and battle-ready Iomedae, though her campaigns were set against stained armour and unsharpened blades, not the killing fields of Tar-Baphon. The work proved long and weary, and her chores increasingly demanding as the seasons drove on, but she knew of the horrors the Godclaw contested; knew the malice and chaos, the disorder loose upon the world…but Salem knew her place, and while she felt she would never quite run about in all that armour as they did, nor swing a mace with such force, the Hellknights of Dinyar were as much a family to her as anything, and their cause as honourable to her as Iomedae's own crusades could ever be. Seven highland winters had come and gone before the Glorious Reclamation laid siege to the Order of the Godclaw. Salem remembers little of the affair but the sound of arrow rain and the corpses of those she had once honoured as lords and kinsmen. At first the Factotum had taken up her own sword, mistaking the assault for some attack by lesser men, but when the gates fell and its assailants arrived clad in Swords of Valor and banners of the Inheritor, wielding powers that could only be divine, she found herself at a loss, the blade slipping clean from her fingers. How could Iomedae sanction such needless violence? What right did they have, what need to murder her comrades could Aroden's successor possibly possess? As the Godclaw sounded their retreat, Dinyar all but lost, Salem scoured the fallen citadel for her master and found him dead, slumped aside the bodies of his charter with a lone, bloodied crusader praying by their side, barking that the people of Cheliax were ignorant, answering to a whore queen, and declaring that an end by Her sword was a better death than none at all. Stricken with grief and a rare, unchecked bout of black, blinding anger, the Tiefling plucked from the hands of a fallen Signifier a cold and wicked sword, calling upon every inch of her fiendish heritage to smite the soldier down before hastily making her escape, abandoning Dinyar, her post, and her faith in Iomedae's church all at once. Armed with nothing but a stolen blade and the clothes on her back, Salem's journey back into the arms of Cheliax has not been a wholly pleasant affair. With no credibility and an increasingly violent disposition, she today finds herself on the streets of Longacre, the backwater hovel of retirement appearing something of a just reward for her misplaced faith in the Heavens. She would volunteer for the military, give her all to Cheliax and the Infernal Throne, but the Kastelios do not breed soldiers, and instead she serves as something of an everyman for hire, willing to undertake all manner of work so long as her efforts are properly appreciated in kind. Within Longacre itself, Cimiri Staelish does not often find need of Salem's services, but the two are well-acquainted enough to have a mediocre rapport.
|
