Male Human (Osirian) Oracle of the Dark Tapestry 5
NE Medium Humanoid (Human)
Init: +8 (+2 Dex, +2 trait, +4 feat)
AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 16; CMD 18
Speed 30ft (20ft armored)
Oracle Spells Known (Caster Level 4th, Concentration +9)
2nd (5/day) - cure moderate wounds, dust of twilight (DC 17), hold person (DC 17), instrument of agony (DC 17).
Abilities Str 17, Dex 15, Con 14, Int 15, Wis 8, Cha 21
Possessions: masterwork longspear, heavy mace, dagger, light crossbow, crossbow bolts x10, masterwork breastplate, backpack, waterskin, trail rations x10, 100ft of hemp rope, obsolete masterwork star chart, alchemist's fire x2, scrolls of cure light wounds x4, protection from good, protection from chaos, obscuring mist, shield of faith, bless x2.
Pharaonic Osirion was already tottering towards decadence when a dark sorcerer and his band of cultists fled its shores, driven away by the fading power of the pharaohs, who were mighty even in their decline. Fleeing their pursuers, they found refuge in the lands which would some day become Talingarde; refuge, and, for a while, freedom to practice their unholy arts. They raised walls and altars around their landing-spot, and for a time, bound natives by the dozen knelt to be beheaded in macabre festivals, things from the depths crept up into darkened pits to feed on screaming captives, and the blood of maidens spilled by masked priests stained altars to unworldly gods.
In time, the pursuit caught up with them; grim warriors breached the walls of the temple-fortress, and the fresh blood of the cultists mingled with older stains on the patterned temple floors. Retreating once more, the sorcerer took his most faithful disciples deep into the caves beneath the temple, sealing the exit with potent wards, and in a foul ritual bound himself into a timeless slumber, to awaken when the civilizations which had driven him away crumbled and the world once more slid towards chaos. His disciples he bound into stasis with him, intending when he awoke to slake his hunger and renew his life-force - dull from millenia of lethargy - with theirs.
Things did not go as he had hoped. For centuries later, when a local fisherman plumbed the ruins of the forgotten temple, crossed the fading wards, and accidentally awoke one of the sleepers, that disciple proved less loyal than the sorcerer had believed. As the fisherman fled in terror, Shulme-Silule turned his knife on each of the cultists in turn, and ended by slitting his master's throat as he lay unmoving in his stony tomb.
Yet Shulme was unprepared for the world he found outside. With no understanding of the Common tongue, and no knowledge of the nation found himself in, he stalked into a small village, wielding fear-inducing necromancies and demanding answers in archaic languages his listeners could not understand - and found himself completely unprepared for the counterstrike by the witch-hunters of Talingarde. Sir Balin of Karfeld shrugged off his magic with contemptuous ease, and when his captor dragged him before a magistrate, curses and dire threats in Aklo - the only language he knew that was still understood by some among the witch-hunters - failed spectacularly to win him an acquittal.
That would have been the end, had the strange trial not come to the ear of a certain aasimar as he was led off for imprisonment and execution. That night, Price and her Asmodeans spirited him out of his prison, and for the next several months he lived in hiding, slowly learning of the Common tongue and of the world he found himself in in return for sharing his knowledge of ancient secrets and arcane mysteries. As for his rescue, Price only told him with a smile that he would be called on to repay the favor... eventually.
Shulme was not present the night that Price and her fellows were ambushed by the Iomedaeans - a worshiper of no god, he had no place in the rites to Asmodeus - but he learned of her capture and sentencing quickly enough. What followed was indecision - whether to dare a rescue as he had been rescued, or leave his former benefactor to her fate - but the idea of leaving the favor unrepaid rankled, and besides, who else in this country ruled by close-minded holy men could he trust? Taking advantage of lax security after the 'end' of the Asmodean threat, Shulme broke into the Iomedaean temple armory, stole what gear he could, and set out for Branderscar Prison to repay his debt.
Little did he know that an escape was already underway!
Appearance and Personality:
Shulme is distinctive in appearance - tall, bronze-skinned, dark-haired and dark-eyed with high cheeks and a high forehead, he might be called handsome if his expression betrayed any hint of a compassionate nature. Lacking such a hint, many would skip handsome and turn straight to "unsettling."
He is thin in build and wiry, though possessed of a frighteningly strong grip for his frame - some of the Asmodeans used to mutter that his strength came from sorcery as much as from muscle. For preference, he wears black robes and little in the way of jewelry. He carries a spear and mace marked with the symbols of Iomedae, and a dagger etched with far older and less holy markings.
Shulme is unapologetically proud, and not given to showing unearned respect. Years as the servant of a more powerful magician has left him determined not to repeat that humiliating experience - but confident in the dark magics he learned.
Shulme has seen many other devotees of his strange cult go mad over the years - their minds overwhelmed by plumbing secrets men was not meant to learn - but he is starkly confident in his own ability to defy such a fate. He does not venerate the strange and evil powers from which he gains his magic, as his fellow-cultists did. To Shulme, their secrets are a road to power, a mystery to be mastered, not things to be feared and worshiped.
Planned feat advancement track:
3 - Power Attack
5 - Eldritch Heritage
7 - Leadership
9 - Improved Familiar
11 - Quicken Spell
13 - Divine Interference
15 - Improved Eldritch Heritage
17 - Open/Greater Eldritch Heritage?
19 - Open/Piercing Spell?