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He was captured during a raid and taken as a slave to Eledar. Barely twenty years old, Seko — as his captors took to calling him, found himself being auctioned off to potential buyers. Though he protested, and would often try to escape his confinement, his rebellious streak was eventually beaten out of him. He only spent a few short years in Eledar, just long enough to become proficient in the common tongue and learn who his new masters were. Due to his elven heritage and the fact that he would stay relatively “cute” for many decades to come, he was bought by a wealthy Kintargoan trader and shipped off to Cheliax.

For the next century Seko lived as a house elf; an occupation that took him all over infernal Cheliax. He cleaned cisterns in Kintargo, tucked noble brats in to sleep in Westcrown, polished organ pipes in Egorian, and even wiped the sweat from the queen of Korvosa’s head while she sat on the crimson throne. In his life he read the Asmodean Disciplines twice over, and memorized enough Chelish by-laws that he could engage barristers and attorneys in idle chat on legal minutiae and even challenge their interpretations. By all means, he was well liked, and maintained his relative popularity with the wealthy even after the old nobility was pushed out and the devil worshippers moved in to fill their void. His captors sometimes romanticized his primitivism, saying he was such a loyal slave because he was not corrupted by their Chelish ideals. They however, were too proud a people to ever be in such a sorry state. Many thanked their infernal masters for such a meek “friend” to wait on them hand and foot. The young elf entertained their prejudices for the most part. When he didn’t, he often found himself regretting it. Whether he was tied down and poked under the fingernails by malicious imps or locked in a box for a few weeks, his captors would always find creative ways to punish his insolence. So rather than test the limits of their creativity, he learned to play his role. Though he had his outlets.

There is no culture without counter culture, and within each city there is always a second city, sometimes a third or fourth. When Seko first arrived in Kintargo, slaves who lived there already showed him their city within the city: a place where he could laugh, gamble, drink, and make love away from the oppressive eyes of his captors. Whenever he found himself sold to a family in a new city, he would seek out that city’s second city, and there he would release himself and forget, if only for a few hours a night, that he was not once destined to be a great warrior. But it was also there that he practiced, holding onto the few tricks he was taught as a young elf. He supplemented these tricks with new ones learned from his Varisian counterparts. They had learned to use their ceremonial scarf, the Kapenia, in beautiful and deadly ways and he often found himself wanting to mimic them. He had one made for him, embroidered with silken wasps in honor of his people’s Goddess and lined it with blades so that one day, should he need to, he could lash out at his captors. At night he often wrapped himself in it to imagine his revenge. It would not be violent revenge, no, it would be a triumphant one. When he returned to the Mwangi Expanse he would retake his name and his people, and he’d die richer and more powerful than any of his Chelish captors. Then one day, suddenly, he was free.

The elf had found himself back in Kintargo after an extended stay in Korvosa. His owner, a moderately wealthy man who bought Seko for company, had stipulated the elf’s freedom in his will. Though at first glance, this looked like an act of benevolence, it turned out the old man only freed his slaves to spite his son, who Seko recalled was a failure and disgrace in the old man’s eyes. Now free, the reality of Seko’s situation began to set in. He was a stranger in a strange land. Every elf he met in Cheliax looked down on him twice over; once for being a wild elf and once again for being a slave. He had no relatives nearby and the second cities expelled him in good will as the one who made it, the one who could go back to living his life before enslavement. Lost and feeling unwelcome in infernal Cheliax, the elf scraped together the gold that he had kept with him over the years and bought passage back to the Mwangi expanse.

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He was captured during a raid and taken as a slave to Eledar. Barely twenty years old, Seko — as his captors took to calling him, found himself being auctioned off to potential buyers. Though he protested, and would often try to escape his confinement, his rebellious streak was eventually beaten out of him. He only spent a few short years in Eledar, just long enough to become proficient in the common tongue and learn who his new masters were. Due to his elven heritage and the fact that he would stay relatively “cute” for many decades to come, he was bought by a wealthy Kintargoan trader and shipped off to Cheliax.

For the next century Seko lived as a house elf, an occupation that took him all over infernal Cheliax. He cleaned cisterns in Kintargo, tucked noble brats in to sleep in Westcrown, polished organ pipes in Egorian, and even wiped the sweat from the queen’s head while she sat on the crimson throne. In his life he read the Asmodean Disciplines twice over, and memorized enough Chelish by-laws that he could engage barristers and attorneys in idle chat on legal minutiae and their interpretations. By all means, he was well liked, and maintained his relative popularity with the nobles even after the old nobility was pushed out and the devil worshippers moved in to fill the void they left. They sometimes romanticized his primitivism, saying he was such a loyal slave because he was not corrupted by their Cherish ideals. They however, were too proud a people to ever be in such a sorry state as he. Many thanked their infernal masters for such a meek “friend” to wait on them hand and foot. The young elf entertained their prejudices for the most part. For when he didn’t, he would find himself regretting it. Whether it was by being tied down and poked under the fingernails by malicious imps or locked in a box for a few weeks, his captors would always find creative ways to punish his insolence. So rather than test the limits of their creativity, he learned to play his role. Though he had his outlets.

There is no culture without counter culture, and within each city there is always a second city, sometimes a third or fourth. When Seko first arrived in Kintargo, slaves who lived there already showed him their city within the city: a place where he could laugh, gamble, drink, and make love away from the oppressive eyes of his captors. Whenever he found himself sold to a family in a new city, he would seek out that city’s second city, and there he would release himself and forget, if only for a few hours a night, that he was not once destined to be a great warrior. But it was also there that he practiced, holding onto the few tricks he was taught as a young elf. Whenever he found an old mop or broom and a moment alone, he would practice his old katas. He would cast spells from his book, which now was little more than a few sheets of tattered paper that he kept tucked away in his shirt. He’d imagine the day they would free him, and the day he would return to his tribe and be welcomed back with open arms by his people. For nearly one century, entertained these fantasies. Then one day he was free.

The elf had found himself back in Kintargo after an extended stay in Korvosa. His owner, a moderately wealthy man who bought Seko for company, had stipulated Seko’s freedom in his will. Though at first glance, this looked like an act of benevolence, it turns out the old man only freed his slaves to spite his son, who Seko recalled was a failure and disgrace in the old man’s eyes. Now free, the reality of Seko’s situation began to set in. He was a stranger in a strange land. Every elf he met in Cheliax looked down on him twice over; once for being a wild elf and once again for being a slave. He had no relatives nearby and the second cities expelled him in good will as the one who made it, the one who could go back to living his life before enslavement. Lost and feeling unwelcome in infernal Cheliax, the elf scraped together the gold that he had kept with him over the years and bought passage back to the Mwangi expanse.

With his dreams of being welcomed back now nightmares of being rejected as forlorn, Seko boards the Jenivere. He heads toward a homeland that is alien to him, and who’s people are little more than near forgotten memories.

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Around his neck one can usually find a number of trinkets, which is a surprising cultural carryover from his Varisian childhood. Most prominent among these is the pentagram, a symbol of his church, and a slightly smaller two-toned devil mask, a symbol of his patron devil Belial.

He carries a long red scarf that he can use as a weapon, but he usually wears it loosely over his shoulders or tied around his waist. It is usually only recognized as a weapon by those closest to him or the stray Varisian he may cross paths with.

Artist's Rendition

Also, there's an NPC described in his backstory. Here's how I imagine her looking.

The transformation didn’t happen all at once. The boy learned to swindle and lie with the best of his peers. He also learned to recite Varisian lore as effortlessly as any fortune teller; and even wield a bladed scarf as easily as any Kapenia dancer. In fact, until he turned thirteen, the boy had resigned himself to wasting away in Bridgefront. His dream of rising above his station would have remained just that, a dream. At least until the lunatic Pandora returned.

She was a local legend whose name was always spoken in hushed tones and quick curses. Born in Bridgefront, she — much like Camlo — had severe reservations about dying destitute in that tiny strip of Old Korvosa. In her rebellion she found religion and joined a convent. It just so happened that convent was the Sisterhood of the Golden Erinyes. Word of her had trickled back to Korvosa over the years. Her ferocity (well, lunacy) in battle was well known to all who kept track of the Goblinblood Wars. But she was haughty and arrogant, and many in Old Korvosa didn’t want anything to do with her. At first sight of her, the neighborhood pretended like it had not noticed her swaggering in, but when her brother went crashing through her parent’s door less than an hour after she had arrived, they could not ignore her any longer. A small crowd gathered at the display that afternoon, and Pandora met them with a wide grin. She insulted them. She called them too weak to demand the respect of the Chelaxians. She claimed it did not take a harrowed mystic to tell that most of them would rot away in the slums of Old Korvosa. Though many averted their eyes and hurried away, one among them held on to every word. When she left the neighborhood that day, Camlo left with her.

The boy quickly took to his new lifestyle; as well as the religion that came with it. The church of Asmodeus encouraged his latent arcane talents and through judicious discipline and proper training they taught him to wield both weapon and spell. Though he planned on taking up the scimitar, Pandora encouraged him to continue mastering his style with the bladed scarf and take up Belial as his patron devil. “Wear his colors,” she told him once, “for in our culture his red and white are the colors of lust, long life, and inner strength. Your weapon, your faith, and your people are all encompassed in your beautiful weapon and your deadly art.”

Despite her bravado and violent display on the day he met her, Pandora turned out to be a proud Varisian. She hoped her example, and by extension Camlo’s, would be the example her people needed to stand up and join the rest of Korvosa away from the slums. She taught Camlo that the Chelaxians valued strength over all else, and convinced him that if their people could prove their strength, the Chelaxians would welcome them. She encouraged his full assimilation into Korvosa’s mainstream culture, even convincing him to change his name to something more prideful — more Chelaxian: Andrea Doria.

Seven years after Andrea turned his back on Old Korvosa Pandora found another youth, Manar. She was a hot tempered little girl with fiery red hair to match and she stole their hearts. They quickly took her in and began to put her through the same process Pandora once did for Andrea, but then she disappeared. One day she was at the market with Andrea, the next she was gone. He and Pandora searched all over, even threatening locals who were too stingy with what little they did know of the incident, but came up short. Manar’s disappearance put a strain on Pandora and Andrea’s relationship and the two separated, each quietly blaming the other for the young girl’s disappearance. A month after the incident, word reached Andrea’s ears of a group of pick pockets scouring the streets of Korvosa. There was even a rumor that one of them was a young girl with auburn hair. Andrea took it upon himself to investigate and soon came upon a name: Gaedren Lamm. Nowadays, Andrea divides his time doing odd jobs for his church and investigating Manar’s disappearance. Beyond a name, so far he has not gotten any further leads on the whereabouts of Lamm and his Lambs.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Publishing, LLC®, and are used under license.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Publishing, LLC®, and are used under license.

Hero Lab and the Hero Lab logo are Registered Trademarks of LWD Technology, Inc. Free download at http://www.wolflair.com
Pathfinder® and associated marks and logos are trademarks of Paizo Publishing, LLC®, and are used under license.

1. Member of the Midnight Circus, a Kuthite cell masquerading as an entertainment troupe. They were founded by a man known as the Shepherd. Cunning and seductive, he was easily able to recruit a loyal following to his Midnight Circus. No one really knows why he started the Circus, though many of his troupe do not care. In all there are a dozen troupe members, with Paimon being the only clown as well as the youngest among them.

2. Is a contortionist and acrobat by profession. He was recruited at a fairly young age to join the midnight circus. His act, Paimon the Fool, represents man’s desire to express creatively given the constraints of his station, and live with meaning not tainted by willing slavery to unworthy masters. If Samuel Beckett or Albert Camus were to see it, they might find it cute.

3. Wears a mask to protect his face. Paimon’s mother was a scarred witch doctor who was driven out of town and into witchcraft by the young lord who impregnated her. A proud half-orcess she tried to indoctrinate her son into her painful faith. That was all cut short however when inquisitors of Mitra arrived and killed her. When he first joined the Circus at the age of ten, he took an old Stalker’s Mask to wear in his first performance. When he saw its magic, he likened its power to that his mother’s fetish mask had and decided to wear during performances. At the beginning of each performance, Paimon walks out in front of the crowd and, after scanning them, takes one of their faces to be his own for the duration of his show. This adds a level of realism and cements Paimon the Fool as an everyman.

4. Well spoken and very charming, though natively he speaks with a colloquial Talingardian accent. He usually greets people with a received pronunciation and holds onto it until he gets to know them. His voice is a very distinct baritone. Like late 70s David Bowie. Paimon was illiterate until the age of ten, but picked up reading fast. His education was off the cuff. He learned history through the songs Otho, Botho, Clotho, and D’Artagnan. He learned his vocabulary from many-tongued Manar. He learned to move with grace from Argalia who was once called Arcalia. Every troupe member helped raise the boy and their slaughter places the heavy burden of revenge on his heart.

5. Son of a human and a half-orc, he was blessed with a skin tone normal for a human, if not a bit tanned. Paimon is freakishly tall (standing a whopping 6’7), freakishly limber, and freakishly charming. His hair is a lush auburn and eyes a seductive hazel. He can nearly pass for a human.

Two Goals
1. He wants to avenge the deaths of his troupe not by destroying Talingarde but by razing the foundation of the so called Shining God’s church and replacing it with something even more sinister and yet closer to his vision of how the world should be governed.

2. My goal for the character is to see him rise above his station and do something not even he expected he was capable of. I want him to realize that he is a key piece in the tapestry that the characters and players will be weaving and become eager to take part in it.

Two Secrets about your character
1. He does indeed remember his true name, and the only one to ever coax it out of him was the Shepherd, the leader of his cell. Of his many secrets, Shepherd told him shorty before their arrests, he only had one fit for a king.

2. The Shepherd turned the troupe in and ultimately betrayed them all. Paimon, who will be the last to burn for his heresy, is not aware of this. He believes Shepherd was killed in the initial raid.

Three People tied to the character
1. Argalia or Arcalia: One of the last surviving members of Paimon’s troupe. He received his name due to his former name, Arcalia, being localized into the common tongue to become Argalia. An expert swordsman, he taught a younger Paimon the particulars of stage combat. In a former life, he was a paladin of Sarenrae, but he was seduced by the Shepherd into falling, and became a loyal member of the Midnight Circus Troupe. Dance and swordplay are one in the same to him and he often played the foil to Paimon’s brutish buffoon on stage. It is said he lopped the scalp off of two soldiers for every troupe member murdered the night they were found, but being the modest man he is, Argalia or Arcalia will never tell.

2. The Memory Palace: Once Lady Black Eyes’ Mirror. When her mistress died, she became empty, a mirror with no one to reflect. Losing her own power to enchant, she was captured by Talingardian soldiers and taken away with nary a whimper. She was soon saved by Argalia who was once Arcalia, and given new purpose. She was told to lock her mistress’s memories away inside of herself, in every room and corner of her mind, and hide the key until the time is right. Argalia who was once Arcalia tasked her with keeping the history of the Midnight Circus and all of its wonders until a time it would be safe to once again release it to the world. She then became the Memory Palace, and currently travels with Argalia, who protects and loves her.

3. The Shepherd. A man who found Paimon when he was just a street urchin. He took the boy in and raised him to be the monster he is today. A master of lies, it was through his efforts that the Circus was able to remain clandestine even as the whispers of their dark art spread throughout the country. Ultimately, though, his greatest asset proved to be the Circus’s downfall. He turned them into the authorities and their wholesale slaughter rests entirely at his doorstep. He is still at large somewhere. He looks a lot like Pinhead from Hellraiser.

Three Memories.
1. Paimon remembers his mother being beheaded by agents of Mitra for witchcraft. He was only seven years old when it happened but remembers the day vividly.

2. He remembers the Shepherd finding him at the orphanage they sent him to after his mother’s death.

3. He remembers the raid that killed a large number of his many-true-loves and arrested the rest. In particular he remembers Shepherd’s throat being slit right in front of his eyes.

When he turned seven, the purges came for them, and Mitra’s inquisitors, scouring the nation looking for witches and heretics like his mother, found her. He remembers seeing the shining knights approaching from the distance. He remembers his mother dawning her mask and scarring herself in anticipation of their arrival. He remembers the spectacular battle that ensued as his mother met the agents of Mitra with hostility. But he remembers most the loss he felt as the agents subdued and beheaded her. He learned his mother’s final lesson that day: that pride is no substitute for power. She was a proud, humiliated, woman who — so he understood years later when he looked back upon her death – made a grave mistake of believing that she would have done better fighting than running. Because of her humiliation at the hands of his father, she had let her pride get the better of her, and forgot her common sense. Even though years later he would forget his name, he would never forget his mother’s fatal act of foolishness.

The knights took him to an orphanage in Matharyn where he soon built up a reputation as a little troublemaker. He would bully the other children in cruel ways: beating them up when left alone with them, pushing them down stairs and into streets in front of carts, and even making them lick the bottom of cisterns. He would often hear the Mithran nuns dismiss his savagery as the unfortunate result of he growing up with a savage mother. Of course the boy knew the truth, but was usually met with patronizing stares as he would try to explain his scumbag father or his mother’s Orcish faith. It was during this time he grew to hate Mitra. The so called Shining God gave purpose to the knights who killed his mother and the nuns who imprisoned him in the orphanage and as far as it concerned the boy, there had to be another way, a better way. Then, as if to answer his wishes, when he was eleven years old a mysterious man appeared near his bed one day. The man had somehow managed to find a way into the orphanage without waking the other children. He told the boy that he was a Shepherd and had come to add to his flock. The boy had stuck his head under his covers at first, hoping the strange man would go away, but he only continued speaking. His words went down like honey. He spoke of decadent vagabonds and experience beyond limits, of a life where a man could express himself away from Mitra’s prying eyes. He promised he could remake the boy into something more, something beautiful, something monstrous. The boy's imagination set on fire with visions of lights, audiences, and theater. He also loved the chance to craft his pain into something more constructive. The boy agreed and took the Shepherd’s offer, soon finding himself to be the latest member of the Midnight Circus.

The Midnight Circus was a troupe of entertainers whose mission was to explore the frontiers of experience. They were contortionists who broke bones, sword eaters who pierced flesh, fire drinkers who immolated themselves from the inside out, and actors who could take as many freakish roles as there were stars in the sky. They existed in defiance of the so-called Shining God, and lived to showcase pleasures Mitra denied them. The troupe operated in secret, performing for audiences only a few times a year and only after the stroke of midnight. When they weren’t performing they were training. They spent days learning new pleasures to inflict on themselves for the awed crowds, and nights longing to perform. The boy learned to channel his darker desires to hurt others and himself into something constructive and — at least to he and the Circus — beautiful. He took to extreme contortion, learning how to break his bones and twist himself into painful twists and shapes. With a flair for drama he learned how to tell stories through interpretive movements. He took as his own a Stalker’s Mask, and used it as a prop for his show, which was only one of many. They performed only a few shows a season, as too many would jeopardize their troupe in the face of the law. Their elaborate shows resembled services typical of faithful Kuthites. They usually blurred the lines between pleasure and pain or encouraged dangerous or humiliating sex, and the audience was always welcome to join them. Towns would whisper for days in anticipation of their arrival, and a few brave souls would even join the actors on stage. More than once someone left the circus with a fresh bruise or a brand new set of stitches to show off to their friends. Few could fathom seeing something so sinister, and fewer could fathom participating in it.

The boy’s show in particular involved surreal examinations of a buffoon. He was not a buffoon because he was dumb — that was rarely the case, tragically, but because in the face of the absurd he strived. Each night he would look out to the audience and select one, it did not matter who, and take their face as his own. He would then activate his stalker’s mask and become a buffon in their image. He was at times a seducer who believed in no noble love but that which recognized itself as both short lived and exceptional. He was at other times a conquerer who forwent all promises of eternity to affect and engage fully in human history. Even still he could be a man doomed to carry a rock up a hill just to see it roll down on the other side again. Over the course of three hours he could travel the whole course of a life, or stretch a small moment out to examine its little parts. There was little focus on logical acts, realistic occurrences, or traditional character development; instead, focus stayed on human beings trapped in an incomprehensible world subject to any occurrence, no matter how illogical. Shining gods could not save them in the buffoon's world and it sent a powerful message. He laughed when in pain, cried when in pleasure, and treated both acts as two sides of the same glorious coin. He could assault his audiences senses by blending the mundane and the absurd with vaudevillian precision. After perfecting this absurd theater, the boy gave his show a name, Paimon the Fool, and took it as his own as well.

His was not the only act in the Midnight Circus. There was Otho, Botho, Clotho, and D’Artagnan; giants blessed with angel’s voices who would sing ancient hymns etched into each other’s backs. There was Alaïs and Anaïs, the mattress and skeleton; called that because the former was so fat that one could sleep in the folds of her skin and the latter because she was so skinny one could cut glass on her elbows. There was Argalia who was once Arcalia; the beautiful Keleshite whose scimitar could remove a scalp in one swing without damaging the brain. There was Manar al-Fajr, who could say I love you in twelve languages but instead chose instead to use her teeth. There was the Enchantress of Isam, Lady Black Eyes, and her mirror who had no name; she was a woman so beautiful that men would gouge their eyes out for fear of tainting her image with the ugly world, and her mirror who was just as beautiful reflected her in all but name. And last there was the Shepherd; their ringmaster and leader, who united these misfits into a troupe like no other, a grand showcase of sadomasochism and the absurd. For many years Paimon and the Midnight Circus operated in secret, their name whispered among seekers of the perverse. Their audience was always filled with explorers and pleasure seekers, people who relished in observing the bizarre. They loved having a place to laugh not just at the absurdity of their own religion, but also a place to cast it off for one depraved night of queer ecstasy.

Then, they found the circus. While performing their most spectacular show yet to an audience of almost one hundred, the Knights of the Alerion descended on them. It was sudden, and largely unexpected. Within the hour most of the troupe died along with many of the audience members. Blood had stained Mitra’s hands that night. They took Paimon out rather early in the skirmish. He awoke to find himself in a stinking cell with about half a dozen of the audience members. For three days and nights they left him in a cell to starve while Talingarde's finest judges prepared to try them. But on the third night, he heard a whisper from outside of the cell. It was Argalia using the message cantrip. He had survived the raid. Relieved, Paimon believed Argalia was there to rescue him. Unfortunately that was not the case. With Mitra’s supremacy in Talingarde, there was no place for the Circus in Talingarde. A rescue would be nigh impossible, as they were planning to burn Paimon for his blasphemy. Zon-Kuthon was a forbidden deity even before Talingarde outlawed the panthon, and they planned to make Paimon an example. Paimon thanked Argalia and the two said their goodbyes. Then Paimon made a promise that day. If he could somehow escape his execution, he would bring about the fall of Mitra. Until this point, every tragedy in his life was done in the name of the so-called Shining God. If he escaped, vengeance would be his and the Shining God's faithful, no matter their numbers, would have Talingarde no more.

2. What is your character's role in a group?
Party face and secondary melee. A smooth talker and actor by profession, he can be very effective at persuading people without relying on magic or tricks. He’ll also act as a melee debuffer.

3. How is your character not as they seems? I want one or two skills that would surprise others if they found out he knows them. Also include personality traits, positive or negative, that would similarly surprise others.
Paimon stands 6’7 and weighs 227 pounds. Needless to say, he looks like a brute. However he is quite limber and is also quite the contortionist and actor (which is talked about heavily in his background). When one expects him to act with force, he chooses precision. When one expects him to be clumsy, he instead surprises them with grace. He also once had quite the tea cup collection before his troupe was raided.

4. What are your character's goals, conscious and, perhaps, subconscious?
His goal is to free Talingarde to explore without limitations. He finds Mitra’s faith stifling, and would love nothing more than to see it replaced with something equally as ordered but with room for him to carry out his dark desires. Perhaps subconsciously he wants to replace his troupe, and be a part of something that is not quite what it seems again.

5. How easily does your character love? Have they been in love?
The Midnight Circus was a polyamorous troupe that expressed its love through shared pain, ritualistic scarification, religious mortification, and theater. He was in love with all of them even though their numbers were a dozen at their peak. To be in the troupe was to be in love. Most of them are dead now and he longs for the lash of some and to see the humiliation of others once more. Since the raid, he chants their names before going to sleep: Otho, Botho, Clotho, and D’Artagnan; Anaïs and Alaïs; Argalia or Arcalia; Manar al-Fajr; Lady Blackeyes and her mirror; and the Shepherd, their leader, who brought them together with promises of experience without limits. All of them have a place in Paimon’s heart, and the pain of losing them is sometimes overwhelming, but always lovely.

6. Is your character racist at all, either now or in their past?
He thinks halflings should probably be enslaved. Nothing personal, they’d just make cute butlers.

7. All people believe something that is not true, both about the world around them and about themselves. What lies/untruths does your character believe about themselves and the world around them?
Despite being a devout follower of an evil deity and believing wholeheartedly in his doctrine of pain, Paimon does not see himself as evil. He is an explorer, a pioneer who is free to bring pain to others and rule over the weak. He truly believes that Mitra’s faith, and the nation that has built up around it are the truly evil ones. This isn’t to say that he sees himself as set apart from Asmodeans. In fact he believes that he shares a lot in common with the Archfiend’s faithful and sees them as allies in most if not all situations.

8. How is your character about material possessions?
Paimon prefers to wear masks on stage and if he could wear one all the time, he would. Not only is it a symbol that harkens back to his mother, it also protects his face from getting blemished. Only he and his many-true-loves may scar his face, otherwise he gets highly HIGHLY irritated.

9. What does your character perceive their major problems to be?
He, like most actors, is actually fairly self conscious. Because he towers over most people and has a very distinct baritone of a voice, he is always hyper aware of people looking at him and maybe even judging him. Years of theater training have helped to mitigate that some, but he still feels it.

10. What does he perceive the solutions to those problems to be?
Luckily, he is an actor, and he can “fake it” until he makes it. Despite his insecurities, he is actually fairly confident in his acting abilities and feels like he can conceal them through careful behavior and precise misdirection.

11. What are your character's religious beliefs?
He is a devout follower of Zon-Kuthon. Though devout is a strange thing in the religion. I’ve always seen Kuthites and Asmodeans as modern day Jews and Christians respectively. Jews and Christians share Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, whereas Kuthites and Asmodeans share a common belief that the strong should rule over the weak. While Asmodeans are more interested in the enslavement, Kuthites are more interested in the lash. Its this dichotomy that makes Nidal and Cheliax work so well together. Nidal, Cheliax’s vassal, agrees more than it disagrees with the Infernal kingdom and Cheliax is tolerant of Nidal’s penchant for pain, as it is useful for their longterm goals. So in the case of a campaign like this one, despite Paimon being a Kuthite, he’ll ultimately be useful to Asmodeus’s faithful. He does not want to rule, he only wants to experience.

12. What does your character fear?
Tetraplegia, not being able to feel anymore and dying before he has a chance to avenge his fallen troupe.

13. How much of a temper does your character have? What sorts of things set them off?
Boredom. He cannot sit in a room with his own thoughts for too long and he actually has trouble getting to sleep without tiring himself on some stimulation or the other. He also hates when a “session”, the torturing of either himself or others, is interrupted. He also does not like Mitra or any open worship of the deity. He is aware he is in a minority and hides it well, but sometimes his impatience bleeds through.