Vehemence, the Provoker's page

Face:
With golden hair and wide black pupils, Vehemence is one of alluring if not majestic stature. His skin and features are fair and fairly reminiscent of an elf, save the burning ruby undertones of his complexion.
When he is aroused to fury, this undertone will become enamored and glow, and his full frame's hue will seem as if it is dancing with flame, and his eyes will become fully enveloped by the hate of his wide black pupils.

Frame:
He is a unique creature.
His teeth are all fangs, and his feet are not of a common man or elf, but of the make of an agile reptilian predator. At his ankles there rest now withered small serpent-wings; once full and strong, now so weak and bare. He also has the mighty tail of a wyrm. The ends of his fingers and feet are wrapped in vivacious reds; they betray the violence within his glow at all times. Vehemence's largest calling card is his left forefinger; it is unlike the rest of his fingers, a pronounced claw. He will use this to carve his mark into the heart of whomever he provokes, and they will become inflamed with the answer to their subconscious's raging prayer.

Taken into full view, he is indeed the king of all children of pride; he is the lion serpent.

Garb:
Vehemence has donned armor fitting for his countenance and quest; he is robed in the vestments of an emperor who seeks war. His filigree'd breastplate shines with a luster that makes more terrible his burning face. He bears as a necklace an accursed keepsake; a still-beating heart wrapped in a chain bore round his neck; his own albatross. His cloak is dark, but not black, although it may seem such. In the rays of the heated sun or his heated brow, his cloak will glitter brilliant purples, to so shine the regality of the fallen king. He wields a heavy sword crafted of terrors and the furies of each plane, concentrated into one edge.

"I am Vehemence. I am a blesser of the world, though its gentle would never receive me into their home. Men, angels, demons and deities make pacts with me in the silence of their souls, though they would never know it. I have made selfish men to give way to hate and heinous acts, and selfless men to furious acts of justice. I have incited assassinations of kings, I have moved nations to war, I have provoked men against gods, and I have sung to the hearts of gods the song of Reprisal.

I once reigned upon a throne wrought of the hearts of the souls of men, inside a castle wrought of all the means of war. Dragons and their kind are my pets, for the fire of their breasts are drawn from MY furnace.

I was the KING above all children of pride. But my throne was dashed, and my crown stolen from me. And all the elements will melt into nothing before I lay down like a wretch mule.

TO YOU WHO HAVE WHAT IS MINE; TAKE NO HEED OR FEAR FOR YOURSELF; FOR IT IS ASSURED- I WILL FIND YOU. TAKE NO HOPE EITHER, FOR I, THE SIRE OF ALL HELLS AND ALL DAYS OF WRATH, WILL COME TO YOU WITH MY OWN RESERVED FIRE. YOU HAVE MY PROMISE, DARLING. ALL HELLS WILL WEEP AT SOUND OF YOUR NAME, FOREVERMORE."

Vehemence is an odd existence, even among the rallied Storykin. He is a being of magnamity, but plays an ever-so silent role in whatever tale he finds himself in. He oft tries to remember how he became, or how he rose to his place of power, but finds much trouble in his memories' pursuit. He thinks he was birthed originally as the fire of rage which sprout from the first god's conflicts; but he cannot say which one he came forth from. He can only remember the emotion, the committed violence, and the surge of power which formed into what he is now.

Vehemence found fun, and profound purpose inside of recreating his own birthed existence. Over time, he found himself sitting aside the storykin, watching them as they went about their rounds, and wanted to see something new. So he did what he only knew to do. He incited himself upon their story, and begat inflamed conflict, which begat chaotic force rising; which in turn begat maelstromic climax the likes of which no party involved had ever experienced. Vehemence was addicted.

When he learned how, through many years before years began, he learned to tamper and permeate the boundary between tale and 'the real'. He secretly unleashed his claw upon Golarion, and begat hate, which begat violence, which begat vengeance, which begat skirmish, which begat confrontation, which begat assassination, which begat war. In this new world, Vehemence began to feel his essence fade as he 'blessed' his chosen with his gift. Through trial, error, and epiphany, just as he learned everything he knew, he began to drink the blood of those who he marked as their acts begat their damning deaths, and it renewed him. In the years becoming he grew further in strength and state, and in the exhange of kingdoms physical somehow there was translated estate in the myth, and as Vehemence went to conquest, and drank his vile wines, he found himself with a crown of power, as the King of all children of pride, for those children were the same who were so easy to surrender and pray to his power. He enjoyed his silent status for years beyond years, and began to attribute ALL conflicts of all planes to his own doings.

Then the destruction came.

When hit with the rest of the Storykin as the Destruction swept them up, the reclusive King of Pride was left with naught but a keen edge of poetic justice: He who touched hearts and made them give away to destruction was destroyed himself by being given a gift: A mysterious still-beating heart attached to a chain. He awoke to his towers evaporated, his serpents nowhere to be seen, and his crown missing from his head. No effects, no servants, no powers. He only had this wretched heart. Within his own heart brewing his own saga of pure revenge, and in his many outbursts in the wake of trying to cope with his new reality, he for the first time in his life became quiet, sullen and vulnerable.

In this moment he listened. He heard the chained heart, still beating, and his own heart-like figment, beating, and felt something new. Peace, even amidst the destruction of his whole life. This moment lasted for but half a second, but its mark upon Vehemence was stronger than any mark which he had inflicted on any heart in his past. He would forever deny it, but this thing which he was given gave him a sort of joy he had ne'er had in his eternal existence of ne'er-do-welling. As the moment past, he reasoned that this heart was unto him an open challenge from his crown-thief; to find the one who cut their heart out to steal his crown, and clash inside of the same warfare which Vehemence himself was borne from, and was called to bring forth. The rage of Vehemence has ne'er been seen such as this, neither in potency of malice or volume of fire, or breadth of impatience.

In secret moments, however, Vehemence's heart falls into infatuated obsession with this chained heart given him. There are times he will dream, and in his vision he will see the bearer of that chained heart, and within he sees no foe, but a woman beyond his power's touch; a lover inside his dreams who has become his reality's crutch.

Vehemence is at heart one who seeks peace for all, although his definition of peace is indefinitely ever-changing. He feels the ache of the hearts of those he sees, and with a sort of warped compassion meets their need with flame imbued to their souls, that they may be enabled to do what they need to to absolve their problem. He is impartial and fair, but wholly cruel. He will give arms of heart to both the murderer and the revenger, the oppressor and the redeemer. This is his work from birth, and in it he takes great delight; he finds great joy and fulfillment of vicarious violence, but not just for violence's sake, but for the profound valor which can finally be actualized in the hearts of his marked chosen. He is the antagonist borne of altruism.

However, there are long bouts in which Vehemence will possess the subjectivity of those he marks, and takes for himself their passion, and revels in their triumphs and defeats, for his own vanity and pleasure. This vain chaos also subsumes his actions when he partakes in the blood of those he blesses. He will send men to their doom, and take extreme joy in their suffering. Not because he is inherently a sadist, but because the doomed chosen was able to fight for what they believed in. However, he certainly does revel in their defeat, for he revels in each moment and aspect of conflict, for conflict is who he is. Within Vehemence is an intricate interplay of cruel impartial compassion and a certain transcendent lust for blood and war.

His other trait of reknown is his egomania. Unlike other fey, who trick and hide their origins, Vehemence will not conceal his fearsome proportions and person, for he deems himself the king of all children of pride. While he plays his silent role throughout all of time, his nature and existence will not allow for any pretense of weakness; therefore he must keep himself above all, at all times. His secret name is Livyahtannim.

A new thing is taking place within his ancient soul, however. He is being romanced by one he wholly does not know, who is evoking from his ferocity a sort of holy tranquility. There are flitting moments where one may see it, if they know him well enough, and look close enough.

Job 41

Jehovah, to Job
“Can you draw out Leviathan with a hook,
Or snare his tongue with a line which you lower?
Can you put a reed through his nose,
Or pierce his jaw with a hook?
Will he make many supplications to you?
Will he speak softly to you?
Will he make a covenant with you?
Will you take him as a servant forever?
Will you play with him as with a bird,
Or will you leash him for your maidens?
Will your companions make a banquet of him?
Will they apportion him among the merchants?
Can you fill his skin with harpoons,
Or his head with fishing spears?
Lay your hand on him;
Remember the battle—
Never do it again!
Indeed, any hope of overcoming him is false;
Shall one not be overwhelmed at the sight of him?
No one is so fierce that he would dare stir him up.
Who then is able to stand against Me?
Who has preceded Me, that I should pay him?
Everything under heaven is Mine.
“I will not conceal his limbs,
His mighty power, or his graceful proportions.
Who can remove his outer coat?
Who can approach him with a double bridle?
Who can open the doors of his face,
With his terrible teeth all around?
His rows of scales are his pride,
Shut up tightly as with a seal;
One is so near another
That no air can come between them;
They are joined one to another,
They stick together and cannot be parted.
His sneezings flash forth light,
And his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.
Out of his mouth go burning lights;
Sparks of fire shoot out.
Smoke goes out of his nostrils,
As from a boiling pot and burning rushes.
His breath kindles coals,
And a flame goes out of his mouth.
Strength dwells in his neck,
And sorrow dances before him.
The folds of his flesh are joined together;
They are firm on him and cannot be moved.
His heart is as hard as stone,
Even as hard as the lower millstone.
When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid;
Because of his crashings they are beside themselves.
Though the sword reaches him, it cannot avail;
Nor does spear, dart, or javelin.
He regards iron as straw,
And bronze as rotten wood.
The arrow cannot make him flee;
Slingstones become like stubble to him.
Darts are regarded as straw;
He laughs at the threat of javelins.
His undersides are like sharp potsherds;
He spreads pointed marks in the mire.
He makes the deep boil like a pot;
He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
He leaves a shining wake behind him;
One would think the deep had white hair.
On earth there is nothing like him,
Which is made without fear.
He beholds every high thing;
He is king over all the children of pride.”

Vehemence is missing his crown; his kingship and the domain of power which it once held. He is missing his potency, and his very nature is being challenged. He is starting to 'fade', as it were, and while he still contains no mercy, passivity is beginning to creep into his being, strangling his fire slowly. Seemingly, his source is flickering.

Most of all however, Vehemence is missing those tender parts of existence which gives his own vehemence meaning, though he might not understand that himself.

Character Sheet

Vehemence
CN Conceptkith Skald, Level 2, Init +3, HP 18/18, Speed 20
AC 17, Touch 11, Flat-footed 16, CMD 15, Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +2, CMB +4, Base Attack Bonus 1
Masterwork Greatsword +5 (2d6+4, 19-20/x2)
Masterwork Breastplate (+6 Armor)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 12, Con 12, Int 10, Wis 9, Cha 18
Condition None