About VeronicaOffense:
- Melee - Heavy Pick +1<+2> (1-handed): +11/+6 (1d6 + 4) 20 x4 Heavy Pick +1<+2> (2-handed): +11/+6 (1d6 + 5) 20 x4 Power Attack: -2 to hit, +4 damage, +6 two-handed damage Smite Evil: +6 to hit, +3 damage (+3 more on first hit if dragon, outsider, or undead), bypasses DR - Ranged -
CMB: 9 (7 base attack, 2 str)
Defense:
AC: 20 (10 base, 1 dex, 7 <8> armor, 1 ring) [+1 w/shield] [+5 deflect vs Smite Target] Touch AC: 12 (10 base, 1 dex, 1 ring) [+6 deflect vs Smite Target] Flat Footed: 19 (10 base, 7 <8> armor, 1 ring) [+1 w/shield] [+6 deflect vs Smite Target] CMD: 20 (10 base, 7 base attack, 2 str, 1 dex) Fort: 14 (3 Paladin, 1 Oracle, 1 Holy Vindicator, 2 Con, 6 Divine Grace, 1 ring)
Immunities: Fear, Disease Fire Resist: 1 (1 Paladin Favored Class)
Combat Roll Templates:
Attack - Pick - One Handed [dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (one-handed) <Base, Weapon, Str>]1d20 + 11 + 2 + 2[/dice] [dice=Damage - Heavy Pick (one-handed) <Base, Weapon, Str>]1d6 + 2 + 2[/dice] [dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (one-handed) <Base, Weapon, Str>]1d20 + 6 + 2 + 2[/dice] [dice=Damage - Heavy Pick (one-handed) <Base, Weapon, Str>]1d6 + 2 + 2[/dice] [dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (one-handed, power attack) <Base, Weapon, Str, power attack>]1d20 + 11 + 2 + 2 - 2[/dice]
[dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (one-handed, power attack, smite) <Base, Weapon, Str, power attack, smite>]1d20 + 11 + 2 + 2 - 2 + 6[/dice]
Attack - Pick - Two Handed
[dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (two-handed, power attack) <Base, Weapon, Str, power attack>]1d20 + 11 + 2 + 2 - 2[/dice]
[dice=Attack - Heavy Pick (two-handed, power attack, smite) <Base, Weapon, Str, power attack, smite>]1d20 + 11 + 2 + 2 - 2 + 6[/dice]
Attack - Composite Longbow
[dice=Attack - Composite Longbow (smite) <Base, Weapon, Mighty/Str, smite>]1d20 + 11 + 1 + 2 + 6[/dice]
Skills:
Climb +5 (1 rank, 2 str, 3 class skill, -1 breastplate) Craft (Cloth) +7 (1 rank, 1 int, 3 class skill, 2 MW handloom) Diplomacy +16 (7 ranks, 6 cha, 3 class skill) Disguise +7 (1 rank, 6 cha) Handle Animal +11 (2 ranks, 6 cha, 3 class skill) Heal +11 (8 ranks, 0 wis, 3 class skill) [+2 from healer's kit] [+3 if treating Deadly Wounds] Knowledge (History) +5 (1 rank, 1 int, 3 class skill) Knowledge (Nature) +6 (2 ranks, 1 int, 3 class skill) Knowledge (Religion) +6 (2 ranks, 1 int, 3 class skill) Knowledge (Planes) +6 (2 ranks, 1 int, 3 class skill) Perception +0 (0 ranks, 0 wis) Perform (Chant) +10 (1 rank, 6 cha, 3 class skill) Ride +4 (1 rank, 1 dex, 3 class skill, -1 breastplate) Sense Motive +0 (0 ranks, 0 wis) Spellcraft +9 (5 ranks, 1 int, 3 class skill) Survival +6 (3 ranks, 0 wis, 3 class skill) [+2 to most things from MW Survival Kit] Stealth +0 (0 ranks, 1 dex, -1 breastplate) Swim +5 (1 rank, 2 str, 3 class skill, -1 breastplate) Traits & Abilities:
Traits Focused Disciple: When weaker wills falter, you keep a clear mind. You gain a +2 trait bonus on saving throws against charm and compulsion effects. Magical Knack (Oracle): You were raised, either wholly or in part, by a magical creature, either after it found you abandoned in the woods or because your parents often left you in the care of a magical minion. This constant exposure to magic has made its mysteries easy for you to understand, even when you turn your mind to other devotions and tasks. Pick a class when you gain this trait—your caster level in that class gains a +2 trait bonus as long as this bonus doesn't raise your caster level above your current Hit Dice. Oracle
Paladin
Holy Vindicator
Feats:
Human) Selective Channel 1) Alignment Channel (Evil) 3) Power Attack 5) Greater Mercy 7) Lunge ring) Deepsight Consumables and Limited Abilities:
Wand of Comprehend Languages: 48/50 Channel [3d6] <DC 18>: 3/7 Lay On Hands [1d6 & Remove Fatigue | 2d6]: 5/7 Smite Evil 1/1 Spend Swift for Move 1/1 Cold Iron Arrows: 20/20
Spells:
Per Day 1: 4/8 2: 3/5 Known
Current Effects:
Headband of Alluring Charisma +2 (included in all stats) Ring of the ??? Charisma +2 (included in all stats) Real Description:
Veronica stands around 5'9", with long wavy dark-brown hair (usually in a single braid), faded amber eyes, and dusky skin covered in thin scars. Two sets of scars stand out in particular: Each eye is surrounded by a thick scar that ends in a sharp point swept towards the temple and in the middle of her forehead is a brand showing a sword circled by five wings. Real Outfit:
Her clothes consist of a simple set of light grey robes made from roughly twisted linen cords. Over that she has strapped a breastplate that shines with the blue-silver sheen of mithril, the edges of it engraved with winged beings wielding swords. Upon her head rests a metal coif mounted atop white linen, while her arms and legs are covered with light brown leather plated in the same silvery-blue metal. Her woolen cloak is white with gold embroidery along the edges. Upon her back rests a simple leather backpack. She walks with a slight limp, using a large pick as a cane, her hand resting upon the top of the hefty head, her fingers curled around the flat back of it while the bladed fluke juts behind her.
Disguise:
Her disguise is mostly the same with a few exceptions: the armor is gone, her cloak no longer has the gold embellishments, and her pick looks more like a walking cane than a weapon. Upon her head rests a thin linen headband circles by a thin, dull chain. The largest change by far is that the scars are gone, replaced instead by smooth skin, though her eyes still appear faded.
Personality:
Veronica is a kind woman with a passion for helping others. She tends to ask rather than order and to praise rather than chide. But if her ire is raised then she can easily become cold and biting. When she is given a task she attends to it with the utmost attention, and believes that shirking one's duties, especially if others depend on them, to be a grave flaw in one's moral character.
Background:
A small group of priests and warriors wandered through the cold Frostfangs, the blood of their recent defeat still wet on their robes and tabards. "I tell you, it isn't the unholy power that makes them strong, for even we simple mortals can channel faith enough to match them. If we have failed then it is because our faith is weak..." argues a young priest with several prominent scars along his face, his robes covered in spots of dried blood. "It isn't just about faith, for the devils are beings constructed of faith itself, though a very twisted version of it. Besides, common people can't be expected to keep their faith as they see their friends and family being ripped limb from limb. We are supposed to keep them from having to face such trials." replied a tall middle aged man, his tabard emblazoned with a sword surrounded by a ring of wings formed of flame. "But it is their lack of faith that allows the devils to run rampant and that swells the ranks of the army of sin. Ilmater knows that we've tried to calm their fear, and I know that all of you have been trying to instill their hearts with Ragathiel's flame, but they are only human, as are we." The two had been arguing for what seemed like miles, and finally the oldest amongst them, a tall man with a white beard and shining armor, spoke up. "Neither of you is wrong, but you argue over problems, not solutions. Zeal is on both sides of this war, the difference being that we sacrifice our strongest to protect our weakest. While this may inspire the weak to holy vengeance, their fury can not make up for the lost accumulation of knowledge, wisdom, and power that inspired it." A second elder, this one in dirty and frayed robes, harumphed in distaste. "The strong sacrifice for the weak. This is the way of things, and it is this nobility that makes us pure, makes us right. And while these are desperate times... we have not won if the price of victory is our own purity." The armored one raised his hand in a calming motion. "Settle yourself brother, I meant to suggest no such dishonor... But as you said, these are desperate times. Things need to change, and while I will not sacrifice an innocent... If more of our young ones had the bravery of your virtues... if more were willing to choose noble sacrifice... to offer their lives in service to the greater good... then we might have a chance." The second elder was quiet for a moment before responding "Yes, if one were to choose such a path, then I do not see a problem, and indeed, if we had more such noble men and women, then we might be in better shape... but such purity is unfortunately rare, especially amongst those raised in the ways of heathens. So to wish for such things is little more than an illusory comfort that we can ill afford at this time..." The armored elder gave little more than a nod as the younger acolytes glanced at each other, trying to learn from the wisdom of their elders. - - - - - The attack had come swiftly and had caught the group unaware. And in the aftermath the two acolytes kneeled over the bodies of their former masters, tears in their eyes and blood on their hands. And after they had said their prayers and buried their dead, they trudged off towards their destination in silence. That night they sat around the campfire and they talked of the state of the war, growing more and more angry as the night went on. "And again we have lost two of our great beacons, in return for much smaller flames. They understood the impact of such losses, and still they sacrificed themselves. Are we destined to choose between strength and purity? And if so, then how will purity ever defeat evil?" muttered the young warrior. For a moment the young priest was silent, contemplative. His thoughts churned on the meaning and drive of sacrifice, of purity, and of morality. Finally, he spoke, "Only we of faith understand the joy in sacrifice. The ways of the heathen world impart on people the belief that they, individually, are important, and sin and temptation occur in never ending cycles, the young exposed to the corruption of the old. Perhaps, if we were to raise young ones away from such impurity, then we could instill these divine concepts." It was the warriors time to be silent and think on words that seemed so true. "And if we instilled the importance of duty, and the gravity of the situation the world is in, then perhaps we would have the soldiers we need, those with strong faith, those with a zeal for vengeance, and those willing to give their lives for the war by choice.... to even the odds..." The priest nodded. "Yes... an order of holy martyrs..." The warrior softly replied "But... do we have time for that? It would take at least one, if not several generations for such a plan to have any effect... We may not last that long..." The priest shook his head. "We have time... The devils want slaves not corpses. Like an ember we can gently stoke the flames of faith, until the fire burns hot, and when the time is right, we can release it upon the world." "A cleansing of holy fire... of zealous faith... of the indomitable spirit of those of true purity. Yes, this we can do. And we shall have our vengeance for those who have fallen, and we shall show them all that their sacrifices, old and new, were not in vain." The warrior could feel his own fire being stoked again. And so they began laying down the foundation of their charter, a joint venture between those of the Holy Broken God and the Angel of Righteous Vengeance. Together they found a fortress in the mountains, long abandoned by those who had built it. And there they consecrated two chapels and named two orders: The Order of the Broken Shield and the The Order of the Tempered Blade. And it was there that they brought their most dedicated followers, people ready to give their lives for victory over evil, those who shared their vision of a mighty order of holy warriors, and those who would wear the title of martyr proudly. Several generations went by as the elders guided the beliefs of each new set of births. And with each generation the depth of sacrifice displayed by the youth grew. Only a few were sent out into the world as a test of the orders training. These warriors and priests would return bloody, scarred, and maimed, but still singing the praises of their faith and their dedication to this war and this world. - - - - - A rather young girl with long dark-brown hair in a tight braid sat on the edge of a wall, looking over the valley below while the cold wind of winter whipped around. Her exposed skin was starting to sting as her body tried to keep it warm, but the girl had sat out here many times and at this point the cold did not bother her or distract her from her thoughts. So which should I choose? The plow, the shield, or the blade? Girls usually pick the plough... but Ilmater's teachings do warm mine heart... and I'd like to be able to show everyone what good comes from purity... but I do enjoy my time in the fields and at the loom... Tomorrow the girl was to choose her role amongst the faithful, the same three choices each of her peers would make or had made. This choice would determine her training, her daily routine, and what restrictions would be placed upon her. This choice would effectively determine the state of the rest of her life, and would change it dramatically. There were those of the plow: people dedicated to domestic chores and child rearing. There were those of the shield: priests of Ilmater that took on the suffering of others and kept the soldiers healthy and ready to fight or train. And then there were those of the blade: The warriors whose job it was to protect the fortress, train the next generation of recruits, and eventually to head up the revolution against the fiends that had taken over this world. And as one might expect from such a young girl being asked to make such a big decision, she was not sure which was the better choice. And as she had been raised, she decided to ask a higher power. She clasped her hands together and started to take a kneeling position when she slipped and fell, cutting her arms and hands on the sharp rocks. There was no crying, no tears, only a brief sound of air sucked through teeth and a curious glance at her injuries. This... this is a sign... Yes, I know what I must do... - - - - - The young girl stood before three elders, one from each walk of life. They eyed her up and down, and she shivered slightly at all of the attention, trying to ignore the tickling sensation in her throat from the heavy incense of the brazier in front of them. The Elder Mother of the Plow stepped forward, a warm smile on a face wrinkled past its years. "I have seen thine hard work and the pride thou takest in said hard work. Thou hast never left a chore unattended nor have I had to keep more than a gentle eye on thee. If thou takest on our way of life then I am sure thou wouldst provide us with many beautiful children and that thou couldst provide them with great wisdom." Next limped forward the Elder Mother of the Shield, her face contained several fine scars and several of her fingers were missing. "Thou hast never missed a daily service, even when ill. Thou seemest to have enjoyed learning to read from our sacred texts, and I hear thou hast been trying to learn the tongue of angels. Finally, I see great compassion within thee. If thou choosest our way of life then thou willst see much difficulty, much pain and suffering. But thou willst learn to bear it, and in so thou willst find a happiness unmatched by those of the flesh, and when thy time on this world ends thou willst be eternally rewarded by our Lord Ilmater." Next a gruff looking man in golden armor stepped forward, clearly an Elder Father of the Blade. He was quiet for a moment before adding "Thou hast shown great endurance and a zeal that I could only wish to be found in others. Though I will admit I see more peace than war in thee. The life of a blade is one of clashing steel, hot fire, and eternal risk. But there is honor and glory as well. If thou leadest this life then at any moment thou mayst perish at the hand of thine enemy, but there is never a moment where thou wouldst not be able to hold thine head high." The girl looked over the faces of each of the elders and was quiet for a moment. Finally, she stepped forward and spoke in a strong voice "I choose the path of the shield." The Elder Mother of the Shield smiled a crooked smile and softly spoke. "And we welcome thee to our path. And in this walk with us thou shalt be known as Veronica. This day thou willst tell others of thy choice and gather thy things from the crèche. After the evening meal thou willst be shown to the cell of a neophyte. Tomorrow, thy training begins." - - - - - Veronica stood and looked over her ritual robes. The bright white linen was expertly embroidered with small delicate patterns lining the hems. On the back was the symbol of a rack, red threads just accentuating the blood decorating its edges. She smoothed the robe and readied herself for the ritual to come. Today is the day that I show my devotion. Today is that day that I set my first foot on the real path of suffering. She felt fear well up within herself and started to repeat the mantra that had been burned into her. Remember, the path of the martyr is the path to glory. The path of suffering is the path by which others learn. To take the suffering of others upon myself is to prove to the gods we are worthy. And in enduring I grow strong to relieve the suffering of more. The prayers brought her calm, both in their nature and in their promises. She took a deep breath and began heading towards the ritual chamber, stopping at the closed door before it. She stood there for a moment, repeating her prayers and calming her mind. The suffering of one mortal is minute compared to the suffering of the untold masses. And if this one can suffer for a time to prevent the suffering of others, to bring greater glory, then that suffering is but a small sacrifice. Again the calm came before her as she stepped into chamber. It was surprisingly empty, containing only a single Elder of the Shield and an Elder of the Blade, whose stained bandages still covered his eyes. She quietly walked towards her spot, the smell of incense filling her nostrils and her eyes falling to the brazier of hot coals and the silver dagger nearby, the symbol of Ilmater upon both of them. She stood upon the circle as the prayers echoed about them, the litany taking several hours, though for Veronica it felt like an eternity. And when the chants and rites were over, and it was time for the final ceremony. The blade was now red hot in the coals, and Veronica stepped forward, her prayers ringing in her head. The blade was brought high and the girl kneeled before the elder priest, silently muttering the prayers now. With a triumphant cry, the silver blade came down, the hot metal sizzling when the flat of it came into contact with her eyes, one and then the other. Tears ran down her cheeks as she contained her screams, releasing instead only soft whines and groans, biting her lip until it bled. And as the blade pulled away from her eyes, the sizzling stopped, but the shuddering of her body did not. Blood trickled from the edges of the wound, dripping upon the formerly white gown. The young one kept her head pointed upwards, holding her position, trying to use the prayers to calm her pain addled mind. The blade, now cooled by the girls skin and blood, was briefly touched to the bandage around the warrior’s eyes, before it was placed back into the coals. They waited, the priest singing prayers, the warrior trying to steady his anxiety, the girl trying to control her breathing. Finally, the priest saw the silver blade deform, its metal melting in the heat of the coals. His chanting softening, he reached over to slowly remove the bandages from the warrior. And when the last thin strip of cloth was gone the warrior opened his eyes, blinking in the brightness and clarity of it all. His hands traced the fresh scar the trailed from one side of his face to the other, including the thin line forming on his eyelids. The priest raised his hands high and shouted "And so the gifts have been exchanged, an eye for an eye!" He turned to the warrior, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thou hast received Ilmater's kindness, thy burdens removed that thou mayst continue in thy good service. Thy scars shall be a permanent reminder of what led thee here and to the blessings thou hast received." He then turned to the girl, his fingers threading through her hair as he grasped her head on both sides, the gentle contact bringing her a small measure of comfort. "And thou hast received Ilmater's trail. Today thou hast learned what real selflessness is. Thou hast experienced true sacrifice. This will be the trail that thee face for the rest of thy life, the grand test of thy soul. Pray, and find strength in the knowledge that thy selflessness helps others, that through thy strength you give him strength, and through thine example, we all may find inspiration and humility. Amen." The pain in her eyes had lessened to a sharp throbbing in time with her rapid heartbeat. She distracted herself from it by focusing on the priest's words and on the familiar coppery taste of blood in her mouth. When the final Amen came she pressed her wrists together in front of her as if bound, the traditional symbol of Ilmater, and then slowly stood. She had been given the rest of the day off to recover in prayer and meditation, so she waited for the priest to help her back to her room. But soon after she heard two pairs of footsteps leave the hall, and she felt that she was alone. That's right... this is my burden to bare, and I bear it alone... but through endurance I grow strong... She slowly started to shuffle down the aisle, feeling the pathway with her feet. It's funny... I've walked these halls so many times that I've often thought that I could navigate them with myne eyes closed... but now that I have no choice, the idea seems much more... difficult. Slowly, she made her way back to her room. After drinking some water she moved to her usual prayer corner. This time she held no scourge, she kneeled on no rice, nor did she bind her wrists with thorns. Instead, she simply kneeled, the hot rush of blood loud in her ears. If one can find peace in pain then one can find peace in all things...
The prayers echoed in her head until the pain seemed distant. Not reduced, for to reduce the pain would be against the point of the lesson, but until she could put it aside and focus on her own thoughts. And for the next few hours she kneeled, thinking about her sacrifice, about how it has most likely helped the fight to take their world back, about her future in that war, and about what other sacrifices she must make for the betterment of others. And as her thoughts slipped between topic and prayer they became less words and more thoughts, and then blurred into dreams. - - - - - Her vision did return, somewhat, over the next few weeks, though only somewhat: Her sight being tinted red and pulsing with her heartbeat. The more she tried to focus on the distance the more her vision distorted with each pump of her blood, the shake in her sight a constant reminder of the life she had in her, the life she still had to give. The praise for the event came much later, after it was obvious that she had not only made peace with her sacrifice, but was truly happy that she could help with the war. For the praise was not for the sacrifice itself, because anyone can lose their vision, but for the willingness to serve, to do whatever it would take to defeat the enemy. And it was from this praise that she was moved from the quarters of the neophytes and given the cell of an acolyte. There her training began in earnest as she learned how to harness her prayers, how to channel the life that flowed through all living things, and how to ease the pain of others. And it was there that she suffered, and in enduring suffering she grew stronger, both mentally and physically. The more she suffered the easier the mantras flowed, and the easier they flowed the more she could handle. And despite the groans of pain that echoed throughout the halls at night, despite the bandages that wrapped her limbs, or the coppery smell of blood that always seemed in the air, she slept better than she ever had, comforted by the thoughts of how she was making a difference, no matter how small it might be. - - - - - The training was intense but the miracles she could work were just as intense. When she wasn't in study or meditation she was working as a healer, curing and taking on the injuries of plow and blade alike. And after a few years she was given a special assignment: to go out into the world with a couple of warriors to make war with enemy encampments near the mountains. Veronica was happy to go, despite the harsh journey and having to be amongst the unfaithful. The soldiers she was escorting cared little for the people that they passed, looking only for enemies to hunt. Maybe it was the difference in their paths, but she pitied the sinners outside the keep's walls. She saw illness, suffering, and death, but she saw no satisfaction, no pride, no penance, and no virtue. They deserved better and she spent several nights hacking up illness that she had absorbed from farmers and labourers. It was not long before they had found prey that the warriors felt was appropriate: a small band of soldiers with an imp in lead. The battle was swift, the enemy unprepared for ones of their absolute conviction. Veronica had taken only a few small wounds, with only scratches left on the warriors. They returned home with their heads held high and smiles on their faces. - - - - - Veronica traveled with those two, the warriors Leilah and Zephon, several more times, each time returning victorious and proud. In fact, two years went by without major incident. Except for one. The trio had found a slave mine in the mountain uncomfortably close to the monastery. So they were dispatched to eliminate any trace of that group, and to attempt to free as many slaves as possible. Things had gone well, considering, and they had fought their way deep inside the mine, eliminating slaver guards and even a hellhound. They were injured, but also heading down the last unchecked tunnel in the mine. Unfortunately, what they found there was a bearded devil. The two warriors charged as Victoria prayed. Zephon struck true but Leilah was knocked aside, the glaive of the fiend nearly taking her leg off at the knee, her body sprawling back to one side of the excavated room. Veronica took off towards her, hoping to bring her back into the fight, when she felt a rush of heat and turned to see a gout of flame separate the fiend and Zephon. He clutched at his eyes, but even Veronica could see the devil readying to hurl his glaive. She ran and dove, but was too late, the sickening sound of steel through bone filling her ears. She felt fresh blood run from her chest over her heart, but she knew that Zephon was no more. I... I failed to protect him... He... he took that from ME! From US! She rose up and grabbed the first weapon she could find, an old, battered pick. She stepped with purpose towards the fiend, the pick starting to blaze with silver fire. The devil looked confused, stunned by this revelation. Tearing into a dash faster than she ever had before, Veronica threw herself at the beast. He tried to block the blow, but the pick went through hand and skull alike, the fiend bursting into a bright ball of silver flame. And then Veronica collapsed and the flame went out, leaving behind only a pile of ash. And Leilah, grasping at her wound, began to pray. - - - - - Several days later Veronica awoke on the floor in the chapel of Ilmater. There one of the priests explained what had happened, including reciting the tale of the silver fire and her strike against the fiend. The slaves they had rescued had managed to stabilize the two women and Leilah had managed to contact the order. But as she had felt, it was too late for Zephon, who had been cremated the day before. Afterwards, she was given water, bread, a hammer, and a chisel. No words had to be spoken, as she knew what was required of her. She walked through several hallways until she came to their largest commons room. There she looked upon the Wall of Glory, whereupon several hundred names were carved, each a brother or sister that had died in the name of service. She looked down at the bread and water, the dryness in her throat aching. But she was not to sate herself until the dead had been honored. She placed them upon the ground and took tool in hand, carefully chiseling Zehpon's name upon the wall. Looking over her work she spied several other Zehpons in that past, as well as several Veronicas. It wasn't the first time one of us died... and it won't be the last. She finished her carving and bowed her head in prayer, her fingers tracing the lines of the name. Oh Gods of grace and glory, please accept this valiant soul.
She leaned forward, kissed the name, and then stepped away. Gathering her food and water, she sat and ate while contemplating the wall. How many names are on this wall? Does anyone ever count them? And when we finally enter the sinful world and start the revolution to reestablish purity... how many more of us shall fall?... But how many people have been saved by each of these names? How much bigger is that list?... One life given willingly can easily save dozens... hundreds even... The longer this wall grows, so too does the our list of accomplishments... She finished the last of her water, saddened by the loss of her friend, but pleased that they had made the world a better place. She then returned to her room and rested, because for one of the Broken Shield, near death was not an excuse for neglecting one's duties. - - - - - A small group of elders congregated to talk about the happening at the mine. "I find this highly unusual, and rather irrespective of tradition..." spoke a man wearing grey robes, many scars covering has face. "While tradition is important an omen from the General of Vengeance such as this can not be ignored. The reports say she was covered in holy flame and felled the beast with a single blow." Spoke another man, his gold and silver armor sparkling in the candle light. "But could we be misinterpreting this? She wielded a mining pick, not a bastard sword. It could very well have been a symbol of Ilmater's wrath. After all, there were children amongst the slaves." countered the priest. "No, I do not believe that is possible. Veronica has always been the epitome of Ilmater's compassion, never his wrath. And Ilmater had no reason to manifest as divine fire. This was most definitely the work of our Angelic Lord." The priest crossed his arms and was quiet for a few moments. "And thou dost, in all honesty, believe she can serve as a warrior after all that we priests have instilled in her? Is she not too old, too focused on peace and compassion?" The armored one waved his gauntleted hand. "It would have been better to start with her being younger and fresh, but before the order people her age were still considered for training. And given such an omen, do we have much choice?" The priest gives a heavy sigh and closes eyes in prayer for a moment. "No, I guess we do not. Fine, I shall have her transferred to the squires at the end of the week. And until then I will make sure she takes on no grievous injuries. By the will of our Lords, so it shall be done." "May their Mercy and Righteous Fury guide us on our path." returned the warrior, bowing at the priest before taking his leave. - - - - - And so, Veronica was transferred to the path of the warrior, something that had happened very few times in the past. And given the circumstances of her transferal, she was told to train in the pick, the same weapon that had served her in the mine. At first, she was disheartened to see both that her peers were much younger than her and also far more successful at sparing. She felt as an outsider amongst them, so different both in mind and body. Often she found herself holding back, offering to heal another, or simply staying on the defensive. And all of these things she was punished for. But when a captured devil was brought in, then she showed her true colors. There was no hesitation there, no holding back. And when she stood over the corpse of her enemy, she felt something new, something exciting. What she felt was excitement, an adrenaline rush that flushed her whole body. Her only pleasures before had been vicarious, the knowledge that she was indirectly defeating the enemy. But here and now she could see the body, the enemy that would never again harm another living creature. And that knowledge that she had just made the world a better place not for one, but for potential hundreds, that gave her more satisfaction than she had ever expected. And so her training continued, this time with renewed vigor. And this time she rose through the ranks just as she had amongst the priests. And in time she was sent with others to do good works around the monastery. And as her skill grew, so did her pride. And as her pride grew, so did her righteousness. No longer simply an indirect force of good, she was now tempered steel, directed towards avenging those who suffered at the hands of their enemy. - - - - - Veronica looked over her armor in the mirror. The freshly polished steel that covered her from foot to chin was free of nicks and scratches thanks to magical repairs, and now much easier for her to wear. For a moment she looked over her figure, somewhat surprised by the change from the thin body she had before. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she dabbed a bit of holy oil upon her forehead. Feeling the thick stuff sitting in place, she grasped her hands, took a knee, and began to pray. Oh heavenly guardian Ragathiel.
She opened her eyes and stood, moving towards the ritual room, the same one that had taken her sight before. But this time there was no worry, no concern, and no hesitation. Two elder warriors stood around the central dais, their own golden armors shining brightly. Next to one of them was the same brazier, this time with a steel dagger in it, the tip of the blade already read hot. Without a word Veronica moved to the dais and dropped to her knees with a loud clank. She bowed to the elders, showing her supplication, before resting on her heels. "Squire Veronica, thou hast come before us today to make thy vows and to accept the marking of our path. Art thou prepared to choose such an endeavor? Art thou willing to give the entirety of thy being to the cause of righteous justice against those who have tainted this world and its people?" Veronica, her eyes full of determination, nodded and gave a clear "I am." The elder nodded back. "Then please recite thy vows." Veronica took a deep breath, feeling a warmth welling up within her as she recalled the oath each brother and sister of the tempered blade took, though in this case she was to add her vows as a broken shield as well. "My first allegiance is to the goodly gods of this world, that I may help restore their order.
By the time she was done tears started to run down her cheeks, her eyes filled with conviction. The elder brother placed a hand upon her cheek and softly spoke, "Very well, then thou art welcome to the order of the tempered blade, Sister Veronica." He turned to the one that had been silent up until this point. "Brother, if thou wouldst do her the honor of placing upon her the mark of the order." The silent one nodded and picked up the blade, now taking the position in front of the kneeling girl. He grasped her chin gently in hand and slowly brought the now white hot tip of the blade down upon her forehead. There was a distinct hiss, first from the holy oil and then from her skin. But there was no crying, no jerking away, and this time no blood or lip biting. In fact, this pain was easy to endure compared to the event with her eyes, and her training had progressed much since then. For nearly half an hour the silent elder worked, sometimes returning the blade to the coals for more heat. But when he was done the oil was gently wiped away. To Veronica it still felt like the blade was in her forehead, the seared wounds throbbing with her heartbeat. "Again, welcome, Sister Veronica. Come, let us take thee to thy room so that thou mayst meditate upon thy new vows." Said the presiding elder. She nodded and stood, mentally reciting her vows, the repetition distracting her from the pain. And when she was left alone in her room she took out a mirror to examine her new markings. Very carefully inscribed upon her forehead was the image of a sword circled by five wings, as if in a hexagon with the bottom point missing. She smiled, that warm feeling filling her again, as she thought over her accomplishments, both past, present, and future. - - - - - Several years went by as Veronica continued along her new path, including several ventures into the outside world, now as both warrior and healer. And again, they continued to be successful, always returning in victory, though not always flawless. One evening though, something unusual happened. The elders called together about twenty brothers and sisters, mostly warriors, and told them that the next morning they were to be embarking on an important mission. One of the farming towns nearby was about to be drafted into the army of Sin, and not simply some of them men, but the town in its entirety: men, women, and children. The elders said that the order could not stand for this, and that the gathered group was to go and free the townsfolk. The next day they all set out marching through the snow swept mountainside, quiet and in prayer. In all, even with their secret passages through the mountains, it took three days to reach the town. But what had seemed like a small contingent of soldiers had been a ruse and the brothers and sisters were quickly overwhelmed. And when the fight was over all lay dead. Well, all had been left for dead. Several days later Veronica awoke, nearly frostbitten by fresh snow. She quickly checked her former comrades before finding warmth and once she was sure she would lose no limbs she began to search the town. But she found no other survivors. She trekked back up the mountain, her heart heavy with their failure, prayers for forgiveness escaping her lips constantly during her journey. But she was not prepared for what she saw when she reached the monastery. Bodies were strewn about the courtyard, bodies of warriors, of priests, of workers, and the corpses of slain devils and black armored soldiers. Drawing her weapon, she began quickly searching the place for survivors or enemies, but neither were found. And in that moment, seeing the death of so many that she knew, she felt like her heart might burst. Collapsing upon her knees, she cried both for herself and for the world. - - - - - Once she had recovered, she began the process of gathering and cremating the bodies of her fallen kin, and tossing those of the invaders over the wall and to the rocky cliffs below. She made sure each and every one of her fallen received their funerary rights: every prayer, every sacrament, and every ritual. So for two days she burned bodies and performed rites. And then for three days she did nothing but carve the names of those she found upon the wall of glory. And in the process of this she realized that not all of her kinfolk had died, that a number of them, especially the elders, were unaccounted for. And so she searched for any signs of retreat, for any hints as to where they might be. But she was no tracker and found none; no signs of escape routes nor of being kidnapped. And so she sealed away what gear and relics were left behind and gathered some gear and supplies of her own. She stopped in each chapel, spending a day in prayer asking that the others of her order be kept safe, that they be guided, and that their mission and legacy live on. And with tears in her eyes, she left the only place she had called home behind. - - - - - It had been a fierce battle, one that Veronica was surprised that she had won. She had wanted to stop and perform last rites over each of the Army of Sin soldiers that she had killed, but her injuries were too severe, and the weather too cold, to chance being found by another patrol. She did her best to hide her trail as she limped off into the woods, clutching her cloak tightly around her, her teeth starting to chatter as she grew colder from ice, snow, and blood loss. And after wandering for some time, she stumbled upon the ruins of some long forgotten building, the stones overgrown with ivy and colored shards of glass barely sticking to the broken windows. She pushed the front door open, the old bronze hinges squealing and the bottom of the door dragging on the stone. Wooden tables and chairs, long since broken, littered the floor and mouldering remains of tapestries sat illegible on the walls. Is this place a church?... Or maybe a school?... Well, was... Either way, I'm not sure I can carry on much longer like this... I feel so cold... I just need to rest and warm myself up... I can't build a fire though... She sat back on the stone floor, leaning against a marble podium that had survived intact, drawing her legs to her chest and letting both of her cloaks surround her like blankets as she tried to watch the currently closed door. Silently she began to pray, asking for protection and for strength and energy. But as she kept praying she found herself starting to fall asleep, her eyes dipping closed before snapping open. The sound of chanting caused her eyes to snap open from the sleep that had apparently overtaken her. For a moment she was confused, because the stone of the ruins she had been in had been replaced by the stone of one of the commons rooms back in the monastery she had too recently fled. By the Gods... what has happened? She glanced down and saw the same blood stained clothes and armor that she had been wearing. Standing, she groaned at a pain she expected but that was not present. She realized that she felt warm and that her wounds had stopped bleeding. She began walking down the hall, towards the sound of the hymnals being chanted in Celestial. The music grew louder, and for a moment she wondered if maybe the destruction of her order and her travels since were just a fever dream from some fiendish poison. But when she reached the great hall she saw no priests nor singers, despite the chants echoing throughout the room. And in the center, upon the sacred altar, she saw a viper coiled about a bronze ring, its eyes staring intently at her. I've never seen a snake here before... is... is this a sign? But from who? She approaches the altar slowly, unsure if the meaning of this omen. But she drew comfort from the tones of the hymnals, and of the blissful warmth growing inside of her. Did... did I die? Is this my passage into the afterlife? She stares down at the serpent and the ring, feeling drawn to them. She closed her eyes and grasped her hands in silent prayer. Oh holy Gods above, please watch over me and guide me, that I might be shown the righteous path. When she looks again she feels that draw intensify, that comforting warmth in her soul intensifying. Slowly, she reaches for the ring, her gauntleted hand just brushing past the muzzle of the serpent. She clasps the ring and examines it, looking over the small piece of bronze, at the symbol upon it. Taking a deep breath, she removes her right gauntlet and places the ring upon her finger. That feeling of warmth and peace becomes more intense, her eyes closing to relish in the feeling swarming through her. And then she hears the sounds of crunching snow. Opening her eyes, she is back in the ruins, standing in front of the podium, a faint echo of the angelic chorus still in her ears. She quickly replaces her gauntlet over her new ring, smiling at the fact that her wounds seem to have healed. She grabs her pick and quietly sprints towards the door, reinvigorated and ready to face her new opponents. - - - - - She wondered for another year, healing the sick and fighting evil where she could. But in reality, she was aimless and unsure of herself. And no amount of praying would reveal to her a path. It was only after joining in with a troupe of performers that she got her first clue. Some of the musicians, late at night when no others were around and the bottles were mostly empty, would speak of an angel that was gathering warriors to repel the fiends. And so, after getting some more information from them, Veronica set off on her own again, hoping to find this angel-on-earth, and praying that they could show her the path she should be walking.
Special Gear:
Cloak of the Heavenly Host - Shield Cloak - 1000 - as a quickdraw shield - 50 - cleans itself each morning - 270 Total: 1320 Robe of the Traveling Painbearer
Holy Tome of Blood and Fire
Ring of the ???
Equipment List: Link |
