Voichita "Voica" Crudo's page

Patient name: Unknown.

Age: Estimated early 20s.

Height: 5’8’’

Sex: Female.

Race: Human. No obvious foreign ancestry.

Physician: M. Barnellus, M.D.

Physical description: Given the patient’s chief complaint, she unable to provide her name, date of birth or other identification, I have been advised to include a brief physical description to her file. Visiting consultants may reference this to confirm they are examining the correct subject, and such details should be disseminated in the unlikely event of an escape from Briarstone. So: the patient is a woman, estimated to be in her early twenties. She is dark of hair with pale grey eyes. I hesitate to describe her complexion as the patient’s secondary complaint renders it subject to change and any description of it thus irrelevant or even misleading for the future reader. Suffice to say it has been overtaken by a yet unidentified malady of the skin leaving her colour ashen, bordering on bloodless, with frequent weeping abscesses that leave scarring. For illustrative purposes, it may help to know that another inmate gave her the unkind moniker of “Lady Scabs”.

Missing second molar on lower left side, teeth otherwise healthy. The patient’s build and features are plain. Excepting her skin condition, she would not look out of place among your average farmhands. Hands and feet are rough, evidencing extensive travel, physical labour or both (note: inconsistent with weak limbs; muscular atrophy?). Nothing in her aspect reveal her as anything other than natively Ustalavic. Her accent in particular has been my best clue to her identity as it is, to my ear, that of the eastern country. Specifically, one attending nurse assured me how this cadence is that of the county of Varno; the nurse in question has family there. Inquiries into local missing persons matching the patient’s description proved futile.

Past medical history: Unknown.

Family history: Unknown.

Social history: Unknown.

Obstetric history: N/A.

Diagnoses: Patient presents classic retrograde amnesia. Consistent with other such cases, while long-term memory is impacted, the subject’s ability to form new memories remains. The severity of her condition is more unusual, however. Case studies exist describing victims of RA unable to recall months or even years leading up to onset. Yet this patient appears to have suffered a near complete autobiographical memory loss; every recollection of her life is lost to her. If the patient is to be believed, she cannot remember her name, parents, place of birth nor any single instance of her existence prior to arrival at Briarstone.

All the more curious then that while her explicit memory is erased, her implicit memory appears wholly intact. Hers is not an infant’s mind in an adult’s body. The patient retains use of the Common tongue and fluidly so. She identifies herself as human with understanding of what this implies. She recognizes that she is in the nation of Ustalav though not exactly where. If my scholarly reader will permit me a bit of prose, she has retained every facet of the stage play, but forgotten her own part in it.

The patient’s amnesia being purely autobiographical agrees with test results. Her procedural memory seems intact; when presented with cutlery, for example, she grasped these with practised hands. Intellectual faculties appear similarly unaffected, although such tests are of course inherently limited without knowledge of the patient’s mental history. As of yet I have been unable to ascertain what trauma, whether physical, emotional or magical, brought on this complete loss of self-identity.

Distressing as the subject’s mental condition is, I hesitate to write how some at the asylum are more concerned at her physical condition. Patient presents with severe full-body eczema or dermatitis. Symptoms include rashes, weeping sores and an unnatural, sickly pallor. To my shame, the exact nature of her condition proves both elusive and resistant to all mundane treatment. My curatives failing like so many spears against a castle wall, I admit to having capitulated to the desperate measure that is magic and made a requisition for priestly aid. The adage tells us that misery loves company, yet I take no pleasure in writing that the cleric’s miracles failed just as I had. I can only conclude that the subject’s skin condition is unnatural in origin, perhaps even a curse. However unlikely it may seem, I am forced to speculate whether it is related to the chief complaint of amnesia.

Postscript: Upon first being admitted, the patient was placed in quarantine for fear of a virulent outbreak. Fortunately, though her skin affliction is stubborn it proved non-contagious. Less fortunate is how being kept in solitary confinement during such an early stage of her amnesia – alone, confused and all notion of self-identity lost - seems to have left trauma to her psyche.

Post-postscript: Been informed by nurse staff that patient displayed convulsions, vomiting, fever and insomnia during quarantine period. Were assumed evidence of sickness. I now suspect withdrawal symptoms from drug abuse. Should have been told earlier.

Psychiatric evaluation: Patient presents as vulnerable and confused. Her sickly coloration and ailing demeanour inspire pity in the nurses and suspicion in fellow inmates. Body posture and attitude convey an underlying meekness. Not congruent with facial expressions which at times reveal harder, more wilful character. I cannot determine whether this incongruity is due to her guarding her true temper with me, or if the patient has some hidden tenacity forgotten to even herself. Associations and judgement are intact and logical. Patient is keenly aware of her loss of identity and greatly troubled by it.

Initial contact proved difficult. First meeting took place after her allotted solitary quarantine, a period in which the patient saw no one and her amnesia afforded her no frame of reference for her admittance. Without any knowledge of where or who she was, the subject had misconstrued her room for a jail cell, casting me as her jailor. She was agitated and uncooperative, though not unduly so given the disorientation brought on by her amnesia. She was also remorseful, however, which I find of special interest. Delusions of persecution invariably frame the sufferer as an innocent wrongly tormented by villainous forces. By contrast, the patient seemed convinced she had been imprisoned for some crime of which she was wholly guilty.

This alerted me to another curious aspect of her RA: how despite not remembering the events of her life, she still feels the emotions attached to said events. The reader must forgive me for resorting to metaphors once again, but her mind can be compared to a still lake disturbed by a leaping trout: she may not know the nature of the fish, yet she feels the resulting ripples. As an example, later conversations expounded upon the aforementioned sense of guilt. In querying of potential kin who may be missing her, the patient grew noticeably more reticent, asserting that even should such family members exists, she would not wish to see them just as they would not wish to see her. Even without any recollection of her family, lingering emotions associated with them were such that she could state this with some conviction. Of course, without knowledge of the patient’s history, it is impossible to say whether these emotional ‘ripples’ are truly connected to her blood relations, or simply a person or persons her mind associates with the notion of family. On this point she herself displayed considerable distress at her own ignorance. Nevertheless, the patient’s mood remains deeply consumed by these twin sentiments of guilt and bitterness. She has, to paraphrase her own words, both committed some great wrong and been wronged herself.

Memory loss and its accompanying anxiety aside, I would characterize the patient as essentially humble of soul and sensible of mind, admirably so given the circumstances. And yet there are, as previously noted, times when this character gives way to something headstrong, even obstinate. The chief example occurred during the abovementioned visit by the priest requisitioned to dispel her skin affliction. On this occasion the local Pharasmin was sombre in conduct, as is their way, but on the whole agreeable. The patient too appeared initially grateful for his visitation. However, she quickly grew standoffish – nay, rude – upon learning of the cleric’s faith. I paraphrase once more, but she shared a sentiment akin to, “Why do you defy your Lady of Fates who decreed this suffering my fate to bear?” The patient went on to insinuate the goddess responsible for untold misfortune, to my understanding on a universal scale. As might be expected, the Pharasmin took offence. In the interest of fairness, I don’t suspect the priest of subsequent foul play or intentionally mismanaging the magic meant to cure her. I am no practitioner, but to my eye he put every effort into his vocation. Nevertheless, the spell, as previously described, failed. Once the apologetic priest had departed, I asked the patient where her vitriol for the man stemmed from. She could not say yet felt ashamed after the fact. She recognized that the cleric had done nothing to earn her ire, and still “a well, like bile rising in the throat, swelled up inside me at the sight of him.” She was greatly upset at not knowing where this bias of hers originates.

Postscript: Have examined belongings patient was found with. Her knapsack has all the necessities of a vagabond. Secret pocket inside. Found the unholy symbol of accursed Urgathoa. Must think on whether to contact authorities.

Among the many vineyards of Ustalav's southeastern county of Varno, only true wine aficionados can name the Crudo estate. Their vintages are too variable year on year - some good, some terrible - to bear mentioning in wine circles. In truth, the Crudos are not wholly to blame for their middling drops. The vineyard's soil is less than ideal and their funds limited. Really, what few bottles of merit were ever produced there owe everything to the efforts of one man: the patriarch of the family, a man a young Voichita was proud to call her grandfather.

This patriarch's wine was a labor of love. Even without the right soil, even without the necessary tools, he toiled year in and year out to craft the best possible vintage he could. It was a passion passed on to his granddaughter. To her, he was an ideal, a star. He was her everything and she loved him even as she wanted to one day be him, to take up the trade herself.

The rest of the Crudos were not so enthusiastic. The vineyard, like so many passion projects, was thought a fool's errand. In the wine world, their produce was largely ridiculed if spoken of at all, and the family coffers yawned perpetually empty. Still, the land itself could be worth a pretty penny to the right buyer, as would the patriarch's well stocked wine cellar. The Crudos wanted to sell. And they found their opportunity one year when the old man was unable to protest. He fell ill, deathly so. Age and too many seasons of hard labor with little help but a devoted granddaughter had worn the man down. In his bedridden state, he could do nothing as the family went to work selling the vineyard.

Voichita was aghast. But what could she do, a lone girl against her own? What but pray? She prayed to Pharasma, mother of souls and patron of the nation, to not claim her grandfather yet. But she heard no answer. She prayed to Desna, benevolent free spirit and patron of their ancestors, to help her grandfather regain his strength. But she heard no answer. This is when, desperate as she was, Voichita prayed to a darker god. Ustalav's long history is marked by horrors and sinister forces, none more terrible than the Whispering Tyrant who introduced the land to the rule of the grave risen. It is a legacy that survives to this day where every Ustalavan knows of - and knows better than to speak of - the accursed god of these walking dead: Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess, the origin of undeath.

She alone answered Voichita's prayers.

It is tempting to chide the girl for heeding the dreams that now assailed her nightly. Yet blame is a crooked blade. Who is to say whether she fully comprehended the ramifications of the bargain offered? Then again, perhaps she understood perfectly. The Lady of Unspeakable Excess rules over death and disease, so it is well within her power, perfectly within her purview even, to cure an ailing grandfather. Whatever the case, Voichita was desperate. She would accept any help offered, whatever the conditions. And so she set to make the sacrifice demanded by the goddess.

The Crudos awoke in the night. The clatter of breaking glass along with the hooting and hollering of a great revel were heard throughout the estate. The alarmed family soon found the cause. Down in the wine cellar was every rowdy village youth from the better part of the county, all drunk as the proverbial skunk. It was as disorderly a gathering as only the folly of youth can provide, base and vulgar. The fuel driving the orgiastic bacchanal was none other than the Crudo patriarch's wine collection. The goodly elder being a wine lover, this collection comprised more than a few prized vintages, bottles that would fetch high prices at auction. It was part of the inheritance the family had so lusted over. Now it was being consumed like cheap swill by youth unable to distinguish a cherished vintage from prune juice. And right in the middle of it was an insensate Voichita. It was obscene. It was hedonistic. It was wanton. It was to Urgathoa's taste.

The aftermath was severe. The family was horrified. The village was horrified. Talk spread of a fortune drunk away, as did stories of youth corrupted and led astray by the Crudo girl. A witch, they called her, in league with the Pallid Princess, evidenced by the boils that now spread over her once so fair skin. Yet Voichita was elated. Because Urgathoa had kept her word. The goddess had exchanged one ailment for another. Before she could recover from her hangover, her first and worst, young Voica saw her grandfather rise from what should have been his deathbed. Only for him too to be appalled at what his granddaughter had done.

The rest is history. Voichita was cast out from her family and driven from the village. Embittered and alone, she found solace in the only stock who would welcome her now: the accursed cult of the goddess. There she fell further into depravity, sampling the many excesses espoused as all worth living for by the Lady of Despair.

Of course, such a life does not come cheap - ironically so among worshippers of undeath. And so a more experienced Voichita, now a full-fledged priest, might offer her services to wealthy clients. Clients such as a certain strange count of Versex.

Voichita "Voica" Crudo
Female human Cleric of Urgathoa
23 Years of Age
N medium humanoid [human]
Init +4; Senses - Perception +9
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Defense
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AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 armor, +2 Dex)
HP 10 (1d8 + 2 Con mod)
Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +6 [+1 vs polymorph, petrification, transmutation]
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Offense
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Speed 20 ft. [medium encumbrance]
Weapon: club, -1 attack (1d6-1), bludgeoning
Weapon: sickle, +2 attack (1d6-1), slashing
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Statistics
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Str 8 (-1), Dex 14 (+2), Con 15 (+2), Int 13 (+1), Wis 18 (+4), Cha 18 (+4)
Base Atk +0; CMB -1; CMD 11
Feats: Channeling Variance (disease), Selective Channeling
Drawback: Scarred [–5 Disguise, –2 Bluff; less scarred, more leper-like]
Traits: Acolyte of Apocrypha [domain access], Reactionary [+2 initiative], Sacred Conduit [+1 channel DC], Sensitive Mind [+1 Appraise, Perception, Sense Motive; Perception class skill; Psychic Sensitivity 1/week]
Skills [2 class, 1 Int, 1 FC, 1 skilled bonus]: Diplomacy +8, Heal +8, Know (religion) +5, Perception +9, Sense Motive +9
B. skills: Appraise +6, Lore (wine) +5
Languages: Common, Varisian
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Wealth [started with average for class, 140 gp]
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Adventuring Gear: club, sickle, leather armor
Other Gear: backpack (m)*, cleric kit, potion of Cure Light Wounds, vial of alchemist's fire, wine (bottle, fine)
Weight: 58/30* lbs.
Coin: 3 gp
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Magic
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Orisons: Create Water, Light, Read Magic
1st: Bless, Cause Fear + Remove Fear
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Special Abilities
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Class: aura (NE); channel energy (negative, 1d6, DC 16, 7/day); spontaneous casting; domains (Death - Undead, Liberation - Self-Realization)
Racial: bonus feat; skilled

Death’s Kiss (Su): You can cause a creature to take on some of the traits of the undead with a melee touch attack. Touched creatures are treated as undead for the purposes of effects that heal or cause damage based on positive and negative energy. This effect lasts for a number of rounds equal to 1/2 your cleric level (minimum 1). It does not apply to the Turn Undead or Command Undead feats. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Wisdom modifier.

Perfected Form (Su): You maintain an unshakable sense of who you are, and no force can compel you to be anything else. You gain a +1 sacred (if your patron is good or neutral) or profane (if your patron is evil) bonus on saving throws against polymorph, petrification, and transmutation effects. This bonus increases by 1 for every 5 cleric levels you have (maximum +5). Once per day when you succeed at a saving throw against such an effect, you can gain a surge of self-confidence as an immediate action that grants you a number of temporary hit points equal to your cleric level and a +2 morale bonus on attack rolls, skill checks, and saving throws; both effects last for 1 minute.