About Wesh MeloiStats:
Male Human Fighter (Barbarian VMC) HP 52
[dice=Greatsword Attack]d20+10-1[/dice]
Skills:
Adventuring Skills
Climb +11
Background Skills
Craft (weapons) +8
Gear:
Lamellar (steel) Longsword Masterwork Greatsword Cloak of Resistance +1 Potion of Cure Light Wounds 404.67 gp Fighter Class Features:
Weapon and Armor Proficiency A fighter is proficient with all simple and martial weapons and with all armor (heavy, light, and medium) and shields (including tower shields). Bonus Feats
Upon reaching 4th level, and every four levels thereafter (8th, 12th, and so on), a fighter can choose to learn a new bonus feat in place of a bonus feat he has already learned. In effect, the fighter loses the bonus feat in exchange for the new one. The old feat cannot be one that was used as a prerequisite for another feat, prestige class, or other ability. A fighter can only change one feat at any given level and must choose whether or not to swap the feat at the time he gains a new bonus feat for the level. Bravery
Armor Training (Ex): Starting at 3rd level, a fighter learns to be more maneuverable while wearing armor. Whenever he is wearing armor, he reduces the armor check penalty by 1 (to a minimum of 0) and increases the maximum Dexterity bonus allowed by his armor by 1. Every four levels thereafter (7th, 11th, and 15th), these bonuses increase by +1 each time, to a maximum –4 reduction of the armor check penalty and a +4 increase of the maximum Dexterity bonus allowed. In addition, a fighter can also move at his normal speed while wearing medium armor.
Barbarian VMC:
Rage: At 3rd level, she gains the rage class feature for a number of rounds per day equal to her Constitution modifier + her character level. Backstory:
As Wesh Meloi looks down at his glistening blade, fresh with blood, a stray thought crosses his mind. I haven’t always been a priest killer. Not that he regrets what he’s done. On the contrary, he’s just impressed with how far he’s come. He sees priest killing as his duty. His mission. As he stands over the body of his latest victim, he reflects back on what brought him to this point. ----- Wesh was born in the Heartland of Talingarde near the border with the Caer Bryr. He was the youngest of three children, born to a loving father and mother, Ibinell and Seril. Despite that fact, he never had a chance to personally experience their love. At least not the love of his father, anyway. He was only two when his father died, slain in an Iraen raid. His mother told him his father died bravely, defending Wesh, his siblings, and his mother. All Wesh knew was that the Talirean government did nothing to prevent the raid. To make matters worse, the death of Wesh’s father led the local Mitran priest, a man named Father Dindron, to take up the role of a father figure for Wesh and his siblings. Father Dindron was not a bad man, but Wesh spurned the man’s harsh punishments and unreasonable expectations. The priest, for his part, did everything he could to train Wesh up in the Mitran way, but the boy proved resistant to Dindron’s most rigorous efforts. Perhaps one could blame Dindron for what became of Wesh. But in truth, only Wesh could be blamed for what became of Wesh. ----- He wipes the blood from his blade and sheaths it in the scabbard on his back. Wesh looks down one last time at his handiwork. The priest hadn’t even seen him coming. Quite something considering the full plate Wesh is wearing. Drawing the blade across the priest’s throat is always the most satisfying part. Looking at the dying man as he tries to scream but only manages to gurgle is a close second. Shouts from outside the church draw Wesh from his reverie and he makes his way to the church’s rear entrance. He may have been too sloppy with this killing. The entryway to the church was well-lit, so townsfolk could easily have seen him enter. He had taken the chance anyway. He prides himself on avoiding killing women (unless they’re priests) and children, but he has grown bolder in recent days, striking at priests in larger and larger settlements. Confrontation is inevitable, sooner or later. Reaching the church’s rear door, Wesh slowly opens it and peaks out. He thinks of avoiding arrest as a game. It reminds him of a time when he was playing in a field with his brother and sister. ----- Wesh was only seven when happenstance gave him the chance to choose a path other than adoration of Mitra. His brother and sister, Nabeel and Sarila, were playing in a field with him when a small sinkhole opened. As angels, devils, or some other force would have it, Wesh was the only one who fell into the hole. Once inside, he was able to see his surroundings by the dim light streaming down from the sinkhole. His mouth fell open in shock at what he saw. Before him stood a profane shrine of Asmodeus. Wesh didn’t know that at the time, though. What made him gape was the skeletal body lying to the side of the shrine with a greatsword sticking out of it. The blade was rusted and had more than a few knicks along its length. Curiosity overcame Wesh’s better judgment and he approached the skeleton. In its hand was an old and dusty book. Picking up the tome, he found most of it was written in a language he didn’t understand. The last page, however, contained a few lines written in Common. It read:
May my last moments serve as a testament of my loyalty to Asmodeus and as a witness to whomever may come after me. Hail, Asmodeus! They are nearly here. They have come. Nothing else was written. Judging by the skeleton Wesh had found, the man’s fate had not been a good one. But Asmodeus! In shock at his own slow reaction, Wesh dropped the book to the ground. If there was one god Mitra and the Talirean government detested most, it was Asmodeus. Rushing back to where he fell, Wesh called for his siblings who quickly extricated him from the hole. Ashamed of what he had discovered, he lied and said that the hole contained nothing but dust and dirt. Despite his shame, curiosity won again a week later and he descended back into the hole. Over the next several months, he went to great lengths to learn to read the book he had found. He took what he thought was a relatively short and mundane page to Father Dindron, saying he had found it in a neighbor’s house. The neighbor was accused of blasphemy and sent to Branderscar Prison. Wesh only felt a little guilty. He thought that the information he uncovered from the book would more than make up for any suffering he might have caused. Eventually Wesh persuaded Father Dindron to teach him Infernal. He convinced the priest that he would need to know the language if he was expected to help find other heretics. With each passing week, Wesh learned more Infernal and in turn translated more of the book he had found. He didn’t dare bring it up from the sinkhole, but instead brought pen and journal down into the chamber and studied it in the privacy of the sanctum. He learned that the symbol on the shrine was that of Asmodeus and that the book he was reading was Asmodeus’s holy text, the Asmodean Monograph. He was especially fascinated by the sections that mentioned Moloch, the Lord of the Sixth and leader of Hell’s armies. Wesh was impressed with Moloch’s commitment to martial skill and to maintaining Hell’s armies. If anyone could stand up against Mitra and the government of Talingarde, it was Moloch. Still, despite his admiration for Moloch, Wesh knew it was Asmodeus who was really in charge. ----- Peaking out the door, Wesh looks into the dark alley and spots two of the town’s guards holding torches and looking around. He glances back toward the church’s front entrance, but there are more than enough shouts to know he would face more than two guards if he tries to go out the front doors. Sneaking past the pair isn’t an option. The Mitran priest might have been half-deaf, but this pair most definitely are not. Taking a step back, Wesh draws his greatsword again and looks down on it with more than a little fondness. There was a time when it had been nothing more than a rusty relic of a bygone time. Wesh had made sure the blade didn’t stay that way. ----- When he turned thirteen, it was time for him to take up an apprenticeship with one of the local craftsmen. Wesh’s brother, Nabeel, had already begun training to become a paladin and his sister, Sarila, was an apprentice to the town’s healer. Without hesitation, Wesh begged Father Dindron to put him under the tutelage of the local blacksmith, a man named Torbin Mirken. Father Dindron’s granting of the request was the only fond memory Wesh had of the priest. Wesh had Torbin teach him to forge weapons. The boy was clever enough not to start with the more obvious ones. He started with spades and pitchforks before eventually working his way up to maces, spears, and swords. At that point, Wesh was already thoroughly enamored with Asmodeus’s teachings and with Moloch’s martial prowess. He thought it would be appropriate to wield the greatsword used to slay one of Asmodeus’s faithful in the hidden sanctum. Wesh would use it to slay the Mitran faithful. This was his choice. He had chosen to worship Asmodeus. He had made the decision to find a way to reforge the greatsword to kill for the Prince of Darkness. He could have been the last living disciple of Asmodeus for all he knew. He didn’t care. This was his path. He just had to work up the nerve to carry out his plan. By the time Wesh was sixteen, he had grown to be quite capable at forging weapons. Confident in his skills, he retrieved the greatsword from the sinkhole in the dark of night and worked till dawn to reforge the weapon into something worthy of wielding. When the sun rose on a new day, Wesh’s hands bled from his work on the sword. He was just about to return home to sleep when he realized Torbin was watching him. How long, Wesh didn’t know. Regardless, the blacksmith could be a problem. If so, he was a problem Wesh would have to deal with to continue serving his Prince. ----- He steps out the backdoor of the church into the alley before approaching the pair of guards as quietly as he can. They turn to look at him as soon as he steps out of the building. Yep, the priest was definitely deaf. “Stop right there, priest killer!” One of the guards says. “You really should keep your voice down,” Wesh replies in a loud whisper. “Shouting attracts others which only gets more people killed. I only want the priests dead, not the rest of you.” It was true. He was perfectly content killing people other than priests, but Asmodeus’s teachings had taught him that he needed to have guidelines, a code, or - more properly - a contract. In this case, his contract is to kill the priests of Mitra. Others could be subjugated, but only once the Mitran priests were out of the way. “Come quick! We found him!” The other guard shouts. Seeing that the guards wouldn’t be quiet on their own, Wesh has no choice but to shut them up. Gripping his greatsword in both hands, he rushes toward the nearest guard. As he does, he remembers the first time he had pointed his blade at someone. ----- Wesh eyed Torbin warily. What did the man know? Did he suspect Wesh’s allegiance? He had to be certain. The blacksmith could ruin everything if he wasn’t contained. The fledgling fighter still remembers the words the grizzled blacksmith spoke. “You didn’t happen to find that blade sticking out of a body, did you?” Wesh had gaped at the man. Torbin’s statement wasn’t entirely accurate. Wesh had found the blade sticking out of a skeleton, not a body, but the blacksmith’s question was too specific to only be a guess. Wesh picked up the greatsword, still cooling off from being reforged, and pointed it at Torbin. “Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. I found this blade on the outskirts of the Caer Bryr. It was probably dropped by a group of Iraen raiders.” “Nice try, kid,” Torbin replied with a laugh. “That blade once belonged to a friend of mine before some bastards ran him through with his own weapon. Like myself, he worshipped a god named Asmodeus. You ever heard of him?” Once again, Wesh found himself gaping at the man. That day was a turning point. No longer was Wesh alone in his beliefs. There was at least one other in the world who shared his worldview. After Wesh had a chance to rest, he and Torbin clashed swords. Torbin agreed to train the young fighter to fulfill his self-imposed contract. ----- His blade speeds toward the closest guard, biting into the man’s armor and cutting a line through man and armor alike. The guard falls with a grunt. To Wesh’s amusement, the guard’s companion, rather than flee, lunges at him. The second man’s mace bounces harmlessly against Wesh’s finely crafted plate armor. Wesh has Torbin to thank for the armor’s quality. The man takes a step back as he assesses his options now that his companion is dead and his attack has failed. That pause is long enough for Wesh to draw near the man and run him through, splattering his blood against one of the alley’s walls. Wesh’s moment of satisfaction is quickly interrupted as the shouts he had heard from the front of the church draw near. One of the only disadvantages of wearing such sturdy armor is that it keeps him from making a quick exit. Despite the armor’s encumbrance, Wesh has no intention of sticking around. As he runs down the alley toward the nearest street, he remembers a time earlier in his life when he had also felt the need to run. ----- Torbin trained Wesh in the use of his greatsword over the course of six years. The blacksmith taught him how to properly hold the blade in two hands to ensure maximum accuracy and damage when it was swung. He taught him how to parry when another blade came for him. And he taught him how to maintain his balance during a swing, despite the blade’s momentum. The blacksmith also crafted Wesh a fine suit of armor. It took a few years to get used to the feel of walking around in such heavy armor. Eventually, however, his muscles hardened and walking around in full plate became as natural as breathing. During that time, Torbin continued to teach Wesh how to craft weapons as well as how to perform the daily duties required of a blacksmith. The more Torbin trained Wesh, the more distant the young fighter grew from his family and from Father Dindron. In hindsight, that was the happiest time of Wesh’s life. He was not only being trained in swords and armor, but also had the time to carefully study Asmodeus’s teachings. Now fully fluent with Infernal, Wesh always made sure to devote at least a few minutes each day to studying and memorizing passages from the Dark Prince’s book. It was an especially joyous day when he had at least an hour to devote to the tome’s study. Wesh was nineteen when that time of happiness came to a sudden end. He had misplaced his pen and journal, so he left the sanctum and returned home in search of his writing materials. They were nowhere to be found, so he headed toward the smithy. As he approached, he began to hear shouts. He ran to the shop and arrived in time to see Torbin being dragged out by a pair of Talirean guards. Right behind them was Father Dindron. In the priest’s hands was Wesh’s journal. The young fighter screamed and ran toward Torbin, foolishly thinking he could rescue the man. Another three guards emerged from the smithy and subdued him. “This journal,” Father Dindron said. “It belongs to you, Wesh. We used it when I was teaching you Infernal. How could you? How could you betray everything that Talingarde stands for?” Wesh was speechless. Before he could recover his voice, Torbin spoke up and said, “Fool of a boy! I tried to tell him he would get us both caught. Didn’t matter how much I taught him or how much I beat him, I never could get Asmodeus’s teachings through his thick skull.” Drawing back in revulsion, Wesh wondered what had come over Torbin. But a moment later, he realized what was going on. Torbin was trying to save him. It was too late for the blacksmith, so the most he could hope for was that Wesh might be spared to carry on his legacy. So Wesh did his best to play along. “Fool? None of what you tried to teach me made any sense! Mitra is the supreme evil? What kind of nonsense is that? I’m sorry, Father Dindron. I thought Torbin was only jesting. If I had known the depths of his depravity, I would have come to you right away.” The priest’s expression softened slightly as he observed the exchange. With a shake of his head, Father Dindron said, “I’m sorry you were caught up in Torbin’s blasphemy, Wesh. Had I known, I would have intervened sooner. We’ll begin remedial courses first thing tomorrow.” Without another word, the priest and the guards left, dragging Torbin behind them. Wesh and Torbin shared a final glance. Wesh thought he could see Torbin mouthing the words, Carry on in the Dark Prince’s name. It shall be done, Wesh mouthed back. ----- Turning the corner onto the road, he runs as quick as he can away from the shouts. He may have underestimated how much the armor would slow him down. As Wesh passes a street intersection, he glances back to see more than a dozen torches accompanied by twice as many angry faces. They are coming. And they are gaining on him. One more intersection later and Wesh realizes he isn’t going to get away. There’s just no way for him to outrun unarmored and unencumbered people when he’s wearing full plate. Gripping his greatsword as Torbin taught him, he turns to face the rapidly approaching mob. If he’s going to die, he’s going to take as many as possible with him. Talingarde would remember his name. Wesh Meloi: priest killer and acolyte of Asmodeus. Maybe the Talireans would omit the second part, but there’s little chance any Talirean living anywhere near Talingarde’s Heartland would soon forget Wesh or his deeds. The mob is nearly upon him. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself. Wesh pulls back his sword, ready to swing it in a wide arc at the first person foolish enough to get within striking distance. ----- Torbin was taken to Branderscar Prison and, unlike with his neighbor, Wesh found himself mourning for the man. The blacksmith would be burnt alive for his blasphemy. If only Wesh hadn’t foolishly left his journal at the smithy. Perhaps the man would still be around and Wesh would still be growing in his martial prowess. Instead, Wesh found himself listening to Father Dindron lecturing on and on about the virtues of Mitra and the evils of Asmodeus. It was all he could do to keep himself from rolling his eyes. A few weeks passed before word reached the town of Torbin’s fate. The blacksmith had been tried and found guilty of blasphemy. His execution would surely follow. That report was the catalyst that began Wesh’s killing spree and that led people to call him priest killer. After enduring Father Dindron’s lectures one final time, Wesh went to his sanctum and uttered prayers to Asmodeus and Moloch that would have made even the lowliest of paladins call for an atonement spell just for hearing them. Taking his greatsword, Wesh went to the town’s church that night. He found Father Dindron asleep in his bed. The fighter didn’t give the man a chance to say a few last words or to beg for his life. Instead, he lowered his sword onto the priest’s neck and slit the man’s throat in a single, fluid movement. As the priest’s blood dripped to the ground and the man struggled to breathe, Wesh found himself shaking. Not from fear or remorse, but from ecstasy. All of the grand prayers he had uttered and the contracts he had made with himself were starting to be fulfilled. He would kill Mitran priests in Asmodeus and Moloch’s names. He would do so as an act of worship to the Prince of Darkness and to the Lord of the Sixth. One death at a time, Wesh would bring Hell to Talingarde. ----- The first of the townsfolk falls with a scream as he swings his blade. Another two fall in quick succession before Wesh finds himself surrounded on all sides. Refusing to surrender or to beg for his life, he lashes out at another of the townsfolk, felling the man. Before his blade can cut down another, a great weight crashes onto his back. He drops to his knees and his blade falls from his hands. Looking up, he sees a familiar sight, but not a welcome one. Standing before Wesh, with a mace in his hand, is Nabeel, his brother. The look on Nabeel’s face is a mixture of disgust and sadness. To Nabeel’s side, Wesh spies his sister, Sarila, tending to one of the fallen townsfolk. Wesh curses himself under his breath for failing to slay the wounded man. “I am disappointed,” Nabeel says. Disappointed. To Wesh, it seems too weak a word to describe how his brother should feel about him. “I had hoped and prayed that I would find an imposter in your place. No brother of mine would ever slay a priest, much less one of Mitra. Yet here you are. Your bloodstained blade testifies against you and the voices of the slain cry out for justice. “You are forsaken. No longer will I call you brother. You will be tried and, once you are found guilty, taken to Branderscar Prison to await your fate. I think beheading is too good a fate for you, but it will have to do.” Wesh sees Sarila glance over at him before she quickly looks away. She doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face is enough for Wesh to know that he is a stranger to her now. It’s as if his brother and sister have never known him, as if he doesn’t have a brother and sister. Perhaps it’s better this way. Staring up at his ex-brother defiantly, Wesh waits for whatever comes next. Even if Nabeel’s words had indicated otherwise, Wesh half expects the paladin to execute him right there. Instead, the butt of Nabeel’s mace slams into Wesh’s forehead and he knows only darkness. Vignette:
The trial had been quick, perfunctory even. As Wesh had expected, he had been convicted of murder and sentenced to death by beheading. In total, he had managed to kill six priests before being captured. Most of them had been lowly clerics from tiny villages, but the last had been from a town of some size. Wesh was particularly proud of that murder. But his slaying of Father Dindron was by far his most satisfying and memorable killing. It’s funny to Wesh. Most people who referred to him as ‘priest killer’ did so as an insult. He saw it as a compliment. Perhaps that explained why people tended to be unnerved by Wesh. He normally smiled after people told him he was a priest killer. His mother and siblings had been at the trial. Seril, his mother, didn’t look up once throughout the proceedings. Every now and then, Wesh had spied a tear falling from her face. His brother and sister had both testified against him and his brother’s speech had been particularly passionate. The look on his brother’s face... An especially nasty rut in the road pulled Wesh from his thoughts and he was jerked back into the present. His hands and feet were both shackled. His bindings were chained to the wagon itself, preventing any possibility of escape. He and a few others were riding in the back of a prison wagon. Their destination was predetermined: Branderscar Prison. Wesh had begun to accept his fate. He had done what he could to glorify Asmodeus’s name and to put fear in the hearts of Mitrans across Talingarde. Now, so close to Branderscar, it seemed as though his final chapter was about to be written. He would go to the executioner with head held high, having honored his contract with himself. Others would see him as a villain, but he would always see himself as a hero. As the wagon rolled over another rut in the road, Wesh tried to look out to see where he was. This was made quite difficult by the hood over his head. He thought he could see the outlines of a causeway through small holes in the hood. Watching over the causeway would be a large building. The building was a gatehouse. It was positioned over the causeway in such a way that if a prisoner was stupid enough to try to escape, Talirean archers would cut him down before he was even halfway to freedom. The wagon came to a stop and a loud voice barked orders outside. No less than twenty guards surrounded Wesh and the others as they were removed from the back of the wagon. The hood was removed from his head and he had to squint after being in the enclosed wagon for so long. He and the others from his wagon were placed in line with the rest of the newly arrived prisoners. It seemed they would all get a chance to personally meet the Sergeant of the Watch. “What’d they get you for?” the woman behind Wesh asked. She had many of the facial features of an elf, but her ears weren’t quite right to be full-blooded. She was a half-elf, most likely. Wesh stared at the woman before grinning and saying, “Priest killing.” The human man in front of Wesh whistled and said, “My dabbling in the slave trade doesn’t seem so bad now. Your victim, he wasn’t a Mitran priest, was he?” Wesh’s grin never faded as he replied, “They were all Mitran priests. They’re my specialty, I guess you could say.” The half-elf said, “You’re lucky whoever caught you didn’t lynch you then and there. It’s almost admirable how legalistic Talireans are. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get a chance to get out and continue your killing. Myself? I would very much like to continue sowing chaos. Arson’s my specialty.” The other man laughed and said, “There’s no escaping from this place. It’s a one way trip when you’re sent to Branderscar Prison.” “Maybe so,” the half-elf responded. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t die trying. I wasn’t built to be behind bars.” The man shook his head and said, “As long as you’re content with knowing that you will die, for die you will. I used to have a friend in the Knights of Alerion. He told me the Talireans pride themselves on the fact that Branderscar has never once had a prisoner escape. They’ve had plenty of people try, but they’ve all met nasty fates, one way or the other.” “I don’t know about you two,” Wesh interjects, “But I’m content with what I’ve done. Live or die, I served Asmodeus as best I could in my twenty-two years. If he’s done with me now, so be it.” Both of Wesh’s fellow prisoners looked shocked at his casual mentioning of the Prince of Darkness. He just shrugged and said, “It’s not a secret anymore, so there’s no point in being subtle about it. It’s actually a relief to be able to talk about him in the open. If he decides he has more for me to do, I will gladly accept a new assignment, but I’m not holding my breath.” Before the half-elf and human had a chance to respond, they were forced to cease the conversation as they neared the Sergeant of the Watch. The Sergeant, Tomas Blackerly, seemed to take great pleasure in personally branding each of the prisoners that entered Branderscar. When Wesh’s turn came, he stepped up to Sergeant Blackerly and stared at the man with a small, but constant smile. Blackerly ripped off what remained of Wesh’s left shirt sleeve before pressing the hot branding iron onto the fighter’s flesh. Wesh had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. He would not give the Sergeant the pleasure of hearing him cry out. After a few moments that seemed to last forever, Blackerly removed the hot brand and pushed Wesh into the waiting arms of a pair of guards. His reprieve from excruciating pain was brief as the guards immediately threw him to the ground and began beating him with wooden mallets. When the guards finally stopped, Sergeant Blackerly walked over to the bloodied but defiant Wesh and said, “Welcome to Branderscar. I’m sure your stay will be short, priest killer.” The Sergeant spat on Wesh as the guards began to drag him away to his cell. Blackerly’s words and the guards’ beatings hadn’t broken him. On the contrary, they had awoken a quiet rage inside him. His stay might indeed be short, but he was beginning to hope it would be for a very different reason than Blackerly imagined. Talingarde had taken everything from him. His only friend and mentor, his greatsword, his Asmodean Monograph, and his freedom. As he was being shackled against the wall in the dark of his cell, Wesh remembered his final exchange with Torbin. The blacksmith had trusted Wesh with his legacy. The young fighter couldn’t give up now. Not yet. He still had work to do. With a grin and a silent word of thanks to Torbin, Wesh thought to himself, It shall be done. The Fifth Killing:
Wesh slammed his hammer into the hot steel and sparks flew left and right. The hammer fell again, further reshaping the hot metal. He was finally on his last sword. Then he would be paid and could move on to murdering the next priest. He had managed to slay four so far, but doing so wasn’t as easy as it seemed. There was the issue of actually getting to the priest, of course. But then there was also the issue of making a living in between killings. A murdered priest’s coins only went so far. Wesh picked up the half-formed sword with a pair of tongs and placed it back inside the forge. He watched as the metal heated up again to become nearly white in color. Whenever he moved on to a new town to plan another murder, he freelanced for the town’s blacksmith. It kept his muscles strong and his hands busy as he watched and waited for the right moment to strike. Having learned the trade from Torbin, Wesh quite enjoyed the activity, even if it wasn’t his primary focus. The current fellow he was working under was an older man named Harinius Stoneworthy. The man was almost as pretentious as his name suggested. Still, Wesh had no plans to kill the man. People like him could be forced into service once the Mitran priesthood had been dismantled and Talingarde’s government had been overthrown. Talingarde would need slaves once it was reforged into Asmodeus’s image. People like Harinius would be perfect for that sort of thing. Wesh pulled out the white hot metal from the forge and placed it once more on the shop’s anvil. He hammered the steel with increased ferocity. He could feel his muscles hardening and his precision with the hammer improving. The sword would probably be the best Wesh made in his current batch. It paled in comparison to his greatsword of course, but it would ensure the fighter had enough coins to buy food till his next killing. He placed the nearly-formed sword into a barrel of water to quench it. As the steam rose from the surface of the water, he imagined the vapor was the holier-than-thou Mitran priesthood being purified from Talingarde. It would be a painful process. Many people would suffer. Families would be shattered. Friends would turn against each other. But in the end, Asmodeus would reign. That made any cost acceptable. ----- Later that evening, after finishing the last sword and getting payment for his services from Harinius, Wesh went to murder his fifth victim. The local priest was a man named Father Timoth. The fighter arrived just prior to when the church was to close for the evening. He acted like he was any other parishioner who had come to offer prayers. He was offering prayers, just not to the god everyone else was. The last of the townspeople finally left, leaving Wesh and the priest alone in the church. The priest looked concerned and walked over to him. Father Timoth sat down next to the fighter and said, “What seems to be troubling you, young man?” It was all Wesh could do to not slit the man’s throat then and there. He was finally learning that he couldn’t kill priests all the time, so it was best for him to savor it when he finally had the opportunity. With Father Timoth, he would take things slower. There was no need for haste when it was just the two of them. No one else would be at the church till the next day. “I am troubled about the state of Talingarde, Father,” Wesh replied. Father Timoth nodded, acting like he understood. “Other parts of Golarion are much worse off than Talingarde, I assure you. We aren’t perfect, certainly, but many great evils have been purged resulting in a brighter future for all of us.” “But at what cost?” Wesh asked. “What of all those lost to the wars and the purgings and the infighting? Why are some scorned and others praised?” Timoth’s brow wrinkled at Wesh’s words. The priest seemed concerned by them. “Those who were scorned deserved to be scorned, son. They were evil, through and through. They… they worshiped a deity whose name I will not utter in this holy place.” “Was his name Asmodeus?” Wesh asked simply. The priest’s eyes widened in shock, “How… how do you know his name?” Wesh smirked and said, “It’s kind of important to know the name of the god you worship.” Father Timoth got to his feet as quickly as he could, but before the priest could run away, Wesh tackled him to the ground. Pinning the man’s neck to the floor with his arm, Wesh smiled at the Mitran’s fright. “Who… who are you?” The priest managed to say, despite the crushing weight on his throat. “Who am I? I am Asmodeus’s harbinger and the Lord of the Sixth’s blade. And I am death to people like you.” “W… why?” The priest was sweating profusely now. His body shook from fear. The man struggled to breath with Wesh’s arm on his throat and Wesh’s knee on his chest. “Because you are a small stone in Mitra’s fortress. Remove enough stones like you and the entire structure will collapse. Once the Mitran priesthood falls and Talingarde’s government crumbles, Asmodeus’s kingdom will rise from the ashes. The Dark Prince will bend Talingarde to his will and I shall help him do so.” Wesh’s words were said gleefully. The fighter was also shaking, but from excitement rather than fear. The priest only managed a gasp. He no longer had enough air to speak. Wesh watched the pitiful man struggle for breath for a few more moments before removing his hand, drawing his sword, and slashing it across the priest’s throat. As Father Timoth bled out and made a few final attempts to breathe, Wesh thought about his own words. He had meant every one of them. Perhaps they had been a bit grandiose and unrealistic. But if Asmodeus were to reign supreme in Talingarde, men like Father Timoth had to go. The Mitran priest held on for longer than Wesh had expected. The fighter had to give the man credit for his resilience. Wesh considered putting the man out of his misery, but then he remembered Torbin telling him about the purges. Mitrans hadn’t shown Asmodeans mercy, so Wesh would show none in return. After cleaning his blade on Father Timoth’s robes, Wesh relieved the priest of his coin purse and left him to finish bleeding out. The killing had been satisfying, but it was time to move on to bigger towns and priests of higher rank. If Mitra’s fortress was to fall, Wesh would need to start removing bigger stones. Sheathing his greatsword, he peeked outside to make sure no one was around before walking out into the town’s main street. He whistled to himself as he walked away from the church. He was always in a good mood after a slaying. Wesh returned to the blacksmith's shop and collected his few belongings, including his carefully concealed Asmodean Monograph. Then he left without saying a word to Harinius. Change would soon come to Talingarde. And Wesh would be its forerunner. Description & Personality:
Wesh Meloi stands 6’2’’ tall. His blonde, almost-white hair is his most prominent feature. His combed-back hair combined with his thick eyebrows and strong jawline make for an intimidating sight at first glance. He is more muscular than he is agile, but he’s more capable than most when it comes to moving deftly in heavy armor. He tends to be distant and unpersonable when it comes to interacting with others. This is partly due to his lack of skill with the spoken word. However, it’s mainly due to lacking any good conversation partners. Most of those he’s interacted with, Torbin excepted, are Mitran faithful and so have very little in common with Wesh. He’s ready and willing to strike up conversations about blacksmithing, weapons, and proper fighting techniques. If he found others who followed Asmodeus and Moloch, he would be surprised, but happy to commiserate with them. Progression Plan:
If selected, I plan to stick with levels in fighter straight through to level 20. I decided to go with Barbarian for my VMC rather than Slayer as I wanted Wesh to be a straightforward combatant. I plan to take feats that will allow Wesh to be proficient with some combat maneuvers, which should give him some extra utility. I really like the flexibility of the standard fighter, so I decided forgo taking an archetype. Mechanically, Wesh is a heavy hitter/tank. The Barbarian VMC should give him some extra survivability and/or damage when the need arises. I don’t see Wesh always using rage at every possible opportunity, but using it more as an extra tool in his shed. Assuming he can find one (or recover his old one), Wesh plans to focus on crushing his opponents with heavy hits from a greatsword. As far as skills go, Wesh should be pretty effective at getting to hard to reach places via climbing and swimming. He’ll be decent at survival checks and can help out when it comes to knowing about aberrations and such. Socially, he can help persuade people to cooperate via intimidation. I’ll probably pick up intimidating prowess at some point. Grumblejack:
Grumblejack the Ogre Male ogre NE Large humanoid (giant) Init –1; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception +2 DEFENSE AC 17, touch 8, flat-footed 17 (+4 armor, –1 Dex, +5 natural, –1 size) hp 30 (4d8+12) Fort +6, Ref +0, Will +3 OFFENSE Speed 30 ft. (40 ft. base) Melee greatsword +8 (3d6+4) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. STATISTICS Str 21, Dex 8, Con 15, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 9 Base Atk +3; CMB +9; CMD 18 Feats Iron Will, Toughness Skills Climb +7, Knowledge (nature) +2, Perception +2, Stealth -1, Swim +3 Languages Common, Giant Gear greatsword, chain shirt Attack:
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