The Forgotten God (Table 1) (Inactive)

Game Master Rednal

Many an age had passed since Tyr had forsaken his godhood. Falling in death as only a noble warrior could seemed the proper path, and so, his soul was to be judged by Kelemvor. However, what seemed a simple tipping of the scales to the god of death was more akin to deciding his own father’s fate, for Kelemvor was once a paladin, and knew the scriptor of which Tyr had previously bespoke to his worshippers. As such, when the time for decision making was upon him, Kelemvor felt he could not judge a being who was the essence of Justice himself.

With a lack of judgement festering in the realms of the dead, Kelemvor knew he had to act, but not how. Traveling to the House of Knowledge, home plain of Oghma, the two worked their way through the records of eternity so that Kelemvor could research similar situations in time, and how they had played out. A decade was spent this way, and though Tyr grew restless, Kelemvor revealed to him the patience he had once possessed. Eventually, a finding in the Time of Troubles reminded Tyr of Ao’s wrath when the Tablets of Fate were stolen. Eyes blinded and Ao's refusal of power to restore them, the God of Justice had chosen his own fate by depriving the wound of its misery and maintaining his step forth, for justice was still to be wrought.

Such a wound did Tyr feel at the loss of Helm that when compared to the eyes he had lost, Kelemvor found that only redemption would allow Tyr’s soul to pass on. The act to take place of payment for Tyr’s continuance to the afterlife would be the fallen one’s service to another world. He had already done what was fated of him to do for Fae’run, and as such, his fate lay elsewhere. The only thing Tyr asked of Kelemvor when he was to be transported to this other world, was that his soul be reforged as a clean slate. In this way, the new form he would take would eventually possess Tyr’s memories, but would be its own individual, and thus, judgement could be passed on himself.

And so, with a ritual only the god of death would know, Tyr’s essence was sent to the world of Golarion. Artifacts in the form of tomes were sent to the surface, so that when the fallen one would reach the next destination, he would learn of who he once was, and finally, come to a conclusion.

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The man awoke within a temple of stone and sand knowing neither where he came from, nor who he was. Unlike Tyr’s body, this one possessed both hands and fully functioning eyes, much to his pleasure, though he knew not where the happiness came from. Finding simple traveler’s clothes beside him, the man dressed himself, and arose to investigate further this temple he seemed to be sealed in. One hallway led out of the chamber, and so, he began the long walk.

The first room he encountered after the hallway possessed blank walls with three short pillars in the center of the floor. Walking over to them, the man found flaming scripture written upon the floor. “One but leads to the path you decide, but the others shall be the foes you deny.” On top of the pedestals lay a warhammer, a longsword, and handwraps. Finding equal parts familiarity with each weapon, the man was unable to make his own decision through knowledge of battle, but continued his efforts.

Running back through symbology, the man broke down each weapon into an idea of ethos. The handwraps seemed to represent mercy as one who possessed no weapon would offer a gentle hand. When examining the warhammer, a vision of justice began to reveal itself to the man; one of forging a righteous purpose within one’s self. The longsword, lastly held, reminded him of war and swift judgement, for only a sharp blade would possess such properties. After a moment of thought, the man found war to be too bloody for himself, and the handwraps unable to truly come to a conclusion, so, he chose the warhammer.

Instantly, the other two rose from their pedestals and attacked him. With prowess born of a previous soul, the man fought them off, and eventually sundered them. In this way, he realized though a foe may die, something yet remains, and must be respected for the lessons given.

An opening to another walkway revealed itself and so, the man continued on. Another room he discovered held pedestals of similar kind, but each held very different artifacts from the previous room. One held an eye, and when the man went over to examine it, he was given a vision of clarity; judgement was to be wrought through personal experience and the present information at hand. The second pedestal held a floating scroll with incomprehensible glyphs written upon it. Visions granted here were of libraries and scripture, where one would view histories of the past in order to divine an ending to the situation at hand. Lastly, the third pedestal held a blue flame that seemed, of its own accord, very much alive. Speaking to the flame revealed its nature; that of cleansing one’s self and starting anew, for only through redemption can we repay the debts we owe.

When the man processed the symbols before him, he found the flame to his liking for various reasons. The eye only tells so much as the eye sees, and script shows only the perspective of the one who wrote it. Fire, though known for its destructive capabilities, is also known for its warmth. This meant to the man that even though one might commit an atrocity, eventually, the tempering of time will show them the self that they truly are. Once chosen, it was a simple matter of disposing the eye and scroll to ash, and with that, he left the chamber for another passage.

The last room he encountered held not three pedestals, but three additional passages, with three guards at each entrance. Each guard held a different form: one of a bull, one of a lion, and one of a gryphon. Similar as he had done to the objects of the other rooms, the man examined each guard, for they did not speak, and looked for what he felt fit what he was looking for. In this way, he found the three embodying the ethos of the hammer, but in different aspects. The bull symbolized steadfastness with a rigidity of code. The lion embraced magnificence and utilized charisma as a means of bringing about the order he sought. The gryphon held within its breast a heart of valor, and freedom to forge one’s own fate. Answers came to him easily, and in so choosing the gryphon, the other guards receded into the stonework of their corresponding passages, sealing them off.

Before walking down the gryphon’s path, the man heard a voice. “What name shall you take, forgotten one?”

Pondering for a moment, the man replied, “...Orithos.”

"What does your ethos originate from?"

"Judgement of Law, and the Good of Redemption," again replied Orithos.

The unknown voice chuckled to himself, and said, “Then, go forth Orithos, for you have much to do in this world. We will all be watching.”

She has been known to mortals by many names before her demise at the hands of her usurper, Norgorber - the Reaper of Reputation. But in the time before time, the First Age: she was Sevia, sister of Sarenrae. Where one brought Sun and Life, the other brought Darkness and Death. It was her destiny to be the end of all things, so that the cycle could begin again with life. As the Gods made Creation in their mind's eye, Sevia was born from Sarenrae's creation of the first mortal life, and for a time they fought in rivalry, seemingly destined to oppose each other as ideological rivals, one who believed life should be immortal and one who's very nature conflicted with that.

But their rivalry finally ended with the coming of Rovagug, who's might made the heavens shudder as he sought to end everything. The Dawnflower and the Raven Queen put aside their differences, for Rovagug's madness opened Sarenrae's eyes, Sevia did not want to end life, she merely guided it to rebirth. And so the Gods united together and battle the Rough Beast in defense of the Universe. In the end, the combined mights of Sarenrae and Asmodeus defeated him, and Sevia's sister found the importance of redemption in each sibling.

For a time, Sevia was happy, as she constructed the Gates of Avalon, a magnificent palace in both sibling's colors, designed to function as the gateway between life and death, the final judgement place of souls who would go to Heaven, Hell, or even some other plane, and for some, back to the Material World. Yet, her happiness did wane in the coming centuries, as her sister Sarenrae soaked up the glory of the Material plane, receiving the adoration of the mortals and even her fellow gods - while Sevia became more and more secluded, the fear of her growing. For after all, who does not fear Death? Fear of her grew even worse when it was believed she caused the Age of Darkness. The landing of the Starstone and the ascension of Aroden did little to improve her mood, as the Goddess opposed the creation of more immortals. And so Sevia's jealousy grew, and once more the sister's relationship turned sour.

Then, everything changed with the defeat of Aroden by the Wizard-King Tar-Baphon who sought to unlock the secrets of Undeath. Yet, even with the assistance of great magical artifacts, even Tar-Baphon could only wound Aroden, enough to give him pause and to draw the attention of the whole Pantheon. It was then that Sevia descended from Avalon to resume Aroden's fight - Urgathoa, the God of Undead was already an affront to her dignity, she would not suffer such knowledge to the mortals. Using her guile and stealth, she was able to defeat Tar-Baphon: unknown to her, the Wizard-King's machinations were only furthered by his death, which served as a catalyst both towards his road to unlife and to his dark touch which had tainted Sevia. Finding glory from mortals and her fellow good gods alike, Sevia gave over the duties of Avalon to her avatar, Pharasma, and began a crusade against Urgathoa that took her into the Shadow Plane, where she battled the likes of Zon Kuthon and his dreaded creations.

But as she fought to win the attention of her peers with heroic deeds, the darkness within her grew, amplified by the negative energies of the Shadow Plane. Soon she began to revel in death and combat, moreso than even Gorum, god of war. Her sister grew ever more concerned for her sister, but the closer she tried to become to Sevia, the more she pushed her sister Sarenrae away. It is said that the Raven Queen thus became the first Fetchling, and her followers became that race. Eventually, the Dreaded Death returned to Golarion to continue her mad quest for death and destruction, abandoning her principles of the cycle of rebirth. Her own Shadowed soul corrupting Avalon into a place of darkness and despair. Until at last she had the idea to attempt to free Rovagug and destroy creation itself.

She knew that to free Rovagug she would need the key of Asmodeus, and also knew that Asmodeus would never give her it. Thus she instead tricked him into helping her break into the First Vault by binding him to a contract. She hoped to find in Abadar's repository, said to contain a perfect copy of everything in existence, a copy of Asmodeus' key. Unbeknownst to her, Asmodeus had secretly betrayed her and informed Abadar, who gave the newly ascended Norgorber an item from the First Vault to help him reveal the Shadow Striker, an entity more skilled in Stealth than anything in existence. Sevia was discovered, ambushed by Norgorber, something she had thought inconceivable. They battled, and she was greatly wounded without her ability to call on that which she'd relied on for Ages. Injured, she fled and was found by Sarenrae, unable to hide herself injured as she was, both argued and cursed each other until the Dawnflower found she had no more redemption left in herself and tried to strike her sister down, where the Raven Queen played her last gambit and spread her power away, fleeing her own judgement. In the aftermath, Norgorber ascended to her portfolios and began to erase her existence.

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Sevia's face scowled and her eyes opened for the first time in thousands of years, a flash of pain lanced through her skull, the first time she'd ever experienced true, mortal pain. Her lungs tried to take a breath of air, and she coughed. Her body turned to its side as she hacked and wheezed, her lungs trying to get fresh air for the first time in her existence as she choked on stale, dusty air. A hand reached out and grabbed the side of the stone table she lay on, hauling herself off and collapsing to the ground as Sevia attempted to adapt to her...mortal body.

Then she realized. Oh Creation...what have I done? she thought, trying to comprehend how badly she'd fallen towards the end. Tears began to form at her eyes, surprising the former Goddess, who reached a hand up to her face and dabbed at the wetness, until she felt something coming. Not another cough, but she felt like choking. She tried to contain it...until...a sob came out, then another, and suddenly she was blubbering to herself and sobbing and her head rolled back, her voice screaming to the roof of the crypt she'd been sleeping in. For a time, she sat there, emptying her emotions, before finally trying to stand, gripping the stone table with one hand and rising shakily.

"Sister...oh Sarenrae...I'm so sorry...so, so sorry..." she whispered to herself, before finally looking around herself. The crypt was dank, and dark...not a problem, as her darkvision pierced the veil with ease. She looked down at herself, and studied her body, the same as her form she'd taken as a Divine, but even with her lack of...senses...she could obviously deduce that her power was but a fraction of what she'd once possessed...and with that thought came the realization of her 'own' mortality, an aspect that had...never been considered in her thoughts, Why would death think of its own demise? She smiled wryly, her body feeling cold at that realization...and at the temperature of this room, making her finally notice her own nudity. Yet, even as cold, powerless, and miserable as she felt...for some odd reason Sevia felt as though her soul was finally clean of some inky blackness, as if she was finally feeling her true self.

Sevia noted on the table, a rather simply carved stone bed...which was apparently not all that comfortable considering her pained back - more unpleasant realities of mortal life - was a set of simple clothes, a few leather items, and as far as she could tell, completely mundane. Her hands reached out to hold them for a moment before slipping the items across her skin. As she fit the last bracer onto her wrist, Sevia felt...humbled. Her eyes looked out at the room again, and she finally noticed the pedestal, upon which rested a set of swords, short Wakizashis, as she preferred, and a cloak resting beneath them.

With a few uncertain steps, she walked towards them, her hand grasping the hilt of one and lifting it to her eyes. The blade looked fine, certainly not a masterwork weapon, but looked sharp enough to kill..."I cannot undo what I have done...but..." Sevia sighed, closing her eyes and composing herself. She turned the sword over and found the symbol emblazoned on it, that of a dragon eating its own tail, a symbol of death and rebirth, 'her' symbole. "I can atone for it...I swear...I shall reclaim my position...I swear it" she spoke through grit teeth, hand tightening its grip on the sword.

"No longer am I the Dreaded Death."

Portfolio: Death, Rebirth, Fate, Darkness

STR: 10
DEX: 20
CON: 14
INT: 14
WIS: 11
CHA: 17

Traits: (Drawback - Pride)
Reactionary
Blade of the Society (If Society Traits allowed)
Anatomist
Irrepressible

Feats:
Weapon Finesse
TWF
Mythic Wp. Finesse

*preliminary and subject to change

Harath eagerly anticipated the turning of the age, as did the other great quori spirits who guarded the dreams of mortals from the nightmarish visions that resided on the edges of their plane. His hard work and adherence to the tenets would pay off. However, among his contemporaries, there were cultists that believed ALL would be erased, not just the wicked and shiftless. Harath had worked battling such bad spirits his entire existence, preventing them from sowing dissent and chaos among the dreams of the planes.

Alas, in the final days of the great cycle, the cultist mages attacked with a force greater than tenfold what they were thought to possess, and Harath's compound was overrun. He was counted among the final guard, and in the fight to defend the great spire at the center of the plane, he was hit with a spell that warped his mind and body. Down, but not dead, he was forced to watch as the cultists used the spire for their ritual, polluting the entire plane with their foul powers to ensure that the turn of the great cycle manifested as they wished, scouring the entire plane and all within it.

Using the last of his powers, he forced himself into the mind of a mortal on the material plane. Rendering the mortal comatose, Harath remained on the material plane as the cycle on his home plane changed, scouring everything and everyone he knew into the building blocks of existence. His powers depleted, he was ejected from the mind of the mortal but was unable to return to a plane that didnt exist.

Over the next several years, as the dreams of mortals shaped the new land Harath should have called home, he found that he could no longer return under his own power. He captured the essence of dreams from those on the material plane, forced to feed from those nearby as his power was but a candlelight compared to the burning sun that it once was. With enough essence, he was able to form a body... and he awoke.

Little did he know, the curse yet lingered, and a nightmare lived inside him. Would he control it... or would it control him?

so basically, Harath will be a Dread (Nightmare of Flesh)/Psion/Soulknife (the one that energizes his fists instead of manifesting a weapon, i am thinking). I can stat him up later tonight or (more likely) Monday at the latest. The character's theme will be Dreams, Nightmares, and to a lesser extent, possibly Knowledge. His Nightmare theme will be represented by his Dread levels, and his curse represented by his body changing into its nightmare form occasionally. I'm not totally sold on the Soulknife levels, and would be up for suggestions on that front if you also aren't sold on it. His Psion levels would focus on powers of Dreams, sleep, thought detection, and increasing the mutability of his own body (to represent the curse of wretched form a bit more).

also, my average is 13.64 posts per day since joining.