Way of the Wicked (System Game, Pathfinder, Adventure Path) -- CLOSED

Started by Anon315, May 27, 2014, 07:51:00 PM

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Warlock

Name: Mikaela Dale
Sex: Female
Race: Musetouched
Class:Bard (Soundstriker)
Rolls: At 2014-05-29 12:51:32, Warlock (uid: 52907) rolls: 4d10 Result: 26

Background:
Born to riches and fame, velvet and silk, Mikaela never lacked in the game of life. Gifted with a natural ability at Magic, her parents enlisted a private tutor at an early age. Still lacking the disciplined dedication required of the arcane arts, she often found herself avoiding her stern teacher, half fearing reprimands and half youthful wanderlust, finding a perfect hiding spot within their auditorium. Each of the hefty instruments were ungainly and handled awkward in her hands, though her voice was clear as silk and she was light on her feet. Unable to hide for too long, she was dragged by her teacher to her parents, expecting her to be punished, and much to his chargin Mikaela's parents approved of her newfound interest and hired a maestro, cutting the now dumbfounded wizard's lesson time and salary by half before the day was done. And so her life continued, before she was ready to be presented at the court of Talingarde's capital...

...Quickly being recruited by a less savory faction of the court, she was soon mired in secretive scandals and dubious dealings. Delving deeper into the faction she stumbled upon their hellish ties and unable to escape from their clutches she reluctantly accepted her fate. Mikaela's initial doubts quickly disappeared, curiosity and a newfound sense of depravity drives her onward. When she had first arrived at court she'd lost much of her previous privileges, being just another pretty face instead of her parent's valuable diamond and the cult was a chance to regain that status. Enamoured by the utility of hellish law as a vessel to her desires, she quietly whispered in the ears of influential demagogues to fan the flames of dissatisfaction and will to change. Mikaela's demagogues were more zealous than she anticipated, earning enough attention from the Inquisitors of Mitra to investigate the source and mastermind of the spread of Asmodean doctrine. Pitiful creatures they are, it was not long before a demagogue gave up her name and watchmen prepared to apprehend Mikaela. Unknowing of her impending capture, Mikaela still managed to put up a measure of Resistance, ending in a sharp blow to her head that lead to memory loss...

...The justice system, fearful of the possibility of further attempts to undermine society, despite the loss of memory, invoked the full force of her law due to the severity of her crime. Standing at her trial and hearing the verdict she broke down in tears, sprouting curses and hellish invocation, that came all to natural to her, as she was removed from the courthouse, bound in chains. Finding a new home in Brandscar...

...Her torture was not waiting for death, it was the taunts and embellished stories told by the guardsmen, depicting her as a harlot, deviant, rampaging massmurderer, everyday the stories were different and Mikaela could rarely tell the fiction from the truth. There was also a sense of belonging, she resonated with many of their unfavorable descriptions and found herself dreaming of being a queen, allowed to indulge in these indecent pleasures as she wished, and at other times a servant, whose each act of depravity pleased her master. An aching longing of being allowed to express her sinful nature, utterly demoralizing for a woman with no future...

Personality:
Mikaela is distraught by her loss of memories and is further feeling infuriated by the taunts of her captors. A twinge of fear also permeates her being, as if something important is lost, a part of her own soul, reinforcing her already negative emotional state. However she finds some measure of security in the knowledge and sense of self she still possess.

Curiosity, principle, dedication and unbridled ambition define the core of her being and she trusts in her intuition and muscle memory to lead her through unknown situations, certain that she will not face anything she can not handle. Of course in this cruel twist of fate, she lacks her previous dedication and instead she has pledge herself to defend her fellow lost souls. An alliance of convenience, at least for a start, more comes later. She carries herself with a grace more suitable for royal halls than murky city blocks and defaults to a haughty expression of superiority, looking at the world with lustful eyes.

Sexual Preferences: Omnisexual, Switch.

What I want from this game: There's a degree of flexibility built in within the ''Way of the Wicked'' adventure path and opportunity to create your own mark on the game-world, which is a very attractive prospect.

EndofDivine

Taadaa! Hopefully I didn't get too dark with this one. Kind of a messed up character but I guess you kind of have to be if you're going to serve a devil and take over the world. :P


Name: Bell
Sex: Female
Race: Created Undead. Or you can call it re-flavored Android if you want to be all boring about it.
Class: Slayer

Background: Her first memory was waking up atop an uneven wooden table, her body bare and a face hovering over hers, expectantly grinning down at her. The man that shared the dimly lit room with her let out a squeal of delight and clapped his hands together in excitement as her eyes opened and her face contorted in confusion. Where was she? Who was she?

The man that stood beside her pulled away and spoke to her in a soothing voice that slowly gave way to a tone filled with excitement and awe. "My princess. My precious little Bell. You're finally mine." With an anxious laugh that hid a hint of something sinister, his hands cautiously reached out to caress her, first her face and then, with a little more confidence, her body. She almost didn't notice if not for the contrasting warmth of his hand against her flesh. As the man continued his affections, she continued to lay motionless, her mind and body far too numb to care. Why did she feel so cold and hollow?

When he had his fill of her, he came to rest at her side, gently touching her face and hair as if the two were actually lovers. He told her everything, whispering every last secret into her ear. He was so proud of what he had done and all he had accomplished just to reach this very moment. Why wouldn't he be? Years of study, dark deals, sacrifices, and various crimes; all just to have her at his side right now. She was an imitation of what he desired most - or rather who he desired most - Princess Bellinda and all her beauty. She was the product of weeks of careful crafting, sculpting, and dark magics, all just to recreate the woman he fell in love with. But he was a realist, he knew there was no way for his love to be returned. He also wasn't an idiot; taking the Princess would just result in his own death. So he made a compromise. She was his compromise...she was his precious little Bell.

It was easy enough for Bell to accept her reanimation after some time. She should be thankful for the second chance, right? Still, she struggled with the notion of finding out who she used to be, even if it didn't make a difference - it wouldn't make her less dead after all. But...she just needed to know. It was all a dream that was too far out of reach though; he had molded her body into someone she wasn't, robbing her of any chance she might have had to figure out who she once was. She wasn't bitter about it though and, in fact, found it hard to really feel any sort of emotion at all. At least she made the necromancer happy and, in her own messed up way, that made her as close to happy as she thought she could hope for.

But the necromancer's happiness slowly waned and his passion for her faded with it. He informed her of her imperfections, of how her cheeks weren't full enough and how her eyes were a shade too light. Most of all, he desired the warmth and color of a living partner. He'd try again, and get it right this time; there were new rituals he had picked up, ways for him to improve upon his original failure. Bell, crushed as she was, still clung to his side even as he sought to replace her. Spell components? She'd get them for him. A sacrifice to be made? She'd find the poor soul and drive the dagger into his heart herself if he asked it of her. She stood at his side and worked with him for months as he made the preparations for his second Bell, some part of her hoping that maybe he'd come to his senses and see the woman that had been with him this whole time instead of chasing after one that didn't exist yet. It wasn't to be though.

As she continued to run his vile errands, she was eventually exposed to the harsh realities that awaited her outside the necromancer's hidden dungeon. Bell had almost hoped to find solace in the town, a few kind souls that might see her plight and understand. Instead, those that found out what she was responded only with fear and hatred. They would gaze upon her cold, pale skin and immediately label her monster worthy of destruction. Their rejection quickly killed any hope Bell had of finding a place where she could belong. For a time, Bell even turned to the god that the villagers prayed to so often. She pleaded every night for any sort of guidance that Mitra could offer her but found every single prayer unanswered. After all, the divine entity had little reason to pay heed to a soulless and miserable abomination, no matter how hard it begged. So instead, Bell dug up body after body for the necromancer's ritual, cursing the villagers and Mitra's name as she worked, falling deeper and deeper into a mental hole she'd never be able to climb out of again.

Announcing her prescense, along with her illicit deeds, eventually brought unwanted attention. The rumors of an intelligent undead creature wandering the graveyard at night meant there was a necromancer in their midsts - a blasphemy that could not be allowed to stand in the lands of Mitra. It was Sir Balin of Karfeld and his men that were called upon to answer the threat. It wasn't difficult for him to find Bell, nor was it too terribly hard for him to follow her from the graveyard back to her master's lair. The battle that ensued was short lived as Sir Balin's sword pierced between her master's ribs with surprising speed and that same sword soon pointed in her direction. Rather than pick a fight that would result in her death, Bell fell to her knees and begged for mercy, reciting her story as quickly as her tongue would allow. There was a spark of hope as his sword returned to its scabbard, only for it to be smothered just as quickly as it sprang up when men moved from behind him and hoisted her to her feet.

Just as the metal was wrapped around her wrists and she was pulled out of the building into the night, she heard Sir Balin's final words: "May Mitra have mercy on your wretched, damned soul." The embers of hate that she harbored for so long sprung to life inside her at those words, curses and feral growls spewing from her as she thrashed wildly against her captors. Mitra? Mercy? No, not for her...no one ever has mercy for her. In that moment, she made a promise to herself and anyone that cared to listen: she would give this shithole of a town a reason to fear her, she would make Mitra pay for ignoring her, and she'd end that self-righteous bastard for killing the only person that ever showed her any sort of kindness.

Personality: Bell is a creature ruled by fear. Her biggest fear is death and what would follow it for her. For that reason, she takes very few risks and prefers safety to danger, despite most benefits or rewards such behavior may bring. That isn't to say she completely lacks any sort of desires. While she may not realize it or care to admit to it, Bell just wants to feel human. She's seen the way they treat each other: they laugh, they love, they care. Bell longs for that but has unfortunately convinced herself that she can't have those things until she's perfect and whole like everyone else. Bell has come to the conclusion that Princess Bellinda holds the key to this transformation of hers, though she's unsure what exactly she's supposed to do to her. She supposes she could just kill her and, if nothing else, it'd at least make Bell feel better.

Bell is very aware of what she is and what people perceive her to be. She resents the fact that she lacks the soul required to have any sort of life or afterlife. This leaves her with a morose personality, a constant bleak outlook on life, and a seething hatred for many humans - a feeling that has slowly built up under the surface with each instance of her feeling like an outcast.

She's nervous around crowds since she's seen firsthand what many people think of her and are willing to do to her once they find out what she is. In any sort of town or village during daytime or in a brightly lit setting, she could easily be described as downright paranoid. Bell much prefers the cover of darkness when visiting any sort of community or, at the very least, clothing that covers her skin and hides her face.

Sexual Preferences: Bell doesn't really have preferences for sex. But if someone were to give her what she wants, made her feel desired, and then told her they want to express their affections with sex, then she probably wouldn't care much about gender or what they want to do with her. Just do me a favor and ask first before starting anything so I know what I might be getting into.

What I want from this game: Other than the usual stuff (have fun, grow our characters, etc.), not a whole lot. I do prefer talking and roleplaying over fighting so it'd be nice to see more of that. Maybe even just have a side thread for people to hold conversations with one another that can cover interactions during traveling or camping or whatever.


Blinkin

Hmmm... I thought that they weren't suppose to stand out and scream, "Hey! Here i am!" Maybe I need to rethink my concept for a party full of half-demons, half-angels and zombie like thingies... Subtlety isn't going to be the party strong point, is it? lol
"I am a Southern Gentleman, which means that I'm a rogue and a scoundrel. When I'm not kissin' the hands of married women, I'm slipping off their wedding rings."
My Ons' & offs'
Absenses & Apologies (Updated 3/02/23)
Blinkins' Thinkin's (Story Ideas)
Yes, I really am blind.
Being Literate is the ability to read and understand a language. When you ask for literate, what you are looking for is Verbosity, which is the ability to use lots of words without actually saying very much... like politicians. I consider myself both literate and verbose.

Mnemaxa

Considering we'll all be branded and have our likeness spread far and wide after our escape, we'll be fairly well known whether we want to be or not....there are degrees of subtlety though, and aside from the lovely farmer the general Int level is on the high side.

It promises to be interesting at the very least!

The Well of my Dreams is Poisoned; I draw off the Poison, which becomes the Ink of my Authorship, the Paint upon my Brush.

EroticFantasyAuthor

What major cities exist and what are their usual climates?

LisztesFerenc

  This is high fantasy, so fiendish and celestial blood may not stand out as much as we initially imagine. We will however be wanted criminals at level 1, so we will need need to subtle. Fortunately disguise is a skill that can be done untrained. Disguising yourself as another race gives a -2 penalty, giving you an effective DC: 13 to avoid detection from casual observers. So that requires 16+ cha or 12+cha and a successful aid another check from a party member, and the tiefling or aasimar is a human.

AceSorou

I'm interested, but I'm wondering if there are any special restrictions on classes.

I kinda wanna play my Ninja Assassin character.

Zaer Darkwail

No third party material basically. But everything else is up to grabs.

AceSorou

I just got to Pathfinder from 3.5. I believe Ninja is one of the core classes, isn't it?

LisztesFerenc

  I don't think it was a core class, it appeared in Ultimate Combat, so it is in the allowed sources. Its available here: http://paizo.com/pathfinderRPG/prd/ultimateCombat/classes/ninja.html

Faeli

Quote from: Mnemaxa on May 30, 2014, 07:46:19 PM
Considering we'll all be branded and have our likeness spread far and wide after our escape, we'll be fairly well known whether we want to be or not....there are degrees of subtlety though, and aside from the lovely farmer the general Int level is on the high side.

It promises to be interesting at the very least!

The PDF specifically says infiltration and subtlety will play a part

EroticFantasyAuthor


Foxfyr

I'm trying to decide between a straight up alchemist or using the trap breaker archetype.  I suppose I'll decide if I get selected based on whether the party still needs the ability to disable magical traps or not.

Rumm


Name: Wyvere Alandred
Sex: Female
Race: Changeling
Class: Sorceress(can be adapted to Unholy barrister, if necessary)
Diety: Asmodeus
Crime: Slave Trader etc…
Sexual Preference: Bi.
Sheet Links: Sorceress, Priestess


Appearance:
Eyes, large, odd and beautiful, the left a steely blue, the right a crimson hue.  Long midnight tresses are kept up, thereby exposing an elegant neck and  augmenting her diminutive stature.  Her skin is smooth and soft, possessing a porcelain palor that is naturally flushed with pinkish tones in all appropriate locals while her her well shaped lips are tinted the perfect shade of muted red. 

Despite coming in at just five feet tall she has no trouble commanding attention, and not just that of Dwarves and Halflings.  The Changeling carries herself with a dignity and slender grace that comes as effortlessly as her breath, her face, often demure, can be quite deceiving.

Even now, in shackles and rags, with her hair a disheveled mess, she still manages to pull off the tarnished beauty of a diamond in the rough.

Personality:
Determined, ambitious and ruthless, she exhibits each without effort.  The changeling lays claim a bloodline formed of ancient pacts with the Devil God and believes in returning him to power she will ascend as well.  Qualms about using whatever and whomever she can to her advantage are mostly nonexistent; she takes a certain delight in the suffering of others and always prefers to use someone than kill them.  Even her own suffering she can appreciate to some level, though she’d never admit it.  This all being said she does no hesitate in discarding someone if they are useless, whether that would result in their sale as a slave or outright death depends on the circumstance.   This isn't to say she's not willing to have someone killed, in fact when she considers someone too much a liability she'd strongly endorse their demise.

Sometimes the Sorceress can be overconfident, known to make assumptions such as strength or ugliness correlate directly to stupidity, she can get herself into trouble.  This being said she prefers to deal with such people, for they compliment her skill set wonderfully.  Doing the dirty work and protecting her as she charms her way through encounters.

Wyvere understands pecking order well and understands that sometimes its best to be subserviant to others, she'd simply prefer they be intelligent and/or charismatic.  She's a great ally to help such a person succeed and grateful in that such an individual may keep the target and suspicion away from herself, until the opportunity arises to succeed them.  The changeling does keep certain taboos that she believes keeps her above the common riff-raff; she will not kill in cold blood, especially if someone's watching except in ritual circumstances.  She will always get someone else to kill for her or take the person as a slave and sell them.  This preserves the order in her mind, those who are to be killed, those who kill and those who decide who gets killed.

On alcohol… she tends to run her mouth and get flirtatious.
Smoking… she very much likes to smoke.
Other drugs… unknown.


Background
Childsplay
"What was that?" Something had passed the window, or had it? In the driving rain it was difficult to tell.  There had been scream in the distance as the old women stood and wandered to the front door.  If she had looked she would have seen several unconscious guards and a red tint to the water on her porch... but she didn't see these things, when she opened the door she saw something else. 

"Why would someone do such a thing?" murmured the elderly woman gathering up the swaddled bundle that lay upon her porch.  Wasting no time, she peeled back the filthy rags and nearly dropped the lot as she jumped with a start.  The child was awake and wide eyed, one blue, one red, its face likened to the stoic mask of a porcelain doll, something the woman could never afford. "Dani girl, come here! You'll never guess what I found!"

A young woman came out with her own baby in her arms and a vacant look in her eyes. She smiled and made goo-goo faces at the newly discovered infant as she continued to bounce the one already in her possession. "She's a pretty lil thing, I guess they'll be sisters.  We can call her Wyvere... like the girl from that story...  The dull girl looked back to her own child with a smile "how does that sound Aaron?" The baby in her arms began to cry.

* * *

Walking by the temple courtyard, admiring the young knights, one of two teenage girls came to an abrupt halt and hopped over the low stone wall.

"Weaver Come Onnn! Gran said we're not supposed to be here while the squires are training." Aaron warned.  It was evening and the adoptive sister was getting more worried with every passing moment.  The two girls were the same age and with the same upbringing but their dispositions could not have been more different. Aaron was meek and mild, Wyvere, well, she was anything but.

The odd eyed girl just smiled as she ignored her sister's plea, for she loved watching the young men in hopes that someday one would rescue her from poverty and elevate her to a nobler class. "..but I want to see who's the most capable.  Besides we've got our chores done for the day and have nowhere else to be." She replied, before slipping a note into the pack of one of the knights in training, not disclosing that there was also a more cruel motivation behind her presence.

It didn't take long for the boy to retrieve the letter:

]Dear Warwick,

I watch you daily with fondness above all others, yet... I worry for your honor.  The others squires, though they seem to respect you bravery and skill, they mock you behind your back, saying that if the swords were steel instead of wood you'd be slow and easily taken.  Also they say your courage comes from fear.  Camdon, knowing he will gain little favor in your shadow, tries to elevate himself by besmirching your name.  It pains me to see such a villain soil your honor and I believe the Shining Lord of Justice would grant you favours should you prove your faith by dealing with those who do you such wrong.

Forever you have my favour,

Wyvere.
[/font]
The note was sealed with a kiss and wrapped in her handkerchief.

Warwick was honorable and wealthy, also dumb and ugly enough for her to manipulate.  Camdon was also none too bright, but he was handsome enough and was oft telling her to leave the yard where they trained for they scared off the worthy maidens of class.  Hopefully now he'd shut his trap.  It was then no time at all before the confrontation begun and the two were drawing steel in a mortal duel.  As they did the young Changeling slipped to Warwick's pack and set her note to flame.

Screams for help echoed in the courtyard, from onlookers and other knights in training. Her sister Aaron's was the most shrill, but Camdon's cry was still stronger and so she could tell it was not he who fell.  The young Changeling grimaced at the burning page, cursing her ill fortune when suddenly a hand grabbed her wrist.  The ancient digits snatched the burning paper from her hand, but it was too late, all but her name was ash. "And what is this?" Said the priestess.

"Nothing miss, a mistake.  I was going to give it to one of the squires but my sister Aaron advised me not to.  So I was burning it to erase further temptation of such foolhardiness." The young girl then attempted to depart but the elderly sister would not release her grip.

"To whom were going to give it." Came the stern voice, obviously not one to be so easily fooled.

"Camdon m'lady, but I fear it matters little now."
Behind them a young man screamed and cried as he was dragged away by the city guard for dueling to the death.  Beheading was the usual punishment for such actions and so Wyvere now smiled.  Aaron was trembling behind them in fear.

"May I go?"

The priestess never said a word, but nodded and reluctantly released the Wyvere's arm.  Both girls curtsied low and ran home.

Family Ties
At fifteen Wyvere was done with her home, unlike her sister, she could not tolerate being under the thumb of her adoptive mother and grandmother.  They had never made anything of themselves, so what gave them the right to tell her what to do?  Then she found what she thought was the perfect escape:  A young handsome boy named Nigel Smitton who's parents had died and left him their estate.  The Changeling also heard from her sister that they were well respected for their donations to the church and so expected to be kept quite well. 

Soon the newlywed found out that there were worst fates than a poor maid.   A marriage to a man without ambition, money, nor really any skills in bringing her any sort of pleasure was in her mind the epitome of such fates.  Sure he could craft a horseshoe, maybe even make a straight spike but that was pretty much the extent of his blacksmithing skill and his parents left their family little gold for it had all been tithed to the Church of Mitra.  Above all this, her husband's whore sister and her rotten children were now living with them.  The twenty-something year old wretch, her ten year old girl and infant son were like a disease in their own right, a disease that thought it could have the run of the place just because they were down on their luck and her husband had been accidentally run down by a carriage. 

It was that spring she began to have the dreams.  At first they were dreams of laughing, a cackling taunt that beckoned her to far off lands.  Soon she began to follow them, even in her waking state she found herself blacking out and waking up outside of town only to be returned home by the town watch.  Next came the dreams of fire.  She didn't know whether to be happy that the voice of the cackling hags had halted or to be more afraid of what was stooping them.  All this she confided in her sister Aaron, who advised her to seek help at the temple, but she never did.

Returning Home
In the pale green light she walked the streets, the earth rolling slowly beneath her feet.  Looking over her shoulder, her home, her neighbourhood was nowhere to be seen.  The Changeling recognized some of the structures, or at least they seemed familiar despite how they seemed to contort and blur as her attention ran over them.  A gap opened between the buildings and there was scarlet red door.  Unmoving she glided forwards, the color drained from the portal leaving only blackness and an inverted flaming star.  It flashed and filled her vision, suddenly she was inside.

Therein stood a man of cloven hoof, a horned crown and skin that bled. He leaned towards her showing that he was holding a contract signed in bold red letters:

"Alandred"

Terror filled her and she awoke as the devil smiled, despite her fear Wyvere awoke with a smile.

* * *

The next day the young Changeling had another of her blackouts when she suddenly found herself outside the familiar alleyway from her dream.  Entering she found a door stained red.  Instinctively she drew the inverted pentagram and it opened, and  there she found what she was looking for: A hidden temple of Asmodeus and it was led by her father

Of Blood and Kin
A baby was crying as its mother sat in the corner, a sack was covering her head.  Her tears were soaking through the burlap as she sobbed softly beside another young girl.  Wyvere had finally come across good fortune, not only were her sister-in-law and children to finally be out of her hair, they were to be the means to her elevation in the Asmodean cabal of her father.  The changeling sat naked with her eyes closed in the middle of a large pentagram of crimson powder.  There was no breeze but the black candles flickered at the points.  She echoed the man's words:

"Vlos d'sel whol Vlos d'le'i, vhadr l'Alandred n'corda wund"
tranlastion
Blood of new for Blood of kin, revive the Alandred pact within

There was a sound of a blade plunging into a wet sheath, then silence, save the dripping sound of crimson life over the naked girl.  The symbol on the floor burst into fire and when the flames died the child was gone, the changeling could feel the power surge from within.   Her father placed a red fringed black shawl upon her shoulders and the new sorceress approached the hooded woman in the corner and placed a corrupting touch upon her, feeling her body quiver and convulse.

"Shhhh... your child has done more than you could every hope, as I had promised.  Come, let me take you and your other daughter to your new home." Wyvere removed the sack from her sister and looked into the woman's eyes compelling her to follow... in a matter of hours the beautiful yet broken woman and child were sold to a slaver from the north.

* * *

Young Lady Alandred gave the money from the exchange to the Asmodean cabal and soon began to learn the trade.  Though it wasn't the purpose of the enclave, it served the church's interest well and provided sufficient funding to keep the right people silent.  Legal in other nations it wasn't as hard as one might think to find suitable clients.  Dangerous for certain but her father had already made most of the connections in advance.  A Priest who desired youth, a Noble who wanted the latest exotic fey "pet", one who was only known as the "Minister" through envoy requested weekly outgoing orders.  The latter had a penchant for dwarvish blood, often requesting a sample before purchase, but would settle for a well built males.   Wyvere learned the trade well, finding quickly that dwarves fetched the good prices but were the most dangerous, young boys and girls were a dime a dozen, especially the urchin variety, but there was just something delicious about the fey and broken slaves.  The elves often simply seemed to accept their lot similarly to a child who'd finally settled from its tantrum and resolved to sit in the corner until told otherwise, she was awful with ages but she was told many of them were nearly 100 years old! 

The Changeling also began to learn more about her infernal heritage, the pact of Alan the Red that was the birth of their bloodline and how there may be like minded people gathering to the north.  It took over a year before her husband grew suspicious, then nearly another before he decided to act on such suspicion and it was only then because some people who knew her had seen her in the company of other men in unsavory parts of town.  Wyvere had always claimed to be spending time with family, at temple or with her sister, but when he finally got up the nerve to ask the said sister, Aaron would not confirm any such claims.  So one night he followed her...

Wyvere drew the inverted star upon the door when she felt a touch on her shoulder.  She turned as the door opened to see the face of her husband.  Never did she want it to come to this, Nigel had supported her since she left her parents, never once questioned her about her actions but now she'd have to find another way to blend into society.  Giving him a passionate kiss he was quickly under her spell.

So she did what she had to do... her father wanted him dead, but she convince him to spare his life, for some reason she couldn't bare to see him dead, he was like a slave of her own, so compliant and eager to please.   So she promised to sell him at the dockyards, the trader Mavin would gladly take another prize.  Things seemed to be going smoothly when suddenly the Knights of Alerion appeared.  Apparently they had been given a tip that a man and odd eyed girl were heading to a slave trader.  Wyvere thought fast, quickly tearing her dress and scouring her wrist.  Once apprehended, she accused her husband of being a slaver and wept for their mercy.  Telling them of how he'd killed his parents and sold his sister to lay full claim to their family estate.  Deftly she spun her words, but it wasn't necessary for her husband accepted the charge.

Nigel simply nodded and never argued once for his life.  Three days later he was beheaded for her crimes.

* * *

Now a widow she had little inheritance and there was no way for her to respectably sustain herself, for Her father told her to lay low for some times and not to visit.  So, she sold the remainder of her property and moved in with her sister.  Aaron accepted her and soon the sisters were back to their old selves.  One night, they drank wine to excess and Wyvere confided all of what had happened with Nigel and how she had met her father.  The Changeling even laughed as she mimicked Nigel's acceptance of guilt and his pathetic nod.  Aaron was mortified and ran into her room and locked the door, but her cries could be heard from the door.

When weaver awoke, near noon, she found that she was in an empty house.  Aaron later told her that she felt she needed to go to temple and pray for her sister.  The next evening Wyvere went back to her father, but when she drew the sign on the door, it didn't open instead words appeared.

For a land red,
blood runs wild and fast
but always towards Hell

She knew it was from her father telling her to find more of Asomdeus's followers, but he had never told her where they would be.  Suddenly the door burst fully into flames, and in an instant the red stain turned black.  Quickly she ran home to her sister's place in a panic and began trowing her things into a pack.  She had no idea where, but she was going.  There was knock at the door, "I'll get iiit." her sister called.  Then when she opened it, guards burst in and apprehended Wyvere.  The Changeling was frantic, fighting and biting the guards and looking to her sibling for help, but she stirred not.  Standing there watching with tears flowing down her cheeks, Aaron mouthed the words: ~I'm Sorry...~

Wyvere then gave up her struggle and her eyes blazing with infernal hate, she had only one thought on her mind...

Not as sorry as you will be Sister...
Player Details
Daily is not a problem, and will gladly notify you when I'll be unavailable.
Should you wish to incorporate any of the background into the story here are some potential plot hooks.  None of these are necessary for the character to follow, though I imagine once in power she would at least send some lackeys to accomplish the first. 
• Wyvere will want to see her sister and her family dead if given the chance. 
• What happened to her father when his Cabal was captured, who escaped, who sent her word. 
• Potential blood siblings on her father's side?
• Hag mother... this one's pretty far off, but her mother was a Green Hag, so yeah, go nuts.


Rumm

How concerned are you with party balance? are you trying to fill all roles or is that not so much a concern?  I'm sorta torn between unholy barrister and infernal sorceress.

Sinestra

I think what's happening is that he's taking all these characters and then will build a party from that... I'd imagine he wouldn't choose a party that couldn't complete the module, so I can imagine (since it's a printed module) that there's some flex room, but largely is built for a "Typical Party"... and as such I'd imagine the group will end up being near to one.

But that's just my assumption.
"I don't mind that most fictional women look like they have F cups at minimum. I do, however, mind that their brains aren't nearly as... 'developed'."

Blinkin

On the branded, branded on the shoulder/upper arm is easily hidden in a fantasy world, women baring their shoulders is a big no-no in society and even a brand can be concealed with only a little effort, so I don't imagine that everyone will be identified on sight... and as for everyone knowing our face... how many of us today, with the internet, can identify the F.B.I. top 10? So, again, that point may or may not be mute.

I'm by no means not saying don't play those. if you want to play them, that's great. :) I just planned my character to be less visable, wihout having to go to elaborate measures (Grow a beard and your own mother won't recognize you).

On the other hand... I'm surprised that there isn't someone putting up a rogue in a game that begins with a prison break... but that's the way Pathginder games go. Rogues are rarely seen and dwarves are never seen... and the group is always tophavy (No pun intended) on female characters.
"I am a Southern Gentleman, which means that I'm a rogue and a scoundrel. When I'm not kissin' the hands of married women, I'm slipping off their wedding rings."
My Ons' & offs'
Absenses & Apologies (Updated 3/02/23)
Blinkins' Thinkin's (Story Ideas)
Yes, I really am blind.
Being Literate is the ability to read and understand a language. When you ask for literate, what you are looking for is Verbosity, which is the ability to use lots of words without actually saying very much... like politicians. I consider myself both literate and verbose.

Sinestra

Well, if I didn't see a lack of Heavy Armor in the submissions, I would have submitted a Catfolk Rogue/Rogue-like character.
"I don't mind that most fictional women look like they have F cups at minimum. I do, however, mind that their brains aren't nearly as... 'developed'."

Mnemaxa

Quote from: Sinestra on May 31, 2014, 04:32:58 AM
Well, if I didn't see a lack of Heavy Armor in the submissions, I would have submitted a Catfolk Rogue/Rogue-like character.

There's a couple of heavy armor characters and a number of medium armor characters out there, but I am fairly certain Anon315 will scale the situations to our character to a certain extent.

The Well of my Dreams is Poisoned; I draw off the Poison, which becomes the Ink of my Authorship, the Paint upon my Brush.

EroticFantasyAuthor

At this point I am currently planning to submit a rogue/assassin.

Ghostwheel


Foxfyr

Quote from: Blinkin on May 31, 2014, 04:13:55 AM
On the other hand... I'm surprised that there isn't someone putting up a rogue in a game that begins with a prison break... but that's the way Pathginder games go.

The alchemist is actually well suited to fill a rogue slot by the looks of it. No sneak attack, but they do have disable device as a class skill and there is an archetype that gives him trap finding at second level.

ChaoticSky

Holy crap, cant believe i almost missed this.

LE Samurai Me *nod*

Zaer Darkwail

Hmmm, there are applicants already to form two or even three parties :P. I pity the GM from having to choose from all these nice applications.