I'm interested and looking to revive a character that I never got to play as much as I would have liked. I hope that's fine -- he's a bit unconventional as a Champion because he's an evil character pretending to be a hero and soaking up the adoration and fame that comes with it, but I hope that works.
Not sure if the double float I was going for works, can't see them on my phone. If not I'll fix it once I'm home and can access e on a proper computer.
Also, I believe at least pdragon may recognize one particular source of inspiration for this troublesome fellow.
Standing tall at about 5'11' feet, this man has a rather exotic look about him. Chiseled aristocratic features -- a straight, sharp nose, angular cheekbones and strong jawline, all handsomely framed by shoulder-length black hair that contrasts well with his fair complexion -- and his confident poise suggest a man of noble origin. His eyes, an odd sight the color of molten gold, issue a playful challenge to those who meet them, as if he knows some secret that he dares others to find out.
Shirvan's lean build and effortless movements clearly indicate to anyone with an eye for such things that he knows how to handle himself in a fight; the scimitar that rests at the left side of his belt isn't for show, nor does he wear the leather pauldrons and greaves over his red vest with anything but the confidence of a seasoned warrior.
On a closer inspection, the black-haired swordsman appears to be just short of his thirties, though he has evidently mastered the art of etiquette quite well. He speaks eloquently in his deep, smooth voice, appealing with a bright and attentive look.
His exotic flair is exaggerated by the fact that his speech sometimes slips into fairly odd inflections, when he doesn't pay attention. It's obvious that he isn't a native.
True appearance, without dyed hair First Name
and wearing fancy armor from Sigil.
: ShirvanLast Name
: D'Arnays (former), Firehair, Brighteye, and numerous other suitably heroic spontaneously chosen last names.Age
: 107 (appears in his early thirties) Sexuality
: Heteroflexible, potential advantage outweighs personal preferenceNext of Kin
. None.I, Shirvan, hereby agree that in signing this document,I accept the knowledge that I may be enslaved by demonic forces should I fail the dungeon. I also accept that should I wish,I will be exempt from further sacrifices unless for mere fun. I furthermore accept that I shall never speak of this dungeon outside the city.
Signed in free and good conscious,
[OOC Note: This is a repurposed former character that I never got to play properly, so I hope you'll forgive me the writeup length. If necessary, I can make a TL;DR version. Spoilered for length. In D&D terms, he was a Pathfinder level 6-8 character, a Peri-blooded Aasimar Bard of Neutral Evil alignment who made a habit of pretending to heroism.]
For a man born poor in the slums, Shirvan is actually a fairly nice person. He only kills people without remorse if it serves a purpose, rather than if they look at him in a slightly disagreeable manner. Though he would certainly qualify as an 'evil' person by most standards, he doesn't view himself as a bad person per se. Life dealt him a bad hand, what's so wrong about discarding it and getting a new one? It's not like people are actually gone gone after they're dead, he's just shortening a period of their journey to the next plane their karma draws them to.
He's quite happy with the people he has actually killed, such as his foster father. The pimp had not only been the final nail in his mother's coffin, but had put him to work as a messenger in one of the most dangerous areas in the multiverse. Plus, there were those lecherous looks Nails had given him towards the end. Preempting anything he might have done with a generous stabbing was a good thing for everyone involved, really.
Killing his foster father and brother (or trying to, in the latter case) was not a decision made lightly, but one enforced by years of frustration that had slowly built. He believes himself a better son than Calath, in every conceivable way; it wasn't fair that his low birth should stand in the way of that. The shade of pity he had always perceived in both their eyes continually galled him, his rage barely supressed underneath the surface of playing the perfect son.
Rage that reminded him all too much of Hammers-Nails, further exacerbating the issue until he finally decided that killing them was all he had left if he ever wanted to move on. He doesn't regret having killed Lorn, though part of him laments the future that might have been if the man had just been a little less attached to his own flesh and blood.
All this comes to one statement: Shirvan kills without remorse when he feels it necessary, then rationalizes it. He prefers to do it in cold blood in order to feel in control, but his temper sometimes gets away with him. However, it should be noted that he doesn't kill often, nor indiscriminately. Only when his charm and cunning won't get him what he wants will he stoop to such methods; this serves as both a way to distinguish himself from Nails, as well as to give him a sense of superiority.
Though aware of it to some extent, there is something he won't admit to himself: he has issues with the female gender. Or rather, with applying his rather pragmatic outlook on the continued existence of other people to women. Having never really had a mother figure and then connecting very well with his new foster mother to the point of a slight infatuation, he finds that whenever it would benefit him more to kill a woman than to let her live he makes up excuses.
Beyond his views on killing, Shirvan likes to view himself as an ambitious person with the guts to do what is needed. He's certainly clever, cunning and even brave in the face of danger when he has to be. Now that he had a taste of privilege and power, he desires to regain that sort of position and go beyond it.
He didn't enjoy the confrontation with his foster brother and his forced retreat, preferring by far to appear the dashing hero than the wretched villain. This means that he will generally entertain and project a good image of himself, even if he has to go to depraved lengths behind the curtain to keep wearing that clean vest in public.
The tale of Shirvan is one steeped in tragedy, though whether it is his own or that of those who fell prey to his silver tongue is a subject for debate.
On any other world, in any of the many bountiful nations of famed Toril or the vast Golarion, a child born of celestial lineage would be a small wonder, the carrier of a grand destiny and someday, perhaps, a famed hero or prophet. Not so atop the Spire, within the City of Doors. There, even devils and demons grudgingly tolerate each other's existence under the protectorate of the mysterious Lady of Pain, whose name only passes lips in hushed whispers for fear that her shadow might fall upon them. There, the exotic quickly becomes mundane.
Shirvan's divine parentage is undeniable, though its origins are suspect: his mother was a half-celestial, daughter of a Peri and a mortal, called Sha'van. Though traditionally representing the ideal of good like their kin, the Peri are a race of Celestials descended from Fallen Angels. Their blood sometimes pulls them into the very opposite direction. Conflicted her whole life between these two polar opposites warring inside, Shirvan's mother eventually began to drown her sorrows using an addictive euphoriant -- a drug derived from Slaad eggs. The chaos so introduced into her system quickly helped her get over any lingering doubts; not so the growing dependency and cravings they introduced. Ultimately, Sha'van's life ended short and miserably, the last decade of her existence the life of a drug-addicted prostitute in the Hive, one of the most wretched regions even in the slums of Sigil.
It was there that Shirvan was born. Though the identity of his biological father is unkown, his appearance suggests a human or a sub-species thereof.
As they say: Life's cheap, berk, but nowhere's it cheaper than in the Hive Ward. The man Shirvan recognizes as his 'proper' father was, for all intents and purposes, Sha'van's pimp. A downtrodden human with Orcish ancestry (a presumption prompted by his prominent lower jaw) called Hammers-Nails or Nails, chosen for his enjoyment of the proverb that 'the nail that sticks out gets hammered down'.
He decided to keep Shirvan around and put him to work after his mother died. Though the number of women in his employ was small, it was still good to have a messenger and spy available. The young Aasimar proved very good at that. He was smart and handsome for a boy and quickly established himself as one of the leaders of the local children; mostly thieves, beggars or messengers themselves. His Celestial blood, however, also meant that he aged slower than most after his initial growth-spurt. At the age of sixteen, he still looked like he was twelve, but by then he had decided that he'd had enough and that he didn't like the glint in old Nail's eyes whenever the man looked at him lately -- a dagger in the gut remedied that and Shirvan was his own man.
A common occurence in the Hive.
Shirvan, for his part, was ready to move on. After a brief stint with the Collectors in Ragpicker's Square that didn't prove very successful, the boy banded together with a group of orphans and started going after local vermin for the reward. The main problem with that was that this particular sort of vermin grew more and more dangerous in large numbers and wasn't particularly pleased when their ranks were being culled. It was dangerous, but at least provided a meager income.
At the age of twenty-five, now looking around fourteen years old, Shirvan lucked into what might well have been the greatest turning point in his life: he found a young half-elven child wandering the Slags, pretty much the worst area in the entire slum. The boy clearly didn't belong there. It turned out he stemmed from the Lady's Ward and had stumbled through a portal by accident. The half-elf was named Calath d'Arnay.
Rather than follow his first impulse and slit the stranger's throat in order to take his belongings, Shirvan decided to do the smart thing and help him find his way back home. The boy's family, the d'Arnays, were overjoyed and Shirvan was rewarded with a position as a live-in servant in the household.
A charming boy, he quickly ingratiated himself with the family. The patriarch of the house was Lorn d'Arnays, a human mage of plenty skill and renown. His elven wife, Marya, was not quite as influential, but stemmed from elven nobility and possessed some arcane skill herself, though she found herself more at home at court and with the classical elven arts.
It was there that Shirvan received a formal education and spent long hours training with the d'Arnays, who became more foster parents than employers; he was essentially growing up at about the same rate as Calath and they quickly established a brother-like relationship, even if Shirvan was mostly playing along so as to keep his new privileges.
Shirvan was more gifted than Calath in many ways and figured that, if he proved his superiority often enough while putting up a good facade, he might supplant him at some point. He didn't really try to do anything malicious to Calath, actually enjoying the company on some level as they began to journey across the Planes, stumbling upon the occasional adventure.
Still, the fact that he hadn't yet usurped Calath' position as the favored son was gnawing at him and, when they both started to vie for the same woman, the situation grew worse. Shirvan had always been very close to his elven foster mother, who he had no doubt would have little qualms leaving the legacy to him, if both her husband and son would meet an unfortunate demise. And he'd have the woman he fancied, too.
Things didn't go quite as well as intended. An attempt to poison both of them failed after Lorn's death, when Calath discovered his malevolent betrayal. Shirvan was forced to flee with nothing but what he had currently on him. He knew of a priced possession of his newly deceased foster father's that might prove his salvation. Preferring the risk to a return to the slums, he broke into the mage's sanctum and stole the powerful Amulet of the Planes located there. He immediately activated its power -- to be whisked away to somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't Sigil.
He didn't expect to appear in [City here], on some backwater Prime Material Plane with strange gods and little knowledge of interplanar cosmology. Perhaps this was for the best, all things considered.
Apparently some manner of demonic invasion was brewing, but after a little investigation Shirvan found that it had been set up as an oddly benevolent challenge. Was there some greater secret, a trick to build up their forces and keep the locals quiet? Were these demons perhaps some sort of creature different from those of the Abyss that he was familiar with? It bore investigating. If nothing else, it should prove an interesting challenge.
: Power (!); fooling the goodly, dominating others, seducing others (in general, to evil and to his side), conspiring against others; feminine partners (female, futa, trap), betraying others at just the perfect moment, light bondage, kinky sex (the usual 'not entirely out there' kinks like breastplay, creampies, fancy outfits, exhibitionism and whatnot. He particularly enjoys fucking a partner against a wall, a mirror or better yet, a railing or window where their ecstatic face might be seen from the other side.); demons, angels and their lesser offspring like Tieflings and Aasimar.Turn Offs
: Gore, Vore, toilet stuff, being the bottom (but will if it's to his advantage despite disliking it)Secret Desires
: a throne to sit upon, power to match a demon lord, revenge against all those he believes wronged him.Extra Secret Desires
: genuine recognition and adoration for his cleverness and skill, a moment of true peace from his personal demons (metaphorical, not literal demons), genuine love he doesn't believe himself worthy of.