Party Members

Valeria Dae Amundsen


Valeria Dae Amundsen
Female LG Human Paladin of Iomedae
Level 1, Init 0, HP 13/13, Speed 20
AC 18, Touch 10, Flat-footed 18

Longsword +4 (1d8+3, 19-20/x2)
Flail +4 (1d8+3, x2)
Scale Mail, Heavy Steel Shield (+5 Armor, +3 Shield)

Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +4
Base Attack Bonus +1

Abilities Str 16, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 14, Cha 16

Traits Birthmark, Deft Dodger
Feats Step up, Shield Focus
Skills Diplomacy +7, Heal +6, Knowledge (Religion) +4

"Valor and Justice light my path, Honor and Virtue guard my soul"


Party Members

The DamnedName: Daius Ricard Ammon
Race: Dhampir, originally human.
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Class: Oracle (Bones) 1
StatsStr 8 Dex 16 Con 7 Int 14 Wis 14 Cha 20

HP 6 AC 19 Touch 13 Initiative +3
Fort -2 Reflex +3 Will +4

Role Lesser Evil, Knowledgeable, Expert in the Undead
AppearanceOnce possessed of charming goods looks and a warm youthful face, much has changed for Daius in the last few years. Where once his eyes were bright and a smile easy on his face, a friendly and well-loved fellow, now.. well, now he considers himself damned, for more reasons than one. His blond hair has turned ashen gray, with little of it's original color or luster left- just enough to be off-putting. Unkempt, it frames an emaciated face with hollow cheeks, dark brown eyes furtively angry. Where once a smile was the norm, now frowns and scowls crease his thin, pale lips. His skin reminds you of thread-bare paper stretched taut across his bones, hanging loose in some places and hardly there in others. The left side of his face is covered by a half-mask of white porcelain, obscuring it all. Heavy dark robes hang everywhere, barring from sight any other part of his body as a midnight-black mantle covers his shoulders and drapes down his back. It is patched in places, worn heavily, and cut in others- rather like the man within.
PersonalityOnce bright and cheerful, Daius is now a cold and sarcastic man. Not necessarily a mean or wicked one, his experiences and loneliness have left him bitter, and the path his life has taken helps public relations not at all. He is often quiet, pensive, and thoughtful... until he snaps out of them in an angry or depressed state, depending on his moods. What warmth and joy he may find is at the bottom of a bottle, of which he partakes not enough, if you follow his words. He is not a man of alchohol, however, for his frail body cannot hold the spirits and torments him the next day.
BackgroundBorn to Clan Ammon, one of the largest and wealthiest families in Lozeri, Daius' young life was happy and largely uneventful. Blissfully unaware of the problems of the 'lesser folk'- though you'd never catch him saying that, oh no!- he and his family went through the paces of nobility as they participated in the nobles' hunts. Given the best schooling possible, Daius took to it with an intelligent and insight that startled the teachers, and a charming poersonality to compliment his handsome features. Truly, an angel of a child, they said. Yet, displeased by the teachers' favor in this young Ammon boy, many of his age-mates took to bullying and teasing him. This grew progressively worse as the years went by, but young Daius took it in stride, secure in his position of nobility. The happiest day of his life was when the love of his life, Alicia Durnst, accepted his offer of marriage. Now pledged to be married in a years' time, they lived together under the watchful eye of his parents. The townsfolk gossiped amongst themselves as to how 'premature' their baby might be after their official marriage, but such thoughts could not be further from the young couples' minds. They loved each other wholly, and were devoted to maintaing the noble image of their respective families. However, that changed on the Day of Bones, held on the fifth of Pharast every year. Typically a holiday for the veneration of the honored ancestors, it has also held as a time for the worship of darker aspects of death..and undeath. On that fateful night, dear Alicia pricked herself while sewing a blanket for their newborns to come the following year. Seeing her, his first thought was concern- the second, none. An angry red haze washed over him, a violent shudder wracking him.

The next thing he knew, he was standing against the bedframe, his love lying in a collapsed heap upon the ground. The second, the taste of blood upon his lips. The third.. his body sending shivers of purest agony along his spine as phlegm-filled lungs coughed repeatedly. His entire left side, he was stunned to see, had become a mass of oozing sores and open wounds. What was more, his youth had been stolen from him by whatever fell force had come over him- his hair hung loose and gray, his skin taut across his thin frame. In a shaken and horrible state, he smashed much of his room before fleeing out the window. Hurrying upstairs, his parents found the corpse of Alicia upon the floor, and Daius nowhere to be seen. With tears in their eyes, they blamed the Devil in Grey for taking away their only son.

Fleeing with his ruined life, Daius stumbled lost through the forest with uncaring eyes and heart. His life, his dreams and love had been shattered by his own hand, whatever had happened. Finding the now-old man unconcious just outside of Courtaud, some local farmers nursed him back health, reducing a fever and treating the wounds that would never truly heal. He took up tasks like a dead man, earning the shivers and pitying stares of the villagers. Nothing drove him, and his life had been lost- just a shell of a man living for no reason he knew. That reason, however, was discovered a year after he arrived. While drowning his emptiness in liquor that would ruin him tommorow, a gaunt man dressed in black robes lay a hand upon his shoulder. Feeling sleep fall over him, Daius slumped, and was 'helpfully' supported to his room by the dark man. There he found the reason for his curse... Urgothoa's hand was upon him, guiding him through the vampiric legacy of some long-forgotten ancestor. The dark man explained that priests of her dark order operated here in Courtaud under the cover of secrecy, and offered him a place. He agreed aimlessly, lost. Yet one thing sparked a small flame in his gray mind- the promise that, given strength, he could bring his love Alicia back to him once more.

For the next four years, his mental state improved, even as his body remained declined. He devoured something that gave him meaning and purpose, an empty vessel filled with evil. He took pleasure in pain and strength, naked ambition for power foremost in his new-found dream. Along this path he was supported by the dark brotherhood, who eventually told him a secret of utmost importance and horrible import- The Whispering Way. Though he scorned the destruction of all, the acquisition of such power and immortality as a lich might control were a second flame, burning brighter than the first perhaps.

In time, though, a rift grew between the budding young oracle of Urgothoa and the cultists who venerated her, for they desired destruction foremost of all, consumed by the dark of the Whispering Way. Death, while a plaything of Daius and a welcome ally, was not one he would send others to so easily. Murder.. was evil. And a evil man he was not, he told himself. Any evil that he may do was caused by Urgothoa's dark embrace, and he was not to blame. Setting off on his own, Daius began the search for greater power, that his dual dreams might one day come to pass. Of life...and death.

Party Members

Name: Janel Raj
Bestiary 2; +2 Dex/Wis, -2 Str
Gender: Female
Alignment: Neutral Good
Class: Cleric 1
Deity: Sarenrae
Domains: Glory and Water

Str 8 (-1); Dex 16 (+3); Con 10 (+0); Int 8 (-1); Wis 16 (+3); Cha 18 (+4);

HP 8; AC 13; Touch 13; Initiative +3;
Fort +2; Reflex +3; Will +5;
BAB -1 | +3;

AppearanceBeautiful, lithe, and graceful, Janel Raj's skin is such a pale shade of sea green that it is easily mistaken for her being extremely pale and looking more than a little sickly; but combined with her deep sapphire hair and her pointed ears that look reminiscent of a fish's tail, it leaves little doubt as to her Undine heritage in the minds of those who know enough to recognize such things. With her hood pulled up over her head and covering her distinct ears, she can easily pass as an elf. Small patches of scales under her eyes, and in a line running along the sides of her neck and down her body make her look as if she paints her face. The patch of scales on her forehead is usually hidden behind the circlet she wears marking her as a follower of Sarenrae.


BackgroundBorn to an elven wizard in a brief tryst between her and an elemental water spirit, Janel spent most of her early years in seclusion, hidden for the most part from the rest of the community. When she finally began to interact with her peers, she was met right away with suspicion, discrimination, and in some cases outright hatred - simply because she looked so much different. As she grew older, she found solace and sanctuary in the temples and churches of Sarenrae, eventually joining the priestesses of the Dawnflower once she was old enough to do so. She had long since proven she lacked any of the arcane talent her mother enjoyed, but not long after she began her training in the Temple her natural skill at divine magic began to make itself known, and so instead of becoming one of the more common priestesses, she chose to become a Cleric so she could spread The Everlight's grace to others.

Party Members

Andrei Mihaita
Male Neutral Human(Varisian) Rogue
Level 1, Init +4, HP 11/11, Speed 30'
AC 17, Touch 14, Flat-footed 13
(+3 Armor, +4 Dex)
Fort +2, Ref +6, Will +1

Kalev's Heart (MW Dagger) +6 (1d4+2, 19-20/x2)
Kalev's Heart/Dagger +4/+2 (1d4+2/1d4+1, 19-20/x2)
Battle aspergillum +4 (1d6+2, x2)

Str 14, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 13, Wis 12, Cha 10

Combat Support, Scout, Skill Monkey

Andrei is a short but well-built Varisian caught between youth and maturity. Swathed in baggy clothes and colorful scraps of cloth, nearly every bit of him is the picture of a typical Varisian wanderer... except for the exposed skin of his hands and face. For there, his features are
He was not always this way, but his pact with the blade has changed him.
sallow and faded as if the Varisian exuberance of his ancestors had been drained away. His dark eyes peer out warily from a pale face that is swathed in long loose white-blonde hair, a stark contrast. A deep scar runs along the palm of his left hand.

Character Traits
Determined, Quick-Witted, Assertive
Character Flaws
Grief-stricken, Guilt-ridden, Arrogant

Andrei has a haunted look about him that stems from recent events, and his whole frame stoops as if heavily burdened. Andrei is struggling with both the grief and the percieved guilt from his family's mysterious demise, not to mention the loss of his love Mirela. As a balm to his guilt, Andrei has grasped an inner solidity that had always eluded him in the past, and he uses it to fuel his determination to find the one(s) responsible. Assertive to the last, Andrei isn't afraid to use his quick wit to get exactly what he wants. From his upbringing as a wanderer, Andrei has developed a certain callousness against others (read: anyone who isn't family) due to the treatment he has received in turn, and this often comes across as arrogance.

  • Andrei was a follower of the old ways. Family heritage of resistance against the Whispering Tyrant. Worships Pharasma & Desna.
  • Family traveled across Ustalav in a caravan of colorful wagons.
  • Youth as a rake. Cons and the like. Found a girl.
  • Outside Thrushmoore, celebrated engagement to Mirela(the girl) and holiday of the victory of the Shining Crusade.
  • Story of ancestor plunging weapon into Kalev, a vampire/general/governor under the Whispering Tyrant.
  • Left town the next day, Andrei sent ahead to scout/eerie feeling of being watched.
  • Rushed to find caravan to find his grandfather, dead. No sign of anyone else. Family/Young love lost.
  • Took Kalev's Heart (the weapon), and made pact of vengeance.
Andrei had always believed the stories, but that night, it was different.

The family's gaudily painted wagons were drawn up around the bonfire, just outside of Thrushmoore. Mama Narcizia had gone around the circle of wagons, chanting her mantras to keep the evil from the family as they rested for the night. Their bonfire cast long creeping shadows and the moon was full despite the looming clouds obscuring the stars. The Mihaita family was joined by the Valentins, another family of Varisians that kept to the old ways, and the company helped to push back the darkness.

The talk around the camp was of moving on once more. Katallin had been caught alone that day and had beaten sorely by the locals. Folk were worried that Mama Narcizia might not be able to fend off all of the evil spells from the locals. The two families discussed keeping together for a while, for protection.

But tonight was a night of celebration, and soon people put their worries aside and joined in the festivities. Fiddles were unpacked from their cases and limbered up. Children danced, and mothers brought out their harrow decks. Young men competed in games of strength, skill, and chance as the young women looked on with cheers and admiration. This night was the Shining Night, the first night of freedom after the Whispering Tyrant Tar-Baphon was pushed back to his grave in Gallowspire.

Andrei had his own reasons for celebration, for Mirela Valentin's father had just consented to the match proposed by Mama Narcizia. Mirela was a dark-eyed dark-haired truly Varisian beauty, and Andrei had been courting her, as the fates allowed, for over two years now. The couple were giddy with joy, and with each other as they sat and basked in the warmth of their families' collective delight.

Eventually, Grandfather Tiberiu raised his hands, indicating that he was ready to start his tale. The din quieted, and the families began to gather around. It was one that Andrei had heard eighteen times before, but nevertheless he and Mirela leaned in to listen, though they remained wrapped in each others arms. Grandfather Tiberiu was a master storyteller, and tonight was no exception. The tale he told was true, or at least he claimed it was, and no one there doubted him.

The TaleGrandfather Tiberiu began in low tones, so that to hear the family had to lean into and become part of his tale. He spoke of the old days, the dark days when the Whispering Tyrant ruled the land, and horrors roamed across Ustalav with impunity. Hope had risen among the people when the Shining Crusade began, but time and time again the forces of light were pushed back by the pervading darkness, and hope had begun to fade.

It was during these dark times that Viorel Mihaita, a young rake and ancestor to all of the Mihaitas came into the story. Desperate to protect his family and to oust the Tyrant from his once-beautiful land, he joined the forces of the Shining Crusade, leading them as a local guide and acting as an infiltrator. For years he fought alongside the Crusade, slowly pushing back the Tyrant and his minions, but it wasn't enough for Viorel.

It was the county of Versex, ruled by Kalev, that consistently pushed back the Shining Crusade, and it was here than Viorel decided to make his move. He gathered a group of loyal Varisians to infiltrate Kalev's keep. With Viorel in the lead, they approached during the day when Kalev, a vampire, would be at his weakest. Kalev's lieutenants discovered the group and did their best to hold off the infiltrators, but Viorel managed to slip through the guards and into the chamber that held Kalev's coffin. Viorel drew the special dagger than he had carried with him, blessed by a priest of the shining crusade, and plunged it into the heart of the waking Kalev.

It was then that Grandfather Tiberiu brought out the weapon named Kalev's Heart. It was a sleek black blade that Andrei had seen eighteen times, but still he stared transfixed.

For tonight, in the light of the bonfire, it was as if a malign life was beating rhythm from within the glimmering darkness of the weapon.

῀ ῀ ῀
Dawn was signified only by the lightening fog that misted the land. The Valentins and the Mihaitas weren't waiting to greet it, for the wagons were already on the move away from Thrushmoor. Mama Narcizia had woken with a bitter headache and an ominous feeling, and she asked Grandfather Tiberiu to be extra careful. Tiberiu called for Andrei - now the most trustworthy of the young men after Kallatin had been beaten - and asked him to scout ahead for trouble, worried that the locals might have left them a trap.

The caravan passed into the forest along a small track cut through the trees, with Andrei keeping far ahead to watch for trouble. The trees and mist dampened the sound around Andrei and shrouded him in twilight, so that quite often he had to pause to hear the sound of the caravan over his own breathing. He yawned in the gloomy solitude of the forest, wishing he was still in his warm bedroll, bundled up with Mirela.

Andrei was a brave young man, but eventually the hairs on his neck began to stand on end. A feeling of being watched soon overpowered his senses, and he crouched down, pulling out his daggers to prepare himself for trouble. After several minutes the feeling began to abate, and he cursed himself for a fool.

It was only then that he realized that he was wrapped in total silence. Looking back, he couldn't spot the caravan, and abandoning caution, he ran back along the track towards where it should have been. He burst into a small clearing about 500 feet back, and immediately stopped, staring in horror.

The ground of the clearing was churned into furrows of mud, but there was no sign of the caravan. Only one thing remained. Grandfather Tiberiu was in a tree, staring down with eyes devoid of life. Blood ran down the tree in rivulets from the stakes piercing Tiberiu's hands, feet, and forehead... with Kalev's Heart sunk deep into his chest.
῀ ῀ ῀
The grief nearly killed Andrei. He was alone, the caravan having disappeared as if into thin air, and only Grandfather left dead on a tree. Andrei wept. For his family, for the Valentins... for Mirela.

He pulled his Grandfather down from the foul tree, buried him proper, and burned the tree to the ground. Taking the blade from his kin's heart, he cut his palm, and mixed his blood with that of his grandfather's on the blade, vowing to seek revenge with his ancestor's weapon.

Party Members

Miosil Ovani, elven witch, trainee of Pharasma

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