WotW: Dramatis Personae

The Kingdom of Talingarde is perhaps the noblest, most virtuous and peaceful nation yet founded. The royalty of this dominion has rescued a dispirited people from the brink of despair and darkness. They dealt with their enemies honorably and their allies faithfully. Talingarde is a paragon of the age, a bright shining city upon a hill. Yet the nation faces now its greatest test. US! It is our ambition to do nothing less than destroy Talingarde utterly.

Moderator: PMiller

WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby PMiller » Thu Jul 31, 2014 5:51 am

Character List and Sheet Links:
:smt024
Playing & DMing: Anytime, anywhere.
DM Workshop Notes
User avatar
PMiller
Gaming Commander
Gaming Commander
 
Posts: 12133
Joined: Thu Apr 22, 2010 7:33 pm
Location: Tokyo, Japan

Re: WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby Rua'thil » Fri Aug 01, 2014 4:59 am

Image
Character Name: Rua'thil
Gender/Race: Female Half-elf
Age: 22
Class: Synthesist/Monk of the Sacred Mountain & Master of Many Styles (To be taken later)
Role: Melee & Arcane Casting
Crime: Consorting with the Dark Powers
Brand Location: Left side of chest, right above the breast

Rua'thil Normal, Rua'thil/Tamarak Fused

Description | Show
An attractive young half-elven woman with green eyes and brown hair. She stands 5'6" with a slender and somewhat curvy figure. Her hair is long and wavy and falls past her shoulders and halfway down her back. Most of the time the thick locks cover her pointed ears. Her features have than angular exotic beauty that is elven, but reflects the mixture of her human heritage as well. Her movements often show a natural grace that is effortless. Her build is slender with arms and legs lacking significant muscular definition.


Personality | Show
Rua'thil is a secretive girl, not easily trusting of anyone. She can feign being polite and friendly is necessary, but normally she is ice cold and can be a bitch. She is not afraid to use her looks and gender to get her way, but she generally relies on some deceit or threats of intimidation to do it. She can be extremely vengeful when scorned and is not afraid of violence to accomplish her goals. She respects and desires wealth and power.


Background | Show
Rua'thil grew up with her mother, the man that sowed his seed long gone from the picture. She was lonely growing up, her mother supporting them and resenting her daughter as another mouth to feed. She did not really connect with the other human children around her either, and there was an absence of other half-elven or elven children as well. As soon as she felt able, she left and ran away. She was fourteen.

After leaving her home, Rua'thil wandered the region for a few years while still in her adolescence, feeling like an outcast wherever she went. Generally this was only her perception of things as she just couldn’t connect emotionally to people while she kept herself closed off. Unless she wanted something from them, most people thought she was made of ice with her cold disposition, despite her exotic beauty. Those attractive features kept her from being completely turned away, and she was not above putting on a facade to convince or cajole people to do her bidding if necessary. Yet she always felt that she must remain secretive about her past and not reveal her true feelings of mistrust and dislike to anyone.

Being still relatively young and impressionable, she fell away from the teachings of the elven gods, leaving her spiritually adrift. This lack of religious influence began to manifest in her personal motivations. Still trying to find a place or community that would accept her, or at least one she could tolerate, she kept wandering farther northward from her original homelands. She kept searching for a new home and place where, maybe, she would not be so alone. During her travels she tagged along caravans and even stowed away aboard a ship or two.

Rua'thil found herself in the herself in the island Kingdom of Talingarde, the cargo ship Isabelle's Promise making a regular port visit on its trading run from the mainland.

Vignette aboard the ship: ~ 9 months Ago ~

Rua'thil was sullen and her hands were sore.

Being discovered hiding in the sail locker was only a matter of time; she had to eat and could not stay out of sight the entire voyage. It only took two days at sea to be discovered.

At least the Captain of Isabelle's Promise decided against simply throwing her overboard. He just assigned her menial tasks to compensate them for the provisions she consumed and her passage to the Kingdom of Talingarde. It was to be a short transit, yet it seemed to take forever with the chores she had to do.

She was scrubbing the deck with a small brush, dipping it into the bucket of soapy water every so often. The cross wind was blowing over the deck gently as the ship leaned to leeward on a starboard tack. The sun was out.

The dark-haired passenger was leaning against the gunwale and she accidentally splashed some of the soapy water on the man's riding boots.

Rua'thil was hardly paying any attention and certainly had no pride in her work.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


The wind swept past Duke, providing comfort in contrast to the sun's rays. His black coat would have been far too hot if not for that breeze. Even so, he was tempted to remove it. He could either do that or go back downstairs. The latter idea did not appeal to him. This was only his second trip over the ocean. He wanted to stay where he could see the waves glittering in the sunlight. It was a type of beauty he was unaccustomed to.

He was watching the horizon without any particular thoughts. Had nothing happened, he might have remained like that for the rest of the day. But a sudden dampness spreading through his boots pulled him out of his revere. He glanced down to see a young woman scrubbing the deck next to him. Her quick and sloppy gestures made it evident she had splashed him, but judging by her eyes being on the deck and not giving him a single look, she had not noticed.

It was unusual for Duke to get interested in another person. But the small scowl on the woman's face spoke of pent-up frustrations. She seemed to be weighed down by problems, which was something Duke did not often see. People in Talingarde were usually happy and content. If nothing else, he could tell she did not fit that mold.

Turning to lean against the railing, so that he was facing the woman, Duke made a remark. "You do know that your employer will cut your payment if you annoy the passengers? I'd suggest watching where you're throwing that water." Despite what he was saying, his tone was mild. He did not really care about being splashed, for his clothing was going to get dirty from traveling no matter what he did. The words he chose were more to see how she would react, rather than actually being irritated.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil's own clothes were already wet and she really had no sympathy for anyone complaining about a little water. They were surrounded by it and... sea spray happens.

Still on her knees, she stopped scrubbing and looked up to see who was talking. Her disheveled hair had a few brown strands dangling in front of her face. Her slender hand gracefully tucked them behind her left ear. Her features were slightly angular and with her ear exposed, the traits of her elven heritage were evident.

The soap suds on her hand stayed with her hair.

Rua'thil scoffed softly, not wanting to be overhead, "Well, they could hardly pay me less. I sleep in the sail locker and get fed leftovers. That is about it for payment."

Then she smirked and continued, "If you are looking to have me thrown over board because you got wet from the wind blowing some spray on you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


As the woman responded, Duke's flat expression was broken by a slight smile. He spoke with amusement underlying his words. "It was merely a suggestion for helping you become better at your job. I couldn't care less if you remain on this ship or in the ocean." Even if she had done something to upset him, Duke would not have sought out the captain. He preferred settling his own problems.

As it was, he found himself enjoying the woman's attitude. No politeness present, she simply spoke her mind. It was a trait that so many lacked. He considered this while saying, "So, this isn't your normal job. Didn't have enough to pay the fare for traveling? It's unusual to see someone not being paid take part in such labor." He had thoughts on what she might have done to bring this fate upon herself, but was not inclined to list all his guesses.

Her traces of bitterness were enough to make him want to learn more, so he continued speaking. "Of course, we won't get far in this discussion without names." Indicating to himself, he said, "Duke Knyvett. And you are?"

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil straightened up to sit on her heels looking up at the man, taking in his measure. She noticed he still was friendly after she was sullen and biting in her comments.

She did not smile, yet was pleasant in tone as she replied softly, "I did not even try to pay the fare. I was caught stowing away and this is the price I pay to remain aboard. So, I could care less about doing a good job."

"I am no scullery maid nor a swab sailor."


Rua'thil glanced around and did not see anyone glaring at her pause in productivity. She returned to scrubbing the deck anyway, but she did reply to his introduction after a few moments.

Her voice was still low, barely carrying over the wind, the creak of taut ropes, snapping sails, and the sound of her brush on the wooden deck.

"You can call me Rua'thil. No family name."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A soft laugh came from Duke at her explanation. "Ah, someone who isn't afraid to break the rules. In this kingdom of order, it is a pleasant change to see someone go against what confines us." He spread his arms to give a small shrug. "It isn't a large defiance, but that is the sort of thing I enjoy seeing. You have potential, Rua'thil. Quite a bit of potential."

A single glance told Duke that they were not being watched, just as he had seen Rua'thil check on moments ago. Satisfied at this, he said, "I suppose I should be more clear. There is an order I follow, but it is not for the Kingdom of Talingarde. Their doctrines are far from ideal. From how you speak, I believe you feel similar about their laws." He smirked while saying, "If you have any interest in a different set of rules, ones that go against all Talingarde stands for, I can continue." It was not something he would usually bring up on a first meeting, but his instincts told him that this woman was someone he could make an exception with. Her personality, words, and demeanor all spoke of a person that could potentially appreciate what he was hinting at.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil was bored with the scrubbing and swabbing. The continual manual labor was letting her mind wander into unpleasant thoughts.

Welcoming the distraction, she still shrugged nonchalantly, "I have nothing but time to listen while I work. You can talk as much as you like."

"Though, I must tell you that I have never been to the Kingdom of Talingarde before. And I have only broken laws out of necessity, not choice."


The half-elven woman continued to scrub the deck from her knees. She was mindful to not carelessly splash soapy water on the man's boots again.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


Though Duke did not care if he got his boots further soaked by Rua'thil's work, he did notice her more careful strokes. With a slight nod to her, he said, "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. It doesn't matter why you start breaking laws. Once you start, it becomes a habit. By this point, they are a part of your life. Just as they are a part of mine."

Duke let this hang in the air for a moment before proceeding. "As for this order... Are you familiar with the deity 'Asmodeus'?" That name alone would get him imprisoned if he was caught speaking it. But with only Rua'thil there, who seemed more curious than intent on giving him away, Duke did not worry over it. It was rare to find someone who might be interested in his deity, and he was ready to take advantage of it.

The afternoon continued with Duke doing most of the talking. By the time evening fell, Rua'thil had left for another task. But Duke remained by the railing. There he watched the stars begin to emerge. His thoughts lingered on the cause he served, and what it felt like to speak of it with someone else. It was, if nothing else, satisfying.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


The Captain had the stowaway half-elf put ashore and left her stranded. She continued to move about from town to village for a few weeks.

Image
Her wandering came to an end when Rua'thil was injured by a poisonous snake before she could outrun it.Cerec Srost, a traveling scholarly healer came upon her and brought her along home as the young scion girl really had nowhere else to go, her money long gone. He was not far from his home, recently returning from his travels around the kingdom.

Upon arrangement Rua'thil was staying in a spare room of Cerec Srost's home. He must have felt sorry for after her injuries and the few days she spent recuperating from the snake's poison. He offered to provide room and board if she helped out around his house and she agreed since she became enamored with his extensive library during the few days stay. Cerec spent most of his time working on transcribing the knowledge from his travels when he was not at the local temple.

After spending some time among some self-righteous followers of the Shining Lord that lived in Cerec's town for a while, she realized that she was not one to work in the temples. However she found the reading enjoyable and it did help her to have a more focused mind after spending so many hours reading the various manuscripts. She was interested in the forbidden manuscripts that talked about The Fallen compared to those of the other deities in the collection.

However even more interesting was the rituals to summon demons and devils Rua'thil came upon when pouring through some ancient texts. The prospects became attractive to her growing lust for power. Arcane energy was in her blood, not the divine, regardless and she sought out things that were frowned upon by those around her. The isolation and loneliness in her life turned her towards seeking a companion, one that would be more dependable. Pouring through some ancient texts, she came upon the rituals to summon demons and devils, the prospects becoming attractive to her growing lust for power.

Finally, in an attempt to summon a friend, she bonded with an evil outsider demon named Tamarak. The creature was not one to insist upon her soul, but rather was looking for a change in her fate as well. The bond between them was such that she could fuse with and wear Tamarak's six-limbed draconic form like a second skin. Tamarak was a black dragon shaped creature that had a more humanoid torso from the shoulders of the front legs that had two arms as well.

Jealous of her relationship with the fatherly scholar, some self-righteous Mitran teenagers spied on her. They had made it a habit of following her from a distance, trying to catch on to what she was doing. After seeing her summon another fiendish creature, they let it be known in the temple that she was practicing witchcraft and dark sorcery. The clergy would not tolerate this and the famed witch hunter Sir Balin of Karfeld of was dispatched to investigate and collect the half-elven girl should the accusations appear to be true.

Becoming Captured Vignette: ~ Meeting Sir Balin ~

Rua'thil was in a small clearing near the ruins of the old wooden palisades of the a destroyed fort. Most of the structure was moss covered and in such disrepair it was hard to tell that it was not reclaimed by the forest.

As she sat on the ground, she began muttering in Infernal and tracing a circle around her in the dirt with her finger. Within a moment the sigil on her forehead started to glow red, resolving into a stylized ring made of curved lines that crisscrossed back and forth with thorn-like points.

The encircling trace her figure made in the dirt was causing a similar stylized ring to form around her, the arcane red glow steadily gained intensity from a faint shimmer to a fiery red brilliance that eclipsed the growing brightness of the matching sigil on her forehead.

After a minute, the ritual came to a climax as Rua'thil invoked the final activation word, "Rombus!" as she straightened up. A shimmering red of magical energy engulfed her form, coalescing into a much larger multi-limbed shape around her.
No longer just a slender, grubby scion woman, the creature in her place was much larger.

It appeared as a black dragon-like creature, four powerful looking legs with claws. The wings were too small, incapable of supporting its weight for flight, and the tail is short as well. The creature's chest also extended upward from the forelegs to have two distinct shoulders with arms, similar to a centaur with a squat upper torso. It had a serpentine neck with a horned visage of sharp teeth.

On the dragon's forehead was the same red sigil that had been glowing on Rua'thil's forehead moments before. The skin of the draconic creature was just translucent enough to see the outline of the scion woman inside.

Rua'thil/Tamarak spoke softly, her voice unchanged, "Ahh. Tamarak and I are now one."
Sir Balin of Karfeld had seen enough.

His small squad of rangers was spread around the clearing, training nocked arrows on the half-elven girl within her dragon shape from concealment. He strode confidently into the clearing as the three men stepped out from behind the concealing trees to be plainly visible.

Backed by the arrows aimed at his quarry, Sir Balin gave the fused pair a sneering leer, "Well, well. By the Shining Lord, what do we have here? Tis a demon whore in a dragon."

"We have seen enough to know that you consort with evil, Rua'thil. Come out of that ugly skin and submit to-"
"I do not think so!" Rua'thil/Tamarak shot back, not even waiting for him to finish.

Whirling into action, the four legged dragon turned and sprang out of the encircling archers. She was out of the trap before they could even fire. Streaking clear, she headed into the ruins of the fort. A few arrows flew past to stick in the ground or the wooden logs of the ruins.

Weaving around the ruins of ancient buildings, she ducked down to take advantage of a structure block her pursuers view and skidded to a halt at the far side of the ruined fort and the rear palisades.

She whispered, "Until later, Tamarak."

Rua'thil released her eidolon from the Material Plane and it faded from around her slender body. She slipped through the narrow gap in the broken wall of upright logs thinking the men would be too large to follow.
Sir Balin was no idiot.

He had signaled four of the rangers to split off by twos and head around the outside of the rundown palisade. If he could corner the girl with two men inside the ruins, he knew those men could catch her if she found a way out.

Sir Balin caught a glimspe of the escapee slipping through a gap and he charged up a fallen log that allowed him to go over the palisades. He leaped to the ground on the otherside to see his men surrounding the feeling woman with arrows nocked and drawn. She was crouched on the ground and her hands in the air over her head.

He strode up to Rua'thil and put his boot into her back and pushed her all of the way down.

"We have you now, bitch. You led us a futile chase."

"Your days are numbered. May Mitra have mercy upon your wretched, damned soul."


After being captured, Rua'thil was marched away in manacles. A quick trial soon found the foreigner half-elf guilty of summoning an evil outsiders. Those self righteous zealots only ensured that she would forever not tolerate Mitra's followers and seek revenge if at all possible should she escape her death sentence of being burned at the stake. She was incarcerated in Branderscar Prison.

Vignette in the prison cell: ~ Near Present Day ~

Rua'thil is shackled to the cold stone wall of the cell, her slender arms above her head.

The nightmare of the past day is never ending. With a bowed head, the long brown hair is a tangle of strands that cover her face like a shredded curtain. The tips of her pointed ears barely protrude from the locks, revealing her partial elven heritage. Her legs are curled under her to keep her body high enough to allow some slack for her arms, to provide relief from the biting manacles around her wrists.

Rua'thil can still smell the burnt flesh. Her flesh. The brand on her chest still hurts like hell. The prison rags are ripped where the fat oaf holding her down exposed her flesh to the hot iron. The dirty burlap fabric barely covers her breasts now. Not that she has any modesty left.

This is prison. She expects the rapes will come soon. She only hopes that the first one makes a mistake of leaving her hands free so she can summon a fiendish creature. Then she can exact revenge, forcing them to kill her quickly and she can escape this misery.

A moan from another prisoner disturbs her thoughts of revenge.

She opens her eyes and looks through the tangled strands partially covering her face. Rua'thil lifts her chin slightly and regards her surroundings. There is a man with dark hair chained to the wall across the cell from her. Something is familiar about him.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A dull and constant throb brings Duke out of his unconscious state. With a soft groan, he slowly opens his eyes. He is greeted by a dark cell, one that he can barely make out anything in. As he blinks, attempting to comprehend where he is, his hand tries to touch the back of his aching head. But his arm is halted as he moves it. His arms are manacled above his head, and judging by how sore his wrists are, he has been hanging from them for some time. While his legs have provided some support, they remained slack while he was out of it.

Now that he is awake, Duke raises himself on his toes to provide a bit of comfort for his wrists. It is not much, for the space he is given is just enough for his feet to connect with the floor. More prevalent than the ache in his wrists, however, is the searing pain on the left side of his chest. The stench of scorched flesh comes from it, and glancing down, he can see that his shirt is torn. A brand of the letter 'F' is right over his heart.

A small smirk comes to Duke's face as he sees the mark. How ironic that they chose that location. Still, no physical pain can replicate the state my heart is in now.

Looking up from the burned skin, Duke finds that it is a bit easier to see. It allows him to make out the figure of a woman chained across from him. Many men might have latched first and foremost onto how she barely had any clothing left to cover her body. But that is not of interest to Duke. He is far more curious about her face, which looks familiar in spite of the locks falling in her eyes. It takes a few moments, but Duke has a remarkably good memory. Soon, he has a name to connect to her.

"Rua'thil." He says it in a tone that hints at slight amusement. "Now this is a surprise. When I last spoke with you, I got the impression you weren't the type of person to be such a heinous criminal. Yet here you are." The chains above his head clink as he tries to make a gesture, only to fail from his restricted movement. Undeterred, he continues with, "Perhaps you took to my suggestions better than I thought. If so, I apologize for not adding 'don't get caught' to the list. It felt like an obvious addition, but it seems you needed to hear that." He pauses, watching her and waiting to see if she has recognized him as well.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


For a moment, Rua'thil's lips curl into a rueful smile as she remembers Duke's advice from when they were on the ship at sea several months back. Being a punished stowaway was pleasant compared to her current situation.

However, the indulgent nostalgia was fleeting as her thoughts focus on her "heinous crime". They had used those words, and several other ones equally insulting, to describe her during that sham of a trial. Through it all, she remained silent and simply smiled mischievously, much to their annoyance. Annoying the hook-nosed magistrate had been the only bright spot in the ordeal, though. The man's scowling face was so red she thought he was going to burst.

In the end she was stuck in this cell and not free.

Her voice held scorn as her voice remains low, barely more than a whisper, "It did not matter either way."

"Someone betrayed me to a famous witch hunter and I was set upon in the forest by too many to run away from. They were able to corner me and I had to surrender. That bastard Balin of Karfeld decided I was a heretic and ensured I was imprisoned for consorting with demons and devils."

"When I make love to him, his blood will paint the ground crimson."
Her expression became wickedly happy as she fantasized. Yet her face is half concealed by the curtain of brown strands of her hair.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A chuckle escapes Duke at Rua'thil's explanation. "Demons and devils? My, you have been up to a lot since we last met." He smirks while adding, "Though I do hope it was more with devils than demons." He assumes Rua'thil remembers his deity. Asmodeus' name alone should be enough for her to understand why he is saying what he does.

As Duke observes the twisted expression on her face, he raises an eyebrow. It is not from the hatred she has. That much does not surprise him. Instead, he comments on what strikes him as confusing. "Making love to a man you despise? Isn't that a bit contradictory? Torturing or sacrificing him would make more sense." His eyes take on a distant look as he says, "Such passionate connections should be saved for those one truly loves." But he does not expand on that statement, instead letting it linger in the stale air.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil actually cackles at the questions about her newly acquired feelings toward violence.

Already, the half-elven girl is not even the same person she was last week. Being abused while awaiting her trial broke something in her. The mixture of violence and sexual arousal is a side effect and her defense against the prospect of being inevitably raped in this prison.

Her face is still lowered as she looks upwards through the bangs of her disheveled hair. Her voice is sultry and low.

"Oh, he and I shall be lovers. I will penetrate him with the shaft of my clawed finger until he ejaculates blood from his mouth. I will make him climax repeatedly."

Rua'thil pulls at the chains holding her shackled to the cell's wall. It is a small gesture of defiance, yet it is futile. She relaxes the tension and breathes deep to calm herself.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


This change is not one Duke has expected. With how he sees love, Rua'thil's words are not ones he can relate to well. He decides not to press that subject, instead saying, "If nothing else, I have no reason to protest your desire for revenge. I too would like to kill the person who bested me. Quite a remarkable man, but one that I hate as much as I admire." His expression is one of reminiscence, though he does not go into more detail.

With another minor shift to keep his wrists from hurting too much, Duke changes the line of discussion. "Of course, that would mean escaping this place. I assume your execution is not far from now? What have you been sentenced to? All I have to look forward to is beheading, sadly. It isn't much of an interesting fate." His smirk widens at this. His brander probably would find that sentence amusing, considering Duke had gotten a chance to break his nose by smashing his skull into the brander's face. The unexpected attack had resulted in a sharp strike to the back of Duke's head. That pain is the last thing Duke can remember before waking up in the cell. More likely than not his defiance has accomplished nothing, but it still brings him some enjoyment to remember.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil is calmer when she thinks about the future and her alleged crimes.

Her tone is lacking the throaty quality form before. Instead it is just flat and fatalistic.

"I am scheduled to be burned like a witch. Someone told them I could summon devils or demons, the distinction matters not in the slightest to reality."

"I conjured a few fiendish creatures, mostly animals from another Plane of existence. They only contained some Infernal blood in their bodies and heritage. Really they were just animals. Those jealous little bastards told on me and lied."

"But when they found me, I was not just conjuring a fiendish dog or eagle."


Rua'thil's voice became a whisper, barely able to be heard, "They caught me with a black dragon."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


For the first time, Duke's expression shows signs of surprise. It passes soon after as he takes on a more thoughtful appearance. "A black dragon... Your abilities are more impressive than I expected." Glancing at the shackles that keep her hands above her head, he remarks, "I take it the chains are stopping you from using such magic now? A pity that they think of those things. Then again, this prison wouldn't have such a reputation if they were careless."

Duke is silent as he contemplates these words. He eventually says, "With the rumors saying that nobody has ever escaped here, it seems likely that our deaths are certain. I do believe there is a saying for such matters, though. A first time for everything? Something along those lines. Should we happen to fall in that fortunate spectrum, and have a chance to free ourselves... might I suggest an alliance? Not that I think it will come to that, but I do like planning for all potential scenarios." Though his words sound casual, his gaze on Rua'thil is intense as he waits for her answer.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil smiles coyly.

Her voice is low and husky once again, "Oh, Duke. I would not make love to you, but I would happily do so alongside you. There are more than a few guards that deserve the pleasures of the lovemaking I can bring."

"I would much prefer being slain in escape than roasting on the spit like a stuck pig. Hee hee, I would gladly stick that oafish pig that masquerades as the sergeant of the guards."

"Once I am free of these manacles, one minute is all I need to summon... Her."


Rua'thil holds Duke's gaze with a wicked smile as she moistens her cracked lips slowly.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


Despite Rua'thil's twisted words, Duke finds himself softly laughing at one of her recent remarks. He continues to look at her while saying, "I was not suggesting the lovemaking you seem so keen on. There is only one person I would do that to, and it is for different reasons than you. But that matters little at this moment. All I wanted was an agreement that, if we miraculously get a chance to escape, that we could work together. It seems that is the case, so I am content." He smiles at this, but the dark undertone would make it difficult for many other people to look at. Not so for Rua'thil, who is already far past such expressions.

Though Duke makes a few more comments, the conversation begins to dwindle. Having to stand as he does, trying to keep his arms and wrists from becoming too sore, is taking its toll on his energy. Eventually, he will have no choice but to sleep, thus falling forward and letting the manacles dig into his wrists again. It is a vicious cycle that seems hypocritical for the Kingdom of Talingarde to have come up with.

The only comfort he takes is in knowing that if he sleeps, he will dream. His dreams, even after being captured, have been pleasant. Should he get a chance to have some more before his date of execution, it will be worth the chafed wrists. When his eyes finally close, he does not resist.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Character Hooks | Show
1. Rua'thil wants to deal with the ranger Sir Balin of Karfeld after he captured her. She would gladly kill him for revenge.
2. Rua'thil wants to gain power and strength to no longer worry about being wanted as a criminal if she can escape.
User avatar
Rua'thil
Greenhorn
Greenhorn
 
Posts: 113
Joined: Sun Aug 19, 2012 4:20 am
Location: Golarion

Re: WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby Joph » Mon Aug 04, 2014 2:39 pm

Image

Character Name: Darius Talingarde
Gender/Race: Male dhampir
Age: 116
Class: Antipaladin
Role: Melee/Defending
Crime: High Treason
Brand Location: Back, between shoulder blades.

Darius Talingarde

Description | Show
Darius is a large but lithe figure. He wears black, tattered prison clothing, and has a grim, pale visage. His blue eyes and white hair appear ghastly and unnatural when standing in direct sunlight. Darius moves with unnatural grace and he has a dark beauty to his features. He has long, sharp incisors that look like they could draw blood.


Personality | Show
During his days as a paladin of Mitra, Darius was an honorable and just person who always upheld the tenets of the Shining Lord. Though he always had the urge to feed upon blood, the dhampir held this in check and was considered one of the bravest champions of Talingarde.

After his fall from grace, Darius is now much more conniving. Confused at first by his strange new abilities granted by his dark pact, Darius is slowly learning to accept his role in the world. He wishes to become the lord of all he surveys in this kingdom of light, to turn the so-called "champions" of House Darius into his own legion of blackguard minions, and to taste his first blood meal in the form of King Markadian. Let the king's pulsing blood be the pact that binds Darius to any unholy group he joins.

Darius has trouble learning and reasoning, having spent little time in his youth studying his deity's ideals beyond what was needed for upholding Mitra's dogma. This unholy warrior has been having trouble controlling his urge to feed upon blood, but is determined by his own twisted oath to never drink blood until he has slain the Brave of House Darius.


Backstory | Show
Darius Talingarde was sired by a vampire and born to a weak human mother in the heartland under the blessing of a priest of Mitra in broad daylight. His mother was always ill during his childhood, but attempted to raise Darius with love and respect. He was always interested in the stories he heard about Mitra, the shining beacon of light in Talingarde. It became his deity of choice, and he eventually decided to take on the surname of the land that the Shining Lord took dominion over. Fortunately, he and his mother were well away from the conflict between House Barca and House Darius.

Though he and his mother lived in poverty, the dhampir began working the fields of his home, and the priests of Mitra took interest in Darius after his mother had died of her illnesses. Seeing the potential in him to become a devout paladin of honor, they decided they would enlist him into the Knights of Alerion. Darius became well-versed in using his sword and shield, and took particular delight in learning to socialize with others. With his adulthood coming at a much slower rate than most races, Darius has managed to serve and train under each Markadian King to date.

Yet Darius had always felt bothered by a certain feeling. People did not seem to trust him aside from the priests, and the undead-tainted creature hissed with pain at any attempts to soothe injuries he sustained with the powers typical of healing. Though the priests were loathe to do so, they had no choice but to channel negative powers to heal Darius if he suffered serious injuries. Typically, they would just allow him to recover on his own naturally. Darius also found himself desiring the taste of blood, an urge obviously quite at odds with the teachings of Mitra. He has tried for decades to keep this private and to refrain from indulging in it.

Finally, at the age of 116, Darius had grown enough to become a true paladin of Mitra. He was one of the most promising candidates to become a knight, and knelt before King Markadian with pride. Yet something was amiss. The king had heard from his most loyal subjects, through use of divination magic, that the would-be paladin had desired fresh blood and was fighting with an inner darkness within himself. He could not appoint the honorable Darius until he could fight this desire back completely.

Outraged at having nearly a century of training ruined by this fool of a monarch, Darius fled the palace halls and went into hiding. Maybe he could have redeemed himself, but he had no interest. All of his effort and all of his dedication had been ruined by something as arbitrary as magic. His status as a knight had been shattered, and he was now back amongst the impoverished wretches of his childhood. His thoughts took a dark turn, beginning of think of these people as lowly beings, even as cattle. He was stronger than any commoner he could find in the streets of Matharyn, and he should take what was rightfully his - their lifeblood.

As his thoughts grew darker, his abilities began to wane. Eventually, he could no longer inherently sense evil in anyone. Having fallen out from the grace of the priests, he dared not ask them for atonement. He was instead confronted by an entirely different brand of priest - one belonging to the cult of Asmodeus. The cult had use for a dark warrior who had been close to the king, and began to teach him how to sense benevolence in others.

To complete his training as a fiendish antipaladin, a Knight of Asmodeus, Darius had to swear to uphold the ideals of his new dark master, surrounded by several summoned devils, and to sacrifice a living being. It was a person Darius had not seen before and had no connection to, making his heart more at ease. A diseased homeless commoner, a man who was going to die anyway. Darius considered it a mercy killing, while the devils considered it enjoyment.

The priests of Asmodeus used a spell upon the blackguard to keep his evil presence from being detected and asked him to slay the king for his intolerance of the evil deity. Darius begged for an audience with the king, indicating that he wished to be redeemed personally by the monarch. He had fallen in the eyes of Mitra, but he could be given a second chance. The guards agreed, and he was soon taken to the Brave of House Darius once more.

Wordlessly, the forward-thinking scoundrel rushed forward at the king with his longsword, not caring if he was killed in the process. His only goal had become to obtain revenge upon the royalty for making him become this monster, this creature of evil and hatred he had always despised. He would drink the man's blood if he could, and swore as he rushed up the royal carpet that he would hold off on his appetite for blood until he finally dined upon the monarch.

His plan turned out to be unwise, as the king had prepared for the eventuality of the former paladin turning traitor. A follower of Mitra bound the dhampir with a spell, approached him and sent positive energies flowing through the accursed creature. Hissing with pain, Darius collapsed. He was brought before a magistrate later that day, and branded between his shoulder blades with the letter "F". He has now been sentenced to die in three days, but is now awaiting his execution at Branderscar Prison...
User avatar
Joph
Adventurer
Adventurer
 
Posts: 443
Joined: Sat May 03, 2014 3:33 am

Re: WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby Celtic Guardian 7 » Mon Aug 18, 2014 10:06 am

spoiler: show
Image
(Duke left, Melvin right.)

Name: Duke Knyvett
Gender/Race: Male Human
Age: 25
Class: Cavalier (Strategist)
Role: Melee/Support
Crime: Kidnapping
Brand Location: Chest, left side.

Duke Knyvett

Description | Show
While tall and slender in appearance, Duke's honed body makes it clear that he is a warrior. His normal outfit consists of a black coat, white long-sleeved shirt, navy blue pants, white gloves, and black riding boots. Though his clothing is of fine make, the fabric of each article has several rips and tears, and his worn boots speak of how long he has traveled. More recent is the large gash in his shirt, which reveals the left side of his chest. A brand of the letter 'F' is visible through the torn cloth. His black hair frames his eerie gold eyes, which stand out against his pale skin.


Personality | Show
As fitting for a servant of Asmodeus, Duke is a prideful man that believes order is important. He has nothing but scorn for Talingarde's laws, but places his support in the order of his deity. He offers his assistance to any who also worship Asmodeus, and helps his allies as he can, for he knows that having help from others makes it more likely for him to succeed at his goals. Though intelligent and skilled at planning, Duke has a weakness in being impulsive when he gets emotional. Most of the time, he is calm, and seems mildly amused by what happens around him. But certain matters get him to react, such as matters concerning Melvin. Duke's love for Melvin is deep, and the quickest way to upset him is to insult or threaten his significant other.


Backstory | Show
Duke was born in Ghastenhall to Daryan and Aggie Knyvett, two people that served as knights of Mitra. They took their duties as Mitra's soldiers with utmost serious, to the point that they prioritized it above all else. Even their son was not seen as important as fulfilling Mitra's will, for they would often leave to go on missions while leaving him alone at home. The only company he had were books, which his parents expected him to study. They told him that he would become a great knight to serve Mitra as well.

When Duke was eight, a group of five cultists broke into his home and kidnapped him. These worshipers of Asmodeus knew of his parents and demanded that they pay a ransom if they wanted their son back. If they did not, he would be sacrificed to their deity. The cultists did not believe for one moment that the ransom would actually be paid, so they told Duke many times that he was going to be sacrificed. What would have been horrifying to many, however, was exciting to Duke. His parents had always told him what he would become, but rarely spent time with him, to the point that he felt they did not care about him. These cultists, in comparison, paid far more attention to him. He felt as if he was finally needed for something, and began to anticipate being sacrificed. He also grew attached to the five that had taken him, even though none of them cared about him at all.

Duke was rescued a week later by a group of Mitra's knights, one that his parents were not part of. The cultists were slaughtered in the process. At seeing the people that he had latched on to lying dead, Duke swore that he would follow the path they had wanted him to take. If he could not be sacrificed by them to Asmodeus, he would instead serve that deity. It was the best way he could see of fulfilling the important role he had been given by the people who had first paid attention to him.

The incident did little to change his parents, who believed that the outcome was inevitable since Mitra was on their side. As he continued to grow up on his own, Duke began to search for forbidden books on Asmodeus. He learned of his god's order, and it felt perfect to him. His lessons on Mitra suffered as he ignored those lessons in favor of learning more about the Prince of Hell. His parents did not realize he was worshiping Asmodeus, but they were not pleased with his lack of knowledge on Mitra.

Because of this, Duke was sent to attend a military academy at the age of twelve. He managed to attend for a year before he was caught by a fellow student, a boy named Gram Haddock, reading about Asmodeus. Even though he was only thirteen, Duke knew that this crime could get him killed. He was able to flee from the school before the teachers began to search for him. Leaving his home city, Duke made his way to Daveryn and got onto a ship. He planned to vanish, hopefully to a place where he could do his worshiping without interference.

Duke traveled for several years, but no matter how far he went, he was still in Talingarde. The hundreds of islands that the kingdom consisted of meant he was unable to ever fully escape its order. Trying to serve Asmodeus was risky enough to get him killed. He began to think more and more of the five that had abducted him, and how he yearned to fulfill the purpose they had given him.

At the age of twenty-four, Duke decided to go to Matharyn. He was sick of constantly trying to hide that he served Asmodeus. Duke believed that if he went to the capital, he might be able to find a weakness in the system. With that, maybe he could get the order for Mitra to topple. He did not plan to do anything rash, but wanted to check the location out. That was what caused him to get on a cargo ship called Isabelle's Promise to sail back to the capital.

Vignette aboard the ship: ~ 9 months Ago ~

Rua'thil was sullen and her hands were sore.

Being discovered hiding in the sail locker was only a matter of time; she had to eat and could not stay out of sight the entire voyage. It only took two days at sea to be discovered.

At least the Captain of Isabelle's Promise decided against simply throwing her overboard. He just assigned her menial tasks to compensate them for the provisions she consumed and her passage to the Kingdom of Talingarde. It was to be a short transit, yet it seemed to take forever with the chores she had to do.

She was scrubbing the deck with a small brush, dipping it into the bucket of soapy water every so often. The cross wind was blowing over the deck gently as the ship leaned to leeward on a starboard tack. The sun was out.

The dark-haired passenger was leaning against the gunwale and she accidentally splashed some of the soapy water on the man's riding boots.

Rua'thil was hardly paying any attention and certainly had no pride in her work.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


The wind swept past Duke, providing comfort in contrast to the sun's rays. His black coat would have been far too hot if not for that breeze. Even so, he was tempted to remove it. He could either do that or go back downstairs. The latter idea did not appeal to him. This was only his second trip over the ocean. He wanted to stay where he could see the waves glittering in the sunlight. It was a type of beauty he was unaccustomed to.

He was watching the horizon without any particular thoughts. Had nothing happened, he might have remained like that for the rest of the day. But a sudden dampness spreading through his boots pulled him out of his revere. He glanced down to see a young woman scrubbing the deck next to him. Her quick and sloppy gestures made it evident she had splashed him, but judging by her eyes being on the deck and not giving him a single look, she had not noticed.

It was unusual for Duke to get interested in another person. But the small scowl on the woman's face spoke of pent-up frustrations. She seemed to be weighed down by problems, which was something Duke did not often see. People in Talingarde were usually happy and content. If nothing else, he could tell she did not fit that mold.

Turning to lean against the railing, so that he was facing the woman, Duke made a remark. "You do know that your employer will cut your payment if you annoy the passengers? I'd suggest watching where you're throwing that water." Despite what he was saying, his tone was mild. He did not really care about being splashed, for his clothing was going to get dirty from traveling no matter what he did. The words he chose were more to see how she would react, rather than actually being irritated.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil's own clothes were already wet and she really had no sympathy for anyone complaining about a little water. They were surrounded by it and... sea spray happens.

Still on her knees, she stopped scrubbing and looked up to see who was talking. Her disheveled hair had a few brown strands dangling in front of her face. Her slender hand gracefully tucked them behind her left ear. Her features were slightly angular and with her ear exposed, the traits of her elven heritage were evident.

The soap suds on her hand stayed with her hair.

Rua'thil scoffed softly, not wanting to be overhead, "Well, they could hardly pay me less. I sleep in the sail locker and get fed leftovers. That is about it for payment."

Then she smirked and continued, "If you are looking to have me thrown over board because you got wet from the wind blowing some spray on you, I have no idea what you are talking about."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


As the woman responded, Duke's flat expression was broken by a slight smile. He spoke with amusement underlying his words. "It was merely a suggestion for helping you become better at your job. I couldn't care less if you remain on this ship or in the ocean." Even if she had done something to upset him, Duke would not have sought out the captain. He preferred settling his own problems.

As it was, he found himself enjoying the woman's attitude. No politeness present, she simply spoke her mind. It was a trait that so many lacked. He considered this while saying, "So, this isn't your normal job. Didn't have enough to pay the fare for traveling? It's unusual to see someone not being paid take part in such labor." He had thoughts on what she might have done to bring this fate upon herself, but was not inclined to list all his guesses.

Her traces of bitterness were enough to make him want to learn more, so he continued speaking. "Of course, we won't get far in this discussion without names." Indicating to himself, he said, "Duke Knyvett. And you are?"

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil straightened up to sit on her heels looking up at the man, taking in his measure. She noticed he still was friendly after she was sullen and biting in her comments.

She did not smile, yet was pleasant in tone as she replied softly, "I did not even try to pay the fare. I was caught stowing away and this is the price I pay to remain aboard. So, I could care less about doing a good job."

"I am no scullery maid nor a swab sailor."


Rua'thil glanced around and did not see anyone glaring at her pause in productivity. She returned to scrubbing the deck anyway, but she did reply to his introduction after a few moments.

Her voice was still low, barely carrying over the wind, the creak of taut ropes, snapping sails, and the sound of her brush on the wooden deck.

"You can call me Rua'thil. No family name."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A soft laugh came from Duke at her explanation. "Ah, someone who isn't afraid to break the rules. In this kingdom of order, it is a pleasant change to see someone go against what confines us." He spread his arms to give a small shrug. "It isn't a large defiance, but that is the sort of thing I enjoy seeing. You have potential, Rua'thil. Quite a bit of potential."

A single glance told Duke that they were not being watched, just as he had seen Rua'thil check on moments ago. Satisfied at this, he said, "I suppose I should be more clear. There is an order I follow, but it is not for the Kingdom of Talingarde. Their doctrines are far from ideal. From how you speak, I believe you feel similar about their laws." He smirked while saying, "If you have any interest in a different set of rules, ones that go against all Talingarde stands for, I can continue." It was not something he would usually bring up on a first meeting, but his instincts told him that this woman was someone he could make an exception with. Her personality, words, and demeanor all spoke of a person that could potentially appreciate what he was hinting at.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil was bored with the scrubbing and swabbing. The continual manual labor was letting her mind wander into unpleasant thoughts.

Welcoming the distraction, she still shrugged nonchalantly, "I have nothing but time to listen while I work. You can talk as much as you like."

"Though, I must tell you that I have never been to the Kingdom of Talingarde before. And I have only broken laws out of necessity, not choice."


The half-elven woman continued to scrub the deck from her knees. She was mindful to not carelessly splash soapy water on the man's boots again.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


Though Duke did not care if he got his boots further soaked by Rua'thil's work, he did notice her more careful strokes. With a slight nod to her, he said, "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. It doesn't matter why you start breaking laws. Once you start, it becomes a habit. By this point, they are a part of your life. Just as they are a part of mine."

Duke let this hang in the air for a moment before proceeding. "As for this order... Are you familiar with the deity 'Asmodeus'?" That name alone would get him imprisoned if he was caught speaking it. But with only Rua'thil there, who seemed more curious than intent on giving him away, Duke did not worry over it. It was rare to find someone who might be interested in his deity, and he was ready to take advantage of it.

The afternoon continued with Duke doing most of the talking. By the time evening fell, Rua'thil had left for another task. But Duke remained by the railing. There he watched the stars begin to emerge. His thoughts lingered on the cause he served, and what it felt like to speak of it with someone else. It was, if nothing else, satisfying.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Once the ship arrived at the docks, Duke went straight to the capital. He was twenty-five when he had a moment of misfortune. A guard recognized him, for he was Gram, a student in the academy Duke attended years ago. Even with the age difference, Gram figured out that he was the same person who had been an Asmodeus worshiper. The guard attacked him, and though Duke managed to escape, he was severely wounded.

Duke collapsed in an alleyway, where he would have bled to death if not for a young man passing by. Melvin Leveson had no idea that the injured man was a servant of Asmodeus. He simply saw someone in trouble, and did what he could to help with potions and bandages. When Duke came to, he found himself staring at the boy with incredulity. He had never had anyone care for him like this. After having fled for so long with his beliefs, Duke had finally met someone that had gone out of his way to rescue him. Duke had no way of knowing that Melvin would have done the same for any person he saw in trouble. Instead, Duke fell quickly in love with the youth that had saved his life.

This had several problems to it. One was that Melvin left shortly after ensuring Duke was going to be all right, meaning Duke had to track him down. He did so to find that the Levesons were nobles of substantial rank. They would never let their son choose his own partner, and with such a high rank, Duke knew his origins would be quickly discovered if he made himself known. Another was that he doubted Melvin's family, or many other people, would react well to a male professing his love. In addition to all that, he had no idea how to express to Melvin how much he cared for him.

So Duke decided to show his love for Melvin the only way he knew how. He knew it was risky, but threw all caution out the window, for he was determined to be with the boy that had grabbed his heart. That was what got Duke to plan out and conduct a kidnapping. He took Melvin and used a horse he had recently purchased to bolt from the mansion. Duke had found a small house with a basement that had been abandoned for some time. In that basement, he locked Melvin in a cage, where he planned to keep him until his love was returned.

At first, Melvin was terrified, and he refused Duke's initial advances. When he shouted at Duke to leave him alone, Duke did just that. He left Melvin in his prison for three days before returning. By that point, Melvin was nearly dead from dehydration, and the beginning of starvation was conducting a major toll on his body. When Duke gave him the food and water he needed, Melvin began to react positively to his captor. Even though it was Duke who had caused him to suffer, Melvin was grateful for being saved by him.

That was how their twisted relationship was sealed. A week after Melvin almost perished, Duke trusted his feelings enough to let him out of the cage. Duke insisted that they could not leave yet, as people would be searching for Melvin still. For three months, Duke and Melvin lived together in the run-down house. Even though he now had plenty of opportunities to escape, Melvin stayed with the man that he said he loved. The only other being there was Duke's horse, Fredrica. The plan was that after three months went by, they would slip out of the capital and ride to another location, where searchers for Melvin would be less likely to be found.

This plan did not work. Unknown to both of them, an investigator, Ned Strader, had been searching for Melvin the entire time. He had put together some eyewitness accounts of Duke being seen near the Leveson mansion right before the kidnapping. He tracked down where Duke had gone, and the moment Duke emerged with Melvin, Ned called forth the guards that accompanied him. Though Duke fought back while on his mount, Fredrica was killed by Ned, and Duke was knocked out soon after.

There was no question of what Duke's fate would be. He had kidnapped a fifteen-year-old member of nobility, tortured him, and then taken advantage of him sexually. Even though Melvin defended Duke at every turn, saying that they were in love, everyone to hear his words was even more incredibly disturbed. It took some time for Ned to convince Melvin's family that Duke was not a magic user, that he had not cast a spell on Melvin to brainwash him. Ned insisted it was a defense mechanism, that Melvin thought himself to be in love to keep himself safe.

Whatever the case might have been, Duke was shipped to Branderscar Prison at once. There he was given the swift sentence of execution by beheading. They branded him and chained him inside a cell, where he considered the odds of managing to escape. It seemed impossible, yet Duke could not bring himself to dismiss the idea. He had to continue serving Asmodeus, and to get his revenge on the investigator who tore him apart from his love. More than anything, Duke was determined to live so that he could find Melvin once more.

Vignette in the prison cell: ~ Near Present Day ~

Rua'thil is shackled to the cold stone wall of the cell, her slender arms above her head.

The nightmare of the past day is never ending. With a bowed head, the long brown hair is a tangle of strands that cover her face like a shredded curtain. The tips of her pointed ears barely protrude from the locks, revealing her partial elven heritage. Her legs are curled under her to keep her body high enough to allow some slack for her arms, to provide relief from the biting manacles around her wrists.

Rua'thil can still smell the burnt flesh. Her flesh. The brand on her chest still hurts like hell. The prison rags are ripped where the fat oaf holding her down exposed her flesh to the hot iron. The dirty burlap fabric barely covers her breasts now. Not that she has any modesty left.

This is prison. She expects the rapes will come soon. She only hopes that the first one makes a mistake of leaving her hands free so she can summon a fiendish creature. Then she can exact revenge, forcing them to kill her quickly and she can escape this misery.

A moan from another prisoner disturbs her thoughts of revenge.

She opens her eyes and looks through the tangled strands partially covering her face. Rua'thil lifts her chin slightly and regards her surroundings. There is a man with dark hair chained to the wall across the cell from her. Something is familiar about him.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A dull and constant throb brings Duke out of his unconscious state. With a soft groan, he slowly opens his eyes. He is greeted by a dark cell, one that he can barely make out anything in. As he blinks, attempting to comprehend where he is, his hand tries to touch the back of his aching head. But his arm is halted as he moves it. His arms are manacled above his head, and judging by how sore his wrists are, he has been hanging from them for some time. While his legs have provided some support, they remained slack while he was out of it.

Now that he is awake, Duke raises himself on his toes to provide a bit of comfort for his wrists. It is not much, for the space he is given is just enough for his feet to connect with the floor. More prevalent than the ache in his wrists, however, is the searing pain on the left side of his chest. The stench of scorched flesh comes from it, and glancing down, he can see that his shirt is torn. A brand of the letter 'F' is right over his heart.

A small smirk comes to Duke's face as he sees the mark. How ironic that they chose that location. Still, no physical pain can replicate the state my heart is in now.

Looking up from the burned skin, Duke finds that it is a bit easier to see. It allows him to make out the figure of a woman chained across from him. Many men might have latched first and foremost onto how she barely had any clothing left to cover her body. But that is not of interest to Duke. He is far more curious about her face, which looks familiar in spite of the locks falling in her eyes. It takes a few moments, but Duke has a remarkably good memory. Soon, he has a name to connect to her.

"Rua'thil." He says it in a tone that hints at slight amusement. "Now this is a surprise. When I last spoke with you, I got the impression you weren't the type of person to be such a heinous criminal. Yet here you are." The chains above his head clink as he tries to make a gesture, only to fail from his restricted movement. Undeterred, he continues with, "Perhaps you took to my suggestions better than I thought. If so, I apologize for not adding 'don't get caught' to the list. It felt like an obvious addition, but it seems you needed to hear that." He pauses, watching her and waiting to see if she has recognized him as well.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


For a moment, Rua'thil's lips curl into a rueful smile as she remembers Duke's advice from when they were on the ship at sea several months back. Being a punished stowaway was pleasant compared to her current situation.

However, the indulgent nostalgia was fleeting as her thoughts focus on her "heinous crime". They had used those words, and several other ones equally insulting, to describe her during that sham of a trial. Through it all, she remained silent and simply smiled mischievously, much to their annoyance. Annoying the hook-nosed magistrate had been the only bright spot in the ordeal, though. The man's scowling face was so red she thought he was going to burst.

In the end she was stuck in this cell and not free.

Her voice held scorn as her voice remains low, barely more than a whisper, "It did not matter either way."

"Someone betrayed me to a famous witch hunter and I was set upon in the forest by too many to run away from. They were able to corner me and I had to surrender. That bastard Balin of Karfeld decided I was a heretic and ensured I was imprisoned for consorting with demons and devils."

"When I make love to him, his blood will paint the ground crimson."
Her expression became wickedly happy as she fantasized. Yet her face is half concealed by the curtain of brown strands of her hair.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


A chuckle escapes Duke at Rua'thil's explanation. "Demons and devils? My, you have been up to a lot since we last met." He smirks while adding, "Though I do hope it was more with devils than demons." He assumes Rua'thil remembers his deity. Asmodeus' name alone should be enough for her to understand why he is saying what he does.

As Duke observes the twisted expression on her face, he raises an eyebrow. It is not from the hatred she has. That much does not surprise him. Instead, he comments on what strikes him as confusing. "Making love to a man you despise? Isn't that a bit contradictory? Torturing or sacrificing him would make more sense." His eyes take on a distant look as he says, "Such passionate connections should be saved for those one truly loves." But he does not expand on that statement, instead letting it linger in the stale air.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil actually cackles at the questions about her newly acquired feelings toward violence.

Already, the half-elven girl is not even the same person she was last week. Being abused while awaiting her trial broke something in her. The mixture of violence and sexual arousal is a side effect and her defense against the prospect of being inevitably raped in this prison.

Her face is still lowered as she looks upwards through the bangs of her disheveled hair. Her voice is sultry and low.

"Oh, he and I shall be lovers. I will penetrate him with the shaft of my clawed finger until he ejaculates blood from his mouth. I will make him climax repeatedly."

Rua'thil pulls at the chains holding her shackled to the cell's wall. It is a small gesture of defiance, yet it is futile. She relaxes the tension and breathes deep to calm herself.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


This change is not one Duke has expected. With how he sees love, Rua'thil's words are not ones he can relate to well. He decides not to press that subject, instead saying, "If nothing else, I have no reason to protest your desire for revenge. I too would like to kill the person who bested me. Quite a remarkable man, but one that I hate as much as I admire." His expression is one of reminiscence, though he does not go into more detail.

With another minor shift to keep his wrists from hurting too much, Duke changes the line of discussion. "Of course, that would mean escaping this place. I assume your execution is not far from now? What have you been sentenced to? All I have to look forward to is beheading, sadly. It isn't much of an interesting fate." His smirk widens at this. His brander probably would find that sentence amusing, considering Duke had gotten a chance to break his nose by smashing his skull into the brander's face. The unexpected attack had resulted in a sharp strike to the back of Duke's head. That pain is the last thing Duke can remember before waking up in the cell. More likely than not his defiance has accomplished nothing, but it still brings him some enjoyment to remember.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil is calmer when she thinks about the future and her alleged crimes.

Her tone is lacking the throaty quality form before. Instead it is just flat and fatalistic.

"I am scheduled to be burned like a witch. Someone told them I could summon devils or demons, the distinction matters not in the slightest to reality."

"I conjured a few fiendish creatures, mostly animals from another Plane of existence. They only contained some Infernal blood in their bodies and heritage. Really they were just animals. Those jealous little bastards told on me and lied."

"But when they found me, I was not just conjuring a fiendish dog or eagle."


Rua'thil's voice became a whisper, barely able to be heard, "They caught me with a black dragon."

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


For the first time, Duke's expression shows signs of surprise. It passes soon after as he takes on a more thoughtful appearance. "A black dragon... Your abilities are more impressive than I expected." Glancing at the shackles that keep her hands above her head, he remarks, "I take it the chains are stopping you from using such magic now? A pity that they think of those things. Then again, this prison wouldn't have such a reputation if they were careless."

Duke is silent as he contemplates these words. He eventually says, "With the rumors saying that nobody has ever escaped here, it seems likely that our deaths are certain. I do believe there is a saying for such matters, though. A first time for everything? Something along those lines. Should we happen to fall in that fortunate spectrum, and have a chance to free ourselves... might I suggest an alliance? Not that I think it will come to that, but I do like planning for all potential scenarios." Though his words sound casual, his gaze on Rua'thil is intense as he waits for her answer.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Rua'thil smiles coyly.

Her voice is low and husky once again, "Oh, Duke. I would not make love to you, but I would happily do so alongside you. There are more than a few guards that deserve the pleasures of the lovemaking I can bring."

"I would much prefer being slain in escape than roasting on the spit like a stuck pig. Hee hee, I would gladly stick that oafish pig that masquerades as the sergeant of the guards."

"Once I am free of these manacles, one minute is all I need to summon... Her."


Rua'thil holds Duke's gaze with a wicked smile as she moistens her cracked lips slowly.

            ~ Written by Rua'thil


[imgset=http://i764.photobucket.com/albums/xx283/Celtic7Guardian/DukeAvatar_zpsebc4d0ce.jpg]Despite Rua'thil's twisted words, Duke finds himself softly laughing at one of her recent remarks. He continues to look at her while saying, "I was not suggesting the lovemaking you seem so keen on. There is only one person I would do that to, and it is for different reasons than you. But that matters little at this moment. All I wanted was an agreement that, if we miraculously get a chance to escape, that we could work together. It seems that is the case, so I am content." He smiles at this, but the dark undertone would make it difficult for many other people to look at. Not so for Rua'thil, who is already far past such expressions.

Though Duke makes a few more comments, the conversation begins to dwindle. Having to stand as he does, trying to keep his arms and wrists from becoming too sore, is taking its toll on his energy. Eventually, he will have no choice but to sleep, thus falling forward and letting the manacles dig into his wrists again. It is a vicious cycle that seems hypocritical for the Kingdom of Talingarde to have come up with.

The only comfort he takes is in knowing that if he sleeps, he will dream. His dreams, even after being captured, have been pleasant. Should he get a chance to have some more before his date of execution, it will be worth the chafed wrists. When his eyes finally close, he does not resist.

            ~ Written by Celtic Guardian 7


Character Hooks | Show
*Melvin Leveson: A young nobleman that Duke is in love with. Though Duke's methods of getting Melvin to love him back were horrific, there is no denying that the pair is truly infatuated with one another.
*Daryan Knyvett: Duke's father, and a devout worshiper of Mitra. He has no idea what happened to his son after he ran away from the academy, nor does he care, since he disowned him shortly after.
*Aggie Knyvett: Duke's mother, and as much of a servant to Mitra as her husband. She agreed instantly to disowning Duke after hearing he worshiped Asmodeus.
*Gram Haddock: A student who caught on to Duke worshiping Asmodeus. Several years later, he was a guard for the capital. He nearly killed Duke when they met, and Duke would love to return the favor.
*Ned Strader: An investigator who was hired to find Melvin after Duke kidnapped him. He is a kind and compassionate man who truly worries over the people he is sent to find. Duke has a grudging admiration for Ned's tactics and persistence, but he loathes the man more than anyone else, for it was Ned who caught him, sent him to Branderscar Prison, and separated him from Melvin.


Statblock | Show
Duke Knyvett
Male Lawful Evil Human Cavalier (Strategist), Level 1, Init +2, HP 13/13, Speed 30 ft
AC 12, Touch 12, Flat-footed 10, Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +0, Base Attack Bonus +1
(+2 Dex)
Abilities Str 16, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 16
Condition None
Abilities: Challenge: 0/1 used.
Tactician (Stealth Synergy): 0/1 used.
Inspiring Rush: 0/1 used.
Celtic Guardian 7
Adventurer
Adventurer
 
Posts: 359
Joined: Mon Oct 21, 2013 4:09 pm

Re: WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby Samara » Tue Aug 26, 2014 5:27 pm

Image

Character Name: Samara
Gender/Race: Female Human
Age: 21
Class: Witch
Role: Support and Arcane
Crime: Desecration and Heresy
Brand Location: Left Breast

Description:
spoiler: show
Slender and lithe, possessing an average height. Long, straight black contrasting with a pale complexion complimented with grey eyes.


Personality:
spoiler: show
Samara lack's some social graces, speaking her mind at times and showing little tact. Influenced by her dark witch patron, the young woman is ruthless, and will not hesitate to eliminate obstacles or threats. At times, she can come off as being a little crazy, but there is no doubting the strength of her determination.


Background:
spoiler: show
Samara stifled a groaned as the prisoner wagon hit a bump in the road. The woman ground her teeth as she struggled to sit up right to get a view out the barred window of the closed wagon. The view outside showed a dreary and overcast day that did little to ease the aches and pains of the young witch. Her left breast especially ached from the recent brand unceremoniously burned into her skin.

The thought of the brand brought a spike of anger and humiliation. The last few days flashed through the woman's mind in a rush. In particular was the betrayal, and subsequent capture by the Sir Balin of Karfeld's hunters. Anger burned in her mind as her only close friend was a turncoat traitor. It hurt more than the brand, rough handling by the hunters, and the humiliation of the trial

Samara never had many friends growing up. As a girl, she had a thirst of knowledge, especially the forbidden. One could always find the young witch reading books of arcane and lore. As she passed through childhood, the girl grew to become a social outcast. In her teens, Samara became aware of a dark presence that had been subtle guiding her studies. Comfortable with her status as an outcast, the young girl did not fear the presence but rather embraced it.

A few years later, Samara had the fledgling skills of a witch and recognized the dark presences as her patron. She had learned some basic hexes and a few low level spells, much to the alarm of those around her. It became quickly apparently that Samara needed to hide her new skills and knowledge less one of Mitra's orders came down on her.

However, through it all, Samara had confided in a close friend. Perhaps her only friend at a time. The young witch had been befriended by a quick spirited half-elf named Cathran who had a thirst for knowledge as well. The two would often trade books and such, and sneak aware during the night to practice magic. Over the years, they would cover each others backs when one got caught doing something their elders disapproved. They could have been sisters.

That changed when both reached their majority of age. Cathran was a Mitra, although not really devout. Samara secreted rejected Mitra's teachings altogether. Guided by her patron, Samara felt better served seeking out power and knowledge from other less, acceptable deities. When the two girls talked skirted the subject, Samara always asked hard questions of Cathran about Mitra and other gods. Now in hindsight, Samara thought as she rocked in the prisoner wagon, she had truly misjudged her friends devotion to her god.

What a shock had it been when Cathran lead the hunters to the old Mitra Shrine Samara had decided to desecrate. The desecration was in an experiment in appeasing other deities. The witch under the impression that Cathran was open minded, had discretely asked if the half-elf wanted something more out of her life. Cathran declined, and Samara had naively shrugged her shoulders and continued with her plan. After all, she had not let slip what she meant.

But she had not been careful enough. The witch hunters of Mitra stormed the Mitra shrine. Samara was in mid ritual and was shocked when she spotted Cathran leading the men. Outraged at the betrayal, Samara cursed Cathran and her god for the betrayal before the hunters clubbed her into unconsciousness. It was the last Samara saw of Cathran, and when the witched regained consciousnesses, she swore an oath of vengeance on the one time friend.

The seriousness of Samara's crimes made it extremely doubtful that she would ever fulfill that oath. The old shrine was venerable and ancient that the witch was charged with the crime of desecration to the fullest extent. That meant burning at the stake. The second charge of heresy was also applied for cursing and damning Cathran in view of the hunters. Not that it matter, the punishment was the same.

The wagon trundled across the bridge leading into the walls of Brandiscar Prison, jerking Samara out of her reflection. The witch glanced again out the window as the high walls became visible and sighed. It was a temporary stay until her execution. The woman didn't have much hope of escaping this outcome. At least she would get to spit into the face of the Mitra underling setting fire to her stake.

The wagon stopped and the door to the back opened. Daylight lit up the straw covered floor of the wagon.

"Out, Heretic. Be quick about it or else..." A gruff voice commanded.

Samara crawled out with what little dignity she had left. The rough canvas tunic scraping against the recent brand on her chest. The prison guard not satisfied with her pace, grabbed and hauled her roughly out of the wagon and onto the ground.

"Up!" A booted kicked Samara's side, causing her to tear up.

"Easy, man. She isn't long for this world and not worth the effort." A calmer and older voice said quietly.

"Just take her to her cell. She's due to burn next week."

With that, rough hands hauled Samara to her feet and she was led away to her cell.


Character Hooks:
spoiler: show
1. Samara has an oath of vengeance against Cathran for her betrayal.
2. Revenge against the Mitra order in general.
3. Seeking a more suitable deity to follow.


Samara Mini-Stats | Show
Init +5, Speed 30
AC 13, Tch 13, FF 10, CMD 13
HP 09/09
Fort +2, Ref +3, Will +3 (+4 vs divine)
Spells:
Cantrips (Detect magic, Daze, Guidance)
1st Level (Mage Armor,Cure Light Wounds) 2/2 Remaining
Hexes: DC=14, Healing Hex, Evil Eye, Cackle
Conditions: None
Samara, a witchy Witch
User avatar
Samara
Veteran
Veteran
 
Posts: 161
Joined: Sat Jan 07, 2012 5:09 pm

Re: WotW: Dramatis Personae

Postby DBHarding » Mon Feb 02, 2015 3:59 am

Image
BasicsName: Cullen DeMarche
Age: 29
Race: Human
Class: Cleric
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Crime: Extortion
Brand Location: Palm of Left Hand


Appearance
spoiler: show
Even with his priestly profession, Cullen prefers his noble raiment. He dresses finely with much livery and plenty of jewelry. Though he is not one to overtly hide his faith, he doesn't even dress the part of hidden priest with the colors of his faith. Rather, he follows proper trends, going back to old traditions and styles of fashion. He is always clean shaven, and he keeps his curly hair well oiled and scented with lavender. He walks with purpose and determination, but also with a slow and deliberate gait that shows his superiority over all who watch him


Personality
spoiler: show
Smug, cold, and only passionate when he absolutely has to be, Cullen does not let himself show much emotion, especially given that he doesn't have many. He's mostly concerned with rational self-interest, and sets about satisfying that interest with a discrete and balanced approach. Cullen does not bother much with charity, given his position, and in general only helps when its in his interest or when its in his group, as he's willing to admit, helping the whole will help the individual. He not overtly cruel, despite his sometimes brutal actions, as he does what is necessary when it is necessary, and no more. For that matter he is not even much of a proselytizer. For all his religious belief, he prefers to keep things simple, and follows his holy duties with as much enthusiasm as he needs. Otherwise, he's just an ordinary nobleman with an ordinary need to be both the best, and rule the rest.


Background
spoiler: show
There are some men who believe they are born superior. They believe that due to some ancestral trait or by being born under certain starts or favored by certain gods they are made superior to others. By that right, they can do no wrong, because they themselves define what is wrong. They might indulge in every sin under the sun, but any action they take is subject to no judgment of lesser folk. These are the sorts with mighty ambition to match their views of themselves, people who seek power not for its own sake, but to correct a natural wrong that they are not in power. Cullen Demarche is one such person.

The Demarche family is an old knightly house, filled with more pride than power. Its lands are larger than the average knightly family, but lack wealth and influence with anyone, even their superiors in the Talingarde hierarchy. Such was not always the case. The Demarche family is an old one, and Talingarde has more often celebrated the Demarche named than condemned it. It was the Demarche heroes who stood shield by sword even as pirates raided Talingarde shores. It was Demarche knights who volunteered to the last man when the Savage North’s savagery came south. It was Demarche that have marched to the defense of Talingarde against demon summoning wizards, undead breeding necromancers, rebels, brigands, and the occasional gnome whose prank had gone too far.
For all this service, however, the messy politics of religion got in the way. While there was no strict requirement, in general most members of the House Demarche were followers of Asmodeus, mostly out of shared beliefs on power and ambition. After all, in addition to battling Talingarde’s enemies, the House was known for the occasional bit of intrigue. As a result, when the Darians came to power and made Asmodeus worship illegal, House Demarche came on hard times, mostly due to their rivals taking the time to exact revenge. Oddly enough, the Darians, who were the source of the Demarche troubles, came to be their savior of a sort. They were given the choice between conversion to the faith of Mitra, or having their lands seized their titles revoked. Millerius, the Lord Demarche at the time, relented, and centuries old temples of Asmodeus came crashing down as Mitran temples came up.
Cullen was born with this legacy. But legacies are not always revered, and the Demarche family rarely was active in the worship of Mitra, and almost never fielded priests. One leader, Cullen’s father Hadrin, decided to ignore the warnings of House Darius, and with secrecy and tact, sought to renew ties long since broken with the Church of Asmodeus. They were not found easily, and their caution, though understandable, almost made the deal falter. In the end, the secret church agreed with Hadrin Demarche to have the blessings of the old Church, in return for their second child to join the clergy. Cullen was this child. He was thus raised to be one of the renewed powers of the ancient church. And quite, honestly, Cullen enjoyed every minute of it.

Becoming a priest of Asmodeus is no easy task, but Cullen found himself a big fish in a small pond. His fellow seminarians were mostly poor orphans and lesser nobles who, like him, were sneaking their faith. Cullen, with his family backing and his natural bullishness, as well as his general intellect and ability to convince, coerce, and good wits, was able to outdo his fellow students, and quickly was given the full trappings and duties of a priest.

Unfortunately, given the position of the Asmodeus church in Tallingarde, there was little Cullen could do. Their duties were mostly blessing their fellow secret members, and such things left the imagination of Cullen in poor practice. Fortunately for the young priest, one of his superiors, Amarste Gavarin, came up with an interesting scheme to both earn the favor of their deity and fill the church’s coffers. With magic and a bit of snooping they began searching for the secrets of the local nobility and merchants, and when they learned of something particularly interesting, they came on in with blackmail and a demand for gold. Cullen was both an investigator and an enforcer. He came upon victims with a devilish smile and a cruelly polite word, and walked out with a bit of gold and satisfaction of a job well done. No one knew of his association with the forbidden church.

Even when a victim of the extortion ring had relations in the local guard. They allowed themselves some embarrassment when the merchant exposed his numerous liaisons with various people who weren’t his wife to his understanding brother, who followed the gang’s trail. They were uncovered, Cullen and all, but the group was clever enough not to leave too much of a trail, even as their leader Amaerste took his own life to spare himself embarrassment and secrets. Cullen was not so quick, nor was he really willing to kill himself. Rather, he was sent to the dour chambers of Branderscar Prison, with nothing but death facing him.


SheetNew Sheet
User avatar
DBHarding
Villager
Villager
 
Posts: 28
Joined: Sat Aug 23, 2014 5:25 am


Return to Way of the Wicked [PF]

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest