[Characters] Characters

[goatmeal]

Post your character info here, as from your application, plus a link to your character sheet when it is ready.

 

Starting experience: you start the game with 50d4+50 XP to explain any adventures you may have already had. Alternately, you can have a character with no experience and 20d4+20 extra gold. This choice should be selected to match your intended background, not based on the mechanics.
Ability scores point buy: 17 or 3d4+ 10 (may reroll one die if multiple ones are rolled.)
Starting gold: average or roll.
Starting HP: max
Bonus skills: each character starts the game with two bonus skill points that should relate to their background. These do not increase the number of ranks that may be selected from each skill, and do not change whether a skill is a class skill. Pick one each from knowledge and occupation as listed below.
Knowledge: select geography, local or nobility.
Occupation: any craft, profession, or perform. Any of the following knowledge skills: arcana, geography, history. Any of these will be related to what you might do for a living. This will be used somewhat at first level, and possibly beyond that depending on your interest. Profession checks will be much easier to make but produce less income, while the others will be more difficult and might produce more income.

[iwood2465]

Good to be here, and congrats to the others. Here's the sheet. Mostly done, though I'm still tinkering with a few mechanics.

A look at Orlan Fleeting. Name: Orlan Fleeting | Heritage: Halfling, Westcrown, Servile Halfling | Class: Ranger (Guide Archetype) | Alignment: Chaotic Good Age: 26 | Gender: Male | Height 3' 5" | Weight: 34 lbs | Worship: Chaldira Zuzaristan (Loosely) Appearance and PersonalityDescription: Orlan Fleeting is tall and lean, at least for a halfling. His dark brown hair is worn in intricate braids, and his grey-green eyes are piercing and intense. His clothes are worn, but he takes care in keeping them in fine condition. He also bears an impressive number of scars, though most of them he keeps hidden. Orlan tries his best to remain calm and observant, as he has found less trouble with humans in this way. He is naturally good-hearted, especially to the downtrodden, and takes pains in helping people wherever he can; it's this habit that earns him many scars. Despite his good nature, he is somewhat arrogant, secretly looking down on most of the other races, while always trying to appear servile. Background: Orlan Fleeting, a slave of a minor and crumbling house clinging onto the last shreds of power, looks over the clearing in the Ramble Gardens with a confusing combination of hope and revulsion. His mind is filled with the color red; the fiery color of the setting sun above and the shocking crimson of blood that slowly disappears into the dark soil at his feet. The lifeblood of a human, his former master. He takes ragged breaths of air as he looks at the other two present. One is a human servant to the dead lord and a fool of a man. The other is revolting tiefling scum and the one who struck down his master. The shouted words of the arrogant human servant and whispered plea of the twisted devilspawn still ring in his mind. "Master!... You're dead, creature of hell! And you, halfing dog! You could have taken that blow, but you just watched! Kill the criminal, and we'll see if you can escape with your head attached, bastard slave." "Wait, no... please don't. There are other ways... and you don't have to be a slave anymore..." Orlan takes a step back, his mind reeling at the unexpected events, at the words spoken to him and he is at a loss. On one hand, he had always worked for this family, as had several generations of his kin. The human, though a fool and his overseer, relied on his skill and woodcraft, on his ability in the stables... surely, he wouldn't die over this? But on the other hand, if the evil scum is right, maybe he could make his own life. A free life to help his family, his friends, or even the entire halfling race. But to trust a tiefling... 'By Chaldira, how did it ever come to this...' A lifetime leading to death... Unlike many free and abandoned halflings in Westcrown, Orlan was born into service of a noble family still clinging to dying ways in the Parego Spera. Though living conditions for his family, and for most halfling slaves in general were abominable, as a youth he truly felt that life was good. He worked hard, played with his extended family as much as he could and did his best to take care of everyone. Against the hardship, his venerable elders taught him that halflings were the backbone of any civilization, with their luck and their knack of finding the best of any situation. They also told him of Chaldira Zuzaristan, and what she stands for. So he came to believe that the fate of Westcrown, and of Cheliax, lies more in the hands of the halflings than any other; a belief that filled the young halfling with pride. As he was growing up, it became clear that young Orlan was one of the best and brightest in his family, which led to greater amounts of chores and a lot of trouble, though he was rarely punished for trouble he actually participated in. Orlan was the sort to steal extra food for his family, or protect the animals from being overworked and to put things right before they were discovered. And with his quick feet and respectful attitude, he was rarely caught. However, when others were in trouble, he had a tendency to put himself in harms way for them, which often earned him the strap, the whip or worse. This gained him a reputation among his owners as a troublemaker, and his punishments were harsh. And though the overseers and masters closest to the halflings knew he wasn't behind some of the offenses, that didn't lessen the punishment or their enjoyment of it; after all, if one dog is punished, then the rest should take the lesson. Especially if it's one that others look up to. As he came into adulthood, he became a valued slave for his abilities with animals and, more importantly, his skill in hunting and tracking. Working with his overseer and a small team, he made sure that his noble lords had the best meat, the best hunting expeditions and, in terms of the greatest thrills, the best sentient prey. Criminals and scum that wouldn't be missed, these were taken to the Ramble Gardens in Parego Dospera and hunted for sport. During these events, for the most part, Orlan took few actions in the slaughter of their prey; that would be stealing the thrill from his 'betters', an offense that would earn the ranger more stripes. More than that, though, the hunt is almost as revered to the halfling as the flow of luck. Orlan, considering his life and the events of the day, comes to realize that things couldn't have turned out any other way. The master was outmatched, and had had his final thrill. The situation now belongs to the halfling slave. Despite the accusations of the fool human, to intervene would have only served to cheapen the hunt. But the choice is at hand... 'Do I stay... close to those I love, close to the beatings? Stay in the life that I've always had? Or do I grasp for more, for a better life? Was this turn of bad luck meant to be? It must have been...' With those thoughts, Orlan decides that he cannot let this chance go to waste, no matter how horrific the source of the opportunity is. Turning to his human overseer, Orlan Fleeting offers one last bow, displaying an almost perfect show of subservience, which brings a cruel smile to the man's face. A smile that doesn't last through the halfling's next words, "It's been a pleasure to serve, master. But those days are now at an end. I'm sorry..." The human's eyes widen in shock, before the man turns on his heels to run. But, he doesn't get far as Orlan raises his weapon, his projectile firing and bringing a second human to the ground. With the deed done, he turns his suddenly intense eyes to the tiefling, "Be gone, devil scum. And remember, if I can't make a better situation from this, then I'll see my revenge on you before I fall." With those words, Orlan watches the tiefling run into the shadows and turns away from the sunset to find some shelter for the night.

Questions and Answers Question 1A: Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? Despite Orlan's initial happiness as a child, growing into an adult in the grips of slavery was not the easiest of lives. Further, being thrust into the dark side of bloodlust, as well as seeing the slave trade up close, Orlan has seen how bad life in Westcrown can be. So, in the halfling's opinion, he believes that humans are no better than halflings, and most of them are quite a bit worse. For the other races, he doesn't have much of an opinion beyond normal racial stereotypes. Question 1B: Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? Orlan loves Westcrown, and even Cheliax, because it is his home and that's where his family is. Unlike many of his kind, he doesn't feel the itch of wanderlust. There's plenty to explore still, just within the city and the region. He believes that halflings can rise to a better place in society, and in doing so, society will be much better. Question 2: There’s someone recruiting people for a sort of citizen’s watch. How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in something like this? Having just recently broken the bonds of slavery, especially with a witness, Orlan would need a place to hide for a while. I imagine, that when things calm down a bit, he would also need a place where he could find support. Perhaps the tiefling knows of, or is a part, of this citizen's watch? Optional: What racial tensions have you been around or have you directly experienced? As a slave, Orlan was abused and ridiculed by humans for pretty much his entire life. Despite this, and his ability to keep their arrogance satisfied, the halfling ranger has his own type of reverse racist thoughts. He dislikes humans and thinks of them as gullible fools and brutes. Despite the disdain he holds for humans, it's also only humans and halflings that he knows well, so he holds many of the same prejudices that humans do. The lifestyle of most halfling slaves are especially horrid. They're valued as slaves partly because of their small size, so their living conditions tend to be less than adequate. I imagine dirty quarters very like a dog or cat kennel, in an effort to squeeze as many slaves into place as possible. They're also valued or abused much like animals, instead of actual beings. They eat whatever's left, so many fall to malnutrition. They also get in trouble for things they don't do; a human servant breaks something and blames a halfling slave, and nobody would blink an eyelash at the injustice.

Notes As noted above, the heritage trait I'm taking is the Servile Halfling trait. The campaign trait will either be Westcrown Firebrand or Obsequious. The flaw will probably be Mark of Slavery, though Family Ties would fit in as well. For the character, I have two different build types in mind, which I'll choose from depending on the skills of the party. Ranged combat will be the main focus, though I may switch hit a little. Either I'll be very sneaky, or I'll add in some face-like characteristics.

 

Dice Point Buy:

3d4+10

(2, 2, 1)+10

Total = 15

Dice Experience:

50d4+50

(3, 2, 2, 2, 3, 4, 1, 1, 3, 4, 2, 1, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 1, 2, 2, 2, 1, 3, 4, 4, 4, 3, 4, 4, 4, 2, 2, 3, 3, 2, 3, 1, 1, 3, 2, 3, 1, 3, 1, 1, 4, 4, 1, 4, 2)+50

Total = 173

Dice Starting Gold 5d6x10:

5d6

5, 2, 6, 3, 2

Total = 18

[Aethera]

Likewise happy to be here! I've trimmed back the text from my application in hopes of not straining anyone overmuch with wall-o-text. The full text remains in my app thread. I'll update as I complete the character mechanics.

Name: Valerya Luthier (Val, Rya, various rude things not worth repeating...)

Concept: 22-yr-old half-elven female instrumentalist with a penchant for nasty vengeance
Mentality: Knowledge is power.

Physical: 5'10", 155lb, female half-elf

Skillset: archaeologist (bard archetype, the roguish end of things)
Musical Talents: some experience crafting instruments, talented at playing stringed instruments, voice better suited to a secondary/harmony line or storytelling

Alignment: True Neutral
Tendencies: angry young woman always on the fringe, done many things she regrets were necessary, lashes out easily (CN)

 

 

Heritage Trait Wiscrani Minority You are still a minority in a city that is almost 90% human, but its not that much different than being a minority anywhere else. The brunt of any racism is borne by the Halflings and Tieflings, so unless you are suspected of being a Tiefling in disguise, you don't suffer any consequences for this. Pick a relevant campaign trait from the Player's Guide, another trait, and a flaw.

Campaign Trait The Pathfinder’s Exile Westcrown’s dilapidated Pathfinder lodge of Delvehaven has long excited your imagination. Forcibly closed by the order of the city’s diabolical rulers, the Pathfinders of Westcrown were exiled, forcing them to leave behind untold knowledge and the treasures of countless expeditions. Today, Delvehaven lies under the pale of fearful rumors and dark magic, and bureaucratic red tape has prevented trespass on the lodge’s well-protected grounds. Having secretly and illegally contacted agents of the Pathfinders, you’ve expressed your interest in aiding their ventures in Cheliax—with a particular eye toward investigating Delvehaven, the source of your long-standing adventuresome interests. To your surprise, some days ago you received a message back from an unnamed Pathfinder operating underground in the country. Along with encouraging you to investigate the lodge and report your findings to the Grand Lodge in Absalom, he’s sent along a battered and tarnished, yet still functional wayfinder. You’ve promised yourself to pay back your unknown contact the 500 gp cost of the item someday, but until then, it’s yours to use. A wayfinder is a magical compass that grants you a +2 circumstance bonus on Survival checks to avoid becoming lost, and can be commanded to emit light as the spell (CL 5th) as a standard action.

Other Trait Voice of Velvet You have the ability to sing a song and spin a story that captures the hearts of those around you. Benefit: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Diplomacy and Perform (oratory) checks.

Drawback Paranoid You believe that someone or something is always out to get you, so you have a hard time truly trusting anyone. Effect: Anyone who attempts an aid another action of any type to assist you must succeed at a DC 15 check instead of the normal DC 10 check.

 

Valerya was born to Silvia Luthier, who returned to Westcrown after having disappeared from Westpool and having wandered abroad for more than three years. Silvia returned, both very pregnant and very ill, yet she would say next to nothing about where she had been. Since she needed their help, of course her family took her in. The Luthiers, as the name suggests, made instruments for a living. They were a more recent addition to Westcrown, compared against the timeline of Cheliax, but were a well-to-do family already thanks to the mayor's passion for opera. The birth of a half-elf was a stain on their proud Wiscrani honor, but family was family. Valerya grew up with a hint of bias against her, but not so much that she didn't feel part of the family. Her mother, always weak after the long and drawn-out illness she had suffered, died when Valerya was seven, leaving her in the care of the Luthiers, who did their best to do right by the girl they didn't want.

With long hair hiding her ears it's often hard to tell that Valerya is anything other than a human with more angular features, but with a good look at her or prior knowledge of her family's usual features, she gets some flak for being partly elven. It's not clear if her father was full-blooded elven or not, but it doesn't really matter to the bastards that want to make trouble for her. Though teased as a child, if she were only occasionally taking the brunt of drunken mayhem, she wouldn't have been too concerned about racism. But when she was nine she made the mistake of standing up for a tiefling that got picked on by a human kid from one of the many "noble" Wiscrani families no one has ever heard of. Or, as the dottari put it, "slandering and falsely accusing" the human and "consorting with devilspawn", which then in turn put her and her family in the spotlight for an inquisition, and the nine-year-old girl was tested to confirm that she was not scum herself. The experience has left her with less than pleasant feelings towards the dottari (especially the nasty officer types that were supposedly from local but minor noble families) and has left her family with a black mark on its otherwise perfect record. The girl was bullied increasingly until she learned to keep to herself. She promptly learned to embrace the Wiscrani opinions of race and class, and her wry insults have become more cutting than those of the humans around, and such things bleed into her performances of tales and song. Val's racial insults are at their worst just after someone insults her own heritage, or when there are people whose opinions matter to the running of the city present. She isn't consciously aware that she pushes such a vehement facade of being "proud Wiscrani", nor that her ire over racial matters is rooted in the injustice shown her (both as a child and since then), but if such were ever pointed out it's likely she would slowly recognize the difference between the attitudes she has adopted to fit in and the attitudes she was raised with early on.

These days, when Valerya can't stand to be around people anymore, she goes looking for new knowledge, often in places she's not supposed to be. She hears things when she plays on the sidelines in taverns, or wandering about town. Where do people disappear to? She shows kindness to the strangers she meets in her explorations of the dead region of Parego Dospera, though she doesn't trust anyone there, for who knows what reasons led them? None of them are the disappeared, however. So far she has been unable to just explain away the disappearances or hints at underhanded business in Westcrown, there are far too many suggestions of problems to consider it just common paranoia, and she's stumbled across buildings in Dospera that showed signs of recently being used by groups of people who left nothing behind, even sweeping away footprints. She likes knowledge, she likes secrets, and she feels the need to find out what the city leaders don't want known. To that end she has attempted to sneak into Delvehaven more than once, with limited or no success. Nighttime in Westcrown is a dangerous ally at best, but it can be useful that no one is likely to be about when she sneaks back to her tiny room in her uncle's house.

 

Luthier Residence, Parego Spera, Westcrown
The sweet strains of talented lute practice and the click of knitting needles ceased abruptly when the handle of the front door turned, both mother and son sharing a concerned glance. Dark had fallen nearly an hour ago; no sane soul ventured out in Westcrown after dark. The young man with the lute relaxed when a familiar lute and the attached half-elven woman entered, but his mother stiffened further. "Valerya Lyra Luthier! Do you have any idea what time—" The woman’s knitting fell to the floor when the half-elf turned around, revealing torn clothing and a cut over one eye. "Goodness, what happened to you?"

Valerya shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at sore muscles, and slowly unslung her own lute. "Wrong place, wrong time, you know how it is, Auntie Bree." The lute player rose to help when Valerya had trouble taking off her sweater, and his face hardened as he saw the bruises revealed by her torn blouse. He started to say something, but Val gave him a glare and he shut his mouth. He took the lute from her instead, turning to the row of family instruments and propping the lute on its worn hook, completing the row of four lutes set along the wall.

Rising to assist, Breanne Luthier put her hands on her hips. "How is it that you are always in the wrong place, Val?" She stepped forward sharply, but her fingers were gentle as she grasped her niece’s chin to turn Val’s head so she could see the darkening bruise on her jaw. "What happened."

Valerya sighed, wilting under her aunt’s gaze. "I was debating performance details with Killian longer than we planned. So I took a short cut to get home by dark. Apparently there had been some sort of… I don’t know. The dottari were forcibly stopping everyone, trying to catch tiefling rebels. And you know how much they like seeing half-elves." Her eyes met her cousin’s, and he nodded consolingly, encouraging her to continue. "The captain in charge was a ******* lecher." Val stopped to slide the shoulder of her blouse sideways to show the imprint of fingers on her shoulder. "He decided he needed a full strip search to prove I was actually half-elven. This," She pointed at her jaw. "Was to end my argument."

"Was that all? What was his name?" Val’s cousin growled. Valerya’s aunt sighed at the bruises and headed into the kitchen to find something to put on them.

Valerya shook her head at her cousin. "You can’t go complaining about them, Caleb, and you know it." She would rather not think about answering his other question. The dottari had too much leeway to get away with things when the victim wasn’t human, and she would be ignored. She hissed an obscenity. "Can’t the damned tieflings keep their arguments with the government limited to them? The rest of us don’t need the collateral damage."

Valerya’s aunt returned with a scrap of meat and shook her head at Val. "It’s not their fault the dottari act as they do. Anyone they decide is ‘not human enough’ is suspect. If the tieflings weren’t stirring up trouble, the dottari would probably be acting against elves, half-elves, or whomever happened to cross their path. You know that, Val." She extended the meat. "Put that on your eye and hope it doesn’t swell. You’ll have trouble earning coin if you look like you’ve been in a brawl."

Val did as she was told, jerking a bit when the meat touched the broken skin. "Yes, Auntie Bree." She rolled her shoulders awkwardly, feeling the pull of muscles that didn’t want to move. "Is the kitchen fire still lit? I’m going to need to soak or I won’t be able to move tomorrow."

Breanne shook her head. "I banked it at dark, Val, but it shouldn’t take too much work to get it going again." Valerya nodded and trudged into the kitchen, two pairs of eyes following her uneven gait.

"Has this happened before?" Val’s cousin, Caleb, asked his mother quietly.

Breanne Luthier sighed. "It’s never exactly the same, but it’s not the first time, no. There’s nothing to do about it or your father would have done it long since. She just needs to be careful and stick to the main streets. She can hardly escape her elven blood." She shrugged at her glowering son, bending to pick up her knitting. "Drop it, Caleb. She doesn’t like talking about it, never has. She won’t thank you for interfering."

"But she shouldn’t have to deal with this!"

"No, dear, she shouldn’t." The woman reseated herself, taking up her knitting once more, but the rhythm of her needles was uneven and broken this time.

Hypothetical Questions Posed to Valerya Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? Westcrown? It's not Westcrown, it's Cheliax. I've delivered instruments to some of Arvanxi's pet musicians, and once my cousin and I brought a harp to Parego Regicona ourselves since the musician didn't trust anyone but my family to touch it. Damn thing probably would've bought a Spera family food for a year. Westcrown isn't the problem. It's vile because Cheliax is vile. And it's not exactly the government, either. A lot of people like Cheliax this way. They're the problem. Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? Westcrown is my home. My family has nowhere but here, and Mother's buried here. Where else would I go? Search for some father I don't know, nor give two sh*ts about? No. But there's still some things worth having here, even if they're few and far between. We used to be the capital, didn't we? Not everything from that time is gone, just buried. If we could regain some of that, we might actually be a city of renown again. There’s someone recruiting people for a sort of citizen’s watch. How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in something like this? If someone followed me when I was trying to take time to myself, it's likely they would have found my preference for peace, justice, and knowledge... though since the dottari never caught me trying to sneak in to Delvehaven, I can't imagine anyone else has seen it.

First Impressions Simeon White (moozuba): Hellspawn, and with a shifty look about you at that. Keep your distance, hornhead. I’ll have nothing to do with you, thanks. Balthasar Leroung (DukeofTuring): From experience if nothing else, I immediately distrust any Wiscrani with such a look of focus on his face. Who’s to say what devilry he may be intent upon? Kria Voss (Darkling): I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? You’re the one causing the whispers about half-elves’ loyalties, right? If you think fame is going to protect you, sister, you’ve got something else coming. (Should Val realize Kria is a tiefling, she'd have a lot of four-letter words to share...) Nicodemus Lacian (Aeternis): You’re making waves, nobleman, and it’s not going to do you well. The Wiscrani rumor mill is no friend of yours. Speaking of which, haven't I seen you somewhere, few years back? Orlan (iwood) -- app wasn't finished when I did exercise, I'll review shortly

 

Dice Starting XP:

50d4+50

(3, 2, 4, 2, 1, 1, 1, 3, 4, 2, 1, 3, 2, 4, 3, 3, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 3, 4, 4, 3, 2, 2, 2, 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 4, 3, 4, 1, 4, 2, 1, 1, 1, 3, 3, 2)+50

Total = 174

Dice Ability Scores:

3d4+10	(3, 2, 2)+10			Total = 17
3d4+10	(3, 2, 4)+10			Total = 19
3d4+10	(2, 3, 2)+10			Total = 17
3d4+10	(4, 1, 3)+10			Total = 18
3d4+10	(4, 2, 1)+10			Total = 17
3d4+10	(4, 4, 3)+10			Total = 21

Dice Starting Gold x10:

3d6

6, 3, 1

Total = 10

[Aeternis]

At A Glance Name: Nicodemus Lacian [sheet] Race/Gender: Proud Wiscrani heritage traitChelian human, male Class: worships Sarenrae. Domains: Light[Sun], FireCleric Alignment: NG/TN Age: 23 Role: Blaster cleric, melee combatant, zealot Flavor: Wiscrani minor noble who went off to fight in a war in distant Kelesh, returning with new perspective on his homeland.

First Impressions ”Nico” Lacian, despite being a usually dark-haired, light-skinned Chelian, is fairly tan, owing to his several years living in Kelesh. This, combined with the Kelesh-made scimitar he carries, often combine to create an amusingly wrong first impression, one which is broken the moment he opens his mouth and speaks the local language and dialect as only a native can. He wears his dark hair long, usually held back with a headband but sometimes also tied into a simple pony-tail when it suits him. Under the tan, Nico’s features are all Chelian - he has a strong, aquiline nose, dark eyes, and would have a beard as thick and dark as the hair on his head if it was not local fashion among Wiscrani nobles to be clean-shaven or to have only small moustaches and/or goatees. Nico’s height and girth are not impressive by human standards, but he’s fit and lean, where many noble Chelians are slightly chubby or out of shape.

Deeper things Though Nicodemus Lacian is hardly an old man, he still often talks about his “younger days” - he is referring to the time before he converted to the Church of Sarenrae. Though he speaks as if his conversion and life since is the greater part of his existence, he is a fairly recent convert; his battlefield revelation was little more than a year ago. Where before that, Nico was a callous, vain young man, he is neither in his new incarnation - he errs toward compassion and humility wherever he can, often only by conscious effort where old habits and desires threaten to return to the fore. Nico has found in the weeks since his return to Westcrown that the old city and the memories contained therein have made it harder for him to keep his remembered old self from surfacing - his relatives very much dislike the “New Nico” and most expect that his conversion is merely a phase that he’ll mature out of in a few months or years. A few might admit that the "New Nico" is far easier to get along with, though in terms they better understand - they would say that his travels have helped him find a maturity lacking when he departed. There are also traits of his old self that Nico's conversion has, if anything, epmhasized. For example, he has always been a bit too impulsive for his own good, and he often reacts poorly when his flaws are publically spoken of (even if the same words spoken in private would be welcomed now). Nico also has a bit of a temper and tends toward vengeful retaliation in the heat of the moment, especially when his beliefs or goddess are maligned, but he does not hold anger over a long time or plot distant revenge. No matter how serious the offense he's been dealt, the offender can be almost guaranteed that Nico will forget the offense in the face of a sincere (or sincere-sounding) attempt to make amends. Obviously, what constitutes making amends varies from offense to offense - a verbal apology would suffice for a spoken slight, but not for serious physical injury caused to one of Nico's friends. Nico is neither notably taciturn nor overly garrulous, but once he starts talking it's often difficult for him to know when he should stop, leading sometimes to awkward trailings-off mid sentence when he catches himself rambling on. The man is also fiercely protective of people who share his faith, and to a lesser degree of those who share his goals and ideals, but have different faiths (or no faith, which Nico would say is a kind of faith all its own). He once prized highly his social standing, as an avenue to power and wealth, but since his return Nico has avoided the company of his noble relatives and associates as much as possible, preferring instead the company of people who are less scornful of his beliefs.

 

Questions and Answers What's your relationship with the city of Westcrown? Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? "I used to think the regime was modern. Forward thinking. The way of the future. Asmodeus has given us many boons, I thought, and order is kept. What more is there in a deity, in governance?" "But I've been outside Westcrown. I've seen what those in power would call a primitive society. A society with ancient traditions and tales of glory, which yet sees that its greatest days are yet to come. Thousands gathering in shared faith, not out of fear or to get something from their obeisance, but out of reverence and trust." "What I return bearing is not unique to me, nor are the words I speak, but those like me are far too uncommon here. The authorities tolerate people who think as I do because we are few and lack a great following, but already since I've returned I've seen them turn things against me, in small ways. In publicly speaking the truth - that there is something in this world to strive for besides money, power, and gratified carnal desires - I have marked myself in their eyes. What is not orthodox is discouraged, and I have long since left Cheliax's orthodoxy." Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? "This is where I was born, this is where my family lives. Westcrown is my home. I grew up hearing stories of the old glory of the city, and of the nation - we were a great people, once. I don't think that the Wiscrani are content to be this backward and behind the tide of the world forever." "Surprised I didn't answer that I was commanded by Sarenrae to love the city, despite its flaws? The Dawnflower doesn't work like that. Besides, no deity needs to command a person to love their homeland. Patriotism is only natural. I've been not commanded, but given an opportunity - a chance to act on this patriotism, to bring holy light to this city's twilight." There’s someone recruiting people for a sort of citizen’s watch. How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in something like this? "I sympathize with their aims, and I'd be only too happy to help. If the corrupt authorities will stand by and let evil and injustice flourish, it is only natural that people would like to stop them, even if it's a risk to do so. I've been back in the city only a few weeks, but I've spent that time connecting with Sarenrae's faithful in Westcrown, and bringing light to some of the darker places in this city - sometimes literally as much as figuratively. It should be obvious that I would be only too happy to join up with others who want what I do, even if they don't - or at least, if they don't yet - share my faith." What are your opinions in relation to nonhumans, especially halflings and tieflings? "Sarenrae accepts all who accept her blessing, and so shall I, no matter what the outward appearance of the body or the sins of birth and earlier life. I will not lie - this will neither be easy nor comfortable for me. For that matter, I fully expect that the teachings of a human who once made a game of tormenting tieflings in the street, whose family owns many Halfling slaves, will not do much to sway the hearts of the city's Tieflings and Halflings." "I will do, however, what the Dawnflower wishes of me. She wishes to make this city better for all who live in it, no matter the sins of their birth or life. And certainly I will stand up for any of such folk who wish to join Sarenrae's faithful - for all who are redeemed have the same incalculable value."

 

Initial Mechanics I'm not going to do a full build until it's needed and might change some things around, but this should give you some idea of what I'm aiming for. Traits/Flaws: Heritage Trait: Proud Wiscrani - like almost all humans in Westcrown, you have memories of a proud heritage. Unfortunately, the memories of this past are greater than the realities of the present. Still, you know how things work in this town, and your noble heritage has to count for something. You receive a +1 on intimidate checks against halflings or tieflings if you invoke an authority figure, and a bonus on bluff checks to convince an authority figure that a halfling (+2 bonus) or tiefling (+4 bonus) is guilty of something. Because of the decline of Westcrown relative to other cosmopolitan cities, you pick a skill that would normally be a class skill for you: it is no longer a class skill. Campaign Trait: Zealous Firebrand - Your patron deity's fiery nature makes you naturally prone to act in haste, granting a +1 trait bonus on initiative checks, and +1 trait bonus on attack rolls if you get to act during the surprise round. (Westcrown Firebrand) Trait: Emissary of Light - A divine force has selected you for a great purpose. In recognition of this, you were given a fine weapon matching the deity's favor. You start with a masterwork weapon matching your deity's favored weapon, and may cast Light once per day as a spell-like ability. Furthermore, whenever Light is cast upon this granted weapon, the radius and duration are doubled. Flaw: Family Ties - When a family member makes a request of you, you must fulfill that request or take a –2 penalty on all Wisdom- and Charisma-based ability checks and skill checks until you either do what was requested or succeed at a DC 20 Will saving throw, which you can attempt once per day at the start of each day. Domains: Fire - Bolts of fire and damaging evocation spells as domain spells. At higher levels, fire resistance. Light - Sub-domain of the Sun domain. Blinding flashes of light and damaging light/heat spells (faerie fire, heat metal, etc.) At higher levels, area of effect undead debuffs. Feats: Level 1: Combat Casting - Melee weapon + spells = this is a necessary feat. Human: Elemental Focus (Fire) - Because this is a blaster cleric. I'm not all that interested in healing magic - I'm going for a fire and brimstone build.

 

A Farewell Testimony and farewell of Nicodemus Lacian Assembled faithful in this most holy of cities, Zelshabbar in Kelesh: Brothers and sisters, it is good to stand before you. I came to your land an arrogant youth, interested only in what I could gain from it - gold, glory, and stories to tell when I return to the far side of the Inner Sea, to the land of my birth. At first, I found only what I sought. Under the hot sun of this land, I fought as a mercenary as many others did in these trying times. I laughed at the fervent faiths of those who I fought with - at home, I told myself, these zealots would be a laughingstock. I jested, mostly to the other mercenaries like myself, and I belittled the faithful. We thought ourselves superior to you - our love of money, power and glory, we thought, was more pragmatic, more modern. Nothing could be further from the truth, brothers and sisters. It is those who believe as I once did that have destroyed my home - this has been revealed to me. While your land, for all its conflicts and troubles, is prosperous and thriving, the land ruled by the “pragmatic” and the “modern” desires of worldly things - my homeland, to the north - sags in decline, comforting itself with remembered days of former glory rather than focusing its attention on the future. What more fitting comparison is there? But my own conversion was not a matter of pragmatism. The divine interceded on my behalf in the heat of battle, rescuing me from a blow that would have ended my life. The Everlight revealed to me in an instant, as the killing blow of a desert marauder descended, that I was not meant to die on the sands of a battle foreign to my birth. Sarenrae showed me the path that had led me to that place, and how all my life had been pointing forward to that very instant. The blow never landed. The marauder was as surprised as I was, when his perfectly aimed stroke bit only the sand beside me. I stood and fought on, but no longer did I fight for money, glory, or power. Brothers and sisters, I have spent many months learning from you since then, but I cannot stay here forever. I must soon return to my homeland, to the city of Westcrown. I have in my heart deep affection for you all, and hope one day to return, bringing with me many more to be trained in the ways of the Dawnflower - for it is the destiny of all the peoples of this world to repent of their wicked, self-aggrandizing ways as I did, and to see the Light. Sarenrae watch over you, my friends and comrades, and may the light always reveal our paths.

Racism Nico, as any good Wiscrani, was raised to believe that Tieflings are contemptible beings, and that Halflings are only fit to be slaves and servants for Chelians. This of course conflicts with his recent conversion to a religion of repentance, that teaches that no-one is ever truly beyond redemption, and that every conversion is of value. The ingrained, reflexive reaction Nico has toward halflings and Tieflings is very much still negative, and he is prone to be condescending toward them if he's not careful. If Nico's pocket is picked, his first target of blame will be the Tiefling who just passed by, for example, not the human beggar he just finished speaking with. Nico will work especially hard to quash his prejudice when dealing with halflings or tieflings who share his faith - in his mind, and in the teachings of his goddess, those who have repented and follow the light have been redeemed of their past failings. In a hypothetical situation where Nico is forced to make a snap judgement of accusation between a Sarenrae-worshipping Tiefling and a traditionally Asmodeus-worshipping noble, Nico will be more likely to come down on the side of his brother or sister in the faith.

Lacian Manor "Thank you for coming, Nicodemus." Contessa Lacian spoke from her high-backed chair by the fire. "I don't think I've spoken to you since you returned. How have you been?" The plump old woman waved a thickly-veined hand at one of the other chairs. A tea-table next to her chair already bore a teapot and two small teacups. "I am well, Aunt Contessa." Nicodemus Lacian stepped cautiously into the room and eased down into the proffered chair, making no effort to hide the gold and brass pendant hanging around his neck They both knew what this was about, but Contessa Lacian would draw this out as long as she pleased, hoping to wear Nico down. Contessa was in fact his great-aunt, a woman of at least eighty years (no-one still alive knew her exact age) whose continued life was a matter of much remark, especially given her health scare some eight years before. "Aunt Contessa" was House Lacian's real power, no matter which male heir held the reins at the top at any given time. As a member of one of the outer branches of the family, Nico had, until his journey into foreign lands and his subsequent return, escaped the worst of her influence. Or, as he might have once called it, "missed out on opportunities to climb the ladder of House Lacian." "I was so glad to hear when you'd come back to Westcrown." Contessa reached over to the tea-table and pouredtea into both cups. "We Lacians have always had a... bit of a free-spirited streak. Too many of our young people go off into the world, and don't come back." Nico had been told many times prior to his leaving that Contessa had once hired thugs to travel as far as Absalom to drag a Lacian woman back to Westcrown - just to force her in an arranged marriage with an older man well-positioned in a rival house. Does she intend this for me as well? "But you were such a responsible boy. Got it all out of your system in a few years when you were young, then came back to us." Contessa waved her hand dismissively at the massively out-of-date map framed and hung on the wall. "Tell me, which of those places did you go visit again?" "It's called Kelesh, Aunt." Nico replied diplomatically. A land of sand and heat - the natural place for a man from the City of Twilight to see the light, and to fill his heart with holy sunfire. But Contessa would never see it that way outside divine intervention, and that was not to be - at least not now. "I'm sure it was very nice." Nico's great-aunt replied patronizingly. "But it's good to be home, isn't it?" "It is." No lies, no deception. For all its warts, Nicodemus knew without a doubt that Westcrown was home, and it was good to be back. He treasured his time in Kelesh, or rather, he treasured the latter half of it, and understood why the first half had to happen - but such times could not last. "Kelesh is a beautiful place, but it is better to live here." Nico kept himself to the topics of conversation that he and Contessa would not disagree on - every Lacian knew it was best to let her be the first to be disagreeable. "And certainly we all expect you to take some time to re-adjust." Contessa assured Nico, shifting in her chair to turn back toward the fire. "That unsightly burned face gave your mother a fright, but I told her it would slowly heal." Contessa was of course referring to Nico's desert-tanned skin. The city's nobility considered pale, soft skin to be attractive. "I'll have to give you some creams and powders for that. Maybe we can speed it up." "Thank you, Aunt Contessa." Nico had no intention of actually using that sort of product, and wondered internally if his skin would ever pale again, even living in the city once more. Those whom the Dawnflower smiled upon, it was said in Kelesh, would always bear the mark of the sun. Contessa would also be reluctant to send Nico to any of the noble houses' parties with his "unsightly and blemished" skin, which even the old self would find as a relief. Still, she was trying to be kind, and it would be rude to refuse the gift. Nico could always give the cosmetics to someone who would make better use of them. "...But what worried her more, Nico dear, was that silly amulet." The old woman gestured for Nico to take one of the cups of tea, and took the other herself without waiting for him. "I'm sure it was a gift, child, but it doesn't suit you." Frankly, Nico was surprised Contessa had decided to approach the root of the matter so quickly. They both knew Nico wasn't just here to chat, and it wasn't a pendant Contessa - and Nico's mother, to a lesser extent - were concerned about. She was more interested with the goddess and ideals the winged symbol represented than in what jewelery Nico wore. "It was a gift, yes." Nico knew he was on shifting sands - better to say as little as possible and let Contessa do the talking. He knew she liked to talk. "But dear boy, do you have any idea what sort of bauble it is?" Contessa Lacian sipped her tea quietly. "Your cousin Milen told me it was an image of a primitive sun god. A quaint charm warding against imagined evil. People might start thinking you believe that sort of thing." Nico swallowed and looked into his tea. This was the difficult part. It was surprisingly hard to force himself not to tell the easy lie, and thus to pass Contessa's test. Frankly, they both knew the truth, and they both knew Contessa didn't care what her young relative believed in his own mind, as long as he was willing to participate in Wiscrani orthodoxy when he was called upon to do so. Such an easy thing it would be, to cast aside the trappings of a follower of Sarenrae and be fully re-accepted by his family, only to pick them back up the moment they were gone... Aunt Contessa was staring at him intently. Was she trying to magically influence him? Or was the weight of family pressure magic enough? No. I will not. With a flash of inner fire, the temptation burned away, and Nico looked up. "This is no primitive charm. A fact which you well know, Aunt Contessa. The deity this represents has shared with me the truth." His diplomatic politeness was cracking, pressed from without by the subtle strikes of his family's cunning leader, and from within by the building fire, a desire not to destroy but to share, to make her understand. To expose the tattered web of intrigue and lies which Contessa Lacian had constructed over the course of generations for the pathetic refuge of small minds and crushed dreams that he'd been shown that it was. The old woman frowned. "Truth, Nico? Child, truth is like good and evil. It's what we make of it. The silly dichotomies of children don't fit the real world very well. Perhaps they fit in a sandy hell-hole like this Kelesh place, but you're in Westcrown again." Contessa Lacian reached down to the floor at her side and rang a bell resting there, and within seconds, a child-sized halfling servant darted quietly to her side. "Some cakes for my guest and I." She demanded simply. The servant bowed and left as quietly as she had come. "Let me give you an example, Nico. One might say that the house servants are slaves. They are not free to leave the service of this household, or to choose their duties. That is one truth, one person's judgement of good and evil. But they also eat every day, and they are clean, healthy, and well-clothed. House Lacian protects them against the night. If they were free, what would they do? They would be cast to the streets, hungry, ragged, and lost, at the mercy of the night. Another truth, another judgement. Contradicting, but coexisting." Contessa sipped her tea again. "Which truth do you believe, Nicodemus Lacian?" Nico resisted the impulse to retort with the first words that came to his mind. Instead, he took a deep breath, and set down his teacup, still untouched. "The truth is that both are wrong. All of this is wrong, and I am ashamed that it took divine intervention for me to see it. All of Westcrown is, and because of our sins, we stagnate. Do you know what they call this city abroad, Aunt Contessa? The 'City of Twilight'. When I met a Keleshian who recognized the name 'Westcrown', they would offer condolences for my blighted homeland. We are a cautionary tale at best. Cheliax's allegiance to Asmodeus has rotted us to the core. Do not grudge me my chance to do my best to help save this city from itself." Nico knew immediately that he'd said far too much, but it was too late to back down now. Besides, the constant patronization had had its desired effect - it had worn down his careful diplomacy. Contessa Lacian's frown deepened into a scowl. "Be careful what you say, Nico. Cheliax's patron has given us our prosperity, and will give us more still, if we do not falter. You flirt with sedition." Would Aunt Contessa spin the Hellknights a story of treason to be rid of me? Nico briefly wondered. He felt a spike of reflexive fear, which almost as quickly as it came was burned away by blessed sunfire. Probably not. The scandal would probably cost much of what she's worked to build, and there aren't many young men in the family right now. She needs me. For now. "Is that your version of the truth, Aunt Contessa? Here's mine: I have been promised that this city can be healed, and I've been given an opportunity to help do it. Would it not be sedition to refuse?" The servant returned with a plate of pastries, discretely holding it out for Nico and his great-aunt to sample. The older Lacian was silent for a moment, selecting a powdered, sugary confection from the servant's tray. "No matter what foreign superstition you have picked up, you are still a Lacian. And you have duties to the family." She finally decided to say, manner accusatory, suggesting that Nico had been neglecting these duties. Nico's barely-restrained zealous expression softened. "I have not forgotten that. The goddess Sarenrae is not in the business of breaking up families." He ignored Contessa's flinch at the name of his newfound deity. "But I am bound to follow her edicts if they contradict with the family's. Don't force me to choose one or the other." As Nico reached for a pastry of his own, his great-aunt waved away the servant. "Young Nicodemus has places to be. Can't you see he's too busy to stop and eat with his dear old aunt?" Contessa berated the servant, who looked uncertain and uncomfortable. The halfling girl knew full well who her mistress was angry at. Nico was equally uncomfortable, but also relieved that Contessa had elected to save some face for both of them by, like any good Wiscrani noble, berating the serving staff. "But all the same, I'm glad you stopped by for a chat, Nico." Contessa got slowly to her feet, and Nico did the same. "It's good to have you back, child." She enfolded Nico in a hug, for the moment choosing not to notice the pendant resting against his sternum. "We'll talk again soon." That was not a question or an assurance, but a dread promise. For her, this conversation was not over. "I'll have a runner bring you those treatments I talked about." "Thank you for tea, Aunt Contessa." Not that Nico had so much as sipped his, but formalities were what they were. "See you soon." The moment the door behind Nico closed, he sagged visibly, right hand clutching at his pendant, the slight warmth it always seemed to emit seeming to bleed the tension away. That, He noted mentally as he headed for the door, could have gone better. Sarenrae, help me stay true to this path.

Equipment and dress Most of Nico's combat gear was made in Kelesh, not in Westcrown. Weapon. The most notable example of Keleshian equipment Nico posesses is his sword, the lovingly-crafted scimitar that he wears prominently. The weapon's wide, curved blade is carved on both flat sides with an intricate abstract pattern reminiscent of the whirling eddies of a sandstorm, into which the symbol of Sarenrae has been cunningly worked - in a way such that it is not obvious unless one knows that it's there. The crosspiece of the blade is decorated with two yellow topaz stones, and the grip is wrapped in the tanned hide of a reptilian creature and banded with polished brass, and the pommel is spherical, studded with short, even protrusions like the rays of the sun. Armor. Nico's chain armor is weaved in the Keleshian style, with a radial pattern of rings emanating from the collar rather than the simple horizontal rows of rings. Besides this minor strangeness, the mail is not remarkable - it bears no symbology or ornamentation, save that its rings are lighter in color than armor made in other regions. Clothing. Nico wears the local fashions of Westcrown for the most part, but has become used to the fit of Keleshian boots, which feature straps around the calf to prevent sand from getting in. He knows better than to wear sandals, of course. Additionally, his primary all-weather over-cloak is of Keleshian make - a thick, wool garment with a large hood, of the kind that most travelers on Kelesh's many trade routes would use. Nico has found that it keeps rain and fog out just as well as it once kept out blowing sand, and just like most Keleshian travel-wear has to be, it is proof against a cold day without being impossibly stifling in the heat. Text. Nico keeps a copy of the Birth of Light and Truth (in Keleshian) on his person most of the time, and is known to read it when he is idle or waiting for something to happen. The book is small enough that it fits in the inner pockets of most coats and robes. It's a fairly nondescript book, bound in gray leather with Sarenrae's symbol seared into the front and spine.

 

• Orlan - Nico has no knowledge of the tragedy that claimed Orlan's former master, but an armed halfling will probably set him on edge. The new Nico will do his utmost to hide this discomfort from Orlan wherever possible, dismissing his suspicions intellectually but unable to purge them emotionally.
• Valerya - A paranoid, prickly half-elf would have (and perhaps once did) win no points in the book of the old Nicodemus Lacian. Old Nico might have accused Val of having something to hide, persecuted her for her "skulking and defensiveness", implying she was a tiefling in disguise. The new Nico might wonder the same thing, but he won't act on it. He'll probably spend a lot of time wondering what it was that made Val so bitter, if it isn't demonic blood in her veins.
• Balthasar - Balthasar will probably remind Nico far too often of his old self - it's probable he'll make a conscious effort to avoid unnecessary interactions with the man for fear of back-sliding from the progress he believes he's made. It's likely the two met once - the city's social circles are not so big to assume otherwise - but that is probably the extent of their prior association.
• Kria - A fellow Sarenrae worshipper will be a welcome companion at first. Nico and Kria have met briefly at gatherings of the Dawnflower faithful in recent weeks, but are naturally drawn toward different forms of outreach. The real question is, what will Nico be thinking about Kria if/when he discovers that she is a tiefling in disguise?
• Simeon - Obvious blanket hatred for humans will only make Nico's at best shaky racial tolerances shakier, and possibly put him off-balance enough to slip up and revert to his roots. Nico's association with Simeon will be strained at best, and they will almost certainly not be friends.

[DukeofTuring]

Name: Balthasar Leroung
Heritage: Human, born in Westcrown, educated and trained in Egorian, and a resident again of Westcrown for the past year and a half. "Proud Wiscrani" heritage trait, losing "Profession".
Alignment: Somewhere between N and NE. Although he admires and advocates lawful behavior among society at large, Balthasar's mood and methods often are less than stable in practice. A driven man from a ruthless society, he also usually has little concern for the well being of others as individuals, although malice isn't among the primary factors motivating him either.
Class: Conjurer, preferably of the Infernal Binder subschool.
Campaign Trait and Drawback: Conspiracy Hunter (more concerning Devils and the Chelish Government than the Council of Thieves), Xenophobic
Bonus Skills: Knowledge: Knowledge (Nobility)Could have easily been Knowledge (Local) instead, so don't read *too* much into my choice*, Occupation: Knowledge (Arcana)

 

Background: Balthasar was born into a relatively unimportant branch of the famous House Leroung, the child of a wizard and an academic. His upbringing was rather typical of his house, which is to say rather atypical of Infernal Cheliax: raised in Chelish culture and with a sense of Chelish nationalism instilled in him, he was nonetheless sheltered from most of the more destructive elements of "modern" Chelish society such as the oppressive political environment and the rampant diabolism. His parents were rather both moderate worshipers of Nethys, paying lip service to Asmodeus when necessary but trying to instill in their children a love of learning and the mind rather than of power. Truth be told, neither of Balthasar's parents were emotionally close enough to be truly effective at parenting, and an impartial observer outside of the rather odd world of House Leroung might note that he was rather socially awkward and directionless as a child, driven to his studies by his parents with an energy not quite healthy for a child's emotional development. On the whole, though, they did do a reasonably good job of raising a reserved, well-balanced son whose main distinguishing trait was his prodigious intelligence.

The major single formative event in Balthasar's life, rather, was his stay in the Chelish capital of Egorian during his adolescence and early adulthood. Balthasar was sent to the University of Egorian to finish and round out his education, while simultaneously staying with and being apprenticed to a relative, a wizard who was then in service to that imperial government. It was there that Balthasar finished his formal schooling in the arcane, focusing on the (in)famous Chelish specialty of summoning and binding devils. More importantly, however, it was there and then that Balthasar developed his own worldview, shocked by the autocratic government and the prevalence of devilish influence while being simultaneously introduced to history and politics for the first time in any real substance. Pouring over aged and controversial books that had managed to escape the attentions of the Order of the Rack while discussing and debating their contents with fellow students, Balthasar slowly developed a version of history that was very different from that supported by House Thrune. He reveled in the glories of ancient Cheliax and suffered through the tales of its decline and self mutilation after the fall of Aroden, but when House Thrune rose to power an alternate history began to take shape.

Cheliax had been saved from anarchy, perhaps, but at what cost? An ancient civilization of proud people had been bound to the will of inhuman masters, transformed into an outpost and beachhead of Hell on Golarion. House Thrune and the other Diabolists were traitors and whores, he realized, selling out their fellow Chelish in order to secure their position as chief lackeys of Hell. The people of Cheliax, exhausted by civil war and blinded by pretty lies, had swallowed the story whole, hook, line, and sinker. This, Balthasar realized then and there, was the corruption festering beneath the surface of his homeland, the great purpose that he suddenly realized he had been waiting for his whole life. He was nothing more than an apprentice wizard of no particularly importance, but now he knew, now he was one of the select few who, by virtue of their understanding, were compelled by honor to act! This was a cause well worth dying for, of course, but the wily conjurer had no intentions of doing that just yet, not while even his greatest efforts could produce nothing more than little ripple in the great pool of humanity that was Cheliax. He would need to watch and wait with as much patience as the devils that had infested Cheliax, but patience he had in abundance.

Balthasar had always been naturally reserved, and so he had little trouble keeping his changing mind and evolving worldview to himself and a few other trusted confidants for the remainder of his stay in Egorian. His master eventually decided to travel to Westcrown, visiting relatives and plumbing the nearby ruins for artifacts magical or otherwise. Balthasar naturally accompanied his master back to his hometown, helping with the work and finishing up his studies there. He was finally recognized as a journeyman wizard in a ceremony just outside of the city, ending his apprenticeship and opening up a whole new vista of professional opportunities for the talented young man. The budding wizard has yet to take any decisive action, however, still visiting with relatives and cautiously exploring the nearby ruins while biding his time, looking for an opportunity to perhaps some of his more political interests to be pursued simultaneously.

 

Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? With his personal inclinations towards neutral evil, Balthasar's opposition to the government doesn't come from the same moral and humanitarian concerns that might motivate many of his companions. He does have a number of substantial grievances with the government of Westcrown, however, and more broadly with the government of the Chelish Empire. Roughly in order of importance:

• The Infernal Occupation:
  
  
  "I say to you againe, doe not call up Any that you can not put downe; by the Which I meane, Any that can in Turne call up Somewhat against you, whereby your Powerfullest Devices may not be of use. Ask of the Lesser, lest the Greater shal not wish to Answer, and shal commande more than you" - H. P. Lovecraft, The Case of Charles Dexter Ward
  
  Balthasar hates and fears the influence that Hell has over the government of his homeland. Worship of Asmodeus is officially advocated by the state, Infernal commanders and advisers surround the Chelish throne, and even the Chelish military draws much of its power from large numbers of "bound" devils in their service. He's convinced (not without reason) that the continued power and presence of Hell in Cheliax has a overwhelming and decidedly negative influence over the humans whom they are allegedly there for the benefit of. The Devils in Cheliax, he believes, are less allies than an occupying military force, albeit one that's managed to co-opt much of the leadership of his homeland. Balthasar would prefer to see most of the devils driven out of Cheliax, but as a trained conjurer and binder of devils with an eye towards expediency he'd also like to see many of the weaker willed devils truly broken to the will of humans and used to their benefit rather than their oppression.
• The Terror: Balthasar considers the officially backed climate of fear and citizen-on-citizen spying to be almost as bad as the terrible civil war that paved the way for the introduction of the current system in the first place. Such an environment cripples the people of the Chelish Empire, keeping them pouring their energies into fighting and scheming against one another while their broken empire stagnates and the fiends use the Chelish throne as a footrest.
• Anarchy in the Colonies: Balthasar realizes all too well that the current government has little or no chance of regaining control over Imperial Cheliax's lost colonies and holdings. He views this as a symptom of Cheliax's current weakness and Infernal subjugation rather than as an inevitable result of some great tide of history, and he thinks that a real, effective government in Cheliax could return the lost lands to the fold sooner or later.
• Domination of House Thrune: In addition to its association with the practices he finds so objectionable, Balthasar is not a member of the house that has so dominated political life since its rise. He thus has plenty of motivation to work towards House Thrune's downfall during his own hoped for rise to power.

Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? Westcrown is his birthplace, his hometown, and the (battered) capital of the great pre-infernal Cheliax civilization that he idolizes and hopes to one day restore. Stupid question, really

How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in a kind of "citizen's watch"? Although he is fairly cautious about discussing his political beliefs, Balthasar is known well enough in certain academic and House Leroung circles that a mutual acquaintance may well have arranged for introductions between Balthasar and the would-be citizen's watch. Balthasar is naturally interested in defending his hometown, and is also as keen on improving his own experience, power, and material well being, as almost all newly minted wizards are. The interests of this "Citizen's Watch", as Balthazar currently understand them, also dovetail quite nicely with his long term political ambitions.

• Balthasar knows that the "Citizen's Watch", by virtue of its existence outside of the diabolist government if nothing else, will be an at least slightly subversive institution. Any other like-minded revolutionaries drawn to the watch, particularly those from different backgrounds or areas of society who he might otherwise never meet, would make valuable contacts.
• Westcrown, as the capital of pre-Infernal Cheliax and a home of many of Cheliax's dispossessed, would seem a natural base for any anti-diabolist activity and thus important to preserve and protect.
• Balthasar, quick to see signs of Hellish influence anywhere, suspects that the night-time disturbances in Westcrown may well be secretly directed by (or at least influenced by) Hell. Working to undermine some of the diabolist's regime's more peripheral activities, particularly in his own hometown, might be a relatively easy way for him to "cut his teeth" on battling against Devils and Devilish influence. The near-mythical "council of theives" said to dominate the Wiscrani underworld may have fall under Infernal influence as well, although the mere existence of such an organization would of course need to be examined before any assessments are made of its character.

What are your character's attitudes about race? An intelligent man who prides himself on his university education, Balthasar looks down on the more overt racism of many of his fellow Chelish while still maintaining a powerful underlying bigotry of his own. Some of the civilized races such as elves, dwarves, and gnomes may well have surpassed humans in certain areas, he'll admit, but humanity is clearly superior to any other race on the whole, combining the sum of the technical and magical skills that some of the other races have individually pioneered with a powerful racial flexibility and vigor. He views old Cheliax as the embodiment of those human virtues, combined with a ordered state and a powerful culture. He doesn't understand the carefree and friendly natures of so many halflings, construing it instead with weakness and sloth unworthy of respect. He looks down on half-breeds as people without a nation, pitying them if perhaps not offering them the respect that most of them naturally desire. The barbarous races such as orcs and giants, finally, he feels should be treated no differently than one would treat animals, tamed and utilized where feasible but otherwise held at bay. Balthasar is more than willing to concede that examples exist of members of any race or species defying his preconceptions, but he maintains that his views are on the whole accurate and that any observations to the contrary are outliers and, basically, anomalies.

Tieflings occupy a particularly despised place in Baltasar's worldview, however. Not only has he retained most of the negative views of tieflings associated with Wiscrani humans, but his own fears of Devilish influence add an entirely new dynamic to his views of the devil blooded humans. Balthasar is naturally inclined to view tieflings as crafty, deceitful, and morally suspect, as most humans of Infernal Cheliax are. He is also quite convinced that the existence of such a sizable tiefling population in the territories of Imperial Cheliax is almost certainly the result of a deliberate maneuver by the forces of hell, aimed at introducing a "fifth column" into Chelish society that can be easily won over by the Devils and turned against the humans when the time is right. The official oppression of tieflings in Imperial Cheliax doesn't incite any pity in him; rather, Balthazar thinks it yet another particularly cunning maneuver by the forces of Hell, driving a deep wedge between the Chelish and their devil-blooded, mongrel kin while avoiding most or all of the blame for such policies themselves.

Balthasar is still somewhat willing to make "exceptions" for tieflings as he would for any other race, but the bar for them is higher in his eyes. Even the best tiefling, he would contend, is (a) A resident foreigner in Imperial Cheliax, any blood connection to the Chelish overwhelmed by the power of their infernal heritage obvious in their physical features, (b) Morally fundamentally flawed; if tieflings inherent the infernal features of their outsider ancestors, any reasonable person would of course need to assume that they've inherited much of the warped mental state of fiends as well, and (c) A fundamental threat to the Chelish people, as described above. He might be driven around to a different point of view by exceptional arguments or the course of events, but that will take time and consistent force. Again, Balthasar is also willing to make "exceptions" for individuals from his stereotypes, and even occasionally allow for the acceptance of foreign humans or half-Chelish human, half-nonhumans into Chelish society if they have the appropriate enthusiasm for and dedication to the Chelish way of life. Genuine respect for other peoples does not come easily to him, however, and his personal definition of "Chelishness" as something fundamentally linked to race is also quite ingrained. Changing such views will require cutting through his xenophobia, a combination of long-conditioned dismissiveness for the people of other races and the fears Balthasar has for the well being of his own nation. He is at least willing to work with people of a variety of backgrounds, however, and fighting alongside other races and nations may well soften the hard feelings in his heart.

Confronted with the existence of so many tieflings in Imperial Cheliax, Balthasar currently advocates the "Sargava Solution", a proposition with some modest popularity among the more politically active Chelish. Deporting all of the tieflings within the territory of Cheliax to the (currently independent) colony of Sargava could provide manpower for the understaffed Chelish colonial state and revive a dormant source of Chelish wealth, while removing tiefling threats to the security, culture, and bloodline of Cheliax. The tieflings at Sargava, in this scenario, wouldn't even have have the infrastructure to mount any sort of real attempt at rebellion, and would presumably be kept busy be the continued hostility of the locals to Chelish colonization anyways.

 

 

[moozuba]

Simeon White, Version 2.0 Simeon White, Tiefling Ranger Heritage: Tiefling, Westcrown, Tiefling Scum & Conspiracy Hunter Alignment: True Neutral Background: Simeon is the classic tale of the local boy gone bad. He grew up in the care of his educated and wealthy uncle, Dr. Jarvis White. Jarvis did what he could to shelter young Simeon from the harsh realities of Cheliax's obscene racism, but ever since he could walk Simeon knew that he was different... and that different was bad. While his uncle taught him not to be ashamed of his heritage, he also cautioned him not to antagonize the humans and to wear a hood when going out in public. Sim learned the ugly truth about how some humans viewed him at age six when he was caught playing in the street by some Dottari who accused him of pickpocketing and beat him severely in spite of the fact that there was no evidence to support the crime. He learned some new words that day, also. Some words that are still etched upon his mind. "Hellborn," "demonchild," "succubusf*****" and worse. A week later his already rude awakening was heightened by the death of one of his occasional playmates, a little Tiefling girl by the name of Mia who lived in the same rundown neighborhood as Simeon. As a teenager and young adult, he was an active part of a passive resistance and community organizing movement within the Tiefling community, headed by his uncle, a former professor of history and law educated in Absalom. The focus was upon persuading the notoriously reclusive and individualistic Tieflings of Westcrown to come together in an effort to raise public support for legislation that would promote racial equality and rights for Tieflings (as well as Halflings). As soon as The Resistance began to gain some popular support, even among certain influential humans, White and three of his followers were brutally murdered en route to a meeting with the Lord Mayor and a handful of influential noblemen. Support for the resistance among the humans immediately evaporated, the Tieflings reverted to the old ways of hiding away instead of challenging the status quo, and Dr. White was forgotten to all but the tattered remnants of the movement he began. Simeon attempted to continue his uncle's community organizing efforts, attempting to bring the notoriously reclusive Tiefling population together. Strength in numbers and equality through education were the creeds, "Together!" was their motto. With White's death it all fell to dust and ash. It was out of these ashes that the phoenix of The Opposition arose -- a militant pro-Tiefling, anti-Human organization who eschewed Dr. White's teachings of peaceful resistance and non-violence. Antonio Buscarni, Mia's father, quickly rose to leadership and it was he who recruited Simeon. ------- Answer the following questions, preferably with some reference to your selected campaign trait. You don’t have to dogmatically follow the backstory details provided there, but you should find a way of connecting that trait to a good answer to the following: 1a) Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? What isn't to dislike? Oppression, ineptitude, corruption, cronyism, nepotism and bigotry are the order of the day. My people are scorned by the weak and sniveling humans who like to believe themselves above the laws of both gods and nations. They are wrong. Deadly wrong. 1b) Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? I don't love Westcrown. I suppose I still love what Westcrown could be if everyone respected one another instead of squabbling and subjugating and playing at political games. But that will never happen. I hate Westcrown. I loathe it, but change is on the horizon. A new Westcrown is coming. A new Cheliax. A new World, in which Tieflings will claim their rightful place over the humans and then, in the day of reckoning, they will know the power of our heritage. They will taste our curse. They will die a thousand deaths at our hands, just as our children and our grandmother's have at theirs. "The fires of change burn brightly. Who will bear the torch for our people?" The call came. And I answered. 2) There’s someone recruiting people for a sort of citizen’s watch. How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in something like this? As a former member of the passive resistance and a rising star among the community organizers within the Tiefling areas of Westcrown, it only made sense that they put my name forward. My association with The Opposition hadn't yet been formalized and I was not yet a known conspirator. Antonio explained it all to me. The humans were mounting some sort of community watch program and, for whatever reason, they were permitting Tieflings to join. He felt certain it was a ruse. A feint. An empty gesture. Nonetheless, he wanted a man on the inside. Someone who believed in the cause. A Tiefling among Tieflings who would not waver either to the right or to the left. And so I smiled and I promenaded and I shook their hands, but I bore them no love. I could feel the blood that pulsed through those veins. Hot, warm, sweet... and weak. It was only a matter of time. The war was coming. The fires had already been lit. All that remained was to fan the flame and watch it burn. Optional: Racial Tensions are a big part of what’s going on in Westcrown and potentially a big part of this game. It could be helpful to highlight whatever racial tensions your character has been around or directly experienced. If you are playing a Halfling or Tiefling, you should definitely include this. If not, it could be helpful to include your characters attitudes about race in your post. Simeon despises humans. Ever since the death of his uncle and the dissolution of the peaceful resistance, he has been unable to look upon a human without feeling a surge of seething hatred within. He has continued his uncle's work with community organization, attempting to hold the disparate strands of the Tieflings within Westcrown together in spite of resistance both from within and without, but has also taken up with a radical group bent on the eventual eradication of humans. It is in this capacity that he has murdered a handful of humans. No children. One woman who was armed and deserving. Five men... and counting. Halflings? Simeon has no particular love for the subservient little creatures, but he bears them no ill will, either. He would not hurt one, but neither would he go out of his way to protect one. In his mind, if they have placed themselves beneath the humans' feet... they should not be so shocked when the boot falls and crushes them. What gives with this horribly racist murderer? I thought I said I wanted characters that loved the city and its people? Yep! I get that... and want to point out that in spite of the extremist rhetoric and recently violent, hateful actions, Sim is in a perfect position to demonstrate the fact that the best and fastest way to change someone's mind about a certain group of people is to expose him to the best of them. Thus, as a new initiate into Name generic on purpose in case you want to co-opt it.The Opposition he's not yet fully brainwashed into their hateful, Tiefling-supremacist ways. His uncle always wanted peaceful coexistence and never, ever racially motivated violence. He's got a long, hard road to travel, but I think his story might provide an interesting twist on the more direct approach. Roleplay Sample Smoke billowed from his nostrils as he sat in the doorway of a rundown tenement building. Watching. Waiting. Tonight was the night. He would show his loyalty to The Opposition. He would prove himself to Antonio. Tonight he would take a life. No one in particular. Not this time. Whatever unlucky sap happened to wander down the wrong alley at the wrong time. A flick of the wrist, a single cut to the throat and no one would ever be the wiser. He inhaled deeply. The cold air burned his lungs as he drew in and the smoke poured out as he exhaled. Simeon liked the effect the chill evening lent to his breath. For so long he had been called a demon, a hellspawn, a creature of the netherrealm. He liked, sometimes, to think that such things were true... that he truly did possess great powers far beyond his size and station... that his demon blood made him powerful. Not only powerful, but superior. Tonight he pretended that he could inhale flame and breathe smoke. He was focused on his own breathing when he came -- a man in too much of a hurry for his own good. He wore a heavy coat to ward against the frigid night and moved with the graceless tottering of the drunken or aged. The perfect mark. The old ones were often the most virulent of humanity, spewing hatred and ignorance with the practiced ease of a woman watering her summer garden. He readied himself, his fingers adjusting and readjusting on the hilt of the blade that would drink deeply of the human's blood. Closer. Just a little closer. The man passed within a foot of Simeon, too preoccupied with his own urgency to take notice of the horned creature lurking in the doorwell. "Lovely evening, ain't it?" Simeon's voice was low and warm and dripping with sinister intent. The man paused... and Simeon struck. He did it just as he'd been taught. Grab the hair, pull back the head, slit the throat. Clean, crisp, civil-like. Except, of course, it didn't go to plan. He got a hold of the man's hair but the fat fart was so shocked by the greeting and the grasping hand from the shadows that he stumbled over his own devilsdamned feet and fell hard onto the pavement, dragging Simeon on top of him. He yelped loudly and Simeon attempted to bring the blade around to finish the task, but the man squirmed so much. Gods, WHY did he squirm so much? And the daggerpoint instead jabbed the plump human in the shoulder, drawing blood from what was honestly hardly even deep enough to call a wound. Nonetheless, the man began to scream and wail like he'd just been gutted. "Aaaaahhh!! HELP! Heeeeeeeelp!" And so Simeon did the only thing he could do. He stabbed the man. Then again. And again. And again. Deep lacerations covered the fat man's flailing hands and he began to whimper and blubber, begging for mercy from the one creature he would never have shown mercy. And so Simeon kept on raising the blade and bringing it down... over and over... until the man stopped his crying and lay silent in the street, surrounded by a disgusting smear and growing pool of his own blood. Simeon knelt over him, panting, thin puffs of smoke bursting from his nostrils, thicker gusts from his mouth. He was bathed in the man's blood. So much blood. I never knew they had so much blood. He looked up from the limp corpse over which he crouched and saw a small cluster of people -- Humans. Filthy humans. -- watching him aghast from the far end of the alley. He rose slowly, blew out a long stream of smoke from his mouth and let the knife slip from his blood-soaked hand. "You're next," he growled under his breath before he turned and ran. The night was cold. The frigid air burned his lungs. A man was dead, killed by the hand of the Tiefling known as Simeon White. He had done well. He had proven himself. Antonio would be pleased. Rounding a corner and slipping into the broken-down brownstone apartment building that he called home, Simeon stood silent for a moment and then sank numbly to the floor... and began to weep.

[Darkling]

Kria Voss Appearance, Personality & Mechanics Kria Voss The Guised Actress "No, it's not that I can't kill, I simply don't wish to, for that brings...terrible things. I very much know how, but such things lead to darker thoughts and a downward slope...my wish is to ascend beyond the shackles of my bloodline, not be dragged into the depths by them." Race: Rakshasa-SpawnTiefling Heritage: Tiefling Scum Sex: Female Class: Dawnflower DervishBard Age: 20 Alignment: Neutral Good The young actress named Kria cuts a memorable figure, with bright green eyes that border on gold, and hair of copper hue that falls to her shoulders. With a slim and lithe form, she seems well suited to the role of a dancer, bearing the composure and countenance of one born for the stage. Her voice is pleasant to hear, well trained to project across halls as well as speaking softly yet firmly, and she almost always bears a smile. However, Kria has a number of features that would immediately distinguish her as one of tiefling blood, were it not for her meticulous efforts to mask them. Her cheeks and hands bear small sections of skin that are almost scaled in nature, giving it the look of a serpent's, something she goes to painstaking lengths to hide with gloves and carefully applied cosmetics. A pair of small pointed horns protrude from the top of her forehead, more concerning evidence of her heritage, but years of practice have given her the forethought to style and curl her hair to cover them - she is also particularly fond of hats and hoods that still show her face for the sake of her performance. The most alarming of her bestial traits are her pair of thin vestigial wings, kept wrapped close to her body and concealed under flowing garments such as dresses and looser blouses, well out of sight of passers-by. The last troublesome feature, a tail reminiscent of a succubus, is kept coiled around the girl's leg leaving none the wiser. It is no wonder that the lass favours skirts and dresses, however, given the nature of her predicament. Her efforts at concealing her heritage, while varied, all come together to give her the look of a young woman of half elven descent - the treatment she receives is usually far better as a result. When under heavier scrutiny, Kria relies on her magic to get where she needs to be, whether to sway the minds of those opposing her or to further reinforce her disguise. Rumours still circulate of her being one of tiefling blood, of course, especially given her overly sympathetic nature to the unfortunate souls she finds herself stumbling across. By most accounts, Kria is a pleasant and talkative girl, having both a broad vocabulary and a charming manner about her. Her acting prowess has given her a small following in some circles, and a few interested suitors, but she leads a somewhat private life and keeps most such folks at arms' length. The cost of her secret becoming more than a rumour would be devastating to her and her nascent career, so she remains tight-lipped and distant, if ever kind and likeable to those who seek her out. Background A Troubled Childhood Born to a talented actress with a career on the rise, Arabelle Voss, Kria's birth was an intense humiliation and disappointment. Her birth caused Arabelle's husband to flee the city, leaving the actress alone with a scandal. Arabelle despised her child, abused her intensely both physically and verbally on a daily basis, yet never chose to abandon her. She chose to raise Kria as a half-elf, both to give the girl a chance at life, and to protect herself from the backlash of birthing a fiend. It only partly worked. Kria's existence destroyed Arabelle's career, forcing her to take lesser and lesser roles, a slow and steady descent into irrelevance. Her viciousness towards Kria grew, including threats to mutilate her body to be 'less a monster'. Kria desperately sought her mother's approval, yet grew more bitter and twisted daily by virtue of her mother's treatment. A Devil and her Mother At times Arabelle would show kindness and dote upon Kria, braiding her hair and speaking longingly of her time in the light, only seeming happy when speaking of the stage. This triggered something in Kria, a desire to appease her mother, and she decided to become an actress to try and mend the rift between them. Arabelle took this as both insult and blessing, and drilled Kria mercilessly on the arts of elocution, dramatic timing and poise. A harsh but effective teacher. Kria took to the arts like a duck to water. Seeing her daughter's talent that would one day surpass even her own, Arabelle fell into an intense depression, and the rift widened. While Kria did her best to continue her training, Arabelle did her best to destroy herself in body and mind, abusing narcotics daily as she slept with any who asked. She sought one last moment in the light, and her final blaze of glory served just that purpose, if only in a scandal. Arabelle died due to her abuse of narcotics, leaving Kria now an orphan, with a mountain of her mother's debt and an unabating hatred for what the woman had done to her. Forced to sell the Voss Manor to pay off debt collectors, Kria was now alone, renting a small apartment. Her heart turned darker than it ever had. A Vicious Breed Kria discovered that her fiendish blood ran true enough to give her some gifts of magic, ones she would put to good use. Hardened by her mother's treatment and her fear of being discovered, Kria became a predator, using her wiles and charm to take what she wanted from others. Kria turned brother against brother just to prove she could, stole from others, and used her magic to assume identities to con and cheat her way across Westcrown. Used her devious nature to secure roles for herself in theatre, both sabotaging others and charming lesser minds with seduction or magic, always careful to keep her true form hidden. Began to rise much as her mother did, as a cruel and unscrupulous woman, with the veneer of a kind and gentle girl. By the Light of Dusk Kria found herself attacked by thugs while travelling home to her apartment, men with devious intentions after more than just coin. In efforts to lift her skirt, they found her tail, and their minds turned from desire to violence. Threatening her with a silver knife and a promise to 'snip her tail', they were interrupted by an older woman in armour who demanded they release her. The woman was scoffed at, but when she fought with a gauntleted fist and a curved blade, the street toughs couldn't hope to challenge her. No lives were lost, to Kria's surprise. The woman introduced herself as 'Kallana, Paladin of Sarenrae', and chided Kria for her carelessness, yet admitting relief that she was there to help. Kria, confused by her non-lethality, asked Kallana why she didn't simply kill the thugs. Kallana introduced her to the mercy of Sarenrae, her doctrine, and her willingness to forgive all kinds. Emboldened by this sermon, Kria found truth in Sarenrae's teachings, and felt it put her darkened mind at ease. Kallana offered to teach Kria in the ways of the Dawnflower. Kria accepted, using the majority of what remained of Arabelle's fortune to purchase a fine scimitar, undertaking the teachings with a fervour that surprised even her. New Kria, Old Troubles Previously, Kria would avoid others of her kin, fearful of them revealing her secret. Now she sought them out, wishing to make their lives better. Whether by words, coin or bread, she helped the more downtrodden members of tiefling society, in spite of their suspicions and the baleful glares of others. She pressed on regardless. Her reputation in the 'human' community was damaged, but her soul felt lighter, so she continued her newfound duties in spite of the whispers and rumours. Would speak out against others for bullying or belittling tieflings, earning her some enemies, and only a few friends. Occasionally was forced to come to blows for her beliefs & charity, though never took a life, always able to hold herself back in spite of darker whispers in the corner of her mind. Found herself unable to stand by while others suffered, but also found a certain joy in seeing the suffering of humans, though doing her best to fight these urges. Blood would trigger something primal and cruel in her, a wish to draw more and end the lives of those who dared attack her in a flurry of vengeance, twisted vestiges of her past. Kria fights this internal war every time it comes to violence or the pain of a human being, but with the aid of her goddess, she hopes she is able to overcome the devil inside herself. Considers herself 'mostly reformed', but continues her life as a half-elven bardess, knowing she can do more for herself and the tiefling community from her guised self. Other Details   1a) Why do you dislike the government of Westcrown? Now that Kria has had her heart turn to following the guidance of Sarenrae, she sees Westcrown for what it is, corrupt and completely callous towards its own people. If this is the state of the government, then it is no wonder that creatures like her mother came to be, or that Kria underwent her own dark descent. Everywhere she looks she sees the commonly accepted subjugation of her people, and halflings, and it sickens her to her very stomach. She has been known to raise her voice in matters where she sees open discrimination and violence take place, and has even interceded on the behalf of her kin when they are bullied or attacked, and this has earned her a few enemies. The fact that simply speaking up for what she believes is resulting in others attempting to silence her highlights all that is wrong with Westcrown, a rotting blight that spreads from the halls of nobles and aristocrats. Though she has been lucky to escape some of the nastier results of oppression and violence, she knows that it will not last if she continues her public presence as-is, and that she may need to be prepared to face the worst humankind has to offer when her secret is finally revealed to all. 1b) Why do you still love Westcrown in spite of this? It is Kria's home, after all, and she knows nowhere else. It is where she was born, and she can still look on the now-sold manor she once dwelled in with her mother - though they are not happy times, they are some of the only memories she has of having family. In addition, Kria is a dear lover of the arts, one of the few gifts she can say she is thankful for that her mother gave her. Whether performing on stage, or watching a play from the audience, Kria knows that her love for theatre and performance is best suited within the walls of Westcrown. She would rather fight to fix her troubled city than simply flee it. 2) There’s someone recruiting people for a sort of citizen’s watch. How would someone come to realize that you might be interested in something like this? Kria has proven that she has an interest in protecting the downtrodden tieflings of Westcrown, and has at times put herself at risk both physically and legally to help them out, damaging her own reputation in the process. Anything that would aid the safety of those of her kind is something of great importance to her, and it wouldn't take much to learn that, nor learn the rumours of her consorting with tieflings or potentially being one of them in disguise. She is one of an obviously kind and caring heart, and with her aversions to violence (and preference for non-lethal combat should it come to that), she's a good fit for the task of looking out for the safety and future of Westcrown's citizenry. She has been sickened and deeply troubled by the nature of her people's treatment, and her proximity to them in her efforts to aid her kin have left her rather terrified of what humankind is capable of in the pure depths of their unreasoning hate. Any chance to mitigate this, or to help the citizens of Westcrown both be safe and learn more compassion and humility, would be well within Kria's interests. Optional: It could be helpful to highlight whatever racial tensions your character has been around or directly experienced. I believe the rest of what has been written speaks for itself, but as a quick highlight, she suffered intense amounts of abuse and occasional brutality from her own mother for being born a tiefling. This prepared her for the world itself by making her both fearful of it, and rather vindictive towards humans, two qualities she still attempts to shake even today in pursuit of the Dawnflower's mercy. In Westcrown itself, though she has never been officially identified as a tiefling, she carries many of their stigma for daring to associate with them and improve their lives. She has received threats, seen her fair share of violence, and narrowly avoided some more brutal confrontations. The air of terror lies thick in Westcrown, and Kria is no stranger to it, she is merely able to protect herself marginally moreso than her kin by the value of her disguise. Kria finds her own struggles against prejudice in the form of her bitter attitude towards humans, assuming most of them to be out for themselves and predators waiting to mercilessly descend on the weak, and thus treats most of them with utmost caution. Seeing a human at a disadvantage brings a certain smile to Kria's face, and were she to indulge in the darker desires that she tries to temper with Sarenrae's guidance, she would gladly see humans lain low at her feet. The girl fights these urges, these base fantasies, but they do stir in her heart from time to time...especially when she sees humankind abusing those they deem as 'lesser' species. Traits & Racial Alterations   Traits & Drawback Campaign Trait - Child of Infamy: Born to an actress who lost her fortune and life in a blaze of glory, searching out a semblance of her mother's prior fame in her own efforts to act and perform. Trait - Blade of Mercy: Trained in the arts of the scimitar, and primarily for non-lethal combat, Kria is an expert in delivering minor slashes, hilt bashes and strikes with the flat of her blade to prevent killing her opponent. Drawback - Overprotective: Obsessed with doing everything in her power to protect allies in a battle, Kria becomes savage in her efforts to defend her friends, and refuses to stand anywhere but by their side. Alternate Racial Traits & Feat Fiendish Heritage | Beastbrood (Rakshasa-Spawn): While marked by the fiends, Kria is descended from the Rakshasa. Fiendish Facade | Half-Elven: Kria has worked meticulously to develop a disguise over the years, one that allows her to hide herself as a half-elven woman. Scaled Skin: Kria is marked in some places on her body by serpent-like skin, giving her a tougher hide. This is concealed with clothing, and in more obvious cases, careful application of cosmetics. Prehensile Tail: Kria has a tail reminiscent of a succubus, though it is well-hidden, kept beneath her skirt and out of sight. Vestigial Wings: The girl bears a pair of small leathery wings, though she tends to bind them, keeping the shape hidden with loose blouses and flowing garments.