Rise of the Runelords
Twice-cursed oracle of war.
A tall, lithe woman with tan skin like tarnished brass, a dark yellowish gold. Dark eyes staring out from beneath a pair of small, deep red horns that curl up from her forehead. Slightly pointed ears. A cascade of black and crimson hair flows down her armored back, the hues flickering like embers in the right lighting. The small smile on her lips is never far from twisting into a snarl of anger.
Female infrit fighter (mutagen warrior) 1, oracle (battle, dual-cursed) 5
CN Outsider (native)
Init + 6; Senses Perception + 3 ; Darkvision 60’
AC 22, touch 12, flat-footed 16 (+ 9 armor, + 1 enhancement, + 21 dex, + 1 natural)
hp 41 (1d10 + 5d8 + 6)
Fort + 8, Ref + 7; Wis + 7
Speed 30 (20) ft.
Melee + 1 adamantine Naginata + 9 (1d8 + 5/ x4, reach)
Naginata + 7 (1d8 + 11/ x4, reach) with Power Attack
cold iron armor spikes + 7 (1d6 + 3)
1/day: enlarge person or reduce person
Spells (CL 5)
2nd (5/day) bull’s strength, grace
1st (7/day) divine favor, protection from evil, murderous command, remove fear.
Str 16, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 9, Wis 8, Cha 18
Base Atk + 4; CMB + 7 (trip + 13); CMD 19 (21 vs trip)
Feats Combat Reflexes, Power Attack, Extra Revelation, Divine Protection.
Skills Climb + 7, Diplomacy + 13, Intimidate + 8, Ride + 6, Knowledge: Religion + 7, Perception + 3
Languages Common, Ignan.
SQ hypnotic, mutagen
Traits Fate’s Favored (Faith): (The fates watch over you. Whenever you are under the effect of a luck bonus of any kind, that bonus increases by 1.)
Merchant Family (Campaign): (You increase the gp limit of any settlement by 20% and can resell items at an additional 10% over the amount of gp you normally would get from selling off treasure.),
Armor Expert (Combat): ( When you wear armor of any sort, reduce that suit’s armor check penalty by 1, to a minimum check penalty of 0.)
Drawbacks: Pride (When someone threatens, accuses, or challenges you, you take a —2 penalty on Diplomacy checks and Sense Motive checks involving that creature until the creature apologizes to you.)
Gear Naginata 35 gp (9 lbs), Chainmail 150 gp (40 lbs), Backpack 2 gp (2 lbs), Bedroll 1 sp (5 lbs), belt pouch 1 gp (½ lbs), Canteen 2 gp (1 lbs), Coffee pot 3 gp (4 lbs), Compass 10 gp (½ lbs), Silk rope 50 feet 10 gp (5 lbs), Hammock 1 sp (3 lbs), Perfume 5 gp. 4 days trail rations.
(+ 2 circumstance bonus to Survival checks to avoid becoming lost)
Perfume may (at the GM’s discretion) provide a + 1 circumstance bonus on several Charisma-based skill checks
2 gold, 8 silver.
Hypnotic: Ifrits with this racial trait evoke the entrancing nature of flame, adding + 1 to the DC for all saving throws against spells or effects they cast that inflict the fascinated condition. Once per day, when a creature rolls a saving throw against such an effect from the ifrit, the ifrit can spend an immediate action to force that creature to reroll the saving throw and use the second result, even if it is worse. The ifrit must announce he is using this ability before the results of the first roll are revealed. This racial trait replaces fire affinity.
Mutagen: + 2 natural armor bonus and a + 4 alchemical bonus to (STR, DEX or CON) score and a – 2 penalty to (INT, WIS, or CHA, respectively) score for 10 minutes. (Requires 1 hour to brew)
Lucrezia Firenza spent her early years traveling Andoran and Teldan in a Varisian caravan. The brightly painted gypsy wagons were a time of delight, always a new place to see, new wonders to witness.
In her early teens, the caravan struck north, seeking greener pastures than the crumbling and decadent cities of the Teldans. Detouring around Galt, the Varissians struck out across Ioborea, an extended family more than anything else, always apart but also always at home in their traveling menagerie.
An embarrassingly long time after her cohorts and undergone their awkward “time of change,” Lucrezia was appalled to discover she’d undergone an even more dramatic transformation, particularly in the budding red-black horns erupting from her skull.
Her mother, however, seemed excited. It was then she began to learn about her family’s history. Interwoven with fantastic tales of bygone glories of ancient Varissia, a darker undercurrent flowed. An ancient agreement with a powerful being of fire, and the special fate in store for those born of his bloodline.
Lucrezia listened intently. Having been a middling student in a fairly unregulated education, some of the story’s complexities were difficult to follow, but soon she found her interest curdle into horror. Ultimately, it boiled down to a life of servitude, an eternity of waiting until the right moment, which may not occur for generations. Even if the sinister, super-galactic meta beings awoke, a life lived in service to another held little appeal.
She prayed, vaguely, for some way to escape the path that stretched out before her. Her increasingly moody and insolent behavior, combined with a few “pranks” culminating in the burning of a relative’s wagon-home, lost her the trust of her kinsmen. Fortunately, her prayers were answered one afternoon as the sixty or so wagons rumbled through a steep-walled mountain pass. Lucrezia first became aware that something was wrong when she saw a man fly from his horse, pulled off by a massive rock that smashed into a nearby wagon, leaving his head a bloody pulp.
The massive, brutish giants swarmed down from the hills, and as she had so many times in the past Lucrezia leapt atop the panicking but now unridden horse, giving the creature the reins as she held on, watching the monsters close in.
She rode and rode. As the sun set, the horse lost its footing and went down heavily. The dismaying snap of bone and the hideous cries of pain from the creature were not as powerful as the deep and crushing sense of inconvenience. The horse sounded so pleading, she drew her dagger and approached, only to be confronted by the creature’s wild thrashing. She left it where it lay, thrashing and screaming in pain, and took off into the gathering darkness.
A day later, after searching the horizon but finding no signs of pursuit, either from enemies or family, Lucrezia shrugged and headed north, wistfully thinking of something to eat. Keeping in sight of the chain of mountains to the west, she continued in the direction she believed was north. Supposedly, there were towns up there she’d heard the adults discussing around the campfires.
The following day, she came across a mountain stream, drinking her fill. By nightfall, she bitterly regretted not taking along anything to eat.
A week in, and she could barely stand up. The rocky wasteland near the mountain was barren, but the hilly grasslands teemed with small deer-like creatures and rabbits and other seemingly delicious creatures. Unfortunately, the dagger had proven useless in procuring any fresh meat. Although not from trying; numerous chips and dings along the blade attested to her skill at hitting rocks and stones.
She lost track of the days, and then lost track of time. Unable to rise, she stared at the sun wheel across the sky, the crescent moon slashing through the thin evening clouds. Every breath was ragged in her throat, like sucking down glass.
A group of weathered-looking men with varying degrees of elven ancestry found her. Half-delusional, Lucrezia gulped down the proffered water and then feasted upon whatever was placed in front of her, mostly jerky and hard but surprisingly tasty biscuits. The men, calling themselves wardens of the Tor, listened to her story with quiet focus. A few remained with her, beginning what promised to be a long journey where she’d find safety. Several of the group disappeared, heading back the way she’d traveled.
Grim-faced, these men would reappear halfway through their journey to the mysterious but supposedly safe destination. They talked quietly with the others, and at last Lucrezia was informed that no one from her clan, her family, remained. She was given a purse with some recovered coin and various trinkets, and the group quietly resumed its journey.
Centauria was amazing, with the Centaur Bazaar and the Hippodrome stretching out across the city and sky, respectively. The centaurs, and strangely-tatooed Ioboreans, were amazing as well. She talked to a few before the rangers led her away, stopping at a large, important looking building, where she waited until the ranger leader returned. After a few terse words, the group resumed its trek across the rocky hills.
Hyperborea, with it’s black stone walls and impressively decorative crenelations, supposedly crafted by some kind of friendly giant, was where Lucrezia washed up. The rangers bid her farewell, some of them rather fondly, and she found herself placed within a large dormitory filled with other children. Some of whom even had horns, and on top of that, tails. For three years, she lived among them, befriending several of the more interesting residents. The pale, red-eyed Svetlana with the really sharp teeth, the purple-black skinned elf with white eyes and hair…
Dismissing the idea of going to the state-run school, she pursued her own interests instead. The meddlesome guardians of her orphanage granted her dispensation to attend the militia academy, hoping to channel some of the anger and outbursts that would, on occasion, bubble to the surface.
Her weapon of choice was the sword-spear called a naginata. In her spare time, she’d walk the streets, looking for a dueling opponent. Sometimes, her streetwalking was misinterpreted, but these encounters led to some of her most satisfying fights. Luck was with her; most of the fights were good-natured tests of skill, but it was possible a few of the sprawled bodies she left in the streets never got up. She was wounded seriously once, but stumbled into an ancient-looking man with wild, crazed eyes. He had taken one look at the glistening hole in her abdomen and begun digging around in his tattered robes.
To her relief, Lucrezia watched the man withdraw nothing more sinister than a stoppered vial, and helplessly drank the liquid poured into her mouth. As the potion took effect, she breathed a sigh of relief and thanked the man. His disheveled appearance and sparse, lank beard were less off-putting than his breath, but as the man babbled at her Lucrezia realized he was talking about the things that her mother had taught her about. The star gods.
Lacking better judgement, Lucrezia accompanied the old man back to his hovel at the edge of town. The place reeked of chemicals and herbs, but once inside the old man had sprung to life, putting this and that together, pouring liquids into different containers, adjusting small fires underneath glass orbs bubbling with glowing fluids, and other, more incomprehensible things. After some time, he began to talk, and Lucrezia listened to his stories late into the night.
Her apprenticeship to the alchemist was half-hearted at best. Although she enjoyed the crazy, rambling tales and bizarre philosophical insights of the old man, the names and properties of the various ingredients, not to mention the bizarre and confusing ways in which they were prepared, proved frustratingly difficult. Frowning with disappointment, the old man’s bulging eyes had suddenly changed, and with a manic expression he’d torn through his ramshackle hut in an intense search. Finding what he’d been looking for, he began paging through a moldy-looking tome. He beckoned her close, Lucrezia saw the worn page displaying a portrait of a man with features not dissimilar to her own; namely the telltale horns and slightly pointed ears, along with the caption: infrit.
This potion proved astonishingly easy; some common herbs and a few drops of blood. The time it took to make it, however, seemed to stretch on to forever. Upon creating the first batch of bubbling, magma-orange elixir, she’d downed the draught immediately. The feeling of power and strength flowing through her was intoxicating. The effect was brief, but the lingering euphoria remained heady throughout the day.
While not technically murder, accidental killing in non-sanctioned duels was a crime. The young women who functioned as the city’s police hauled her in, and although she contemplated a last-ditch escape attempt, it was likely the Justicar would be lenient, given that it had been self-defense. To her surprise, she was not led to a dungeon, but instead turned toward a large, well-proportioned manse lying near the middle of town.
She was led into a room with nice furniture, paintings on the wall, and a fire blazing in the hearth. An elf with piercing green eyes regarded her thoughtfully. His subtle but elegant outfit spoke of wealth, and a tiny glimmer betrayed the presence of what must have been mithril beneath the clothing. Without introduction, the elf offered up two options. The labor camps, or travel to another part of the world, a place filled with trouble to test herself against, rather than making trouble for herself inside the empire. Her ancestral homeland, Varisia.
A week later, she found herself deposited a few miles north of Magnimar, having traversed a distance that had taken her long-dead family’s caravan years to accomplish. If the strange elf was to be believed. Which, upon rounding a bend and seeing the city spread out in the distance, she grudgingly admitted he probably was.
It was a simple thing to find the distant relatives her mother had told her about; the Valdemar family was well known, even in the large, bustling city. She spent the next year working for them in various odd jobs that usually culminated in her paying a visit to someone and issuing some subtle reminders to pay their debts.
With the recent call for help in Sandpoint, she’s decided to set out on her own in search of adventure, wealth, and fame.