Cheshire Cat
Queen of the Parliament of Cats
Alright, first attempt, here goes ...
Warlock In Progress - Celeste Rooksfellow
Background: Prodigal Child (Custom)
Crime: Consorting with Dark Powers (Witchcraft)
Bonds:
Personality: I'm fickle, and see no reason for loyalty or permanence.
I frequently interpret coincidences or strokes of luck as Asmodeus' personal involvement in a situation.
Ideal: I can justify just about anything in the pursuit of power, survival, or pleasure. You only live once.
Bond: My new father's approval is all I seek, his word drives me.
Flaw: Trust is not a currency I understand. A friend is simply a better friend when you have dirt you can hold over them.
Str: 8 -1
Dex: 16 +3
Con: 15 +2
Int: 11 +0
Wis: 13 +1
Cha: 18 +4
Saving Throw Proficiencies: Wisdom/Charisma
AC: 13
HPs: 10
Initiative: +3
Passive Perception: 11
Speed: 30
Skills:
(Cr) Arcana +2, (C) Deception +6, (C) History +2, (B) Insight +3, (R) Perception +3, (R) Persuasion +6, (B) Religion +2
Languages:
Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Elvish, Infernal
Racial Abilities:
Darkvision - 60 feet
Fey Ancestry - Advantage against being charmed, can't be magically put to sleep.
Skill Versatility - Perception and Persuasion
Crime: Consorting with Dark Powers (Witchcraft)
Background - Discovery - In her studies, Celeste discovered a shrine locked away beneath her own home, which her parents had moved into well after the rise of the house of Darian. There she found a book, a manual, nay ... a folio ... (I will make this more serious in the final draft) detailing the old ways, detailing the ways and benefits of worshipping the King of the Nine Hells. This information is what led her to her pact with Asmodeus, and the sacrifice of her parents in his dark name. The book itself is basically a guide to diablerie, not that Celeste is actually capable of most of it with her current knowledge and power level.
Class Abilities:
Otherworldly Patron - The Fiend
LvL 1 - The Devil's Fingertips - Starting at 1st level, your Eldritch Blast cantrip deals fire damage instead of force damage, and attack rolls made when casting it now have a critical range of 19-20.
Pact Magic
Cantrips: Eldritch Blast, Friends
Lvl 1: Hex
Equipment:
Prison Rags, Manacles, BlindFold
Attacks:
Magic In General +6
Eldritch Blast, +6, 1D10
Simple Melee +1
Simple Ranged +5
Unarmed, -1, 1 Dmg
Description:
Age - 18
Alignment - Neutral Evil
Gender - Female
Size - Medium
Height - 5'5"
Weight - 94lbs
Eyes - Prussian Blue
Hair - Platinum, falling just past her shoulders in gentle curls
Skin - Milky pale
Faith - The Dark Father, Asmodeus
History:
Warlock In Progress - Celeste Rooksfellow
Background: Prodigal Child (Custom)
Crime: Consorting with Dark Powers (Witchcraft)
Bonds:
Personality: I'm fickle, and see no reason for loyalty or permanence.
I frequently interpret coincidences or strokes of luck as Asmodeus' personal involvement in a situation.
Ideal: I can justify just about anything in the pursuit of power, survival, or pleasure. You only live once.
Bond: My new father's approval is all I seek, his word drives me.
Flaw: Trust is not a currency I understand. A friend is simply a better friend when you have dirt you can hold over them.
Str: 8 -1
Dex: 16 +3
Con: 15 +2
Int: 11 +0
Wis: 13 +1
Cha: 18 +4
Saving Throw Proficiencies: Wisdom/Charisma
AC: 13
HPs: 10
Initiative: +3
Passive Perception: 11
Speed: 30
Skills:
(Cr) Arcana +2, (C) Deception +6, (C) History +2, (B) Insight +3, (R) Perception +3, (R) Persuasion +6, (B) Religion +2
Languages:
Abyssal, Celestial, Common, Elvish, Infernal
Racial Abilities:
Darkvision - 60 feet
Fey Ancestry - Advantage against being charmed, can't be magically put to sleep.
Skill Versatility - Perception and Persuasion
Crime: Consorting with Dark Powers (Witchcraft)
Background - Discovery - In her studies, Celeste discovered a shrine locked away beneath her own home, which her parents had moved into well after the rise of the house of Darian. There she found a book, a manual, nay ... a folio ... (I will make this more serious in the final draft) detailing the old ways, detailing the ways and benefits of worshipping the King of the Nine Hells. This information is what led her to her pact with Asmodeus, and the sacrifice of her parents in his dark name. The book itself is basically a guide to diablerie, not that Celeste is actually capable of most of it with her current knowledge and power level.
Class Abilities:
Otherworldly Patron - The Fiend
LvL 1 - The Devil's Fingertips - Starting at 1st level, your Eldritch Blast cantrip deals fire damage instead of force damage, and attack rolls made when casting it now have a critical range of 19-20.
Pact Magic
Cantrips: Eldritch Blast, Friends
Lvl 1: Hex
Equipment:
Prison Rags, Manacles, BlindFold
Attacks:
Magic In General +6
Eldritch Blast, +6, 1D10
Simple Melee +1
Simple Ranged +5
Unarmed, -1, 1 Dmg
Description:
Age - 18
Alignment - Neutral Evil
Gender - Female
Size - Medium
Height - 5'5"
Weight - 94lbs
Eyes - Prussian Blue
Hair - Platinum, falling just past her shoulders in gentle curls
Skin - Milky pale
Faith - The Dark Father, Asmodeus
History:
Celeste was born to a life of relative luxury in Talingarde. Her parents both held titled positions in the church of Mitra. Her mother, a knight of Alerion, was a brave, zealous woman whose military service had made her rigid and distant. Her father, an accomplished healer and priest at the local temple, saw her frequently at prayer, and they met when he struck up a conversation one day. It's easy to bond over religion, especially when you live your life around it, but people seek out religion for different reasons, find different truths in it, and it can take years to discern those differences. They thought having a child might help, give them something else in common. By now they were married, had progressed in their career paths to relative renown, though the city would hardly cease to function in the worst were to happen.
While her mother, Drusilia, was pregnant, they moved to a large home in a regal part of town, one that had been standing almost since the kingdom was founded. She hated being unable to fulfill in her duties. Garret, her father, spent many mornings pulling the crying woman out of her armour, which no longer fit. Celeste was born in fall, a beautiful, healthy little girl with her mother's milky pale skin, and her father's icy blue eyes and jet-black hair. With her parents both devout Mitrans, and in the employ of the Church, Celeste was raised at all ages in the traditions of the temple, bound for the life of a nun. Her days were filled with schooling, her weekends with service and volunteering. These pursuits would have been fine if Celeste had been a good little girl, a believer and an innocent.
But she wasn't. No one could tell where her mischievous streak had come from, but Celeste proved to be a precocious little brat. She learned at a young age that being cute and sweet bought you credibility, being related to someone bought you a certain measure of inscrutability, and as long as you were careful you could get away with almost anything. She learned it well, and was good at it. With her parents either unable, or unwilling to see their daughter's sinful streak, she got worse. By the time she was a teenager, her behaviour was impossible to ignore, as was her duplicitousness. Cloistering her in their home, they brought in priests to teach her scripture, and supplement the schooling she could no longer leave the house for. She pleaded with them, begged, told them she saw the error of her ways, but to them she'd lost all credibility.
Her resentment only grew as the years went on, her boredom forcing her to focus on her studies, forcing her to take out her untoward or manipulative impulses on those around her. She had two of her teachers thrown in the stock with accusations of rape. The first had only required words, but for the second she'd hit herself, scratched herself, torn her own clothing while he watched and demanded to know what she was doing. Even those outburst had been taken by her parents with hesitant belief. The third was a man of unimpeachable reputation, who brought an apprentice with him to witness their lessons. She was in hell.
She was only 17 when she heard the whispers in the night, when she woke from her bed and followed them down stairs, down to the basement. She could feel a breeze coming through the wall, but that was impossible. She pressed her ear to the wall, she could almost hear what the voices were saying. Then everything went silent. It took her a few months to figure out that turning the nearest beam for the house would open the wall. Inside she found ... wonderful things. A shrine of skulls, melted candles the colour of wine and blood, skulls piled at the feet of a statue of a handsome man with horns and an outstretched sceptre. She'd never seen anything like it, falling to her knees before it. Guided by fouler things than fate, her knee broke through one of the old floorboards, revealing a hidden compartment and a book wrapped in bloody cloth. The book's cover was black leather, with golden letters embossed on its unblemished face. The script was nothing like anything Celeste had ever seen before, nor was the writing inside. More months were spent deciphering it. She learned that the lettering was a script from the lower planes, from hell. Her interest grew. Slowly she taught herself the words by candle-light, and on her eighteenth birthday, by the light of the crescent moon and five red candles, she spilled some of her own blood to hear the words of the dark one.
For days and nights he whispered to her, promising her secrets, power, freedom. Servants began to speak of seeing her sitting alone in the great hall, books of study open in front of her, smiling a strange smile and whispering to no one. It was only a week later that she killed them. She took the knife from the shrine in the basement, the one with the black blade, and slit their throats. Her mother was first, posing the largest threat. Once she was dead, killing her father was a simple matter of speed and agility. He didn't get far. Following the instructions in the book, she used their blood to transcribe dark spells and sigils on the ground, and when the last letters were finished, scrawled the final seals across her skin. Standing naked, she fell laughing to her knees when the robed figure appeared. Some small part of her had acknowledged that she might simply be mad right up until that moment, but here, standing before her, was the shape of the dark lord.
That night was amazing. She'd never felt such wonders, never experienced such bliss, and when the first rays of sunlight came through the curtains, and the handsome red man vanished from her chambers, she felt his power linger still in her fingertips. Unfortunately, she would also feel the clap of irons that morning. Her parents hadn't been so much as tardy in their lives, much less negligent of the work day, so their disappearances were noticed immediately. Knights were dispatched to their house, where the ritual scene was discovered. It was easy to determine the culprit, still marked with dried blood and stinking of the devil's musk.
There were arguments over whether her murder or communing with the dark one took precedence. Given the nature of the murder, it was determined that her blasphemy would decide the nature of her execution, and she was sentenced to be burnt at the stake after her short stay in Branderscar.
While her mother, Drusilia, was pregnant, they moved to a large home in a regal part of town, one that had been standing almost since the kingdom was founded. She hated being unable to fulfill in her duties. Garret, her father, spent many mornings pulling the crying woman out of her armour, which no longer fit. Celeste was born in fall, a beautiful, healthy little girl with her mother's milky pale skin, and her father's icy blue eyes and jet-black hair. With her parents both devout Mitrans, and in the employ of the Church, Celeste was raised at all ages in the traditions of the temple, bound for the life of a nun. Her days were filled with schooling, her weekends with service and volunteering. These pursuits would have been fine if Celeste had been a good little girl, a believer and an innocent.
But she wasn't. No one could tell where her mischievous streak had come from, but Celeste proved to be a precocious little brat. She learned at a young age that being cute and sweet bought you credibility, being related to someone bought you a certain measure of inscrutability, and as long as you were careful you could get away with almost anything. She learned it well, and was good at it. With her parents either unable, or unwilling to see their daughter's sinful streak, she got worse. By the time she was a teenager, her behaviour was impossible to ignore, as was her duplicitousness. Cloistering her in their home, they brought in priests to teach her scripture, and supplement the schooling she could no longer leave the house for. She pleaded with them, begged, told them she saw the error of her ways, but to them she'd lost all credibility.
Her resentment only grew as the years went on, her boredom forcing her to focus on her studies, forcing her to take out her untoward or manipulative impulses on those around her. She had two of her teachers thrown in the stock with accusations of rape. The first had only required words, but for the second she'd hit herself, scratched herself, torn her own clothing while he watched and demanded to know what she was doing. Even those outburst had been taken by her parents with hesitant belief. The third was a man of unimpeachable reputation, who brought an apprentice with him to witness their lessons. She was in hell.
She was only 17 when she heard the whispers in the night, when she woke from her bed and followed them down stairs, down to the basement. She could feel a breeze coming through the wall, but that was impossible. She pressed her ear to the wall, she could almost hear what the voices were saying. Then everything went silent. It took her a few months to figure out that turning the nearest beam for the house would open the wall. Inside she found ... wonderful things. A shrine of skulls, melted candles the colour of wine and blood, skulls piled at the feet of a statue of a handsome man with horns and an outstretched sceptre. She'd never seen anything like it, falling to her knees before it. Guided by fouler things than fate, her knee broke through one of the old floorboards, revealing a hidden compartment and a book wrapped in bloody cloth. The book's cover was black leather, with golden letters embossed on its unblemished face. The script was nothing like anything Celeste had ever seen before, nor was the writing inside. More months were spent deciphering it. She learned that the lettering was a script from the lower planes, from hell. Her interest grew. Slowly she taught herself the words by candle-light, and on her eighteenth birthday, by the light of the crescent moon and five red candles, she spilled some of her own blood to hear the words of the dark one.
For days and nights he whispered to her, promising her secrets, power, freedom. Servants began to speak of seeing her sitting alone in the great hall, books of study open in front of her, smiling a strange smile and whispering to no one. It was only a week later that she killed them. She took the knife from the shrine in the basement, the one with the black blade, and slit their throats. Her mother was first, posing the largest threat. Once she was dead, killing her father was a simple matter of speed and agility. He didn't get far. Following the instructions in the book, she used their blood to transcribe dark spells and sigils on the ground, and when the last letters were finished, scrawled the final seals across her skin. Standing naked, she fell laughing to her knees when the robed figure appeared. Some small part of her had acknowledged that she might simply be mad right up until that moment, but here, standing before her, was the shape of the dark lord.
That night was amazing. She'd never felt such wonders, never experienced such bliss, and when the first rays of sunlight came through the curtains, and the handsome red man vanished from her chambers, she felt his power linger still in her fingertips. Unfortunately, she would also feel the clap of irons that morning. Her parents hadn't been so much as tardy in their lives, much less negligent of the work day, so their disappearances were noticed immediately. Knights were dispatched to their house, where the ritual scene was discovered. It was easy to determine the culprit, still marked with dried blood and stinking of the devil's musk.
There were arguments over whether her murder or communing with the dark one took precedence. Given the nature of the murder, it was determined that her blasphemy would decide the nature of her execution, and she was sentenced to be burnt at the stake after her short stay in Branderscar.
Last edited:
