Curse of the Golden Empress - Character Write Ups

This thread is for people playing the "The Curse of the Golden Empress" Campaign to post their write ups in. All other posts will be deleted.

Soreth Wintersky - Eladrin Star Pact Warlock

[Paragon Path: Student of Caiphon; Epic Destiny: Radiant One]

Physical Description: This young Eladrin male is very tall and long-limbed, even for one of his people. His skin is pale, with narrow angular features, and very long ivory-white hair. His eyes are an opalescent midnight blue-on-blue, the color of a deep evening sky.

He wears a set of close-fitting, flexible leather armor, and over it, a dark cloak and set of open-fronted robes dyed in shades of blue, trimmed in silver, gold and white. His armor and clothing are decorated with a variety of semiprecious stones, and astrological and mystical symbols. Along with his satchel and pouches of supplies and arcane components, he wears a sword-belt; sheathed in its silver-trimmed leather scabbards are an elegantly forged longsword and dagger.

Soreth carries himself confidently, long-fingered hands absently toying with one of his various astrological devices or prediction tools. When not handling an object or wielding a weapon, they occasionally, almost involuntarily flex and crook into arcane gestures. Unless he is gazing at the stars or at a book or chart, he constantly glances this way and that, as if thoughtfully seeking something that seems to be missing. At times his gaze lingers too long and too intently upon something or someone, which can be a little unsettling for a living subject.

---

Eldritch Blast: Soreth thrusts out a hand, fingers bent into a cabalistic gesture toward his intended mark. Crackling lines of cold purplish light arc through the air like lightning, lashing viciously at the target.

Dire Radiance: Reaching skyward with a clutching hand, Soreth brings down his fist forcefully, shouting a harsh arcane syllable. Brilliant light streaks from the sky above, seeming to come precisely from one star or another, wreathing his victim in its radiance. Away from an open sky, the burning light seems to issue from the very air around the target itself.

Dreadful Word: Soreth gazes intently at his target, and in an unknowable language, carefully but firmly pronounces a single word meant only for his victim. The air grows heavy with its power, and his opponent cries out in horror as the understanding of its meaning.

Dread Star: Softly chanting the name of a distant, nearly unknown star, Soreth calls down its light, watching it collect into a glowing sphere that hovers over his palm. He uncurls his fingers in the direction of his opponent, and the miniature star drifts lazily, almost ominously, toward them. Arcs of light like solar flares lance outward from its surface, searing his target.

Shadow Walk: Inky darkness, like the emptiness between the stars, wells up around Soreth with each step he takes, cloaking him in the very essence of night and briefly concealing him from view.

Fey Step: Shadows ripple and elongate around Soreth; within them stars glimmer in the strange patterns of unknown constellations. In the blink of an eye, he disappears into this void, reappearing moments later nearby as the darkness once again retreats and the points of starlight fade with it.

Fate of the Void: As his opponent collapses to the ground, unconscious or dead, shadows and shards of light leap from the body to Soreth's hand. A tiny star shines in his palm before he closes his hand, smiling slowly and ominously as the light flickers in his night-coloured eyes.

---

"The stars are Ancient creatures; Old and terrible as the gods themselves, they have burrowed deep into the flesh of reality. They have woven themselves into every plane, and stare unblinking at the writhing of mortals. For those foolish enough to listen, their song can bring great power, but their terrible truths are not meant for men, and that which is learned cannot be forgotten, no matter how they might wish it." --- Author Unknown

Hailing from a family line of arcanists and mages, Soreth turned his mind to the study of history and astrology along with his arcane education. In doing so he became more and more interested in the patterns he saw throughout past events, mirrored at times by the patterns of the stars and other celestial bodies above, and the dire predictions that accompanied them. Over time, his studies turned from interest to obsession, ultimately leading him to unsettling theories:

...That the cosmos itself was almost an entity unto itself, perhaps sentient, but in a way incomprehensible to mortals... That there were entities that dwelt between and beyond the stars--some friendly, some hostile, but mostly, inchoate and unconcerned with lesser beings as much as one might pay attention to an ant on a hill on the other side of the world... That the stars, and other celestial bodies were themselves aware and powerful in some way... that the patterns between the stars carried their own terrible purpose... and other, stranger ideas besides...

In discovering these ideas, Soreth learned to channel the forces gathered not only by these entities, but by the very ideas of their existence, and of the forces of fate and portent. Offering himself as a conduit for this power, he has made a pact to channel these dire energies, but at what cost he is not yet sure. Perhaps he must act as an agent of fate itself, or find, create, or destroy something important. Perhaps it is as complex as observing the flow of events around him, keeping a journal and recording every one of his dreams, and finding the perfect time for when the stars are right, to make use of that knowledge. Perhaps it is as simple as breaking a random small object, or hindering or helping someone only briefly, just long enough to affect everything else that should follow. Even he himself is unsure; the entities, powers and agencies that might be out there have yet to tell him in any direct, meaningful fashion. Perhaps they never will.

But if they do, what would they say? What would it mean? And could anyone, even he, truly endure that understanding?

Deep in his resting trance, Soreth lies upon his bedroll, half-lidded eyes staring emptily at the stars wheeling overhead. His senses do not fail him as those who sleep, but they are merely diverted, as his mind wanders the corridors of his memories and the possibilities left behind as other paths were taken.

There was no other way it could have gone, however, to fend off the starving wolves that attacked their camp... no other way he could have acted.

A perfect moment shines in the path behind him as his mind examines the corridors, now an astrological chart of light and slivers of shadow.

The moment his sword cleared its sheath as he rushed headlong toward the beast about to set upon the mage. Then the perfect moment of dire curse flowing from his mind and his voice and gestures, accompanied by the perfect strike of the blade.

In his trance, the wolf speaks to him without a voice, eyes rolling back and focusing on him as the sword cuts home, telling him the words of a being whose skin is blood and metal:

Achieving a singular purpose.

'Are your words meant for me--' Soreth begins, then blinks as the images of the trance fade into the stars above. Lying on his bedroll, he sighs, softly chastising himself for speaking out loud and distracting himself. A constellation catches his eye as a shred of cloud drifts aside like a curtain, revealing The Wolf, head thrown back and howling. Tilting his head side to side, the Eladrin watches it intently until another line of clouds obscure it again, gradually slipping back into his trance.

Kira (elvish name Keiaralanna)
Half Elf Rogue - Brutal Scoundral
Paragon Path - Cat Burglar

Kira stares with her unfocused gaze toward the stars and turns the span of bridge over in her mind.

The building was not so difficult as it seemed. The lines of the building were squared off, with enough poorly carved stone to hold onto. It was that drop.... how could I let those heights disturb me to inaction. I could have climbed to the top of the guard house and killed those goblins within seconds. It would have given me a chance to use the magic I have not called forth in some time.... why would such heights distract me?

She turns over her dagger in her palm, feeling the leather worn to the shape of her hand from years of gripping it tightly while sneaking through the shadows.

Heights never were a problem before. Perhaps this line of work is weakening my skills.... or perhaps it was the untalented rabble I took leave of not too long ago. Such brutality has no skill. These brutes always think the same; save your own skin to take the loot, unpick the lock, sneak past that sentry, stab the goblin in the back while dodging the poison darts shooting from the wall..... Always the same. At least in the circus you were paid after every show, even if the work was the same; smile for the kids, one more backflip, scale the flaming rope while balancing a dagger on your fingertips.... at least they watched your backflips. People would come from miles around to see my famous flaming half twisting flip roll... which only matters now for the fine dagger throw at the end.

No one cares for the skill of it anymore, especially that creepy Eladrin, going so far as to compare such a performance with the trouncing of those harlet dancers. There's no skill in showing off what the gods gave you, my mother would say. She was truley talented and no dancing harlet could match the spell she put over the people. Light was dimmer the day her fire went out. I pray to Sehanine for all of our souls that were left stranded that day, for no one was free from the strife that followed....

She could still remember what her mother wore the last time she saw her: a gold bodice with accents of red and a beautiful flowing skirt accentuating her full hips and slim waist. Her hair was swept up, which was so rare it was a touch exotic. Even in her most complex routines her hair would flow freely, wildly, about her face as her hands flew in perfect calm. She could juggle anything; she juggled knives and shuriken when angry, then move to rings or unlit torches, and if kind or funny she would pick up women's hats and shoes.

She danced more as of late and now I understand the meaning of the dance. She was courting another. Perhaps that's not right.... she was never properly courted to begin. Now she was courted and with no legal documents she was suddenly an eligible woman with little to gain from the daughter and non-husband she would leave behind. The circus was so little to her aside from the stage, and a man of royal blood had his own stage to offer with intrigue, politics, and more riches than she knew from roadside acts in the tent. Not even our most facinating feats brought more than a bag of silver these days. So little light left in the world leaves little room for enjoyment.....

Father did not wait long to leave. I knew he had other work in mind with mother so near, thought I never thought he would leave all of us so suddenly, especially me. Mostly me, I think. He went through so much to please mother and I thought I was part of that love. He bought the circus for her, gave her a child, then taught me so much. The elvish ways would have been foreign to a half-breed like me otherwise. Though now I know it was only for her affection and these trivialities were a burden to him, especially a 15 year old.

The strong man was kind though and I found a great deal of strength in myself from him. Moreso it was the calm I found, which seems so easy when you are larger than anyone else any place you go. For someone like me, with no true heritage or purpose, well that was a calm and strength I had to search for a great deal. The fire eater joined us at the local village as well. He seemed to find work where there really was none; there was only gold. It did not take long to realize he was not as enticing, nor as talented, as I had once believed. Yes, I was enticed, but not when I realized he needed my skills more than I needed his. Such things cannot last especially at 15. I hated leaving the strong man, but he would never grow to be more than he was. I, however, wished to be much, much more.

My skills at running became honed much more quickly than others, I'm afraid. There is only so much you can learn in the streets, and one lesson or another eventually brings you back to the first: Run.

Even when running you inevitably learn a thing or two, like a young woman on the road is a tasty target for those not brave enough to seek greater fortune. I must have lost a fortune of my own learning that lesson the hard way, though I never made any single man rich over the time. Pride is a rock best kept buried.

So I travelled, as cheaply and quickly as possible. Merchants are always willing to lighten the burden of their travel costs, though the cheapest seem to end up in more destitute places than the last cheap merchant could conjure up. Performing in taverns only pays for meals these days, so then a small purse lands you somewhere like this place. Crossroads. Irony. They should have named it Irony.

My performances are not poor by any means, though there are limits to a drunkards interest in a clothed woman doing sommersaults and balancing on chair backs. Like the Eladrin, for instance. The creepy companion of my paydirt. Not that it was a new comparison, me with these harlets prancing around doing what they call dancing, and never mind I could balance a tightrope with a dagger on the tip of my nose, mind you, then jump from such a height in a fantastic flip to land on my feet. Let the harlets drink and flounce to their hearts content as those with such a talent have no concern for the ill effects of balance to their maginificent skill.

So now I find myself in Irony, Crossroads, somewhere in the middle of mediocrity searching for that one great place to turn my fortunes. May Sehanine bless this twisted, shadowy path I tread.

Soreth shakes his head hard to clear the ringing from his ears, lying flat on his back after being hurled there by the hobgoblin mage's arcane blast. Around him as his hearing returns, he can hear the sounds of fighting, and to his right Borstal and Lyra struggle to pull themselves upright from their tangled heap and rejoin the conflict. Harsh light flares in front of him as the hobgoblin raises a hand, weaving a new spell, while one of his goblin henchmen close in, weapons brandished to cut off any escape.

"Not every escape..."

Soreth's mouth bends in a knowing smile, and shadows elongate and enfold him. His indrawn breath is cold, tainted by the depths of the void between the stars, and he falls into the space between spaces---

He hovers in the void, caught between moments and places, and around him stars glitter like diamond dust, their size and distance unfathomable. Are they unreachable and colossal, their pinprick fires so tiny because of distance? Or are they all around him, like motes of dust in a sunbeam... and what does that make of him, then?

His senses awhirl, in this moment trapped in time like an insect in amber, his sight lingers on a distant and flaring sun in a corner of the cosmos before him. As he concentrates on the star, silently raging in the dark sky, something ...moves... in the depths of the night near this little light, indistinct. Is it tiny like the stars, or enlarged as his senses? Or both and neither?

The star bends to its will, and suddenly flares with a brilliant painful light, casting off a layer of its fire like a cloak spun out in all directions. The pulse washes outward, and for a moment, even tinier pinpoints of light show in the depths, as the outflung fire cascades over a handful of dead worlds spinning silently around the lethal star, long charred to cinders in its fiery bursts. Life as he can conceive it does not exist on those worlds, if it ever did at all.

The entity's notice lifts from the poisoned star and the dead worlds caught in its grip, and he hopes the shadows of far night hide him well enough to escape its notice. Yet the presence moves closer, veiling the stars with its unknowable form, and he enfolds the night around him like a cloak, as it draws closer, to greet or to strike...

---and tumbles a short distance through the air to land in a rough crouch. The roaring silence of the void is replaced anew by the sounds of battle, and before him stands the hobgoblin, facing out into the hallway where his companions await.

Shadowy streaks of the cold void cling to him like armor as Soreth arises, and the--- memory? vision? hallucination?--- of the deadly star and its watching presence returns to him. He flings out an arm, driven as much by instinct and other, ineffable forces as by his own will.

The hobgoblin turns, eyes narrowed, then widening in shock as the Eladrin hisses out a string of arcane syllables. Fate bends against the mage's favor, then is sealed, as a replica of that burning, seething star flares into life in Soreth's hand, then hurtles across the room. This time the entire star casts itself into its erupting blast, giving up all its radiance in a series of arcing flares, searing the hobgoblin with blinding, killing light as it goes nova.

As the mage's body collapses to the floor, as dead as the worlds orbiting the star, Soreth hesitates. Shadows still cloak him protectively, drawn from the void between worlds and lights. Perhaps the presence watches still...

Stepping over the hobgoblin's body as his companions gather themselves to continue the fight, he absently sweeps out a hand. Light and shadow flickers over the body, then shimmers in the warlock's eyes.

A brief vision flickers in his mind: The star itself, rather than the conjured imitation in his hand, going nova, burning itself out in a final, violent light, blasting the orbiting worlds to nothingness and then winking out as darkness rushes to fill the emptiness.

'Was it a dream? ...A vision? ...A reality?'

Still caught in his meditation, Soreth's head tilts at the sounds of continuing battle in the corridor beyond. The cloaking shadows fade from him as he steps forward, turning his concentration toward rejoining the fight.

"I shall find the truth of it..." he murmurs softly, as the warlock moves to aid his companions.

---

Ethereal Stride: Soreth takes a step forward and his form blurs, hidden by streaks of shadow and void as reality ripples around him. He disappears into the void, then reappears a short distance elsewhere. The darkness clings protectively to him for awhile before it fades, blowing away behind him like smoke in a gust of wind.

Dearest Father Syran,

I was pleased to receive your letter when I last stopped in Crossroads. My heart goes out to you and the rest of the Abbey, regarding Sister Kreia. She was a warm and loving woman and a powerful representative of our Queen here on Earth. She will be welcomed into her arms and continue to serve her in the afterlife.

My journey goes well. I joined up with a small group of adventurers in Crossroads and we accepted a task from a man they call Jayne. They have been having trouble with Goblins ambushing caravans over the past few months and hired us to hunt down those responsible.

As we traveled along the road to Brighton Pass, we stopped at a farmhouse that was being attacked. After defeating the Goblins attacking the farmers, I spoke the rights of the dead and sent their son to our Queen’s embrace. They gave us shelter for the night and we continued on in the morning. There were several more Goblin attacks along the road, including a few bandits. We captured one of the bandits and took him with us, offering to let him go once he showed us the way to the Goblin lair.

On the fifth day, we reached the pass into the mountains where the lair was reputed to be located. Ben, the bandit accompanying us, left at that time and we made our way up the pass. We were attacked on the switchbacks, and then again at the gates, but we cleared the lair and eliminated the Hobgoblin in charge. There were two occasions that I fell in battle and felt the arms of our Queen reach for me, but then she deigned to keep me on this plane to fight another day in her name. I light a candle in her name and honor her wisdom in allowing me to continue my duties to her.

We will return soon to Crossroads, having rescued the caravan leaders and recovered their stolen merchandise. I believe I will continue to travel with this group for a period of time, as I feel my fate and theirs becoming intertwined. We are learning to function together as a team and it seems that we work well together.

I will write to you again when I am next near civilization and I look forward to receiving your next correspondence.

Raven Queen’s Blessing goes with you,

Lyra

Dearest Sister,

My apologies for not having written sooner but life as an adventurer has left little time for the niceties of life.

First I must tell you that I am doing wonderfully! Since leaving the school, I’ve joined up with a grand group of fellows. They are a rather strange group but I think things will work out ok with them. There is a Human female Paladin who goes by the name of Lyra. She worships one of those death gods the humans are so fond of. She’s awfully fond of hitting things with her sword, but I suppose that is what Paladin’s do. I’ve had to save her life a couple of times when she got into fights that were a bit over her head. I’m hoping to be able to give her some pointers that will help keep her alive in future fights.

We also have a Dwarf priest of Moradin in the party as well. His name is Borstal but I started calling him “Boris” and he seems to like that better. He’s a rather stout fellow as you might imagine. Rather somber, but some of the prays he uses are quite helpful. I’ve taken a few minor wounds so far and he’s be very helpful in getting me patched up. He’s got the most interesting beard. I just wish that he’d brush the food out of it a bit more often.

Another party member is a fellow Eldarin, named Soreth Wintersky. We’re about the same age but I hadn’t met him before this. I’m not sure where he calls home as he is a warlock and I’ve been a bit too intimidated to get into any long conversations with him. I suppose he’s all right, as warlocks go. But it is rather strange working with someone who’s always muttering something about the stars being aligned and in the proper conjunction. He’s pretty useful with his powers, but on the whole I think I’d prefer working with a fellow wizard.

Last, but not least, is a Half Elf woman named Kira. I think you would like her. She’s a dancer of sorts. Nothing like I ever really saw before. Very graceful and she can do some of the most amazing moves. When I first met her she was dancing on stage, like a common entertainer, for coins and drinks. I was a little hesitant about partying up with a dancer, but she’s proven her worth as a combatant and I haven’t had to pull her out of too many scrapes yet. She does seem to have a knack for knowing where to stick a knife though. I think she’s accounted for almost as many defeated foes as I have. Now if only she’d stop snoring when she sleeps.

Well, on to what has happened. Out little band was recently hired to investigate a band of goblins that has been causing some problems for the local caravans. Almost immediately upon leaving the city we came across a farmstead being besieged by a small band of nasty goblins. We managed to defeat them and save the family, all except one boy. I felt so sorry for that family. I must be awful not being able to defend ones loved ones.

We had a few more encounters with the little creatures but no serious fights until we came to a bridge that they had captured and were using as strong point. My powers came in very handy in that fight, let me tell you. I don’t know what my companions would have done if I wasn’t there with my spells. Oh! I almost forgot. Once we won the fight we found a magic staff, nothing so powerful as Grand papas’, but still a rather useful little thing to have. My companions were so impressed with my help during the fight that they insisted I take the staff with their thanks.

I will close the letter now, tomorrow we expect to find the main goblin strong hold and I’m sure I’ll have lots more to write to you then. Please give my love to mama, and should you happen to see father please tell him that I’m doing quite well wearing the leather armor, thank you very much! I hope to be home before the winter holidays, but now that I’m and adventurer, who knows what will happen.

Hugs and kisses,

Wilithrin.

What was I thinking? Dragging that enormous dwarf like a sack of potatoes to endanger myself. I was out in the open like a trapped deer waiting to be executed, and I nearly was! Through no action of my own my life was spared, but not my shame. I must truely be getting soft, not just to drag the dwarf, but to stand like the Paladin to protect his injured body! At least she knows her place and stands bravely at the forefront of the fight to protect the less hardy breeds, like the wizard.

She sighs and looks down at the dagger she was twirling in her hands to realize she had gripped the sharp blade angrily in her palm. The smooth olive skin was streaked with bright red as blood slowly dripped to her wrist.

So sloppy.... Not again. I will stay where I belong, not standing with chest out waiting for the next blow to strike, or she chuckles to herself behind a door with no idea where the next blow might strike. I guess we all have our purpose, and certainly I am not the first to deviate from it. Mayhap this group is better for me than I had previously thought. Knowing my weaknesses means more than hiding from them. No tents and sprakling outfits to hide behind here....

Certainly it was advantageous moving ahead of the group. I never thought scouting ahead would be so peaceful, or so effective. They may have thought better of my skills when I revealed those lying in wait. It seems the climbing should be left to me as well. What a poor display at best, sliding and falling down the rocks on their heads, and could have been beaten by the worst children climbing circus ropes in play. Certainly we all have our roles to play. None could move such as the creepy Eladrin, with his strange disappearances and magic. Or be as brave as the foolish Paladin, rushing to the forefront to get knocked away by the Hobgoblin. Who knows what damage he may have caused us all without her taking the blow first......

It seems we have yet to find our true potential, and perhaps it will be good to stay awhile and see where it might lead. Afterall, I was unconscious for a good several minutes and still have my money pouch.

Dust puffs up under Soreth's footfalls, light steps occasionally punctuated by the crunching of fragments of stone or mortar from the crumbling guard tower. Occasionally out of the corner of his eye, one of the spectral soldiers on duty flickers in and out of sight, manifesting near him to be sure of his peaceful intent as he wanders the dim hallways of the building.

'Trapped here for centuries. Unable to move on, mired in one's obligations... and one's rest stolen without a rightful burial.'

The warlock's thoughts turn to the Great Mine as he pauses by a crumbling window, glancing out over the chasms and tunnels that make up its complex ways, long abandoned by the surface peoples.

'Goblins... Dragons...'

His expression turns sour, lips pressing together and eyes narrowing in enmity and disgust.

'And the Dhaeraow... our traitor kin.'

Folding his arms over his chest, his fingers twitch, stroking the charms and gems dangling from his armor and robes absently. Tilting his head down, Soreth leans forward to gaze down at the depths of the Great Mine's passages below.

'Who knows what they have seen in their time, hidden in darkness. At least, even in night, the stars and moon light the way here...'

Another brief spark of phantasmal light catches Soreth's eye, and he turns his head, gazing evenly at the long-dead guard captain as he marches past, sparing the Eladrin a brief appraising glance before continuing his patrol. Soreth turns, moving to watch the wraith as he continues his way down the hall.

'Dead for centuries... and yet still here. What have you seen, I wonder...'

His eyes slowly widen as a thought steals its way into his mind. His fidgeting hands fall still. For a moment, Soreth is as silent and still as the ruins as his mind races.

'And have you or your fellows thought to look up, at the night sky... what things have you seen in the Sea of Stars? What secrets do you know?'

As if reading his thoughts, the guard captain pauses at the end of the hall, in front of a closed door. His head turns, and the translucent figure regards the warlock solemnly. Soreth remains still, waiting, holding the spirit's gaze... then faltering and turning away with a final polite nod. The captain returns the gesture, eyes on the warlock all the while. He executes a neat about-face, and strides forward again, his form slipping through the crumbling wooden door without having to open it.

Soreth watches out of the corner of his eye, then turns back to his view of the Great Mine, eyes occasionally turning to the sky above.

'A question perhaps best left for another day...'