You Shall Suffice

The shadowy forms of Mirela’s memories appeared as hazy apparitions lurking just off of the path to either side. He held the young woman’s hand and walked briskly down the narrow pathway towards the shimmering light in the distance. He only needed to make it a few more paces and then they would be safely returned to the mortal realm.

She walked at his side, whispering incoherently. Her soul was in shock. The strain of having it ripped from her body and then led back against the will of the netherworld....it must have been overwhelming. One particularly dark and insidious memory kept reaching for them, but the dark female spirit was unable to penetrate the edge of path. Grimm remained focused. He must keep moving. This was not natural. His own guilt over the death of the brave young woman had led him here. He knew this was not his place to interfere. Pharasma had deemed it the time for Mirela’s death and he had crossed her. It was foolish to cross a Goddess.

As they neared the portal to the mortal realm, Grimm breathed a deep sigh of relief. He gently urged Mirella by the hand through the portal. The shimmering light washed over her. In a moment she was gone.

Grimm gathered himself and prepared to step through the portal, himself. The swirling and dancing lights mesmerized him. It was hypnotic. Then he heard her voice. It echoed within his helm.

“One soul today is mine. You shall suffice….”

Grim turned his gaze from side to side, determined to find the origin of the voice. He could see nothing but the path growing narrower and narrower. He must exit now….and yet the voice. It haunted him. He wanted to look upon the woman. He must know her face. The Goddess had spoken.

The path narrowed enough that the armored boot on his left heel was now plunged into the blackness. The tangible lament and sorrow of the netherworld curled up around him like tendrils. They enveloped his body. In a rush of adrenaline he snapped from the hypnotic trance. The black smoky tendrils were ice cold. He dropped his shield and reached for the portal. It was so small now. It was further from him than before. He was being pulled backwards into the blackness. He managed one last short prayer before he was pulled into the dark, empty expanse of the netherworld.

“You shall suffice.”

*********************************************

As Mirela screamed upon the stone slab, Grimm’s body crumpled forward. Geralt rushed forward to grab him. Green, thin smoke streamed from the openings in the Paladin’s armor. The suit was empty.

Grimm was gone.

What Child Is This?

**~122 years ago on the western edge of Taldor’s border with the lands of Andoran, which were at the time occupied by Cheliax**

Teros Fordham shifted uncomfortably on the wooden wagon seat. These long rides out to the rural reaches of Taldor did not sit upon his aging bones and joints as easily as they had in his youth. Trips to the far reaches of the empire to administer rural adjudication were considered a burden fit for the youth of the clergy, but Teros took great pride in this work. It was an escape from the politics and claustrophobia of the city. Out here he could sit in silence and enjoy the countryside. No lobbyists trying to ply their agendas with silvered tongue, no unrepentant and hardened criminals to sentence to death. These trips usually involved minor property rights judgments….was a fence line too far to the right…dealing with the ramifications of a farm hound getting into a neighbor’s chicken coop. It was justice that offered people comfort in knowing that they were protected by a greater power, that there was right, that there was order. Even after all of these years in Abadar’s service that idea made Teros feel satisfaction.

He was nearing the eastern border of Taldor, close to the Chelaxian occupied lands. This trip was to bring him to the village of Newsted, a small farming community on the Sellen River. He hadn’t been this far west in many years. The sun was just beginning to set and would bring a much needed reprieve from the dry summer heat. He urged the horses onward, hoping to make the village by nightfall. Chelaxian patrols were known to make covert border crossings far into these lands and he did not want to be caught alone at night.

Suddenly a piercing scream shot out from the roadside. It sounded like a female voice in great pain. Teros pulled back on the reins and brought the creaking wagon to an abrupt stop. He held still waiting to know if the long hours alone on the road had been plying tricks on his old ears. Again he heard the scream. It sounded as if a woman was in terrible agony.

He was able to roughly pinpoint the location of the sound. It was emanating from a small grove of trees about 25 yards from the side of the road. He grabbed his staff and climbed down from the wagon and approached the roadside with trepidation. There was a small, but steep roadside ditch with a short clearing separating him from the trees. What, he wondered, could cause such a scream? His gold robes snagged on the brambles and dry brush as he descended into the ditch. Once through the gully he began to climb a short incline to approach the clearing before the trees.

“I am getting too old for this. I should have brought another. I am getting too stubborn for my own good” he thought too himself as he disentangled his robes from yet another short, thorny bush at the apex of the ditch.

Finally he was in the clearing in between the roadside ditch and the woods. Another high pitched wail erupted from the small grove. Its proximity startled him. The voice was not screaming in any language, just an eruption of pure agony.

“Who is there? I am Teros of Abadar. I may help you if you show yourself. I mean you no harm” he called out into the grove.

Another scream was returned in response. Although the wail once again did not contain any discernable words, it did have the tone of a plaintive call for help.

Teros pulled up his robes and ran to the grove as fast as his aging legs could carry him. The thick canopy of the dense cluster of trees blotted out much of what was left of the day’s sun. It was cooler here. The air held moisture. The trees were covered in dark green moss. He pushed through the outer layer of trees to the center of the grove.

“Where are you?” he called out.

This time the scream was not much more than a weak, sobbing whimper.

Teros looked down to a small clearing of tall grass in the center of the grove and saw her.

She was an elf maiden. She had dark black hair, brilliant green eyes with a lithe beauty in her face that the creator saved only for the elves. She was in agony. Her belly was swollen with child. Teros knew in a moment that she would not live through this birth.

He rushed to her side and dropped to his knees. He cradled her head in one hand and reached down to her belly with the other. He raised his eyes to the heavens and prayed to Abadar. He prayed for Abadar’s divine grace to comfort the woman and save the child. Abadar answered his prayer. In a moment the strain on the elf woman’s face eased a bit. Her eyes closed.

“Stay with me darling, we need to deliver your child. Stay with me” Teros implored.

He checked the baby to see if it was a breech birth or if the cord was wrapped around the child’s neck. He could not find anything out of the ordinary…yet he knew this was not a normal birth. There was too much pain. This just did not feel right. He had administered over a few elven births in his long career of travel, which was very rare for any human, but he had never seen anything like this. He could not discern what was causing such strain on the mother. He again prayed for Abadar’s healing hand to embrace the mother and child. Again Abadar answered.

Teros moved quickly to deliver the child, he was not sure how much longer the mother would live. He could see by her garments that she was Chelaxian. Chelaxian elves were very rare, often captured as children and sold into slavery among the unscrupulous nobility. The simple and rugged look to her clothes led him to believe his suspicions were true. These were not the delicate and beautiful garments of the elven cultures, these were the rough garments of a slave.

The baby was ready. He held the mothers hand tight to keep her concentration, squeezing it sharply each time she began to falter. Again he prayed for Abadar’s strength for the child, this time calling upon his most powerful restorative blessing, one he had not been called to use in many years. Again Abadar answered. The blessing flowed through his hands and into the child who was fighting to make it into this world.

The mother screamed again as she pushed with what little strength she had left. The baby emerged.

Teros, in his rural travels, had delivered many children. Often his simple calls for Abadar’s blessing meant the difference between life and death for mother and child on the frontier. Many newborn children had passed into his hands…hundreds, if not a thousand.

Teros, if not for the divinity of Abadar, would have dropped this child in shock.

As he held the child aloft he felt the mother relax her grip upon this life and pass on.

The child was elven, but large for an elf newborn. It had skin of stark alabaster white, dark black hair. When it looked up at him it had the same emerald green eyes as the mother, yet they glowed green light into Teros’s face. He had seen that hue of green before. It was the light of the Outer Planes. It was the light of the Abyss.

Teros called upon Abadar’s blessing of wisdom. Abadar answered.

With Abadar’s blessing he could discern many things. This child was not evil. The child did have a partial planar aura, but also a strong elven aura. How could this be? How could he be seeing the light of the cursed Abyss in this innocent child’s eyes? How had the mother found this lonely grove? Who or what was the father of this child? Teros could find no clues upon the body of the mother. He wrapped the baby and carried it in a makeshift sling as he prepared her for last rites. As he worked, he began to piece together what he may have stumbled upon in this roadside grove....

His trip to Newsted would need to be postponed. The High Council would need to see this child. Never in his life had Teros heard of such a birth. This might be the first Tiefling elf child to live through childbirth in centuries. The soul of the child was unspoiled.

Teros Fordham carried the newborn in his arms and climbed into his wagon. He circled it around sharply and made for Oppara at great speed. The child fell asleep in his arms as the last remnants of the sun sank below the horizon.

A Moment of Divine Illumination

Grimm continued his vigil over Mirela’s body in solemn silence. Her form was still not cold to the touch, though she did not stir. Her soul was strong, it did not want to let go of this world so easily. He prayed for her strength. He prayed that the agents of the divine might guide her back. He prayed that he might be able to repay her sacrifice. Through the haze of his prayers he heard Xella’s voice at what seemed like a great distance. He only made out the words “…she’ll likely rise…”

Suddenly he sat up in a flash of divine inspiration. He quickly rose and called back to the group,

“I know what to do. Stand sentry at the door. Do nothing to the body until my return.”

Grimm ran to the crypt they had just vacated. The fallen zombie corpses had entered a state of accelerated decay and the smell of rotted flesh was overwhelming. He scanned the floor of the tomb using the gift of his demon sight. The floor was littered with debris and gore…then he spied what he was looking for.

Sitting in a pile of ash was the amulet worn by the creature he had sundered with the blessing of Abadar’s strength guiding his hand. He scooped up the necklace from the pile of blackened ash and eyed it closely. Runes were meticulously carved into the back of the piece. He recognized one section of the scripting as the Abyssal tongue, it read:

“Grigore Arnel my love, you shall not depart my side

Ensnared within my web, your soul it will abide”

The rest of the markings were in a tongue he could not discern. With great haste he ran up the hill to the small wooden hovel, home to the Mortician. Grimm kicked in the door. The small living quarters contained only one room. Grimm saw the pale mortician sit up in his bed in shock and horror.

“Are they here for me, now? We had a deal…..we had a deal!!!” he shouted into the darkness.

“I am here for you” Grimm replied as he eyes began to glow green, just enough to illuminate his face within the dark steel helm.

“S…S…S…Sir Knight, you s…s…scared me, what is the m…m….m…matter?” the mortician replied through a voice drenched in fear. He moved to light a small oil lamp at his bedside.

“What do you know of this amulet?” Grimm demanded as he held out the gold necklace which swayed in front of the Mortician’s pale face.

“N..n…nothing..I have never ss…s…s…seen it before.”

“You lie. Tell me NOW!” and with that command Grimm’s eyes flashed bright green, bright enough to give off as much light as the small lamp and caused the shack to glow eerily.

“I….i….it is an a…a…a…artifact. I…I….It is used to b…b…b…bind a departing s…s…s…soul to this p…p….p…plane.”

“How do I use it?”

“Y…y…you must place a gem inside o…o…o…of the s…s…same color and the f…f…fallen’s eyes….and p…p…place it on the victim…..then…..then a ritual must be….p…p…erformed…..a d…d...dark…ritual….one of the living….p…p…pure of s….s…soul must guide the f…f…f…fallen soul back……that is all I kn…kn…know…please don’t….h…h….h…hurt me…”

Grimm ran down the hill to the small crypt containing his traveling companions. He burst through the entryway and spotted Xella.

“Xella, I know the nature of your power and Abadar does not judge those who do not deserve judgment. I would ask you to use your knowledge and power to call out to Mirela’s soul. You will need this” Grimm reached down into the small pouch pulled from the body of the fallen zombie and pulled forth a small banded amber gemstone. He handed both the amulet and the gem to Xella. I trust you know what to do… I will be the conduit to guide her soul back.”

After he spoke, Grimm reached up and slowly removed his helm. It was the first time he had done so in front of the assembled group. They could see his face, stern, elven with stark, alabaster white skin. His black hair was matted down in sweat and dirt but not enough to cover his sharp elven ears. His eyes glowed faintly green, which cast an eerie light over the determined expression on his face. He set his jaw in resolve and knelt before the altar.

In a Crypt, Haunted Only by Guilt

Grimm knelt in silent prayer over the body on the altar. The bites on her neck were turning a disturbing hue of light green. He prayed to Abadar for guidance. He prayed for her soul to either return to this mortal vessel or to find everlasting peace in the afterlife. She did not stir, though she was not completely cold to the touch as he had laid her upon the stone slab in the mausoleum hours ago.

She had been in his charge. If she passed on, her death would weigh upon him until the end of his days. His body tensed at the thought. She had been under his protection and had actually fallen trying to come to his aid. He did not feel worthy to bear Abadar’s key on the chain around his neck. She was no witch, merely a soul with a brave heart who fell victim to the blackness that permeated these lands.

He had been faltering under the onslaught of the three undead horrors at the door to the crypt. They had swarmed him from all sides. Gnashing blackened teeth and rotten flesh battered his shield and helm. They were attempting to pull him down so that they could continue unabated further into the main chamber. As he held up his shield to bat away a skeletal mouth seeking his neck, he lost concentration for a second. When he looked up he saw her on the ground, her fresh red blood spilling from the mouth of the corpse over her form. He would remember that moment in many nightmares over the days and months ahead.

The incessant droning of the old fool reached a crescendo in the nearby corner and Grimm flinched. Abadar must be testing his resolve to put him in the company of such a man. He was a drunk and a coward. Used to the company of his paladin battalion he never thought to look to his flanks once the order had been issued to hold the line. Within moments he was alone in the doorway and the horde was upon him. To hear this man invoke Abadar’s name made him sick. He again prayed for the guidance and wisdom to deal with this test of his faith.

Grimm longed for silence. If only the man would cease muttering incomprehensibly to himself for a moment. He sighed within his helmet….if the professor had seen something of value in this man then Grimm would try and find it within himself to do the same, if only for the sake of his fallen friend.

One thing Grimm now knew for certain; he had underestimated the evil of Ustalav. He had been unprepared for this. These were dark, lawless lands where the very soil churns out abominations which try and rend you limb from limb. He would need to be vigilant. He vowed upon his holy symbol to safeguard the friends and former companions of Professor Lorimorr. He would not fail them as he had Mirela. He vowed to safeguard them to Ravengro and beyond if necessary. He called upon the strength of Abadar to aid him in bringing swift and stunning vengeance upon those who would do them harm.

He prayed for strength. He prayed for patience. He prayed for silence.

A Dark Night

The horse struggled to maintain footing in the mud created by the pouring rain. The ruts in the road were deep here from the wagon traffic into the small hamlet ahead. The cold rain dripped inside the eye slit of the dark knight’s helmet as he urged his mount to go faster. He wished to move through this community quickly if he was to make it to Ravengro in time for the services.

The weather-worn, straw hatched hovels lining the road spoke to the poverty of this small farming community. The sun had set hours ago, but the gift of dark vision, accorded him by his cursed blood, allowed him to see the community in great detail. They were poor people, scraping by upon the meager offerings of the thin soil. He saw no constable or guards. The community looked to be bound only by a common social contract. His back tensed at the thought that such a group of men, women and children could be at the mercy of a life without the security of formal justice.

The glow of lanterns surrounding what appeared to be the inn at the center of the hamlet caused his vision to switch back to light based sight. As he approached the center of town he slowed his horse to ensure that a drunken patron of the inn did not wander into his path and get trampled. It was at that moment that he heard a piercing scream and saw the door to the inn swing open. A man with a cowl pulled low raced from the door with a small pouch in his hands. A large woman who looked to be the innkeeper’s wife stood screaming in the doorway

“Stop, murderer, thief! He robbed and killed Oren. He hit my husband and stole our coin. We have been robbed! Oren is dead. Someone please help!”

The fleeing thief paid no heed to the plaintive cries of the innkeeper’s wife.

Without a moment’s hesitation the black knight pulled back on the reins of the horse and slid to a stop in the thick mud. He leapt down from the horse only a few paces in front of the assailant.

“Stop”

The voice echoed from deep within the blackened steel helmet. The voice seemed other worldly and for a moment the robber in the cloak came to a halt. As he slid forward on his heels, the cowl of his cloak was thrown back.

On the face of the criminal, Grimm could see the same set of eyes he had looked upon so many times in the past; eyes of simple cruelty and limited cunning, eyes which held no respect for the law, eyes without remorse.

These eyes would soon know fear.

“What say you to charges of murder, assault and robbery?” echoed Grimm’s voice, amplified by the helmet and reverberating through the night.

“To hell with you. You’ll never catch me in all that steel” and the thug turned on his heels to run into a small alley.

Before he could take a step, he felt a cold, steel, gauntleted fist grab his cloak from behind. He was swung around and his face smashed into the nearby lantern post. A burst of blood and teeth shot from his mouth. He was then swung down and planted face first into a muddy pool in the road.

Rek Fen had spent the last 3 months robbing the lawless hamlets of the Ustalavian countryside. He had murdered, he had raped and he had stolen what little he could from the poor people of the region. The militia here was nonexistent. There was no sheriff, no city guard, and no constable. The people were easy prey. He would dine at the local inn, beat the innkeeper and make off with a purse filled with coin. If anyone resisted they met his blade. It had almost seemed too easy. He had become fearless.

Now he was face down in the road, and his mouth, nose and ears were filling with the grainy mud.

Right before he began to choke on the mud filling his throat, he was flipped over. Through the pouring rain and muddied eyes he looked up to see the dark steel helm looming over him. Green eyes glowed from within the eye slit…green eyes that he could not look away from.

“What say you to the charges?” the voice asked again.

Even in this perilous position, a lifetime of ruthlessness and savagery could not be so easily abandoned. Rek spit mud up into the face of the knight.

“Go to hell. You’re not the law. There is no law here” as he said this he could see the green glowing eyes flash brighter within the helm.

Rek began to feel fear.

“….let me go and I’ll split the coin with you. There’s more. I’ve been robbing and killing fools like them for months” he replied through a bloody toothless smile.

Once again the eyes flashed brighter.

“O…o…ok..ok it’s all yours. Must be 30 silvers there. Take it all just let me go!” he said, now plaintively crying like a child.

Grimm Cores’tar of Abadar looked up to see the innkeeper, appearing bruised and battered, alongside his wife a few paces ahead of them, standing in the pouring rain. They were looking on in stunned silence.

“What does the law dictate be done with murderers in this land?” Grimm asked of the innkeeper.

“N..n…n…nothing….there is no law sir. We take care of our own. H…h…h…he killed Oren with a knife when he tried to stop him. He had been my friend for years” said the innkeeper, now sobbing.

“The last killer in these parts was a long time ago…h..h…he was put to the sword” the innkeepers wife said quickly.

“So be it, this man will be judged according to your justice.” rang out the voice from within the black helm.

“For the crimes of murder and robbery you are hereby sentenced to death” and with that the black knight grabbed Rek’s head within the cowl and snapped his neck sharply. The innkeeper’s wife, upon hearing the sickening sound of snapping tendon and bone, fainted suddenly into a heap on the muddy road.

Grimm rose.

He pulled the purse of coin from the robbers cloak and tossed it to the innkeeper.

“Please, provide this man a proper burial. I trust you to take what is rightfully yours and to then do your best to return the balance of this coin to its rightful owners. I must be on the road for I am late to an important obligation. I will try and pass by these parts again on my return. Do not disappoint me.”

The innkeeper pulled back when he too saw the green flash from within the eye slit of the knight’s helm.

“Y…y..yy..yy…yes sir I will” he stammered.

The black knight stepped up into the saddle of his horse and with a tap of his spurs rode out into the night with great haste.

Grimm

Grimm is a Tiefling exile from Cheliax who has dedicated his life to bringing criminals and cultists to justice as a paladin of Abadar.

Grimm met the Professor during a mission to destroy an enclave of the cult of Norborger. The Professor sought a powerful relic the cult had stolen, a mysterious red bladed dagger. Grimm helped to crush the cult and turned the dagger over to the professor.

Upon hearing of Lorimorr's death, Grimm has set out for Ustalav to attend the services and see if he might bring justice to the haunted lands.

Grimm Cores'tar - Tiefling Paladin of Abadar

Grimm Cores'tar CR 1/2
Male Elf/Demon-Spawn Tiefling Paladin 1
Archetype: Oathbound Paladin - Oath of Vengeance
Good Alignment Class Abilities
Medium Outsider (Native)
Allegiances: Abadar Paladin Code, Companions, Redemption
Hero Points 1
Deity: Abadar
Init +1; Senses Darkvision (60 feet); Perception +8
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DEFENSE
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AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 (+5 armor, +2 shield, +1 Dex)
hp 16 (1d10+5)
Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +3
Resist cold 5, electricity 5, fire 5
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OFFENSE
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Spd 20 ft.
Melee Gauntlet (from Armor) +4 (1d3+3/20/x2) and
Longsword +4 (1d8+3/19-20/x2) and
Shield, Heavy Steel +4 (1d4+3/20/x2) and
Unarmed Strike +4 (1d3+3/20/x2)
Special Attacks Smite Evil (1/day)
Spell-Like Abilities Detect Evil (At will)
Paladin Spells Known (CL 0, 4 melee touch, 2 ranged touch):
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STATISTICS
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Str 16, Dex 13, Con 14, Int 12, Wis 12, Cha 16
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 15
Feats: Toughness +3
Traits: Aspiring Hellknight (Cheliax), Conspiracy Hunter: Perception
Skills: Intimidate +8, Perception +8, Sense Motive +5,
Languages Abyssal, Common, Elven
SQ +2 Perception, Aura of Good (Ex), Hero Points (1)

Combat Gear Longsword, Scale Mail, Shield, Heavy Steel; Other Gear Backpack (41 @ 50 lbs), Bag, Waterproof (empty), Bedroll, Blanket, Blanket, winter, Bottle, wine, glass, Case, map or scroll (empty), Chalk, 1 piece (4), Flask, Flint and steel, Manacles, Mirror, small steel, Oil (1-pint flask) (4), Pouch, belt (empty), Rations, trail (per day) (7), Rope, silk (50 ft.), Sack (empty), Soap, Bar (50 uses) (4), Torch (4), Waterskin (3), Whetstone, Whistle, Signal
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SPECIAL ABILITIES
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+2 Perception Supernatural awareness grants you a +2 racial bonus on all Perception checks.
Aspiring Hellknight (Cheliax) +1 trait bonus on Intimidate checks, and Intimidate is always a class skill for you.
Aura of Good (Ex) The paladin has an Aura of Good with power equal to her class level.
Damage Resistance, Cold (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Cold attacks.
Damage Resistance, Electricity (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Electricity attacks.
Damage Resistance, Fire (5) You have the specified Damage Resistance against Fire attacks.
Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only).
Detect Evil (At will) (Sp) You can use Detect Evil at will (as the spell).
Hero Points (1) Hero Points can be spent at any time to grant a variety of bonuses.
Smite Evil (1/day) (Su) +3 to hit, +1 to damage, +3 deflection bonus to AC when used.
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Appearance
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Height: 6'4"
Weight: 185lbs
Hair: Black
Eyes: Green
Skin: Alabaster White
Age: 122
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Notes
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Grimm's eyes glow bright green when he is emotional or when he uses his paladin abilities such as detect evil and smite. His skin is stark white, both eyes and skin reveal his Tiefling heritage. He is a very rare form of Tiefling created by the union of a Demon and an elf. Almost no offspring survive this combination. Grimm was a rare exception. He was only able to survive when a high priest of Abadar stumbled upon his elven mother dying during childbirth and managed to save the life of the child, though the mother was lost. Grimm has been raised by the church during his long elven childhood. He appears to be an elf in all respects, except for where his Tiefling blood is dominant (skin, eyes).