Thread: D&D Pathfinder campaign

Name Vimrys Korvel Age 68 Personality Vimrys is a soft-spoken man, preferring to simply observe until and unless intervention is necessary. The glassy crimson of his optics can be unnerving, even eerie, but those who spend enough time with him soon grow accustomed to the look. His time among the Nephilim has come with a deep self-importance and a morbid, sarcastic sense of humor, but maintains much of the cold, ruthless devotion to efficiency that was drilled into him during his Dominion education. Born and bred a soldier, designed from head to toe, Vimrys, despite being able to stretch his arms during his time with the Nephilim, still often finds it easier to relate to an AI than to a more emotional human being, especially when it comes to a matter of a moral compass. To Vimrys, the means do not simply justify the ends The end needs no justification. Race Human, In Vitro Corvus strain Skills Incredible sharpshooter, effective leader, trained pilot, survivalist and martial artist. Quick learner. Job Nephilim Sovereign. Ex-Dominion Sniper. Military Affiliation Independent Nephilim Sovereign. Weapon Anti Materiel Tranis Rifle. Attached laser with data relay. Judge sub-machine gun. Attached grenade launcher. Special Equipment The Queen Bitch - Hercules-class ship with Nephilim grav-field tractor beam, comm. scrambler, anti-missile flak installations, and bi-directional thrusters. Locust-class Dominion power armor. Titanium plating with joint freedom, jump jets, navigator, weather analyzer and EES Extreme Environment Survival. Tri-vision, zooming optical implants light, heat, tremorsense. Biography I am the iron tip of my lord. I am the eyes that root out his enemies and the fist that grinds them to dust. I am the spearhead of his armies and the vanguard of his flock. Or, at least, I was. See, the lovely thing about the dominion is that ambition has no place in it. There are thinkers, doers and leaders, and if you so much as consider doing any more than you were meant for, you have a problem. Needless to say, I had a problem. I was born in a test tube, prescribed an enhanced genome, far from uncommon among the Dominion's military caste, and assigned to a live-in education program as a recon and assassination specialist. It's pretty much just as dreary as it sounds. I was barraged with information and propaganda stir-fried well enough it was impossible to tell the difference for the duration of my formative years while I was taught to read and listen through the same medium. With that out of the way, the remainder of my pre-adult life was spent honing me for my purpose. Unsurprisingly, sniper training was tough. Even with our pedigree genetics, the relentless drills and exercises drained more than a handful of my contemporaries to collapse, and consequently, death. There was no mercy wasted on those who shamed their purpose by denying it before it even began. Everyone has their own way of motivating themselves to the finish line. Honor, bloodlust, the drive to live. I had never been one for honor or crazed lusts, and I had seen too much death to hold life to any intrinsic value outside of the functionality it granted. For me, it had become a game. A contest. I was the kid who did the work another way, yet always came up with the same sum. I had learned to turn what the Dominion knew as a vice into a virtue, and I reveled in it. So long as I was better than my competition, I was happy - there was no reason to improve further. And so long as I wasn't, it ate at me. At first I was alone, but the playful ferocity of contest spread quickly enough for as long as it remained unchecked, motivating some, utterly demoralizing others. What did I care? It was fun. That 'childish' nature of mine served me well into adulthood, moving up from outer rim recon and surveillance through deep infiltration. The first discomfort was how the illusion of respect was given or not based on tradition rather than to who had earned it. It just seemed so silly. The vids always portrayed leaders as charismatic, knowledgable masters of their fields. The reality was far more bothersome. I found myself 'led' by arrogant prettyboys spewing theory after theory about tactics and logistics and using anecdotes from decades ago as a filler for actual battlefield experience. But, of course, they were designed to lead, as was I to follow, perpetually restriced by an unmovable ceiling. So, during one of my infiltration missions, I vanished. Died without a trace. Hid under a superstorm for long enough to stop my suit from sending pings with my vital signs back home. Wasn't all me, of couse. They taught me how. The Nephilim. Their organization has a plethora of fences among the dominion and republic, even a couple Solars - along with recruiters, smuggler and enablers, agents who found and recruited me. But, of course, those are just the Nephs' equivalent of civvies. The real bread-winners, the ones who wanted me, were the pirates raiders and pillagers extraordinaire. Ships, mining bases, even whole colonies. All the ruthlessness of the dominion with none of the fundamentalist bullshit. I was no longer a faceless goon fighting a faceless enemy. I was alive again. Rising among the ranks of the Nephs was much faster because of the tighter, smaller, decentralized organization of power. That also, of course, meant workplace drama spread like wildfire, much to my dismay since the fact that I didn't care enough to offer my input made me a 'great listener'. Why they didn't just talk to a wall is beyond me, but I suppose it helped out in the long run. See, any contest for the role of sovereign has two stages. The second is the one I was ready for from the start the duel. But there is a preliminary that must be dealt with beforehand, lest a sovereign be drowned in ballsy, brainless challengers the appeal. A challenger must have enough of a sphere of influence among the Nephilim of a sector to be taken seriously, and soon enough I did. My competition did not yield and the duel, which took place on a vast asteroid collesium known as the Cauldron, ended as quickly as expected. And with that, I became sovereign of the Theta Sector, cross-imperial space and home to some of the most lucrative trade routes in the galaxy. Three weeks prior to the massacre at the intergalactic conference held in my territory, one of my bases was attacked rapidly and tracelessly by an anonymous enemy. Once the attack on the conference reached my ears, it wasn't that hard to put two and two together. Nephilim havens are usually comletely barren, and Fafnir's Eye was no exception. So that meant that any assault on a haven was to use it for its singular purpose Being unreachable and undetectable. Once the comm. links went offline even we had no idea where exactly the asteroid-veiled starbase was. The only certainty is that whatever this was, it was an inside job. Best case scenario, we have competitors. Worst case... is something I'd rather not dwell on. Character Picture or Description Vimrys Lord Korvel Username Raze