Vestalia

*"My Temple may be little more than an overgrown ruin. I may cling to the light of an all but forgotten god. But no matter how long or bleak the road ahead may seem; I know flame will illuminate my path forward."*

## History

Vestalia is a half-orc; born long ago during the ages of darkness on Golarion within a massive city-state called Admani. The City-State was founded after refugees first gathered around an eternal flame in *Earthfall's* initial fallout. With flame being intrinsic to Humanity's survival in an age of darkness; many came to worship Flame itself, and the protection and light it had to offer. Admani was founded upon worship of Feronia; a Diety of flame who was little known before the Age of Darkness began, and fell back into obscurity afterwards. But for a short time; her following on Golarion grew rapidly.

## Physical description

### Eye color

Brown

Vestalia lived within the city as one of Feronia’s most dedicated. She was one of her chosen embers; a handful of women who were chosen by the state as high-ranking priestesses and seers. They were the considered some of the Highest-ranking members of the State’s clergy, and the sole overseers of Feronia’s Hearth, a massive basin of flame nestled within her temple in the Capital’s bosom. Many believed the state of the flame represented the state of Admani as a whole; as It served as a burning symbol of hope for those living there. Life as a Nun was a peaceful one compared to the savage wilderness beyond the city walls; and Vestalia was happy devoting her life to the goddess of the hearth.

But as Vestalia grew older; tensions rose between the armies of her home kingdom and those neighboring it. The age of darkness had caused resources to become more scarce. Tensions were high as humanity squabbled over the last remaining pieces of land and resources. Vestalia did her best to pray; wishing guidance and warmth to the soldiers deployed to defend the state in battle. But after a long series of failed campaigns; prayer simply was not enough. Admani was beginning to crumble, and it was only a matter of time until the capital’s walls were tested against foreign steel.

In desperate need of guidance from the divine, one of the cities remaining Legate Commanders came seeking insight from Vestalia and the temple. Doing as instructed, she used the Temple’s massive central flame to commune with Feronia about the weeks to come. But the answers the

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 Legate received were not the hopeful ones he had hoped to receive. Instead, it was a forewarning of ruin. The walls would crumble in the following weeks. Blood would spill in the streets when enemy forces peaked the horizon. Feronia simply stating her power was not enough to protect them all from the forces that lie in wait.

The Legate was furious with this news. So much so, he outright refused to accept it. In an act of bullheaded rage and defiance, the Legate accused Vestalia of lying. Perverting the word of Feronia was an offence in the highest regard. Heresy. Offenders were destined to receive the worst punishments the state had to offer. Each case throughout Admani's history had been distinct; and brutal. Many heretics were left to die of either starvation or exposure; as the city took careful note of the example they had been made. With few Legate remaining to command the cities dwindling armies….none truly dared to challenge his accusation in court. Vestalia's fate was sealed by the defiance of a foolish Legionnaire.

She was publicly ridiculed in the final moments among her people. Onlookers swore, spit, and threw rotten food as the prison cart carried her from the courts, to the tomb destined for Feronia’s former Embers. The common folk were eager to blame a Scapegoat for the empire’s recent misfortune. As if it would bring them favor to punish the girl. Among the crowd, she saw only one sympathetic looking pair of eyes. The King’s court wizard, Marcellus, was nearby the awaiting tomb when she arrived, looking down from atop a carriage with a distraught look. He had always been rather fond of Vestalia, himself being one of the few men allowed on temple grounds in-between sanctioned holy days. (usually for government business.) He had often made advances toward Vestalia in private; even jokingly vowing to marry her on more than one occasion, once the 20-year Vow she had sworn to Feronia had reached its end. Those who tended the flame were expected to show complete and total devotion to the Goddess; but could legally marry after their duties to the state were fulfilled

Upon arrival she was tossed and drug about by guards to the Tomb’s awaiting mouth; where more onlookers stood nearby, ready with glass bottles, small stones, and anything disgusting they could manage to throw; including insults. Heretic. Liar. Whore. She had gone from a high priestess to the scum of the empire in the span of a week or so. Vestalia was stripped before the crowd as part of her punishment. First, she was made to remove her shoes, followed by her clothes, and even undergarments. However, the most distressing part of the experience occurred when the guard finally yanked the holy symbol from Vestalia’s otherwise bare neck. To her; it felt like whatever flame had burned within her was snuffed out. She hardly had time to contest the barrage of accusations and lies between sobs, before she was shoved backwards violently, into the awaiting stone tomb. Vestalia hit the ground hard after the short fall downwards. She could do little except curl into a ball; and try to whisper silent prayers as the rock was rolled back into place above her.

At first her prayers went unheard. Minutes turned to hours, as the sound of the crowd outside became replaced by a cold silence. Hours turned to days. Everything beyond that eventually became too hard to perceive, as without light, her only perception of time passing was how hungry she had grown.

The silence finally broke after an unknown amount of time, but long before she had the good fortune of starving or

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freezing to death. The distant sounds of battle echoed within the tomb from above. The city had been overrun. She took some small victory in the fact that they would know her prophecy’s truthfulness. Regardless; it did nothing to ease the tragedy and loss of the world as she knew it. The sounds slowly grew louder as she waited for an end to arrive, one way or another. Just before the sounds of boots and steel sounded as if they were directly above, Vestalia was surprised by a flash of brilliant light. It was the residual effect of a teleportation spell, but with her eyes milky and adjusted to total darkness, it was enough to blind her for a few minutes.

This ended up becoming a blessing in the end, as it spared her the sight of Marcellus leaking blood from a recently acquired stab wound. He had decided to abandon his loyalties for the sake of humanity in his final moments. With armies breaking down the walls, the ruler’s crown truly didn’t mean much to him anymore. Without words, Marcellus conjured the last bit of his magical energy and strength to cast his final prepared spell on the poor girl.

It was a stasis effect. He had used every other useful spell that day in futility; trying to help the royals escape. Marcellus would never forgive himself for that choice. But hopefully his last-ditch efforts would grant her a chance at survival; when the city was otherwise doomed. The tomb was remote, and her chances of being discovered here before things cooled off were quite low. Hopefully some nice archeologist would find her someday, he reasoned.  Find them both someday…

From Vestalia’s point of view, things happened rather quickly. She was very suddenly blinded, followed by the sounds of a short arcane incantation, muttered between coughs of blood, and the feeling of a cold hand grabbing her bare shoulder. It caused a numbing sensation to creep out from the point of contact rapidly, paralyzing Vestalia in place before she could even react. After the initial surprise passed, she didn’t resist, or even question it much; really. There was no more hunger to endure. No more pain for them both. Only a eerie silence to embrace, as Marcellus and Vestalia fell over limp.

The City burned down above Vestalia’s head; and time began to pass, as the rest of the world slowly began to forget the lone city-state of Admani. Events began to transpire elsewhere on Golarion. Aroden rose the Starstone from the sea. Cayden attained his Divinity on a drunken bet. Aroden fell. Iomadae rose to succeed him. Feronia fell into obscurity, with her chosen on Golarion nearly slain to the last. Countless empires rose and fell, only to have new ones rise and fall again upon the ashes where they once stood. The existence of Nearly everything Vestalia once knew were lost to the sands of time, as the indefinite stasis wore on. Her tomb only grew deeper as layers of ash and dust from time's onslaught piled on top of the tomb; until eventually the era of darkness subsided nearly a millennium afterwards. Grass eventually overtook the nearly unrecognizable remains of the temple ruin.

Things there were peaceful for a long while;. Until the formation of Nibiru began to take shape upon Phymecli’s passing. The surges of primal magic that accompanied the Continent’s creation were more than enough to disrupt the underpinnings of Marcellus’s spell; and upheave the earth in which Vestalia

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was buried as the continent suddenly formed. Vestalia awoke among an overgrown ruin, after 8,820 years of darkness and displacement.

The Half-Orc crawled from the pile of rubble still nude; into the pouring rain of a midsummer afternoon, completely alone in the overgrown forest sanctuary. She looked to the skies and wept. Though Vestalia still didn’t truly understand the gravity of the situation; or what the hell had even happened to lead her to this place. She reasoned, perhaps this was Feronia’s mercy. To be reborn anew, Like a phoenix from the flames…

For a long while afterwards Vestalia lived along among the quiet ruin; learning to live harmoniously with nature, and protecting what was left of her temple. She was even fortunate enough to find some old armor and weaponry from the tombs adjacent to hers. Armor and weaponry bearing heraldry from her long gone home. She clings tight to those artifacts even now; as they are some of the only surviving artifacts of Admani's existence.

Vestalia was found wearing that same set of armor months later; by a group of adventurers trying to map the uncharted wilderness of Nibiru. She was discovered scavenging for food, totally alone for miles in every direction, and speaking a long dead language. Luckily for her; the adventurers on Nibiru had seen stranger things. After discovering she wasn’t alone in this new place; Vestalia was brought back willingly by the adventuring party; to the relative safety of Abrogail. Vestalia has been struggling to adapt to this “strange new world” ever since, still quite unaware of how long she was truly gone. Regardless; she strives to make the most of her second chance; working to rekindle Feronia’s flame on Golarion to it’s former glory.

## Appearance

Vestalia is a half-orc of impressive musculature and stature, often found sporting a set of scavenged armor from her ruined temple; that had evidently been repaired with magic. Though she lived after earthfall had wiped the Azlanti out, Her facial features revealed a prominence of Azlanti heritage somewhere in her bloodline, Including a slight purple tinge to Vestalia's eye color. What stands out about her the most is likely Vestalia's unusual sense of style, sometimes beckoning back to the queer dress of centuries past. She also still struggles with modern languages, often speaking in a highly antiquated version of Common, or in long dead languages, such as Thessalonian and High Azlanti.

## Friends

Biro - "The inkeep is a splendid person. He let's me stay at a reasonable rate. And doesn't mind my accent!"

## Aspirations

To rebuild Feronia's hearth in the most faithful recreation Vestalia can muster. It will just take some hard work. And a few thousand pounds of white marble.....