Priscila Saethe

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### Affiliation

Zhentarim, Church of Cyric, Church of Eilistraee, Church of Loviatar, Church of Shar, Church of Mask, Church of Bane, Church of Iyaktu Xvim, Church of Leira

## Physical description

### Eye color

Left eye: WhiteRight eye: A false eye made from pure amethyst, it has the mark of Leira

### Skin color

Ashen Grey

**Priscila Saethe** is a Drow Paladin, played by Mikel Barrenechea.

## **Intro**

The drow had a strange look in her eyes, or eye in this case, as she entered the Church of Cyric. We had thought this place sufficiently hidden from prying eyes, yet here she was.

The guards readied their weapons, pointing the ends of their halberds at her neck. All the while she was still smiling; a strange ecstatic glint in her eye.

"You dare trespass upon our sacred ground?!" the guard yelled.

Her expression didn't change, even with the halberd's edge on her neck.

"My, my, what a lovely church you've built in the name of our lord, Cyric!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "Might I join you in prayer?"

The guards, the priests, and me myself, were all left dumbfounded. It was surprising enough she found this place on her own, even more so the fact she was *excited* to join us in prayer.

"S-Sure, come, sit over here..." I beckoned, pointing to the empty space beside me.

She hurriedly knelt down, and brought out a strange skull. It was made of pure obsidian, and on its forehead was the symbol of our lord Cyric; the Dark Sun. She began reciting the prayers, some of which even I, as the head priest, had yet to memorize. All the while, the skull she had brought out began glowing faintly.

I didn't notice it at first, but she had many more strange trinkets on her person. There was a statuette of what I'd assume was a drow woman, her gauntlet had the unmistakable print of Bane's hand, her eye patch was made to mimic the mark of Mask, and her ring had the symbol of Shar.

"You seem to have quite a few gods you answer to..." I stated, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Ah, so you too know of my lords?" she replied, a warm smile forming on her face, "Yes, lord Cyric is not the only one I am devoted to."

She turned to face the skull once again, but instead of prayer she remained silent, a forlorn look in her eye.

"I've been part of quite a few faiths, some less than appealing, and some that have spoken to me...None more so than Lord Cyric."

She returned her gaze to me, though there was a hint of something in that smile of hers. She then brought the skull to her ear, as if listening to some unheard whispers.

"Yes...Yes I am aware he's our mark...I simply felt the need to see if his soul really was worthy of your presence..." she said, almost as if she had forgotten that she was in a room of devout followers.

She stood up and then drew her rapier, it's black metal almost absorbing the light all around it, and pointed it at me; her warm smile still on her face. The guards and the priests headed towards us, weapons drawn and ready.

"We serve under Father Vaus, and you shall not lay a single finger on him!" the guard exclaimed.

The woman then turned to face the guard as she stood up, still holding up the skull beside her ear.

"So, shall I start with this one? Yes...His soul does look like a rather beautiful specimen..."

In the blink of an eye, she had thrust her black rapier through the guards chest. Pulling out her blade, I could hear a faint hum coming from it as the blood seemed to seep into the blade. The slaughter that followed was too much for me to bear; even as I fled to the inner sanctum, I could still hear the cries of the other priests and guards.

Once I reached the door, I began unlocking it. Though, I should have expected that one such as her would've caught up to me in no time. It felt strange, the bolts that pierced through my shoulder. There was no pain, only fear.

The woman was standing by the archway behind me, her hand crossbow having freshly unloaded 4 bolts into my back, with a malicious smile on her face.

"Vaus, your days of stealing from our...no...my lord have come to an end." she stated, the unmistakable killer intent in her voice, "You can thank Brother Ionos for bringing your corruption into light."

She tossed Ionos' head towards me, and it landed with a thud at my feet. There was a look of utter panic on his face, and his cold dead eyes stared into mine.

"A shame that he wasn't aware of your mark on him." she continued, grinning mischievously.

"Y-You're the one I hired?" I asked, rummaging my through my memory to see if i could remember her name; anything at this point to save my life.

She simply shrugged as she chuckled softly.

"Yes, I am Priscila Saethe..." she replied, "And you, Father Vaus, are about to be a very dead heretic. Perhaps you'll find forgiveness in the arms of Lord Cyric?"

She walked closer, kicking Ionos' head aside. Whether it was out of desperation or instinct, I let loose a spell. It hit her face dead on, and knocked her back towards the archway. A moment passed, then seconds, then minutes; she lay there, still and seemingly lifeless. Her trinkets lay strewn about and the cloth that covered part of her face lay on the ground beside me, surprisingly unmarked.

I brought myself up to my feet, taking a moment to catch my breath.

"H-Ha! You though Lord Cyric would favor one such as yourself?!"

What was I doing, I thought to myself. I needed to run, to get out of here.

"Yes, I was the one stealing from our *almighty* god! And the fact I could do it so long goes to show I am *better* than some imaginary being!"

I now found myself laughing, both out of fear, shock, confusion, and pride. Suddenly, I could hear it; the sound of another's laughter. I looked around, trying to see if she had brought any unseen company. That's when i noticed it. The faintest movement of the chest showed that she was still breathing.

Priscila stood up slowly, and turned her gaze towards me. The side of her face hidden by the cloth was now in full view; the scars that riddled it were untouched by my spell, and the amethyst that rested in her eye socket was staring right through me.

"I've changed my mind, Vaus." she said, laughing with almost maniacal glee, "I suppose lord Cyric will be rather upset with me about this, but I've decided your soul is simply unworthy of his grace!"

She took one step closer, unleashing a bolt into my knee.

"In fact, *none* of my gods want your pitiful, disgusting soul..." she continued, "So...I think I'll simply send you into the void."

In one final movement, she unloaded one last bolt into my heart. The world began fading to black, and all I could see in my final moments was that woman walking away, with nothing if not the biggest smile of satisfaction on her face.

## **Description**

### **Appearance**

Priscila looks like any typical drow; ashen black skin, snow white hair and a lone white eye. The right side of her face is riddled with numerous scars, and under the black satin wrap is a fake eye made of pure amethyst, with the distinct symbol of Leira etched into it.

### **Personality**

Priscila is very devoted to her gods, so much so that some might mistake her for a crazed fanatic; while they wouldn't be far off to assume so, as her stalwart faith is brought about by both dissatisfaction with previous faiths and a rather tumultuous past that had left her mind somewhat broken. Despite her partially addled mind, she has a knack for sensing doubt and worries in others, whether they show it or not, and she claims she can see through the eye that Leira had bestowed upon her.

She has quite a few gods and deities she follows, some assume that she's been part of all faiths in Faerûn, but the ones that she overtly follows are Cyric, Shar, Bane, Eilistraee, Loviatar, Mask, Iyachtu Xvim, and Leira. She will usually procure "donations" as alms to her gods from those her gods deem in need of their grace; whether she can actually commune with them through her trinkets and baubles, none can say. Her penultimate form of offering to her gods comes in the form of the souls of victims she slays, usually picking "unique specimens" to send to her gods.

## **Biography**

(Feel free to add/remove/edit sub-section titles of your character's Biography as you see fit. The three subsections below are just examples.)

### **Early life**

Being a female drow born in the city of Menzoberranzan, Prscila was first brought up under the teachings of the Church of Lolth. Starting from an early age, she faced the trials one had to face just to be a priestess of Lolth. While those who took up the mantle died all around her, she alone persevered, in hopes of finding comfort in the faith to the Spider Goddess.

This was brought about due to the harshness she experienced in her own family; she was a bastard child, and being such in a noble family was almost akin to a death sentence. While it looked as if her family had sent her to the Church of Lolth as her calling, it was more in the hopes that the initiation would kill her in the process.

In the end, she became one of Lolth's devout sisters, but even that soon lost it's effect on her. Priscila felt alone once more; perhaps, even lonelier than before, knowing that she was never meant to survive the ordeal of the Church of Lolth.

She attempted an escape one night, only narrowly leaving with her life. Though, as she ran from the city, at the tender age of 70, she found herself lost, alone, and helpless in the Underdark. She wandered for quite some time until she stumbled upon a band of exiles, living off the harsh land. There, they took her in as one of her own, and taught her the ways of Eilsitraee, the first of many gods that struck accord with her.

She learned of the surface world, and of the moon's incandescent glamour and the sun's harsh beauty; of a time when the drow resided in the surface, above the Underdark. She learned of pleasure's she never experienced back in Menzoberranzan; of dance, drink, and of peace. Though, even this was not meant to last.

On one of their moves, the band of exile's had been surrounded by surface slavers. Those who resisted were slain, and those who submitted were taken away; Priscila was one of them. Once again, she found herself surrounded by death as she watched those she came to know die all around her. Eventually, after the slavers were satisfied with their haul, not without "testing" their newly acquired goods, they headed for the surface.

### **Life as a slave**

In the surface world, Priscila was soon bought by a brothel owner in the city of Cathyr. There, she was exposed to the cruelty of the surface world; some of which would shadow her time in Menzoberranzan. There, her only solace was the pale moon she'd see every night, a reminder of her exiled companions and their goddess, Eilistraee.

One evening, she overheard a group of prostitutes talking in the room beside her. They had planned to sneak out at night and head to somewhere. When the time came, she shadowed the two into what looked like an abandoned shanty at the outskirts of the city. As she approached, she could hear the sound of cracking whips and screams of both pleasure and pain; not something unusual for one from the brothel. Shadowing the two, she came upon a group of men and women, circling a group of people who were tied up and gagged.

Priscila recognized their faces; the ones of the brothel workers, and of the customers who were gagged, the look of panic on their faces. She watched as one of the workers took a nine-tailed whip from her companion and lashed out at one of the bound people.

Tears began welling up in the worker's bruised eyes, a look of anger and sadness painted on her face. All the while, Priscila didn't notice the woman walking up behind her. She placed a hand on her shoulder, which made Priscila let out a scream of surprise.

"Hush child..." the woman said. She was another of the workers at the brothel, one of the more popular ones at that, "You're about to bear witness to the grace granted to us by the Willing Whip..."

She motioned for Priscila to continue watching. With each crack of the whip, the expression of defiance on the bound noble and the melancholic prostitute changed; switched almost.

"I'm sure you know of Sir Monague..." the woman said, "He and his...violent...tendencies favored poor Illicara there...But, through the grace of Loviatar...She can exact revenge and make sure he never lays a finger on her again."

Priscila looked on, seeing the look of satisfaction on Illicara's face, and the look of utter defeat on Monague's. She remembered her time in the Underdark; of how many times she wished she could exact her vengeance on her family, on the slavers who kidnapped her from her home, and on the patrons who used and abused her.

The woman handed the young Priscila a nine-tailed whip, one with the symbol of Loviatar emblazoned on the grip. With a smile on her face, the woman urged Priscila to exact her vengeance.

### **Freedom**

Well into her early 100's, Priscila had become quite well known in the brothel she worked at, nobility and commoners, men and women alike would seek her out. Every now and then, the occasional patron would get too rowdy, and strangely go missing the next day. But none were able to implicate her; or perhaps, none wanted to.

It was one fateful night that granted her freedom. A severe thunderstorm had hit the city of Cathyr, and a stray bolt of lightning hit the brothel. While patrons and prostitutes chose to flee, Priscila saw this as her chance to finally be free; the teachings of both Eilistraee and Loviatar stirring her on. She stayed near one of the windows that faced the port, waiting until the building started crumbling around her; she had one shot to either live with her past behind her, or burn into nothingness.

When the first banister fell, Priscila prayed fervently to her two gods; if not to keep her safe, to at least calm her nerves. A second banister cracked, this one much closer to her. Her praying grew even more fervent now. When she heard the a third one crack, she began climbing out the window. But, even then, fate was not kind. Another bolt of lightning struck, and sent a fourth banister crashing down onto her. While it threw her out the window, it did so not without severely maiming her in the process.

She soon felt herself slowly slipping away; the cold water of the bay of Cathyr did nothing to stop the pain her body felt. As she faded out of consciousness, she could see the brothel ablaze, with nothing but the name still in tact; The Night Mother's Den.

### **Of Illusions and Lies**

"Captain, you ought to see this!" the ship hand yelled, pointing out onto the horizon

### **Character B**

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## **Character Information**

### **Magic Items**

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Spoiler Warning:

* DDEXXX-XX - Character A literally killed with kindness by unknowingly offering food that the BBEG is allergic to.
* DDEXYY-YY - Character A died after failing a constitution save from kinky choking.