Kain, Shadow of Ravenloft

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Basic Information

Name: Kain
Alias: 'The Shadow Of Ravenloft'
Gender: Male
Race: Borovian Human
Age: Early to mid thirties
Profession: Unknown
Languages: Barovian Human, loose common and gnoll.
Accent: Barovian, very similar to old world carpathian.

Physical Information
Height: 6'4 ft
Weight: 16 st
Body build: Heavy built due to his height yet slender.
Skin type: Rough, scarred.
Hair style: Long, loose and unkempt
Scars: Littered in ceremonial scars to save his sould from 'the dark powers'.
Tattoos: An abyssal inscription surrounded by a ring of thorns seems to permanently bleed upon the centre of his chest. On his wrists and ankles lie fiery red and orange, rune emblazoned shackles.

Colouring:

Hair: White, dyed with flecks of red gore
Eyes: An unnatural light red
Skin: Pale white.

Mental Information
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Philosophy: "One cannot escape the unfettering tyranny of the stars".
Deity/Beliefs: Morgion/ Death is something none can escape but Undeath is inevitable.

Personality:

Secretive: He remains solitary, study and training being his only bind. These things he will share with no-one.
Charismatic: Though scarred and tattooed there is an aura of sheer charisma and fear about him.
Independant: Surviving his whole life in Zeidenberg, a settlement within the domain of Barovia, he grew up a survivor with no 'parents' to call his own becoming a very independant soul.
Manipulative: He's learned that sometimes fighting is not always the way to acquire things, therefore he learned to maniplute weaker individuals either through false promises or intimidation.
Bloodthirsty: Ravenloft has taken its toll on him and, as a result, he lives for battle.

Character build: Level 27 Witchking


Additional Information
Gear: A suit of ancient armour, probably discovered in a barrow or tomb. His blade sparks with unusually dark powers akin to black electricity. A borovian cloak, bloodstained and worn but somehow personal to him.
Jewelry: On his right hand he bears a ring with his family crest on it, a blood drop with a burning rune within it.
General Health: Seemingly frail for his age yet no less effective in battle.
Weaknesses: Astral transitioning appears to drain his strength. This could be due to the shackles on his wrists.

Kain was born an orphan in the settlement of Zeidenberg of the Barovian domain of Ravenloft, the demi plane of dread. His father was killed in the wilds whilst hunting and his mother died during childbirth. A neighbouring family reluctantly took him in and raised him as a farm hand, where upon he aided the family in defending the cattle and tending to the infertile fields under the watchful eye of castle Zarovich.
His life seemed simple, though he lived in fear of the mists of Ravenloft, as all did and he willingly accepted this family as his own, knowing that his own parents had died. However, upon him mid teens he discovered a festering power within him that forced the village to exile him into the mists, they believing him to be a devilish cohort of Strahd Von Zarovich. For years he attempted to hide this power, the 'Dark Power' his kin referred to it as, and survived the horros of Ravenloft as best he could, sheltering in desolate caverns or ruined homes.
Until one day he was set upon by a group of cultists who worshipped Strahd as a deity. They uncovered his powers and tattooed enchanted shackles onto his wrists and ankles, believing that they could capture the power he possessed for their own use. For a year he was tortured by his captors, driven half insane, his soul weakening as he slipped into chaos. Finally, he snapped, Hellfire surging from his body, incinerating his captors as the bindings upon his wrists grew hot, seething with fire and breaking, morphing into burning shackles etched with abyssal runes that coursed dearing energy through his veins. This relentless enregy that never ceased tormented him to the point of death, this once good natured boy now a cruel and tormented man with a lust for battle so he might once again feel 'human'.
Eventually he found his way out of the mists, some years later, and found himself in Sigil, the city of doors. But all know that once the mists of Ravenloft have marked you with their wretched taint, they will find you and drag you back into their icy clutches.

(( Disclaimer: The illustration used is an example of Kain, any rights are reserved by the artist and associations who own the copyright to said illustration))

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Kain's blade howled through the air, the spirit trapped within it screeching for sweet release as it rended into its foe, him in turn wailing in agony and terror as the towering warrior in a worn blackened plate with cruel ornaments comprised of skulls, bone and ancient metal insignias and runes relentlessly and skillfully cleaved into his armour. Kain's face, though concealed by a helm of evil design glowing with a deep purple ebb of necromantic energy, wrinkled with a maniacal laugh, the bellow resounding through his helmet as his foe failed to deflect each blow, his blade of hatred felling the opponent with a cough of blood and a seeping of liquids that poured from the multitude of wounds that cut him asunder, his body slumping to the cold, wet cobbled ground.

As the body lay motionless, wrapped in a blanket of its own gore, Kain pierced the things heart with his wicked blade, a black energy manifesting the corpse like a shround of mist. He leaned down to it and with one finger etched a rune onto its forehead, burning with abyssal power until abruptly the flesh, muscle and organs erupted into a great mass of fire only quelling when all had gone but the bones.
The Blade then responded further, the spirit trapped within shrieking in manic tones, coursing through the blade as the skeletal appirition before him began twitching, moving, animating itself until the blade was removed.

This horror slowly, meticulously raised to its feet, retrieving its weapon from the ground, its charred bones and armour rattling as it moved, Kain standing as it did so. Suddenly it fell silent, watching Kain with deep eyesockets which revealed no emotion, like a sentinel awaiting instruction. Kain sheathed his blade on his back, crossing his arms across his chest as he inspected the cruel being of undeath and nodded slightly to himself speaking in a harsh, rugged Barovain accent,

"Yeu serve me".

The undead creature did not respond, it simply stared further more, gripping its halberd with boney fingers, its body wreathed in ash and smoke which smoldered with the very essence of the nine hells. Red burning eyes peered from within his chaotic helm, regarding the villages streets monetarily before he drew closer to his servant and, in dark tones of demonic orgin, he chanted. Black misted, choking the ash that permeated from the remains of his sentinel, enthralling the pair as the tendrils of this icy cold substance mingled with the heat from the smoldering undead until both vanished from sight, all evidence of this murderous act erased and the streets went silent once more.

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Kain sat beside the now bloodsoaked shrine dedicated to the Elder Elemental God, opening a snuffbox comprised of bone with rusted metal hinges as his cruel blade rested upright against the edifice. Dipping his index finger into the brown powder that lay within he raised it to his nostril and inhaled deeply, coughing slightly until the narcotic kicked in. Looking to the corpses of the cultists that lay strewn across the marble ground, soaked in layers of their own gore, he laughed bashing his hand against his plated greaves, amused by the torment he'd wrought.

Soon enough the drug had took its full effect as confidently he pulled a pale leather tome of some proportions from his pack, laying it on the centre of the altar, looking out to a seperate shrine that sat before the former, lower in height and less elaborate. Upon it lay the fresh corpse of a female, stripped and etched with devilish runes which seared with unholy powers ebbing a wicked and deep red tone that filled the dimly lit room. He turned the pages of his tome, tracing his fingers across several exerps, laughing to himself as he did, crazed by the ritual he was to perform.

His deep, bellowing voice echoed through out the halls of the Elder Elemental Gods temple, his voice distorted to a howling, demonic tone as the body before him began twitching, almost animating as the skeleton had before. It was different this time, the skin remained untainted, clean and pure, her form glowing with hellfire as the runes etched upon her shifted and rippled with the heat yet not burning the owner of these sigils.

Suddenly the corpse animated, Red wings tearing from its back, her appearence distorting to that of an Erinyes, A fallen angel dragged from the hells itself. It's terrifying gaze met Kain's relentless stare as he shouted,

"Erinyes! Speak unto me yeur name!"

The fallen angel faltered not under the commanding voice of her summoner, regarding the scene about her with a lustful stare. Her lips quivered as her eyes met Kains once more, silently, reluctant to speak.

"Tell me now or ae shall send yeu back to ze' pit from vence yeu came!"

"Some call me Synn, others call me Mass'yn'ara"

Her voice spoke in soft tones, like that of a deceptive angel seeking something more unholy than her voice might suggest, holding her hips in defiance as Kain spoke,

"Ae have summoned yeu, yeu shall serve me or ae vill damn yeu to ze' depths"

"You did this?"

She asked him, gesturing about the blooded scene which welcomed her release from the hells. Kicking one of the corpses she smiled to herself then nodded to Kain,

"I will serve you, for a time. But you must give me something in return, you know the ritual. I want souls, the souls of many and, judging by that blade you weild, you can provied"

Finally Kain nodded in return, closing his book and laughing with her as he walked down the hall towards her, holding his hand out to which she took willingly,

"Zen ve' have a deal"

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

"Ze mists? Yeu ask me about ze' mists?"

Kain sighed as his head shook, his gauntleted fingertips pounding against the door as he stood within its threshold, couling a chain about his other hand. His eyes shimmered with red, unfeeling powers while his brow curled into a frown, blockened lips coursing with deep puple veins throbbing as he spoke,

"Ae vas born in Zeidenberg, a small settlement vis'in Barovia, ruled by ze' darklord Strahd Von Zarovich. Ve' vitnessed ze' passing of few adventurers and even fewer remained. Ve' alvays varned zem never to venture from ze' town at night, but nain listened and zey ver consumed by ze' mists never to be seen again. As caravans of travellers passed through our midst ve' could do nos'ing but turn zem avay for Ravenloft gave nos'ing to us, our lands ver near infertile and zere were many mouths to feed. It almost feels like a grim memory to me, as if home were a prison from vhich ae could not escape, tomented by ze' horrors zat lurked vis'in ze' shadows of zat damned plane."

His eyes wandered to the candle that burned in the desk before him as the intruigued individual that sat before him rested her hands upon her fists, knuckles white with interest as she awaited the Barovian's escilating tale.

"Ae recall my step-broz'er's screams as he fled to ze' home during ze' daylight hours. He told us a tale of some curse zat' rested in ze' swamps in ze' outskirts of our home, a desolate place of death, the fallen rising back from ze' dead to roam ze' lands, serving zei'r master, Strahd. He spoke of hs he had seen a whole caravan burned out, ze' inhabitants murdered and zei'r belongings left to rot. He brought vis him an ancient blade of chaotic powers, evil in intent and wholly cruel in design, noz'ing zat ve recognized as Barovian in design. My foster-faz'er held it for many days, just staring at ze' cruel thing until eventually, fearing his sanity gone, he threw it back into ze' swamps and instructed us never to venture our of ze' village again.
Years later I found ze' blade and it vas exactly as I recall it."

The Barovian sheathed the wicked construct from a scabbard on his back, a great blade of swirling black powers that rippled as if distroted in this different plane, the faint screams of those to have fallen to its might echoing throughout the hollow chamber, a dull, numbing sound of sheer horror. It was evident to the woman before him that this weapon was not of good, his tale true as the weapon rippled with eldritch and she knew that this blade was no simple, evil tool, but was bound to Kain, inextrucibally.
She ceased the conversation, cowering in the corner of her home as the giant of a man approached her, an Erinye's lingering at the doorway where he once stood as he advance slowly, meticulously towards her.

"Yeu see, zis blade requires souls, it feeds off zem and guess vat little lady? It needs yeur soul"

His Maniacal laugh resounded through the tiny chamber, filling his victims ears as he lurched towards her....She knowing that this man was no mere man, but a wicked, cruel and unholy empitomy of the demi plane of dread.

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

"Over time I watched the Shadow of Ravenloft slip into the depths of evil. I gazed in fear as the life in his eyes was sapped from them, as the fires of the nine hells seethed within them with a heightened intensity, chaos and madness painted within the hellish embers. His skin became that of ivory, stained with the taint of the demi plane of dread itself, his lips and surrounding, becoming a colourless black whilst veins of purple energy burst from his skin, surrounding his mouth and pulsing through his temples."

"The man that could have been was destroyed, lost to the madness of Ravenloft as his presence grew so intense, so unnearthly that it left a sensation of despair in his wake which lingered like death. His voice, once a calm and soothing tone, lost this glamour. He spoke yet the words did not sound like those conjoured by the form before you, it seemed distant, like a trembling echo in the dark that rung words of terror while a constant black entity wrapped its feral arms about him, a mist that seemed to be conjured from nothing."

"So changed was this creature that his teeth had been been sharpened to fine points and his fingernails followed suit, carved with diabolic runes of unknown origins that permeated a fiery red glow, embuing him with burning hands which seared his foes yet was cold to his allies. It was evident that this man did not draw his power from the nine hells, nor from and fey or Unseelie. A learned scholar would only be able to feel 'The Dark Powers', the very same powers that controlled the mists of Ravenloft, diluted within him, but none the less evident."

"And so it is I conclude my account of Kain Von Zeidenberg with but a few last words. Whatever the source of his power, whatever ill place this creature was borne from, it is true enough that while he draws his power from the mists of the demi plane of dread he shall be without a soul, without feeling, without love or compassion, he will merely be a servitor to those powers and soon enough he will be dragged back to the realm from whence he came"

Written account of Zanidine 'Quickstep', Trader.

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

The Guardian of Utopia

The Book of Utopia, The Shaper seeks it, he needs it to reach paradise and, were it not through intervention from the Indeps he might have obtained it. It is such a pity, to think that a man who once desired so much and, from what I have been informed, strived so hard to acquire a means to reach this paradise is now reduced to hunting the bearer of this cursed tome. I'll recollect a few of the details, so I do not lose you.

Some cutter, a woman of ill descript, ran into the bazaar screaming, screaming of some events underway in the Lady's ward, an array of noises emerging from some deceased nobleman's manor. Naturally Hildmor d'Kridis intervened and suggested a few of the indeps, including himself, investigated 'on behalf' of the Harmonium and, though I cannot say I trusted in his intentions, I was selected as a part of this investigation.

Upon reaching the manor we discovered the door blown open, as if something had attempted to escape, though I ignored this for Hildmor had requested I investigate the main hall before anyone were to enter, convenient for him should I have met my demise, but fortunately only a few Slaad stood in our way to which Fargul, I and Ymerion managed to despatch as rapidly as they had appeared. This allowed a careful investigation into the manor.

Needless to say, while Hildmor, Fargul and two other individuals were occupied investigating some side room, I amd Ymerion were fortuitous enough to evade chaos in the Lady's ward by ceasing the ritualistic activites of a few Beholders who had seen it fit to conjure the very mists of Ravenloft to unlock the secrets of the tome I discovered, The Book of Utopia. Naturally, being familiar with the powers at work, I set it upon myself to investigate this book only to become eternally bound to the object, cursed with it and, the secrets of this tome, I shall not reveal here for the specifics are too delicate even for my own scrawlings

So now the Shaper hunts his only means into paradise, Me. One day I shall meet this man again after our encounter in that manor where he 'helpfully' informed myself and Ymerion that to investigate further was fruitless and 'beyond our capabilities'. After having Shadowsworn attempt to assassinate myself and Taz I must admit to my curiousity over the intentions of the Shaper before this book came into my possession..Did he intend this? Is he hoping to sway me to join him so we both might experience paradise? I believe future events shall unravel the mystery surrounding the book of Utopia, Myself and The Shaper.

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Castle Ravenloft



Never again did I believe I would see this looming epitaph to terror, a nightmare within nightmares, so vast that insanity or death are the only means of escape. The mists found me again, for sometime, after initially escaping to Sigil, The Demi-plane of dread wrapped its icy tendrils about me and dragged me back to my home. This time, however, circumstances were vastly improved on my part for the Book of Utopia was my companion, a means to which I could not be consumed by those who wished me dead.

You see, after some months surviving the horrors of Ravenloft, I was eventually granted an audience with the 'respected' darklord of Barovia, Strahd Von Zarovich. His castle was certainly a sight to behold and, as gloomy as the tales tell, I discovered it quite inviting which disturbed me greatly for there could have been no earthly reason who Strahd would have allowed me an audience lest he wish to eternally torment me for the loss of his love, a 'hobby' to which he enjoyed greatly, the taking of an individual and testing their fortitude just to amuse his sorry soul.

And it is at this point you will, no doubt, be asking, Why should I wish an audience with Strahd? I'll reveal the point directly. You see, upon my discovering the Book of Utopia, I noticed a close connection with the work at hand in that manor and the very Dark Powers that make Ravenloft what it is. Now, I am no theologist, astrologist nor quantum theorist but what I can relate is the source of this power which, as would be natural for a learned individual, lead me to believe that this book and Ravenloft are one in the same.

I shall not tire you with the intricacies of Castle Ravenloft for it is the words of Strahd that hold more weight that the details of his 'lair'. He fixated me with a compelling gaze as I entered some forgotten chamber within the construct, a stare I shall never forget which, upon me explianing to him the details of Utopia, morphed to that of interest for, in a moment of respite from his mere presence, he began divulging a few truths he had learned in his lengthy existance. The vast majority of his words held no interest, truths I already knew, but what did strike me was how he described a certain key, something that I had previously over looked.

You see, many millenia ago when Strahd was still mortal an entity had plaqued Barovia, a creature that had been unleashed upon the realm for no clear intention. People saw it as a curse after his brother, Sergei, had come to visit the 'new' count, others saw it as a prophesy, but Strahd knew that a key must have existed to allow this thing to enter Barovia. This key was likely to be The Book of Utopia, or an accidental misuse of its knowledge which drew directly from the mists and happened to release something from the planes.

For years after the count studied the creatures behavior, it's method (All this being after his ascention to vampirism) and discovered it was a fugitive from Sigil. Just as he was close to finalizing his research reports of this entity had ceased and, it seemed, the terror was no more in Barovia. For my conclusion words played within my mind as I hurriedly left the sanctity of the count and one word, most of all, stood out in my mind and, from this word alone, I knew what I had to do to acquire what I desired. This word was merely Hollow.

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Memory of mists

I, Kain von Zeidenberg, Guardian of Utopia have come to accept the inevitability of the dark powers that guide me. Even as I write this, looming over my journal in the recesses of Undersigil, I can feel those very powers surrounding me, taunting and tormenting my every waking hour. Like a whisper in the inky blackness they beckon to me, begging for me to return, goading me into seeking a means back to Barovia, to my ancestral home within the Balinok mountains, the town of Zeidenberg. But for what purpose? The dark powers have rewarded me, they set me free from my nightmare and permitted me respite from their horrors and yet, as compelling as this temption may be, I cannot allow myself to return until my efforts are complete.

"Why? Why must you continue? Cease this madness for I am not yet prepared!", I would find myself screaming out into the shadows, as if these powers were a palpable entity to which I could direct my frustration. Each time there was no retaliation, the silence that preceeded somehow frustrated me further for never did any answers to my questions return. With each passing day memories became clearer, now that my vision is not guided solely by the mists of Ravenloft, and I recall the tales of old my guardians had recited to me.

Memories of that decaying battlefield, not ten miles from the gates to Zeidenberg, where those who waged an eternal war had merely vanished into the mists. There were no graves to these fallen warriors for none of them lived even as they fought, guided by the powers of the Darklord Azalin, the Lich king who sought to utterly destroy Barovia and claim the doman as his own. I cannot say it was fortunate that Count Strahd Von Varovich succeeded in repelling this foe, but this hollow, desolate ruin of a landscape protrudes from these memories more prominently than any other. For this I cannot explain fully but I believe myself to be far from secure, the dark powers must be striving to manipulate my recollections, to 'guide' me to a means and cause.

The subtleties of other recollections are incomparable to those of direct memories, memories of my infantile apprehension of the dark powers this suffuse my very being, powers that, even unto this day, I cannot fathom the immensity nor prominence. However, my greatest fear is that these powers are attributed to the former, that somehow Azalin's war had created a reaction within me, a spark that connected my very soul with that of the Dark Powers. Should this be the case I cannot escape its torments for it is, in its inconcievable madness, a very part of myself.

The faces and voices of those to have passed in my time within the city of doors are but faint whispers, a candlelight within a mass of creeping darkness. These reflections of individuals, whom play no part in this saga, flit before my conciousness as a insect might before a lanturn, inconsistant and irrelivent. Count Strahd has given me the means to end this madness, though he told no truth in his own derived plot within Barovia.

Yet ceaseless are these taunts, a curse I must live with eternally, for the Book of Utopia offers me the same release as the dark powers...

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

The Shadow weave Infuser

Twas such an unusual sensation, standing within Utopia itself, hearing the voice of the Book of Utopia for the first time. I must admit to my shock when I learned this tome to be an entity, of sorts, one that had, up until now, remained silent. It was only when I attempted to delve deper into its hidden secrets that it deemed me worthy to learn the knowledge it held. It's very being, as it informed me, is a collective memory of its previous masters all of which managed to tap into the hidden powers I have managed to unlock.

The book dragged me into Utopia itself and, to my surprise, I saw this plane was in ruins, a dead world with nothing but ash and burning gauges in the dead earth, obviously nothing more than layer upon layer of hot ash. The tome divulged much as I stood, gazing out into that which The Shaper deems as paradise, and as we conversed it told me of what I must do. However, the means to which I can accomplish this, as it orchestrated to me with a 'visual' aid, will be, for the most part, agonizing and will no doubt end my life, until the tome brings me back that is.

After the tome conveyed the ritual to which I shall absorb its power I awakened in Sigil once more after what seemed to be nothing more than a nightmare, but the agony I felt when it fed its power into me was as real as any sensation I had ever experienced. It had bound me, revealed to me the true agony I was to experience during this revelation. But oh, even now I can feel I am close to becoming more than just a man. The book of Utopia is indeed a boon, not a curse.

But I stray, concerning my emotions in this journal as a pose to facts. There is, unfortunately, one matter that I must attend to before I can truly benefit from that which it conveyed to me. I must gather a number of resources, resources that will permit the engineering of a device. Fortunately the task would not take so long as I knew exactly where to find them.

Fortunately I have the means to collect resources it requires for me to engineer a machine, a machine that will allow me to infuse my own body with the Shadowweave but in return it wishes for me to cause nothing but anguish. A task I shall willingly pursuit.
These items it instructed me to find were, after contacting a few individuals, easier to locate than I had formerly imagined. The items are as follows:

10 Weapons or armours of Steel, to which must be smelted down,
2 pieces of adamantine, which must also be smelted and
5 vials of Devil blood.

However, there is but one last task to complete. Once this is done I can begin my true purpose. For this I shall employ the use of my study, expanding it by some amount, and have a sentry of mercenaries guard the location to which I shall conceal behind an illusionary wall. What I must do, what I am destined to complete, being the master of the Book of Utopia, is to create this machine....The Shadowweave Infuser

[*Beth'aya 'Starshine']

Jilly, Innocence lost

Even now, as I sit within my laboratory scribing these words, I can see the look of sheer terror upon that little girls face, I can hear her screams for mercy as she cried out until the very final breath was released from her innocent lips as my blade pierced her heart. I felt no mercy for the weak child, I care not that Hildmor and Vale had rescued her from a fire within Sigil, she was an easy kill, young and without taint, the perfect catalyst to ensure my ascendance. I did what was neccessary to acquire the blood of an innocent to fuel the Shadowweave infuser.

However, I had not managed to fully cover my tracks, a foolish mistake on my part that shall not be made a second time. I curse myself for having made the mistake of not concealing the nature of my eldritch so one might not scry into its origins. But still this matters not. Though that fool of a measure, Kordiva, wishes a report on her desk concerning my location at the time of her death, not that I concern myself, for Hildmor has the means to secure my innocence in this matter.

Curse that fool Fargul, he should not have reacted as he did. That has, for certain, secured his fate. The weakminded drunkard, defending those poor orphans to which have no cause nor purpose, only one of similar mindset would even conceive the notion of defending such taints on power. But this is of no matter, in time he shall see differently, he shall come to realize my absolute power when the machine is ready, when the Unseelie and I have made our pact and I can continue my work without the watchful gaze of Her Lady.

I shall write this in utter confidence. For Fargul's mistake I shall not exact my revenge upon him directly, but for every move he even considers against me I shall kill a child, an orphan to which he seeks to protect. This in its own right shall illustrate a clear picture to him, He shall watch as 'his' children suffer and I laugh at their cries of utter terror when their souls are trapped within my blade until required to raise an army to trample the planes.

But all in good time, for now I must lay low for awhile. Whilst I do so I shall visit a few 'Allies' and procure more men, more corpses to raise and fuel my ever expanding army.