Prince of the Shattered Hells
Warlock/Turathi Highborn/Prince of Hell
HP: 155 AC: 34 Fort: 34 Ref: 42 Will: 43
Strength: 12 Constitution: 13 Dexterity: 12 Intelligence: 23 Wisdom: 10 Charisma: 29
Passive Insight: 22 Passive Perception: 22
Resist Fire: 32
At Will: Eldritch Blast, Spiteful Glamor, Darkspiral Aura, Warlock’s Curse
Encounter Attacks: Bolts of Bedevilment, All Must Sacrifice, Cursegrind
Daily Attacks: Thrall of Taurath, Diabolic Transformation, Thief of Five Fates, Curse of the Golden Mist, Delusions of Loyalty
Armor: Shadow Warlock Snakeskin Armor
Implement: Ranseur of Mephistopheles
Bael’aran is a direct decendant of Mephistopheles but never knew it until recently. Over ten thousand years ago, the illithids destroyed the metaverse with their super-weapon, this included the Nine Hells, torn asunder like the rest of the planes. Mephistopheles saw this before it happened and enacted a contingency. Planting his corrupted seed within a human woman prior to the devastation and using his own lifeforce to shield her from the destruction, Mephistopheles sacrificed himself to keep her alive. But this was not an act of good by an otherwise cruel archdevil. This was a means to further his own ends as archdevils do. He planed to have a son, a true son that would one day bring the Nine Hells back to glory. The woman survived the devastation and lived a full life, giving birth to a son who was no different than any other child, who in turn lived a full life and raised a son of his own. And so the cycle went, generation after generation the seed was passed down incubating within the lifeforces of countless generations of sons, always sons. All the while the shattered pieces of the Nine Hells went leaderless, the surviving devils were in complete turmoil. A new archdevil wasn’t something that gets elected or chosen. It was in the blood. Before he had even enacted the plan Mephistopheles knew it would take time, the birth of an archdevil was never a quick process and required many lifeforces. This process would go on and on for thousands of years before the seed would finally be able to emerge…and emerge it did. Aran was born! Once again the child was born without deformities and grew up in a small town on the players’ plane. When Aran was 6 years old he woke up in the middle of the night to see a 4 foot tall winged creature at the foot of his bed. Having never seen something so hideous in his life Aran was terrified. The imp merely looked at him, almost studying him, never threatening. The imp stared straight at him looking right into his soul. Aran was enthralled too terrified even to shout for help. Suddenly the imps eyes lit up, clearly he had seen something as a grim smile stretched across its scaly face. “Gheyr auk taul!” it said. And turned and flew away. Everyday and night since that night Aran had the feeling like he was being watched. No one believed him when he tried to tell them of what he saw. The Nine Hells were a myth after all, meant to scare children and apparently worked all too well on this child. No amount of telling himself he had been dreaming that night could convince himself, he knew what he saw and the creeping feeling of being watched progressively got worse. Occasionally he would even catch inhuman eyes watching him from the darkness. As Aran grew up the feelings worsened. Many a night he would wake to the hellish whispering of beings hiding in the shadows of his room often saying his name. He began discovering that these creatures (and by now he KNEW there was something there) began to interfere with his life, whispering words of darkness and magic in his ear at night so when he woke up all he could think of was dark thoughts and arcane symbols. It wasn’t long before he began studying the arcane and finding himself attracted to the darker side of magic. In studying ancient languages he uncovered a terrifying discovery. Those words “Gheyr auk taul” which had embedded themselves in his head since he was young (and even occationally heard them again at night in the whisperings from the dark) meant something…in Superial: the language of the devils. Translated literally they meant: “We found him!”. Aran had no idea what to make of that. It was a terrifying thought. These devils (and he was sure that they were now) had been searching for him and now they were keeping an eye on him all these years. But why! It wasn’t long before the answers started coming. Finishing his years at the academy (as well as his darker extra-curricular lessons) Aran wished to settle down in his small town and perhaps be an instructor at the academy. But the whispers in the shadows did not! The day he bought himself a house and put in his application of arcane education at the academy was the day Aran’s life ended… A great darkness fell over the town, unholy, unnatural darkness. One could not see farther than a few feet in front of them. But they could hear the screams. People in the small town were being slaughtered systematically. Buildings were razed and crops were obliterated. In a span of several minutes the entire town was gone…simply gone. The devils had finally found their archdevil…they were not about to let him “settle down”. One massive horned creature stepped out of the chaos brandishing a powerful looking mace, the size and ferocity of the creature was awe-inspiring. Aran closed his eyes waiting for the death that he would welcome after what had happened. But to his amazement and even disappointment, the beast fell to one knee and bowed his head in respect. Then raised it and spoke words that seared into Aran’s soul. “Greetings Bael’aran, the armies of the Shattered Hells are at your service.”
“I don’t want this! Any of this! Leave me be!” Aran screamed, and took off running. But no amount of running could get him away from the creatures. Every day and every night he could still feel them watching him, he could never hide from it.
Years went on this way, Aran learned to avoid civilizations for fear his entourage would feel it in his best interest to remove the “obstacle”. During these years the creatures followed him everywhere, sleepless nights were common as the terrible memories of his home town burning to the ground and the horrible dark winged creatures amongst the smoke. Anytime he was in trouble the creatures would leap from the darkness to come to his aid whether he wished it or not. Even suicide was impossible. Over these years the overwhelming presence of the evil creatures began to twist his own flesh to mirror theirs. His skin reddened, horns grew from his skill, a spiked tail protruded from his lower back. Dark and unholy powers began to manifest themselves within him. Power men can only dream of. Over and over the devils tried to put dark thoughts into his head, thoughts of even greater power and domination, all he would have to do was accept the throne of the Prince of Hell. But through his shear Will and determination, Aran, now called Bael’aran resisted all of these temptations. He refused to go down that path of evil. To keep his will strong, Bael’aran traveled the worlds performing good deeds, using his unholy powers for good rather than evil trying desperately to change the destiny woven before him. But the destiny has already been woven, it was only a matter of time…
Bael’aran is the mouth of the party, he has a way making people see things his way, whether through silver-tongued Diplomacy, brutal Intimidation, or if all else fails… mind-twisting Domination. Bael’aran has learned to use his dark heritage to bend the wills of his enemies in combat, turning them against each other or simply keeping them out of the fight. His dark powers of suggestion, and darker heritage have made him an untrusted member of an otherwise untrustworthy party.
Bael’aran has recently succumbed to the power and responsibility that is his birthright. However, he has only taken on the mantle of the Prince of the Shattered Hells in an attempt to recreate the place in HIS image, in the image of good and peace.
...at least this is his original intention, such power has a way of twisting the mind…