Retainer to St. Cuthbert: "Lady" Corinthas


Deceased? I think not!

Cleric Level 8


“Retribution is our god, and St. Cuthbert is his name.” -Motto of the clerics of the church of St. Cuthbert in Winplain

Corinthas was born to a small family who lived near the town of Winplain in Mordent. His family was not prosperous, but never went wanting. He was raised by his father and older sister after his mother passed away during labor. He was never very adventurous, but was always curious of the travelers that frequently passed along the King’s Highway. He wasn’t always the adventurous and reckless type he is these days, even until recently. He actually was very introverted, when he was young.

From what I gather, Corinthas mustered up the courage to go out to the road alone one day. Being only six at the time, and never having had any experience dealing with people, he approached a tall hooded man wearing heavy armor. He mentioned nothing else except that his voice was deep and seemed odd and the coat of arms that I’m sure haunts him to this day: the hand holding an eye. He simply chatted with the man but the man gave him vague and confusing answers. As he should have, Corinthas thought it was suspicious that he went back in the same direction in which he came.

Corinthas, feeling satisfied with himself, went home to tell his sister about it only to find no one. He searched everywhere, exausted every possibility but there was just no trace of anything or anyone. One of our Initiates found him sometime after, completely confused and hysterical with grief. We brought him into town and gave him to one of the widows there to raise. When he was old enough we took him in; but only on his word that he would seek the truth and exact justice and vengeance on those who commit wrongdoings. We raised him as one of us and he took everything to heart. He learned fast and quickly grew into a formidible vessel of retribution. He always blamed himself for their disappearance, as if his absence brought it upon them.

Now he goes forth to find those who have tresspassed him and exact his vengeance and preach the justice of St. Cuthbert the Cudgel to any who transgress. -Kaven Chorster, High Cleric, from the Winplain scribes’ log

“It’s done,” Simeon laid the dagger on the stone floor in the warm pool that was gathering. Some poor unexpecting half-elf, of whom Simeon can’t even remember the gender, became the dagger’s 5 inch sheath for a split second. He went for the first person he saw. No hesitations, no remorse, and now, nothing holding him back.

Simeon wanted this ever since he could remember. His father disappeared for weeks at a time returning only to tell him that once again they would need to move. He enjoyed the moving. He liked starting over, the challenge of gaining the trust of another group of townsfolk. He enjoyed, particularly, torturing the children by blaming them for the things he would steal. Most of all, however, he enjoyed the stories his father would tell him of his work. He could always tell his father was lying to him, mostly because he was raised to deceive.
Simeon and his father went to church and prayed every single day without fail. No matter how ill or injured or tired he was, he and his father attended prayer. He would learn to lie. In prayer, he would hear things, things he wouldn’t understand. His father explained to him, “That’s our goal, to confuse, to be, ourselves, a mystery, a lie.”

“Now clean it up,” came the deep voice in reply.

Simeon looked up at the hooded figure, at the insignia on his breastplate, at the empty left sleeve. He thought of his father’s teachings, bowed his head in respect, picked up the bloody dagger, and immediately went to the door. He slowly opened it and looked down at the body lying there. He could see now that it was a male, that his hair was jet black, and that he had hit perfectly on the kidney and dragged the razor sharp blade into the spine. If he wasn’t dead, there was no recovery. The wound had already begun to close. He went over to him, knelt down and, lifting his head by the hair, slit his throat to make sure.
After dragging the bloody corpse to the street in the back of the priest’s house, painstakingly inflicting the necessary wounds, and making sure the dagger wounds close, Simeon finally returned to the church to pray. The blood in front of and in the church had vanished. He thought of his father, lying there in the street, and wasn’t as impressed as he used to be.
Simeon moved to a new town after he watched the execution, he couldn’t miss his second kill. It was a small town. Nothing like Mordent. This place had a genuinely good feel. He hated every second there. The pitiful people doing their pitiful jobs worshiping their pitiful god.
Simeon still prayed every morning for his daily “bread”. He received it in a note on his nightstand. His orders were simple, another decoy, exactly the same as before. He went to sleep at about nine in the morning after prayer, as was his usual custom. Just after dark, he woke up and put on all of his gear including the dagger, uncleaned with the dried blood of his father upon it. He set out and, just like the first time, claimed the first unsuspecting person he came across. This time it was a human. He watched the wounds close and the blood evaporate. He picked up the body and carried it stealthily to the barracks where he instinctively knew the priest would be sleeping. He picked the lock and slinked in making no sound at all. He placed the body on the floor and checked the room…“shit!” the priest wasn’t there; no one was. He decided to hide the body in a closet and quickly did so. He exited without incident.
“Goodnight, sir.” Came a kind yet confident voice. Simeon looked up and saw that it was the priest.
He hesitated.
“G-Goodnight,” he stammered.
The priest noticed the patch on Simeon’s shirt bearing the insignia of his lord, the hand holding an eye. The priest looked taken aback. Simeon wasn’t prepared for the look that the priest gave him. It was as if he looked right into Simeon, piercing his intentions.
“Let me pray for you,” the priest said finally.
“Uh…Sure,” said Simeon.
The priest closed his eyes and put a hand upon Simeon.
The priest went into the barracks opened the closet and prayed over the body. He then took the body to the church where it was cleansed and creamated. Simeon’s corpse was burned as well.

“Now that you know who they are, what will you do?” Kaven asked Corinthas, after explaining the religion that has evolved around the worship of Vecna.
“I’ll judge them,” replied Corinthas.


Festival of the Lion thisguy17