Kareloth Sandborn the Vainglorious Reaper, Emperor of Thera

Arena Statistics

Role

Chapter 6

On Thera:
Kareloth once more finds himself with a destroyed weapon, some 20 soul shards
fleeing in glee to his dismay. At the same time, Heglial-Gil had seen his work
and from the great underworld raised a claw to inprint the unholy magic into
the mind of Kareloth.

The Emperor of Thera reminds himself this is Strength. This is Pride. To raise
again and keep up the harvest. More will offer their souls.

His Council appeared docile for now. Pleased perhaps by the distractions of
expeditions and killing of the uncivilized to start any votes. But Kareloth knew
it could happen and he considered how he can keep them sufficiently distracted to
leave him in charge.

IN HELL:
On a foul craft of going up and down the river Acheron sits two Devils. The craft
is steered by the demoic Charon. Next to the infernal ferryman rests several blessed
obulus.

Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord of Regret was concerned that
the river might be of tears and that someone might scoop some up in a chalice and
offer it to him but so far he had been lucky.

Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails had extended
the flesh and bones of a many times revived fire giant into an umbrella which was
extended taunt with two eyes visible in the cover of viscera crying down silent
tears of pain. So far he had not noticed this.

Rumartich was looking out suspicisouly at the river Acheron with one eyeball and said
"I NEVER THOUGHT HE WOULD LIVE AT THIS POINT. TO REACH FOUR BLESSINGS?" They were
speaking of their little project, Kareloth Sandborn. But it wasn't so little anymore.

Ilitus glanced up as a drop of water touched his horned skull despite the fact that he
wore his specially made umbrella. Had the fleshcrafters in Dis left a hole?

"YES - WE HONOR THE BARGAIN WITH THE TEACHER. I HEAR HEGLIAL-GIL HAS GIVEN INSIGHT TO
HIM. BUT HE LOST ANOTHER WEAPON. PERHAPS THIS BREAKS HIM. MAYBE WE CAN FINALLY HAVE
HIS SOUL. BUT HE HAS RISED UP AGAIN BEFORE. THREE TIMES AN OATH AND ALL."

Rumartich shrugs with a few shoulders and regrets the idea of the cruise. Charon was
desperate for obulus since mortals had stopped giving them to him but just going up
and down the river which may or may not be full of tears felt far from his dreams
of joining the second circle.

"I SAID STYX BEFORE DIDN'T I? IS THIS THE RIGHT RIVER?"

Role

Chapter 5

UPDATE FROM HELL:
The devil Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord of Regret was
wistfully thinking of maybe finding a cute little imp up in the Second Circle
and settling down in some or another solution where he would punish those who
succumbed to Lust. Wasn't that bull at the entrance getting a bit old?

But changing stations from his location in Fourth to Second was no easy task and
for now he was forced to remain on his duties to torture the souls lost to
Greed. And as he declined another cup of tears that his underlings kept serving
him against his will he considered maybe a cruise on the river styx with his old
colleague Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails.
It was in that moment he felt the thoughts of Ilitus brush his mind:

"THEY MADE HIM EMPEROR. REALLY. HE HARDLY BRINGS US SOULS ANYMORE AND NOW THIS?"

Amused Rumartich lowered a tentacled eyeball to look at his high boots made of
a still living fire giant which were crying silently in pain. The fleshcrafters
down in Dis had outdone themselves.

"KARELOTH? AMUSING. MAYBE WE SHOULD CELEBRATE. CRUISE ON STYX?"

Meanwhile on Thera:
Finally, recognition of his greatness! So much work had been put into this.
Thrice bloodoath and now Emperor! Greatness finally recognized! But now the task
at hand was to keep the control. And grow it. The hammers of the Fortress and
the Tree were constant but Kareloth was hardened by every blow and so his Empire
needed to be. Damnable harpies everyday now. The crown is heavy.

Role

Chapter 4

Kareloths moustache was most frequently extactic. Attached to it's owner it was often
travelling at high speeds back and forth across Thera, gusts of winds sweeping through
it as the now Dread Lord was about searching for one thing or another. Sometimes it
got bloody which was another aspect of great entertainment as it ment it looked a
different color and the renewal was also something to enjoy at its fullest.

It had tried to speak with the nose hairs of Kareloth to share its excitement about a
recent dive down into the waves of the aryth ocean, but it was sadly met with silence.
This was however no great trouble for the moustache for it had already shifted it's
focus on the near infinite satisfaction it gained whenever Kareloth was absentmindedly
stroking it.

Meanwhile in Hell:
A travelling carnival had set up it's tent poles in the fourth circle where two devils
were enjoying elven blood in spiked iron cups as they were watching a band of skinless
gnomes miserably try to perform some sort of comedy sketch with a watchful devil behind
ready with a barbed whip.

Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord of Regret was thrilled to have
something else than tears and were enjoying every sip of the elven blood. He directed
One of his four snake eyes and spoke to his colleague, Ilitus the extractor of broken
hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails.

"OUR PROJECT FINALLY BECAME DREAD LORD. HAH. I WONDER WHAT IF THEY UNDERSTAND DREAD
IF THEY APPOINT HIM TO THIS. HOW MANY TIMES HAS HE BEEN A BLOODOATH NOW? THREE?"

Ilitus leaned on a cane made out of a still living fire giant fleshcrafted into a
cane with spikes driven into it. The cane was moaning in pain but neither the devils
noticed.

"STILL, WE GOT TO TEACH HIM THE FLAMES. NOT THAT IT DOES HIM MUCH WITH THE MARAN
ABOUT."

Rumartich sipped elven blood from his iron cup with more pleasure than was allowed by
anyone in hell save for those in the second circle who frankly seemed to be having
all the fun. In front of them the gnomes made jokes about their demonic tormentors.
It was not well received and soon they were pleading for mercy as the barbed whip
lashed over their skinless flesh.

"WHEN WILL HE BECOME OURS I WONDER. MORE POTENT THAN HIS FATHER. I LOOK FORWARD TO
... MEETING HIM."

At the mention of the Father both glanced at the cane made of the still living fire
giant.

In the mind of Kareloth:
Finally, Dread Lord! The Throne closer now. What had the Emperor now said? Delve,
he should Delve. Kareloth wasn't entirely sure what it ment. Maybe unravel dark
secrets, but why would he share that with the others? Still, he agreed
wholeheartedly silencing his doubts.

Running past araile was an almost pain free exercise now. So many years had passed
since he spent time with those weaklings. Only good thing they did was give him
a name. Sandborn.

Role

Chapter 3

In hell two devils are sitting together on a rather small bench. The bench is constructed using bones and skin
from a fire giant and the end of one leg is actually a head that's being pushed down from under their weight.
The head is somehow still alive and screaming in agony which none of the devils notice.

The screaming bench is located in one of the few bars in Dis which the devils favored due to it's absolutely
awful houseband.

Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails leans back on the bench and sips the
blood of elves mixed with dwarven greed from the skull of a minotaur. Or if it was the skull of a bull, he
wasn't sure and didn't quite care.

"HAVE YOU HEARD THE LATEST ABOUT OR PROJECT? KARELOTH?"

The second devil, Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord of Regret had over the millenia
slowly grown bored with the taste of tears but couldn't quite shake the reputation of being the drinker of
them and kept being served tears wherever he went. This bar was no exception and there needed to be Order
in everything. Change was not frequent when it came to devils. So he suffered the bland taste of tears
drained from unfaithful lovers and happily took the chance to take his dark mind from it.

"LOST HIS WEAPON DID HE? BUT IT WASN'T VERY POTENT. I THINK SOMETIMES MAYBE HE CARES TOO MUCH ABOUT HIS
PREY SO HE DOES NOT KILL THEM ON PURPOSE. MAYBE THAT'S WHY HIS NAME IS CARE A LOT."

Much to his dismay the pun was not aknowledged by Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of
twisting toenails.

"NO HE WAS ALMOST SENT OUT FROM THE EMPIRE. BROKE A RULE. THE THRONE IS FAR AWAY NOW. LEAST WE GOT TO
SEND HIM SOME HELP WITH THE IRON GRIP. AS PER THE CONTRACT."

Rumartich shrugged, bored with the discussion and glancing hopefully with his four snake eyes at the
scene where some tortured souls were getting ready to play something new they called jazz.

MEANWHILE ON THERA
Kareloth, demoted from Imperial Black Magician to Bloodoath by the Imperial Inquisitor for breaking the
fifth law, plots vengeance unable to accept that he was in error and instead blaming the messenger. At
the same time however he heavily relies on the blessings of the inquisitor so he hides his thoughts as
best as he can. One day he will be on that Throne and the Inquisitor will grovel before him.

Role

Chapter 2

Kareloth rose through the ranks in the guild of dark templars. Meticiously he
dedicated time and effort into weapons and spells to ensure none would doubt his
greatness. As he accepted the bloodoath from the Dreadlord it was with the clear
intention of surpassing him one day. With pride he rose from oathed, to servant
to Imperial Black Magician. When he could he formed allies of various thieves
and bartenders of that pitiful inn of the Eternal Star. Maybe they could secure
him power in the future. Low shot.

One day he came across documented plans to expand the Empire into the Araile
desert, enslaving the locals who had raised him and eventually exiled him.
Strangely a feeling of guilt rose and without thinking he spilled ink over the
maps and orders. Looking down at his meaty hand he could have almost sworn that
it moved by itself. Strange that. He covered up his mistake keen on ensuring
noone noticed.

His first memories were of the Araile desert and how he learned the sand there
was not sand at all. He had been told he was left to the tribe as orphan by his
father, and though he has no memory of the man it seemed an odd choice for
Kareloth. Why leave him with so inferior tribesmen when he was so much
stronger? Though he had to admit they had some resilience and cleverness in
dealing with the harsh desert.

Either way he was close now, close to being taught the secrets of the unholy
blessing and begin the hunt. Voices in his head were thrilled with the
prospect. As long as he brought suffering or was suffering.

MEANWHILE IN HELL
Two devils lean over a scrying pool watching Kareloths actions.

Ilitus the extractor of broken hearts and enjoyer of twisting toenails is
scratching his back using the spine of some lost soul. The living head is
still attached to the spine and it is screaming in endless pain which none
of the devils seem to notice. Ilitus speaks:
"IT'S PROMISING. BUT WHAT HAPPENS WHEN HE EVENTUALLY LOSES THAT WEAPON?"

The second devil, Rumartich the drinker of tears and self appointed Lord
of Regret taps his cheek with a long claw in a strangely human gesture:
"DEATH BY HIS OWN HAND I ASSUME. LIKE SO MANY OF THEM. IT IS WHY WE DO
THIS AFTERALL. TO GET THE SOULS. THOSE OF OTHERS OR THEIRS."

Ilitus looks up, lowering the spine he was using to scratch his back.
"PERHAPS WE CAN TORTURE HIM WITH HIS FATHER."

They both look and the fire giant head on the spine as it's screaming
in unearthly horror and anguish.

Role

Chapter 1

Kareloth was raised not far from the desert of araile, in a small enclave away
from Kiadana. His parents were refugees from Kiadana, exiled for their
disbelief in the One Law. Their love for one another was boundless but their
sons had been born with terrible afflictions, weak of heart and arm they would
never survive the harsh conditions in Kiadana.

So they fled over the dragon sea and settled in the warm desert to start anew.
But the diseases afflicting their sons gave no mercy. They would die if nothing
was done. Recalling the old lessons by The Teacher the father beckons the aid
of the Powers Below. Devils responded at the promise of souls and suffering.

But with a sandstorm raising in the background the pact turns for the worse and
the devils demand the wife and one of the sons killed, expecting good return on
the suffering of the father. He fullfills his deal with a rusty axe feeling
each blow a strike at his own heart and as his dark deed is completed the
corruption of the devils seep into Kareloth granting strength and vigor.

The father, disgusted by his actions cannot bear to see his son and be reminded
of what he has done. He leaves Kareloth with a tribe in Araile and turns to
Thar Eris knowing the unholy prices paid by convening with the underworld.

So as Kareloth is raised it is without parents, but he is taught the ways of
the sands. However he was a stranger in the tribe. Far stronger than the others
he often would get into fights and win them. This fuelled his pride and voices
in his head hungrily encouraged him constantly. When the Araile tribe finally
had enough they exiled him from the tribe and he was sent to the Academy. As if
guided by hands below Kareloth sought out the guild of anti-paladins
unknowingly delving into the powers his father had paid such a terrible price
to.

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