Forums    Newsletter    Guestbook    About    Search    Updates      
         Copyright © Randy Bowers. All rights reserved.


Sasha Petrov

True Neutral Female Human
Level 30 Druid

Str 11   Dex 16   Con 19   Int 18   Wis 32   Cha 22   Hit Points: 274

Status: Retired

For so long as we can recall, my family has served the powers of Zhakrin, the Reaper of Souls. It is said by some of my kin that long ago, our blood was mixed with that of Zhakrin's most powerful avatar through a black rite. For what reason we cannot say for certain, but our historians suggest that once in the distant past, the patriarch of our clan made a terrible bargain to save our family from some deadly trouble.
    But the past is done. Now we serve the dark power of Death with our hearts, our souls, and our blood. Not all of our kin have been evil or corrupt, some have even turned from their dark heritage, but it has not changed the nature of my family. We served in the Black Paladins in the great war, and we survived the deadly aftermath. We have built temples to Zhakrin, and harvested souls in his name.
    Since the day I was born, I was indoctrinated into my eventual place as a servitor of Zhakrin. Our family manse is a dark and gloomy place, filled with hidden chambers, shrines, and libraries, all dedicated to the Dark God. Since I could hold a quill, I have crafted runes in his praise, and whispered the prayers of reverence.
    As my mother before me, I was trained to eventually become a Harvester, one of the odd and mad reapers of souls. She has served Him for many years, and it has left its mark in her body and mind. Pleasing her was next to impossible, for only with death can she be sated. I learnd to fear her magical whip that brought pain to body and soul. She is named Nadya.
    But my father was worse, a grim and terrible figure who served as a powerful priest. He is without mercy or pity. Only his devotion to his family's welfare tempers his overwhelming desire to serve Zhakrin in his darkest forms. Men, women, children, none escape his terrible touch, save only his own kin. He is known as Vladimir.
    My elder brother is an Initiate, a Black Paladin, and a mighty warrior. If I have pride in any of my black kin, it is him, for though he is evil, he is nonetheless honorable, and capable of kindness, and even mercy. Needless to say, he is not my father's most favored child. My brother is Anton.
    I have an elder sister. She serves Zhakrin as a scribe and librarian. Of all my kindred, she is the smartest. Her mind is honed to a razored edge, and it is said that she knows secrets that are lost to almost all others, for she has access to books and scrolls that threaten the sanity of any who read them. Needless to say, my sister holds her sanity on a thread. She is called Anya.
    Finally, I have a younger brother, and of all that I have seen in my short life, I hope never to meet a crueller, more evil being. Even my father must give way before the necromantic cruelty of my younger brother. Even as a child, his skill at vivisection and reanimation was terrinle and brilliant. Several of our servants disappeared during his young life, only to reappear as grotesquely altered zombies. He is now a necromantic wizard, and favored of the dark lord's minions. His name is Viktor.
    These are the dark and twisted members of my family. Their cruelties and idiosyncracies shaped my life. Our family name is Petrov.
    To understand the Petrov clan, and the dark and twisted members who call its ancestral manor home, it is vital to know where we came from, and what we have been.
    In a time long ago, our family made a deal, a terrible oath, the culmination of which demanded that the family matriarch take to her bed the most fearsome of all of Zakhrin's avatars, a demonic being of no known name and terrible power.
    From this union was spawned a loathsome child, a grim and necromantic offspring, who was the fulfillment of our family's alliance. Through the being's seed, our family has, through the generations, gained great power and wealth, and become ever more evil with each succeeding generation. Whatever the original intentions of the oath, it has been the cause of much suffering in the world.
    Petrovs have ridden foremost in the ranks of the Paladins, produced terrible necromancers and powerful priests, as well as more than their fair share of murderers, rapists, thieves, and cutthroats. Many notorious villians have channelled wealth and power to the Petrov manor.
    Which brings me to our home itself. The Petrov manor is a huge and sprawling estate, built on by succeeding generations of Petrov patriarchs and matriarchs. Even the architecture is twisted, each new wing or tower showing the hallmark of whatever architect could be persuaded to work for the Petrovs. Over the generations, many halls and rooms have even been sealed off, accessible only be secret entrances, and warded by traps concocted by the fevered minds of our most paranoid kin. The basement consists of miles of tunnels, holding cells, wine storage, torture chambers, and hidden laboratories. Likely, treasures of great value have been lost there, hidden by traps and secret doors clever enough to fool even a Petrov searcher.
    My own life within the estate was dark and perilous. Originally I had thirteen siblings, but the Petrovs are no lovers of weakness. The fools and the noble alike perish within dark rooms, or while walking dark hallways. I barely remember some of them, and the death of others, they make me shudder even now. My brother Viktor, he was always a master of the macabre and the profane, and the terrors he inflicted on those siblings that annoyed him, they are too terrible to detail.
    Anton was too strong for any to challenge, and too dear to my father's heart. My sister, she was clever and cunning, and held too many secrets. She made many deals with Viktor for her safety, deals that gave him access to the tomes she would find on her long walks in the depths of our basement.
    For myself, I made alliance with Viktor, and even revelled in his wickedness in my way. He was darker than I, but I had my moments as well, and I think he felt me a kindred spirit.
    Viktor. What can I say about a creature so utterly evil? I truly believe that he was born without a soul. Even at his youngest, he had a gift for magic that was frightening. He crafted 'gifts' of undead for his kindred, and even once tried to kill our father by setting a wraith upon him. My father might even have been impressed with his daring, but he punished him nonetheless. Viktor bears terrible scars on his body, marks of the torturous lessons he learned at our father's hands. He did not try again, but his temperament was not soothed.
    On his 16th birthday, he celebrated by capturing from the nearby village of Farway a dozen young virgins. He brought the youths to his basement holdings, and there he performed some terrible ritual of blood and pain. I believe he sought to gain power, but for whatever reason, he failed. Angered, he awakened the slaughtered children as ravening ghouls, and sent them home to their parents. There is little left of the village now save shattered buildings and skulking shadows.
    Vladimir, my father, ah, what a monster. He is the patriarch of our clan, a position he gained when he murdered his own father, and bound his soul to torment, in exchange for power. He is lost to pity or mercy, and seems immune to any form of emotion save for his devotion to Zakhirin and the clan Petrov. He serves as a priest of our dark lord, and worships from a private shrine hidden in his private chambers. Many times, I have seen dark winged things flying from his windows on some dark mission, and I know that he is still highly ranked in the hierarchy of Zakhrin.
    Madness, cruelty, murderous bloodlust. These are words that describe my mother, Nadya. A Harvester of great skill, she was my unyielding and violent tutor in the arts of soul hunting. While many of the order sought to right the wrongs done to Zakhrin by those who cheat death, my mother sought only the power, and it showed in her face. Her every expression was twisted with cruelty, her every action a hint of the madness that burns in her heart. Only in death does she find fulfillment. She often wanders graveyards, singing softly to herself.