Xanthor Crowley
Last Name: Crowley
Appearance:
Tall and handsome with atchletic features. Always carries himself with dignity and pride. Has an undefineable smile which can be both warm and pleasant and cunning and calculating. Depending on the eyes of the beholder, he looks charismatic or intimidating. He is almost always well-dressed and prefers an ornate robe, a simple shirt with leather pants or his dark breastplate, which he normally wears when adventuring.
Race: Human
Age: 38
Height 188 cm
Weight: 85
Eyes: Hazel-brown
Hair: Black, but he keeps a clean-shaven head.
Facial Hair Style: Well-trimmed and fashionable beard.
Personality Profile:
A charismatic person who is an expert in guise and manipulation. He is calculating and cunning but he can be very loyal nonetheless. He is ambitious and persistant, and he lusts for power. The more power he posses, the better he can serve - and the more leverage he has. He believes he serves a higher purpose, which can make him dangerous to cross as he may apply logic which would not be considered the norm. He firmly believes that the means justifies the ends, and that every battle has casualties - both litterally and metaphorically speaking.
General Health:
The general health state is good although he has never fully recovered from a childhood accident, which left him paralyzed. His strength is not what it used to be.
Deity: Asmodeus
Initial Alignment: Neutral good --> lawful evil (when he signed his pact certain)
Profession: Disciple, prophet, augur, combatant, spy, thief, charlatan, knave etc.
Base Class & Proposed Development: Warlock (27) / shadow dancer (3)
Habits/Hobbies: Whatever is required to serve the greater cause.
Languages:
Common
Infernal
Abyssal
Celestial
Weapon of Choice:
Staff
Daggers
Background:
Xanthor Crowley’s Biography
Xanthor Crowley came into this world in the year 1310, the Year of Storms, by Dalereckoning. His place of birth was the city of Neverwinter – also known as the Jewel of the North. That particular year was rather uneventful for Neverwinter, but its northern neighbour and later rival, the city of Luskan, went through dramatic changes, which would influence Xanthor’s life later on. This year Luskan was attacked and conquered by a vast pirate fleet from Nelanther, and five of the captain leaders proclaimed themselves as the new leaders of the city and took the title of high captains. These events lead to a rapid deterioration of the relationship between Luskan and Neverwinter.
In the early years of his life, Xanthor grew up mostly without his father, Artemis Crowley, who spent most of his time on the High Road with a band of adventurers. They were adventurers of some renown, who served as bodyguards, defenders, curriers, explorers, guides et cetera - but they were not to be confused with mercenaries. Artemis came from a long line of soldiers, and he carried on that family legacy with pride and honour. He meant for Xanthor to carry on the family tradition as well but not until he came of age and was strong enough to wield weapons efficiently and engage in tactical combat. So, for the first twelve years or so of Xanthor’s life, his father had little interest in him.
Xanthor’s mother, Cassandra Crowley, was a skilled gardener and a priestess of Lathander, and while his father brought back wealth from time to time, Cassandra secured a steady and solid income from her gardening work around the admirable and beautiful gardens of Neverwinter. Cassandra was blessed with green fingers and she had a way of making living things thrive and endure, even through the harshest of conditions. Some say she had hands touched by Lathander himself due to her ability to make things grow and live. Cassandra’s good income ensured that Xanthor was able to attend school five days a week from a young age, which meant that he learned to read and write well and was educated in the basics of history, science and math. In that regard, Xanthor was fortunate. He had a good, stabile home, education and a loving mother. All he missed in those early years was a father figure.
To compensate, Xanthor delved into the realm of fiction and he read children’s tale after children’s tale about valiant warriors who fought monsters and sought honour and glory. All along, he imagined that his father was one of those heroic adventurers who were constantly faced with peril, but always persevered and lived to help the poor and innocent. He subconsciously tried to justify his own father’s absence with the idea that he was out making the world a better place to live. That naive and childish idolisation of his soldier father also sparked his interest in combat, and at the age of ten, he joined the local gymnasium where he started to train his body, stamina and endurance, firmly committed to become like one of those heroes from the tales. According to the tutors, Xanthor’s drive and dedication was almost unprecedented for a ten-year-old. He stuck with it and came back several times a week - week after week. And so two years went by and Xanthor trained his body and excelled in several athletic disciplines. Over the course of those two years, his interest in fictional heroes, combat and weapons had almost faded again, and he had focused primarily on the athletic aspects such as bodybuilding, speed and endurance. He had found another substitute for his missing father, something which he could dedicate himself to in order to keep his mind off other personal matters. All that changed when he turned twelve and was allowed admittance at the weapon academy where he was allowed to receive lessons in armed combat. His interest in weaponry and fighting had been rekindled and he now started to pursue that instead.
By fate, or just pure chance, his father returned home later that year, along with his band of adventuring soldiers. Over the last couple of years, the relationship between Neverwinter and Luskan had steadily deteriorated and now it had reached a critical low point. In response to a possible impending crisis, all trained soldiers of Neverwinter were drafted in order to be stationed in and around the city. At this point in time, Neverwinter was infested with Luskan spies and cutthroats and the city needed to be purged of the Luskan scourge. One of Artemis’ companions, Nasher Alagondar, was soon after entrusted with the leadership of the city due to his outstanding service in the military, which had given him the necessary insight in war and tactics needed to rule in these times of turmoil. There were other candidates for the post, but heritage, connections and a sufficient amount of hands exchanging gold ensured that the position went to him. Nasher’s companions were afterwards entrusted with important functions within the city, and Artemis was made a senior tutor at the weapon academy.
Nothing could have pleased Xanthor more. Not only did his father finally return home, and this time for good, but he now also had the chance to study and learn from him and his talents. And fortunately for Xanthor, Artemis was now ready to take on the fatherly role for him. In Artemis’ eyes, Xanthor had finally come of age, and now began his project of forming and moulding Xanthor into a prime soldier. He was glad to see that Xanthor had already created a foundation on which to build by keeping fit, strong and dexterous. Now strict discipline and focus was added by his father.
Through their mutual love of combat, father and son were united at last and Xanthor found that it was everything he had hoped it would be. All those long years yearning for a father to take interest in him, all those years spent in the gymnasium or fantasy books.
Xanthor revelled in his father’s undivided attention and Artemis used Xanthor’s enthusiasm to motivate and pressure him on and on. It was all he ever wanted, but for some reason, he still felt that there was a void deep within which needed to be filled.
The hard work quickly paid off. It was evident that Xanthor possessed the same talent for combat, which ran in the Crowley blood. After a couple of years with intense training in the martial arts, Xanthor had become skilled in the usage of many weapons and combat techniques. The intense training was only interrupted by academic studies once in a while. The studies focused on monster identification and all the traits and lore connected to them. Such knowledge was crucial for a good soldier, his father argued.
With all the fundamentals in order, both physically and mentally, Xanthor was eventually initiated as a squire and later a soldier of Neverwinter. An honourable title, but it came with responsibilities. In times of war, he was now obligated to take up arms in Neverwinter’s defence.
Almost eight years had passed since his father’s return, and the Luskan threat was as real as it had ever been. Parts of Neverwinter were now dangerous to walk at night, and despite Nasher’s relentless efforts to drive the Luskans out, all attempts seemed futile. One night, there even was a direct assassination attempt on him, which almost succeeded. As a precaution, Nasher now reformed the elite group of bodyguards who were to protect the lord of the city at all times. As before, when originally formed by Lord Halueth Never, they were referred to as the Neverwinter Nine, and Artemis was appointed to become one of them.
Xanthor experienced ambivalent feelings regarding this. On one side, he was tremendously proud of his father and his achievement, but at the same time, it meant that his father would not be around anymore. No more fighting in the academy, no more soldier tales and no more pranks. And one misfortune seldom comes alone.
Just a few days after his father’s promotion, Xanthor headed home from the academy when he passed a scaffolding. He paced along slowly, lost in his own mind and oblivious to the surroundings, when a loud snap could be heard, followed by some loud cracking sounds. Moments later the scaffolding was coming down upon him. He never stood a chance of dodging the barrage of falling wood, bricks and iron and he was buried underneath the rubble.
Almost an hour passed before Xanthor was unearthed from his wooden tomb. He was still alive – just barely. His eyes did not open, his mouth did not move, but there was a faint breathing sound as he inhaled and exhaled rhythmically in short gasps. His body was utterly broken and it was hanging limb like a rag doll when it was lifted onto a stretcher and carried off to the infirmary.
In the evening, when his parents learned about the accident, they both rushed to the infirmary to gaze upon their son who was now lying lifeless and unconscious. The only signs of life were the gasping for air and the occasional eye-movements underneath the eyelids.
Five days passed, and while his father had to attend his duties, his mother only left his side at night when she had to sleep. She treated him with balms and bandages, tending to the injuries he had sustained from the falling debris. Six days passed and the seventh followed… still no sign of improvement. After a week without water or food, Cassandra started to get desperate. The only option left was to move him to the temple where she was a priestess. Maybe prayers and rituals could do what medicine and science could not.
So, after a week, Xanthor was transported to the temple of Lathander where he was put on a make-shift bed made out of an old altar and placed underneath an impressive, ornamented window in multiple colours, so that the rays of the sun could fall upon him. Five times a day, Cassandra and some clergy of the church came and performed a sacred rite and recited prayers. It was prayers of restoration and rejuvenation, and the rites were orientated around sacred balms, incense and ointments used for fertilisation and growth of plants – something Cassandra was exceptionally skilled at.
Against poor odds, the combination of divine intervention and earthly skills yielded results. The prayers had been answered, and new life was blown into Xanthor’s spirit, and the skilled usage of herbs and medicine had healed his broken body and brought back life back into it.
But alas, not all was as well as it seemed at first glance. While his mother’s persistent efforts had not been in vain, they had only accomplished so much.
Xanthor had regained the use of speech, and he could drink and eat again, but from the neck down, he was completely paralyzed. Oh what woe had befallen him – to be awoken from a limbonic slumber, just to realize that he was a prisoner trapped within the confinements of his own lifeless body? The dread and horror which filled his mind when this realisation dawned on him.
After having learned of all which had transpired, he could not help being grateful. A pitiful existence is better than no existence at all. It was in that spirit he had been brought up by his mother; to always see the positive aspects of life. However, the grim prospect of being a cripple, a freak, was abhorrent to him, and he failed to see why such a cruel fate had been destined for him. Him, Xanthor, the strapping young lad who fought like a hero and thought like a hero. Honour and self-sacrifice… noble paragons of virtue… but what good would they do him now? To hell with them… to hell with everything.
In his dark moments, he was ready to give up, to end it all. And had he been capable of it, he would have ended his life many times over. How sadistically wicked was life not to first rob him of all his hopes and dreams, and then rend him unable to do something about it. He could not even put himself out of the heartbreaking misery he was forced to suffer day after day.
Yet, despite the abysmal darkness which had enshrouded him, he at times remained optimistic and kept an elusive hope for a better future. Surely there would be ways to mend a broken body like his. A way to regain his vigour and stamina again? He desperately clung onto the hope that the future would bring better tidings, but as time passed by and recovery was agonizingly slow, he started to become more and more indifferent.
Eventually he also had to be transferred back to the infirmary where the rest of his recovery should take place. He was glad that he had been able to lie in the temple for months during his recovery and gaze out the majestic window, into the magnificent temple garden outside. If not, he would surely have given up all hope a long time ago. Of that he was certain. And had it not been for the solitude and serenity of the temple and its clergy, he would not be alive at all. Lathander had never meant anything in particular to him, but thinking back, he was quite sure that he had felt his divine spark while lying in that coma. He was not quite sure how to feel about this.
All that changed when he came back to the infirmary. His parents visited him every day and encouraged him to not give up hope and to keep his mind pure, even in these times of hopelessness and despair.
Month after month passed by and his recovery was slow - if not stagnant. How much was it possible for a human being to endure? When would he break and succumb? Why had all of this happened to him? Night after night he pondered these questions without ever reaching any conclusions. In turn, he slowly - but surely - started to loose hope. There was no bright future for him. He would never be able to walk again. No wife, no family, no adventures on the High Road. None of this would ever be his. He finally started to accept these facts and the realization made him bitter and angry. He felt that life had treated him unfairly and he firmly believed that life still owed him something – and he was ready to take any opportunity in order to claim it.
It is often said that those who live in darkness pray to the beings of light, but not Xanthor – not anymore. He had ended up so vengeful and spiteful that he would do anything for a second chance at life. A chance to get back at life! And it was while he was in this state of pure anger, hate and vengefulness something extraordinary happened. The same night as he had cast away all hope of a better future and cursed all the Gods to hell many time over, a winged, sinister-looking creature appeared in his infirmary quarters. A plume of smoke manifested itself on the floor, and the creature had appeared with a feeble cackling. This bat-like creature brought curiosity into his bleak mind, and he watched it as it circled the room a couple of times before it eventually landed on his chest. A pungent stench of sulphur and brimstone attacked his nostril and he had to concentrate not to cough. Xanthor addressed the creature, an imp, several times but it spoke no words. Instead it produced a rolled-up parchment which it held up in front of Xanthor so that he could read it.
As he read it, a sense of absolute joy filled his mind and body. Where his limbs had previously been utterly senseless, he could feel a tickle that just refused to stop again. What he read was his ticket out of this torment. His mind which had previously been so pure, steadfast and righteous now did not hesitate to go down the path of evil. All the hate and agony had corrupted his spirit and he wanted to undo the iniquity which he had suffered for so long.
However, the countless long, dark nights in solitude had also made him reflective, cunning and manipulative. Being well-educated in monsters, he remembered a course about devils and their ilk, which he had attended years back, and he remembered the details about contracts which devils use to make pacts with mortals. He had learned that many mortals were condemned either because they did not themselves participate in creating the pacts or because they signed the first pact without asking questions. There was a saying in regards to contracts, that if it sounded too good to be true, it probably was.
Xanthor thought about this for a moment, and he was a bit indecisive. On one hand, he was desperate, but on the other hand, a more detailed contract would be prudent on his behalf – but it was a gamble. The gamble of a lifetime! If he declined, the imp may fly off, and Xanthor could be condemned to his frail, paralyzed body for the rest of his life. But if the gamble paid off, he would not only get his life back, the possibility of actually staying alive for a long time was there.
These thoughts haunted his mind as he read through the cryptic text in front of him. Drops of sweat ran down his temples and his hands shook as he looked at the imp and stated that he wanted this and that clarified and that he wanted a few amendments added.
The imp rolled up the parchment again, and with a poof it disappeared. All there was to do now was to wait. If the imp showed up again, the future looked promising, and if not, it was a lifetime of torment.
Xanthor could not sleep the rest of that night and the next day went by at the pace of a season, he felt. When darkness had descended later that night and everybody was asleep, a plume of smoke appeared in the room once again. The devil had accepted his terms and had altered the contract accordingly. The imp positioned itself on Xanthor chest again and put an inked feather into his mouth. With his teeth, Xanthor signed the parchment with his name, and the imp disappeared as abruptly as it had arrived. Xanthor lay in the bed filled with excitement. Did this really herald a new life and future for him? At the time, if was hard for him to wrap his head around. Could all the misery and torment really be a thing of the past just with the flick of a feather?
Only a few days went by before Xanthor started to feel the changes. He slowly began to regain the usage of his body, and the sense of touch returned as well. His parents were beside themselves with joy, and Cassandra praised Lathander and said that all the prayers had finally been answered. Xanthor praised Lathander as well with his mother, but deep down he despised him. A God of rejuvenation, growth and healing was incapable of helping him but a devil was? In the eyes of Xanthor there now was little doubt who the real deity here was – or should be.
Artemis wanted to return to the combat arena as soon as possible. He promised to find time off his bodyguard duties but Xanthor’s body was still weak and frail from the ordeal. And truth be told, weapon training had no appeal to him any longer. It was other thoughts which filled his head now. New ideas, new motives, new goals. He knew that not long ago these thoughts would have seemed strange and wrong to him, but now they felt right and valid. He acknowledged that he had changed and instead of fighting it, he accepted it and was determined to make the most of it. He knew what the signing of a pact meant. He was just a little surprised about the profound affects it has on one’s way of thinking and life perception.
The new Xanthor sought solitude, and the thought of parents smothering him annoyed him, so under the excuse of wanting to follow in his father’s footsteps and go out on adventures, he prepared for a long journey. It was arranged that he was to travel with some men his father knew well and could vouch for, but it was Xanthor’s plan all along to break off and continue on his own. When he one day soon after kissed his parents off, he was not sure he would ever see them again.
Xanthor did not seek solitude because he had become asocial but because he needed to get to know his new self. This he could not do when the surroundings distracted him and everybody had expectations of how he was “supposed” to be – according to his old self.
Instead of travelling south as planned, he continued east on his own, confident that his new master and the powers he had been bestowed would keep him safe. He headed into the Neverwinter Wood. For a long time, he roamed the woods testing his new abilities. Familiarising himself with them, ever perfecting them. His travels eventually lead him into Mount Hotenow, a volcano adjacent to Neverwinter, where he learned to add sulphuric and fiery essences to his newly gained eldritch abilities. Mount Hotenow is the home for fire elementals which heat up the river which flow through Neverwinter. The perpetual stream of hot water is what keeps the city warm year round and that’s why it named as it is: Neverwinter.
During his stay there, Xanthor became resilient to heat and his subsequent long stay on the mountain’s snowy peaks made him resilient to cold as well.
He spent an entire year in the wilds, learning how to stay alive in the harshest of conditions and how keep hidden in the face of danger. The source of his eldritch powers no doubt helped him acquiring these useful skills and the acquisition of them surely was sped up by magical means as well.
When Xanthor felt that he has been accustomed to his new skills and talents and when he had consolidated himself with his new mindset, he decided it was time to pay a visit home. But for some reason, he found it harder to return to Neverwinter than he expected. Something indefinable within him told him to stay away. Despite his new personality, he still loved his parents and would dearly like to see them again, but something held him back. Confused by the conflicting feelings, he trekked north instead, avoiding Neverwinter for now. Instead the paths lead him to the notorious city of Luskan. From a young age, he had been indoctrinated to loath this place but when he eventually arrived there himself, he had a strange sensation of feeling at home. More conflicting emotions he had to sort out somehow. He had never set foot in the city before but nonetheless, his feet guided him toward the Host Tower of the Arcane where the Arcane Brotherhood resided - as if they had a will of their own.
It turned out to be harder to gain entrance to the tower than expected so he had to spend the better part of a week sleeping at an inn. But in this week, he started experiencing something which was to follow him forevermore. It was in those few days that he started to have dreamlike visions. Sometimes they made some sense and the nature of them seemed to be to guide him, but other times, they were absolutely esoteric and alien. The voices in the visions spoke a tongue which he was not familiar with. If he was ever to decipher them all, he had to work out a way of doing it.
The first vision he experienced displayed himself in the service of the Arcane Brotherhood and Luskan. In lack of other signs to guide him, he pursued the vision, and when he eventually was granted access to the tower and presented his talents to the Brotherhood (who understood the origins of his abilities), he was accepted on a probationary period where he had to prove himself.
The next couple of years he served and advanced within the Arcane Brotherhood. By doing so, he had plenty of opportunity to fine tune his stealth abilities as many of the missions required guise, cunning and the ability to remain unseen.
From the Host Tower’s massive collection of forbidden lore and their scholars, he learned to master the infernal tongue. That helped him tremendously with deciphering the dream visions. With his new abilities and through his visions, he now learned that the author of his pact was Asmodeus, whom he was to serve with reverence and devotion. Asmodeus had not wanted to reveal his identity before he was certain that Xanthor would commit to his cause and serve him as a loyal subject. Had that not been the case, Asmodeus could have had him killed off without he could make any subsequent accusations or hold anyone accountable. A smart move by Asmodeus which Xanthor had not thought about when he signed the pact.
Asmodeus further instructed that Xanthor was to learn the tongue of the abyssal and celestial spheres as one of his purposes would be to crusade against Asmodeus’ enemies on the prime plane.
Xanthor abode by his master’s will, and he not only studied languages, he also studied the lore revolving demons and celestials. Knowing as much as possible about one’s enemies would help one prevail in battle. The Host Tower was abundant in lore regarding the devils, demons and celestials and Xanthor learned as much as he could. As he educated himself in the field, he found himself sympathising with the devils, and he began to believe, that if Asmodeus was to achieve godhood, it would bring a lot more stability to the world to the benefit of everybody. The lawful devils were much less susceptible to corruption than the current Gods who resembles mortals too much in many aspects. That was the logic he applied and he made his most important personal goal to help Asmodeus ascend to godhood. In secret, he was hoping that by committing to this extraordinary task, he would eventually be released by his pact and promoted to serve him or one of his servants directly. One of Xanthor’s demands were that the terms of the contract could be re-negotiated when he turned forty, granted that he was still alive at that time and had served with undivided loyalty.
And so time passed by while Xanthor was in service of Luskan and the Arcane Brotherhood, his childhood enemies, and he helped plot against Neverwinter, the city of his birth. He participated in numerous campaigns throughout the North. The Brotherhood wanted to reign with supremacy over the entire region. Many outsiders tried to thwart their efforts and they had to be dealt with – either with death or by forming alliances. While doing this, Xanthor’s powers grew, and he took that as a sign, that he indirectly served Asmodeus’ cause.
Goals:
To see Asmodeus rise to goodhood. To serve Asmodeus' cause. To locate and acquire lost artifacts belonging to the devils which will help them in their fight against the demons. To eradicate demonkin and celestials from the prime plane. To prepare the mortals for the fiendish rapture. To eventually serve Asmodeus in his domain or be released from his pact. To gain personal power and to see Asmodeus' cult rise in power to command respect and fear. To gain political influence, both for himself and his companions. To add more followers to Asmodeus' cause. To see the cult become an important player on the Sword Coast. To smite or convert those who stand in the way.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
- Xanthor's fate may be shaped through interaction with devils in game.
- He has dream visions, which can be utilized to shape his development.
- He still unknowingly suffers from the "missing father" syndrome. He has a devouring void inside, which he consistantly tries to fill.
- He lusts for power, both personal and that of the cult.
- He detests demonkin and celestials.
- He may try to gain bargain leverage for his pact (this may succeed or fail but no permadeath, thank you).
- He has an unclarified relationship with Lathander - he both owes him gratitude but at the same time he hates and depises him for not helping him when he needed it.
- He unconsciously misses his mother's unconditional love (he lacks some of the fundemental human needs)
- He can't go back to Neverwinter, but he does not know why.