Out of the Rift
Lord Petrov Valtus
A once holy warrior, turned to darkness.
Lord Valtus cuts an imposing figure in his ancient, weathered armor. He stands well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, and a powerful physique. His wavy, flowing, dark brown locks hang to the center of his back. His one good eye shines blackly from his pallid face, once handsome, but now marred by centuries of bitterness, and rage. He has a broad, strong chin, a wide, powerful jaw, and prominent cheekbones. His thick, craggy brow overhangs his deep set eyes, though the right is covered by a plain, black silk eye-patch. A jagged white scar scythes across his pallid face, disappearing behind the patch, only to shoot upward to his hairline. Despite his centuries of existence, he only appears to be in his early forties, with thick frown lines, and crow’s feet creasing once smooth skin. Hidden beneath his long locks, his ears have a slight point to them which he often attributes to elven blood to avert suspicion. Underneath his armor is an athletic, muscular man, with the calluses of an experienced swordsman, and the scars of many hard fought battles. Though it has been centuries since he was a member of that order, he still wears the grey, and gold armor of the inquisition, adorned with a faded red cloak that once was a brilliant crimson, but now more closely resembles the shade of dried blood. Upon his hip he carries a massive hand-and-a-half broadsword with an ornately decorated, yet functional, hilt. Though archaic, this weapon still holds as sharp an edge as its wielders tongue.
Five hundred years ago Lord Petrov Valtus was a commander of the Inquisition, and served his gods, and church loyally. He poured a river of blood into the Rift, exposing heretics, traitors, and deviants of all kinds. His skill at sniffing out traitors to the church was second only to his skill at arms. That is until he discerned an altogether more sinister threat. His investigations lead him not into yet another nest of heretics, but rather into the arms of a wrathful vampire. Though he fought fiercely the mortal Lord was no match for the unnatural strength of his undead foe, and without the special knowledge of the Revenants he was unprepared to face such a fiend. So it was that he was struck down, but so valiantly did he fight that he impressed his foe, which lead him to a fate worse than death. First he became a meal, and then he arose to become an undead slave, a lesser vampire forced to do his new masters bidding until such time as that ancient wretch met its end.
After nearly a century of scraping by, serving the beast that had turned him into one of its own kind Lord Valtus found himself freed from the Nosferatu’s foul service on the edge of a Revenant’s ax. Acting more swiftly than his former master he struck down his unwitting benefactor, and fled into the night, determined to become his own master. He slowly learned the sanguine powers his nature allowed him, as well as the limitations placed upon him by undeath. Always careful to stay hidden from those who would hunt him he began to learn the truth about the Beast-Master’s, their bloodthirsty gods, and their unwitting servants in the Inquisition. In recent centuries he has carved out a small fiefdom for himself in the criminal underbelly of the capital city of Voshterne, right under the noses of those he hates most. The Beast-Masters he once served so faithfully have now been marked as his greatest enemies, and favorite prey. With his knowledge of their techniques, he manages to stay one step ahead of the Inquisition, and hide his true nature from the Revenant’s, but he knows that it is only a matter of time until someone catches him. In fact, he looks forward to that day…