Xander

X Add worldbuilding credits now!

Alexander Sunfire

“May the ends justify the means.”

Relatives	Pontiac Sunfire (Father) Vanessa Tule (Mother) Adolin Sunfire (Grandfather, deceased) Marcus Sunfire (Brother) Klohe Sunfire (Sister)
Languages	Common, Infernal
Affiliations	Sunfire Trade Co.
Aliases	Xander, Alex
Marital Status	Single
Place of Birth	Al’Adeaf
Species	Human
Gender	Male
Height	6’3”
Weight	185 lbs
Eye Color	Green

Xander

Physical Appearance

Tall and muscular for a human, Xander is a young man of dark skin and short black hair.

Personality

Although at first glance Xander appears to carry himself with the rigid dignity indicative of nobility, he is quite laid back and easy going and always has a witty remark to make.

History

Born in the year 805 PR in the city of Al’Adeaf to Lord Pontiac Sunfire and Lady Vanessa Tule, Xander is the heir to the Sunfire household and their vast trade network. As well as a prominent figure in the upper echelon of Al’Adeafian society, Lord Pontiac is one of the main financiers of the church of Pelor and a devoted worshiper. Disciplined and strict, Lord Pontiac is a man of few words and seemingly fewer feelings. His mother Vanessa, on the other hand, is a bright and cheerful woman. A cunning negotiator and business woman, she is well known throughout the city for her many philanthropic pursuits and liked even more so.

Being fully invested in his church and business, Lord Pontiac left much to be desired as a father. His attention was stretched thin on the calmest of days, leaving very little room for raising the boy Xander. Vanessa, however, was a very tentative mother and personally oversaw much of the boys education, alongside a myriad of tutors and Nannie’s. Although not entirely absent from Xander’s life, Lord Pontiac was too preoccupied to truly claim the role of father figure. That role was filled by somebody else entirely. Adolin Sunfire, Pontiacs father.

About Adolin

Adolin did not come from money. Orphaned at an early age, Adolin grew up on the streets of Ostrom. An avid brawler and not one to let a misdeed go unpunished, Adolin was well known around the rougher parts of the city. When he came of age he did not shy from adventure, serving time with more than a few mercenary bands and adventuring parties. Amassing a small fortune through his efforts, Adolin moved to Al’Adeaf in order to put that money to work. Over the next few decades Adolin amassed a small army of caravans and trade vessels that travelled the region, bringing much needed goods to various parts of the realms. Adolin continued building his fortune for many years, built a tower befitting a lord, married and fathered two sons, the eldest and heir being Xanders father, Pontiac.

Eventually Adolin would pass the duties of running the household and business onto his eldest son and retire into a life of quite luxury, spending the majority of his free time traveling and spending time with his grandchildren, Xander in particular. While Vanessa rigorously trained Xander in the arts, history, philosophy, science and mathematics, Adolin saw great importance in teaching Xander the skills he saw as necessary to survive in such a world. Weapons, armor, riding, navigation and survival are but a few of the many skills Adolin imparted to the boy. They spent many weeks on the road throughout Xanders youth, traveling to and from, with days spent full of exploration and nights around the cook fire filled with stories and lessons. Xander admired his grandfather in a way few will ever experience. Adolin was not just Xanders grandfather and master, but his friend.

Over the years Pontiac continued to grow the name and fortune of the Sunfire house, eventually receiving a Lordship and fully establishing the name his father built. Although now living among the cities wealthiest of citizens, Adolin never changed. He wore common clothes, walked among the people and drank in the same rough and tumble taverns he always had… very frequently one might add. It was no strange occurrence for the widower to stumble in the door at the crack of dawn, drunkenly singing and wearing a few new bruises on his cheek. He considered that proof he “still had a little fight left in him.” Until the night finally came when he did not return.

“A random act of violence” is what the authorities called it. In times like these, who wouldn’t believe such a claim? It would appear as though Adolin had been robbed and stabbed on his way home form the tavern. An unfortunate circumstance. A stroke of bad luck. Xander, now 18, could not accept this narrative. His grandfather, the strongest man he had ever met, laid low by some common street thugs? Never. Something was wrong, he could feel it turning in his gut and he would not rest until he learned the true nature of his grandfather’s death.

The Death of Grandfather

His first thought was to examine his Grandfathers body, to which he discovered a plethora of large cuts, bruises, broken bones and numerous stab wounds. Xanders feelings we substantiated. His master did not go down without a fight, but why then were there no other bodies found at the scene? What truly happened in that alley? He had to know. Sneaking out an hour or so before dusk, Xander made his way to the alley where his master was slain. Being only a day ago, what stories did the alley have to tell?

One spot of the mud darker than the rest. This is where the body was discovered. Many boot prints lined the path, people casually making their ways to work, the shops or the tavern, but among them are clear signs of a scuffle. The dance of a melee clearly written upon the mud and dirt of the path. Any trained observer would be able to find the signs clear as day, and they did, but something was missing. Something only Xander himself would notice. His grandfather never truly embraced the fashion standards of the upper class. He had worn the same tired old clothes for many years. He had worn the same leather boots for over a decade. Patched and repaired countless times, Xander knew these boots all too well, for he had spent many an afternoon following behind the man wearing them. Looking down at the steps of his master in the snow and mud as he followed him on their journeys. Not a single tread from those boots was visible in the mud. Not leading in, not going out and not in the area where the combat had supposedly happened. Granted, his grandfather was light on his feet, but you would think at least a single step would be present. Xanders heart began to pound. “What else can this scene tell me?” he thought as he frantically looked around. He then remembered the large slashing wounds that covered his grandfathers face and arms. Wounds like that would certainly leave a significant amount of blood spray. He searched the walls in the area, well beyond where the tracks of the scuffle had happened. Not a single drop was evident. Other than the large dark stain where the body was found, there was no blood. “It’s all a lie!”

His pounding heart now felt as though it would burst out through his chest. Covered in a cold sweat, hands and knees shaking, “It’s all a lie!” Dizzy now as the world around him seems to spin. “This was no random act of violence! He was targeted! Someone wanted Grandfather dead and they killed him!” Knees now so weak they buckled beneath him. Falling to the ground, his thoughts began to clarify and reality set in. Rage began to swell up from his very core. A rage he had never felt before. A rage so deep that, even now, he would have no words to describe it. Adolin had been purposefully murdered.

Suddenly everything went black. He was still conscious, but there was nothing left. Nothing except a single thought. No, deeper than a thought, deeper even than a feeling. It was as though that in that moment his very being, everything that he ever was or ever would be was torn to shreds. In that instant Xander became one thing and one thing only… an avenger.

Xanders eyes shot open. His once gentle green eyes replaced with two burning beacons of white hot light. White energy swirled around him, filling him, changing him, forming him into something new. A weapon with one purpose; to find those responsible for the death of his grandfather and make them pay. He would seek those who had robbed him of his master, his friend, to the ends of this plane and beyond. They would suffer his wrath. That was his only purpose now. That was his promise. That was his Oath of Vengeance.

Xander woke to a sharp pain in his side. A familiar pain. A boot to the ribs. “Oid choose a bettah place to pass out if oi wuh you, lad. Man just diod ‘ere not but a day ago.” a scraggly man muttered as he walked away. Xander had fallen unconscious. From the darkness of the sky and stillness of the street it would seem for quite awhile. He picked himself up and staggered home, unsure of what had happened to him. Was any of it real? Yes. He could feel it. He was different. Whatever he was when he walked into the alley that night was not what walked out. That much was obvious.

Adolin was buried and the world moved on around him, but Xander had never truly felt like he’d left that alleyway. It felt as though he was trapped there until his oath was fulfilled. Still a boy of 18, Xander knew that he was nowhere near his grandfathers level in combat prowess or experience. Whoever was responsible for the death of Adolin would be more than a match for young Xander, so he trained. Day in and day out he relived his grandfathers lessons, practiced his forms with the sword and spent many hours learning how to move efficiently in even the heaviest of armors. However, he had something new to discover on his own. Whatever happened in that alley was real and powerful. He could harness that feeling on command to make even the lightest of blows lethal, along with a few other useful tricks. He knew what he was. A holy avenger. Xander had become a Paladin.

Over the next few years, Xander became quite the proficient brawler. He would seek out a fight wherever he could and so hung around the rougher parts of town most of the time. Although he knew that a fist fight with a drunken half orc was nothing like the real thing, he still considered any experience of combat crucial in his development. When he wasn’t out looking for trouble, he often frequented his grandfathers chambers. He would go there to sit and reflect, to meditate and reaffirm his path. He had spent many hours searching the room for any clue or hint of a lead that might help him to discern the identity of his grandfathers killers, to no avail. Now he just came to sit. He’d pleaded with his father to leave the room unchanged for now, to which he abided, but for how much longer his father would keep that promise he was unsure. It didn’t really matter now. If there was anything here he’d have found it by now, or so he thought.

Xander sat in his grandfathers rocking chair, the embers in the fireplace slowly dying, indicating the sun was soon to rise. Leafing through the pages of one of Adolin’s old journals, which he’d have read at least a dozen times by this point, he once again reached for the old tobacco pipe that had rested on the end table since his grandfathers death. He’d held it many times, but had never smoked it, despite there being a mostly unburned packing in the bowl. This was the morning of his 20th birthday. Adolin had been dead for almost 2 years, so he thought he might finally take a puff in memory of his teacher. It was disgusting. The leaf was beyond dry, but Xander imagined it wouldn’t have helped much had the leaf been fresh. Regardless, he continued to puff the pipe and watched the smoke climb from the end of the pipe and into the… bookshelf?

The smoke flowed like a stream into the crack between the shelves. Xander had searched those shelves many times! If there were a secret there surly he would have found it by now! Now standing, excitement coursing through his body, he rushed to the shelves and began ripping the books from their resting places. The shelves barren, he began pulling at the bookcase, but pull as he might it would not budge. After half an hour of pulling on the damned shelf with all the strength he could muster, he conceded the fight, turned around and leaned his back hard against the case… a satisfying clunk. As his weight pushed against the shelf, the latch released and upon jumping away, the shelf swung ever so slightly outward. Excitement surged through him. This was it! After two years of searching for even the slightest hint, he knew whatever was behind this shelf was the first step along his path and, for someone out there, the beginning of the end.

The path was narrow and steep. Despite his excitement, he proceeded carefully, brushing away the years of spider webbing and dust that had accumulated since last this passage was traversed, the candle he carried lighting the way. It was much longer and deeper than he expected and by the time the path widened into a room he reckoned he must be well past the boundaries of the manor proper. He slowly entered and ignited the candles in the space, careful not to disturb even the slightest detail of the room. The candles revealed a small chamber full of bookshelves, a small writing table littered with pages and against the far wall stood a pedestal holding an ornate dagger. What secrets did Adolin keep? What stories did this chamber have to tell? It would have to wait for another night. For now, fixing the mess he had made trying to open the door and keeping the chamber secret was more important.

The stroke of midnight hit as Xander closed the bookshelf behind him. The last day had been almost unbearable, but at last the time had come to explore the chamber and the secrets that lay within. Reignited, the candelabra on the desk revealed many strange sights. Many unfamiliar arcane sigils and a language he’d never seen before were scribbled on the loose sheets. Among them, depictions of other worldly horrors. Taking a closer look at a drawing of a creature Xander found particularly unsettling, the words “Chain Devil” were scrawled across the top of the page.

Over the next few days Alexander took in as much as he could. Flipping through a dozen books, sorting the pages on the table and floor, feeling the sigils scratched into the wall. Most of what was written in Adolin’s journals was dictated in a language Xander could not even begin to understand. One of the rare excerpts written in common eluded to some terrible event that would bring an ending to life as it is known. “Should that great and terrible shield finally shatter… all realms are doomed to shatter alongside it. The age of mortals will come to an abrupt and violent end. Even the highest pantheons of the gods themselves shall know naught but endless strife and turmoil in perpetuity. I must not waiver in my conviction. I must not fail. I must see this most gruesome of tasks through to the very end, at all costs.”

As unsettling as the thought of all existence meeting a sudden and violent end was, it was the end of the passage that held Xanders attention. He had seen his grandfather reference his “task” or “mission” a few times, but had yet to discern the true purpose of his grandfathers quest. He continued to search late into the night, looking for even the slightest hint as to the nature of Adolin’s mission, but to no avail. Exasperated, Xander slammed his fist to the table and exclaimed “What were you up to, old man!” At that very moment the ornamental dagger, nearly forgotten by Xander at this point, clattered from its pedestal to the floor. Xander jumped at the sudden noise, then breathed a heavy sigh and stood up to return the blade to its resting place.

He bent to grab the weapon. As he grasped the hilt and lifted the blade a heavy crack of Thunder filled the room, as though lighting had struck mere feet away. The sound disappeared as quickly as it had come, but in its aftermath Xanders head screamed with searing pain. It felt as though his mind would be completely torn in two. He dropped the blade and grasped at his head as he fell to his knees, but he did not hear the blade hit the ground. As the pain lessened, he opened his eyes to see the blade was gone. He whispered to himself “What the hell was that?” and to his surprise came a reply “That would be me.”

Xander did not recognize the voice, but immediately felt a sense of dread wash over him. He sprung to his feet and spun around into a fighting stance, but at the sight of what stood before him his hands fell to his side. He stood no chance. Blocking the doorway opposite him, wings outstretched and almost filling the space entirely, stood a being with crimson red skin. Large curved horns sprouted from its head, nearly touching the 10 foot high ceiling. Glowing orange eyes with cat like pupils stared back at him, or through him rather. The being stood with a sinister smile, revealing a row of large dagger like teeth. Raising the dagger up, hilt towards Xander as though to hand it to him, the devil spoke. “I have been waiting for you, young apprentice.”

Soulrender and the Devil

The devil spoke, not with his mouth, but directly into Alexander’s mind.

“I am Naahl, hand of Bal, lord of Avernus and commander of the armies of The Ten Hells. You have awoken the blade Soulrender and it beckons you. Will you answer its call? Will you carry forth the will of your master?” Xander stood in shock, gripped with fear, head pounding and heart racing. He could barely think, let alone speak. A moment passed and he tried to mister his voice. His mouth would not move, but a question crossed his mind “What was the will of my master?”

Naahl responded to the thought instantly. “Take the blade and all shall be made clear. I will give you the eyes to read your masters works and the power to enact his will upon the world. Carry on in your masters footsteps, fulfill his pact, feed the blade the souls of the wicked and your soul will remain your own. Take the blade. Accept the pact. I will not ask again, mortal.”

What was happening? How could he even begin to comprehend such a thing in but a moment’s time? How could he be expected to enter into a deal with a devil without so much as a moment to think? As he stood, trying to process what was transpiring before him, he could feel the impatience of the fiend swelling in his mind, causing the pain of his still throbbing head to intensify. He had to choose and now. Suddenly a feeling washed over him. The feeling of a memory. He felt the feeling of a hundred journeys spent staring at Adolin’s back. Xander had always trusted the man to keep him safe. Countless times he had faith in Adolin to get them to wherever it was they were going in one piece. Why should he stop now? There was no telling where the path before him now lead or what tribulations might lay in wait, but he would trust in his master all the same. He stepped toward the being, raising his hand toward the blade, and spoke “One final time I put my fate in your hands, Father.”

Thunder cracked once again and as quickly as he’d appeared Naahl was gone, seemingly vanishing into thin air. Xander had taken only a single step towards his patron yet found Soul Render firmly in his grasp. It was as though he had never dropped it to begin with. Had he? Maybe this was all a hallucination. Although the pounding in his chest remained, the searing pain in his head had vanished alongside the devil. Xander stumbled back to the solitary desk and collapsed into the chair. He stared blankly at the papers before him as he replayed the exchange with Naahl in his head. The thought was quickly interrupted by the realization that the once indecipherable writing in one of the journals was now as easy for him to understand as common speech! “Shit.” he mumbled under his breath just before his head hit the table, unconscious.

Over the next few months Alexander steadily worked his way through the entirety of Adolin’s collection and personal journals. It was as though he was meeting his grandfather for the first time. He hadn’t known his grandfather to have been an avid note taker, yet the chamber contained a plethora of detailed first hand accounts of Adolin’s exploits, adventures and the many lives cut short by Soulrender. Each story revealed a side of Adolin the Xander had never known, but that started to feel like a blessing more than a curse quite quickly. Xander could not believe that the cheerful and carefree old man that raised him had secretly been the cold blooded executioner of a pit fiend. Yet, it was all here, in his grandfathers handwriting, in meticulous detail.  

Most of the material, apart from the journals, was dedicated to detailing the intricate workings of the ten hells. It contained identification and description of many of the Archdevils and the rank structure of their soldiers. There was plenty of theorizing and speculation over the major political and historical events that had transpired there, much of which he found was contradictory as he moved from one book to the next. All of it seemed to come back to one congruent theme; The Blood War. An eternal battle between the Devils of the ten hells and the endless demonic hoards of the abyss.

It was hard at times to make sense of it all, but one thing had become very clear; this was a lifetime of work. Adolin had been scouring the plane for decades searching for and collecting every scrap of detail he could find. He would not have been surprised to learn that this small hidden chamber was actually the greatest collection of information about the Hells and the Blood War that had ever existed. Adolin had also left descriptions of the unique traits and abilities granted to both he and the blade itself. Xander slowly but surly began to fully understand the pact he was pushed into. Soulrender existed for one reason and one reason only; to reap souls and send them straight to hell.

Those who’s souls are unclaimed by another deity and judged to be evil naturally find their way to Avernus, but it would appear that the chances of that happening are considerably higher when a powerful fiend is involved. Adolin spoke to the growing powers granted by the weapon as his service to the pact increased and the bodies piled up. He even theorized that a powerful enough warlock might someday be able to send souls by choice, possibly even those who are claimed by a god. However, that kind of power does not come without a price. In his later journals, Adolin often speculated about his own fate. Although Naahl claimed that his soul would not be taken in payment, how many years could one live in service to the pact before they’re hell bound anyway? This was of little concern to Xander. He was going to rip the soul out of anyone involved in his grandfathers death, no matter the cost.

Now able to read the entirety of Adolin’s collection, Xander once again began the arduous process of scouring the library for any leads as to who was responsible for his grandfathers killing. Having spent some time sorting the journals chronologically he was able to focus his search to the later years of Adolin’s life, which came with a degree of success. Adolin had been investigating the rising number of caravans being attacked just before his death. He had noticed a trend. Although it would seem like the attacks were done at random, there were many discrepancies between the attacks. Independent caravans and those owned by certain families or enterprises were being attacked more frequently than those owned by a select few. This could have been chalked up to random luck, but it was the severity of the attacks that spoke to Adolin’s curiosity. Not only were some organizations being attacked less, but were suffering minimal casualties in the attacks, whereas the families and independent caravans that had been suffering the majority of attacks were far more likely to be wiped out completely with no survivors, including Sunfire caravans.

In his last journal, Adolin theorized that these groups of marauders weren’t random groups of thugs at all, but skilled mercenary bands with wealthy backers being used as tools to disrupt the supply chains and businesses of their competitors. In one of his final entries Adolin wrote “These are the lives of good, honest, boys being cut short by the hands of greed and envy. Boys who are simply trying to make an honest living to support their kin in an uncertain age. If my suspicion is well founded and proves correct, this must come to an end and those responsible brought to justice. I can think of few more worthy of becoming play things for Naahl than these scoundrels.” Xander full heartedly agreed with that sentiment. He wished there had been more details in the journal to help get started on this pursuit, but at least he now had a starting point. He believed in his grandfathers suspicion and thought it quite likely that something had gone wrong allowing those responsible to catch on to Adolin’s investigation and dispose of him before he could put a stop to their schemes.

It was a strange mix of dread and excitement that washed over Alexander. The excitement of finally having a solid thread to follow. The dread of where that thread may lead. He knew nothing about who or what his adversaries may be except for one thing; they were deadly. That didn’t matter. Xander had been training his entire life for this and with the newly found powers of his oath and pact, now was the time to act. He would take a few more months to train his mastery over his pact weapon and make final preparations, but he knew the start of his journey was imminent. With the rise in bandit and criminal activity due to the recent dragon attacks, Xander was sure there couldn’t be a more opportune time to serve the pact with Naahl. The more of these dirt bags he could track down and question, the better his chances of finding those connected to the scheme his grandfather had begun to uncover.

In response to the rise in dragon activity and lawlessness sweeping the realm, there has been a major influx of new sell-swords and adventuring parties answering the call to action. Xander would join forces with them to blend in with the crowd. He would help them with their missions while searching for his targets and hopefully make a few dependable comrades along the way. If his enemies were able to uncover and kill Adolin, this was the best way to operate without bringing too much attention to himself. A random adventurer asking questions is a lot harder to hunt down than a well known noble in his own city.

Lord Pontiac did not take the news of Xanders plans well, to say the least. As far as Pontiac was concerned Xander knew nothing of combat or the world at large and would not stand for the heir to his household running off to go get himself killed for some silly sense of honor or whatever it was that was motivating his son. Even were Xander to survive, he still considered the idea a dereliction of his duties to the house. He was coming of age and should be learning how to run the house and business, not be off chasing dragons that were almost certainly going to make a snack of the boy. Xander considered telling his father the truth, but had a feeling trying to explain that Adolin was secretly a mass murdered who had made a pact with a powerful devil, he had now taken over that pact and planned to follow in Adolin’s footsteps would only make matters worse.

The heated arguments lasted for days, but eventually Pontiac relented. Xander was an adult and Pontiac could hardly lock him in his room. What he could and did do, however, was cut Xander off from the gold and privileges afforded to him by his station. If he was set on doing this, it would be on his own. If he were so set on turning his back on his family and duties then he would do so alone. Pontiac figured it would only take the boy a few weeks to grow tired of the hardships he would face on the road and that he would come crawling back with his tail between his legs. Normally this would have riled Xander up into a heated argument, but the thought of just making it home at all was comforting, regardless of any tail tucking that may be done.

Throughout this time Vanessa was far more supportive. Although clearly nervous, she had faith in her son to achieve his goals and return safely. No matter the outcome, she was proud of her son and confident in the education she had bestowed upon him. She came to him the night before he was set to leave, slipped him a small bag of coin and made him promise to come home safe, a promise he fully intended to keep.

Xander spent the remainder of that night in his grandfathers rocking chair, flipping through the last journal Adolin had written and smoking the pipe that had lead him to this point. He’d finally started to grow accustomed to the taste. As the earliest hint of sunlight began to pierce the darkened horizon, Xander tucked the pipe and a small pouch of leaf into his coat pocket, slung his pack over his shoulder and walked to the gate. Taking a moment to look back on his childhood home and think of everything that had lead him to this point, he raised the hood of his cloak and began to walk.

Languages

Common, Infernal

Powers and Abilities

Xander wields a large golden two handed great sword and has a ferocious and reckless fighting style. He seems to always feel the need to rush in and deal the killing blow, while using healing and defensive magic to gain the advantage over his enemies.

Attacks and Weapons 

Two Handed Great Sword, Long Bow, Toll the Dead