Pact Magic: 2 spell slots, both 4th level, recharge on short rest. Every spell below casts at 4th level. Counterspell auto-counters 4th and below. Spirit Shroud deals +1d8 (cast at 4th). Armor of Agathys grants 20 temp HP / 20 cold retaliation (if taken).
Nameless was born into obscurity in the slums of Duskmire's Edge, a desolate sprawl near a rift to the Shadowfell where death hangs thick in the air. A place where corpses rot in alleyways, ghosts linger in doorways, and children survive without names to avoid notice. He was abandoned at birth and never received a name. Among the orphaned Tiefling children, colloquially known as Rift Rats, this was not uncommon. Names drew attention, and attention got you killed.
He grew up among the Rift Rats: feral, orphaned tieflings who lived beneath collapsing catwalks and scavenged whatever the rift had not already poisoned. Life was short, cruel, and always watching. He learned to fight without form, move without sound, and sleep with one eye open. Violence, disease, and magical corruption were daily realities. People vanished without explanation. Spirits lingered. Nobody asked questions.
There, he crossed paths with another nameless kid: a stone-skinned boy who made the ground tremble when he was scared. They ran together for a few years, a brief window, ages 5 through maybe 12. Neither named the other. They were drawn together by something neither understood. A dark resonance. Two kids marked by forces bigger than themselves.
Even as a child, ravens watched him from rooftops. He spoke to shadows without meaning to. Strangers crossed the street to avoid him. Some called him cursed. Others called him chosen. But no one ever called him by name.
Nameless carries the mark of someone touched by the supernatural from birth. He sees signs where others see coincidence. Animals behave strangely in his presence. Spirits linger longer near him. Common folk sense the weight he carries and are compelled to help him, offering shelter, food, or safe passage without fully understanding why. His appearance is striking: tall, gaunt, and sharp-edged, with hollow eyes that seem too old for his face.
Nameless did not seek a pact. It was laid upon him. The Raven Queen, goddess of death, loss, and memory, has shown interest in him for as long as he can remember. She speaks through signs. Birds fly in impossible formations. Cold settles on his skin in places untouched by wind. He dreams of feathers, bone, and silence.
He serves without fully knowing why. Her will moves through him in battle. His pact weapon, a spectral scythe, forms when danger is near. He does not draw it. It arrives. The scythe is semi-sentient: it whispers fragmented memories of souls it has severed, harsh truths, dark commentary. The whispers grow louder after a kill.
He does not take life for sport. He takes it when the Queen stirs in his chest and tells him something must be severed.
He followed omens into the Vale. Ravens in a wheel above him, whispering without sound. Dreams of ash-covered trees, ruins cloaked in mist, symbols drawn in mud or blood near the edges of his path. At Duskwatch Vale, he found a necromancer among rotting ruins and strange undead. As he stepped near a moss-covered altar, something ancient ignited beneath him. It launched him into the swamp, flinging him through flame and shadow. He does not remember the landing.
Moss found him face-down in the muck, broken, half-drowned, barely alive. The Tortle cleric dragged him to safety, stitched wounds, and tended to him until he woke. When Nameless came to, he remembered the maddening dream, the Queen's piercing whispers, and little else, except that he was where he was supposed to be.
Triggered on a failed WIS save after flight (DC 10 at L3, DC 12 at L5) or after a kill with the scythe (DC 10). Roll d6.
Level 7+. Triggered on a failed DC 15 WIS save after 10+ minutes of flight per day. Roll d10.
The scythe responds to your relationship with the Raven Queen. Defy her directives: Defiance table. Follow them: Compliance table. DM discretion on triggers.