THEChanger
2016-10-08, 12:15 PM
The rain poured outside, the constant pattering of water against stone dulling all other sounds. It had been raining for days, the sun obscured from sight. A bad omen, by the reckoning of the priests who mutter in their cloisters. A bad omen, by the reckoning of the caravan of halflings, just about to leave the city but now blocked by muddy roads and flooded rivers. A bad omen, by the reckoning of farmers, losing precious days of harvest. But, perhaps it is just weather.
That is what people tell themselves, when the wind blows and almost carries them off their feet, when raindrops sneak their stinging way into their eyes and the chill runs right through their bones. It's just weather.
Luckily for you six, you have a warm fire and stone walls to keep the weather off you. The Waters estate of Lakton has proven a welcome home in the past weeks. A thousand acres of decent farmland and small forests just outside the capital city, a small town, and a castle of decent size. Just outside the watch of the guards of the capital, small enough that Duke Kasgrov pays it little attention. A good place to be, for those who wish to avoid notice.
The rain starts to grow harder. Six individuals of great power, gathered in one place, each with their own vendettas and plans. On another world, there is a curse which goes 'May you live in interesting times'. For Talos, the coming times are sure to be interesting indeed.
You have been keeping your ear to the ground, listening for rumors of unrest, intrigue, anything that could prove useful. You have heard that the Crown Prince has sent ambassadors to several of the Western Kingdoms, laden with gifts, and that the rains have likely delayed them – though you have yet to glean the reason for this visit. You have also heard that Duke Darton of Greywater grows more and more aggressive in his motions to deal with what he calls the 'savage tribes to the south'. Many in court grow uncomfortable with his war-mongering, and many others are moving in support of the old man. Your second, Jeannine, reports that there is a contingent of wererats among the halfling caravan currently residing in the capital city, and that one of them has requested a meeting with 'The Alpha of Lakton Pack'. Jeannine does not know how the wererats know there is a pack in Lakton.
In addition, you gain the following:
Favored in Court:
Having made yourself seen and known in polite society within Talos, you gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks made against persons with titles. In addition, you have a contact within the court of the Crown Prince(tbd), and a working relationship with Duke Kasgrov of Greenbelt, who is nominally your direct superior in the chain of fealty.
Your travels have occasionally taken you among the elves, and you have heard mutterings in Ra'Taure that a group calling themselves the Reclaimers have been causing trouble for the crown. Militant eco-terrorists who want to split from the wasteful Peloric League, apparently. Of more interesting note is that these Reclaimers may also possess psionic power.
During your last trip to the Astral Plane, you felt something watching you. It disappeared before you could divine more information about it, but you got the sense that it was not hostile – merely curious.
In addition, you gain the following:
The Lovers, the Dreamers, and Me: You gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks against psionic creatures. In addition, with ten minutes of meditation, you can manifest Augury as a PLA. You also sometimes receive prophetic dreams in your sleep.
It is hard to shake the feeling that you're still there, in the Mists, and that this is not all some kind of prank by the Dark Ones. Especially the past couple of days, with mists drawing close around the castle and the sun obscured. Still, the Hate is strong, and despite your discomfort, you have been working. The Assembly has been in communication with you – they say there is a possible job for you in the coming weeks. Something about a recently discovered ruin, with interesting implications regarding the Church of Pelor. Very hush hush at the moment, but they trust you. In addition, you've been keeping in touch with some of the other clerics of Pelor. Some rather...interesting religious debates are happening at the moment. There's a firebrand, one Caius Ardes, who is proclaiming that the interpretations of Pelor worshipped by the elves and halflings are heretical, and must be stamped out. While his faction thus far has only advocated for peaceful conversion to the 'One True Pelor', the tension is obvious.
In addition, you gain the following:
Heretic in Sheep's Clothing: You gain a +2 to Bluff checks against members of the Church of Pelor. In addition, so long as you hold your holy symbol, you are immune to your phobia of large mists, and gain a +4 Profane Bonus on Saving Throws against Fear Effects.
The dreams have been getting worse, of late. A palace, covered in ice, windswept. Endless snow, endless white, endless cold. A woman's face – beautiful, but terrifying. And a whispered name: 'Pazuzu'. You know the name, of course – the Demon Lord who created the Morrigan, five hundred years ago. Every child has heard the name. But why this, why now?
You have always had a strong connection to the wild places of the world, to the spirits. You can feel them now. Uneasy, wary, tense. They know something is coming. You've seen sprites and pixies coming close to the castle, watching. And, last night, there was a tiny arrow lodged in your window. A piece of parchment attatched, with 'We are ready' written upon it in Sylvan.
In your travels, you found a man who professed to be a cultist of the Morrigan. The two of you helped each other escape from the pursuit of paladins, and the warrior promised you the aid of the Black Claws if you should need it. You still have the small black stone he gave you, a single use of Sending that will reach him, and only him.
In addition, you gain the following:
Spirit-Touched: You gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks with spirits – this includes most Fey, most Outsiders, and certain incoporeal Undead. In addition, with a small ceremony taking ten minutes, you can always find a Spirit to speak with when out of sight of any structures built by mortal hands – though you have no control of what Spirit finds you, or if they will be amendable to your requests. Such meetings never result in violence, however.
When you first arrived on this world, you allied yourself with the forces of the Morrigan. And were felled. The chains of gold bound you, and the cold took your limbs as you froze in place. Awake, aware, just barely, of time passing alone in the dark. Enough to drive a lesser creature mad. And now, a young man comes, and frees you from your bondage. Back into this strange, strange world, far from your own, far from Rashemen. Far from where your beloved lies buried.
You can feel them out there. The remnants of the Morrigan's forces. Even now, five hundred years later, her presence can still be felt on the land. Some cells in Talos, some out in the Western Kingdoms, where the Morrigan began her failed conquest. Some might know of you. At the very least, you still have her Mark, the black coin she gave to those who led her forces.
You also remember Pelor, from your own world. The other side of Pelor. Your new associate, Caries, follows him as the Burning Hate – a Hate you know well. Other cults of the Hate surely have their roots somewhere in Talos, and you learned enough from your father to seek them out. They could be useful pawns, certainly.
In addition, you gain the following:
Stranger in a Strange Land: You gain a +1 Profane Bonus on Saving Throws against spells cast by followers of Pelor. In addition, anyone who fails a Saving Throw against one of your spells takes a -1 Penalty to Saving Throws against your spells for 24 hours. This does not stack with itself.
You are finally free from the black pit you had been imprisoned in. Free to take your vengeance against those who abandoned and betrayed you. This Claire Waters, who freed you, has offered sanctuary in her home, among her pack. It is...different, from your memories of running with the other hounds, but not unpleasent.
You remember the layout of the capital city. There are many secrets, there. Tunnels, leading in and out of the palace. Hidden prisons below the streets, safehouses designed for use in case of an enemy occupation. You could direct people in and out, a staging ground for an assault, or use them for spying.
You also remember the locations of many prisons created during the Last Crusade. Places where great evils were sealed away, both creatures and artifacts. Like you, you suppose. They might prove useful, in the future.
You also feel two presences. The first, a black streak in the back of your mind, is Arackanus, your torturer. The second, a painfully bright light, is Bathaniel, the one who sealed you away. Both are still on this cursed plane, somewhere. No doubt they also know of your release.
In addition, you gain the following:
Lost But Not Forgotten: You gain a +2 to Intimidate against servants of Pelor. In addition, Outsiders with the Good subtype will never initiate battle with you – though once you strike them, they will defend themselves.
That is what people tell themselves, when the wind blows and almost carries them off their feet, when raindrops sneak their stinging way into their eyes and the chill runs right through their bones. It's just weather.
Luckily for you six, you have a warm fire and stone walls to keep the weather off you. The Waters estate of Lakton has proven a welcome home in the past weeks. A thousand acres of decent farmland and small forests just outside the capital city, a small town, and a castle of decent size. Just outside the watch of the guards of the capital, small enough that Duke Kasgrov pays it little attention. A good place to be, for those who wish to avoid notice.
The rain starts to grow harder. Six individuals of great power, gathered in one place, each with their own vendettas and plans. On another world, there is a curse which goes 'May you live in interesting times'. For Talos, the coming times are sure to be interesting indeed.
You have been keeping your ear to the ground, listening for rumors of unrest, intrigue, anything that could prove useful. You have heard that the Crown Prince has sent ambassadors to several of the Western Kingdoms, laden with gifts, and that the rains have likely delayed them – though you have yet to glean the reason for this visit. You have also heard that Duke Darton of Greywater grows more and more aggressive in his motions to deal with what he calls the 'savage tribes to the south'. Many in court grow uncomfortable with his war-mongering, and many others are moving in support of the old man. Your second, Jeannine, reports that there is a contingent of wererats among the halfling caravan currently residing in the capital city, and that one of them has requested a meeting with 'The Alpha of Lakton Pack'. Jeannine does not know how the wererats know there is a pack in Lakton.
In addition, you gain the following:
Favored in Court:
Having made yourself seen and known in polite society within Talos, you gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks made against persons with titles. In addition, you have a contact within the court of the Crown Prince(tbd), and a working relationship with Duke Kasgrov of Greenbelt, who is nominally your direct superior in the chain of fealty.
Your travels have occasionally taken you among the elves, and you have heard mutterings in Ra'Taure that a group calling themselves the Reclaimers have been causing trouble for the crown. Militant eco-terrorists who want to split from the wasteful Peloric League, apparently. Of more interesting note is that these Reclaimers may also possess psionic power.
During your last trip to the Astral Plane, you felt something watching you. It disappeared before you could divine more information about it, but you got the sense that it was not hostile – merely curious.
In addition, you gain the following:
The Lovers, the Dreamers, and Me: You gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks against psionic creatures. In addition, with ten minutes of meditation, you can manifest Augury as a PLA. You also sometimes receive prophetic dreams in your sleep.
It is hard to shake the feeling that you're still there, in the Mists, and that this is not all some kind of prank by the Dark Ones. Especially the past couple of days, with mists drawing close around the castle and the sun obscured. Still, the Hate is strong, and despite your discomfort, you have been working. The Assembly has been in communication with you – they say there is a possible job for you in the coming weeks. Something about a recently discovered ruin, with interesting implications regarding the Church of Pelor. Very hush hush at the moment, but they trust you. In addition, you've been keeping in touch with some of the other clerics of Pelor. Some rather...interesting religious debates are happening at the moment. There's a firebrand, one Caius Ardes, who is proclaiming that the interpretations of Pelor worshipped by the elves and halflings are heretical, and must be stamped out. While his faction thus far has only advocated for peaceful conversion to the 'One True Pelor', the tension is obvious.
In addition, you gain the following:
Heretic in Sheep's Clothing: You gain a +2 to Bluff checks against members of the Church of Pelor. In addition, so long as you hold your holy symbol, you are immune to your phobia of large mists, and gain a +4 Profane Bonus on Saving Throws against Fear Effects.
The dreams have been getting worse, of late. A palace, covered in ice, windswept. Endless snow, endless white, endless cold. A woman's face – beautiful, but terrifying. And a whispered name: 'Pazuzu'. You know the name, of course – the Demon Lord who created the Morrigan, five hundred years ago. Every child has heard the name. But why this, why now?
You have always had a strong connection to the wild places of the world, to the spirits. You can feel them now. Uneasy, wary, tense. They know something is coming. You've seen sprites and pixies coming close to the castle, watching. And, last night, there was a tiny arrow lodged in your window. A piece of parchment attatched, with 'We are ready' written upon it in Sylvan.
In your travels, you found a man who professed to be a cultist of the Morrigan. The two of you helped each other escape from the pursuit of paladins, and the warrior promised you the aid of the Black Claws if you should need it. You still have the small black stone he gave you, a single use of Sending that will reach him, and only him.
In addition, you gain the following:
Spirit-Touched: You gain a +2 to Diplomacy checks with spirits – this includes most Fey, most Outsiders, and certain incoporeal Undead. In addition, with a small ceremony taking ten minutes, you can always find a Spirit to speak with when out of sight of any structures built by mortal hands – though you have no control of what Spirit finds you, or if they will be amendable to your requests. Such meetings never result in violence, however.
When you first arrived on this world, you allied yourself with the forces of the Morrigan. And were felled. The chains of gold bound you, and the cold took your limbs as you froze in place. Awake, aware, just barely, of time passing alone in the dark. Enough to drive a lesser creature mad. And now, a young man comes, and frees you from your bondage. Back into this strange, strange world, far from your own, far from Rashemen. Far from where your beloved lies buried.
You can feel them out there. The remnants of the Morrigan's forces. Even now, five hundred years later, her presence can still be felt on the land. Some cells in Talos, some out in the Western Kingdoms, where the Morrigan began her failed conquest. Some might know of you. At the very least, you still have her Mark, the black coin she gave to those who led her forces.
You also remember Pelor, from your own world. The other side of Pelor. Your new associate, Caries, follows him as the Burning Hate – a Hate you know well. Other cults of the Hate surely have their roots somewhere in Talos, and you learned enough from your father to seek them out. They could be useful pawns, certainly.
In addition, you gain the following:
Stranger in a Strange Land: You gain a +1 Profane Bonus on Saving Throws against spells cast by followers of Pelor. In addition, anyone who fails a Saving Throw against one of your spells takes a -1 Penalty to Saving Throws against your spells for 24 hours. This does not stack with itself.
You are finally free from the black pit you had been imprisoned in. Free to take your vengeance against those who abandoned and betrayed you. This Claire Waters, who freed you, has offered sanctuary in her home, among her pack. It is...different, from your memories of running with the other hounds, but not unpleasent.
You remember the layout of the capital city. There are many secrets, there. Tunnels, leading in and out of the palace. Hidden prisons below the streets, safehouses designed for use in case of an enemy occupation. You could direct people in and out, a staging ground for an assault, or use them for spying.
You also remember the locations of many prisons created during the Last Crusade. Places where great evils were sealed away, both creatures and artifacts. Like you, you suppose. They might prove useful, in the future.
You also feel two presences. The first, a black streak in the back of your mind, is Arackanus, your torturer. The second, a painfully bright light, is Bathaniel, the one who sealed you away. Both are still on this cursed plane, somewhere. No doubt they also know of your release.
In addition, you gain the following:
Lost But Not Forgotten: You gain a +2 to Intimidate against servants of Pelor. In addition, Outsiders with the Good subtype will never initiate battle with you – though once you strike them, they will defend themselves.