Divinitus's Lord of the Wilds: Kingmaker Campaign

Game Master Divinitus

Refluffed campaign trait from 'Finding Haleen' from Legacy of Fire

Muir was not sure of this choice, but it would be dishonorable to turn down one who had volunteered to give up so much. And so Shi'Vatha gave up the power he had and bonded to Casarina Medvyed, a valiant Aasimar Summoner Paladin of Iomedae.

Shi'Vatha was not as strong as most eidelon's, due to his summoner's primary path being that of a Paladin, however, he was an excellent scout, his small feline form allowing him to sneak through places Casarina could not and ferret out information for her.

The two were quite the well known pair in the Church of Iomedae, and got many of the most dangerous assignments. They were especially well known for tracking down dangerous artifacts and destroying them, wherever they might be hiding (or hiden!). However, they were also very good at investigating mysteries as well.

It was on one such assignment that the team met a horrible ending of their pact. Casarina had been tasked with investigating the sudden betrayal by a priest of his flock, and subsequent sacrificing of many of them to some unknown entity.

The pair did as they normally did, Shi'Vatha scouting ahead (although close enough not to lose his life force from being too far separated from his partner), and Casarina dispatching foes with the occasional assistance from Shi'Vatha. Unfortunately, they fell into a trap devised by those who had turned the priest. The two were captured, and taken to an evil cave where blood was spilled in a horrifying magical rite. Casarina's mind was broken with fell magic, and her former good and right nature turned to chaos and evil. Casarina awakened and began to walk the path of an anti-paladin summoner.

The ritual did not go as expected though, for it had not been performed on someone who was both a Paladin and Summoner before. Casarina's tie to Shi'Vatha was rent assunder, both gaining a burning rune on their forehead as the bond was rent. Casarina could not summon a new eidelon, and Shi'Vatha could not return to his home.

Casarina was afraid to kill her former ally, for fear her ability to summon, or use summoner magic, would also be destroyed permanently. So she locked the catlike eidelon in a steel cage and tortured it when bored.

After several months of such treatment, amazingly, Shi'Vatha's shattered mind began to reform, the madness induced by the destruction of his bond receding, and his original good and upright nature returning. Finding himself suddenly able to control his own evolution, he waited for Casarina to depart on a murder spree, and evolved an upper torso, turning himself into a taur. Using his newfound hands and skills, he used a bent nail from the wooden floor of his cell to pick the lock and flee back to the church and Casarina's family to tell them what had happened.

The church of Iomedae is nothing if not loyal, and Shi had shown such loyalty as few have for the church. However, his manners and mannerisms were not... exactly what they expected of either a paladin or a paladin's creature. And his newfound (and understandable) attitude of Antipathy toward Paladins was also something of an embarrassment.

So while the church is still very friendly toward Shi, and accords him a priest of Muir, he is not sought after often to go on missions anymore.

The Medvyed's, however, were distraught when they found out what had been done to Casarina, and they were horrified at what she had in turn done to Shi'Vatha. The Eidelon had been in the family for decades, and many of the current generation of the clan had grown up playing with Shi as children. Unable to bear losing both Casarina and Shi, they took in Shi, and hope one day to recover their lost daughter as well.

Kinimpizle had no interest in following his father’s craft. Almost from the time he could walk he spent the majority of his time roaming the country side around the city with a band of young gnomish compatriots. They played in the forests, attempted to trap wild animals, dared one another to jump off the most forbidding rocks they could find and generally explored and experienced everything they could. During this time Kinimpizle discovered he had two knacks

First he discovered that when he was in the forests surrounding his homeland he could almost feel the fey energy that coursed through the land and trees. With some focus and a bit of practice he discovered he could shape that energy in some small ways.
Second he discovered that he had a real gift for conceiving of grand new adventures, most of which crossed the line into foolhardy even by gnomish standards.

When Kinimpizle was in his early 20s these two knacks combined in a disastrously unfortunate fashion. One afternoon during a great experiment Kinimpizle and his companions were admiring Kinimpizles knack for lighting fuses from a distance using small magical fires catapulted from his palm. One thing led to another and a large warehouse burned down. Fortunately the warehouse was empty at the time; unfortunately the warehouse belonged to House Jeggare and held a fortune in rare tradegoods.

Kinimpizle and his companions were rounded up on the spot and half of them were made to watch while the other half were unceremoniously executed by agents of Jeggare

A much chastened Kinimpizle left Brastlewark that week and has never returned.

Kinimpizle wandered the inner sea for some time just travelling, meeting new people, and exploring. After several years of vagabondism he fell afoul of an irate Owl Bear and its two new cubs. He was left bloodied and near incapacitated in the woods off of a minor trading path in the southern river lands. After a day he was found by a passing ranger and brought to a nearby farming hamlet. There a priestess of Erastil tended to his injuries and over the course of several weeks restored him to health.

Over those weeks Kinimpizle got to know the village and surrounding farms and formed a rather close bond with the priestess. He played with the village children during the day, told stories to farmers in the evening, and learned about community and Erastil from the Priestess each night.

For the first time Kinimpizle felt a true attachment to people and a place. For two years he lived among the villagers in a small house on the edge of town. He worked as an under acolyte in the temple, fixed broken farm tools, occasionally went hunting with some of the youth and performed other odd tasks to earn his keep. For some time domesticity in itself was novel enough to keep him fascinated, nonetheless in time the song of adventure began to call to him again.

He was able to find some small additional excitement in the village by joining the local militia and occasionally making forays with a local ranger into the nearby wilds. He learned a bit about wilderness and his time with the militia taught him quite a bit about fighting off bandits.

These all too infrequent bursts of excitement couldn’t sustain him for long though. Torn between his attachment to his community and his need for constant stimuli and adventure Kinimpizle was left without any clear path. It was at this time that Erastil, through his priestess, revealed an unexpected path to Kinimipizle. Through a series of visions, conversations, and lessons the priestess helped teach Kinimpizle how to server both Erastil and his own needs as a guardian of his hamlet and the many like it.

From that period on Kinimpizle has wandered the villages, hamlets, and farm steads of southern Rostland confronting threats and defending his chosen community.

Years of facing threats alone and seeing the occasional calamity befall villages under his protection have not managed to dampen his optimism but have perhaps strained his psyche just a bit. Combined with years of channeling Fey energy on the border of a strongly Fey land this has left him a bit erratic in the eyes of most people. He sometimes struggles to remember basic facts and can frequently be found talking to himself and his Elk companion. He has taken to wearing an odd mishmash of personal curios and small remembrances from villages he supports and from those that have died. This array of objects, scarves, hats and tokens give him a rather garish and confused appearance.

Kinimpizles clothing is replete with color. He has small scarves and tokens tied about his belt and on the hem of his armor. These are mostly handmade knick knacks given to him by residents or children of hamlets he has provided service to. About his neck are no less than a half dozen assorted pendants and necklaces the largest of which is his holy symbol of Erastil. He frequently wears scraps of colorful cloth tied around his wrists and his two arming gloves are a mismatched pair he chose for their respective comfort and died a light green that matches his skin tone.

Despite this chaotic and flamboyant appearance his armor is always immaculately polished, his weapons gleam in the sun and his leather shines with fresh oil. He may appear a bit odd but no one who sees him has any doubt about his martial intentions.

While Raen's mother dedicated herself solely to mastering the bow, spending over two centuries learning her craft, Raen's father served as an armathor, a knight errant blending spell and steel while dispensing justice in the farthest reaches of the Fierani Forest. It was while Raen's father was rehabilitating in the village- he lost his right arm to diabolical poisons fighting a cult of Treerazer worshipers trying to corrupt the Latantha from within- that Raen's mother and father met. After what Raen has always been jokingly told was a pronounced period of groveling on her father's part, her mother and father pledged themselves to each other and began a family.

Raen is the fourth child of four, 40 years her closest sibling's junior and a infant when her eldest brother was entering service to Queen Telandia. With such exceptional parents, Raen and her siblings couldn't hope to be anything other than exceptional themselves. Raen's eldest sister, fascinated by the shorter lived races and their magic, moved to Greengold to work directly with humans. And Raen's youngest brother, closest in age to her, is one of the best young students in the Latantha.

Elves have few children, and Raen's cohort in the village consisted of only six other children her age, all of whom learned their first formal lessons at Raen's mother's knee. But while the Latantha is the focus of the village and archery her mother's first love, Raen is the child of both an archer and a wizard.

While after his injury her father could no longer wield a sword, he could still do magic. He embraced his maiming as an opportunity for enlightenment- "All change is growth," he says, and his unflappable calm and unbreakable cheer are clear indicators that he has found the Brightness so elusive to other seekers. So Raen's father put up his weapons and focused on his children and his studies, in that order. He was an excellent father to his children, and still is during the rarer and rarer moments they come to him to seek his wisdom.

At home she learned of the planes, the stars and planets and the esoteric arts of the arcanist. At school she learned the bow, the calm of the archer and the wisdom of the Lethani- the philosophy passed down through the school. From her friends she learned joy and the freedom of spirit that only small children and elves can know. With her father's curious mind and her mother's clever fingers and she somehow managed to distill all these things into a unique discipline that is similar to but different from the path of the arcane archer.

It was a combination of things that came into alignment to get Raen sent to Restov. Her sister's contacts among the humans in Greengold and her eldest brother's place in Iadara as a trusted but junior servant in the Viridian Court, along with her obvious lack of affiliation with the Queen or her senior advisors and her only very recent coming of age, were what induced the powers that be to arrange for her to be included in the Swordlords' charter to explore, pacify, and eventually settle the Greenbelt.

Their plans for her are twofold. In the short term, she is to discover and protect any aiudara in the unsettled lands or lost in the Narlmarches or any of the rest of the Stolen Lands. In the long term- and this was never expressed to her directly, only an unspoken expectation among the people who sent her- she is to shape any budding kingdoms into a place friendly to Kyonin and elves in general and is expected to outlive any of the short lived races who come to rule the land so that one day, even if she is not the land's first ruler, she will eventually have dominion over any new kingdom that might grow.

With a pragmatism drilled into her over decades of studying the Lethani, she dresses to fit in, whether that is elven silks or forest greens and muddy brown leathers or the black cloak and wolf fur stole that is so popular in Brevoy today. She tries not to attract attention to herself, though that is not always possible for a white haired elven woman as tall as most men.

She loves the way humans, halflings, gnomes, and others interact, though, especially at taverns, where there is often music and dancing and food like she has never heard or done or smelled before. She doesn't love so much the many unspoken social norms humans hem themselves in with, such as the unspoken taboos around sex and relationships or around worrying about the afterlife. And she especially dislikes the way humans don't seem to care about stewarding the natural world, thinking only in the short term when it comes to development, expansion, and exploiting the world around them.

Raen is her father's daughter, though, and is enjoying her trip outside her homeland. She loves learning, whether from books or from experiences, and has seen many things to be curious about, from the Aldori sword style to city architecture to the techniques the short lived races use to breed horses. She is friendly and outgoing and genuinely likes to hear about others' histories and the histories of the places they are from.

In spite of this friendly demeanor, though, she is always aware that she has been given a vital, secret mission, and she is dedicated to finding and insuring no outsiders use any lost aiudara.

-that's 14 of the available 16; I'd use the extra 2 to buy off the Cha penalty if that's allowed or bump Con if it's not.

Background skills
Craft (carpentry or bonsai?) or Profession (wood carver or botanist)- I'm imagining her being like a bonsai artist but with full sized trees.
Craft (bowyer/fletcher)- I can't imagine an archer wouldn't learn how to make a bow and arrows. If this is too Adventure-y, then I'd go with Perform (Oratory)- she loves to talk about philosophy but she's likely to bore people to death with it.

Illuminator to get Diplomacy as class skill
Know the Land to get Survival as class skill
River Lander campaign trait fits alright
Student of Philosophy trait to get Int to Diplomacy

Family Ties drawback works, since she's doing her family's bidding by being out here, or
Meticulous could work for a brainy wizard who's never been away from home before, or
Naive could work for somebody who's never been in a real, life and death, up close and personal fight before

Point-Blank Shot
Precise Shot
Rapid Shot

'Prod and pull,' the old woman was saying, 'It’s the way of the King, as like the gods themselves.' She leaned to one side and spat, then brought a soiled cloth to her wrinkled lips. 'Three husbands and two sons I saw off to war.'

The fishergirl's eyes shone as she watched the column of mounted soldiers thunder past, and she only half listened to the hag standing beside her. The girl's breath had risen to the pace of the magnificent horses. She felt her face burning, a flush that had nothing to do with the heat. The day was dying, the sun's red smear over the trees on her right, and the sea's sighing against her face had grown cool.

'That was in the days of the Choral,' the hag continued. 'Pharasma roast the bastard's soul on a spit. But look on, lass. The King scatters bones with the best of them. Heh, They started with his house, didn't they, now?'

The fishergirl nodded faintly. As befitted the lowborn, they waited by the roadside, the old woman burdened beneath a rough sack filled with turnips, the girl with a heavy basket balanced on her head. Every minute or so the old woman shifted the sack from one bony shoulder to the other.

With the riders crowding them on the road and the ditch behind them a steep drop to broken rocks, she had no place to put down the sack.

'Scatters bones, I said. Bones of husbands, bones of sons, bones of wives and bones of daughters. All the same to them. All the same to the House Surtova.' The old woman spat a second time. 'Three husbands and two sons, ten coin apiece a year. Five of ten's fifty. Fifty coin a year's cold company, lass. Cold in winter, cold in bed.'

The fishergirl wiped dust from her forehead. Her bright eyes darted among the soldiers passing before her. The young men atop their highbacked saddles held expressions stern and fixed straight ahead. The few women who rode among them sat tall and somehow fiercer than the men. The sunset cast red glints from their helms, flashing so that the girl's eyes stung and her vision blurred.

'You're the fisherman's daughter,' the old woman said. 'I seen you afore on the road, and down on the strand. Seen you and your dad at market. Missing an arm, ain't he? More bones for their collection is likely, eh?' She made a chopping motion with one hand, then nodded. 'Mine's the first house on the track. I use the coin to buy candles. Five candles I burn every night, five candles to keep old Rigga company. It's a tired house, full of tired things and me one of them, lass. What you got in the basket there?'

Slowly the fishergirl realized that a question had been asked of her. She pulled her attention from the soldiers and smiled down at the old woman. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'the horses are so loud.'

Rigga raised her voice. 'I asked what you got in your basket, lass?'

'Twine. Enough for three nets. We need to get one ready for tomorrow. Dadda lost his last one—something in the deep waters took it and a whole catch, too. Ilgrand Lender wants the money he loaned us and we need a catch tomorrow. A good one.' She smiled again and swept her gaze back to the soldiers. 'Isn't it wonderful?' she breathed.

Rigga's hand shot out and snagged the girl's thick black hair, yanked it hard.

The girl cried out. The basket on her head lurched, then slid down on to one shoulder. She grabbed frantically for it but it was too heavy. The basket struck the ground and split apart. 'Aaai!' the girl gasped, attempting to kneel. But Rigga pulled and snapped her head around.

'You listen to me, lass!' The old woman's sour breath hissed against the girl's face. ' Choral the usurper king has been grinding this land down for a hundred years, and now King Noleski does the same. You was born in it. I wasn't. When I was your age this was a country. We flew a banner and it was ours. We were free, lass.'

The girl was sickened by Rigga's breath. She squeezed shut her eyes.

'Mark this truth, child, else the Cloak of Lies blinds you for ever.'

Rigga's voice took on a droning cadence, and all at once the girl stiffened. Rigga, Riggalai the Seer, the wax-witch who trapped souls in candles and burned them. Souls devoured in flame—Rigga's words carried the chilling tone of prophecy. 'Mark this truth. I am the last to speak to you. You are the last to hear me. Thus are we linked, you and I, beyond all else.'

Rigga's fingers snagged tighter in the girl's hair. 'Across the stolen lands the Lord’s will drive their knife into virgin soil. The blood now will comes in a tide and it'll sweep you under, child, if you're not careful. They'll put a sword in your hand, they'll give you a fine horse, and they'll send you across those lands. But a shadow will embrace your soul. Now, listen! Bury this deep! Rigga will preserve you because we are linked, you and I. But it is all I can do, understand? Look to the Lord spawned in Darkness; his is the hand that shall free you, though he'll know it not—'

'What's this?' a voice bellowed.

Rigga swung to face the road. An outrider had slowed his mount. The Seer released the girl's hair.

The girl staggered back a step. A rock on the road's edge turned underfoot and she fell. When she looked up the outrider had trotted past.

Another thundered up in his wake.

'Leave the pretty one alone, hag,' this one growled, and as he rode by he leaned in his saddle and swung an open, gauntleted hand. The ironscaled glove cracked against Rigga's head, spinning her around. She toppled.

The fishergirl screamed as Rigga landed heavily across her thighs. A bead of crimson spit spattered her face. Whimpering the girl pushed herself back across the gravel, then used her feet to shove away Rigga's body. She climbed to her knees.

Something within Rigga's prophecy seemed lodged in the girl's head, heavy as a stone and hidden from light. She found she could not retrieve a single word the Seer had said. She reached out and grasped Rigga's woollen shawl. Carefully, she rolled the old woman over. Blood covered one side of Rigga's head, running down behind the ear. More blood smeared her lined chin and stained her mouth. The eyes stared sightlessly.

The fishergirl pulled back, unable to catch her breath. Desperate, she looked about. The column of soldiers had passed, leaving nothing but dust and the distant tremble of hoofs. Rigga's bag of turnips had spilled on to the road. Among the trampled vegetables lay five tallow candles.

The girl managed a ragged lungful of dusty air. Wiping her nose, she looked to her own basket.

'Never mind the candles,' she mumbled, in a thick, odd voice. 'They're gone, aren't they, now? just a scattering of bones. Never mind.' She crawled towards the bundles of twine that had fallen from the breached basket, and when she spoke again her voice was young, normal. 'We need the twine. We'll work all night and get one ready. Dadda's waiting. He's right at the door, he's looking up the track, he's waiting to see me.’

She stopped, a shiver running through her. The sun's light was almost gone. An unseasonal chill bled from the shadows, which now flowed like water across the road.

'Here it comes, then,' the girl grated softly, in a voice that wasn't her own.

A soft-gloved hand fell on her shoulder. She ducked down, cowering. 'Easy, girl,' said a man's voice. 'It's over. Nothing to be done for her now.'

The fishergirl looked up. A man swathed in black leaned over her, his face obscured beneath a hood's shadow. 'But he hit her,' the girl said, in child's voice. 'And we have nets to tie, me and Dadda—'

'Let's get you on your feet,' the man said, moving his long-fingered hands down under her arms. He straightened, lifting her effortlessly. Her sandalled feet dangled in the air before he set her down.

Now she saw a second man, shorter, also clothed in black. This one stood on the road and was turned away, his gaze in the direction the soldiers had gone. He spoke, his voice reed-thin. 'Wasn't much of a life,' he said, not turning to face her. 'A minor talent, long since dried up the Gift. Oh, she might have managed one more, but we'll never know will we?'

The fishergirl stumbled over to Rigga's bag and picked up a candle. She straightened, her eyes suddenly hard, then deliberately spat on to the road.

The shorter man's head snapped towards her. Within the hood seemed the shadows played alone.

The girl shrank back a step. 'It was a good life,' she whispered. 'She had these candles, you see. Five of them. Five for—'

'Necromancy,' the short man cut in.

The taller man, still at her side, said softly, 'I see them, child. I understand what they mean.'

The other man snorted. 'The witch harboured five frail, weak souls. Nothing grand.' He cocked his head. 'I can hear them now. Calling for her.'

Tears filled the girl's eyes. A wordless anguish seemed to well up from that black stone in her mind. She wiped her cheeks. 'Where did you come from?' she asked abruptly. 'We didn't see you on the road.'

The man beside her half turned to the gravel track. 'On the other side,' he said, a smile in his tone. 'Waiting, just like you.'

The other giggled. 'On the other side indeed.' He faced down the road again and raised his arms.

The girl drew in a sharp breath as darkness descended. A loud, tearing sound filled the air for a second, then the darkness dissipated and the girl's eyes widened.

Seven massive Hounds now sat around the man in the road. The eyes of these beasts glowed yellow, and all were turned in the same direction as the man himself.

She heard him hiss, 'Eager, are we? Then go.' Silently, the Hounds bolted down the road.

Their master turned and said to the man beside her, 'Something to gnaw on the King’s mind.' He giggled again.

'Must you complicate things?' the other answered wearily.

The short man stiffened. 'They are within sight of the column.'

He cocked his head. From up the road came the scream of horses.

He sighed. 'You've reached a decision, Cotillion?'

The other grunted amusedly. 'Using my name, Ammanas, means you've just decided for me. We can hardly leave her here now, can we?'

'Of course we can, old friend. just not breathing.'

Cotillion looked down on the girl. 'No,' he said quietly, she’ll do.'

The fishergirl bit her lip. Still clutching Rigga's candle, she took another step back, her wide eyes darting from one man to the other.

'Pity,' Ammanas said.

Cotillion seemed to nod, then he cleared his throat and said, 'It'll take time.'

An amused note entered Ammanas's reply. 'And have we time? True vengeance needs the slow, careful stalking of the victim. Have you forgotten the pain they once delivered us? The Brevoy’s back will be against the wall. They might not fall without our intervention. Where would be the satisfaction in that?'

Cotillion's response was cool and dry. 'You've always underestimated them. Hence our present circumstances… No.' He gestured at the fishergirl. 'We'll need this one. The Swordlord’s raised the ire of Moon's Spawn, and that's a hornet's nest if ever there was one. The timing is perfect.'

Faintly, above the screaming horses, came the shrieks of men and women, a sound that pierced the girl's heart. Her eyes darted to Rigga's motionless form on the roadside, then back to Ammanas, who now approached her. She thought to run but her legs had weakened to a helpless trembling. He came close and seemed to study her, even though the shadows within his hood remained impenetrable.

'A fishergirl?' he asked, in a kindly tone.

She nodded.

'Have you a name?'

'Enough!' Cotillion growled. 'She's not some mouse under your paw, Ammanas. Besides, I've chosen her and I will choose her name as well.'

Ammanas stepped back. 'Pity,' he said again.

The girl raised imploring hands. 'Please,' she begged Cotillion, 'I've done nothing! My father's a poor man, but he'll pay you all he can. He needs me, and the twine—he's waiting right now!' She felt herself go wet between her legs and quickly sat down on the ground. 'I've done nothing!' Shame rose through her and she put her hands in her lap.

'Please.'

'I've no choice any more, child,' Cotillion said. 'After all, you know our names.'

'I've never heard them before!' the girl cried.

The man sighed. "With what's happening up the road right now, well, you'd be questioned. Unpleasantly. There are those who know our names.'

'You see, lass,' Ammanas added, suppressing a giggle, 'we're not supposed to be here. There are names, and then there are names.' He swung to Cotillion and said, in a chilling voice, 'Her father must be dealt with. My Hounds?'

'No,' Cotillion said. 'He lives.'

'Then how?'

'I suspect,' Cotillion said, 'greed will suffice, once the slate is wiped clean.' Sarcasm filled his next words. 'I'm sure you can manage the sorcery in that, can't you?'

Ammanas giggled. 'Beware of shadows bearing gifts.'

Cotillion faced the girl again. He lifted his arms out to the sides. The shadows that held his features in darkness now flowed out around his body.

Ammanas spoke, and to the girl his words seemed to come from a great distance. 'She's ideal. They could never track her down, could never even so much as guess.' He raised his voice. 'It's not so bad a thing, lass, to be the pawn of a god.'

'Prod and pull,' the fishergirl said quickly.

Cotillion hesitated at her strange comment, then he shrugged. The shadows whirled out to engulf the girl. With their cold touch her mind fell away, down into darkness. Her last fleeting sensation was of the soft wax of the candle in her right hand, and how it seemed to well up between the fingers of her clenched fist

The old woman was right. As usual. These people had been under the boot so long they actually liked it. Well, Aragan thought, the education begins here.

It had been a bad day, with the local captain roaring off with three companies and leaving not one solid rumour in their wake about what was going on. And if that wasn't bad enough, the Lord's Inquisitor arrived from Restov not ten minutes later, using one of those eerie magical Gates to get here. Though he'd never seen her, just her name on the hot, dry wind was enough to give him the shakes. Mage killer, the scorpion in the Lord’s pocket.

Aragan scowled down at the writing tablet and waited until the corporal cleared his throat. Then he looked up.

The recruit standing before him took the staff sergeant aback. He opened his mouth, on his tongue a lashing tirade designed to send the young ones scampering. A second later he shut it again, the words unspoken. West Pool 's Captain had made her instructions abundantly clear: if they had two arms, two legs and a head, take them. The campaign was a mess. Fresh bodies were needed.
He grinned at the girl. She matched the Captain's description perfectly.

Still. 'All right, lass, you understand you're in line to join the Restov Marines, right?'

The girl nodded, her gaze steady and cool and fixed on Aragan.

The recruiter's expression tightened. Damn, she can't be more than twelve or thirteen. If this was my daughter…

What's got her eyes looking so bloody old? The last time he'd seen anything like them had been outside Gronzi Forest, on Sagava—he'd been marching through farmland hit by five years' drought and a war twice as long. Those old eyes were brought by hunger, or death. He scowled. 'What's your name, girl?'

'Am I in, then?' she asked quietly.

Aragan nodded, a sudden headache pounding against the inside of his skull. 'You'll get your assignment in a week's time, unless you got a preference.'

'Stolen lands campaign,' the girl answered immediately. 'Under the command of General Dujek Onearm. Onearm's Host.'

Aragan blinked. 'I'll make a note,' he said softly. 'Your name, soldier?'

'Sorry. My name is Sorry.'

Aragan jotted the name down on his tablet. 'Dismissed, soldier. The corporal will tell you where to go.' He looked up as she was near the door. 'And wash all that mud off your feet.' Aragan continued writing for a moment, then stopped. It hadn't rained in weeks. And the mud around here was half-way between green and grey, not dark red. He tossed down the stylus and massaged his temples. Well, at least the headache's fading.

==//==

High General Dujek marched back to Jack's side, his hard expression softened slightly with relief. From the trapdoor, voices rose in argument. 'They've arrived,' Dujek said. 'Giving your new recruit an earful about something—and don't tell me what because I don't want to know.'

Jack's momentary relief was shattered by what he only now realized was the secret hope that Sorry had deserted. So his men had found her after all, or she had found them. Either way, his veterans did not sound happy to see her. He couldn't blame them. Had she tried to kill Hubert? That seemed to be the suspicion of Ben and Alam.

Alam was doing most of the bellowing, putting more into his role as corporal than was warranted, and Dujek's searching glance at Jack was enough to push him towards the trap-door. He came to the edge and glared down into the room below. Everyone was there, standing in a menacing circle around Sorry, who leaned against the ladder as if bored by the whole proceedings.

'Quiet!' Jack roared down. 'Check your supplies and get up here, now!' He watched them scamper, then gave a satisfied nod and returned to where the High General waited.

Dujek was rubbing the stump of his left arm, frowning distractedly.

'Damn this weather,' he muttered.

'A healer could ease that,' Jack said.

'Not necessary,' Dujek replied. 'I'm just getting old.' He scratched his jaw. 'All of your heavy supplies have been delivered to the drop point. Ready to move, Sergeant?'

Jack eyed the ridged saddles on the horses, then nodded sharply.

They watched as the squad members emerged from the square doorway, each wearing a raincape and burdened with a heavy pack. Some were engaged in a whispering argument, casting a glare back at the barbarian who'd trodden on their heels. The barbarian had attached his entire collection of charms, trinkets and trophies to various parts of his burly body, looking like a bedecked leadwood tree during the Kanese of the Scorpions. The recruit, Sorry waiting at the horses. Her satchel was no bigger than a bedroll, and the raincape she wore was more like a cloak—not standard issue—reaching down to her ankles. She'd raised the hood. Despite the dawn's burgeoning light her face remained in shadow. This is all I have left. Jack sighed.

Dujek asked quietly, 'How is she doing, Sergeant?'

'Still breathing,' Jack replied stonily.

The High General slowly shook his head. 'So damn young these days . . .'

A memory returned to Jack as he considered Dujek's words.

On a brief attachment to the 5th, away from the siege at Pale, in the midst of the Sageva Campaign, Sorry had joined them from the new troops arriving at Nathilog. He'd watched her put a knife to three local mercenaries they'd taken prisoner in Greydog—ostensibly to glean information but, he recalled with a shudder, it had been nothing like that. Not an act of expedience. He had stared aghast, horrified, as Sorry set to work on their loins. He remembered meeting Alam's gaze, and the desperate gesture that sent the black man surging forward, knives bared. Alam had pushed past Sorry and with three quick motions had laid open the men's throats. And then came the moment that still twisted Jack's heart. In their last, frothing words, the mercenaries had blessed Alam.

Sorry had merely sheathed her weapon, then walked away.

Though the woman had been with the squad for two years, still his men called her a recruit, and they would probably do so until the day they died. There was a meaning there, and Jack understood it well. Recruits were not brothers. The stripping away of that label was an earned thing, a recognition brought by deeds. Sorry was a recruit because the thought of having her inextricably enfolded within the army burned like a hot knife in the throat of everyone in his squad. And that was something to which the sergeant himself was not immune.

As all of this flashed through Jack's thoughts, his usually impassive expression failed him. In his head, he replied: Young? No, you can forgive the young, you can answer their simple needs, and you can look in their eyes and find enough there that is recognizable. But her?

No. Best to avoid those eyes, in which there was nothing that was young—nothing at all.

'Let's get you moving, to Restov.' Dujek growled. 'Mount everyone up.' Without turning to Jack, the general said ”She may be ideal for the stolen lands. The Sword Lords are funding adventurers.”

The High General turned to say a few last words to the sergeant, but what he saw in Jack's face killed those words in his throat.

Subject: Stolen Lands

1. I am privileged to write in support of one of our members, Corporal Sorry. Corporal Sorry was assigned to our campaign and has worked here for almost two years. During that time I have witnessed her tremendous growth and development. This development came not only in the area of combat arms, but in maturity and character as well.

2. Corporal Sorry arrived here as a trainee, eager to make her mark and expecting to make quick progress through the ranks. At first, she had difficulty accepting her place as a young, less experienced Soldier and resented the efforts of her superiors to further her training. But eventually, she learned the valuable trait of humility and enjoyed the opportunity to learn from her older peers and supervisors.

3. She quickly learned to manage her time, work in group situations under strict deadlines, and to recognize the importance of a strong work ethic, persistence, and integrity. She has become the most valuable and dependable member of our section and is a role model for newly assigned Soldiers.

4. I recommend Corporal Sorry to explore the Stolen Lands program with absolute confidence. She has made me proud, as her friend and supervisor, and I am sure will continue to do so as she grows in your care and beyond.

High General Dujek Onearm

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Defense
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AC 12, touch 12, flat-footed 10 (+4 Mage armor, +2 dexterity)
hp 9 (1d8+1)
Fort +1, Ref +2, Will +2

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Offense
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Speed 30ft
Melee Morning Star+ 3 (1d8+3 / x2)
Melee Dagger+ 3 (1d4+3 / x2)

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Special Abilities
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Spell like: Daze 3/3
Misfortune(Ex)

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Statistics
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Str 16, Dex 14, Con 12, Int 14, Wis 8, Cha 20
Base Atk+0
CMB+3; CMD 15
Feats Silent spell, Improved Initiative, Eschew Materials, Mage's Tattoo (Enchantment)
Traits Reactionary, Shadowdweller (Refflufed: Description below ), Unerving Stare. (Refflufed: Description below )

Skills 8 (4 Oracle, 2 Int, 1 Fav Class, 1 Human)

Acrobatics 2 (+2 dex)
Bluff 9 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +5 Cha)
Climb 3 (+3 Str)
Diplomacy 9 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +5 Cha)
Disguise 5 (+5 Cha)
Escape Artist 2 (+2 Dex)
Fly 2 (+2 Dex)
Heal -1 (-1 Wis)
Intimidate 9 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +5 Cha)
Sleight of Hand 7 (+1 rank, +3 class, +2 Des, +1 Trait)
Sense Motive 3 (+1 rank, +3 class, -1 wis)
Spellcraft 6 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +2 Int)
Stealth 6 (1 rank, +3 class, +2 dex)
Survival -1 (-1 wis)
Swim +3 (+3 Str)
Use Magic Device 9 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +5 Cha)

Background skills

Appraise 2 (+2 int)
Prof (Soldier) 6 (+1 rank, +3 Class, +2 Int)
Linguistics 3 (+1 rank, +2 Int)

Languages Common, Aklo, Infernal, Abyssal
Combat Gear Morning Star, 2 daggers
Other Gear Beginners kit, Backpack, Waterskin, Belt Pouch

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Racial
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Bonus Feat Humans select one extra feat at 1st level.
Skilled Humans gain an additional skill rank at first level and one additional rank whenever they gain a level.

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Traits
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Reactionary: You were bullied often as a child, but never quite developed an offensive response. Instead, you became adept at anticipating sudden attacks and reacting to danger quickly.
Benefit: You gain a +2 trait bonus on initiative checks.
Shadowdweller: You have a natural connection to the darkness, which makes you slip easily unseen. In your childhood, you used this to steal minor stuff, when there was nothing to eat, or to help your poor father.
Benefits: You gain a +1 trait bonus on Sleight of Hand checks, and Sleight of Hand is always a class skill for you. When in dim light or total darkness, this bonus raises to +2.
Refluffed from: Highlander
Unerving Stare: Few are able to keep eye contact with you, but those related to arcane/divine arts treat you with nothing but dread.
Benefits:You take a –1 penalty on all Charisma-based skill checks made when dealing with members of spellcaster classes but gain a +1 trait bonus on Will saves as a result of your ties with darkness.
Refluffed from:Bastard

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Drawback
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Warded Against Nature
Effect: Animals do not willingly approach within 30 feet of you, unless you or the animal's master succeeds at a DC 20 Handle Animal, Ride, or wild empathy check. Animal companions, familiars, and mounts granted by your class abilities are immune to this effect.

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Spells
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Oracle spells know:
0th: 4 | Create Water, Detect Magic, Mending, Guidance, Mage Hand(Bonus Archetype), Ghost Sound (Bonus Archetype)
1st: 2 | Cure Light Wounds (Bonus Oracle), Murderous Command, Burning Disarm

Spells per day:
1st : 5/5

Sorcerer spells know:
0th: 4 | Prestidigitation, Message, Open/Close, Arcane Mark
1st: 2 | Mage Armor, Color Spray

Spells per day:
1st : 5/5

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Gear
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