Gennadi's page

It was well past sunset when Gennadi returned to the grand lodge and rang the bell.

"Peal as ye please, I'll need proof that ye are as ye claim tonight." The porter on call that night was Jygwyn, an elf lad who knew the duties of his job rather better than his place. As annoyed as Gennadi might be at Jygwyn's lack of decorum, he knew that the young elf needled those agents who were most full of themselves, and Gennadi valued him for that.

"Gennadi, paladin in the service of Torag and Hellknight, comes returned to the lodge, to find therein a meal and perhaps a captain looking to send him out again afore he can eat it. Hedge me out as you please, porter, but vex not Old Man Savarre's patience."

The porter laughed high and clear, as only the elves do. "If ye be false-named tonight, at least ye be honest-natured: only a Pathfinder agent might speak so." He unlocked the gate, pushed it open for the paladin, and took his cloak, all in a motion. "But you know why I ask, yes? On tonight, of all nights?"

In reply, Gennadi took a shimmering veil from his bent pouch. "It's been a pleasant evening, porter. A delightful opportunity to practice my skills."

"Hold ye there one fine minute! 'Paladin in service to Torag' you yourself a-named, but this gossamer favor puts me in doubt. 'To claim never that which is not my due, nor speak falsely,' that's the paladin's oath I've heard. How come ye then with this veil of deceit?"

Gennadi smiled broadly. "So we've hired judges for porter now, I see."

"And well you ought, for porters judge all with a wary eye, sometimes more honest than the magistrates up yonder, for the price of our mistakes are dearer to us"

The traveler smiled at the porter's wisdom. "And yet, elf, you do not know the color of the coins in my purse."

"For those, I cannot see, master agent."

"And yet, I am a paladin. Have I deceived you, or answered you false about my wealth?"

"Not as yet. I have asked no questions in want of answer."

"And so it is with this, my veil. Wearing it, my form and figure are hid behind a glamour, but my disguised state is plain, for everyone in Absalom, from the lords in their estates to the puddle-folk in their squalor, even the simplest porter, knows of the dwoemer of the veil. As a paladin of Torag, I would sin a-double if I were by word to present myself as, oh, a dwarfish lady, but that is a claim I forswear to make. Rather, I would appear as one mis-seen as a dwarfish lady, and that would be no lie.

"Slipping through orc patrols next month, my oaths do not require me to plant myself broad-based and announce myself. Against Aspis authorities in Garund ports, I need not wear my spiked armor, nor show my Wayfinder, nor -- with this veil -- display my manlike form.

"And it is useful for one purpose otherwise, as well."

The elf double-checked the gate he'd re-secured. "That?"

"I've spent a pair of hour out and through the city, enjoying the practice of seeing through such glamours as others would wear. In that, I stand better-prepared against such cunning by a foe, and so I have served my god before my own needs. But now, to that dinner. Fare you well, Jygwyn. May your wit serve you tonight, when your eye does not."

Some years ago, a similar topic arose on one of the PAthfinder Society boards. This is how I answered, in the character of my paladin:

Saavik: You ... lied?
Spock: I exaggerated.

--+--

Good day to you. Please, join me in the lodge's observation deck. From here, you can get a good overview of Master Farbellius' training field over there to the left. I enjoy watching him train the aspirants in combat fundamentals; it reminds me to review them myself every once in a while.

I understand that you had some cutting words for Sir Yopan last week, yes? Something about how he's a paladin and you'd caught him bluffing his opponent in honorable combat? I thought that your little gift to chip in for his holy atonement was very ... witty.

There is a great gulf, you know, between "not lying" and "blabbering about everything anyone else might want to know." As a warrior of Torag, I have accepted the burden that my behavior affects not only myself but also the Forge-father. When I lie, he must choose to either lie through my tongue, or else withdraw his favor, indicating to the world that I no longer speak for him.

There is a trade-off. In exchange for comporting myself with honor, on and off the field, I can speak with a certain authority, so that others know I am honest. That's why paladins often cast a simple light spell after giving testimony.

But that doesn't mean that the next time I see Yopan, I have to volunteer that I saw who coated his sword hilt with butter. If he asks me, I might tell him, or I might not. If I say something, it shouldn't be a lie. But I am certainly permitted to change the subject, saying something like "Valeros is in the kitchen."

And my oath does not mean that I cannot tell fairy tales to children. Everyone in attendance understands that they are stories, and if I tell of strange magic or princesses of kingdoms that never existed, I've deceived no one.

It seems an odd analogy, but the same holds true in combat. Circling around my foe, I know she is trying to find advantage over me, and she knows the same of me. It is impossible to engage a foe in combat, honorable or otherwise, while explaining where your upcoming blows are all intended to strike.

If I were to say, out loud, "my next strike will take your leg," she would be a fool to believe me, and I would be guilty of speaking a falsehood. So I imply certain maneuvers. Against one of those trainees down there, I would look down at his leg before I swing high. Against a more weathered opponent, I might change my grip slightly or raise my shield an inch. What they make of these small movements is up to them.

The execution of surrendered and unconscious foes is lawful good to some Paladins out there.

Paladin's Code (Torag) wrote:

Against my people’s enemies, I will show no mercy. I will not allow their surrender, except when strategy warrants. I will defeat them, yet even in the direst struggle, I will act in a way that brings honor to Torag.

And good day to you, Jack. The way we look at surrender is a funny thing to some, and I didn't really understand it before I joined the church of the Forge-father. Here's what the prefect explained to me. (She had a pretty solid dwarf accent. Forgive me if I don't lapse into it here.)

"Surrender is an important part of civilized combat; it's the way we can end a fight before one or the other opponent lies dead. It's essential, if victory in the contest is our goal.

"But sometimes, our goal is different. Sometimes, we truly wish to end the life of our foeman. In that case, we would no sooner accept surrender -- even one offered honorably -- than we would accept a goat when shopping for a horse.

"In other circumstances, we are prudent not to believe an offered surrender. There are dark souls out there, and cowards too, who would offer surrender as a tactic, not intending to yield the victory. I liken those people to the dishonest merchants in the marketplaces down by the docks, selling horses riddled with disease or parasites."

It is always considered good form to refuse an offer of surrender clearly. If my foe throws down his sword, I should take a moment to insist that he pick it back up, and allow him to do so without fear of my seizing the opportunity. If he refuses, then my conscience is as clear as my duty.

If I choose to accept a surrender, then I have made a bargain. I have purchased victory, and the cost is my pledge to do no harm to my opponent. Torag holds us responsible for our decisions in this. Killing an innocent who has offered surrender is a serious thing, but so is accepting a surrender of a foe who later commits great crimes.

But no, accepting a surrender and thereafter killing the enemy, to say one thing and straight-way unsay it with a little dagger blade, is never our way. There is a vast right between choosing not to buy a goat, versus stealing it.

May your time in the Grand Lodge be pleasant, and may all your endeavors lead you safely back to it.

zefig, we should figure out some way to get the two characters on the same team.

In the Grand Lodge commissary, you may have noticed a fellow named Gennadi. He fits in easily with conversations, and he's been quick to jump to another's aid when an injured pathfinder makes it back through the front door, or when rougher venture captains mock newer members for not measuring up to impossible standards. He's the kind of man you'd be glad to have at your side in a tavern, or at your back in a fight.

He's a paladin (of Torag, you'd find out with a little bit of investigation) yet you've also seen couriers come for him, with messages from a particular Chelaxian Paracountess. He's always grim after reading those messages. If you ask him, he'd have this to say:

"My children, Adrian and Tikkie, were taken from our apartments in Kaer Maga, almost three years ago now. My wife and I went after the kidnappers, of course, but they were too well-organized. My wife ... didn't make it. Eventually, they were traded, and re-sold, and came into the possession of some lesser nobles of Cheliax's House Thrune. And this ... woman ... promises me to keep them clothed, fed, and safe, in return for favors.

"Some of them I flatly refuse, but she's usually clever enough to send me on errands that prove innocuous enough. And I always keep my eyes and ears open whenever I'm around Cheliax. Until I have some decent intelligence about where they are and who's holding them ... I bide my time, and do her bidding, and endure her mocking promises of the carnal opportunities I'm missing. As if I would betray the memory of my beloved!

"But one day, I'll have my children safely home. And then," he adds, looking at the greatsword resting close at hand, "we'll see what kind of bite I have. And we'll see who's the 'flesh morsel'."

Warm welcomes this day, my friends. As we are all colleagues here and wait for no formality, I offer you my hand and introduce myself as Gennadiy, warrior of Torag, Hellknight.

Do you remember that incident last year, over in the High District, where a couple of jovial fighter types had some spiked plate armor made, and tried to pass themselves off as hellknights, so that they might borrow the reputation of the Order for their own ends? If I recall correctly, the Order of the Pyre not only took them to task, but also made sure to teach the armorsmith a costly lesson. I am given to understand that there are no such costumes available this year.

It is true that agents of Cheliax operating abroad may receive a Hellknight courtesy title, as a measure of their favor in House Thrune. Although such a gentle is indeed allowed to style himself or herself a Hellknight, he or she would be mistaken to imagine that the officers of the Orders would think much of anyone bandying that rank about as if he or she had, well, earned it.

I would say, Nathan, that a Pathfinder such as yourself, intending to petition the Hellknights for membership, might well seek to have a genuine suit of hellknight plate made, in anticipation of accepting service in the Orders. I would advise against buying any with markings or styling which would give others the false impression that you were already acting in the name of the hellknights, but those are simple enough to add afterwards.

In joy and service to you, my friend. May your duties in the lodge be pleasant, and may your excursions always lead you safely back to them.

Hail and well met, my comrades. I am Gennadi, chosen warrior of Torag, and I could not help but overhear questions about the Forge-father's code.

Some of our friends here, they ask if we are blood-thirsty? They wouldn't ask such questions if they carried the Code in their hearts. We are men of honor and action, protectors of our kith and kin. Do we basely slay the non-combatant? Of course not. But you should instruct them on the fundamentals of "take no quarter".

Let the paladin of lovely Shelyn embrace her foes once she has beaten them. Let her teach them beauty, and pray they learn from her and not the other way 'round.

Let the paladin of Iomedae demand surrender from her foes, and then support them as her wardsmen. The shield maiden's champions demand the respect due a warrior, but sometimes forget how to give it in return.

But explain, my stout brother-in-arms, how it is the will of the Forge-father that we carry the hammer to our foes, and how, once battle is joined, it is sacred. We would no sooner accept surrender from a foe than we would accept spoiled food or shoddy armor. If a foe throws down his weapon, we demand he take it up again. Should he refuse, we finish the fight.

But tell those Pathfinders over there that Torag demands that we work his will with honor. I've cured a foe's diseases, and once kept one safe from poisons, even as my blows laid him low. May Pharasma never hear that a woman I fought had died of affliction, or slow bleeding, or old age. If a drunkard threatens my folk, let him speak his words again when his head is clear. And if his heart is unchanged, let him take up his sword and die.

Good day to you all. Feel free to sit and help yourself to some cognac, as we enjoy each other's company and engage in this diverting discussion. As we are free men I wait for no-one to introduce us. I am Gennadi.

I have found it ... delicate at times to stand as both a paladin of Torag and a Companion of the Scourge, but the two commitments are natural allies in my spirit. The Sourge fights corruption and chaos, along with all our Hellknight brethren, but we have a particular call to rout out those who use their power or station to unlawfully oppress their rightful charges. Torag demands that his forces protect a comunity, and it is not hard to see

BPorter, you speak aright, when you observe that some Hellknights, perhaps most, care far more for the rule of law rather than the purity of spirit. At times, I have myself borne the ... privilege of serving under a commander whose view of good and evil varied with mine. But all my companions know of my standing as a paladin, and that giving me an order in conflict with my vows to Torag would cause me to either quit the order or lose my paladin powers. No commander with half a brain would weaken his own forces that way, and no Hellknight lictor would issue such an ... unpredictable command.

(Well, except for the Order of the Rack. There are some truly scary zealots over there. I do my best to stand clear of their command.)

Kirk: You ... lied?
Spock: I exaggerated.

--+--

Good day to you. Please, join me in the lodge's observation deck. From here, you can get a good overview of Master Farbellius' training field over there to the left. I enjoy watching him train the aspirants in combat fundamentals; it reminds me to review them myself every once in a while.

I understand that you had some cutting words for Sir Yopan last week, yes? Something about how he's a paladin and you'd caught him bluffing his opponent in honorable combat? I thought that your little gift to chip in for his holy atonement was very ... witty.

There is a great gulf, you know, between "not lying" and "blabbering about everything anyone else might want to know." As a warrior of Torag, I have accepted the burden that my behavior affects not only myself but also the Forge-father. When I lie, he must choose to either lie through my tongue, or else withdraw his favor, indicating to the world that I no longer speak for him.

There is a trade-off. In exchange for comporting myself with honor, on and off the field, I can speak with a certain authority, so that others know I am honest. That's why paladins often cast a simple light spell after giving testimony.

But that doesn't mean that the next time I see Yopan, I have to volunteer that I saw who coated his sword hilt with butter. If he asks me, I might tell him, or I might not. If I say something, it shouldn't be a lie. But I am certainly permitted to change the subject, saying something like "Valeros is in the kitchen."

And my oath does not mean that I cannot tell fairy tales to children. Everyone in attendance understands that they are stories, and if I tell of strange magic or princesses of kingdoms that never existed, I've deceived no one.

It seems an odd analogy, but the same holds true in combat. Circling around my foe, I know she is trying to find advantage over me, and she knows the same of me. It is impossible to engage a foe in combat, honorable or otherwise, while explaining where your upcoming blows are all actually going to strike.

If I were to say, out loud, "my next strike will take your leg," she would be a fool to believe me, and I would be guilty of speaking a falsehood. So I imply certain maneuvers. Against one of those trainees down there, I would look down at his leg before I swing high. Against a more weathered opponent, I might change my grip slightly or raise my shield an inch. What they make of these small movements is up to them.

Hail and well met, my comrades. I am Gennadi, chosen warrior of Torag, and I could not help but overhear questions about the Forefather's code.

Some of our friends here, they ask if we are blood-thirsty? They wouldn't ask such questions if they carried the Code in their hearts. We are men of honor and action, protectors of our kith and kin. Do we basely slay the non-combatant? Of course not. But you should instruct them on the fundamentals of "take no quarter".

Let the paladin of lovely Shelyn embrace her foes once she has beaten them. Let her teach them beauty, and pray they learn from her and not the other way 'round.

Let the paladin of Iomedae demand surrender from her foes, and then support them as her wardsmen. The shield maiden's champions demand the respect due a warrior, but sometimes forget how to give it in return.

But explain, my stout brother-in-arms, how it is the will of the Forge-father that we carry the hammer to our foes, and how, once battle is joined, it is sacred. We would no sooner accept surrender from a foe than we would accept spoiled food or shoddy armor. If a foe throws down his weapon, we demand he take it up again. Should he refuse, we finish the fight.

But tell those Pathfinders over there that Torag demands that we work his will with honor. I've cured a foe's diseases, and once kept one safe from poisons, even as my blows laid him low. May Pharasma never say that a woman I fought had died of affliction, or slow bleeding, or old age. If a drunkard threatens my folk, let him speak his words again when his head is clear. And if his heart is unchanged, let him take up his sword and die.

Chime of Opening. It's a taunt: the paracountess has my children hidden away as guarantee of my good behavior. She has given me the means to free them, but steadfastly refuses to reveal their location.

I am a paladin because, when my children were stolen from me and my wife lay dead in my arms, the church of Torag gave me comfort and invited me to turn my sword towards their goals: to defend the innocent and protect the good people of Golarion. They gave my life purpose anew.

I am a Pathfinder because a Her Excellency, the Paracountess Draleen, who now has my children secured, promises to keep them fed and well-cared for, in exchange for missions I perform for her. I have met all manner of shield-companions, and built a wide-ranging network of spies.

I am a Hellknight because Her Excellency thought it would be amusing to demand it of me. But I am a companion of the Order of the Scourge because it is made up of men and women who hate corruption. This gives me strength through the hardest and darkest nights.

Someday, I will find and rescue Adrian and Tiki. And the next day, I will turn my attention to Her Excellency and her mocking offers to bespoil the memory of my wife. That day, yes, I think I will take her up on her invitation and visit her chambers.

Because of her evil, I know I will do my vows to Torag proud. And by her abuse of her authority, she has ensured that I will take my vengeance with the full weight of the Scourge behind me.

... until those stupid <redacted> dropped 10 tons of rock on my head. Now I'm all dead and stuff. What a waste that was. Maybe somebody will find my body and use my stuff to kill something cool. At least that would make my life and death have some meaning.

*goes back to her emo afterlife*

For the record, Lialda, you're doing fine. You've been treated badly by almost every organization you've joined. I'll not insult you by suggesting the temple of Torag, although the Forge-father has done well by me. Have you considered finding people who share your passions and leading them?

On the contrary, Shou, the hellknights are known to respect a man who can control his urges. It's all part of that "taking oaths seriously" thing.

(Not that debauchery and licensciousness are wrong, per se, but those knights who've taken vows of chastity or marital faithfulness can grow weary of being referred to as meat poppets.)

There is a small faction of hellknights who worship Erastil or Irori, and bonds of fidelity are doubly important to them.

And commendations, for being wiling to speak your sense of things, when tempted to hold your tongue and appear fashionable.

If you would like to discuss matters further, I would be honored to share a meal with you at your convenience.

Gennadiy
Order of the Scourge
Holy Warrior of Torag

"May the Forge-father Torag keep you safe from harm.

"You may have seen couriers come for me, with messages from a particular Chelaxian Paracountess.

"My children, Adrian and Tikkie, were taken from our apartments in Kaer Maga, three years ago this past Gozran. Becta and I went after the kidnappers, of course, but they were too well-organized. Becta ... didn't make it.

"Eventually, Adrian and Tikkie were traded, and re-sold, and came into the possession of some lesser nobles of Cheliax's House Thrune. And this ... woman ... promises me to keep them clothed, fed, and safe, in return for favors.

"Some of them I flatly refuse, but she's usually clever enough to send me on errands that prove innocuous enough. And I always keep my eyes and ears open whenever I'm around Cheliax. Until I have some decent intelligence about where they are and who's holding them ... I bide my time, and do her bidding, and endure her mocking promises of the carnal opportunities I'm missing. As if I would betray the memory of my beloved!

"But one day, I'll have my children safely home. And then," he adds, looking at the greatsword resting close at hand, "we'll see what kind of bite I have. And we'll see who's the 'flesh morsel'.

He's quiet for a span of perhaps five breaths,

"Would there be any among you, willing to help me in this? Any who have honed the detective skills I lack? Any with magic strong enough to reach my children and bring them out of durance? Any with a strong weapon-arm and a thirst for justice?"

There's a polite knock on the doorframe. A man in gold and red plate armor -- hellknight armor -- stands there.

Some of you might recognize him. His name is Gennadi. His accent bears traces of Molthune, and he's known to be a paladin in the service of Torag.

"Might I have a word?"

While Hellknights are seen by outsiders as the enforcement arm of Cheliax, the Orders predate the Great Contract and the rise of House Thrune. They stand for law itself, and work against the misuse of authority and hypocrisy as well as against lawlessness.

Indeed, if those among the inner circle of Thrune are as corrupt as rumors suggest, it will be the Order of the Scourge which strikes the first blow against them.

Hail and well met. My name is Gennadiy, and I have long thought myself alone chosen as champion by Torag. It is a joy to see a sibling paladin who wears the hammer.

Your friend over there, the one a-dicin' behind his little screen, he asks if we are blood-thirsty? He wouldn't ask such questions if he carried the Code in his heart. We are men of honor and action, protectors of our kith and kin. Do we basely slay the non-combatant? Of course not. But you should instruct him on the fundamentals of "take no quarter".

Let the paladin of lovely Shelyn embrace her foes once she has beaten them. Let her teach them beauty, and pray they learn from her and not the other way 'round.

Let the paladin of Iomedae demand surrender from her foes, and then support them as her wardsmen. The shield maiden's champions demand the respect due a warrior, but sometimes forget how to give it in return.

But explain, my stout brother-in-arms, how it is the will of the forge-father that we carry the hammer to our foes, and how, once battle is joined, it is sacred. We would no sooner accept surrender from a foe than we would accept spoiled food or shoddy armor. If a foe throws down his weapon, we demand he take it up again. Should he refuse, we finish the fight.

But tell your friend over there, the one with all the fancy books, that Torag demands that we work his will with honor. I've cured a foe's diseases, and once kept one safe from poisons, even as my blows laid him low. May Pharasma never say that a man I fought had died of affliction, or slow bleeding, or old age. If a drunkard threatens my folk, let him speak his words again when his head is clear. And if his heart is unchanged, let him take up his sword and die.

In the Grand Lodge commissary, you may have noticed a fellow named Gennadi. He fits in easily with conversations, and he's been quick to jump to another's aid when an injured pathfinder makes it back through the front door, or when rougher venture captains mock newer members for not measuring up to impossible standards. He's the kind of man you'd be glad to have at your side in a tavern, or at your back in a fight.

He's a paladin (of Torag, you'd find out with a little bit of investigation) yet you've also seen couriers come for him, with messages from a particular Chelaxian Paracountess. He's always grim after reading those messages. If you ask him, he'd have this to say:

"My children, Adrian and Tikkie, were taken from our apartments in Kaer Maga, almost three years ago now. My wife and I went after the kidnappers, of course, but they were too well-organized. My wife ... didn't make it. Eventually, they were traded, and re-sold, and came into the possession of some lesser nobles of Cheliax's House Thrune. And this ... woman ... promises me to keep them clothed, fed, and safe, in return for favors.

"Some of them I flatly refuse, but she's usually clever enough to send me on errands that prove innocuous enough. And I always keep my eyes and ears open whenever I'm around Cheliax. Until I have some decent intelligence about where they are and who's holding them ... I bide my time, and do her bidding, and endure her mocking promises of the carnal opportunities I'm missing. As if I would betray the memory of my beloved!

"But one day, I'll have my children safely home. And then," he adds, looking at the greatsword resting close at hand, "we'll see what kind of bite I have. And we'll see who's the 'flesh morsel'."

Good day, my friend "deluge". As we are all colleagues here and wait for no formality, I offer you my hand and introduce myself as Gennadiy, warrior of Torag, Hellknight aspirant.

Do you remember that incident last year, over in the High District, where a couple of jovial fighter types had some spiked plate armor made, and tried to pass themselves off as hellknights, so that they might borrow the reputation of the Order for their own ends? If I recall correctly, the Order of the Pyre not only took them to task, but also made sure to teach the armorsmith a costly lesson. I am given to understand that there are no such costumes available this year.

It is true that agents of Cheliax operating abroad may receive a Hellknight courtesy title, as a measure of their favor in House Thrune. Although such a gentle is indeed allowed to style himself or herself a Hellknight, he or she would be mistaken to imagine that the officers of the Orders would think much of anyone bandying that rank about as if he or she had, well, earned it.

I would say, though, that a Pathfinder such as yourself, intending to petition the Hellknights for membership, might well seek to have a genuine suit of hellknight plate made, in anticipation of accepting service in the Orders. I would advise against buying any with any markings or styling which would give others the false impression that you were already acting in the name of the hellknights, but those are simple enough to add afterwards.

In joy and service to you, my friend. May your duties in the lodge be pleasant, and may your excursions always lead you safely back to them.