As requested, here are my edits to the campaign:
Currently our game is on hiatus as our core group is scattered across the four winds. With that being said, we are in Book VI and the PCs are all at lvl 15. I've taken the liberty to expand on all the books while sticking to the Medium XP track, so they are "over-leveled." I've advanced the enemies accordingly.
Anyways, when crafting the campaign, I decided that the focus will be solely on the PCs and their backstories, and I did my damnedest to synergize their character concepts with the campaign's plot points. I did this by restricting race to human only . Furthermore, each character must be a native of Korvosa and are restricted to the Varisian, Chelish, or Shoanti ethnicities (with exceptions allowed based on the quality and plot-hook potential of their backstories/character concepts). I then closely monitored their class selection (no summoners or Asian-themed classes), and had them all tied to Gaedran Lamm in some way. Before you condemn me for being a character creation nazi, I have run multiple campaigns (with more liberal character creation rules) for the same group, and Crimson Throne is their favorite campaign by far.
With these onerous restrictions in place, this is what my players came up with:
The Heroes of Korvosa
Riah Kristane - LG female Chelish paladin of Iomedae. Wields a two handed sword. Member of the last graduating class of Endrin Military Academy and a descendant of Mandravius the Righteous -- the first Shoanti paladin and slayer of the dread dragon Kazavon.
Player's Description:
"Her sense of righteousness and justice may be a nuisance at times. she looks a little rough and is very serious in public, which may give people the impression that she is impassive and uncaring. however, those who are close to her know that she loves and feels very deeply and loves to laugh."
Alexander Bromethean - LG male Chelish ranger. Member of the last graduating class at Endrin Military Academy and one of the last remaining Sable Company Marines. Adopted son of Lord Bromethean. (He finds out who his real parents are in a big reveal in Book VI)
Mavenestian Heinrickson III - CN male Chelish conjurer. First in his graduating class at the Acadamae and former apprentice to Togomor. An unrepentant gambler, Mavenestian found himself deeply indebted, and later forced to help build the Vivified Labyrinth for the Arkonas to pay off his debts. (This player joined the campaign in Book III).
Fal - CG female Chelish rogue. A former Lamm's Lamb, and a former member of the Catspaw Lofties, Fal is a dead ringer for the Queen. More to follow.
Player's Description:
"Nocturnal. Light on her feet. Selectively steals from those who can afford it. Doesn't talk about her childhood. Fiercely loyal to her friends. Ready for the day when she defeats a loathesome git who takes advantage of helpless children."
Azazel – CN male Nidalese sorcerer. Blue dragon disciple and former member of the Children of Kazavon program. More to follow.
Player's Description:
"He is very shy, and anti-social, never really had any interactions with people. Very interested in magic and also interested in what is out in the world that he's been missing out on."
Nirali - LG female Vudran cleric of Iori. Nirali comes from a Brahmin family that has fallen on hard times. Betrothed to Bahor Arkona for access to trade contracts with the Western Kingdoms, she was sent to Korvosa to marry. Fortunately, her instructor, a blind beggar (a high level Iroran cleric under a vow of poverty) whom she fed, clothed, and took in as a child, stowed on board. As the ship pulled into harbor, the blind cleric gave his life to dispatch the Arkona retainers on board and buy her time to escape into the slums of the city. Nirali survived by cross-dressing as a male Varisian healer. (Because of this PC's unique concept, I allowed a crossdressing Vudran priest of Irori).
Player's Description:
"(while crossdressing) Niral comes across as a silent, cold, self preserved young man. Some may perceive him as condescending and arrogant. However in truth, he's quite caring and enjoys lending a hand in where ever he is needed. He would clearly speak his mind to the extent of his knowledge, where his honesty at times follows unpleasant consequences. Specializing in natural-pathic/ herbal medicine, he's always deep in work to create another remedy along with the occasional deliveries to ill patients.
*fortunately, he smells like Jasmine and other pleasant herbs from working in his herbal "closet" most of the time. (yay)"
The Big 3
Togomor
The newcomer wore ebony plate mail, festooned with razor sharp spikes, and covered with engravings depicting the denizens of the Nine Hells. A Hellknight. These soldiers dedicated their lives to enforcing the law. To say that some of their methods are harsh would be an understatement. With iron discipline, sharply honed skill, and diabolically infused strength, they had brought many of Cheliax’s enemies to its knees. Lawbreakers suffered far worse. Torture was their forte and perhaps their only pleasure. They lived Spartan lives with virtually no external comforts. Distractions could not be tolerated.
Under his black, horned helmet, he looked like an apparition from hell. A nightmare made into reality. He slowly walked along the deck, surveying the refugees brought up to the deck by frightened sailors. Most of the passengers were political refugees from Cheliax. Many were deposed nobles who had made the fatal mistake of not supporting House Thrune and the infernal pentagram.
Togomor, formerly the heir and eldest son of the wealthy House Avanxi, shielded his two young sisters with his slight frame. He wore rags and looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days. His copper hair was matted with dirt and sweat. The journey across the sea had not been kind to him. ‘I would rather die than submit to these foul devil-worshippers.’ He gritted his teeth and glared at the armored figure.
The Hellknight surveyed the rabble assembled before him before speaking in a harsh, grating voice, “You are all traitors to the House of Thrune. Did you honestly think that we would not follow you to this backwater kingdom? His Infernal Highness’ reach is long – there is no place on this world where you can hide from Hell.” He paused, drinking in the fear and tension in the air. Such emotions invigorated him. He fed on them and grew stronger. “Fear not, wretches. I am not here to kill you.”
He chuckled. “But I will not let you roam free like cockroaches either. Our order is always looking for new recruits.” He turned to the sailors behind the refugees. “Bring the children forward.” The sailors moved quickly to comply. 10 year old Sabina and 3 year old Illeosa was torn from Togomor’s protective grasp and moved in front of the Hellknight.
“Your children will repent for your heresy by becoming that which you fear and hate. Don’t worry. We will take care of them.” He laughed mockingly. He began walking down the line of assembled children, yanking the most able-bodied among them off to the side. When he grabbed a hold of Sabina’s tattered dress, Togomor yelled out, “No! Take me instead! Leave her alone!” He pushed his way to the front of the crowd to stand before the much taller soldier.
With blinding speed, the Hellknight struck. Togomor crumpled to the ground, unconscious. His nose was shattered and his face was a bloody mess. The soldier laughed at hapless young man. Sabina looked on, terrified. Illeosa began to cry.
The Hellknight ushered Sabina and two dozen other young children off the boat. They would be taken to the newly built Citadel Vraid on the southern border of Korvosa. The rest of the refugees would be taken to a re-education camp, where they would be forced to convert to diabolism.
As she was being ushered down the gangway, Sabina looked back one more time at her brother’s crumpled form and Illeosa sobbing over him. She had not been exposed to violence before the year her world fell apart. She should have been playing with her dolls or learning how to knit from her mother. It would have been teatime at their estate right now. Her mother had bought her a new green dress for her birthday. She had said that I looked like a princess in it. So much had changed.
‘I wonder if I’ll ever see them again…’
Sabina
The sword she was using at the time shattered against the reinforced earthbreaker wielded by her Shoanti opponent. The large, frothing savage swung down on her with all his might. Had she not rolled out of the way, she would be nothing but a bloody splotch on the ground. Even so, where she had once lain was a small crater in the hard earth - so powerful was the barbarian's blow.
Seeing an opening, Sabina snatched one of the blade's halves, kipped up onto her feet, pivoted and stabbed it into the brawny native's exposed neck. His carteroid artery was severed. He was dead before he could even hit the floor.
She surveyed the carnage before her. Her platoon regularly made frequent raids into the Storval Heights to test their mettle and hone their skills against the fearsome Shoanti who resided there. This was her hundredth expedition. She could not even begin to count how many Shoanti she had personally killed.
Just last week, in a similar expedition, she had strangled a boy - not much younger than her - with her bare hands. She watched impassively as the hapless Shoanti youth struggled haplessly against her vicelike grip. It had been seven years since she was conscripted by the Hellknights. Out of all the children taken off the boat, she was the only survivor. She reflected on her life thus far, while casually watching the boy's life flicker away. Seven years had gone by.
Illeosa and Togomor. She wondered how they were doing. She grimly smiled, thankful that it was she who was picked and not Togomor. Her older brother was not a man. He was weak. She was much stronger than he would ever be. She remembered how he tried to stand up to her recruiter: Sir Vlad Dramos. Sir Dramos had completely dominated him she remembered. He was more of a man than her brother, or even her weak father was. Had his father not let the rebels and their backers, the Devil-worshipping House Thrune completely subjugate her family? Pathetic. Hmm...she should be 17 now - a year past marrying age...
Her compassion was the first thing to go. The Hellknights would arm live prisoners or wild animals and set them loose on a group of their young trainees. From an early age, children were forced to adopt the mantra, "Kill or be killed." Something within her snapped after shortly after starting these bloody exercises. A feral, bloodthirsty killer emerged from the ashes of the innocent little girl, who once dreamed only of hosting balls and socializing with other highborn women. That world seemed so far away to her. The clang of steel, the smell of smoke, the roughness of leather, and the spilling of blood became ingrained in her psyche. It was part of her now.
Sabina rose quickly through the ranks. At 14, she was put in charge of the other children. She was a brutal, but efficient leader. Her superiors relied on her and her subordinates feared her. At 16, she was the youngest Hellknight selected to go Shoanti hunting. One year later, she was leading her own war parties into the Storval Heights.
She had amassed quite a collection of scalps over the past year. They were the only decorations adorning the grim, dark stone walls of her spartan bedchamber. She counted them and recalled the faces of each one of her victims before drifting off to sleep. She found that it comforted her. It comforted her far more than her wooden slab of a bed or her iron slab of a pillow ever did.
For seven years, she was only exposed to three emotions: fear, anger, and brief flashes of satisfaction when she asserted her own dominance over another during a kill. Love, comfort, tenderness, and compassion had no place in her world. She had turned her back on such soft trivialities.
She was a spiritual black hole. A gaping void existed in the area of her soul, which had made her a human. After taking so many lives and snuffing out so many hopes, dreams, and emotions, she had become numb to the world. She existed merely to destroy, to maim, to kill. Did she ever have a soul? She forgot.
None of that is important. After all, the only thing that gave her joy was to dominate others.
After seven years,
Sabina had become a true Hellknight.
Ileosa
She was clearly intelligent. She was far smarter than a seven year old should ever have a right to be, but her attitude remained the same as when she was before the exile. She was beyond bratty. Even in their current dire circumstances, she was still unbelievably spoiled.
It was true that her parents doted on her - no, the whole family did. She was gregarious and smiled frequently as a baby. She always had a great degree of personal magnetism, even as an infant. Her twin and elder sister by a few seconds, in retrospect was quiet and unassuming, whereas Illeosa was loud and flamboyant. As the youngest in the family, she naturally absorbed most of her parents' love.
What happened to Illeosa's twin sister remains a mystery. They were seperated during the rebellion and it was assumed that the third sister was killed along with the rest of the family. Togomor had made inquiries as to her fate, but her remains were not found. Several months later, one of family's former housekeepers claimed that her room was stripped bear by rebels and the jacket she was wearing that day was found bloodied and tattered underneath some rubble. The entire mansion had been looted.
Togomor remembered that spring morning vividly. He had taken his sisters Sabina and Illeosa on a field trip to visit one of their countryside estates. Illeosa's klutzy twin sister had accidentally knocked over the urn containing Mother's great grand-uncle's ashes, destroying it and spreading his ashes all over the floor. She received a harsh scolding from Mother and was told to stay in her room as punishment. She had not come along.
When news of the uprising reached him via messenger, Togomor had quickly redirected his coach to the nearby docks to prepare for evacuation. It was this split-second decision that saved the family's lives as rebels were waiting at the countryside estate as well.
Fast forward four years into the future. Togomor remembered his father telling him that he must take care of Illeosa. Still, he had to find some way to provide the kind of lifestyle she was used to. He had won a scholarship to the Acadamae, but there had to be a way to accumulate power and prestige quickly. There had to be some way he could be a good older brother to an increasingly demanding younger sibling. His only family. His most precious treasure...
More to follow.
Fal's player is a terrific writer. Here is the start of Book I captured through her diary:
Chapter I
It all began with Zellara's card.
I moved in for the final stroke. As usual, the break-in was a success and I stole away with the ornate jewelry box laden with the weight of its contents.
Anticipating a full haul, I was rather crestfallen when I found the box empty except for a single moth card. Labeled 'the Twin,' it flashed a magical message directing me to Zellara's for a brief moment before the inscription faded away.
I was intrigued. The message hinted at a way to defeat Lamm. In doing so, I would finally save the remaining children of their cruel fates, the cruel fate that I, too, had endured before I made my escape.
The next day, I went to the fortune-teller's home. There, expecting to find "others like me," imagine my surprise when a Sable companion appeared! Yet we were all united in our commonality against Gaedren Lamm. Each of us nursed a hatred for the evil man that spurred us to strike against him at Zellara's encouragement. She wanted her stolen Harrow Deck and everyone wanted Lamm's demise.
Although it was dark outside, I convinced my new companions that there was no time like now to attack. The task would be difficult enough without suspicious guards watching our every move in broad daylight. Even then, the city was crawling with law enforcers.
We reached the fishery, Lamm's latest hideout, without incident. The paladin agreed to stay put (thank goodness! her clanking would have alerted the entire neighborhood. I don't know how it managed to stay asleep) while I performed the little operation that enabled us to enter the building.
In the fishery, the strange Vudrani man and I crept along the catwalk that supported the little hammocks. As usual, Lamm had cramped his little victims in disgusting quarters, forcing them to do his dirty work. The man never changed.
We were investigating when a hideous gnome guard whom we mistook for a child sounded the alert. Lamm's petty posse attacked us but the paladin and Vudrani monk turned out to be useful. Even the Sable Company ranger played his part in defeating the bad guys.
Dirty work done, a smart kid, Kester, informed us of Lamm's whereabouts. He had a brave spark in his eyes that reminded me of Grau. He asked us to save his sister whom Lamm was abusing in his crude cruel ways. Poor Kester, his scars were worse than mine.
In any case, we had to revisit the rotton ship and make it past the man-eating spiders, find a hidden door, and face whatever else that awaited to ambush us in order to reach Lamm. It wasn't the most glamorous thing in the world, but Lamm's end would more than compensate for the ordeal.
Finally, we found him. He had drugged Kester's sister and leered over us in that insufferable way. The hideous crocodile threatened anyone who walked towards Gaedren in the pool that rimmed the boards leading to him. It didn't help that Lamm fired poisoned crossbow bolts at us and held the little girl hostage.
Miraculously, we rescued the girl and killed Lamm. We had the grim satisfaction of knowing that he recognized us before his death - he didn't forget those who had come to defeat him.
And I opened the hated treasure chest from long ago, revealing Lamm's guilty hoard for everyone to see.
As expected, it had many valuable trinkets. Even the queen's personal brooch was there!
Oddly enough, however, a faded blue dress caught my attention before the precious ornaments of higher caliber. It transported me back to that fateful day when lost, crying, and dissheveled, I roamed the streets until Lamm found me. He had forced me to wear the blue dress whenever I made excursions into the wealthier parts of town, scrounging as much as I could from the rich. True, I retain that habit to this day, but as a little girl conned into doing Lamm's bidding, it was intolerable. And as a naive, trusting little girl, I didn't know any better.
Adding to that day's adventures, Zellara's secret was revealed. Her harrow deck wasn't among the goods in the treasure chest, but there was a strange alcove with flies swarming around the curtain that covered it. Pulling the fabric aside, we found Zellara's head and her precious cards. Zellara's ghost materialized before us and she narrated her sad tale - how her soul was bound to this earth from Lamm's cruel torture and the fact that she now lived in her cards.
Zellara knew that the blue dress belonged to me. Perhaps when she completes a full reading of my fortune, I will learn more about my forgotten past.
The Tale of Kazavon: Part I
The boy child had a name: Kazavon, and he would be destined for greatness. It is said that before Kazavon was born, the old wise lady of the village predicted that "his shadow would become so great that it would engulf the world." Moreover, "a man with a destiny like this is only born once every thousand years."
Marked by the gods with a prophecy as burdensome as it was awe-inspiring, Kazavon's childhood was anything but happy.
Kazavon was a late bloomer. Physically, he was shorter and slighter than the other boys and the stigma of a great prophecy all but ensured that he was bullied.
He was startlingly handsome, with flawless, delicate features and the most curious blue hair. He had the bearing and the grace of royalty and the other boys resented him for that. Even his father, an unremarkable, heavyset man of simple tastes felt uncomfortable around this strange boy. He dealt with his discomfort in the only way he knew how - by lashing out at him.
In a hostile world, Kazavon had only his mother to turn to. She was a simple woman, but she always took it upon herself to provide her only child with all the love that she could give. After all, was he not a blessing from the gods? She told her son that he had to be strong. He had to endure. If people saw that he was a friendly, good-natured boy, the attacks would stop.
They didn't. Kazavon's mother took ill upon his eleventh winter and passed away in the following spring. His father took her death hard and turned to alcohol for solace. Oftentimes, the elder man would stumble home drunk, raving about how it should have been Kazavon who had perished. During these times, the boy hid. When his father would fall unconscious in a drunken stupor upon the porch, Kazavon would drag him in and put him to bed. There was little love between the two - Kazavon merely took care of his father for the sake of his dead mother.
In his twelfth winter, something curious happened. Kazavon had been chased into a corner by the neighborhood boys and they were about to begin the daily ritual of beating the poor boy up. He was knocked onto the ground by the eldest of his tormentors - an ugly, brutish boy who happened to be the son of his father's best friend. The bully raised a meaty fist in the sky to commence his pounding, when all of a sudden, Kazavon snapped. A blazing hot gout of flame spewed from his outstretched fingers, eviscerating his tormentor's piggish face. Still smoking, the bully fell to the ground - dead. His face had been transformed into a charred, featureless lump. The other boys, seeing such a horrific display of unexplainable power, fled.
Awestruck, Kazavon stood there. He did not feel remorse or guilt for what he had done. The world was a better place without the bully in it. Even so, he understood the implications of staying in the village. He had murdered another human being and would be punished severely for it - even though it might have been an accident. Thus, the young boy fled into the surrounding woods.
As requested, here are my edits to the campaign:
Currently our game is on hiatus as our core group is scattered across the four winds. With that being said, we are in Book VI and the PCs are all at lvl 15. I've taken the liberty to expand on all the books while sticking to the Medium XP track, so they are "over-leveled." I've advanced the enemies accordingly.
Anyways, when crafting the campaign, I decided that the focus will be solely on the PCs and their backstories, and I did my damnedest to synergize their character concepts with the campaign's plot points. I did this by restricting race to human only . Furthermore, each character must be a native of Korvosa and are restricted to the Varisian, Chelish, or Shoanti ethnicities (with exceptions allowed based on the quality and plot-hook potential of their backstories/character concepts). I then closely monitored their class selection (no summoners or Asian-themed classes), and had them all tied to Gaedran Lamm in some way. Before you condemn me for being a character creation nazi, I have run multiple campaigns (with more liberal character creation rules) for the same group, and Crimson Throne is their favorite campaign by far.
Very intriguing, Cesare, keep it coming. I love all the twists and changes you've made to the story and I'm looking forward to reading about the expansions you've made to the game.
On your restriction to human as a race:
I also have three humans in my group. I restricted race choice as well, since I started the AP when the PCs were still children in Lamm's lambs. Obviously I needed races that would still be adolescents five years prior to the start of the actual campaign, so long-living races like elves or dwarves were out. Moreover, since Korvosa's population counts 90 % humans, it was the logical choice to push for human. I left some other races open as well, but I rewarded the choice for human further by giving them a free skill point in a knowledge skill each level (on top of the human's extra free skill point). My character creation guide also included tips on which classes would fit my version of the AP and which wouldn't. Finally, I supplied some sort of skill ranking, listing which skills would be useful and which would be less so (e.g., we're going heavy on the roleplay, so social skills were a plus). A fourth player joined the campaign as we launched into the actual AP; he's playing a halfling.
@MrVergee: Thank you. Golarion is one of the few campaign settings that really delve into the different human ethnicities and I wanted to explore the themes of racism, identity, and heritage as much as possible.
Anyways, here is another update on Kazavon:
The Tale of Kazavon: Part II
He felt nothing. Face impassive, he watched as the bandits lined up the surviving men in the village against the wall and use them as target practice. The women and children were thrown in chains to be sold as slaves in the next city. "This is the way the world is," he thought. "The strong take what they want from the weak."
"I must become strong."
"I cannot be weak. I will not be weak."
He saw that the bandits had tied his father to a nearby pole. "No! Please! I beg of you! Don't kill me!" Pathetic. The bandits put an arrow through his father's throat.
"My father was weak. They are all weak - like sheep among wolves."
"I am not a sheep like my father. I am a wolf."
Then, he saw the leader of the bandits - a tall, blonde-haired man. He stood atop his horse and watched the proceedings with amusement. The other men obeyed his every command without question. They feared him and respected him.
"I will join him. Then, I will become stronger than him." He slunk back into the woods, a plan already forming in his mind.
---
It was an ability born from hunger. Having eaten nothing but berries, nuts, and roots after leaving home, Kazavon was dizzy with hunger. Lying down underneath a large tree, he closed his eyes...
When he opened his eyes, he saw a squirrel looking back at him, with innocent eyes. It chittered incomprehensively and scratched itself.
"Unnghh..." Kazavon feebly reached out to grab the squirrel. He failed miserably. Just then, for reasons unknown, he raised his hand and rubbed his index finger against his thumb. Suddenly, the squirrel had fallen asleep. It was in the midst of chewing on an acorn.
Kazavon reached out to the sleeping animal. He took hold of its tiny neck with his fingers and squeezed. It struggled for a bit, but then there was a *crack* and its neck snapped. Without hesitation, Kazavon spread open his fingers and roasted the dead creature.
He ate well that night.
And many other nights thereafter...
---
It was risky, but they say that the gods favor the bold.
Two bandits had gone missing during the night at their base camp.
The next day, two more.
On the third day, the bandit leader assembled a team to search for their missing brothers in arms. Two hours later, they found the bodies hanging from trees in a clearing. Their throats had been cut with a dull knife or a jagged piece of stone. Their faces appeared to be in deep slumber.
"By the gods...what happened here?" The leader, Orlen, surveyed the grisly scene in shocked awe. His men shuffled uncomfortably - their hands moved toward their weapons. Suddenly, three of the men fell to the ground in deep slumber. Moments later, three more men fell to the ground. Soon, only Orlen was left standing.
"Show yourself!" Orlen drew his signature bastard sword and held it in front of him with both hands.
"I don't want to fight you."
Orlen whirled around to come face to face with a beautiful thirteen year old boy. "Ye did this?!"
"Yes."
"Explain yerself!"
"I want to join you. My name is Kazavon."
Orlen scoffed before angrily narrowing his eyes, "You killed my men, demon child. I should run ye through right now!"
"I do not think that is a good idea."
"Huh? What do ye mean?"
"Think about it. I singlehandedly killed six of your men and disabled six more. I am worth at least twelve of your men and I am offering my services to you of my own free will. Think of what I can do for your band."
Orlen lowered his blade and cocked his head to the side. The boy had a point. "Hmm...interesting." Orlen's mind began to envision the possibilities of having a spellcaster at his side.
"Very well. Ye ken join...on one condition!"
"What do you want me to do."
Orlen pointed to the sleeping men on the ground. "Let me see ye kill them."
"...Why? Why waste able-bodied men?"
"Haha, they're just conscripts -- fresh off the farm; I ken recruit more at the next village! First rule of banditry lad: never leave an enemy alive. That is, if ye don't want to keep looking over yer shoulders for the rest of yer life. Do it!"
Kazavon nodded. "Very well then." He took out a sharpened piece of rock from his breeches and systematically began to murder the sleeping men.
"Haha, ye got guts lad...not only that, ye got initiative! I like that! Come along now - time to meet yer new family." Orlen casually turned his horse around and started walking back to camp.
...His mother was wrong. Simply enduring and hoping for a better tomorrow got you killed. You had to make things happen on your own.
The Tale of Kazavon: Part III
The young man rode on the right of the chief. He had grown tall over the years. His blue hair hung low over his taut back. There was not an ounce of fat on his lithe, athletic body. Scars covered his exposed arm and a thin, curved blade hung at his side.
The bandit band grew in size and notoriety as well. With Kazavon's assistance, they had subjugated other bands and assimilated them into their fold. Many villages were sacked and plundered. Thousands of gold pieces were looted from merchants traveling the roads. Life was good as a bandit.
Kazavon himself had not wasted time in the last three years. At 16 years, he clawed his way to the top through his uncanny charisma and ruthlessness. His rivals and superiors had a tendency to disappear at the most opportune times. He had survived six assassination attempts and as a result, always had a hapless lackey taste his food and another to guard the entrance to his tent. He accumulated a network built upon blackmail and promises of gold. It was more beneficial for his opposition to keep him alive.
Orlen had become more and more dependent on Kazavon as the years wore by. He knew that among cutthroats and thieves, even the slightest misstep would get him killed. If he showed weakness at any point, his reign would come crashing to an end. The stress of being in charge had aged the bandit leader and large streaks of gray began to appear in his hair. For some reason however, with Kazavon it was different. He could talk to Kazavon about matters which did not concern looting and killing. Kazavon had the most understanding and kind eyes of anyone he had ever met. When Orlen spoke, the boy listened intently - nodding and empathizing. In his brutal existence, he had never felt the emotion that he felt whenever he was with Kazavon.
"So, this is what the sheep mean by love..."
The great bandit chief - leader of the largest and most feared band of scum in Ustalav, had grown to love Kazavon.
Unfortunately, Orlen's days were numbered.
Kazavon did not love anybody.
---
It happened so quickly, nobody knew what had happened before it was done.
Within Orlen's Band, one becomes the leader by defeating the current chief in single combat. No magic, potion drinking, or trickery allowed. It was simply a fight to the death. To date, nobody had challenged Orlen because he was a formidable swordsman of the highest caliber. He had won countless battles and vicious men feared him because he was the scariest of them all.
When Kazavon killed Orlen, everyone was shocked. Both combatants had been stripped of any magical protections with a dispelling wand prior to the duel. Kazavon was quick and skillful, but he was but a mere boy. Orlen had superior strength, size and the weight of experience on his side. What should have easily been Orlen's victory ended up in untimely demise.
What everyone saw that fateful morning was a change in power from one man to another. What everyone did not see was the way in which Kazavon methodically orchestrated his takeover from the very beginning. Orlen was naturally a very suspicious man, whose paranoia prevented anyone from getting close to him. He was constantly on the lookout for assassination attempts through poison or the blade. What he did not prepare for, was an assassination coated with love.
Early on, Kazavon ingratiated himself to Orlen by unquestioningly doing as he bid. He eagerly absorbed everything Orlen had to say, with that serene, understanding look on his face. Later on, their relationship shifted from that of a boss to an underling to that of a father and son. Soon, Kazavon became Orlen's most trusted confidante and his right hand man. Thus, it was a simple matter to poison Orlen's drink the night prior to the duel. The following morning, when the debilitating poison took hold, Kazavon strode up to Orlen's tent, stabbed his sword into the ground and issued a formal challenge. To refuse would be to admit defeat.
Stung by what he perceived to be the ultimate betrayal, Orlen answered the call to the duel and they fought. However, it was precisely at this moment when the poison's sinister nature was revealed. It was an emotion amplifier and the victim often had no idea that he had been drugged until he was experiencing the heightening effects of the drug. Feelings of loss, betrayal, and anger became a seething red fury and the bandit chief roared and fought like a man possessed. His strikes were sloppy and his defenses were nonexistant as he tried to hit his nimble target as hard as he could. Kazavon easily dodged his opponent's powerful, but clumsy strikes and scored many hits to vital areas with his stiletto like rapier. Soon, Orlen had lost too much of his lifeblood and collapsed on the ground. It was at this moment that Kazavon plunged his rapier into his downed opponents gasping mouth, killing him instantly.
And so, Orlen's reign ended and Kazavon's had begun.