Of the Making of Kings - Tomi's dramatized Kingmaker campaign journal


Campaign Journals


With our RotR campaign finally over, we are starting a new campaign with a new GM. Yours truly is not running the show but has the privilege of being a player.

But I have a dilemma! I've designed two very different characters, and can't decide which one to pick. So I'm turning to you, to help me choose.

By simple voting (one vote per member, the one getting more votes wins), you get to decide which one of my two possible characters I start with. To help you choose, I've written short introductory stories that open up the background and personas of my characters.

I'll be posting the stories momentarily in separate posts, so please have a look and have your say! Who earns the place in the expedition? Who is the character who you'd be more interested in reading about?


RANOK

Not now.

It was a familiar feeling, all too familiar. The molten spike piercing his brains from the neck, the pain so complete it made his eyes water, and his vision go red. Ranok clutched the sides of his cot with all his considerable strength, and ground his teeth together. Blood began to flow where his canines bit into his own cheeks.

Your mind is a sword in the making. Temper the steel. Temper your mind.

The mantra was all he could focus on. His mouth forced itself open, to bellow a soundless cry. He fought back and all that came out was a groan and some spittle. His breath followed in short, rapid gasps. The pain itself was joined by the hunger - the desire to make war. Ranok snarled, gripped the sides of his simple cot even harder. Temper the steel. Temper your mind. Temper the steel. Temper your mind.

The urge to lash out, to search something to kill, was clouding his sanity like an approaching storm front. He closed his eyes, drove them shut and shook his head violently. Tears fell down his aching cheeks, onto the old sheets. No. No. I am Unbroken. I am Unbroken.
Tiny beads of sweat were appearing across his face. His cot was trembling beneath him, shifted by the spasms of his muscled body. Ranok let out another snarl. The Red Fever came strong this time. He willed himself to ignore the burning pain in his head, and focused instead on the struggle in his soul. He fought back the red storm, crackling with bolts of fire, all-consuming, that would see him rage and kill and maim, if only he would surrender himself to it.

Temper the steel. He focused on the words, saw them as glinting mountains of silver against the backdrop of the raging clouds. Mountains high enough to bar even the mightiest storm and turn aside its fiercest winds.

The red fever howled without words that made any sense, in the voice of his father, but Ranok's focus held.

Temper your mind. The imagined the clang of the forges, a hammer hitting a red-hot blade, to drown the howling with its steady, relentless rhythm.

Then, as soon as it had come, the clouds of blood and fire dissipated, and the urge to commit horrible violence retreated. For now, the mountain range had held. But Ranok knew the Fever would return, like it always did. It was a part of him, something that made him who he was.

"I am Unbroken", he whispered to the empty cell, and began to breath slowly, in and out, to calm his body as he had been trained. The flicker of the torches cast dancing shadows on the ceiling above him and was reflected in the sweat covering Ranok's weary face. He embraced the serenity, wrapped it around him like a cloak of furs during winter.

The sudden slam on the door behind him made him flinch.

"It is time, Silvereye", a man called out, the voice muffled by the thick, sturdy door. Ranok waited just a while, willing his heart to stop its galloping. There was another slam on the cell door. "I am ready", Ranok groaned the reply, sat up and pushed his feet over the side of the cot and onto the cold stone floor. After putting on his boots he rose and went to pick up his greatsword. The master-wrought relic was standing against the wall next to the door, waiting like a loyal servant. He deftly lifted it and slid it over his back into its sheath, something he had done a thousand times. "Don't want to keep the Cap'n waiting, aye?" The man said, beyond the door. Ranok closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose. No I don't, he thought to himself, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

"Gods, I thought you were having a wank", Cold Matheson smiled at him as Ranok made his way out of his cell. He just grumbled in response and shouldered his way past him.

"Irori forbid you'd find a sense of humour in the Stolen Lands", Cold yelled after him as Ranok paced away along a dark corridor. "And by the way, big boy, you're bleeding from your mouth, might want to clean that up!"

**

Every seat around the semi-circular council table was occupied as Ranok entered the The Officer's Hall. He felt all eyes on him, but did not lift his own to meet them. Instead, he walked the along the rug before the table and stopped two strides short of it. Keeping his eyes to the floor, his brought his fist to his forehead first and then down to his chest, above her heart, before letting it drop to the side.

"I am Unbroken", he said in salutation and lifted his gaze. Captain Hazell was sitting at the center, beaming his fatherly smile at him. To his right was First Lieutenant Scoles, scowling, like he always did when he was forced to address Ranok. He had disliked the young fighter from the day he had been admitted to the Company. To the Captain's left was the Warpriest, Erinosian, his face unreadable. They were flanked by all four of rest of the Company's Lieutenants. Ranok disregarded them, kept his eyes level to the back of the hall.

"Ranok Silvereye", the Captain began and rubbed the brown-grey of his bearded chin, "are you ready for tomorrow?"
Ranok cleared his throat. "Yes sir. I've made all the necessary preparations."

Captain Hazell nodded approvingly. "Good! I hear Lord Surtova and his council of Swordlords have all but decided the members of the expedition. The fifth member is unselected, and it seems the decision is made between you and one Naraya Midwinter."

The name brought vivid recollections to the eye of Ranok's mind. "Yes sir", he replied coolly, and brushed aside the mixed emotions.

"She's a fine fighter, I hear, quick as a snake, and with a wit to match her skills. Daughter of late Edwin Midwinter, emissary and personal advisor to Lord Surtova himself!" The Captain added.

"I'm aware, sir", Ranok replied, and regretted his words immediately. Across the table, First Lieutenant Scoles raised his other eyebrow. "You know her, Silvereye?"

"I do. Personally, sir." Intimately, he thought, but did not say it, while still remaining honest. He remembered the last time he had seen her, a few days or so ago. There had been no goodbyes, but a sense of finality had hung over them none the less. The First Lieutenant snorted. "Would you say she was better suited for the task than you? Speak truly, boy, so we can spare ourselves the shame of sending you and recommend them to pick her."

"That's enough, First Lieutenant", the Captain cut in, calmly but with every grain of authority he had. "You should realize you are criticizing your commanding officer and his decision."

Scoles turned to the Captain. "Captain, I urge you to reconsider!" He pointed a finger at Ranok. "He is a fearsome, capable warrior, I admit that, but he is mad!" Hazell frowned but did not say anything. "Our credibility, honor and prestige will be tarnished beyond repair if he loses control during the journey! The Swordlords will never again hire the Unbroken for its services if they find out we sent a brother who could turn into frothing madman at any moment!" Scoles kept pleading, red-faced, his voice rising with every word.

"Will you let the Red Fever take you over, half-orc", Warpriest Erinosian asked suddenly. He was staring at Ranok passively, without sympathy nor accusation. "Will you let your cursed blood best your resoluteness?"

Temper the steel. Temper your mind. Ranok remembered the Warpriest's teachings well, every lesson since the day he had joined the Company. Sometimes he felt he was the only one in the Company that truly had to live by them, just to survive, let alone to be allowed to remain in the Company's service. But that's why you joined in the first place, he told himself. Or were allowed in, he corrected himself.

Still, what can I say, Ranok considered, but did not hesitate. "I will not, sir", he replied patiently and was surprised of his own words and their firmness. A trace of satisfaction came and went in Erinosian's expression. "Our Master Irori be your guide and guardian", he said and leaned back in his chair, as if that settled the matter for him. He knew Ranok's darker side well, but he was familiar with his honest, diligent nature. Two of the Lieutenants began to frantically whisper to each other's ears. The First Lieutenant was frowning, and almost baring his teeth.

"So he says", he hissed, but the Captain was not letting him go on.

"How many times has he succumbed to his curse during the missions he has participated in?" The old commander asked his second-in-command. "Sir, he has not that many missions under his belt-"

"How many times?" The Captain's words were cold steel. He was staring the First Lieutenant straight in the eye.

"Not once", Scoles replied, between his teeth, without lowering his gaze, the challenge obvious in his manner.

"Not once", the Captain repeated, and turned to regard Ranok. He looked tired, but stern. "I have absolute trust in your, Silvereye. I see great potential in you, not only in terms of your fighting ability, but also your ability to lead men. You are deeply flawed, yes. It is something you must overcome. But your perseverance against all odds is exemplary. To me, that signifies everything the Unbroken stand for."

The Captain drew breath and regarded his subordinates. "My decision stands. Ranok Silvereye will represent us in the expedition", he stated and turned back to look at Ranok. "If you are chosen."

Ranok closed his eyes and bowed. "You honor me, sir. I will not let you down."

But in his heart, the half-orc warrior was not so certain.


NARAYA

Her body collapsed onto the mat, knees and palms first. Sweat trickled down on it like gentle rain. She was barely able to breathe, so out of breath she was. She just wanted to lie there for a while.

"Your performance today has been adequate", a woman's voice droned without emotion behind her.

The comment was surprisingly positive, but Naraya was too tired to say anything in response. All her effort was aimed at getting air in and out of her lungs and stopping her pounding heart from bursting out of her chest. She pushed me hard today, a rational part of her mind, not interfered by the ache of her limbs, observed. Thinking straight while half-dead by fatigue, that's something she had taught me, she replied to herself.

She rolled over, fought up to a sitting position despite the pain in her abdomen. The effort made her almost vomit. She must have been a sight, pale as a ghost, covered in a sheen of sweat, she thought as she brushed her face, trying to clear her eyes. Her appearance was of no concern to her teacher however. Mylesh Kardova, known as the Daughter of Sixth Rebirth, a monk of Irori, looked upon her with her impassionate eyes. They were not cold, but they were not warm either. They were assessing her movement, analysing her decisions, judging her performance.

"Thank you", Naraya wheezed, and it made her mentor's head tip to the side. She had thanked her after every practice for the past six years, and this time was no different. Sometimes it was a heartfelt expression of gratitude for the honor of being her only pupil. Sometimes it was laced with venom, an angry defiance for the physical pain and mental humiliation she made her endure. Today she thanked her for her approval, for it was seldom given.

The Great Circus of Restov with its rows and rows of seats stood empty around them. Naraya gazed up, and traced the straight lines of cream and red that crossed the pavilion's canvased ceiling. She felt her heart's pace decrease. Was it the last time she'd cast her eyes up there? The realization of the possibility stung her.

"The decision is made tomorrow. This might be my last day here", she said, finally able to mouth words clearly.

There was the slightest frown on the face of the Daughter of Sixth Rebirth. "Why do you think we trained so hard today then? Get up," she commanded, and wearily Naraya got to her feet. When she did, she lowered her head to a slight bow. A single droplet of sweat rolled down her nose and onto the mat.

Her mentor, a small woman in her fourties, wearing simple white robes, crossed her arms across her chest. "You still lack discipline. Your mind wanders."

Here we go again, Naraya groaned inwardly. She remembered all too well what she had said the first time she had practiced with her. You can never become a monk of Irori, she had deemed. When you put yourself to it, you can be disciplined, but your soul can never be so at ease to achieve the level of control required by my Order. She was expecting another lecture, another earful of how unprepared she was, how young, how inexperienced.

"I've travelled Golarion widely, and witnessed people as they walked their own roads. The world is a dangerous place, full of distractions, pettiness, slaughter. Some lose their step and stumble, while others persevere and reach whatever destination they've chosen." Kardova sighed, and went on. "The road you've chosen is not for a monk. A monk's destination is somewhere within herself, in her soul, but you're a woman of world. Your destination is on the outside." Naraya dared to raise her chin as she was spoken to, and for the first time, she saw something resembling warmth and true caring in her mentor's expression. "What you have learned from me will help you keep safe. But to keep yourself on your path, you must learn focus."

Naraya stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the older, shorter woman, embracing her tightly. "Thank you, for every day, for every lesson", she whispered, holding back tears. Her mentor was taken aback, but after a while, her hands found their way around her pupil in an awkward hug.

**

The brass plaque on the door said Midwinter. Naraya knocked on the door gently and waited. She heard hurried, shuffling steps within, and after a moment, the door croaked open.

"Hello, Anne", Naraya greeted the old maid, whose lined face widened to a warm smile. "Nyra, baby girl", she said in happy surprise, "come in."
She helped herself inside and went to follow the maid. "Your mother is upstairs, in the library", she told the her, guessing her reason for the visit. "I'll find my way", Naraya replied and turned towards a straight staircase leading up. "I'd imagine, this was once your home after all", the old maid said and laughed. "And you better not leave without saying goodbye to old Anne!" She called to her back but Naraya had already ascended the stairs.

Naraya found her mother in the library, sitting in a comfortable leather chair, reading an old book, facing the spring sun that shot its cold rays through the windows.

"Hello, Mother", Naraya offered the greeting as she stepped in to the spacious room, two opposite walls covered in books, and third sporting a great painted portrait and nothing else. In it was a handsome, stately man with a proud face and a mapcase and a book in the nook of his arm. Hi Dad, Naraya greeted the man in her mind. Her mother, the famous artist and sculptor, had painted the picture, and she had captured him perfectly.

"Naraya darling", her mother replied and lowered the book unto her lap. She flashed a smile, but it was dry, like a field that had not seen water in ages. Her husband's death had taken the rains with it.

"I wanted to come and say my farewells, in case I'm chosen tomorrow and can't come back to say it afterwards", Naraya began, feeling tired already. Her mother had not taken it well when she had informed her of her decision to apply into the expedition to the Stolen Lands. I've lost Edwin already, I can't lose you too, she had begged her. But Naraya had made her father a promise at his death-bed.

If they finally decide to retake the Stolen Lands, be there when it happens. His last words to her. He had been such a patriot, dutiful till the end. He had talked about the Stolen Lands for years, but the Swordlords had not listened. It was ironic how their heads had turned after their advisor's death. The great Edwin Midwinter was not there to witness his plans unfold.

Her mother looked gloomy and her shoulders sagged. "I've dreaded the day", she said. "Is there any way you could still reconsider? You're not a warrior. The wilderness is not for you", she pleaded. Naraya felt an inkling of irritation, nearly boiling over into anger, but just shook her head. "I made a promise to Dad to help make his dream come true, and I intend to keep my word." Her mother wasn't letting up. "How about Kardova?" The name was bitter in her mouth - perhaps she was still envious of her influence over her little daughter. Naraya just laughed emptily. "She's not concerned about my desires." Some of the emptiness was filled by the warm recent memory. "But she has given me her support any way."

Her mother had one more straw to cling to. "How about that brute, are you still seeing him?" Naraya regretted she had ever told her anything about Ranok. "What about him?" She spat, visibly irritated now. It was dubious how she was now using him as a means to keep her in Restov, even though she had vocally criticized Naraya ever since she had heard of him. There are so many nicer men of nobility in Restov, she had told her daughter. What, pompous and obnoxious Aldori swordsmen whose only interests were dueling, drinking and whoring? Naraya had replied. At least Ranok is respectful, and he has an honest soul. He's twice the man than any of the fools Mother had in mind.

"Doesn't he have any say? Is he just letting you go?" Her mother demanded. Naraya sighed heavily. Ranok was a good man, but he had no place in her future. Not especially since the dice of the fates had landed the way they had. "Mother, he too is among the few competing for the place in the expedition. He does not have a say. It's either him or me who is going, and the other one is staying."

Her mother just snorted. "Well for Abadar's sake I hope it is him who is going." So you could have two problems solved at the same time, Naraya thought angrily and bit her lip to keep from exploding. The talks with her mother had recently always come to this.

She pivoted on the balls of her feet and went to the door. "I came to say goodbye, so goodbye it is, Mother", she hissed over her shoulder. Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead she reached with her hand, a tear in her eye. But Naraya did not see it. Her gaze was in the portrait as she walked out.

You'd be proud of me, Dad, Naraya whispered to herself, her fingers brushing gently along the wooden, gold-covered frame as she passed and left.


Oh there was one spot still open?

Now if they'd ask me, I would much rather have the company of balls over fools honor.

So I'll throw my vote at Naraya the Determined over Ranok the Broken.


Thanks to a certain reader's constructive critique, I've slightly adjusted Ranok's story.

And because I can't edit the original post, I posted them in a new blog dedicated to this journal.

You can find Ranok's story here, and Naraya's here.


1 person marked this as a favorite.

Sort of a toss-up but my vote goes to Naraya.

+ Girl power!
+ She isn't just a peon following orders


Ilori wrote:

Sort of a toss-up but my vote goes to Naraya.

+ Girl power!
+ She isn't just a peon following orders

Bah, you and Riding Bull exchanged notes!

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