It has been a century since the immortal witch Baba Yaga last visited the world, and the hour draws nigh for her return. But when she fails to appear in the frozen realm of Irrisen to usher in its newest ruler, pockets of winter begin to grow throughout the Inner Sea region. After 1,400 years of perpetual winter, the icy curse of Irrisen is spreading! What links do these strange blizzards and swaths of wintry landscapes have with Irrisen, and is there any truth to the growing rumors that the Witch Queen Elvanna has taken full control of the realm? Can her plans for the Inner Sea be thwarted, or will the Reign of Winter engulf the world?
This adventure will take place in the world of Golarion. While there are themes of winter and witchcraft, the world is full of mysteries that go far beyond these themes. There are unusual races such as the ifrit and dhampir, ancient ruins in the Mwangi jungles, and the once great island-continent of Azlant which saw the rise of the first human civilizations, but most of which sunk beneath the sea when the Starstone fell from the sky.
In short, I invite you to a world of Endless Wonder.
You can read through the Reign of Winter Player Companion for inspiration, though you are not limited to the suggestions within it. I want you to feel compelled to tell the story of your character. The character is one to whom you will be bonded for quite some time. Therefore, there will not be a great many restrictions placed on creation. If you have a concept, I will help you to find a way to fulfill it within the rules. The following mechanical guidelines are those to which I will ask you to adhere:
-Statistics: 25 point-buy. 17 max before racial modifiers. 8 min before racial modifiers.
-Alignment: No evil.
-Traits: 3, 1 of which must be a campaign trait.
-HP: Max for 3 levels. Then, you get half + half-roll. Example, fighters use a d10. They will get 5+1d5 hp.
-Starting gold: 150g
-Feats: 1 extra at 1st level
-Skills: 1 extra per level to be used on Craft, Profession, or Perform (not Perform for Bards)
-At 4th level, each character may add +1 to every statistic; you may decline specific stat bumps if you wish
--Reason: An effort to alleviate the disparity between classes that rely on a single ability such as wizards, and those that rely on several, such as monks. Also, nobody gets left out completely regarding skills and saves.
-Racial spell-like abilities do not fulfill prerequisites for feats, classes, etc.
--Reason: Despite Paizo's endorsement, this just feels wrong to me.
-Wildblooded sorcerer bloodlines can be taken with Eldritch Heritage, though you cannot have both the wildblooded and parent bloodlines, such as Sage and Arcane.
--Reason: I find them balanced enough and they offer more customization.
I want us both to have a good sense of who you are, whether this comes in the form of a story or a list of questions that you answer. Who you will become is better left undefined. Not all of the following need to be answered, but are here to provide inspiration:
-What was your childhood like?
-What is your relationship to the gods and religion?
-What is your physical appearance, bearing, mannerisms, and quirks?
-Do you have an easy way with strangers?
-Do you play well with others?
-What draws you to the life of an adventurer?
-Do you identify with a particular animal or element?
-What do you find creepy?
-What specific goals do you have, if any?
-What secrets do you have?
-What does someone else know about you that you do not?
-What is your personal code of ethics and morality?
-Do the ends justify the means?
If you have any questions or suggestions, contact me.
~≈~≈~≈~≈ Torag Speaks ≈~≈~≈~≈~
The tavern was quite and candle lit. A lone human barkeep behind the bar slid the last of his cut carrots into a pot, picked it up and walked over to the fireplace.
Two old men, both human, sat at a table next to the hearth fire playing cards. The barkeep hung the pot from a rod and swung it over the fire, kicking a few logs into place under it.
The tavern door opened. In walked Ovias Fornzirak, a stout young dwarf of 48 years, caring an arm full clanking steins.
"Ovias. Let me help you with that."
"Oh no need my friend. I've never spilled a drop of my family's brew in all the years I've been making it. And I'm not about to start now."
Ovias placed the steins on the bar as moved his cutting board out of the way.
"What is this?" the barkeep asked.
"Samples of spiced ale for the season. The weather is a bit cool this time of year for your race. It would be a shame not to let them partake of this amazing recipe."
Ovias noticed the room.
"What is this? Where are all of your customers my friend?"
"Ten days ago a scouting party discovered a large group of goblins headed this way. Most of the local men took up arms and are marching toward them now."
"May Torag bless them in battle. But don't you worry, goblins are a weak, frail race. Nothing a good war hammer won't take care of."
As Ovias said that he unsheathed an elegant war hammer from the leather loop on his belt.
"This little beauty has helped me out on more than one encounter with those little vermin."
"Well I hope you're right. Those men are farmers and merchants, most armed with shovels, pitchforks and short swords. And the town's holy man is gone. He left for the north a week ago."
Ovias seemed startled, shocked.
"What did you say?"
"They have no holy man to help them, their man of faith has left them."
Ovias stepped back. Then sat on a nearby stool.
"What is it, Ovias? You look weak."
"I am not weak. I am fine. It's just something I was told, long ago, when I was young."
"What is it?"
"I thought it was a dream, that I would be called upon. That Torag would call upon me, after I called upon him, to protect the men who's faith had left them."
Ovias pulled a small, iron war hammer from his pocket. It was delicately inscribed and seemed brighter than anything else in the tavern.
"What is that?"
"It is the holy symbol of my god Torag. It is he who now calls me. To repay the debt I owe and bring his might to all men."
Ovias stood up, took a breath, held the small, iron war hammer in his hand and closed his eyes. He took another deep breath in and said nearly silently to himself,"If this is your will, I am ready."
And in that moment, Ovias' chest expanded from a source unknown to him. A power and light filled him. In every part of his being, Torag imbued a wisdom and serenity and strength that fortified Ovias deeply.
"Now you are ready." A large reverberating voice echoed throughout the tavern. The two old men by the fire nearly fell over from the immense authority of the unseen voice.
Ovias was ready. He knew to the depths of his soul he was. He was now a channel for Torag's power and grace.
"Now go." the voice echoed again, shaking lose dust from the ceiling and swaying the pot over the fire.
Ovias took another deep breath, soaked it in and returned to his awareness. He opened his eyes. The barkeep was stunned at what he had just witnessed.
"Was... was that...?"
"Torag. Yes. Now I must help your friends. Where have they gone?"
"To the east. If you have a horse, you should be able to catch them before they met the goblins."
Ovias turned and walked toward the door.
"What about the ale?"
"Try it. Tell your friends. I will be back with more."
"But what of your god? Do they disapprove of ale?"
Ovias burst out in deep laughter.
"A dwarven god who doesn't like ale? Ha, Ha, Ha."
Ovias continued to laugh at the ridiculous question as he opened the door.
"My friend, if I know anything, it's that Torag likes ale. Blessing. I will be back."
|Sidhe the Prowler|