This game is reserved for specific players until further notice. Feel free to watch though! More information will be added but for now, here is some history and some current setting. The following are the rough (more like, "raw") drafts of this campaign setting. The players were eager to get started, and a more eloquent synopsis of the campaign setting is not yet available. The first paragraph is pure vomitus of the thoughts used to create this setting. The other sections are not far better, but for the most part, the sections titled "Relevant History" and "Current Happenings" are accurate...
The campaign will take place mainly in Anthropos and Maor. I should mention that the names of the human races represent the land they call home, which is usually part of, or entirely, a continent. So Maorens are native to the continent of Maor, Anthrosians to Anthropos, and so on. All of the following is a vomitus of what I will have for a final, more eloquent, draft. This is just some raw and dirty information.
It is the Anthrosian year of 5515 (the year is arbitrary), and it has been 65 years since the Master Race, as they are commonly referred, invaded Ningen and began their conquest over the western world, for reasons still unknown. The Master Race call themself “Eridani”, and they have never been seen before by humans prior to their invading. Current theories suggest they came from the lands across the Simmering Sea to the east of Ningen, and over the Dragon’s Spine; an endless mountain chain that divides the east from the west. Common people believe the world simply drops off over the mountains. I should note that the Dragon’s Spine can be reached sailing east or west, hence the reason people think it is the end of the world, though Anthrosian scientist have different theories that are not easily accepted by the majority. The Eridani were met with resistance at first, but the war was short as their technology and use of magic was far superior to even the grandest Anthrosian gizmos or even to the Arch-mages of Manava. There were five strong years of war between the humans and the Eridani, but the resistance became too weak and scattered that it fizzled into what became the surrender of all the sovereignty of the west. That generation would be in between the ages of 65 and 95, and the ones in the younger spectrum were only babies and children. Ironically, as soon as the resistance stopped, the Eridani began trade and sharing resources, including their magitech, or what is more commonly known as “dragontech”, which has greatly enhanced infrastructure and ease of life. Currently, the only really defined resistance against the Eridani is from the “feral” orcs in the southlands of Bantu, as they are the most recent of the humanoids to be invaded. The Eridani have decided to use the orcs’ lack of intellect against them, by essentially domesticating them in extremely efficient housing that eventually becomes the products of slums. Orcs in these societies are known as “drones”, but they would find that insulting, as some orcs take pride in their work. The war in the southlands is seen as a syphon for the bulk of the Eridani’s workforce and military. The years of takeover following the rebellion were more cooperative, as the Eridani wanted to be met with little resistance. Instead of indoctrinating the populace into their laws and way of life, they simply allowed the humans’ lives to proceed somewhat normally, though there is no doubt the sense of living under a totalitarian state. Though the governments of the differing people can proceed as they usually do, the will of the Eridani supersede any rulings and any judgment they would normally have power over. Every lordship in Maor, every city-state in Anthropos, every dynasty in Ningen, every merchant king in Manava, and every clan in Bantu have at least one Eridani within their council (more powerful lordships tend to have more Eridani advisors and overall influence in their lands). The laws of the Eridani are simple: Most crimes are punishable by death, but a few crimes are rewarded with rehabilitation centers, where criminals receive education and therapy with the hope of making them more productive members of society. Another rule is that no human is allowed to be in possession of dragontech weapons without a permit, which is usually earned by exceptional individuals that have significantly aided the Eridanis’ ambitions. These “uncle tom’s” (is that a racist term?) gain leadership roles and lordships, and some orcs are even able to rise high in military ranks. Common folk call humans that work directly for the Eridani Dominion “giant-huggers”. The elite military force in the Eridani military is the Deoxul; known in the Common tongue as “Dragoons”. These select Eridani are small in number, but elite in combat, and often lead troops into battle. Their special armor allows them to produce eldritch wings that grant them flight. Entire platoons of Dragoons are a rare sight to see, though that is exactly what the vanguard was composed of during their initial invasion. There has only been one human to become a Dragoon, and he is a good friend of yours and a former significant-other of my character’s. I think that is how I want us to meet. Maybe we were both invited for his indoctrination ceremony? Remember, we do not need to have our secondary characters introduced just yet. I think I would like mine introduced at a later time. I imagine you and Seymour have history so I’ll leave his starting point up to you.
In the year 5450, prior to the initial invasion of the War of Skies, the Ikarian Empire had assimilated many kingdoms into its society as a benefactor to mankind. It was an imperial republic that thrived for 280 years, and the governed were generally in a state of happiness. Culture and technology were thriving as Anthrosian governance toppled despots and gave power to the people of the land. Some lands were won by conquest, and others were won by winning the love of the people. Other lands existed that held on to their independence, such as the Divine Clans of Maor (west to northwest of Anthropos), the feudal dynasties of Ningen (east of Anthropos, across the Gulf of Juri), the Kingdoms of the Sun in Bantu (waaay southwest of Anthropos), and the Daemon Guilds of Manava (south to southeast of Anthropos). The empire would eventually reduce in size following what is known as the War of Skies, the time when the flying giants came from the sky flying through the air with angelic wings of illuminating energy of varying color among individuals. They attacked the lands of Ningen first, blanketing their skies in prismatic colors as they flew over cities and villages, the ningentu riddles with awe and disbelief while the royal families of Ningen declared fealty to their mysterious invaders. Even the monks had approved the coming of the Master Race, as their arrival was prophesized (more like hypothesized) from interpretations of hieroglyphs found in a temple to the northeast of Ningen. This temple has become known as the Terminus Paradisus (Final Paradise), and it is also referred to as the Gates of Paradise. Since its discovery 40 years ago, many people have developed a spirituality associated with this temple. It rest at the foot of one of the Vjolnir’s Spines (one of the mountains of Vjolnir’s Spine), and since people believe the world ends beyond the Spine, then on the other side of these colossal gates must be the land of eternal life and supreme happiness. The monks of Ningen took great pleasure in the new understanding, and so the Master Race was met with little resistance from the ningentu. The manavir also showed little resistance to the invasion from the Master Race, as their power was easily bought out. The anthrosians rebelled to a significant degree, favoring their freedom over life, but ultimately it was realized that surrender meant survival. The surrender of the Ikarian Empire was triggered by a grand deceit played by some of the manavir guilds; creating tensions that are present in modern day society between Manava and the rebels. Their betrayal cost the rebels dearly, and the act rippled throughout the lands of humans, dissipating and shattering their cause into pieces. Since the Feast of Dragons, or also known as the Fall of Ikarus, the anthrosians surrendered their sovereignty, and the remnants of the rebellion fell to the scattered armies of the maorens, bantulu, and the orcs. The most famous and strongest group among the rebels was the Dead Cloaks, who were founded and led by a young maoren boy of 14 named Idrid Rhoan, who was often mistaken for 17 given his early blooming into manhood. The Dead Cloaks were composed of all civilians who were not enlisted with a traditional military, and they often acted outside of laws of warfare when it came to fighting the Master Race. They are called the Dead Cloaks because every time the Master Race kills a human, the Dead Cloaks grow in numbers because friends and families find motivation to rise against them. They are identified by wearing a black cloak, or a scarf, or some other garment, bearing a basic white skull (similar to the Punisher but not so stretched out). Indrid Rhoan, along with the bulk of his force, died at the age of 19 during the Feast of Dragons. It is believed that certain guild lords had arranged for an alliance between them and the rebels within the city of Ikarus, which at that time the city was considered safe territory considering all the potential civilian casualties, and even the Master Race abided by that agreement. The bulk of the Dead Cloaks and other rebels were led into a trap, and they were swarmed within the city by dragoons and being torn to bits by their lances and consumed by their wyvern mounts. The powerful magic of the Master Race, coupled with the powerful sorcery of the manavir, caused great destruction to the city of Ikarus, leaving remnant magic auras lingering in the atmosphere in present day, and also statues of soldiers and common people that fell victim to a petrification spell. This marked the end of the War of Skies, and for 65 years the Master Race has made great efforts with the reconstruction of their new colonies. During this time, the Master Race fights only proxy-wars against scattered bands of rebels to the north (they are seen as little threat because they are not very organized), and also fight against the orcs in the southlands of Bantu. Resistance against the Master Race is virtually fizzled in this day and age, and the only people that were alive during the invasion are dead or dying. There are those that still believe living under the dominion of the Master Race is to live like cattle, and with passions fueled from their grandparents’ stories, they join the ragtag militias to the north to try and reignite the rebellion. The demographic usually consist of young-adults of maoren and anthrosian decent, though other races are found in these groups as well. Most people however, have grown content with their presence, as law and order make life under their rule rather peaceful and somewhat safer than before. Also, the Master Race has incorporated their technology into the infrastructure of prominent cities, making them efficient and allowing human civilizations to extend beyond their normal functions.
We will begin our campaign in the late spring of the anthrosian year of 5515. Prominent cities tend to have more presence of the Eridani, as they are more formally known as, while more rural areas scarcely see them except for important occasions or if they are using the road. The ningen essentially worship the Eridani as their superiors, and revere them for their power, which is a generalization; no doubt to be proceeded by more. The Daemon Guilds stick to their daemon worship and opulence, while they revel in the luxuries the new technology has provided. The City-States of Anthropos grudgingly live under Eridani rule, but also shamefully enjoy the new technology, as they were once the world leaders in science and technology for 280 years prior to the War of Skies. The Sun Kingdoms of Bantulu also grudgingly swear fealty to the Eridani, with some southern kingdoms actually joining ranks with the orcs to help break their chains. The orc tribes (and there are too many to list) are at all-out war with the Eridani, and have been since their first encounter. Orcs provide a significant amount of the work-force and military, though orc soldiers are never sent to the southlands as there is too much risk for defection at the moment they encounter their kin. The Divine Clans of Maor only swear fealty to the Eridani because they are too weak to resist them. They disdain the presence of the Eridani and use little of their dragontech. Scattered bands of rebels mostly find themselves hiding away either in the wilderness, or hiding in plain sight by not wearing their “colors” when in public. Many rebels live double-lives, one life being spent trying to survive the normal hardships of existence, while the other life is spent secretly fighting the Dominion.
We will actually begin the game with you and Vincent Tivolt on tour in the southlands. You are both corporals in the Draconic Fleet, and you and your unit are being sent to fight the war against the orcs. This is battle is particularly important, as your superiors made it a point to mention that the safe retrieval of what they simply referred to as “the artifact” will be rewarded greatly. The artifact is in the possession of an orc warlord named Turok (yes, it’s staying) who is fortified within his stronghold. The individual that retrieves the artifact is allowed to make a single request of the Eridani, and to those who are aware of their power, the reward could be great indeed.
Human
• +2 to any two ability scores.
• Medium size. Base land speed = 30ft/round.
• Languages: “Common”, plus native language of sub-race.
• Bonus Feat.
• Skills (+1 rank/lvl).
Human Sub-races (add the selected sub-race traits to the above features)
Maoren: a.k.a. Northmen.
Physiology: Maorens are tall, fair-skinned, and generally hairier than their close relatives, the Anthrosians. Their hair can be shown in radiant ruby colors, dark-chocolate brown or even platinum blonde. Their eye-color ranges from emerald green to icy blue, and in rare breeds, a frenzied gold color, which is indicative of having Wildmen close in the bloodline. Brown colored eyes are found throughout all ethnicities. Maorens have an extremely strong sense of smell. Lay folk attest it to the similarities in the blood of Northmen and Wildmen, as folklore claims the Wildmen are actually packs of werewolves in their human forms. These claims are often disregarded as the illusions of the frightened minds of lay folk, and that the source of the keen smell is due to conditioning from hunting as a lifestyle. (Conglomerate of Scandanavian and Celtic features)
Personalities: Families and those an individual Maoren corporatizes with have strong friendships that last a long time. Equally, grudges do as well. They are wary of those outside of their company, making them skeptical of unfamiliar people. As stoic and stubborn as they are, they are not without celebration. Festivities in the mead halls of Maor draw many adventurers and noblemen to the continent. People say Maorens’ emotions can be as hot as fire and as cold as ice, seldom being in balance between the two.
Culture: Like a strong wolf-pack, Maorens favor cohesive families. Much honor is placed in strong families, which usually pay homage to an aspect of nature. Smaller, weaker families are generally incorporated into more powerful, bigger families. These clans are as variable in nobility as they are in aspects (a family could claim to be the aspect of a specific species of moss for all anyone cared). The four most important family aspects to know are The Hunt, The Mountain, The River, and The Fertility. Lesser houses are usually aspects of specific plants and animals. They are noble houses, and are nothing like the remote tribes of their wilder brethren. They are also intelligent; as it should be stated considering their nature worship can be seen as primitive. Their approach to the philosophy is a bit more organized and advanced than one would assume. One can find the Wildmen dancing naked around a fire in the woods to appease an aspect, but a Northmen would instead perform chants or hymns in favor of an aspect. The act of hunting is also considered a form of prayer in their culture, and it is taken very seriously. Their culture resembles medieval times, though since the arrival of the Master Race, more technology has found its way into their lives.
Society: The four houses rule over the smaller houses, and the smaller houses incorporate even smaller ones, where eventually the rest of the land of Maor is settled by independent clans and further north, the Wildmen. Territory is determined by a family’s ability to defend that territory. Claiming sovereignty over land because of a divine right (or just because one says they do) is not recognized by Maorens. They are not conquerors, however, and do not actively invade other clans unless needed. To avoid conflict, most families assimilate with a larger one, becoming even stronger still as the clans organize and support each other. In recent times, these once powerful families now govern their lands in the interest of the Master Race.
Abilities: Scent (4RP). Stubborn (2RP). Low-light Vision (1RP).
Language: Orenic.
Anthrosian: a.k.a. Islanders.
Physiology: Anthrosians are slightly shorter and less hairy than Maorens, but typically have darker hair and darker skin. However, their variability in phenotype is probably the most noticeable among the ethnicities, as their once great and recently fallen empire had spread too many lands, incorporating more genes into their bloodline. Typically, Anthrosians can have fair to tan skin, blonde to black hair, and a wide spectrum of eye color, including violet, blue-green (the most obvious of identifying features), brown, and ice blue (a genetic gift from their Northmen cousins). (Grecco and Romantic fusion).
Personalities: Anthrosians are cerebral characters, often thinking things through with great rationality and critical thought. They are curious beings, often taking great risks to achieve their goals and to unearth new discoveries. Their large cities develop the average Anthrosian into a socialite by nature. They are progressive, open-minded, and they value their freedom above most things, but are not necessarily selfish. A common drawback found in Anthrosian personalities is an unintentional habit of being condescending. They also pride themselves on their native language and their ability to speak eloquently, which is certainly a result of diplomatic competitiveness found within a society that values free-speech.
Culture: Anthrosians value the arts and sciences, and place an emphasis on an individual’s education and power. They are productive, economical, and most of all, scientific. Their pragmatic nature has eliminated religion in the traditional sense, and the gods are viewed not in disbelief necessarily, but as having a tangible, measurable nature. The minority of the population has even claimed the Master Race to be their gods, as their superior technologies and arcane abilities are revered. Individual freedoms are highly valued, so their society tends to attract very progressive individuals. This also develops a variable culture, especially considering Anthropos’s central location and prominent coastal cities that are ripe with diversity and trade. Typical cityscapes resemble renaissance era technologies and artistic architecture with a Victorian wash. Arcane energy is utilized within infrastructure.
Society: Anthrosians have (or had) a democratically elected congress of city-state ambassadors that are charged with making major societal decisions. These diplomats produce laws or acts that are deemed necessary for the betterment of the empire, and they can only be vetoed by a single elected representative, who is considered the most important person in Anthrosian society. The elected representative is provided a personal council of experts that he or she can collaborate with for advisement, but the republic has the ability to remove them from their positions. In fact, the republic is entitled to remove any individual in a position entrusted with major decision-making. Though politics can be dark at times, this advanced and humanistic system has proven fair and has allowed the great expansion of the Rhaelian Empire. Presently, the Master Race has established itself as a supreme court over the management of the federation of city-states, granting themselves the power to thwart any law, act, or plea that is not in their favor. They are also given the right to create and enforce executive orders that supersede any laws or acts that have passed through the ambassadors and the representative.
Abilities: Focused Study (4RP). Silver Tongued (3RP).
Language: Rha’lis.
Ningentu: a.k.a. Eastmen.
Physiology: Ningentu are slightly less tall than Anthrosians on average, and have heavy cream and coffee skin (coffee with too much cream). They are virtually hairless on their bodies except for cranial, facial, and pubic hair. Their eyes are almond shaped and are black to dark brown in color. Though they can be strong, their physique tends to be leaner. This is probably due to the different diets they exercise, which are low in fat and high in protein, compared to the diets of Maorens, which is high in fat AND protein, which helps ease the bite of the cold. Because of their strong sense of self-improvement within their culture, Ningentu have developed stronger resistances and also a greater understanding of the nature of energy and illusions. (Asian)
Personalities: Ningentu are varied in personality, but typical mindsets tend to favor the community over the individual. Discipline and self-improvement are common motivations among the populace, as it is believed that an enhanced individual is able to have great power, and become leaders and exemplars for the community to follow. Family values are held in high regard, which is a quality that Maorens can appreciate, though the physiological differences nurture xenophobia. They are a philosophically advanced people, often approaching problems with a unique angle. Some individuals are extremely humble, while others walk tall with great pride. This is due to the notion of accepting oneself for who one is. A person who walks with confidence has probably earned that outlook on his or her self by achieving great things, and so there is no shame in being humble as it is the appropriate feeling in such a person’s presence.
Culture: As stated, Ningen value the community over the individual, and also value personal achievements. Concerning their religion, they believe their world and the life within it are all of their ancestors reincarnated into varying forms of life. They believe when the world began, there was only man as energy, until the first generation died and brought new life, gradually nourishing the complexity of the universe as time recycled itself. The first generation of ancestors are said to make up the very fabrics of reality. Man existed only as a form of energy within a tiny atmospheric ball that laid in stasis within a grand and empty void. They believe many of these spheres existed throughout the Void, and together, with the remanufacturing of their energy, led to the emergence of the properties of the universe. More recent generations make up the minute aspects of reality, which is associated with a trend the Ningentu noticed in the passing of time; the symbolic (as an evolutionary term) inheritance of knowledge allows more details to become apparent. Therefore, wisdom is the enhancement of one’s perception, which is due to the influx of ancestors and the compiling of knowledge throughout the generations. Many temples and places of prayer are found in natural settings, usually places where the landscape functions well as a structure that would contain a shrine. Their “preserves” are left undeveloped from civilization, as they believe the various climax forests found throughout Ningen are the heavens where their ancestors reside. For this reason, most of their cities are found in barren areas or along coasts, with temples and monasteries built into mountains away from civilization. The monks of these temples live very reclusive lives, and are held in high regard by the people of Ningen.
Society: Ningentu society is composed of various clans, warlords and settlements that swear fealty to a dynastic ruler, who was more than likely a warlord at one point that has risen to greater power. However, religion is virtually homogenous throughout the clans, and all leaders consider the wisdom of the monks to be above all created law. Their supreme understanding of the universe is revered by most people of Ningentu, and even though the monks do not claim any power or establish any laws, their council acts as a master court by virtue of being respected. When rulers summon the council of the monks, it is usually concerning a grander idea that requires their wisdom, such as human-rights, or whether or not they should go to war, and other ethical questions that determine the very idea of themselves. The last summoning of the monks was approximately 220 years ago, when the Ningentu decided to invade the fertile lands of the Maorens when they refused to trade food during the years of the Black Sea. There are many dynasties vying for power over the land of Ningen, but with the current dominion of the Master Race, they declared blood truce. Conquering the Ningentu was a relatively easy task for the Master Race as their truly awesome power was met with quick submission from the majority of the people, except for a few small, but strong, resistance groups that are now disassembled, leaving an old generation of drunken wandering warriors with no lords.
Abilities: Lucky, Greater (4RP). Illusion Resistance (1RP). Lifebound (2RP).
Language: Yinjet.
Manavir: a.k.a. Magi.
Physiology: Dark-almond skin, thick black hair, brown eyes (Arabic and Indian).
Abilities: Constant Spell-like Divination (3RP). First lvl Spell-like ability (1/day) (1RP). Third lvl Spell-like ability (1/day) (3RP).
Language: Asyri.
Bantulu: a.k.a. Darkmen.
Physiology: Dark skin, almost black in individuals found near the equator. Thick wiry hair. Brown eyes (African).
Abilities: Defensive Training, Greater (4RP). Fast (1RP). Hatred (Khazahar (orc)) (1RP). Relentless (1RP).
Language: Barentu.
*Any original human traits can be exchanged for any other ones provided on the Human race-page on the d20pfsrd website. Sub-race traits can be exchanged for another sub-race’s traits in the case of “hyrbids”.
Orc: a.k.a. Beastmen.
• +4 Str, -2 Int, Wis, and Cha.
• Medium size. Base land speed = 30ft/round.
• Languages: Khorgesh.
• Hardy.
• Ferocity.
• Weapon Familiarity (Orc weapons).
• Dark-vision 60ft.
• Fearless.
• Frenzy.
Domesticated Orc: a.k.a. Drones.
• +2 Str and Con, -2 Cha.
• Medium sized. Based Land Speed (BLS) = 30ft/round.
• Languages: “Common”.
• Hardy
• Frenzy
• Stability
• Darkvision 120ft
• Bonus Feat
• Ferocity
Physiology: See Orc description. Additional notes: Orcs do not come in green colors, but rather hues of purple that can be so dark it looks black, and then as light as smoke-washed shale. They are considered very distant relatives of the humans; so much so that it is believed birthing a viable hybrid is impossible (according to questionable Anthrosian studies).
Personalities: See Orc description. Additional notes: The barbarian tribes of orcs to the south of Bantulu lands have far different personalities than domesticated orcs. They are very primal in nature, and modesty and dignity are concepts that do not exist in their societies. They are quick to anger, having little remorse and little thought of consequence regarding their actions. Though a minority, there are bands of more docile tribes that are no less dangerous, but more negotiable than their more volatile kinsmen. Domesticated orcs are a whole new breed being given an efficient education (which is not really good) and are then typically placed in the work-force or the military. They are docile, and can even be friendly and able to hold a somewhat meaningful conversation, though their primal instincts are still very strong. Most Orcs do not view the world with much curiosity, as they are not trained in the ways of critical thinking (it had been omitted from their curriculum). More intellectual Orcs do find themselves questioning who they are and their position in society, leading to the occasional rally and eventual dissent that is met only with death by the Justicars.
Culture: The barbarian tribes are typical enough. Tribes that do not domesticate their own food tend to be more aggressive and lead hunting parties that target all manner of beast, including humans. They do not usually eat humans for food, mainly because the taste is not appetizing, but they kill them in order to take their belongings. It would be inaccurate to imagine an Orc tribe consisting of naked, loin cloth-wearing people, but more of a conglomerate of the scavenged items, clothing, and armor they acquired from raiding parties. Domesticated orcs have a different culture, as one would imagine. Their culture is created in the mines of the mountains, or in the clockwork-like factories in Rhael. During the long, arduous days spent doing physical labor; the Orcs can be found entertaining themselves with songs to pass the time, and afterwards they tend to gather in run-down taverns located in the more impoverished areas of the cities. The Orcs are provided efficient lodging, usually in poorly maintained areas where crime-rate is exceptionally high.
Society: Feral Orc tribes are constructed very basically and simply, consisting of a chief who is charged with major decision making, a shaman for healing, teaching, and maintaining contact with the spirit world, and a stewardess, who is generally female and charged with overseeing the more menial tasks of everyday life (assessing food storage, water supply, material processing, etc.). The chief’s word supersedes the stewardess and the shaman, but the shaman holds strong influence over the chief and is allowed to speak freely in his presence. The feral Orcs have always been at war with the Bantulu, as they are the closest people in proximity and it is just in the nature of the Orc to be prone to violence. Recent times have changed the state of their conflict, as the Master Race lay dominion over the Orcs, they responded with great resistance that continues in present day. Strangely enough, some Bantulu people have joined the ranks of the Orcs in order to combat the Master Race. Domesticated Orc society is the working class and the labor force in more developed cities. They can be found virtually anywhere considering they can be bought for purchase as a personal servant, which they do receive a very small allowance and have to live on the same property as their employer. Still, it is better living than the slums, which is where most of them reside. Other Orcs, generally ones that show promise for intellect, are given either foreman positions, or enlisted in the military. The Eridani have a smaller population than the humans, but by domesticating the orcs and essentially indoctrinating them, they have grown their armies rapidly. They are considerable warriors by nature, but are still considered expendable infantrymen, often the first to be deployed to battle as they are cheap and easy to replace. Few Orcs rise in rank within the Eridani’s army, but those that did had to work harder than an individual of any other race would have. The Eridani select for specific and exceptional individuals for breeding, so as to replenish their numbers without having to capture more slaves in the southlands; hence, they are domesticated.
*Any of the alternative race features listed on the Half-orc race-page can be used to exchange some features of the Orc. However, this would exclude abilities that replace Intimidating, as the Orc do not have that ability.
This game has been home-brewed into every orifice.
*Note: Notice how Bantulu and Manavir are incomplete. I will finish those soonly.
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All your life you have lived under the rule of the Master Race. Life, otherwise, is unknown, though knowledge of your peoples' history makes you realize that you do in fact live in a totalitarian state. Still, as there is no sense is fighting against these superior beings, you decided instead to enlist in their ranks, ascending their dispositions to grant you access to their most powerful technologies. They've always been secretive with their "dragontech", but individuals that achieve great deeds in their eyes receive special access to their more powerful tools. For seven years you have served in the Draconic Fleet, eventually finding your way into the 33rd Magus Marine Infantry; a specialized task-force of eldritch-warriors. The unit is commanded by an Eridani dragoon named Xir Zellec (Xir is his rank: Commander). He seldom refers directly to individuals in his unit, heavily relying on his subordinates to relay his orders. His officers speak Common well enough, though their dialect, and overall voice, is difficult to understand and intimidating without trying to be. They roared softly; their voices deep and resonating, their body language subtle. Xir Zellec is a particularly scary Eridani. He is a dragoon, or a "Deoxul" in their tongue. They are an elite military unit that is allowed to customize their own armor and weapon. The only modification to their armor is the attachment of a "wing-mount", a sort of arcane engine that sprouts wings made of energy when activated. Such a sight is both beautiful and fearsome to see.
You and your best-friend (and your best rival), Sgt. Vincent Tivolt, are riding on the outer-deck of the airship, Caryx (named after an Eridani dragoon), a powerful vehicle made of stone and metals and powered by arcane minerals; a standard ship of the Draconic Fleet but still it compels awe by those viewing it approaching over their cities, scattering the sunlight. The place the Caryx is approaching in particular is a large orc stronghold, where a powerful orc warlord named Turok claims to have a weapon that is effective against the monsters from the sky. The Dominion has offered a great reward to the individual that acquires this item from the possession of the orcs. The champion is able to make a request of their Master's if the request is reasonable. Their power is truly immense, and so can be their good-will. You've always been eager to acquire their technology, and so retrieving this item is very important to you. You figured your best bet to gain permits would be to request to become a dragoon. Asking for a permit outright would be unreasonable, but swearing your life to their service in exchange for their best tech would be seen as a reasonable request. You've shared these thoughts with your friend Vincent, who seemed very encouraging and supportive, claiming he felt little want to remain in the Draconic Fleet for much longer. He was a terrific soldier, one of the best, and he knew it too. Though no human has ever become a dragoon, Vincent possessed many of the qualities. Ambitious, unyielding, and terrified of failure. You hate to admit how much influence he has had on you, considering he's only a year older and one rank superior. But you can't help but feel inspired when fighting alongside him, and no doubt you two have done so for a long time now. Today, you and Vincent are to accompany Xir Zellec while he tries to enter the stronghold via a secret escape route believed to be located in a moat on the northern wall, opposite the drawbridge. He will escort you two there, where you and Vincent are to enter the secret passage and try to drop the drawbridge.
[b]Obectives
1.) Accompany Xir Zellec to the northern wall of the stronghold and enter the secret passage.
2.) Reach the gatehouse from inside the stronghold and release the drawbridge so the Fleet can enter.
3.) Retrieve "the artifact".
You stand exposed to the sky on top of the Caryx, watching the land grow larger as the ship descends. Other soldiers, human and Eridani alike, also stand on the deck awaiting to land and begin their assault on the orc stronghold. Many of the humans boost morale with loud noises and clanging swords, while the Eridani in contrast remain quite silent and almost meditative before a battle. No matter how much noise a human makes before a fight, the Eridani are much more formidable, moving at abnormal speeds in the heat of battle and caving their enemies chest in with a single palm-strike. It would take 5 humans to match an Eridani in combat prowess (statistical studies have been conducted by an anthrosian combat journalist, and he estimated that an Eridani infantryman can kill 5.243 times more enemies than a human infantryman). The a call from the officers ordered the men into formation. You and Vincent, however, were on a special mission with the dragoon. Instead, you were heading into the bowels of the ship, toward the launch-bay. Xir Zellec had a fast pace by virtue of having long legs, and you found your and Vincent could not look as casual as he did while you tried to keep up. You follow him through the giant corridors designed for large persons, the lining of the walls illuminated with runic-pathways pulsing with arcane energy, the sounds of other marines clanking against the weird obsidian floor as they raced to positions. Walking through the control room, roughly 10 Eridani stand at pedestal containing unimaginably smooth orbs. Sprouting from these orbs are strange ethereal interfaces with alien words and structure that the focused Eridani interact with in order to drive the ship. They are assimilated with the ship in this state, and are only able to be communicated with through ship functions.
Eventually you make it to the launch-bay, which is in the lower part of the ship (the ship is colossal in size). The bay is a medium sized room with only a large door for an entry way, and the only exit being through the fall-ward. The fall-ward is a force-field over a missing section of floor in the launch-bay, where it can be set to allow individuals to drop through it and temporarily encase themselves in protective energy. When they land on the surface below, the energy dissipates and the individual is unharmed. The dragoon approaches his posse who have been awaiting him with his helmet and spear. One of his posse anoints the dragoon with some oils as he speaks a few words. The other hands him his helmet and the last his spear.
Vincent looked toward you, holding his helmet under his arm and his right-hand resting on the handle of his sheathed sword, "So what do you think, Mace? You think they only brought the dragoon here to ensure our success? Something tells me this "artifact" does not even exist, and that they're simply sending us back to the southlands for orc-ranching. We make better slaver-barons* than we do Magus Marines. There's probably more money in it, too." He chuckled at the thought. Sadly he could be right. The Eridani often spread rumors among the military to boost morale, and it is not the first time they have promised gifts to those that appease them.
*Slaver-barons are independent ranchers that travel to the southlands to capture orcs for the Dominion in exchange for gold, and sometimes dragontech.
”Why bring the Dragoons if only for an Orc raid? Would seem a bit excessive, don’t you think?” Cecil rebuttals as he intently watches the Eridani manipulate the airship through gleaming spheres. The conversation comes to a lull as he stands fixated on the Eridani’s so called “Dragontech”. And this is only what they’ve graced us to witness…
Redirecting his attention back to his brother in arms, he leans slightly and whispers, ”If they were to ever make you a dragoon, do you think they'll slather you in oils every time you take the field or will they simply parade you about the southern kingdoms to show how sweetly a good dog is rewarded?” Coyly concealing a smile he returns to the stance of a proper soldier and eagerly awaits Vincent’s reply. It was no secret the two were competing for the same position but Cecil saw his comrade with such admiration that he could never muster any malicious resentment. They had instead resolved to keep an ongoing banter that ranged anywhere from playful to supercilious; mood depending.
"Yes, it is uncommon for a dragoon to be campaigning in the Southlands for slave-ranching. Maybe this time there really is a precious item within this stronghold, though I doubt the orc has any idea what to do with it in order to be effective against the Master Race. And with a dragoon on the field, we won't have to do anything but clean up after him. Something tells me Xir Zellec can be in this one for himself; aiming to kill Turok first and claim the artifact for his grand reward. It's relieving to see that the Eridani do posses some human-like qualities."
"Hah! If they made me dragoon? I've told you before, I've grown tired of fighting their war. Though they've certainly given me a hunger for killing orcs. Maybe I should become a dragoon just so I don't starve to death. But you know they would never hold a human to those standards. There's never been a human dragoon. To them, that would be like putting Dragon Armor on a sheep. No, Mace, you and and I are as far as most humans get in the Fleet."
Xir Zellec finished his anointment, and stood tall on the edge of the fall-ward. His armor and weapons were custom made by himself, as is the tradition and rite of passage for becoming a dragoon. It is elegant, yet fierce as they tend to resemble their dragon gods, those mysterious reptilian colossi the Master Race introduced in the form of books and temples. Xir Zellec's was spiky and blue in color, with black chain-mail trimmed throughout its plates. His spear was tall, the handle a metallic blue, the terminal end bearing a long, glowing spear-blade that reflected light like a polished mirror.
Zellec just stared across at you two, never truly acknowledging your presence as most Eridani did, save for some of their common folk. He all of sudden, steps over the fall-ward after the indicator chime and falls to the ground in a "comet" of protective energy. You were aware already that the dragoon will not be giving you direct orders. He's going to assume that you already know what do, and to simply do it.
Vincent peers down the fall-ward... "Looks like some of our infantry men are already fighting outside the wall. We'll be landing into the fray. Remember to fall hard, you'd at least be able to force some savages away from your landing spot." He peered down the fall-ward a second time, "This is probably my favorite part about being a soldier." With that, he stepped over the edge after the indicator chime, and began falling to the land below.
You await the chime, and after you stepped over the edge, immediately feeling your organs move upward in your body, your view became blocked by the encasing of protective, light-green energy. You narrowed yourself to gain more speed, as you were diving into the fray, and would no doubt need some room to land. The dissipating energy, if dissipated hard and fast enough, can force back enemies adjacent to your landing.
"… Something tells me Xir Zellec can be in this one for himself; aiming to kill Turok first and claim the artifact for his grand reward. It's relieving to see that the Eridani do posses some human-like qualities."
”Heh!” Cecil chortles in a breath. ”True enough. Lucky for him there’ll be no contest of it. Perhaps he’s brought us along to demonstrate how pathetic we really are. It’s been too long since the chip has been brushed from our shoulders.”
”… No, Mace, you and I are as far as most humans get in the Fleet."
”Most humans. I can say in absolute confidence that neither of us would categorize ourselves in the ‘most’ compartment of our race, Vincent. Even so, if this is as far as our ladder reaches, I still have one rung yet to claim,” he pauses and smiles mischievously. ”Yours.“
The Dragoon’s cold magnetism washed the grin from Cecil’s face and replaced it with fearful uncertainty. Effortlessly, Xir Zellec commanded an undeniable presence. The Magi had little choice but to wait and watch as the towering warrior marched to the fell-ward and secured his place on the battlefield.
"Remember to fall hard, you'd at least be able to force some savages away from your landing spot."
”I know. I doubt it’s possible to forget a fell-drop,” he replies in a slighted tone. ”I’ll be down momentarily so try not to make a fool of yourself. Remember the count doesn’t begin until both our feet are on the ground!”
With a flash of his whipping cloak, Vincent vanished. Cecil listened apprehensively for the chime while the clusters of Eridani labored away at their chores, completely oblivious of his presence. Pompous bastards. You’ll all know my name soon enough.
The bell rang and the soldier stepped into position. He clenches his gauntlet and disk of arcane energy materialized into the air in front of him. In a blink it was gone; as was Cecil.
Area=50ft^2
Crash into the ground at high-speeds, though you are completely unscathed. The feeling still takes getting used to, as your mind feels like you should be a splattered pulp from a fall that high (some 200ft). You slam into the ground, dissipating your ward away in all directions, knocking four orcs back 5ft. To the northwest of you in the background is Turok's stronghold located near the delta toward the coast. The river that the stronghold is lcoated on is called the Iribec River. This river is channeled to fuel the water in Turok's moat. Also northwest of you, but only 15ft away, is Vincent fighting three orcs at the same time. Already at his feet four lay dead. To the north of you about 20ft is Xir Zellec, moving about the battlefield in such rapid movements that the mind struggles to perceive what it is seeing. The shear violence these giants can cause is immense, as is evident by the pieces of orcs left as a trail from where Zellec landed. He'd bat away orcs with his spear, and then in a flash, his palm would be buried in another's chest.
Oh yeah. To the south/soutwest of you is the bulk of your forces battling the bulk of Turok's forces on the other side of the river. To the east of you is a burm or hill that reaches approximately 20ft high (the 1, 2, 3, etc. in the squares indicate relative elevation. So 1 is one square higher of elevation.
Cecil dizzily draws his sword as the energy egg dissipates revealing the battle scene around him. He channels raw arcana into its blade, and makes a quick step forward and to his right. Taking advantage of his enemies staggered state, he conjures a small flame into his hand and releases a wave of fire into the cluster of Orcs.
The effects of the fell-drop lingered longer than he had remembered. With a sloppy step forward, Cecil secures the higher ground. Wielding his sword in both hands, he makes a wild swing for the closest Orc's head but misses by the difference in elevation.
F4 attempts to sweep you off of your feet with his greataxe.
His attempt grants you an opportunity to sneak a hit across ugly face.
Your quick strike slices right across the orc's mouth, turning him into a pez dispenser. He spins to the ground, dead at your feet.
F2 is in combat with Zellec, and he must make a Will save in order to not flee from battle, as he is severely shaken by the piles of his kinsmen that lay before him.
DC: 56
F2 frantically withdraws from combat, fearing for his life, and leaving his kinsmen to suffer the wrath of the giant.
D4 is in combat with Vincent and he rolls a POWERATTACK with -2 for a +3 DMG bonus.
Vincent HP = 26/42
Your comrade, Vincent, endured a strong blow from an orc that was flanking him.
E4 emit a loud howl as he raises his greataxe in the air and charges toward you recklessly.
F3 attempts to strike you with his greatsword.
His swing falls just short of your person, as your elevation forces your enemies to calibrate their aim.
It's your turn, mo' trucka'.
Cecil mindfully sidesteps the Orc crashing at his feet only to have his eyes meet with the chipped blade of a coming waraxe. Craning his neck to narrowly avoids the blow. His senses heightened by the urgency of battle, he expertly parries another enemy's greatsword. The waraxe swinging monstrosity was the clearest threat. He drives back the attacker and plunges his sword into the creatures stomach then rips it violently to the left causing the creature to collapse in two.
Vincent responds to the orc's powerful blow with an attack of his own.
Vincent's sword slices across the orc's chest, red-mist vaporizes from its gash. The orc drops the the ground, facing down, dead as dead can be.
F3 attempts to disarm you, offering you an opportunity to strike him.
The orc's attempt at removing your sword was met with a fatal stab into its mouth. As he drops to his knees, you remove your sword from the orc by pushing him with away with your boot. It is now your turn to act.
With all immediate threats piled at the slope of the hill, Cecil steadies himself and observes the rest of the battlefield. The Dragoon was callously cleaving through crowds of Orcs with unprecedented speed and terrifying efficiency. A cloud of red vapor engulfed the sapphire blade of his spear as he tore in and out of waves of unlucky warriors.
Vincent, on the other hand, had immersed himself in a group of hardy savages who weathered his attacks more effectively than predicted. Cecil hops over the viscera of his fallen attackers and charges down field towards the mission objective. Rather than risking a passing attack from a foe engaged with Xir Zellec, he uses his momentum and strikes at the creatures hip, just shy of the soft leather joints in its armor.
The orc takes a near fatal blow, but his rage resist any notion of retreat and raises his greataxe high into the air, as to cleave you down the middle.
As the orc raised his axe over his head, the fresh wound you gave him begins to tear further the further he raises his axe. In a nerve-panic, his hands let go of his axe, and it falls into his cranium, sticking out of his head.
He's dead.
In the meantime, Vincent finishes off the orcs in B4 and C6, and sets his sights on the stronghold. "That's 7 by my count, Mace!" says Vincent in a playful challenge.
Other infantrymen, none of which are magi, make there way further to your positions after slaying the orcs that were south of your landing. You witness Zellec perform a devastating attack, where he fell every orc surrounding him in a single, spinning blow . Without even looking to you two for acknowledgement to move on, he simply begins running along the river to find the canal that diverges the water into the moat. He moves with powerful speed.
"Lets move corporal!" commanded Vincent in a rare moment of demonstrated command. He followed suit and darted along the river, trying his best to keep up with the Eridani.
"I only witnessed you sloppily dispatch three but who am I to argue with my commanding officer?"
Cecil watches in reserved awe of the Eridani's merciless prowess until Vincent's command shocked him back into reality. He nods an acknowledgement and takes to the heels of those leading the charge.
You and Vincent follow Zellec along the river. The other side of the river is lined with a small forested area, and about 50ft from the coast, you come upon the mouth of the canal that leads to the moat. The water is shallower toward the coast of the delta, as its mass is distributed throughout the network of channels leading to the ocean.
Zellec charges across the river and continues on along the canal. He had no use for caution as he is seldom actually threatened. You and Vincent follow suit, charging across the river toward the mouth of the canal. Zellec was already far ahead.
Once you arrived at the mouth of the canal, Vincent commanded you to halt.
"Hang on a second, Mace." You turn around to face him. He takes off his helmet and gulps a breath of fresh air.
"Don't worry about Zellec. In his calculating mind, the artifact is already in his possession. Not much will stop him from claiming it. So he can wait a minute, I'm sure." He stares out to the coast, observing the ruby sunset and the faint appearances of the moons. "I feel I must be honest with you. I do think this mission is of great concern to the Eridani. Zellec would not be here if it wasn't. I know I've told you that I've grown tired of fighting their battles. The truth is, I really enjoy it. But I'm sick of being their dog. You and I are both worthy of higher rank, but it'll never happen. We will never appeal to their taste, we're nothing but work-animals and cannon fodder to them. I want the license to kill without the chain of command. The Dragoons are able to do their job with minimal regulations. I think you see where I'm going with this...." His somber tone is a contrast to his usual sharp and cunning tongue. His words were chilling. You knew him to be a good man, for the most part. He cared for himself and those close to him. But to enjoy killing so much for the sake of killing was a bit odd. You suppose he could be referring specifically to orcs, and disregard his comment as meaningless first-words after a battle.
"What I'm saying is.... I aim to take the artifact myself. To become a dragoon. You certainly have been inspiring, Mace. You know there are few things that can come between us. Unfortunately, I think our lust for the same thing does; in this case, our lust for power. The last case was a lust of... well, lust. Whatever happened to that Ardeshi dancer we were both coveting? Did you end up getting a taste?" He attempted to bring light into the conversation. Your friendship with him is truly a strange one. You would both die for each other, yet you both are exemplars of selfishness. Yet another competition arises between you and Vincent.
"Of course, I would not dishonor you should you claim the artifact first. With your life, I consider it in my highest cares. But for your promotion.... I care not. We both want the same thing and only one of us can have it. So here's what I promote. Fairness. So I'll let you in on my plan..." He grinned charmingly.
"We simply don't open the drawbridge. There will be more orcs for us to kill, but we can then just ignore going to the gatehouse and straight toward the main chamber; or wherever Turok may be. We could easily take this stronghold from a bunch of rabid animals. This way, it's just you and me. We both have Zellec out of the way; at least until he blasts his way through the walls. But he would not harm us, regardless. At least I don't think."
"So what do you say, Mace? May the best man win?"
Objectives
1.) Accompany Xir Zellec to the northern wall of the stronghold and enter the secret passage.
2a.) Reach the gatehouse from inside the stronghold and release the drawbridge so the Fleet can enter.
OR
2b.) Bypass the gatehouse and head straight toward Turok's location, losing any reinforcements, including Zellec.
3.) Retrieve "the artifact".
Cecil listened in silence to the reasonable treacheries Vincent had proposed. Every snippet pleasing to think until the abrupt conclusion Vincent suggested. ”What your asking... It won't end cleanly.” The magi wet his lips and swallowed deep a dry empty bubble. He shakes his head bemusedly and huffs a sudden breath, ”May the best man win? But I hope you know: we're both competing for Zellec to remove our heads.” With a wan smile, Cecil puts out a hand to cement the agreement.
"Then we're agreed." He extends his hand to meet yours. "We'll simply tell them the path to the gatehouse was overrun, and we had to go with contingencies." He spat at the ground to clean out his mouth, and placed his helmet back on his head. "I hope you can grasp the scope of one of us becoming a dragoon. It says a lot for humanity, don't you think?" With that, he began running down the canal to the moat. You follow him; his words stirring your thoughts. But now is not the time to ponder such things. You are at war.
You reach the edge of the moat. Zellec stands over it staring intently at the wall. It's obvious there is a weakened area, perhaps used regularly as an alternative exit, but who knows why things are in these old, war-torn strongholds. Zellec notices your arrival, and abruptly jumps into the water, his head barely above the surface. He turns around and stares at you guys, and you immediately follow suit. You swim over to him, and he extends his arms out. Once in reach he grabs you and lifts you up over is head to grab the wall, bypassing about 5ft of space. You successful climb to the weakened blocks, and push them inward until they plop to the ground on the other side of the wall. It seems this entryway leads to a room on the first floor. You climb up into the room, the hole barely big enough to fit through, and Vincent soon joins you. "I think Zellec sneaked a tickle on me when he lifted me up. I told you I was growing on him." He grabs a handful of his cloak and wrings out the water. "No doubt we'll leave a trail with all this wet. No matter. It makes no different to orcs. They're not so deductive."
"Now lets see... where are we..." He asked himself as he scanned the room.
Perception 20+8=28. Vincent
Perception 20+7=27. Cecil
The room you are in looks nothing more than an armory AND a storage space. There is a mix of weapons and armor here, most of them broken, and then some food containers and crafting materials. There are two doors in this room, one is straight ahead of you, the other to your right.
If you'd like me to go into more detail about this room, I'll assume you examined the weapons and such. But if you have not the interest, then please, pick a door. Or however you want to do this. Haha. Blast a hole in the wall.
"Now lets see... where are we..."
"Damned if I know," he replies, examining his surrounding curiously.
"My assumption is that the door ahead of us would lead deeper into the bowels of the stronghold while the one to our left would bring us to the gate control. If I were a gambling man, I stake my chances on the one in front."
"Right. The draw bridge is southwest of our position. That's where the gatehouse would be. From here, we should be relatively close to the main hall or wherever Turok is barricading himself. At least our commander fights a long side us. Lets move out."
With that, you two head to the door straight ahead of you. Opening the door reveals a long hallway, maybe about 60ft, with two doors along the right side of the wall and two along the left. At the end of the hall way looks to be a set of stairs for one of the spires. The hallway is lit with torches, and only remnants of decorations from previous owners of this stronghold line the walls.
"You check the right side and I'll take the left," Cecil says decisively. Drawing his sword, he moves to the closest door lining the left side of the hall. He stands a few paces and raises an open palm. Through light concentration he casts a simple cantrip to determine if the artifact is on the other side.
Your detect magic reveals no auras in that direction. Vincent does the same and reveals nothing as well. He puts his head close to the door to listen for commotion.
Perception = 28 vs DC=20
Vincent whispers, "I think there's orcs in there... I don't know about you, but I'd hate to let them go. I would lose sleep at night if I let them live. Besides, we can squeeze the location of Turok out of one of them. Save ourselves some time with the search."
He awaits a reply from you, though it truly is futile. He could invoke the chain of command and you would fall into line in a heartbeat.
"We don't have time for this, Vincent. Before long, Zellec will rip through those half-decayed walls with a host of marines at his back. The artifact isn't here so Turok isn't either. You know I'm right."
"Nonsense. I think we'd save more time stopping and asking for directions, and that's exactly what we're going to do - now get ready." his tone was harsh and slightly annoyed. He often got this way in the heat of battle.
Vincent kicks the double doors open, revealing the denizens of the next room. The room is about 60x30ft, with two long tables with a mess of an orc feast, also with barrels of some kind of alcoholic beverage immediately to the left of the door. There are four armed male orcs in the room, and then a bunch of orc women and children, taking refuge in the kitchen during the siege. The orcs were aware of your presence before the door was opened, as they were well prepared when you saw them. The women stood guard over the children, also armed, but not with any significant weapons.
Initiatives
reroll for Orc B and D
You've got to be f*@+ing kidding me...
B goes first because B comes before D in the alphabet. Unless you also roll a nat twern and then we just roshambo for it.
Cecil knew his words meant nothing to Vincent when the maddening scent of blood was in the air. He flexes his grip on the pummel of his marine issue longsword resentfully and activates the wand in his gauntlet for a boost in defense while his commander giddily smashes open the door in question.
You've got to be f---ing joking.
"Vincent, it's not too late. We can still walk away," he whispers hurriedly in their native Rha'lis, his eyes exploring the faces of every mother and child in the room. "Even if we only kill the guards we'll be sealing their deaths. I won't have their blood soil my sword. Not if I can stop it."
In the heartbeat before battle broke, Cecil surveys the room in a vain attempt to find something to block the doors and barricade the Orcs in the dining hall.
Orc B
Orc D
Vincent
Cecil
Orc A
Orc C
Orc B steps up onto the table , and emits a terrifying yell . He puts himself in a guarded stance, ready to strike if the females, children, or himself, are harmed .
Orc D mimics Orc B, and places himself on top of the table, standing between you and the women and children. He slams the butt of his longspear on the table, also emitting a powerful roar . He stands guard, awaiting your advancement .
Vincent glares at you and yells in a harsh and rapid tone, "Walk away!? Are you f!$*ing daft? They'll send others after us and block our escape route. No... no, I think this is the only way. At least one of them knows where he is." You did not like his tone. It was such a contrast compared to when you were talking on the ship. This side of him emerges in battle, but you have yet to witness him harm children. You never knew him to condone that, even for an orc. But this time you were second guessing what you knew of Vincent.
He hones his sights on Orc C , and fires two arcane bolts from his left hand .
"YAAAH!!! AWAY WITH YOU, VERMIN!!!"
to Orc C.
Vincent begins yelling in Orc
All the orcs in the room except for the enraged ones shutter in fear, the females drop their weapons. The male orcs, upon closer inspection, seem to be skinnier that your typical orc on the battlefield, and one even looks slightly older. The two enraged ones (OrcB and OrcD) seem fit like you typical orc. Orc A and B drop their weapons following the females.
Your turn, beeeetch. OrcB and OrcD are still in fight-mode.
"Tell us what we need to know and spare yourselves the bloodshed." Cecil adds urgently.
There was still time to fix this with minimal casualties. All Cecil needed to do was force submission from the enraged Orcs to further drain the morale of the others. He sticks close to the wall as he turns the corner into the room.
He reels back his hand as a whirling mist of colors begins to rapidly develop in the air around him. "Hyuuuuurrrrr AHHH!!!" he screams as he releases a wave of color on the orcs in front of him, its effect ending before it reached the women and children on the other side.
and stunned for +1 round.
Orc C and D drop their weapons and fall to the ground, and Orc C was panting heavily after receding his adrenaline . The women and children scream and huddle close to each in the corner of the room. The other group of civilians are huddled in the other corner of the room. Everyone but OrcB has surrendered.
Cinematic
The orc on top of the table roars and leaps down to charge Vincent. In a flash, Vincent reacts, steps forward slightly, and charges his sword with a strong, vaporous green aura . When the orc reached him, Vincent quickly dashed passed his charge on the left side, slicing his blade deep across the his stomach; the wound simultaneously cauterizing, but the acid continued to burn the orc. His arms fell to his sides, dropping his two hand axes as he groaned in pain; eventually falling to his knees with his top half tipped over to the left, like a partially opened tin-can.
Vincent immediately sets his sights on the other male orc (OrcA), who is standing in front of female orc, though he no longer holds a weapon. As Vincent approached, the women and children cower as close as they can to the wall. Vincent grabs the orc by him by his crude scale-mail, and drags him over to the hearth.
Still yelling in Orc..
Without hesitation, after his speech, he pressed on the back of the orc, and connects the coals with his face, causing him to scream in horrible pain.
The women and children on both sides begin screaming as Vincent angrily chars the orc's face. After about 1 round, he grabs his head out of the goals and shows it to the others. He is still alive, but in excruciating pain.
I need to roll 54 or higher to effect all of them.
He's lost his goddamn mind. The thought was more of an admission than it was a realization. Where Cecil romanticized the notion of killing someone who wanted to kill him, Vincent had been spiraling towards an addiction.
Cecil knew the Orcs in this room would be slaves within the hour; slaves if they were lucky. But had he been able to dissuade his commander from coming in here, he could have gleefully ignored the ugly part of missions such as these. Unfortunately, he was trapped now. And as much as it sickened him, he was bound to follow Vincent's lead. A hint of discontent between the two of them could give the Orcs an opening to retake arms and overwhelm them.
Cecil silently waited and preyed that someone would speak up before Vincent massacred another Orc.
One of the females darts over to Vincent falls to her knees and buries her head in her hands and she leaks tears, as well as the information he wants.
She then spoke in broken-common as she dragged the burned orc closer to her kin: "The Tarrasque consume you..." She spat on Vincent's armor as she pulled the burned orc from his clutches. Your comrade stood blank, staring as if into nothing, though you knew he was eyeing the female that spat him. He had the look of death in his eyes.
He began to speak, wobbling slightly in place, "I can't thank you enough for your help." he said, gradually looking down at the spat of orc-slime on his armor. "I truly can't thank you enough... " A small stream of black smoke began emitting from his off-hand.
"You have your answer, Sergeant. A worthy opponent awaits us in the main hall and an impatient Xir Zellec is holding the gate. Each second is a gift." Cecil makes for the door, speaking over his shoulder as he passes. "You can stay here if you'd like, I'm going after the artifact."
For your K-local check, feel free to review the Orc section in the Races spoiler in the first post. That has a good synopsis of their culture in this game. Keynotes are they have a natural disposition to violence, mainly based on their predatory, yet complex nature. Pride and reputation, honor and loyalty to one's tribe; these are things orcs place above their own lives. Orc tribes have three powerful governing individuals: a Chief (most powerful), a Shaman (second powerful), and a Stewardess (third powerful).
The smoke ceases to emit from his hand, and his stance begins to stabilize. He looks at your direction, and lets out a familiar, and sobering, laugh.
"Heh heh. Like hell you are, Mace." He brushed the spit off of his armor. He looks back at the female orc for a moment, and then begins to hustle out of the room, budging you in formation and showing you a playful grin. It's as if nothing had happened. Maybe he's just been in the fight too long. Eight years is a long time to be serving, and the Master Race's army is constantly at war. Vincent is a soldier guaranteed to be deployed in combat, considering he's one of the best. But to the Eridani, no human was good enough for the higher ranks . He turned around to say something while you two continued toward the end of the hall, "I want you to know that I do not expect you to agree with the way I do things. I think I give in to violence to rid myself of guilt. Embrace it rather than face it. When all you do is fight for eight years of your life, then seems to be what you become: violence incarnate. I don't expect you to agree, but I hope you do understand." Sadly, you understood him. If your environment is constant war, then that is what you become. That's what you adapt to. And when you are taken out of that environment, you're a whole new animal in an unfamiliar jungle. Fortunately, you prided yourself on a strong willpower and focused mind.
You two hustle to the door beyond the stairs, pressing your ears against it to try and listen to what's on the other side. (take 20) You here the rustling of footsteps, a few commands in orcish, and from the sounds of it, they may be barricading a door, but their voices sound somewhat distant so it isn't your they're barricading. You slightly open the door, peering through to see a set of short stairs of about 20 steps, leading up to what looks like a large room. This could be the main hall the female divulged about. You two sneak your way closer to the top of the stairs, which are about 10ft wide and flanked by walls, giving you plenty of cover. Peering over the steps, you see about 10 orcs in the room, bringing materials over to the large set of double doors to your left in order to build a barricade. To your right, you see your target, Master Turok, standing by a throne-like chair, which in it sits a strongbox.
Cecil crouches in the stairwell watching the Orcs hustle to and fro in a vain attempt to keep intruders from infiltrating their stronghold. He watches Master Turok quizzically, examining every step and breath the great warrior made; studying his calmness in the seconds leading up what he should know to be his final battle.
"What do you have in mind, Sergeant? Bastard Eridani didn't bother to give us bows so our choice in attack is limited. All we have are our swords and our wits," he pauses and gives his friend quick smile to lighten the tension. "Well, our swords and my wits."
You see the left side of his mouth raise in a half-smile, but he still stared at the orcs, probably counting their numbers and looking for potential escape routes, which so far it looks as if the only escape route is fighting your way out of the stronghold.
The main-hall is about the size of a small church, maybe 50ft across and 70ft long. The walls and pillars (there are 6 of them) are made of corroded red and grey stone, with some copper decorations inlaid into them, indicating this was once probably an old bantulu castle, which has probably been overrun for a long time now, as you are deep within Kheimer (the name for the land of the orcs). Rubble was was piled in the corners of the hall, and torn, ornate, white curtains as long as a whale hung from the tall windows behind the throne. Shards of the mural that once inlaid in the window now laid about the floor, and also some shards still resisting to fall. You can tell it is sunset, as a faint red hue fills the room.
Turok stands very tall, his posture quite exact and to his intentions. From where you are perceiving, he appears almost 7 feet in height, and he looks very strong, indeed. Not only are his muscles large, they are extremely defined, like the statues of the Archon Hunters of maoran religion, most specifically Adonis the Verdant.
Continuing with Master Turok's description...
He wears a dark, dusty leather long-coat that is sleeveless, exposing his enormous arms that are decorated in tattoos, metal rings, and on his left bicep he has wrapped a black ribbon. His hands, are gloved in metal gauntlets, and from what you can tell, they are runed .
Also on his person are two greatswords strapped to his back, and sheathed at his sides are two battleaxes. He wears nothing on his torso underneath his jacket, and his pants are made of dark hide or leather with patchy metal plates sectioned in certain areas. His large feet bear big black boots with a fur trim. The designs on his jacket are embroidered with golden thread. He looks aged, his long gnarly hair was salt and peppered, and so are his long sideburns. His skin is on the darker side of their plum skin, making him almost look black, though his purple shows through like neon in the sun's glare. The last thing you notice on him, but barely, is a large gash across his face, running over his left-eye, which he has covered with a bloodied rag.
He stands tall beside the throne, postured intently, both arms resting behind his back as he stares pensively out as the sun sets behind the ocean.
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Cornered, this one will be trouble... He's wizened and well traveled, seasoned in the ways of war. With as much treason I've already allowed myself, what could be the harm in trying?
Cecil hesitantly pulls his focus from *Turroc* and scans the makeshift battlements of the main hall.
"We've done things your way, now we try it mine. Chances are it will end in blood but... As your brother I'm asking you to simply hold your sword for a moment longer." Cecil gives Vincent a weary stare then walks up the stairs in firm, deliberate steps.
Standing as straight and solidly as a spear, Cecil places a hand on his sheathed longsword, clears his throat and calmly announces: "Master Turroc, I've come for the artifact."
Vincent quietly barks at you as you start walking up the stairs, "You know your place, Corporal! We'll do it my way, as that's the only way this will en... no, Mace, stop!". You're not sure what it was that made you ignore a superior officer's command. Though he is your friend, a truly close friend, you always kept your job separate from your friendship. Perhaps that was doable when you had respect for him. No doubt a bit has bled out of your friendship after seeing him handle the orcs in the mess hall. Pushing the burned-orc's face into the fire, his sword poked at the back of his neck so he wouldn't pull his head out of the coals. It sickened you. War was ugly, but only when it had to be. But it didn't have to be now. You sought to handle this like men, and marched to Turok to demand the artifact.
"Master Turroc, I've come for the artifact."
As you walk out into the main hall, the orcs constructing the barricades run to reach for their weapons. As they arm themselves, Turroc raises his palm and emits a booming command in orc. His voice is deep and rough, yet very articulate and according to orthodox Khorgesh . He places his large hand back behind him , and pivots his eyes at you.... well, right now only his right eye. You hear commotion behind you, and you realize they've found Vincent.
"You bloody idiot! This was your brilliant plan?! How DARE you ignore my command-HKAWGH" one of the four orcs surrounding him slugged him in the throat, and then kneed him in the groin, sending Vincent to his knees. He is about 30ft away from you. The other orcs (five others, I believe) remain at bay, listening to their commander's.... commands... There is one orc dead on the ground over by the stairs..... you assume Vincent got one in before he was captured.
The hulking orc begins to speak in fluent common, "It is kind you address me as Master. I see from your uniform you are a corporal, or more accurately a "Vahnzr"; and a magus at that. Considering the Master Fleet's disdain for holding us - oh forgive me, I meant humans and orcs - to any merit means you have definitely earned your scars. I say to you now, why is it you want my artifact?"
Vincent yells with much ferocity, "Don't play his f~*#ing games, Corporal!!! I'm ordering you to rain fire on these filthy pig-f&#~ers, and take the artifact by force!!!"
It was clear Vincent has not been with his wits this entire mission, save for on the Caryx. If you guys survived, you believed you would have just-cause to disobey Vincent, and maybe even have him reviewed by the Zorashti .
Turroque belted a hard laugh, "Hah! My games, human? You know nothing about the games I play. You know your sword, and your spell. But you know nothing about your use. What YOU are used for. So I ask you again... WHY do you want my artifact?" his tone was sharp and directed at you.
You are not sure exactly why the Eridani want this artifact. You're not sure what it even looks like nor what it does. The only briefing you received was that you need to infiltrate the stronghold through a secret passage, and then kill Turoc and retrieve the artifact.