Wandering GM's PF Sunless Citadel

Game Master TheWanderer123

Just before winter in his twenty-second year, a Great Conclave was assembled of the leadership of the mountain clans. It was during this weeklong event that a group of guards from a distant settlement assaulted and killed Vak'rogh's mother, who had lived out a shamed existence among the orcs who had captured her decades before. Though there was no closeness to her in his own heart, the too-old not-yet-Ghostspear saw their actions as an affront to his clan's honor and might. When night came, and most of the encampment slept, Vak'rogh entered the squad's tent and killed them all, with axe and spear and fist. At dawn, as the visiting elders began to gather, the alarm was raised when the slain did not attend their master.

When the great ones entered the tent to find a pile of six slaughtered guards, Vak'rogh rose up from his concealment among the corpses, blood-drenched and furious, and announced -- I am Vak'rogh of the mountains, and the blood of war! I have done this thing to balance the disrespect they showed my people! Cursed is anyone who finds fault in it!

No judgment was brought against him.

Things have a way of working out, though . . . .

That night, he was brought before all the assembled shamans and attending Ghostspears. Their deliberations were lengthy, but foregone -- Vak'rogh's birthmark did not quite match the god-mark, as they had long thought. And why did the ritual tattoos not hold the blood magic they should? How could a prospective Ghostspear slaughter so many horde warriors, before passing his trials and feel justified? Didn't his declaration exhibit favoritism for one clan above the others??

No, no -- that would not do at all. Not. At. All.

The council named him "Lost", and exiled him straightaway.

With all his worldly possessions upon his back, and the uncertainty of homelessness upon his mind, Vak'rogh cautiously approaches a village that is likely full of all the races that call him "enemy" . . . .

Never leave their property unattended
Never make a spectacle of yourself
Never trust strangers

Rule number 1: Never leave their property unattended

When Vilma nodded off, as aging nannies often do, rule number one was soon and nearly always broken. Armed with the flawless scizore he found packed away in his mother's effects, Blitz would scurry off to the Skhan Warehouse, a nearby abandoned storage area where an unusually large amount of desert birds flocked to, also said to be haunted by a powerful Vrock. Though Vilma would use this and other local lore as tactics to keep the boy in check, he remained undaunted. Not worried by local superstition, Siim would steal away to the warehouse to play. Never having the nerve to actually go inside the structure, he would fearlessly romp around in the surrounding area with the birds. Envious of the their freedom, and fascinated by their grace, he would try and mimic their movements in attempt to find his own method of flight. Outfitted in a makeshift costume, he would clumsily don the over-sized scizore, and pretend he was Nom de Plume, a mysterious local hero who always left a calling card after one of his spectacular acts of vigilantism-a single black feather.

Rule number 2: Never make a spectacle of yourself

As it had been since the sun orchid elixir was discovered, once every 5 years it was Thuvia's turn to host the auction. Excited by Vilma's accounts of all the hustle and bustle, Blitz got a little braver than usual. On one of the mornings following the main event, when things were slowly winding down, Blitz decided it was time to finally venture into town. Confident of the anonymity that the ragged face covering of his costume imparted to him, the boy explored his new surroundings. Though not in full swing, there was still a colossal amount of activity going on for the boy to be able to fully comprehend. Amid all the activity, his attention was caught by a poster nailed to a post. As deftly as it was sketched, the figure drawn upon it remained faceless. He read the big lettering "Wanted: Nom de Plume" upon it-obviously the "hero" was as notorious as Vilma's accounts depicted him to be.
As he reached for his souvenir, a cry arose from across the roadway. Blitz looked to see a street thug, baby bundle in hand, fleeing the scene of his fresh kidnapping. Suddenly, as he attempted to duck down a side street, the thug stopped dead in his tracks. In his way, stood an unwavering figure-shod in an, otherwise nondescript, overly baggy outfit. Atop the beings head rested a floppy wide-brimmed hat. The hat itself shadowed the face below, which was, in turn, swaddled in a cloth mask from the nose down-barely revealing even the eyes of the stalwart individual-an almost perfect match to the figure drawn upon the wanted poster.
In a split second, the visage of Blitz's mind's eye splintered into pieces. In the foreground of an infinite void, the shards flipped and spun-telling him a grave story of the events unfolding before him. After the ominous fortune was told, the pieces instantaneously congealed together back into the present scene. Instinctively, Blitz shot across the street. Dodging the smatterings of the immediate lane's traffic, he slid into the far lane on one knee. Without any apparent regard to the oncoming carriage, he deftly caught the falling infant, which had been discarded by the hoodlum in a desperate, diversionary attempt to escape the unfortunate situation he found himself in. Then, in an unlikely act of acrobatic excellence, Blitz launched himself off his non-grounded foot, and caught the dangling rein which had snapped as the carriage driver tried to bring his horses to an abrupt halt. And then it happened...he flew.
The momentum of the rein, yanking him back as the horses halted, threw Blitz wildly in the air. Somehow, though, he was able to maneuver himself mid-air and land gracefully on his feet, with the infant safely cradled in his right arm. Looking up, he saw the thug snugly tied to one of the posts-which, ironically displayed one of the wanted posters depicting the individual who foiled his crime. Following the pointed fingers that weren't presently on him, Blitz turned and met the gaze of the shadowy hero. Already several blocks away, the vigilante narrowed his eyes, as if attempting to read the very soul of the young sylph boy. After a few brief moments, the vigilante turned and left the scene.
With the departure of the individual, assumed to be the notorious Nom de Plume, Blitz snapped out of his daze and realized that he was now left, unmasked, and as the sole center of attention. Terrified at the apparent consequences of being a party great acts of heroism, he carefully lowered the child to the ground and fled. Reaching home, he quietly opened and slipped through the door. Upon entering, he immediately made his way to the washing area, washed the dried blood from the leg he gashed during his heroic slide, and bandaged it the best he could. The rest of the night went as it usually did, and without further incident.

Rule number 3: Never trust strangers

The next morning, Blitz woke to the normal routine. Later on, Vilma predictably nodded off. Almost only out of sheer habit, he put on his costume, donned his scizore, and headed to the warehouse area. Everything seemed as normal until a sudden blast of birds burst from the warehouse door. To Blitz's horror, a jet black Bird-like humanoid, clad in equally ebon studded leather armor, emerged from the portal. Frozen in his place, Blitz did the only thing he could think of at the time. He raised his scizore clumsily at the being and said,
"I am the great Nom de Plume, foul demon, and as I have many great heroic deeds to accomplish, I have come for more of your feathers!'
The being stopped, and with an amused look on his face he spoke,
"If you are he, then I am not me, and the demon I must be! Well, young man, after your fantastic heroics yesterday, I couldn't justify leaving one at the scene, as I would be taking credit for your spectacular deed."
With that, the avian humanoid handed the boy a single black feather. Blitz realized that he, in fact, was now standing in the presence of none other than Nom de Plume.
"I've been watching you boy..."
"Blitz...my name is Blitz."
"Okay...Blitz. As I was saying, I have been watching you for some time. Up until yesterday, I thought you were just some foolish child playing dress up in a place rumored to be haunted-most likely against his mother's wishes. After what I saw yesterday, though, I'm not so sure of that. I think there's something more to you than some little delinquent shirking his lessons somewhere his mother wouldn't approve. Answer me this-Do you want to learn how to..."
"Learn how to take down criminals outside the confines of the law and..."
"Hold on kid, yes i have taken to vigilantism the past few seasons, but that is just a passing fancy. Now, if you'll stop interrupting me, answer me this...Do you want to learn how to fly?"

After that it was set and a deal was made. In the mornings, Blitz would be more diligently efficient in his schooling with Vilma. After the days lesson, if Vilma lasted that long, Blitz would engage in a daily ritual of making her as comfortable as possible, to facilitate her sleeping habits. He then, would join his new master, and surrogate father in the arts of the courser swashbuckler.
As time went by, and as Vilma eventually passed, Blitz was afforded even more freedom to train with Nom. The physical aspect was simple enough, but soon came the tricky part-correlating the harnessing of latent tengu magic to Blitz's ties to the Plane of Air as a result of his djinn heritage. As it turned out, armed with the magical theory his mother had schooled him in on a nightly basis, Blitz caught on sooner than Nom ever thought possible from anyone, and what surprised Nom even more...it started to work for him! Much to Blitz's distaste, though, Nom would never allow the boy to accompany him in town for any reason, not even the most trivial jaunts in the cover of night.
The fifth year was rolling around again, and as the city prepared for the auction, Nom de Plume slightly increased his ventures into the main city. Knowing he couldn't save everyone, he attempted to deter as much criminal activity as much as one reasonably could- if only to keep in top form more than anything else. He attempted to stay as well informed as possible, even hearing a rumor that a reenactment was in the works of the rescue he and Blitz were involved in five years prior.
One of the following days, Blitz showed up for his training, and they started at it. Soon it became apparent that Nom was training the boy harder than normal. Sensing the tengu was trying to wear him down, Blitz only pushed himself harder and harder. Thinking this may be the test that would allow him to join Nom on his city runs, Blitz lost all track of time and sense of well being in his refusal to yield. Finally reaching the pinnacle of exhaustion, the pair stopped.
"Am i ready now?" Blitz stumbled out.
"Possibly." Nom replied.
Just then, Blitz toppled over, passed out from fatigue.
"Yeah, you're definitely ready."
When Blitz came to, he found himself bound, hands and feet, in a small unfamiliar room-Nom casually sitting in a chair across from him.
"What's going on?" Blitz hissed.
"You're bound hands and feet, in a small room. Does it seem as anything else?"
"Why are you...? You can't do this, I have to go home to my mo..."
"She's dead Blitz."
"What? You killed...?"
"No, not me, I would never. Come on, you know me better than that by now!"
"I thought I did. Tell me what in all of Abbadon is going on here!" Blitz demanded.
Nom de Plume shook his head, sighed, and looked Blitz straight in the eyes, "Your mother's name was Kayanna. You wouldn't have ever heard her story because she kept it far away from your ears, but she was the only slave to ever escape the grasp of Bartosska Ta'Gima. Ta'Gima is a slaver in Quidira who deals solely in your kind. Not only was she the only Sylph to ever escape his captivity, she had managed to spite him threefold."
Blitz laid there, bound in the corner, wallowing in disbelief.
[b]"Sylphs under Ta'gima's ownership were never allowed to mate for life, they were bred with purpose.

I wrote him up for a submission to a Greyhawk Age of Worms campaign where he ended up in Diamond Lake to try an apprenticeship with a specific well-known retired adventuring wizard. I can re-work him to end up where-ever you place the citadel.

Thanks for your consideration.