GM ShadowLord's Tyrant's Grasp

Game Master The Rising Phoenix

"Inevitably, of course, the Whispering Tyrant would himself fall. The Shining Crusade brought with it thousands of Taldan soldiers into the lands of Ustalav. Many of those lucky few who avoided death settled in the territory that they freed, forming the Taldan province of Lastwall, tasked equally with protecting the world from the menace they had defeated and with rejuvenating the land they had recovered. For some, this was a tough transition, but others took to the challenge, bringing the crusader spirit that had defeated the undead armies into reclaiming the barren battlefields. Despite their marked differences with those who had inhabited the land before them, a sense of mutual respect arose between all those who managed to survive the ravages of the Whispering Tyrant. Over time, the disparate crusaders and we Ustalavic holdovers of Lastwall grew closer and closer, the ties of blood shed becoming intertwined bloodlines in their own right."

The old storyteller paused for a moment, flashing a toothless smile at the young children listening with wide eyes before furrowing her brows. "Ah, I know you want to hear all about the Crusade. But those were their battles, not ours. You'll have to ask those stuffy Taldan historians about those, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to drone on about minutiae like how many captains fell at Vaishali. Anyways..." She continued amidst the giggles of the children. "Our family no longer bore the wealth and prestige of our noble past, but we had once been masters of this land. The old Taldan rulers knew this and held us in high esteem during their centuries of lordship, but after the long years under the Tyrant, we were no longer interested in concerning ourselves with such things as wealth and rulership. Even Taldan nobility marrying into the family did nothing to change our minds." The old woman added, somewhat under her breath, "though perhaps it was as much to do with their daughters wishing to flee the overbearing aristocracy."

Glancing around, she took a deep breath and then continued: "Either way, this is why I've called you youngsters here today. It is time for our generation to pass the torch. Our stories have been told countless times. Just as our young nation's leaders had to decide their future after the Taldans left, it will soon be your turn to decide the path of the Milotti. Will you become crusading heroes, shrewd politicians, or even just simple but happy farmers and craftsmen, oblivious to the conflict of those above? You will choose your own destiny, but we will be here to guide you, whatever your choice." With this, the old woman opened the drawer behind her to reveal a pile of small baubles and trinkets, some mundane but most clearly at least a bit magical. As the children crowded around, the old woman had one more thing to say: "This is my gift to you. One little thing from my old collection for each of you, to help you along whatever path you take." Some children immediately grabbed whatever caught their eyes; others hesitated and deferred to the more rash among them. At the end, one little girl was left pondering the remaining choices. Noticing this, the old woman approached her and asked gently, "What's the matter, Donie? Nothing that you want?" The little girl, eyes full of wonder, replied with another question: "Mamaie...you made these?" As the old woman smiled and nodded, the little girl added, blushing in slight embarrassment: "Mamaie, can...can you teach me? And tell me more about the settlers you talked about in the beginning? I want to be like you!"

It's been years since the old woman moved on to the Boneyard, but while she was around, she taught little Donie everything she wanted to know. From the art of gemcutting to the history of the original Varisian settlers in Ustalav to even basic magic, Sidonia was able to pull more knowledge from her grandmother than she had ever hoped for on that day. Still, she had emphasized one thing to her young pupil: the need to travel her own path, both physically and mentally. Sidonia couldn't just follow in her footsteps, for if she did, she would never again feel the wonder and excitement of a new experience as she had that day long ago. Departing the small Milotti estates near Vellumis, Sidonia took her late grandmother's wisdom with her - and also a piece of her handiwork, the ioun torch that the young girl had eventually chosen from the stash that day. Without a set destination in mind, Sidonia made her way up the Tourondel, finding herself in a newly rebuilding Roslar's Coffer. Something about the town called her to stay, even though she wasn't far from home. Sidonia settled down to help out wherever she could, be it in the fields, construction, the smithy, or scouting the nearby lands for danger every once in a while. With the town once again growing and prospering, though, she has found her various skills less in demand, and so she's thinking about getting ready to move on once again...

Sidonia has always been humble and respectful of others, especially those older and wiser than herself, easily forgiving others' slights and debts and rarely forgetting her own. Over her decade or so in Roslar's Coffer, though, she's had to learn to be a bit more wary and forceful at times to avoid being taken advantage of. She can handle herself in a fight, but prefers to avoid conflict whenever possible.

Sidonia is a rather ordinary-looking woman of average stature with olive skin, long dark brown hair, and a mix of Taldan and Varisian facial features. She prefers to wear plain, functional clothing and some small pieces of handcrafted jewelry, including traditional Varisian hoop earrings, and always carries around a belt and pack full of tools and other useful gear.

I can generally post more than once a day, but, not having a set daily schedule, it's usually inconsistent and often strange time-wise. I usually prefer not to make random filler posts to meet an arbitrary quota, but will participate readily if things are active. No problem at all with being GMPC'd if I'm not around when everyone else is on and waiting on me; in fact, I welcome it because my dice roller luck is usually pretty bad ;)

It wasn't long belong before the clergy discovered that the child was the spawn of a vampire. The child's inability to properly handle sunlight and positive energy was the biggest giveaway. It was in the church that many of her classmates and even some of her own teachers regarded her with scorn. zit didn't help that she never was able to develop the faith to become a clergy of Pharasma.

What she lacked in that department, she excelled in the mind. She was known to study diligently for hours into the night. When she cooulfn't learn divine magic, she turned to other forms to train in. She also learned an unusual weapon just because it sat abandoned. All while she was convinced that she would dedicate herself towards eliminating all undead threat in the name of her goddess.

When she was 13, a patron decided to adopt her. Kendra, after working with a group of adventurers to defeat the latest efforts of the Whispering Way to stymie Tar-Phon's return, decided to take the youth under her wing. It was through her that she had learned about the horrors of the cult. Thus, she took the adopted name Desi in honor of one of the adventurers. It was through her that Desi had found her calling; she would learn all she could about the Whispering Way and shut it down once in for all.

When she came of age, she ventured north to Lastwall on the knowledge that the cult was planning something big. She stayed in Roslar's Coffer for the past few days to rest before continuing her journey to Vigil.

With my new found freedom I was happy to live my life the way I wanted to. Aimless and without a cause I heard about the rebuilding efforts going on in Rosolar’s Coffer from the church. Excited to help the town I made my way their. People are quite wary of me given my heritage but I am hoping over time they open up to me..

Roslar’s Coffer was much smaller and duller than it loomed in his imagination. It couldn’t compare to the great, smoky cities of Ustalav, where his aunt Velna had taken him after they alone of their family escaped the orcs' butchery. To walled Tamrivena, where they’d found refuge among the gentle healers of the Pharasman church. To the holy city Kavapesta, where as a novice healer himself, he’d witnessed how the acceptance of suffering can ennoble the spirit. To sprawling Caliphas, where at Havenguard Asylum he’d tried to put his new skills to use soothing the haunted minds of a hundred pitiful mad souls.

It was aunt Velna who set him on the path back to Roslar’s Coffer. Velna, who kept to the oldest Varisian ways, was a card-reader and a caravan-traveler. She did not harmonize with the rest of the Chironi family, a minor branch of nobility who were ingloriously evicted from their border estate when the Palintates of Ustalav overthrew their nobles. Proud and bitter, the family relocated to the Lastwall border, stubbornly clinging to their duties as wardens against invading orcs as the last remnant of their former greatness. The Chironis made excellent farmers, reaping profits from great fields of flax, but despite their long tradition of forestry and ranging, failed as the town’s sentinels, providing little warning of the Twisted Nails’ attack. They paid the price of that failure, dying horribly in the fields and the house, from the aged patriarch and matriarch of the clan down to young Vodvel’s infant cousins. A twist of his aunt’s Varisian magic saved him and her—barely—but he saw them die. He’s seen them die a thousand times in his memory.

“You must put them to rest,” said his aunt, visiting him at Havenguard. ”How can you presume to offer peace to these wretches when you can find none for yourself?”

Recognizing the wisdom of her advice, Vodvel has returned to the town which filled his memory with so much horror, and has found much he had forgotten. The ethereal blue beauty of a wind-blown flax field. The cool, clean water of a swiftly flowing river. The endless mystery of the wide night sky. Bit by bit, memories of horror are receding as memories of a loving childhood return to him.

As he heals, Vodvel considers an idea that has been growing inside him. His Pharasman training included a study of the rites and methods of exorcism, a subject for which he showed remarkable aptitude. But so many of the undead horrors of his homeland—ghasts and ghosts, spectres and wraiths, poltergeists and haunts—rose from the graves of troubled and desperate people. What the world needed was more people focused on resolving their neighbors’ troubles before they died. He saw it plain—perhaps others would as well? Could he find such people, and help them help others?

I’d also like to tell you what I see his role in the party dynamic will be. Vodvel will take an interest in his party members’ spiritual health. He won’t be out to convert them to Pharasma; instead, he’ll figure out what their fears and regrets are, and push them to confront and resolve them. I think this will help keep a party focus on roleplay and character development.

I've been a player and GM for thirty years or so. My favorite RPG experiences have always been with people who really throw themselves into the game--you get out what you put in, I've found, and when you get a bunch of people feeding each other energy, that's when the real fun starts. Perhaps you'll find my notes on a Carrion Crown campaign I ran indicative of my gaming style.