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Wrath of the Righteous Part 14- The Ungrateful Savior

Talongaard spun the flail above his head deftly, conjuring the wreath of flame- a legacy of his father. He was two steps away when the elven woman lost her step and tumbled to the ground. She nimbly fell and rolled so as to release her baby in a rolling bundle that caused it no harm and sent it spinning half hidden under a shrub. It was a desperate gambit he knew, one quite likely to fail under the scrutiny of an orc’s keen sense of smell, but she had a fading hope that it may succeed. The half-demon could see the doubt clearly in her mind, she hoped fervently that while the orc was doing it’s worst to her that it would completely forget about her child. She prayed briefly to the gods of her kind that it would not cry despite the horrific fate that was about to befall her and, thus, be saved. Talongaard knew what the orc intended and a last great stride landed him beside the despicable creature.
Unsurprised the orc turned it’s massive great axe on him in a wide destructive arc and Talongaard ducked beneath it with inhuman deftness despite his heavy armor. He did not have the massive strength of his sister and could not hope to block such ferocious blows, but he kept his flaming flail spinning and sent it in a retort towards the orc’s face. The beast drew his axe back defensively but far too slowly. The spiked ball exploded in a shower of fire and gore when it connected with his face and the orc dropped dead to the ground beside his intended victim.
Talongaard in his haste did not realize a second orc had pursued him until the axe cracked off of the back of his armor, deflecting from one of the sharp spikes. The force of the unexpected blow almost knocked him to his knees. His gray armor could not be breached by crude orcish iron he knew, but still he growled in personal shame at his carelessness. His father would have subjected him to several lashes for such a lapse. Just the thought of the punishments he endured in the past for such oversights lit a rage in him. He spun in a spiral to face his new enemy smashing the spikes prevalent along the forearm of his armor into the creatures wrist, impaling it and driving it wide. The orc howled in surprised alarm until a split second later when Talongaard had drawn his flail around in a lethal punishing strike to the foul creature’s head. In an instant the vile thoughts drained from the demon’s mind like an emptied bath tub.
He turned his black eyes to the elven woman he had saved and sensed that her fear had not yet subsided. She stared at him in horror taking in his iron clad, spiked, gray visage entirely as his father had intended. He sighed and lowered the bloody flail, willing the flames about it to flicker and fade to nothingness. Without even offering a hand, he knew she would not take, to help her up from the dirt, he turned his back on her and her child and walked back towards the diminishing sounds of battle and his sister.
Kyra was wiping the blood from her great sword with the remains of an orcish cloak when he returned to her. All the remaining orcs lay dead in a circle around her, including two corpse flanking her, one headless, the other nearly cut in half across the middle. When she cast her beaming eyes across his sad face she gasped in panic, “The woman and her child did we…”
He waved his spiked gauntlet at her dismissing the question. “They are saved. To what purpose I am unsure.”
She looked at him incredulously. “To what purpose? You can’t be serious.”
Talongaard stared at her with a seriousness that left little doubt and caused her to shudder briefly beneath his dead stare. “I saved her and the infant and she looked upon me with the same contempt that she had form them. I was no better than an orc in her eyes.” He kicked an orc corpse distastefully. “So for what I say? I had better treatment at the hands of my father’s fiends for a job well done.”
Kyra sheathed her sword in the great holster across her back trying to let the judgment fade from her own gaze. “Some times good deeds are their own reward.”
He snorted derisively. “What reward would that be? Contempt from creatures I try to help? Do you have any idea where she is now?”
Kyra shrugged, she had been startled when he had not brought the elves back with him. “Amongst the trees where our kind is most comfortable with her baby, still alive and no doubt grateful for the lives you have given her.”
He closed his dark eyes and his brow creased as he reached out with his mind once again. Without opening his eyes he pointed back to the trees from where he had come. “Three hundred yards that way, in full sprint, her intent is to gather archers of her people to slay me. How very appreciated I should feel for my efforts.”
Kyra was silent for a few moments before speaking. “Talon, she has been through a difficult time… look at her friends. Look at what happened here, what almost happened to her baby.”
His eyes flickered open as he let the thoughts go. “I did see what happened here and know cleared that either of you what was going to happen. I stopped it and now I am to be killed by the very person I thought to help.”
“I am certain that it will not come to that.” Kyra stated unconvincingly as she watched the trees closely. She knew well the prowess of elven archers, her mother’s people.
Her brother snarled viscerally, “I should have left her to her fate!”
“And the baby?”
Talongaard froze for a moment, for that was the crux of his dilemma, but then his pragmatism returned and his voice fell back to a whisper. “People die all the time. He would have been no different. I have seen even child souls in the Abyss. He would have been no different.”
Kyra suppressed her gasp, walked up behind him and with great caution found a place on his shoulder to place her hand between the infinite spikes of his armor. “Talon you are not like that.”
All the while she uttered a silent prayer to Iomedae that her brother was not like that.

Part 3- The Lost Children
Kyra looked across the dying campfire to her listless companion. He was darkly attractive. His hair was pulled back in a dull black ponytail revealing his pointed elvish ears. His body was lean and toned, obviously he had kept himself in great physical condition. His skin was ashen gray and his eyes, the eyes of his father, were dead black and pupiless. She sighed sadly as she watched him shiver in the fall evening, he could not feel the warmth of the bonfire. he could bed down right in the center of it and never even be stirred. He could wade through lava as if it were water. Flame and heat held no fear for him, but neither could he be comforted by any warmth. Warmth, and she wondered, perhaps comfort, was something that simply did not exist for him. The thought saddened her immensely.
She pitied him. He had not asked for his heritage, and doubtless had not wanted it. She watched him closely, as she had for months, keeping vigil on his obsidian eyes, wondering what he thought of his liberation. As her eyes lingered over the three jagged linear scars running down the left side of his face, she was reminded that the demonic were not kind to half-breeds. She sighed deeply, vainly wishing that the stirred embers of the fire could provide him with some solace from the cold, but he continued to shiver in the dark, his body encased in the wicked iron armor inches from the remaining flames.
His strange eyes flickered open slowly and he stared back at her with an unnatural piercing gaze. "He won't let me go so easily you must realize."
His voice was like one long resigned sigh. She nodded her head resolutely in the affirmative. She had known well the price of freeing this one from the depths of the Worldwound. It had already cost her a terrible price, she had watched her friends die around her. She did not, however, doubt her course of action. That was one of her strengths, or weaknesses. She never doubted, could never doubt or deny, her convictions whatever the cost to herself. She looked directly into his eyes and realized suddenly that he was the exact opposite, he was unsure of everything. It had no value to him. This life that he had suddenly been given had no worth in his mind. The very thought of it staggered her, but she reminded herself not to judge him too harshly, he had never known freedom before. "Talongaard where do you want to go?" she asked gently.
He shrugged. she had found that he often did. He didn't care, perhaps he couldn't care. One place was as good as the next from what he could tell. The end was inevitable in his mind. He would be returned to his father eventually, probably punished horribly, and then put back on the hunt. "Someplace warmer than this." He muttered, half wishing to be back in the Worldwound away from this dreadful cold.
She removed her sparkling golden cloak, walked around the fire and calmly laid it across his shoulders. He stared blankly up at her taking in her equally radiant golden chain armor and smiled slightly at the unsolicited kindness. Then he ruefully asked, "Kyra why did you come to get me?"
She threw back her long golden hair and shook her head incredulously. "How many years did you think I could leave my brother suffering so?"
He averted his gaze momentarily as the guilt he bore regarding his freedom weighed heavily upon him. When he looked back up at her, her features were virtually sparkling with righteousness despite the rising darkness. "So many more dead for only me?"
The idea of it seemed completely obscene to him. He could still see the score of pure heavenly souls falling at the wicked blades of his father's troops, they did not die cleanly. His gaze was more judgmental than he intended. "How could you?"
She stood unflinching, her features tightening resolutely. "How could I not?"
He nodded slowly, almost understanding. He remembered her heritage. she could not have chosen any differently had she wanted to, eventually her blood would have compelled her to his rescue. Her path was as defined, and almost as tragic, as his own. "He will come for me." he repeated, resigning himself to his horrible fate.
she nodded, an edge of sadness creeping across her features, knowing full well that this next time she would not be backed by an army of celestials. She had used all that remained of her father's influence in freeing her brother and, after what would only be regarded as a disastrous failure, she could not expect any more aid from those heavenly beings. She cast another glance at her brother. They were undeniably alone... but she had finally rescued him. She did not doubt that the sacrifice had been worth it. That was her strength, she never doubted.

Aalarphu stood amid his troops, a small strike force of perhaps twenty demons, all battle hardened and eager to venture to the world of men. Arueshalae, a beautiful seductress, sauntered up to him making no attempt to hide her naked features. Almost despite himself, Aalarphu found himself licking his scaled lips with his forked tongue. It took great force of will for him to refocus himself on the task of preparing supplies as she drew nearer. To Aalarphu warfare was all. His dedication to the carnage of battle was paramount and that was what saved him, barely, from the influence of demons such as Arueshalae. She touched him lightly on his muscular shoulder and his desire for anything besides her almost buckled his massive knees. He spun quickly away from her and called forth his magic, electricity crackling around his talons. Instantly she disappeared, his bolt of lightning tearing through the empty, smoke filled air. He spun around quickly, knowing this tactic well. There she was! Her living ropes spiraling up and around her outstretched arms, reaching towards him.
Aalarphu had no doubts that he could shred through the animated cords easily enough, but he wondered how long he would be able to resist her unearthly charms. With a thought he summoned a ball of fire and cast it in her direction. The explosion rocked the stones beneath his scaled feet and bathed him in the conflagration, but he had no trouble maintaining his balance. He waited calmly for the smoke to dissipate. Arueshalae laid flat on the earth smoking, her ropes burned to ashes, her body unmoving. Casually the large demon walked over to her body and gave her a rough kick. "Get up woman! I know the fire did you no permanent harm!"
With a sigh the beautiful demon extended her bat-like wings , flapped them once and rose to her feet. When she was upright she smiled widely. "You treat me most unkindly Commander Aalarphu."
The massive demon chuckled deeply. "That's because I know not to trust you demon-witch. Why are you here?"
She shrugged. "Have I not always watched the powerful? You have the master's eye now. Is it so unusual that I seek you out when you have demonstrated an ability to earn his favor?"
"It is unusual that you want any part of me considering what my mission is." The crafty commander replied, fully aware of her past.
Arueshalae batted her eyes coyly and inched towards him, making sure every inch of her sensuous body remained exposed. His massive spiked arm darted out catching her by the throat before she had the chance to react and he lifted her into the air. "I should kill you!" he growled.
"No." she rasped, struggling for breath, kicking her feet and beating her wings helplessly.
He drew her face close to his fanged maw. "Why are you here Arueshalae? I will not ask you again."
His clawed fist began to crush her fragile neck. "I want to go with you!" she finally cried out.
His maw drew wide in a mocking smile. "You want to see your lover one last time? How sweet for a demon to express such sentiments."
Aalarphu threw her roughly to the rocky earth. "Get away from here slut! I need none of Talongaard's whores to help me."
Arueshalae drew herself up resolutely, ignoring the dirt and bruises that covered her immaculate form. "I can help you. I know him. I know mortals. I can gather information that none of your other minions can."
Aalarphu looked at her skeptically. "Vorgal'neys can torture a human for years without killing him. He can remove all of their skin and still not allow them to die. Amputate every limb and keep them sentient. What can you possibly offer that he cannot get me?"
The beautiful demon smiled, revealing her slight fangs. "Expediency. You do not have years to wait for Vorgal'nyeys to extract information only to then find out that your quarry has moved on. No mortal talks like one bedded by me. I can find one information in a single night that would take him weeks to extract. Additionally, I can offer myself to you."
"Why would I want to share a mortal's mate?" Aalarphu asked contemptuously, although his interest was obviously peaked by the gorgeous demon.
Arueshalae threw her arms wide, making certain to reveal all of her charms, "Because I can deliver to you all that you desire."

Part 2- The Pacifist

The abbot approached the kneeling figure who scrubbed the marble floor vigorously with the brush. From the back his long white hair blended in well with the simple white cotton robe he wore, secured at the waist with only a simple rope. The abbot slowed his pace slightly as he approached and took in the figure hard at work at the menial task. This chore was beneath him, the abbot knew, but this man insisted on doing it and doing it well. He would scrub the chapel for endless hours until it sparkled like it was the first day it had been opened. "Daliyon." The abbot called to the kneeling man.
Slowly the worker stood leaving the brush on the floor and turned towards the leader of the monastery. "Lanolar." he acknowledged and bowed deeply.
For a number of reasons the abbot was bothered, as he always was when dealing with this man, by the fact that Daliyon never addressed anyone, even their goddess, with a title. It did not seem to be arrogance or condescension, he would have run the man out the abbey long before this had he believed that to be the case. It truly seemed that he was sincere in his belief that all sentient creatures were equal. Abbot Lanolar noticed that Daliyon was staring at him quizzically waiting to be addressed and the abbot found himself strangely unnerved by the stare. Daliyon's eyes possessed irises that were a sparkling gold, sparkling like the electricity in a lightning bolt. "You are requested by Prelate Hulrun."
Daliyon still looked at him questioningly. "I know of Hulrun, but how is it that he knows of me?"
"He requested our best healer to join a group that he is tasking with a mission."
Daliyon looked at his empty hands and simple robes. "I am not our best healer. Alitar Moveras has that honor."
Lanolar sighed. Alitar was, of course, the most experienced healer in the House of the Comforting Light, but Daliyon had displayed an innate skill that had dwarfed anything that the general clergy could produce. He was a natural healer, and he did not worship or pray for his abilities as the priests did, his ability just came to him when he needed them, soon, perhaps very soon, he would surpass them all. "He says that he needs our best healer who is not well known."
Daliyon raised a white eyebrow skeptically. "I do not travel, as you know. Wandering is for the others. I prefer to stay here and serve Shelyn. This you know as well. So why would you ask this thing of me?"
Lanolar sighed again. Daliyon was always difficult to deal with, mostly because he cut to the heart of every issue. He spoke his mind freely and expected others to do so as well. He did not flatter others and flattery did not work on him. He was utterly devoid of pride and, as pious as he was, it was a characteristic that truly made the abbot uncomfortable. "We owe a debt to Prelate Hulrun and I would have it paid."
"And I am to be your bargaining chip?" The young man stated with a firm tone of accusation.
Lanolar waved his hands before himself in denial and self defense. "No, no. I thought to offer this assignment to you first because your sister has been assigned by the church of the Dawnflower as well. I thought you might want to be the one standing by her side."
Daliyon stared piercingly at him for a moment that discomforted the older priest greatly and then closed his golden eyes and took several deep, controlled breaths. Then he opened his eyes again staring through the abbot. "Why would Hulrun need me if my sister had answered the call? I don't see how someone who requires her skills would have any need of mine."
The abbot raised his hands helplessly. "I do not know. I only thought to do you the courtesy of being asked first. I can assign one of the apprentices instead."
Again Daliyon closed his brilliant eyes as the abbot turned away from him to leave the chapel. "I'll go." he somderly replied before Lanolar had crossed the threshold.
Lanolar looked back at him, not entirely surprised, and smiled. "The Eternal Rose shall bless you."
"She always has."
"And Daliyon requisition some armor before you go."
"Lanolar, you know how I feel about weapons and armor."
"Your disdain of the weapons of death is commendable in its own way, but I would like to have you come back to us intact. I think you have value."
"Still I cannot. To don armor invites combat and I'll not invite conflict."
"It's an order. You will not leave this abbey without armor and, I suspect, before all is said and done that your sister will need your healing caress. Get the armor." Lanolar stated firmly.
Daliyon grimaced noticeably, but conceded. "As you command."
The abbot watched him leave, surprised that he had accepted the command with so little fight. Lanolar realized how reprehensible armor, and especially weapons, were to Daliyon, but then again his sister was always the only thing that had ever made him compromise his entrenched beliefs. He was equally surprised by how relatively easy it had been to convince him to go. He wondered what would happen when the young healer realized with whom he was dealing, but he thanked the Lady of Love silently, for he felt deeply in his old bones that Daliyon's sister truly would need him by her side before all was said and done. he shuddered slightly at the thought, something about this request struck him as being out of the ordinary. Daliyon had been specifically requested. Hulrun had been very specific in wanting his services above all others, even those with much more skill. Lanolar did not like being manipulated and he had the nagging feeling that his strings were being pulled in this instance. Silently he prayed to Shelyn to forgive him and withdrew to his own room for contemplation.

Part 1- Stolen Iron

"I want my son back!" the indignant, unearthly voice roared shaking the fragile masonry walls.
A powerful bat-winged lieutenant stepped forward, his imposing nine foot, scaled, muscular frame criss crossed by the scars of hundreds of successful campaigns. "Why?" he asked sincerely in his reptilian rasp.
It had been a simple question in the fiend's mind, the value of the liberated mortal was insignificant in light of the great victory it had brought to their very doorstep. The prestige he, and by extension his lord, had gained through the disastrous attempt by the celestials to rescue the hunter far outweighed the fact that the hound had escaped... to his thinking at least.
The presiding demon's massive red arm shot out with inhuman speed and grasped the impressive lieutenant by the throat lifting his immense bulk from the floor with childish ease. The larger demon hauled his loyal follower to within inches of his fanged maw and glared at him with unbridled contempt. Without another word he threw his arm out wide dashing the lieutenant's head against the nearby wall and letting the body drop unceremoniously to the ground.
Several smaller demons moved immediately to savage the body and clean away the splattered blood and brain matter. Many of the other fiends present, who had stood in battle against some of the most powerful creatures in the multiverse, bowed respectfully and took a step back as the huge creature turned his baleful gaze over the assembled warriors and repeated in a calm, much too calm for their comfort, commanding voice, "I want my son back."
Aalarphu stepped forward, he was another imposing bat winged demon. He confidently approached his master, knowing that he could not be dispatched so out of hand. After all it was he who was the commander of his lord's personal elite guard, the architect of the humiliating defeat of the celestials encroachment upon this place. He reverently dropped to one knee before his dread lord, still taller than the average man. "I am not expendable", he reminded himself before he spoke with all confidence in his personal security. Then a terrifying thought struck him, Golgonus had been valuable too. He cast his green eyes toward the gory splotch on the wall. He looked back to the huge creature that he had served for many centuries. Generally his master was reasonable, but this whole affront with his son's kidnapping seemed to have made him more unpredictable and unsteady in his role of leadership. Aalarphu didn't like that. He wanted things more militaristic and predictable, the way things usually ran within the aura of his lord's command. He spoke quickly realizing that his master's gaze had been lingering on him for some time while he had been lost in his thoughts and the hate filled eyes were narrowing dangerously and the thick red scales were beginning to smolder. "The ones we did not slaughter outright , we drove back decisively my lord...", Aalarphu smiled widely at his own cunning that had made such a grand victory possible, "... we killed a larger share of celestials than any in recent memory. It is a sting that the Heavens will not soon forget!"
"I don't care about the death toll!" the thunderous voice rolled out.
The sentiment rocked the cocky general, not for the power or volume of the words, but for the dismissive quality of them. How could his fearsome master not care about their legendary victory over the forces of ultimate goodness and freedom? It was inconceivable! "A score of celestials, twice that in crusaders of the Usurper...", he reminded his liege as he tried to reassure himself of the greatness of his recent victory.
"Was she among them?" He roared back angrily.
Tentatively the general answered. "No. But she is not a celestia...."
"She is!" the massive demon bellowed coming forward in the piled bones of his victims that he used as a throne.
The blow came faster than Aalarphu could follow. It shattered his collarbone and upper arm with a frightening strength. The general fell to the floor in agony and shock. The huge red scaled demon, now awash in flames and crackling lightning, regained his composure quickly as Aalarphu convulsed on the floor. "If she is not celestial in form then she certainly shares their soul."
He reclined again in his sprawling throne of death quelling the tempest he radiated. "... and she stole my son."
He watched patiently for several minutes as Aalarphu's body knitted itself back together from the terrible crushing wound and when the demon was finally able to right himself on the stones he replied in gasping breaths, "We can steal him back."
"How do you propose to do that?" the large fiend questioned suspiciously.
Aalrphu smiled slightly. "He is your son. Therefore the celestial powers will not want his taint among them. They will not give him refuge and even were they tempted to do so, her leading so many of their kin to death here on account of the hound will surely excommunicate her from their ranks. There is no sanctuary for them in the heavens and there is no crusader outpost where we cannot reach."
The great demon nodded his approval. "See that you get him back."
"And her?" Aalarphu asked expectantly.
His lord pondered for a few moments rubbing his massive red claws together. "Yes, drag his worthless sister back here as well and we shall teach her the meaning of the word suffering."
Aalarphu jumped up, giddy at the command, and signaled to his nearby subordinates to follow him post haste. He stopped short near the door and turned back to his fearsome leader. "I almost forgot the matter of the captive. One of the crusaders survived. A human... Yaniel I believe they called her. What would you like done with her?"
"Torture her." came the simple reply.
"For information?"
"Simple fool." The great fiend replied, "We already know what the witch was here to take and doubtless her panicked flight was unplanned beyond chaotic flight. We will learn nothing new from your captive. Just have her tortured."
A wide smile spread across Aalarphu's face. This is why he loved serving his master. "Certainly my lord. How long would you like us to take?"
Again the great beast sat in contemplation for many moments. "Years."

I'm a little confused about the drawbacks section of the crossblooded sorcerer archetype (Ultimate Magic pg 69). In the drawback section it says that the crossblooded sorcerer receives one less spell known per spell level. This makes them devoid of known 2nd level spells until 5th level (and this progression continues on the advancement chart so that they never know a level of spell when they gain spells per day of that level), but yet they would have 3 casting slots (or more presumably with a decent charisma) for 2nd level spells at 4th level. It seems like mechanically this may be backwards. Shouldn't it be 1 less spell per day of each spell level, instead of 1 less spell known? The only way it makes sense the way it is presented is if the bonus bloodline spell was lowered to match the level they gain spells per day- so the bloodline spell is the only one they can cast at that level. I'm just hoping for some clarification on this... as I have a crossblooded sorcerer coming up. No 2nd level spells until 5thlevel seems a rather extreme penalty, 1 less casting per day feels more correct.

Ameiko stood behind the bar staring at the comatose figure. She had only ever seen a dwarf, a rare sight in Sandpoint, drink as much. At first she had thought that he was here for the upcoming Swallowtail Festival, but it soon had become apparent that not only did he have no knowledge of the festival- he also seemed to have no knowledge of where exactly he was.
Ameiko considered herself a good judge of character, after all she was a bard and tavern owner and to be successful, both required her to know people. This man was odd though and he perplexed her greatly, not that she thought he was dangerous, perse. She actually felt sorry for him, a sort of kinship. Whoever he was this man had experienced a great loss, she could read that much in him, and he had tried to kill his pain with alchol. She knew from experience that such an approach would not work.
"Bethana", she finally said to the diminuative halfling cleaning the glasses nearby, "can you find our guest a blanket of some sort? I expect he will be sleeping for quite some time."
The halfling cast a disparaging glance at the unconscious human. "The least he could do is rent a room."
Ameiko had offered that very thing, at a discount no less, but he had refused pointing out that the Rusty Dragon did not provide room service for drinks. She stared at him more intently, specifically the armor he was clad in. It was heavy and uncommon for the area, heavy armor was almost never seen here on the Varasian coast. There was a Hellknight citadel outside of Korvosa, but this was not Hellknight armor. It was, however, elegantly crafted which indicated to her that the armor was not from Varasia at all. They had plenty of fantastic smiths in the area, but the elegance of the armor suggested a more cultured and established realm like Taldor or Cheliax. It seemed as all identifying marks had been scoured from it, however, and it was poorly maintained,with road dust and hints of rust along the edges. This man either did not know how to keep up his armor or did not care. The large shield was even more intriguing to her as it's heraldry was covered in a thick layer of black paint or tar, she wasn't certain which, but it had obviously and intentionally been concealed.
As she evaluated all of this inform,ation she kept coming back to one question. "Why was he here?"

Although it has not made it to the official errata on the website, it seems like the Emissary archetype's erratic charge ability should actually replace the Master tactician 17th level cavalier ability (as the emissary does not recieve any of the other tactician abilities) and not the supreme charge 20th level cavalier ability as noted (since the emissary gains all other charge abilities, plus a few extras). Can this be officially confirmed? (Ultimate Combat pg 37)

I was just hoping for some clarification on this ability as reading it (over and over again) has not clarified it for me. Does the Versatile dance ability mean that a Dervish dancer can use his Perform (dance) skill in place of the acrobatics skill (and all it entails?) meaning that the acrobatics skill becomes obsolete for them? [This is my best interpretation]