Evil parties, how they fail, and how to fix it


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I ran a 2 1/2 year Evil game that went from level 1 to 42 level and they became (replaced) evil gods in a Forgotten Realms setting. The original characters made it all the way to the end. Many things happened including the rogue of the group taking out a contract on the group over a 5000 gp bill they RP'd to leave him holding the bill.

Players
- CE Drow Blackguard / Deathknight
- LE Human Wizard / Lich
- NE Doppelganger Rogue
- NE Dwarf 1/2 Dragon / Druid
- CE 1/2 Fiend / Fighter - Dervish

The Wizard took lead after they got tired of taking orders from BBEG / Boss. He kept the Deathknight happy and the rest stayed more or less in line. They all had side projects that we took care of between (out of) game sessions. They stayed busy up to 20th level gaining wealth / organizations and as they became more and more noticed by the good aligned powers... They had to stay together out of need as they could not survive alone. After about level 27 death was not a huge threat but trying to keep control of 1000's of minions with plans of thier own created lot of Evil vs Evil plots and fights for me.
Once the celestial powers took notice of them and thier organizations + plans... It was all out War. Search for artifacts to get more power as good guys opposed them, taking revenge on Hero groups causing them problems + Evil opposed powers were after them as well.

We never had any major problems outside the game and inside they crossed each others path but they pretty much stayed on topic. As a DM you have to stay on top of them and keep them busy.


rkraus2 wrote:
master arminas wrote:

...Only a well schooled, experienced DM can do that. And even then, not always.

Master Arminas

I'm going to suggest you try a game with a social combat system, like any of the indie games from the Forge. After you get past "hey, new rules", I think you'll be impressed.

Here's what happened in my group. (Half of which were the types to completely dump int and cha every time).

Spoiler:
We started to have non-combat encounters, in which an NPC would try to convince them to, say, go one a dangerous quest for terrible pay, because it was the right thing to do.

Players could use the social combat rules to negotiate terms. The ones with no social skills ended up with worse deals. This rebalanced the classes somewhat. Yes, that fighter will be useful when you get there, but the rogue with negotiation skills is cool too.

Combat and role-playing encounters both occurred regularly. After a while, players realized that optimizing for one meant getting worse at the other. I was glad to see that.

Then, we started to use the social combat rules within the party, like when everyone wanted the magic sword. If you lost the argument, you didn't get it. If you had some small amount of social skill, you could negotiate for smaller benefits, like first pick next time, or winner gives up his coin purse to the loser.

Now, our game runs smoother than ever, and players don't argue over which plan to use, or which hallway to walk down. When characters disagree, they resolve it with the mechanics and it's done.

------------------------------------------------------------------
This is especially important for everyone who isn't playing with a well schooled experienced DM. Because having the system there means the job changes. Now, a DM chooses between combat and social resolution.

This is FAR easier than combat and 'invent something awesome on your own without much help from us'.

And, it channels the inner optimizer to HELP role-play. Watching my players think through things like...

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Not every players would like that, would also depend on stat generation / Point buy method, and maybe fudging the class skills lists a little.


Straph wrote:
this author clearly doesn't game often enough to even begin writing on the subject of gaming evil, or gaming at all.

Actually, he has many years of experience both playing and DMing, and has done a lot of writing as well.

Keep in mind that you're not reading Gary -- you're reading my summary of his essay, which is a couple of thousand words long. And while I disagree with him on some points, I think overall it's a very good essay that hits several important points quite well.

Straph wrote:
false all around. evil is a good change up to good.

Judging from this thread, a lot of people don't agree. If there's a consensus here, it's something like "evil can be awesome fun, but yes running/playing an evil party can be a bit tricky".

Doug M.


Are we just going to let this thread die? Lol

Master Arminas


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By the time we finally found that blasted rod and journeyed across the Isle of the Damned to the vampire infested ruins, we were all getting bloody tired of the place. We hadn’t been able to go to a store in nearly two years of real time! Our gear was as mismatched as any D&D group had ever seen, and none of us had any underwear that wasn’t ragged and worn thin. Not to mention the lack of good quality ale or other drink.

But we were in our prime, 10th and 11th level characters (thank God, Steve didn’t freeze my advancement since wasn’t a monk of sufficient level on the Isle for me to beat and earn my new levels!), and we knew that once we defeated this hive of Undead, we could finally go home! Sleep in a real bed, eat a home cooked meal, spend some quality with a busty wench, smash a magistrate’s face into pulp . . . ah, forget I said that last.

So we get to the ruins, and did I mention that Steve was a penultimate bastard?

The thing was a maze, a labyrinth—complete with sliding sections of wall that quickly managed to split us up. We were screwed.

Arminas wound up by himself, and while wandering through the ruins trying to link back up with the others, he ran in the head vamp—and his minion vamps. Oh joy.

But the guy wanted to talk. See, it turned out that they had been watching us (via scry) for most of the past year, and the leader had decided that Arminas would make a wonderful addition to ranks of henchmen. Well, since we were talking (and not getting level drained!) I decided to keep them talking, by nodding my head and making agreeable sounds every now and then. But finally we came to the crux of it: and their leader asked me if wanted to join his merry little band of blood-suckers.

Arminas (being really smart and wise with stats of Int 15 and Wis 15) snorted, and said that it was well-known that the vampire created by another was bound to it, as the servant to his master. He said the offer had merit, but do you really expect me to bow down and serve you?

The leader laughed, and he answered by saying that my character would indeed make a very good addition to the coven. He offered another way of becoming a vampire that would leave me free-willed; and then he grew very stern, and said time is running short—make your choice.

Well, I might have been playing an evil character, but even so I knew far better than to accept this type of a deal. I kindly refused, saying that I had urgent matters of vengeance which to mete out back in Greyhawk City; I then thanked him for his kind and generous offer, and would you be nice as to point out the direction to the closest exit?

That didn’t go over very well, and they grew their fangs and claws and began to close in on poor old Arminas. But you see, Arminas had one thing they didn’t expect: a sun-globe. Several weeks earlier, we defeated a small tribe of stone giants who were guarding the tunnels into the mountain where the rod (that damned rod!) was hidden. A good fight, but at the end we were the ones left standing, not the giants. After dividing up the spoils, we set up camp for the night (needing to replenish spells and hit points before going underground), and Arminas took one of the watches.

One of the gifts of the Eye of Vecna was ultra-vision (remember, 1st edition!). So he could clearly see things as he slowly circled the camp of sleeping adventurers. About fifty yards from the fire, I spotted a crate hidden amongst some bushes. There were torn and tattered clothes, a few mundane weapons, a bottle of brandy, and something Steve called a sun-globe. He warned it could only be used once, but that I would know when I needed to use it.

Truer words were never spoken.

Arminas whipped out the globe and uttered the command word, and suddenly real daylight appeared around him. Oh, those vamps were pissed! Two of them were too slow, and they burnt into ash, but the leader and the others managed to get out of range—not without being burned. And began yelling for reinforcements.

I remember Steve turning to me and asking, what are you going to do now? You have nine rounds until it is extinguished.

The answer was a simple one: run.

But then he told me that the daylight had revealed an open door on the opposite side of the room: and past it was a chamber filled with swords. And I could hear both Hextor and Heironious whispering in my head—there, go there!

Did I tell you that Steve was a right bastard?

So, I went into the room, and found there seven swords, one of which glowed. And I heard those voices in my head again saying you shall need these as well, my champion. Yeah, yeah, yeah; so I spent three full rounds shoving swords (luckily sheathed swords) into my bag of holding, and then I started to run, vamps chasing after me the whole bloody way.

But I was a monk, and faster than them, and I took random turns whenever a corridor opened up. Had to make about a half-dozen saves along the way as I set off trap after trap, but somehow I didn’t fail. But then it happened. I had taken a wrong a turn and wound up in a dead end corridor, just as the sun-globe sputtered and died.

Above me was a shaft, but I could hear the hell-demons behind me. So, I set down the bag, took out the swords, and picked up the one that was glowing. Now, Arminas was a monk, and monks normally can’t use swords: but Steve said this was a special sword. A sword that gave me proficiency with it. And a most lovely and wonderful blade it was indeed.

So here they came, all fangs and claws and burnt skin and looking to suck my levels away. And then it happened.

Arminas heard a voice from above yell out ‘make room’, and the paladin who absolutely hated my guts jumped down and lifted another sword from the pile. And she tore into that pack of vamps like nothing I had ever before seen. And then the ranger, the halfling thief, the cleric of St. Cuthbert—the rest of the party was there. And I attacked right alongside of them.

It was a bitter fight, but Steve had a sword designed specifically for each of us: all seven. We all lost a level or two, but when the fight was finished, we had enough XP to put us back where we were. And for 1st edition, that wasn’t bad.

We found the portal and activated it, and then we went through it.

And appeared in the study of a small manor-house in Greyhawk City. With Mordy sitting in an easy chair, his feet propped up on a chest full of our old gear. He smiled and he got up and said, well done! And I broke his jaw.

Best natural 20 I have ever rolled. The rest of the party was aghast as I beat that mage senseless, and bloody, and unconscious and then DEAD. And then the simulacrum turned back into ice and began to melt. Oh, I hate Mordenkainen.

At that point, a magic mouth popped open and gave a little speech, yada, yada, yada, on how happy he was that we had recovered the rod and that as reward, we could have back everything the city had taken from us. No, there was no need for us to thank him in person; that’s what the mobile ice sculpture had been for. And we didn’t have to give him the rod, because he had already teleported it away. Gee, thank you Mordy. Thank you a lot.

Substitute thank for a word beginning the letter F and you might understand how all of us (except maybe the paladin) felt.

Turns out, he wasn’t a complete bastard, since he had the presence of mind to draw up several baths, had servants ready to serve us food, had soft, warm, comfortable beds . . . it was heaven after our travails.

But Arminas wasn’t quite done in Greyhawk City; he had another errand to run that night before he could relax.

That magistrate. The miserable SOB who rail-roaded him into two years of exile. And gouged out Arminas’s eye.

So I paid him a visit, and he wasn’t a happy person by night’s end. Next morning, the party didn’t make any noises about the early edition of the Greyhawk Daily Ledger having as its headline SHOCKING MURDER OF CITY MAGISTRATE! Strangely enough, not even the paladin ever asked me the question—they avoid the subject.

Two days later, we left behind the City of Greyhawk, sailing back across the Nyr Dyv for home. Little did we know then, what would await us there. To include wedding bells and a nuptial feast for two very unwilling participants.

Master Arminas


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I would that I were worthy of such a character in my gaming group. Love these reminicsences Arminas.


I have never laughed so much at a thread as I have at your reminisces Arminas. That really is how a Lawfull Evil PC should be played intelligently. If he ever makes his way to Golarion then he would make one hell of a Hellknight!


You know as funny as it might sound I've always felt more constrained and MAD when playing evil characters than with good characters.

You know how some people hate dumping Int or Cha or indeed any stat on their characters? That's me when it comes to playing evil characters. After all a good guy can be dumb as a box of rocks or rude but still have his deeds shine through -- doing so as a bad guy would be a huge problem.

I've also found that it's more than a little important to discuss what is 'acceptable evil' with any group I play with that decides to do evil characters.


Thank you, Mirrel the Marvelous. We aim to please: and these are actually true stories about what happened in that campaign. That first campaign was probably filled with the best players and best DM I have ever had the honor of being associated with.

Agreed 100% Abraham Spalding. Good can afford to play dumb; evil not so much. Evil needs wits and wisdom and charisma and charm, as well as physical attributes that don't make him a 90-lb weakling. And they need to have a player who thinks outside the box and is willing to consider unconventional solutions to problems other than detect evil followed by several rounds of smite evil.

Master Arminas


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master arminas wrote:
Two days later, we left behind the City of Greyhawk, sailing back across the Nyr Dyv for home. Little did we know then, what would await us there. To include wedding bells and a nuptial feast for two very unwilling participants.

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*Tosses a big bag of coins*

"Tell us more Grampa Arminas." said the little child by the fire.


hahahahahaha


Ravingdork wrote:
Stuff

I participated in a non-evil campaign where one of the PCs had the same ambition. He was a great party member and "friend", until he accomplished his goals, at which time he proceeded to kill the party.

So we learned to kill that shit up front, unless you want to take the chance of derailing an entire campaign. And often parts of the campaign are made for that individual and aren't necessarily group goals, so while that one player is having fun, everyone else is "ho hum".

That's just another perspective on it. So it's not that people can't handle it, it's that we don't WANT to handle it (and probably because of past experiences).


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Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Superscriber; Pathfinder Starfinder Roleplaying Game Subscriber

Has anyone ever read Plato's "The Republic?"

My synopsis of the book (spoiler alert):

In the book, “The Republic,” by Plato, a debate is started with the famed philosopher Socrates that would later find its way into philosophy books everywhere. The debate was, in a sentence, about why should men choose to be just rather than unjust. It was started chiefly by a man named Glaucon who brought it to Socrates’ attention because a previous philosophical opponent, Thrasymachus, had retired himself from the debate and Glaucon was left feeling dissatisfied with any arguments made for the just. Thinking Socrates might help him best Thrasymachus’ views on the matter, Glaucon and his brother, Adimantus, argued Thrasymachus’ own points to him in hopes that Socrates, being a great thinker, would argue the opposing view well enough to justify their personal beliefs that Thrasymachus and others were somehow wrong that being unjust was somehow better on an individual level.

After Socrates agreed to try and convince Glaucon and his brother that being just was best, the two brothers began to play devil’s advocate. Glaucon started by trying to explain the nature and origin of justice, by showing that all men who practice justice do so against their will, and that the life of the unjust is the better life. First, Glaucon stated that it was said that to deliver injustice onto others to serve yourself was good (insomuch as it helps you, the individual) and that receiving injustice without hope of retaliation was evil (in that it harms or hinders you without recompense). It was also said that there was more evil than good (that is, a person is more likely to be wronged by others than he is to do wrong upon them). Since it was impossible for people to do injustice to others and not have it returned upon them many times over (this is especially true if everyone is being unjust) people as a whole decided to have neither. Glaucon argued that, that is how laws and mutual covenants were created, and that the idea of justice (by its very nature) is little more than a byproduct of those same laws and covenants. Glaucon then went to speak of two men, one just and one unjust, with the power to get away with anything they wanted and how they would both end up at the end of a very corrupt road. Glaucon even told a story of a shepherd with the god-like power to turn invisible to help illustrate his point (which was that a man is not just because he is willing to be just, but because he is in truth: simply afraid of getting caught). Glaucon argued that no man would ever be able to resist such temptation and that one who somehow could, would be called a fool behind his back (but never to his face for those who would denounce his virtue would be too afraid of being targeted by the power that he withheld). In essence, if given the chance to do injustice to better oneself without fear of reprisal, everyone would do so.

Glaucon claimed that to form a true judgment of the quality of lives of the just and the unjust, they must both first be isolated. The unjust man is to be entirely unjust with no redeeming morals whatsoever while the just man is to be a virtuous in all aspects of his life, he argued. That wasn’t enough, however, as his was an example of extremes. Since it is every unjust man’s goal to appear just (for being unjust in a public sense nets you little to no reward while bringing about all sorts of misery) Glaucon presumed that the perfect unjust man would be known as nothing but just by all who knew him and as such would have the greatest advantage over his fellows (especially since he has no morals to hold him back). Such a man could have anything he desired: power, wealth, women, anything. To have an appropriate opposite extreme, Glaucon proposed that the just man in the example must appear to all to be unjust. He, unlike the unjust man, would have little to no power, money, friends, etc., and would suffer from the most horrible of punishments up until his eventual execution. Glaucon finalized his argument by asking Socrates which of the two would live the happier life (though the answer was obvious from early on).

After Socrates’ exclamation at how Glaucon had energetically polished the two examples up for decision like they were statues, Glaucon pressed his point by saying that the just man, who at the end of his life having suffered numerous horrible punishments along the way, would come to realize that he shouldn’t have been just, but should have simply appeared just in the perceptions of those around him.

It was at this point in the debate that Glaucon’s brother, Ademantus, interjected by adding his own views on the matter: He claimed that parents and tutors are always telling their children and charges that they should be a just people. Ademantus asked why this was the case. Certainly it wasn’t for the sake of justice, but for the sake of character and reputation—in the hope of obtaining power and influence for oneself, he argued. Ademantus also spoke of rewards in the afterlife for the pious as well as damnation in Hades for the unjust—and how that didn’t matter at all for if the gods did indeed exist, and that they cared for the dealings of humans, that they would be better placated by the unjust who, unlike the just man suffering and poor, would be able to offer any number of rich sacrifices of their choosing. He also spoke of how people publically and privately revered the powerful and influential unjust man because he is powerful, influential, and unjust. Though those same people might judge the just man a better person, he is nevertheless ignored or looked down upon because he is poor and powerless and therefore doesn’t matter anyways. “On what principle, then, shall we any longer choose justice rather than the worst injustice,” asked Ademantus. The brothers than pleaded for Socrates to not only show the superiority of justice over injustice, but to show how being just or unjust helps the individual.

The text ends with Socrates noting his admiration for the brothers’ genius. He was delighted, in the end, that the brothers were able to argue their points so well and yet remain unconvinced by their own argument. Socrates inferred that they had not been convinced by their own arguments because of the brother’s general character—for had he not known any better, Socrates would have thought to mistrust them based on their speeches alone.

In short, the ideal villain is one who is unjust while appearing to all to be just. Such a villain could easily obtain power, wealth, women, anything at all.


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For once, we had an uneventful three weeks in the voyage from Greyhawk City to Radigast City in the County of Urnst, where the party was met by Bishop Stannis and Bishop Tomas of the Church of the Twins. Well, we were ready and waiting for our adventures to continue—but we also were worried. You see, Maklin (our ranger) was the rightful heir of the Duchy of Tenh. That was where we wanted to go, in order for our companion to regain his throne.

His uncle (Corrian) had killed Maklin’s father and forced the young man into exile years before Arminas ever joined the campaign. But, if there was one thing that the Church of the Twins wanted it was to keep upheavals to a minimum in the region. That had now changed.

Stannis and Tomas debriefed us, and congratulated us on recovering the rod, although they were both miffed at how long it had taken us to do so. That attitude did not go over well with even the good or neutral members of the group, much less with me. But they continued headlong, recognizing that it wasn’t our fault. And they wanted us to travel to Midmeadows, on the border of the Pale, Urnst, and Nyrond for a religious ceremony, despite more urgent matters pressing.

You see, Corrian had gone around the bend while we were trapped on the Isle of the Damned. Never a very stable personality, he had become increasingly paranoid and frightened of Maklin’s return (which he should have been). And in response to that (mostly) imagined threat, he had instituted a reign of terror which would have made the inhabitants of Rauxes blanch. Furthermore, he had begun extending feelers to Iuz, threatening the entire region with the addition of an extremely volatile and warlike demi-god who wanted nothing more than see the Church of the Twins weakened and thrown down.

And so, the Church United gave us our marching orders to restore the throne of Tenh to Maklin and remove Corrian from the throne. By peaceful means if possible, and with extreme prejudice if not (I was in favor of the latter, as were any members of our group with two brain cells). After we travelled to Midmeadows for a ceremony deemed crucial to the success of the Church.

So, we made our north along the Artonsomay River and then across the rolling hills and mostly open plains to Midmeadows.

This mighty city had become the home of the Church of the Twins, lorded over by the dual Prelates of the Church. We were greeted as heroes, with fanfare and a parade, and we all wondered just what boot Steve was about to drop on our heads.

Finally, we were admitted to the presence of the Prelates, along with their Bishops Stannis and Tomas. The future of the Church was in jeopardy, they explained. United to deal with the threat posed by Iuz, the Church was fractured between the Hextorian and Heironians factions. And those factions were poised to tear the Church asunder, even as the critical events loomed on the horizon to come. But the prelates had come to a decision; one that would serve to unite both branches of the Church.

As the Church had united spiritually, it symbolically needed to unite physically. And as the heroes of Church, and champions of its cause, we had been selected. For the Hextorian sect, I was chosen. And for the Heironian sect, Sonandra was tagged as it.

The two of us would wed, thereby uniting the Church in truth. Apparently, symbolism was as important as substance to matters of spirit and magic.

Our jaws dropped. Not just mine and the young woman playing Sonandra, but everyone’s at the table. We asked Steve, out of character, if he had lost his mind.

And then he asked us, in character, were we going to refuse our duty on behalf of the Church we had both rendered an oath to serve?

Well, Arminas was many things, but an oath-breaker, no. Still, he (me) was not at all happy. And Sonandra? She was pissed. It took an avatar of Heironious appearing before she finally agreed to the request.

The next game session was taken up by the wedding. Talk about a miserable bride and groom. Our wishes had nothing to do with it; the entire ceremony was conducted by the Church. And so, after several hours of preaching and dull rites, we were wed; with the promise that in the morn we would be allowed to leave for Nevnond Nevend, the capital of Tenh.

But before that, we would have to consummate the marriage.

Arminas and his reluctant bridge retired to the chambers prepared—and our friend the gnome illusionist (who found the entire situation hilarious) had offered to cast a scrying protection upon us both. But the bedchamber wasn’t empty. There were observers from the hierarchy of the Church, who proceeded to inform us that the consummation would have to be witnessed.

Oh, man, was she royally and truly pissed off. At which point, Arminas smiled, and put his arm around one of Midmeadow’s senior Bishops, and proceeded to reason with him. The Prelates could very well enough ask their Gods if the marriage had or had not been properly completed, true? And were the clergy present actually questioning our sworn words?

He didn’t disagree, but stated that the law required the marriage be witnessed. Arminas nodded, and then shoved the fat bastard out of the window; we fifteen stories above ground in a tower. “Does anyone doubt that he is now dead?” Arminas asked. “By Hextor and Heironious both as my witness, I will make anyone else who remains in room as dead as he is, if they remain for one more minute. LEAVE.”

And for once, the paladin didn’t criticize me for resorting to violence. Heaven’s be praised.

The clergy left in a huff, and soon enough afterwards the deed was done. It would be the only time we shared a bed in the marital (as opposed to martial) way. Although Arminas was admonished for his extreme actions against the clergy, he was forgiven by the Prelates, who admitted that the priests had exceeded their authority.

And on the next morning, we departed for the Tenha border. Later, the marriage would lead to the creation of still more difficulties for the party—but that, my friends is another story.

Master Arminas


"Wow old man, what a tale, Did babies happen?"


...Steve WAS a bastard...


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Bwahahahhahahhaahhaaaa! Your DM was both a bastard and an evil f*~%ing genius!


Pathfinder PF Special Edition Subscriber
Belle Mythix wrote:
rkraus2 wrote:
master arminas wrote:

...Only a well schooled, experienced DM can do that. And even then, not always.

Master Arminas

I'm going to suggest you try a game with a social combat system, like any of the indie games from the Forge. After you get past "hey, new rules", I think you'll be impressed.

Here's what happened in my group. (Half of which were the types to completely dump int and cha every time).

** spoiler omitted **

...

My group started doing something like this after The Old Republic came out. As a joke we would roll percent die and whoever rolled highest got to talk first. While we laugh at the process I think it has sped up the process on occasion.


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Pathfinder PF Special Edition Subscriber

The only evil campaign that had any amount of success was when we were running Rise of the Runelords.

We had a good thing going we were all working together. Initially, we had trouble keeping the antipaladin in line. He settled down after I agreed to let him torture all of my prisoners (I was playing a homebrew class that relied on other people's powers, so I kept prisoners. The class needs to be rebuilt, because its horribly ineffective, but that's another story). At the end of every fight I would make sure that our powerful enemies were alive enough. The antipaladin wanted to kill everything and everyone. I had reasoned with him that torture is the better route, because their suffering never ends and he always had a source of joy.

Now, my character wasn't so much for the torture, but it kept him from tearing me down and it made the party run just a little bit more smoothly.

We continue for a few weeks and things are running smoothly. At one point we did strip the antipaladin of his gear and make him fighter another character with no weapons, because his arrogance was making it hard to go about our tasks. He ended up winning the fight, but the caster had gotten him down enough hit points to scare him.

After once again putting the antipaladin in check we continue about our business. We're exploring this dungeon and run into a haunt of shadows. I get strength drained like nobody's business and end up running into the next room (fortunately, the shadows didn't follow). The next room we find has a giant crab that starts beating down the party. I run away, because with six points of strength damage, I'm wasn't too useful. Two of my evil compatriots the antipaladin and the monk were felled by the crab beast and our fourth member had decided this was his opportunity to stop the evil. Up until this point we assumed he was down with our plans to gain control of Sandpoint. It turns out he was not. As I'm running away he yells (lies) that everything is okay. I start heading back and he trips me in the room of shadows (mind you I had dropped most of my gear because I had been strength drained). I manage to get out of the room again and I tie the doors shut with 50 feet of rope.

Realizing that he wouldn't be able to escape alone he finishes off the crab and administers healing to the antipaladin and the monk. The monk was suspicious of my disappearance and began questioning the sorcerer. Realizing the sorcerer was hiding something he began to ready an attack, but the antipaladin sided with the sorcerer and the monk seeing he was outmatched used a lightning bolt on the paladin (Qigong Monk), the antipaladin became nothing more than a pile of bones. After that the sorcerer threw out a few spells, but eventually the monk grappled him tied him up and drowned him in the water. The monk was an undine and at the bottom of the pool was an exit from the dungeon.

The monk came and found me meditating in an anti-grav chamber we had found previously and then said, "There can only be two one to harness the power, and one to crave it". Actually, he asked for my version of the story and threatened me with lighting if I didn't tell the truth, but we worked it out.

We haven't picked that campaign up again yet.

Our party unity wasn't ruined by an evil character though, it was ruined by a good guy. Though we did have to reign the antipaladin in kind of often.

Liberty's Edge

I totally agree with the importance of pre-game communication when playing evil. I was once playing an extremely conservative religious elder in a Firefly LARP (Yes, I do enjoy the occasional LARP). One of the other players was playing a companion (Firefly-style, not Dr. Who...). I made a point of talking to her before the game and telling her, "Look, I'm sorry, I'm sure you're a great person, but in character, I'm going to have to be really mean to you." She totally understood, and it left me comfortable enough to snub the heck out of her during a couple of key conversations.

Different fictional evil guy examples:

1. Admiral Piett - consummate professional, good at his job, but completely loyal to his organization. He didn't even take any particular pleasure in Admiral Ozzel's death, even though it led to his own promotion.

2. Lloyd Henreid from the Stand - hardened criminal and loyal henchman. Despite his criminal tendencies and capabilities, when rescued by Randall Flagg, he is unwaveringly loyal out of personal gratitude.

3. David Carradine's Bill from Kill Bill - Sure, he wipes out an entire wedding party and shoots a pregnant woman in the face, but he is conflicted about it. As he describes it, he was 'at his most masochistic' at the time. In addition, he spares her life shorty afterward. In addition, highly charismatic and a good father. Also of note: Michael Madsen's performance as Bud, who admits that they 'deserves to die, and she deserves to kill us.' Evil can be nuanced, but motives and backstories must be fleshed out and complex to work.

4. Duh...Almost forgot this one: Dexter. He's worth a post all by his lonesome.


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Needless to say, the journey from Midmeadows after the wedding was a tense one. Most of the party had the good sense to keep their mouths shut, but they all still had smiles on their faces (mainly happy that it had not been them the Prelates had selected). All but my gnome buddy. He couldn’t shut up about the wedding and the wedding night and kept pestering us both with questions. He finally did quit the wisecracks after Sonandra dumped him in a horse trough at the next way stop.

Quentin Sackripper (I kid you not, here) was the character’s name. He was a gnome illusionist who wielded a light pick and had a nasty habit of aiming at larger creature’s crotches. Unlike many arcane wielders of magic, Quentin had few qualms about getting up close and personal in combat—I think he rather enjoyed it, despite his low hit points. He was an irascible old coot, and had a kind of perverse sense of humor, one that was witty and caused a smile or a chuckle when he used it on NPCs, but one that stung a bit when used on the players.

Marlyn (no relation to Maklin)—our half-human, half-elf, half-fox Druid—parted ways with us soon after we left the city, and the last we ever saw of him was when he took off chasing a rabbit deeper into the forest on the edge of the Nutherwood. The player had just graduated from graduate school and was moving away, but we had a new guy to replace him. This fellow brought in a neutral cavalier by the name of Sir Loeweinbrough (and, yes, it was pronounced exactly like the brand of beer).

He had never played before, but he was game for anything—unfortunately he shared with the player of the gnome a low sense of humor. He was also destined for greatness—but not in the way one might think. More on this later.

First off, we had to find a way into the Duchy of Tenh. Corrian’s army had all of the river crossings between the Pale and Tenha watched closely—so those were right out. Especially since Lowenboob, the cleric of St. Cuthbert, and Sonandra were not especially stealthy. But the Yol River, while not as mighty as the Artonsomay, was not a placid stream lightly crossed.

Thankfully, Maklin was a Ranger and he knew that section of the river well. The plan was we would proceed down to Hatherleigh, get a good’s night rest, and then head out cross-country through the Nutherwood and try to cross at a little known ford into the Phostwood. From that point on, we would be on Tenha soil, but the Phostwood was little guarded since formed armies could not easily pass through the thick forest.

We rode for a few days (what, you think monks run everywhere? Believe you me, I rode a horse whenever I could!) until we arrived at the city of Hatherleigh just before dusk. The guards let us pass without incident and we traveled through the town until we came upon the first inn that we saw. Sir Loew spotted a shop and decided he had to make a last minute purchase before the woods and the river crossing, so he left us—we told him we would arrange for his room. Good manners, you know.

We get into the inn (and I can’t remember the name to save my life) and arrange for some rooms—at which point Quentin can’t keep his mouth shut any. And asks for the honeymoon suite for the wedded couple. Since Hatherleigh was still in the territory of the Pale controlled by the Church, we knew we had to—for appearances sake—stay in the same room, but I swear, if evil glares could kill the paladin would have fallen again.

Being the gallant gentleman that I was (who said that evil characters can’t possess both style and substance? Huh?), I took her bags up while she and rest of the group were looking over the evening fare. BAD MISTAKE.

No sooner had I opened the room and stepped inside, Arminas was attacked by three assassins. Two of them couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn, much less me. Heh. But the third! That was a different story, and he hammered me hard. I went from having sixty-odd hit points to fourteen in a single hit! (And that part I remember crystal clear!).

Arminas was in over his head, and he (I) knew it. So I back pedaled out of the room, jumped over the banister, and landed—bleeding like a stuck pig—on the common room floor below. While the party just looked at me, and then looked up, and they blanched. It was like that scene from Kill Bill. Every door upstairs opened, and a flood of masked men stormed down the stairs, weapons raised.

Maklin took a second to look at me again, and asked, ‘What the hells did you do this time?’

Sonandra, god bless her paladin soul, simply drew her holy sword and said, ‘No one but me kills my loving husband.’

Not exactly the words of adoration and loving content I had hoped to hear, but then again I was gurgling on my own blood bubbling into my lungs, while the cleric just shook his head and hit me with a Cure Serious.

This was a serious fight and it took every bit of our resources—especially since Lowenboob was still at the bloody store! But finally, we had the upper hand and the three surviving assassins broke through the door. We pursued, of course, and a hundred feet down the street Sir Loew was at long last riding up to the inn.

He blinked, taking in the blood on us, and the three masked men running away, and holding his packages like a shield, he lowered his lance and charged. (We helped by singing the Budweiser jingle as he ran them down). At the last minute, the leader turn and threw a poisoned dart—that hit his horse! The horse went down, Sir Loew went over the pommel, his lance hit the leader, skewered him, stuck in the ground, and Sir Loew went a pole-vaulting over the heads of the remaining two assassins! Wow. We actually applauded, and then he got up, drew his sword, and hissed. “You killed my horse—prepare to die.”

But the assassins were starting at their dead leader in horror, and then they bowed to Sir Loeweinbrough, shouting out, ‘You killed the grandfather! Long live the grandfather! Command us, grandfather!’

Yep. Sir Lowenboob had just put paid to the Grandfather of Assassins. And by the rules of the Assassin’s Guild, he was now their leader. Well, after we stopped laughing, we tussled up the two survivors, and took them and the leader (the ex-grandfather, rather) back into the inn for some questioning.

Turns out that we were all their targets—but they had explicit orders to kill three of us even if it meant the rest got away: Maklin, Sonandra, and myself. Only the grandfather (former grandfather) knew who had hired them, and we found no more clues on the bodies. Then one of the surviving assassins, looked straight at Sir Loew, and told him to spend his final days well.

What? Our cavalier asked.

He was then told that by killing the Grandfather of Assassins he had become the Grandfather of Assassins. And that the only way some other assassin could claim the title and resume rule of the guild was by assassinating him. He had just become the most wanted man in the Flaness. You should have seen his face fall. As a cavalier he was in it for the glory, and now as stories of him spread, so to would the assassination attempts come faster and faster. Finally, he was able to blurt out the words, ‘oh bloody hell.’

Well, the prisoners having no further use, I went ahead and quietly and painlessly relieved them of their lives. At which point the guards arrived on scene. To find us, bloody and battered standing amid an abattoir of bodies and carnage.

In the process of being questioned, our gnomish friend (always ready to torpedo us even more) blurted out, ‘you should really ask the new Grandfather of Assassins there about this. He’s their leader, now.’

And would you know—the guards looked at ME?

But they were then quickly corrected, and simply stared at the shining, upstanding cavalier knight who was now the leader of all assassin’s across the Flaness—at least until they could kill him.

Maybe Steve actually took pity on us, but he didn’t have the guards arrest us and throw us into a dungeon. They accepted our story, led us to a second inn, and we were –finally—able to get some sleep.

And we hadn’t even left the Pale yet!


You know if that gnome had kept his mouth shut you probably could have gotten away without anyone in the assasins guild knowing who actually killed the grandfather and was the correct target. Hmmmmmm I'm unable to stop thiking Arminas should have suggested resurrecting the grandfather and sending him off to take care of the guild but from the sounds of it your GM would probably have him coming after the cavalier to reclaim the guild.


Did Quentin Sackripper ever get his due?


Other than being dumped in the horse trough? That would be telling, Alexana Voidchild.

lol

Master Arminas


Another method to remove the massive target marks on your foreheads would have been to raise the Grandfather, let him publicly kill the cavalier (thereby regaining the guild), and then raise the cavalier when the heat is off (or not, depending on how much anybody liked him!)


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We easily crossed the Yol (well, it wasn’t easy, but we managed) and entered the majestic and magical Phostwood. Even Arminas was struck by the natural beauty of those woods. The Phostwood was a very special place, you see. The leaves of the trees there were natural phosphorescent, like fireflies. When disturbed, each leaf would begin to softly glow, increasing from a barely perceptible illumination to shining as bright as a candle, and then dimming again. And not just a single color, but an entire spectrum of light. Even the wind would cause this, painting the nocturnal woods with a constantly shifting tableau of painted light.

Suffice to say, the woods were stunning, and we were all moved.

But the damned forest had a pixie problem. It was infested with the things. And like all pixies everywhere, the fey were practical joker in the extreme. We tried to avoid them, but no. We tried to reason with them but no. And they had a particular dislike for Arminas.

You see, pixies don’t like evil critters or characters, not one little bit. I discovered this the hard way as we traveled for five days through the Phostwood with those little winged SOBs buzzing around my head. For four days, Arminas (and I) bit his tongue as the rest of the party was pretty well ignored by those delightful, joyful faeries. Until he woke up after the party camped for the night and discovered that the pixies had stripped him of his clothing in the night. Every stitch. Oh, they had left my clothes, folded up nice and neat at the end of my blanket—filled with itching powder. And all the changes of clothing I had also had itching powder.

The kicker was I had been painted blue over every single square millimeter of my body. A pale baby blue, with bright crimson lines drawn around the perimeter of my eyes, lips, and various other bodily orifices. My hair had been bleached white, and my fingernails and toenails painted pink.

For once in his life, the gnome was utterly speechless. It was the rest of the party that was laughing their butts off. Mine was just freezing off (did I not mention it was the middle of winter?).

Arminas’s patience had utterly and finally run out. With those winged devil-impish faerie-folk. I took a deep breath and wrote Steve a short note, passed it across to him with a serene look on my face: and he burst out laughing. And the party began to look worried.

He asked me, you are really going to use this here? Now? For this?

And I said hell yes.

At which point, my companions began to sweat, and Quentin blurted out, ‘You can’t burn the whole forest down, lad! It’s a priceless treasure!’

‘No burning, Quentin,’ I answered.

Earlier, I told you that Steve had given me the artifact the Eye of Vecna. And how it let me see perfectly in darkness of any type. Well, it had other powers too, including one power that I could only use once in my lifetime. I was cashing that one in.

Arminas closed his eyes, and cleared his mind; he stood nude (and blue) in the middle of the camp, and he concentrated, and he concentrated. And he unleashed the evil that was contained within that eye that roiled up within him. The party watched in horror as Arminas screamed, and one eye (the Eye of Vecna) opened and shot a red beam into the sky, and then the lights went out in the Phostwood.

The wind stopped. The birds and animals and insects grew silent. And from the soil of the earth around Arminas, shadowy spectres and wraiths and shadows emerged—dozens, scores, and then hundreds. Needless to say, the party was now standing back to back with drawn weapons.

Arminas at last stopped the primal scream that had emerged and he stood straight and tall (and naked and blue). One of the red-eyed wraiths floated over and bowed low. “How may we serve you, Master?” he hissed.

“Bond to Vecna in life you were, bond to his relic in death you are. I bear that relic. And I command you, in his name, and in my own—Arminas tar Valantil, Master of the Eye—go forth and slay every pixie and brownie and sprite and other faerie folk that inhabit these woods, the Phostwood. Leave not the shelter of these trees and harm no others by my command. But slay the fey!”

At which point Quentin piped up, “You can command an army of undead to kill fey? That is SO cool! Hey, wait! I am technically a fey!”

“Other than my companion. Are these instructions understood?”

“Yes, my master. And when the fey are slain?”

“Then I release you from your oath. Do as you will, excepting only this: you shall not harm me, or any of those who travel with me.”

The wraith bowed low. "It shall be as you command, Master."

The party watched in horror, as the incorporeal creatures darted into the woods, and horrifying screams of the faeries surrounded us on all sides. Sonandra was aghast, and asked me why?

I gestured at my body, and said the little bastards had it coming.

It took three weeks for the paint to wear off. Those little butterfly winged imps. But Arminas got the last laugh out of that one. And on that day, every faerie who did not flee the Phostwood was slaughtered where he or she flapped his or her little wings.


Your are so Evil Master Arminas!


Reminds me of the "Tooth-Artifact" incident (see above), where the Paladins constantly picked on and abused my character to the point where I unleashed the full fury of my once-a-day power (Word of Chaos - take that Lawfull types!) Granted this was against fellow PC's not nameless NPC's but they had it coming too!

Liberty's Edge

I honestly think that Steve is my new hero!


For me, an Evil party would end up being something like Disgaea or Sorcerer on the Rocks.

One person has to clearly be the leader of the party. If you have two leaders.. then problems tend to happen. The rest of the party members then have to either go along with the leaders plans, suggest new ones, or just kinda act.

In other words, In sorcerer on the rocks, you have the evil sorcerer guy who extorts people for money. The slave pocket healer who ends up doing various deeds to pay for her master (LG, but wants to try to make the evil sorcerer not evil). The Werewolf who really just is along for the ride (Probably CN) and the guy who is madly in love with the evil sorcerer guy.

Its kinda important that while the leader is evil, he isn't Joker evil, and can have some compassion for those who work with him.


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bumping this back to the top of the list, and awaiting more of Master Arminas's unmatched storytelling skills


I may blush.

MA

Sovereign Court

I think people are actually waiting for the martial-marital night adventure part... lol


Mikaze wrote:


Useful tropes:

Affably Evil
etc.

Dammit, you just fed about three hours of my life to TV tropes.

I wholeheartedly support evil parties, and am shocked SHOCKED to find that there's an evil AP? Francis, I got dibs on running that one.

I believe that the cardinal rule of RP is to never ruin someone else's fun in favor of your own. In boring, vanilla parties this usually means letting everyone have a chance to rp reactions and dialogue. In evil parties it pretty much boils down to don't be a dick. I find that the alignments from Rifts are much better suited to evil parties:

http://www.obsidianportal.com/campaign/rifts-4e/wikis/picking-an-alignment


Pathfinder PF Special Edition Subscriber
J-Rokka wrote:
bumping this back to the top of the list, and awaiting more of Master Arminas's unmatched storytelling skills

+1


Evil Campaigns can be done. For instance. The DM sets up everyone to play goblinoids and they all are part of the same clan. Their duty is to stop mankind's encroachment upon the territory they consider theirs.

Its all in the story and how the DM chooses to handle it. This could absolutely be done as long as the goals of every PC remain similar.


Master Arminas is clearly made of victory. That is some truly awesome stuff.

I've been in two evil campaigns.

One was a third edition campaign, where we were the members of a mercenary team working under a cabal in the Red Wizards of Thay to unearth a number of artifacts. The party fought good and evil alike to get the task done, and had a 100% turnover. The cabal eventually betrayed us, so we sided with a different part of the Red Wizards and killed them all.

For example, my CN half-orc druid of Talos got a hold an absurdly powerful artifact and was actually divinely smote after destroying Silverymoon, Evermeet, Cormyr, and some dwarf fortress that had pissed him off. I promptly replaced him with a CE tiefling psion (nomad) who was charming, urban, and considered everyone and everything around him expendable. The DM actually went through special trouble to give the enemies special defenses against my psion, and I was rather pleased when I could just power right through those defenses and kill everything.

There wasn't really any PvP (other than in the first session, where a monk tried to kill my druid and lost really, really badly), but also we also never ran what would've been the final session of the campaign. In that session we would've used all those artifacts we'd been gathering ourselves, and it easily would've devolved into a last man standing.

The other was a d20 based Superheroes game where we going to be a team working under the U.S. government. We all made our characters without consulting each other. Every single character was a murderer in their back story.

And so we were a group of barely controlled killers in the service of Uncle Sam, and one of the party members was a mind control specialist, Red (who physically was just a normal human), who kept us in line. Red's primary responsibility was handling my character, Salvador Corano, a.k.a., El Diablo if he went on rampage. Which happened whenever he actually used his power to transform into a massive, superstrong red devil that could immediately swallow any opponent it defeated, regardless of the enemy's size, and had to pass a will save to actually turn back to normal and stop attacking people.

Our team of supervillians was essentially loyal to each other, except for Red. One of my teammates handled that, since Red had Salvador dominated as her normal policy by that point.

Quote:

I'm throwing my two-ton hammer and yelling "Hey Red, catch!" - Number 37

"Red's a normal human, she can't catch that..." - DM

"I know." - Number 37

"Oh." - DM

"Well, shit." - Red's player

Our teams of villains eventually found a source of immense power (specifically, a stone left behind by the Atlanteans that was the source of all mutant powers), conquered Earth, and split it between them.

It eventually became the task of the epic heroes of another campaign to set that right...


Straph wrote:
Stuff.

Don't be a d-bag.

Anyways moving onto the question at hand, I think the real issue is that motivations are always more important because people are willing to assume somebody can just be a good guy (probably false most people are pretty darn neutral but the assumption is still there) but evil people need to have a reason for being it's almost always deeply tied into their goals and what they intend to do. It should also be the primary reason they aren't getting into PVP after all if they backstab their party there is a decent chance they will die which would prevent them from achieving their goal which is very important to them as such unless the party is actively hampering their efforts they should see it as a mutually beneficial situation.
For example a decent party could consist of:

LE Tyrant Maximus- Fighter w/ leadership and high social skills - Primary Goal world domination reason for goal he's seen the ineffectual governance of the varied worlds government cause strife and petty bickering and waste and he is willing to do anything necessary to make everything "better" even if he has to personally drag everyone kicking and screaming along with him.

CE Shifty Murderclown - Assassin w/ leadership - Primary Goal - Establishment of an Assassin's Guild - reason: Quite some time ago Shifty made a name for himself as a skilled bounty hunter however his personal style made him powerful enemies among the church and aristocracy who feared he might be unbalanced and crazy and who turned on him sending armed men into his home and burning his wife and children for a trumped up claim of "worshiping dark gods" Shifty and Tyrant have reached an accommodation where the new world shall have a legal agreement with an assassin's guild which shall serve as a force of bounty hunters and occasionally serves as the secret arm of the government.

NE Gorran Darkspeaker - Cleric - A devotee of the "true gods of good" Gorran seeks to spread the word of the god Craxos who preaches the lies inherent in the so called righteous good gods who shun and spurn people who do not yield to their ways Craxos offers everyone the freedom to be all they can be. By overthrowing the current government Gorran will spread the good word of Craxos and establish his churches across the land.

CN Frippy Swankypants - Bard - Frippy cares not for good or evil he simply travels for the delight of new experiences he is a drug addicted womanizing sleazeball but he is a talented singer and lute player, he is inclined to support the party for the sake of finding new experiences and to travel to new places and he doesn't oppose Tyrant because he has been promised that the new government shall freely trade in anything and everything including all the drugs Frippy could ever want.

A solid party all of whom are willing to work together and are unlikely to resort to PVP unless something goes horribly wrong.


It's too late for me to post, but I'm dotting this for good reading!


dotted for later reading of The Tales of Master Arminas.

Wish I could have been in that group.

RPG Superstar 2012 Top 16

AYe, Arminas has a gooood story going.

==Aelryinth


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Well, we left behind the Wode of Dead Fey and at long last (4 years of gaming) we set foot on the soil of the Duchy of Tenh. Strangely enough, Quentin Sackripper decided that the party was no longer a friendly environment for a practical-joker, so he left our company when we ran across a small gnomish village. (The player had another, more serious character he wanted to try.)

Thus it came to pass that Sakura, a Wu Jen from the distant West, joined our intrepid group. Sakura would become Arminas's closest friend and ally in the party, since in the wake of the Pixie Genocide, relations between him and the good-members had chilled.

Tenh was . . . a sad country. There are no better words to describe it than that. Formerally a bulkwark against the Bandit Kingdoms and the realm of Iuz, a staunch defender of the passes against the Northern Barbarians of Stonehold, the realm had fallen into a malaise, a depression, a sadness.

Corrian, the unlawful Archduke who had usurped the throne from our own ranger Maklin, had grown more and more paranoid. And he had instituted a most bitter and hated regime. We heard tales that the Baron of Redspan had denounced the Grand Duke and was soon to be attacked by pretender. So off to Redspan we went!

The city was in a state of seige by Corrian's army and it took us the best part of a month to find a way in. Redspan was one of the jewels of the Duchy, a mighty city-fortress perched on the banks of the Artonsamay River. An ancient bridge of red stone crossing to the south bank gave the city (and the Barony) it's name.

Well, we evaded the beseiging army and entered the city, and procedded to an audience with Baron Fell, to convince him to declare for Maklin.

It was a memorable experience in the Baron's throne room. Fell was not at all pleased with the idea of restoring Maklin to the throne--he wanted it for himself. But then I pointed out that even if he overthrew Corrian (unlikely, but still) he would have to content with the Barons of Stroun, Braycott, Watton, Tolran Hill, Narleon, Calbut, High Hadley, Harpender, and Atherstone: none of which would be willing to put an 'equal' on the ancient throne of Nevond Nevnend.

No, Arminas said, you have too many enemies, Your Grace to hold together the Duchy. But your grandson might well sit on the throne in your stead.

Maklin jerked upright when I said this, but Arminas pressed on.

You, Your Grace, have a daughter of marriagable age; Maklin will need a wife. If you declare for him, he would agree to a betrothal, with a wedding to follow once he ascends to the throne.

Bruce--the fellow playing Maklin--his jaw just dropped. And he began to sputter, but I pressed on ahead anyway.

His Grace, the Archduke Maklin, would recogonize your support for his claim against the pretender as your daughter's dowry, my Lord. Which would save a good deal of Redspan's treasury.

The party was dying, even as Maklin was sputtering. And Steve was smiling.

Finally, Fell agreed to the deal: on one condition. We would have to lead his army to victory and break the seige outside the walls. I assured him that this would NOT be a problem.

Once we (the party) were alone, I got it from all sides.

Maklin: You gave up my dowry! And promised that I would marry a girl I have never before seen!

Loeweinbrough: We have to fight an entire army! Are you insane?

Sonandra: You shushed me! You shushed me right in front of the Baron! And you practically SOLD that girl to buy Fell's support for Maklin!

Well, I did shush her; her Charisma might have been high, but she was never good at talking people into things (or out of things). And I KNEW she was about to put her foot into her mouth over (another) forced wedding. So I deserved that one.

I just asked my fellow players, what other choices are there? We are in Redspan, we are being beseiged as well. Can you, Sonandra, or you Loewinbrough, just ride off and let the city be sacked? Can you, Maklin, afford NOT to gain whatever support you need to overthrow your mad uncle BEFORE he utterly ruins your kingdom?

I am telling you, I got haughty and my feather's rumpled over how I had worked Fell into supporting us, and then the party complains about it! Talk about a bunch of ingrates.

And then Sakura spoke up. He didn't agree with my methods, (he said with a wink at me) but he agreed with my premise. We needed Fell and Redspan's soldiers. It was a small price to pay to free the Duchy. Of course, Maklin could always give up his quest to regain the throne, if he thought it was too hard for him to complete.

Oh, that did it. The guy playing Maklin huffed and puffed a little bit more, but he came around. And even Loewenbrough finally agreed that the glory he could gain on the field of battle was a reward in and of itself. Of course, Sonandra was still pissed at me, but then she had been for the past two years! What else was new?

Next day, we took to the field, the seven of us at head of a hundred knights and five hundred men-at-arms wearing Redspan livery. Against an army numbering nearly a thousand.

"You know," Maklin said, "it sure would be nice to have an army of Undead right about now."

"No, my Lord soon-to-be Duke. That would only rob you of the glory you will earn this day. Have faith, be stout, and we shall prevail," Arminas answered.

The plan was for Maklin to lead the men-at-arms in defending against Corrian's army, Loewinbrough to command the knights in a massive charge, and for Sakua to teleport the rest of us (Arminas, Sonandra, the halfling thief, and the cleric of St. Cuthbert) directly atop of their command post.

Ah, it was a glorious battle, my friends. And between me, the thief, and Sonandra, we cut the head from their army, even as Lowenbrough began his charge against the levies and Maklin and Sakura were wasting Corrian's knights that had charged the defenses! I won't bore you with the full tale of the fight, but by nightfall they were in complete rout, running for home with their tails between their legs!

Knights and men-at-arms are little use against 11th, 12th, and 13th level characters after all. Especially when those characters have their own fodder.

So, Baron Fell of Redspan declared for Maklin, and the campaign to liberate the Duchy was well underway.


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Master Arminas your tales are a delight as always keep them coming plz


master arminas wrote:
Well, I did shush her; her Charisma might have been high, but she was never good at talking people into things (or out of things). And I KNEW she was about to put her foot into her mouth over (another) forced wedding. So I deserved that one.

Oh God you just described the majority of my party. I usually just :rolleyes: and :facepalm: but I see now I need to start shushing.

RPG Superstar 2012 Top 16

Oi, oi, oi, waiting on the rest of the story here, Mr. Arminas!

==Aelryinth


weiknarf wrote:
master arminas wrote:
Well, I did shush her; her Charisma might have been high, but she was never good at talking people into things (or out of things). And I KNEW she was about to put her foot into her mouth over (another) forced wedding. So I deserved that one.
Oh God you just described the majority of my party. I usually just :rolleyes: and :facepalm: but I see now I need to start shushing.

He also just described me. >.>

I think I'll go cry in the corner over there.


I don't really do this, but I'd hate to see this thread disappear.

*casts Levitate to top*


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We spent a week in Redspan and other than the four assassination attempts on Grandfather Loeweinbrough (none of which succeeded), our stay was relatively uneventful. Maklin did meet Baron Fell’s daughter, and I remember Steve describing her when she lowered her veil (remember, it was 1990): ‘Bruce, remember Risky Business? The prostitute played by Rebecca de Mornay? Well, she looks just like her at age 17, only virginal. She is demure, and quiet, but her eyes promise passion like you have before experienced.’

Needless to say, Maklin was quite pleased with his betrothal after all. Especially after Baron Fell commented that she had been specially trained and prepared in the Arts of Pleasure for her wedding night over the course of several years by the Sisters of Myhriss, the Goddess of Love, Romance, and Beauty. Bruce leaned across the coffee table we rolled dice on and told me, ‘I owe you one; I owe one a big one.’

Sonandra was still pissed at Arminas (what else was new?), especially when I made the comment, ‘That is what if wife is supposed to be.’ She knocked me in the back of my hand (the player actually did that!) and then decided to give him the silent treatment. It didn’t get any better when she received an urgent sending from her family in northern Urnst. You see, she and I were married under the laws of the Church of the Twins, and the Church leaders (yep, Bishops Stannis and Tomas) had ruled—in our absence—that since Church law stated that the wife’s property became that of the husband, and since as a monk of the Twins I was forbidden from owning property other than what I could carry on my person, ALL of Sonandra’s possessions were now part and parcel of the Church to dispose with as the Church leader’s deemed appropriate.

They sold her lands, her home, her art works, her clothing; they cleared out her bank accounts; they fired the servants who had worked for her family for generations; they evicted her father and mother from the properties they had bequeathed to their daughter. Oh, her family still had money, but they had given the most valuable part of their lands into the keeping of their paladin daughter, since paladins didn’t pay taxes to the Urnst government.

And—of course—she blamed Arminas. Me.

Needless to say, we were all becoming rapidly disillusioned with the Church, which was how Steve wanted it.

Concluding our business in Redspan, we moved out across the central highlands of Tenh to confront Corrian in the capital of Nevond Nevnend. The trip took a couple of weeks, and with the exception of several assassination attempts on Loeweinbrough (poor guy couldn’t catch a break), it was mostly without incident. By the time we arrived at N2, he was so flustered and paranoid that he wouldn’t approach a beggar without a weapon drawn—and he several thousand gold for a magic goblet that automatically detected poison of any liquid poured within it.

N2 was a major city; nothing like Greyhawk City, of course, but still a large and robust community of more than seventy thousand souls. We all got just a little bit concerned when we were able to pass through the city gates without incident, and still more when we weren’t molested by the Guard or the Watch.

And got really spooked with Corrian’s herald arrived and invited us to join him in the Palace.

We knew it was a trap, but we were heroes by the Gods and Goddesses! So we went, but we went with our eyes open and ready. Corrian was ready to make us an offer, he said, from the high throne on which he sat, surrounded by clerics and guards and fell beasts from the depths of the Abyss. He wanted Maklin to publicly renounce his claim to the throne and leave Tenh willingly. In return, he would spare our lives and leave us be—and he offered a pile of treasure as well.

Well, we weren’t having any of that! After all, his treasure would be ours once we put paid to the man, and none of us trusted him and his Iuzian advisors. And so, the fight was on.

It was a doozy, let me tell you. This one fight through the palace took an entire eight-hour game session to run from start to finish. By the time it was over, Sakura and Clement (our St. Cuthbert priest) were completely out of spells and we were all low on hit points. But we came, we saw, we kicked their ass right off that throne.

Finally, it was just the seven of us (Arminas, Maklin, Sonandra, Loeweinbrough, Clement, Sakura, and Jaspar [the halfling thief]) and Corrian. He had been badly injured, and was trying to crawl away from us, and begged—pleaded—with us to spare his life. We refused (and not even Sonandra protested this killing after seeing the depths of his evil and depravity).

And that is when it happened. Steve launched into a final monologue, and he revealed many plot threads and hinted at things yet to come. We all received information that we found disquieting, but Arminas was perhaps the most shocked.

You see, Corrian revealed that it had not been bandits that slaughtered his family while he was a child: it had been done by the Hextorian Church at the direction and order of none other than Stannis. Stannis (and his superiors) felt that Arminas’s father (never a true believer in Hextor) would pose a threat to their rule, so they were the ones who had him killed. I had grown up believing the lies of those who had brutally killed my family, and then I had served them.

Arminas did not take this well; he didn’t in fact believe it! (Remember, he was a fanatical follower of the Church when we first met him.) But Corrian only laughed at me, and he prophesized that I would indeed discover the truth for myself, discover just how far that I had been betrayed by those to whom I had given my Oath.

And I killed him for it. Arminas grabbed Corrian and snapped his neck. But the words of that old man would haunt him (me) until the end of the campaign.

The Duchy rejoiced at the news of Corrian’s death, and within three weeks, the Barons of Tenh had assembled for Maklin’s coronation and wedding. He assumed the throne, and he pledged to rebuild the Kingdom into a force for Good throughout the North. He forgave the Baron’s their debts, he proclaimed amnesty for all those Corrian had unjustly imprisoned, and he ordered all priests of Iuz and the lower planes put to the sword.

To his companions, he gave many gifts, among them he named us as Knight-Captains of the Halberdier Guards of Tenh—the elite order of knights that traditionally served the Grand Duke.

Thus it was that Arminas tar Valantil became Sir Arminas. Still plagued by Corrian’s final words, I asked Maklin to hold in his treasury the portions of the spoils that he had showered upon me and Sonandra, so that the Church of the Twins could not seize them. That proved to be a wise act by the escalating events that later took place.


Arminas may have been evil, but the DM was way more evil!


So that's why the god said he'd have to choose. I'm rather looking forward to seeing how your GM played out a paladin going to war against their own church and whether she gets her property back.

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