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Well. That information was certainly a shock. And Arminas wasn’t the only member of the party to receive suspect info from Corrian (may he rest in peace). Of course, he could have been lying, but . . . he was convincing. We bid Maklin a fond farewell, and received fresh steeds for the journey back to the Pale.
Bruce (Maklin’s player) had been offered a job out of state, so he was leaving our merry not-so-little band of adventurers. The rest of us, however, had a date with destiny. We rode East from Nevond Nevnend to the city of Atherstone, killing another a dozen assassins that continued to plague us. This time around, we crossed the main bridges at the Pale’s capital city of Wintershiven, and then instead of travelling straight to Midmeadows in the south we pressed east some more, past the township of Dawnin, heading towards the Old City of Wintershiven.
You see, when the Hextorians took over the Pale almost a century before Arminas was born, the Old City was sacked. Rather than rebuild the ruins (at the time), the Hextorians instead built a new and modern city on the banks of the Yol, naming it Wintershiven as well. Now, by this time, the Old City ruins had been (mostly) cleared and were home to a small, but thriving community. But our destination wasn’t the Old City; rather we were headed to a small lake on one of the many tributaries of the Yol.
The lake on whose shores Arminas’s family had built their vineyards. My; excuse me, ARMINAS’s father had been the head of the House of Valens, a minor Suel noble house that had fled the Cataclysms centuries before. The Suel who had settled the Pale were never much taken with religion of any sort—most of their gods had clearly failed to present the destruction of their Empire in the West after all. And Father had been a leader to whom the common Suel of the Pale had looked for guidance.
All of which led Arminas to believe that Corrian’s tale could indeed be true. And if so, he needed to unearth that truth, regardless of the cost. Of course, the estates were now Church property, since I (Arminas) could not own property as a monk. What we discovered there was shocking. And I say that as Arminas with all that he had been through.
The Suel on the estate were not mere serfs—the Pale had never had such a tradition. Our people were free landowners, not servants. But here, on the palatial grounds where the manor had been rebuilt, they were more than serfs—they were slaves. Condemned to such by the Church that I had served, against the laws that Church claimed to uphold. We had been blind to the corruption of the Church before this; strike that.
Arminas had been blind to the corruption. Before now, he had spent his entire life in one monastery cell after the next, travelling only where he had been directed by the Church to accomplish its goals. All the while he had been told time after time that it was for a better tomorrow for the people—the Suel—of the Pale. His people. Never before had Arminas strayed from the course that the Church had cunningly guided him, and he realized now that outside the clean shining cities and majestic temples and serene monastic fortresses, the true plight of his suffering people.
And Arminas grew angry.
The overseers, of course, were not keen on allowing us access to the lands and people. But Arminas only stared at them, and presented his holy symbol. He then asked them if they truly wished to stop agents of the Church from our appointed duties in a voice that dripped with menace. I then, as a matter of fact, simply described to those overseers exactly what I and my companions would do to them should they attempt to get in our way.
(In fact, after the game, Steve said that when I soft that softly and my voice dropped an octave and rumbled in my chest that HE got a chill.)
Of course, that pissed of Sonandra even more, but she too was concerned with the well-being of the people—the slaves—who awaited us. Sakura (god bless him!) only asked me whether I wanted them (the overseers) roasted slowly or quickly with his magics, and even Jaspar got into the swing of things, licking his dagger’s blade as he drooled.
The Overseers let us pass.
The manor was nothing like I had remembered it. Oh, the dimensions were the same, and it had the same granite foundations and lower floors as I pictured it. But the simple, warm, comforting home of my childhood was transformed. It was filthy, unkempt, and in disrepair. The overseers apparently could not be bothered to maintain the domicile. But they had young girls scantily clad aplenty; young slaves they kept locked into their apartments.
We toured the fields, where all but the most basic tools were denied to my people. Who dug into the earth with a trowel and not a shovel. Who weeded with their hands and not a hoe. Who wore rags and went shoeless and stank of poverty and hopelessness.
None would speak to us, but Arminas set his jaw and he continued on. Until at long last, he heard a faint voice—an old and familiar voice.
“Young master?”
It was my father’s youngest armsman, Sir Deleon, the man who had taught Arminas the first basics of swordsmanship when he was a child. He was now a withered old man, his back bent under the years, his teeth missing. It was not right. Deleon was a member of our household—an honored servant who had guarded the House of Valens. And one that the Church had told Arminas had perished in the attack by bandits years before.
Deleon told Arminas the truth at long last—and it was indeed as Corrian had said. The Church had used me as a fool; as a token representative of the Suel, while my people were being held in slavery and abuse. As a player, I was not surprised by this—I knew my alignment going in. But Arminas was surprised and shocked.
He crucified the overseers on the estate and threw open the silos ordering all the slaves to take what they could and go. Sonandra protested—and Arminas slapped her. I admit, he lost his cool, and that didn’t even include his proclamation, “Wife, OBEY THY HUSBAND!”
Oh, she was pissed.
They left Arminas alone after that, and he stood there on the edge of his father’s vineyards watching the overseers slowly die. The party didn’t depart completely; instead they set about making the manor habitable. Only Sakura came out to stand beside me—and he never asked me a single question.
He only said, “We will stand—or die—alongside you. It is your choice.”
And in those words, I could hear the laughing voice of Heironious from the Isle of the Damned.
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Arminas took the freshest two steeds we had used to travel to his family’s former holdings in the early hours of the morning. He left behind a note explaining that he could not, in good conscience, ask the party to accompany him to confront Bishop Stannis. I bid them a fond farewell, and I mounted up and rode hell-for-leather for the capital city of Wintershiven.
By dawn I had arrived in the capital, just as the eastern gates were being opened. Knowing me, the guards allowed Arminas to pass and he galloped through the still empty streets all the way to the Cathedral. Every bit as grand as the Prelate’s Cathedral in Midmeadows, this structure had been the heart and soul of the Hextorian Church for nearly a century. Oh, there was a token adornment to the ‘Twins’ here and there, but at its core this mighty temple was devoted to Hextor, and to him alone.
Up flights of stairs Arminas rushed, and he barged into the private quarters of Bishop Stannis; second only to the Prelate in authority. And he was expecting me.
He offered Arminas wine and breakfast, but the monk refused. And that was when Stannis stood and looked out over the slowly awakening city below.
“See the realm at our command, Arminas,” he said, passing his hand over the city. “The threat has receded after our priests activated the artifact you and your companions retrieved. And with Corrian dead, the threat that Iuz poses is no longer as grave. You have done well, my dark knight.”
He paused and cocked his head. “The time has come to sever the ties of this farce of a church united. Our differences are too profound, too ideologically dissonant to remain tied together. Both sides want this—just as we find the philosophy of Heironious naïve and foolish, so too he hates and fears us. They are preparing a first strike against us here, in our homeland. They are preparing to march upon us in open war. And it will be our Church, our Church that shall prevail.”
Arminas stood still, his face fixed without any outward sign of emotion.
“You, my child, you play a great role here. So long as you and your wife hold to your vows, our Gods are bound to the oaths they have sworn—when you live true to your oath, their United Church still exists, and other powers will hold them to their sworn word.”
Still Arminas did not react.
“You must renounce your ties to the Church of the Twins. Break your oath, and the ties that bind us shall be severed. Come now, it will not be held against you, my champion. Simply swear your allegiance to Hextor alone, and all shall be forgiven.”
Arminas smiled and he took a goblet of wine from the table and drank down a swallow. “All will be forgiven in the eyes of Hextor. Just as he forgave you when you slaughtered my family—my father. Just as he did when you enslaved my people against your own laws.”
Stannis chuckled. “Lies, Arminas. It is all lies. Your companions seek to deceive you; your people live as free landholders as they have for centuries.”
Arminas reached down and pulled a sack from his belt and emptied a dozen signet rings—the rings of the overseers at his family’s holdings—onto the table. Stannis jerked and stared at Arminas.
“No, my Lord. You lie. I have seen the farms; I have seen my people wallow in their misery; I have heard the truth with my own ears. And I will have it from you.”
“You thought perhaps that this Church runs on charity and kindness, Valens? We must be strong, and the weak shall serve us forever!” he shouted.
“YES. Your father was an enemy of the state and of the Church, and for that he died. We ensured that you would live, however, and come to love to the Church, to one day lead your people to their rightful place among the strong in the service of the Tyrant of Hell! Now renounce your oath and pay your homage to Hextor! I command you!”
“No.”
“NO?”
“No,” answered Arminas again. “I shall hold my oath, and it will bind you and our God. I will not break it at the command of a treacherous priest who knows no honor.”
Stannis nodded slowly. “I always thought that you might someday become a problem. Take him,” he said as he suddenly vanished from sight, uttering his word of recall.
A dozen guards leapt into the room, but Arminas was already out the window, slow falling down the side of the Cathedral tower, and he landed in the courtyard. Where dozens—scores—of temple guardsmen emerged and alarm bells pealed out their summons. Arminas was getting ready for the fight of his life—perhaps the final fight of his life—when suddenly a fireball hurtled through the open gate in the walls that surrounded the temple grounds and exploded in their midst.
And through that gate rode my companions. It was a hard fight, but we got clear and across the river, where Maklin (now an NPC) gave us shelter. And it was there in Tenh that we discovered that Stannis had spoken at least one truth—the Heironians wanted us to break our oaths as well. The moment of decision had arrived for Arminas.
Had an "Evil" Group in Forgotten Realms that lasted about 3 years. Honestly, the pace of the game really didn't seem that much different than usual alignments. Granted, the motives and purpose were of a different cut of cloth, but at the end of the day we were still "questing" our way to greatness. If anything, I would be so bold as to say that playing as an evil character carried a severe humbling factor with it. Naturally, the nature of any campaign or game is going to depend entirely on the whims of the GM. In my case, our superiors or would-be superiors did a pretty good job of keeping us under thumb and in our place. The best we were ever afforded was a choice between which evil mastermind we wanted to serve. Even those decisions brought the repercussions of dealing with the party we had refused to serve. In-fighting was never much of a problem. It helps if you have a common purpose to keep things going smoothly, I suppose.
In a Necessary Evil (Savage Worlds Superhero setting: in a nutshell, aliens invade Earth killing all the superheroes, and it's up to the super villains to take back their planet) game I was part of, things were a lot hairier. I have never seen a campaign with such a high turnover rate of players. Even so, the end result "feeling" of the campaign wasn't much different. Things smoothed out in the end, random PCs showing up to try to overthrow the core villains stopped being a factor, and we ended up actually trying to save the multiverse for purely noble reasons at the end. Cue "all the money and power can't fill the void in your soul," cliche.
I suppose, at least in my experience, what I'm saying is Evil campaigns possess a unique perspective on stories that shift from the depraved to a tale of redemption. This isn't a uniform quality by any means (both examples I gave previously definitely had characters just as evil, if not more so, than when we began), just an option that I don't feel factors prominently in a group of do-gooders. A fallen paladin seeking redemption is certainly an interesting thing to play out, but the scope is nowhere near as grandiose as the villain clawing and scratching his way to world dominance only to discover that, despite all that he has accumulated and accomplished, he has nothing.
I'm not attempting to imply that this "bad guy goes soft" is the only cool angle, though. Evil for the sake of evil is a nice change of pace now and then. It all depends on the group and the GM. I don't feel that evil groups are any harder or different to manage than usual groups, though. It's just a different coat of paint and shadier undertones.
Never tried the redemption angle before, might have to use that sometime soon
Never tried the redemption angle before, might have to use that sometime soon
Though it is sometime from now Book Five of "Way of the Wicked" will feature a lengthy article about running a redemptive campaign.
As written "Way of the Wicked" is a pure evil campaign start to finish, but with a few twists, the PCs could repent somewhere in the middle. The article tells you how to modify this particular campaign and any evil campaign in general.
Gary McBride
Fire Mountain Games
*casts Animate Thread*
Mr. Arminas, you're ignoring your responsibilities as a story-finisher here!
==Aelryinth
I'll have the next part of The Chronicles of Arminas up by tomorrow night. But I have been busy. My Star Trek fiction at spacebattles.com (Star Trek: Republic) has been consuming much of my available time.
Master Arminas
And if anyone is interested in my Star Trek fiction, they can read it on the following link: Star Trek: Republic
First three chapters are up and I've got more than 70 responses!
Master Arminas
Dotting. Thanks Arminas. Eager to read more...
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The campaign was getting close to its conclusion. Sandy (the girl who played Sonandra) had been hired out of state; Steve’s wife had received a new posting at Fort Carson and HE would be moving soon. We knew there were only a handful of epic adventures left in this campaign, and they proved well worth our attention.
So there the party was, back in Nevond Nevnend, and things were looking bad. The Church United was falling apart, and both sides were eager to come to blows and settle old scores. And only Sonandra and I stood in their way. Oh, she pleaded with Arminas to change sides, to be reborn into the light and stand tall in the grace of Heironious—but that wasn’t Arminas. That wasn’t who he was.
That night, after Arminas retired and after falling asleep he awoke.
But instead of a dark bedroom in Maklin’s palace, he stood in mighty temple. It was round, with a vault ceiling suspended on marble pillars marching around the perimeter. Surrounding the sunken floor where Arminas stood, there were tables of carved stone, and seats—all sized for Titans, and each marked with the holy symbol of one of the Gods. And he was alone.
There were no doors; there were no windows. No torches, but the chamber was illuminated in a clear soft light.
“Ah, you are aware of your surroundings; that is good,” cackled a harsh voice. Arminas turned and he saw Hextor leaning against one of the tables, the six armed giant with two arms crossed over his chest.
“My Lord,” I said. And Hextor frowned.
“You do not prostrate yourself before me, mortal? Such spirit, such fire. I admire that. Why have you forsaken me, Arminas?”
“I have not, my Lord. I serve the Church of the Twins—as you have commanded.”
Hextor spat. “That congregation has outlived its usefulness. It is time for the Church United to end. My servant Stannis has informed you of this, but you fail him and you fail ME. Cast aside your oath to Heironious and I shall restore you to my service—and I shall deliver unto you Stannis for all of the crimes he has committed against your family. I reward well those who choose to serve me.”
“Forgive me, my Lord,” Arminas said quietly, “but my Oath—that I took at your direction—binds me no longer to you alone. My Oath is to the Twins, and you cannot compel me to break it.”
“I CANNOT COMPEL YOU? You foolish maggot! I am Hextor, I own your SOUL! Swear anew your faith to ME, shatter this Oath to the Twins and I will not send you screaming into my domain to suffer for all of Eternity!”
Now, I don’t know what Steve was expecting; perhaps he thought I might quail against this threat. Perhaps not. He was usually a step or two ahead of us—but I played the role I had chosen to the end.
“No. I shall not break my Oath, freely given. Not even at your command, my Lord. And should you continue to command me otherwise, then it is YOU, o Champion of Law, o Dark Prince; it is YOU who have broken your Oath to ME.”
“You are the Oath-Breaker here, my Lord. By your own words, my bond to you is now severed—be gone, and trouble me no further.”
Well, that was the wrong thing to say to a God. Arminas was flung across the temple and slammed into a pillar. Hextor was FURIOUS, to say the least.
He summoned forth a bolt of lightning in one arm and drew back. “Then your Oath shall die with you!” he screamed and he hurled the bolt towards me.
But it didn’t hit. Hextor snarled and looked around the chamber, and then he wilted. He cowered. And a voice spoke from the air. “So judged. His soul no longer belongs to you.”
Hextor began speaking in a language Arminas couldn’t understand, but it sounded as if he was pleading someone that Arminas couldn’t perceive. But his words got weaker and weaker, and finally Hextor turned back to me. “This is not finished, mortal,” he snarled. “I shall be waiting for you.”
And he vanished.
“Bravo. Bravo!” boomed a third voice, a voice that Arminas had heard before on the Isle of the Damned. He turned and there stood Heironious, clad in his shining mail. “My brother does not warrant such loyalty to an ideal—you stand on the edge of redemption, Arminas tar Valantil. Swear yourself to my service alone, and you will earn a place in the ranks of my knights.”
Oh boy.
“Together, Arminas, we can vanquish Hextor’s religion from your land and free your people of their servitude. After all, I am the God of honorable warfare, of just conflicts for the right causes. What better cause that to free your people from their enslavement at the hands of my brother’s priests? Join ME, swear your Oath to ME, and we will cast aside this farce of Church which has bound my plans for too long.”
Were they all blind?
“You claim a difference between yourself and Hextor—and yet, you plot and scheme as much as He. You engineer the formation of a Church—a Church which you, my Lord, swore into being as a means to fight the Plague which we have now vanquished. It is an oath that you would now ignore solely because it has proven to be inconvenient in your war against Hextor!”
“Inconvenient? No child. There is more here at stake that you realize. Good and Evil are preparing for a final conflict, and I shan’t be yoked with Evil. Swear allegiance to me, end this Church, and you will have my promise that Hextor shall never touch your undying soul.”
“A yoke that you willingly put around your neck, my Lord. No. Demand this of me and you as well shall be an Oath-breaker, Lord of Honorable Battle! You seek to circumvent your oath through loop-holes and the shredding of the SPIRIT of your own words; you seek to buy my loyalty with the promise of you protection. I need no such protection from a false God who lies. May a pox lie upon both you and your brother—with whom you are far closer in spirit than you care to admit to yourself!”
Now Heironious grew wrathful. I seem to have a knack for pissing off Gods.
But he didn’t attack me. He glared at me. “So be it. You refuse my protection; you shall not have it. You refuse my own of redemption; you shall be cast into the pit of Hell upon your death. You refuse to serve under my guidance in this Our War upon Evil; then my champion will finish you.”
He stopped and looked over his shoulder, and his expression dropped, his complexion turned to ash, as a third God appeared. Lendor, the head of the Suel pantheon.
“Your threats are pointless, Heironious. He belongs to neither of you—and his Oath is no longer binding. You and your brother are once more free to deal violence upon each other, and your followers the same.”
“And him?” Heironious asked, pointing to me. You will claim him then?”
“I claim him not. For he belongs only to himself. His fate is neither in the hands of you or your brother.”
Heironious nodded and turned back to Arminas. “Know this, Arminas tar Valantil. Despite what is to come, you shall not enjoy the fruits of your labors.”
And he left. And Arminas stood there with Lendor.
“Why?” he asked the God.
“Despite your past deeds, you know what is important to your own self. You know yourself. You held to your Oath despite all that the Gods themselves did to persuade you to break it. And for that, I grant you freedom from the oaths that you have sworn, and the freedom to make your own choice on what lies ahead. Take that freedom, child of Suel; take it, live your life, and depart from this hallowed place.”
And so Arminas did. He woke in his bed back in Maklin’s palace, and he cast aside his holy symbol. Never again would he wear the symbol of any god or goddess, nor would he bow his head or bend his knee towards them. Lendor he respected, but did not worship. But he would be the target of Hextorian wrath to the end of his days.
The following day, Arminas told his companions of what had transpired in the night. Sonandra was crushed that he had rejected the offer of Heironious for Arminas to take up arms at his side—at her side.
“I don’t understand,” she wailed. “We have been through so much together—we have accomplish great things together. Why are doing this?”
Arminas looked at her with pity. “I cannot worship him—he is an Oathbreaker.”
“I gave up my life for you; my family has been made paupers because of you. You betray us!”
“Would you have back your life, Sonandra?”
“Yes! And we can regain it together, Arminas,” she pleaded. “Join us. Heironious will forgive you. I-I . . .” she looked down at the floor in character. And she grinned at us players in game! “Damn it, I love you!”
We all smiled. And, well, I couldn’t resist. “I know. But my dear, I have never loved you. Everything I have done has been out of duty. But I give you one final gift. As the last man who held onto his Oath to the Church of the Twins, by the laws that the Church encoded, I hereby, in front of these witnesses, and sight of all of the Gods, do divorce you. Live your life. Reclaim your life.”
We had one last game session the week afterwards. We didn’t game that session, but Steve gave us our future history.
Maklin ruled Tenh justly, living to the ripe old age of 97. He was remembered fondly by his people, and he had five strong children that unified that realm, tying together the various baronies into a strong central government under his firm rule. He remained friends with Arminas to his last days and supported the campaign that Arminas waged against the Theocracy.
Sonandra gave up the sword and retired to a quiet nunnery in Urnst. She renounced her remaining wealth, giving it to the poor and at long last gained peace.
Loeweinbrough found the glory that he had been seeking, becoming a renowned knight errant on a hundred different battlefields. He fought off every assassination attempt by the Guild and died in his sleep at the age of 68, being the most unusual and ineffective Grandfather of Assassin’s in Greyhawk history.
Jaspar returned to Greyhawk City where he became the Guild-master of the Nighthawks, a thieves’ guild that controlled the streets and alleys where the Watch did not dare patrol. He amassed wealth and notoriety and died many years later in a hot-tub he was sharing with six lady halfling concubines.
Clement decided to journey eastward with Arminas. Together they fought against the Theocracy until at long last the Hextorians were defeated and driven from the Pale. He may have had moral qualms about how Arminas accomplished things, but he respected Arminas for holding to his given word. Although he tried to convert Arminas to the faith of St. Cuthbert, he knew it was a forlorn hope.
Sakura as well journeyed with his friend and fought in the Palish Wars. True to the end, he died only a week before victory was declared. Arminas honored his friend, who perished in battle and invited his family to come to the Pale and live in peace.
As for Arminas himself? He did free his people. He drove the Hextorians from the Pale and tore down the Theocracy. He repaid Stannis in full for all his evil, and he assumed the ancient throne of Wintershaven as Prince Regent. But his story did not end there.
For the final words spoken by Heironious were not bluster, but prophecy. On the morning after his coronation, Arminas was stolen away by powerful summoning magic, and taken to a world far distant from Oerth, a world in need of heroes. He never saw his homeland again. But he remained Arminas until the day he died.
And of his tales in that distant place? That my friends, is another story.
For five years, I played in this campaign. It was my first campaign an, to this very day, it remains my favorite. I was honored to have such an excellent DM and wonderful friends and gamers who made all of our characters come to life.
May you and your games be as fun and as memorable as this one was for me.
Master Arminas
PURE AWESOMENESS!!!! You really know how to leave someone wanting more.
*bows in respect to such a tale-weaver*
I loved the ending, but I wish there was more of the story!
Well done, although the wrap-up could have used more, um, gore and carnage. Heh!
==Aelryinth
Amazing story Master Arminas, thanks for sharing it with us
Best.
Thread.
Necro.
|
In general, two things support evil campaigns:
1: A Setting that allows evil to function.
I'm currently doing skull and shackles and our "neutral" party is basically an evil one. The Pirate theme does wonders to allowing our unofficially evil characters to function. A mercenary band, a quest to destroy a holy relic, or to free an unholy god or demon. The setting shouldn't just justify a party of all evil characters, it should require it.
2: Characters that have goals first, and are evil second.
Too often players find they are allowed to be evil and start doing it as the goal of their character. Each character needs a goal. It could be a convoluted goal or one with barely any logic, but they need that goal. This is especially important as it aids to justify why the PCs have decided to form a party. Evil doesn't just socialize because, "we're all evil here," they need motive.
Personally, I'm a fan of parties with both evil and good, but the above is how I'd keep a pure evil game going.