This is the story of the adventures of an unlikely mix of . . . adventurers in the the Blue Kingdoms, as seen through the eyes of one of those adventurers. Obviously, this journal will be colored by the fact that it expresses the experiences and views of just one member of this motley crew. Hopefully it will prove entertaining to some.
First, here's the slightly modified background for our "hero" (a term used rather loosely as you may soon come to realize).
It took me four, long years, but I tracked the pathetic thug down. A crooked smile spread across my face as I watched the sniveling fool draw his last breath. That moment marked the first time I had ever killed another person, and it opened a door that in retrospect, was perhaps better left closed. With my newfound moral compass, I was able to carve out a meager existence for Sonia and myself, scavenging the shadows and taking advantage of careless passersby. The tide of blood rose with each passing week.
I was fourteen when the ramshackle building that Sonia and I called home was set ablaze. In the chaos of the fire, I lost her, my final memory that of her flowing red locks disappearing behind a fiery, tumbling rafter. As I later picked through the wreckage, I knew my failure was complete, for not only had I failed to protect her, but her body could not even be located in the wreckage. Of course, the authorities could have seen to a full and thorough salvage operation, but they could not have cared less. What's one hovel in the slums anyway?
It was as I stood, still picking through the wreckage best I could, that I met him. He was a well-spoken and very well-dressed, middle-aged man that seemed to be taking pity on me. What he was doing in the slums was anyone's guess. All I knew was that this gentle seeming stranger was offering me and home and promising to show me the world. Despite my grief over the loss of Sonia, and the memory of parents, I believed that maybe, for once, things were actually looking up. It appeared that for the first time in my life, I would not have to fight simply to acquire my next meal. Never have I been so wrong as I was that day.
The kind, and I use that term in the loosest possible sense, stranger was Lucien Belargio, a mage who was striving to create the perfect weapon. Or to be more precise, the perfect human weapon. From that day on, I became known only as 8, for there were seven test subjects before me and Lucien could not be bothered to learn our names, opting instead to brand numbers on the inside of our right forearm. The next four years were spent going from one experiment to the next, and from one training session to another. I was already fleet of foot and possessed of unusual strength and grace, but Lucien's experiments enhanced my senses and hardened my body for the torments to come. The "treatments", as Lucien called them, continued with relentless persistence, flooding my body with arcane energy, energy that I soon learned to store and reuse in battle. I hated Lucien, and hated the "treatments", but at least I had a roof over my head and ample food on my plate.
It was soon clear that in me, Lucien had found his perfect weapon. For whatever reason, I was far more receptive to the "treatments" than were the others, and I was already a better natural fighter than any of them. The final test came when he threw us all in some sort of arena and told us only one could leave. When I exited the blood soaked arena, Lucien decided it was time to finally unleash his creation. The wizard had more than his share of enemies and he set me upon them, knowing that I could get far closer to them than he could without raising their suspicions. With each kill, I enhanced Lucien's power, even as I felt my soul slip further and further into darkness, a darkness that I had come to embrace.
For four years I carried out Lucien’s commands, stalking the streets and alleyways under the cover of night. I basked in the comfort of the darkness until I was dispatched to eliminate the family of one of Lucien’s most bitter rivals. The assignment was simple, nothing I had not done before and all signs pointed to it being just another routine execution. I slipped into the home and dispatched the mother and her eldest son. It was as I crept to the top of the stairs that everything changed. She was standing there in the hallway, the daughter of Lucien’s rival, a rival whose name I never even bothered to learn. She could not have been more than ten years old, but it was not her youth that stopped me cold. It was the hair. She was sporting the same flowing, red locks that Sonia had so many years before. With my sister’s face flooding my mind, the horror of what I had become came crashing down upon me. I raced from the home, turning my back on both Lucien and the darkness that I had embraced for so long.
Although I was technically alone for the first time in my life, the images of my sister and the girl from the house haunted my every move. Worse still, my tormentors were not easy to pacify, for I had embraced the darkness for far too long. Mine was a soul split in two, one half relishing the kills as much as the other despised them. Try as I might though, I could not resist the urge for long.
At last I stumbled upon the temple of the Qinggong monks and for once in my life, I was able to find both peace and some semblance of balance. The arcane energies that still flowed through my body made me a natural fit for the teachings of the Qinggong monks, but my thoughts continued to be haunted by red-headed girls. I knew that I had to cleanse my soul of my crimes before I could find peace and thus, rightfully reclaim my true name, and the easiest way to scour my soul was through suffering. It was for this reason that I chose not to resist when the slavers came to take me. Over the next four years though, I began to realize just how foolish I was to allow myself to be taken without a fight and so I vowed to never be so foolish again. When the opportunity finally came, I seized on it at once and savored the all too familiar feeling, even as my sister screamed at me in my mind. I told myself I was only killing those that I had to, but I know it is only a matter of time before I am tempted to embrace my old life. It is just too hard to ignore something that has been a part of you for so long, and for that, I have the wizard to thank. Perhaps I do need to pay for my sins, but first, Lucien needs to pay for his.
Wow, that is a very detailed and well-written character background. I absolutely would like to hear more about your campaign. What system and setting are you using?
Wow, that is a very detailed and well-written character background. I absolutely would like to hear more about your campaign. What system and setting are you using?
Thanks. It's Pathfinder and the game is set in the Blue Kingdoms. Not a published setting per se, but there have been at least a couple of short story anthologies (I believe) published that are set in the Blue Kingdoms.
One side note, as will likely become clear with future updates, DM used Race Points for character creation with a 23 point limit, so there's an interesting mix of races and abilities amongst our heroes. I'll get the updates ASAP. We've had a few sessions now already, so the initial updates should come frequently then taper off after that once I get caught up.
I know, these things are supposed to start with a date. Makes the whole “recording of history” thing more accurate, but when you’ve spent the last four years as a slave, with every day being the same routine of breaking rocks and looking for magic stones, you tend to lose track of the date. In my defense, I felt fairly confident of the date for the first couple of years, but I could only defend against the monotony of slave life for so long. To say nothing of the fact that those damn portals have a way of messing with your sense of time and season. So Day One is going to have to suffice for now.
Anyway, I digress. The point is that I cannot record the date because I simply do not know it. Deal with it.
So, where to start? I suppose to make some sense out of this I should give you a little information on my captors. I believe the demons are in charge, but it’s hard to say. In any event, the illithids and their demonic cohorts are the taskmasters with a select variety of humans serving as henchmen, and every day they direct us to one portal or another in the never ending search for the magic stones. I do not know how the portals came about, who put them there, or even really how they work. All I can surmise is that they must be the work of wizards. Have I mentioned that I hate wizards? Well, I do.
Each day, we were awakened and given a bowl of glop. There’s really no other way to describe it. I mean, I’m not one of those fancy-pants nobles who cries if the bread was baked the day before instead of that day, but even I have standards. Heck, boiled rat tastes better than the glop. And yes, I speak from experience. But I suppose that really isn’t the point either, now is it? So, we’d be awakened and given the glop, then paraded to one portal or another. These portals took us different places each day, and when we arrived, it never seemed to be the same time of day as the last time. Some days we would end up in the ruins of a castle, others we would be in some tunnel deep beneath the surface – at least that’s what the dwarves amongst us would say. Regardless of where we were sent, it was the same drill every day. Dig and look for the stones.
The stones they were looking for are said to be magic. They are oblong, smooth, and roughly the size of my fist. I have no idea what these stones are supposed to do, but our captors seemed very interested in them. Our captors claimed that there are thirteen of these stones in existence and we were to find them all. To date, four have been found, or at least so I hear. There were shouts that one was found just yesterday, but yesterday was a day of chaos and who knows what is and is not true.
You see, yesterday was the day of the quake. Over the last four years I became familiar with the frequent rumblings from beneath my cell but they were minor, nothing to get excited about. Yesterday was different though. Yesterday a massive earthquake struck and the caverns in which we were working shook with tremendous force, bringing an entire chamber down on close to ninety slaves. They died quick and perhaps, they were the lucky ones. At least at the time I thought so. Today though brought an aftershock. The aftershock was just powerful enough to knock the foundation around the cell doors loose, and most of us were wise enough not to hesitate. We ran through the tunnels toward the portals, not knowing where else to go. Our captors, mostly humans on guard duty, attempted to stop us of course, but they were not accustomed to dealing with unshackled slaves and were soon overrun.
I won't lie, in fact I never do, I enjoyed the feeling as extinguished the tiny flames of life. I savored the look on their faces as their eyes went dark. Sonia I am sure would be upset, in fact it seemed as though she were screaming at me though that of course is impossible. After four years or so though, it felt good to do something about it. It felt good to feel alive! Even if that feeling came at the expense of others.
I digress though. When I reached the portal I jumped through. I did not know where it would take me, but anywhere had to be better. One I exited I found myself . . . here. Sorry, but that's the only way to explain it. I do not know where "here" is, only that I was never brought here before while I was a slave. There was a forest just past the portal, for which I was thankful as it made it easier for our groups to split up. It may seem harsh, but better that I would be captors pursue others rather than myself. I raced through the forest and soon found myself running alongside two others. They seemed decent enough but after a few hours they insisted on stopping to rest. I wasn't about to slow down, only the foolish would do so and so our journey together was brief as I continued to race on through the night.
By morning I found myself at a wall. A wall that seemed to serve little purpose. I climbed to the top and looked over and simply found more of the forest on the other side. It seemed logical to follow the wall though and my hunch paid off. I soon found a small group that I recognized to have been among my fellow slaves. They seem like an odd group to come together, but then, when one considers where we came from, perhaps it is not so odd after all.
It was with some relief that I recognized the first of the group, the gnoll Orvago. Now, I'm not exactly a fan of gnolls, but I had the mixed fortune of having spent much of my time in captivity occupying a cell next to Orvago. Whether I wanted him to or not, Orvago seemed destined to tell me everything he could think of. I guess he felt the need to talk and I had the misfortune of eventually being able to actually understand him (something the rest of the group here could not do). Let's just say that gnolls are not the best conversationalists, but I did learn that prior to being captured, Orvago had been a cleric of some sort. While I find Orvago to be annoying at times, I cannot deny that having a cleric with us will be useful.
The next member of the group I was drawn to was Kalidah, an ogre with a strange obsession for plants. She is best described as odd. Never have I known ogres to be interested in plants for anything other than their ability to be turned into clubs, but something about Kalidah says that she is different. She claims to be a druid which is even stranger but again, I cannot deny that this could prove useful.
Next is Glen. At first I was ready to attack him on sight. For you see, Glen is some sort of demon, or devil, I don't know. Apparently there is a difference, but that difference is lost on me, though Glen seems to think it important. At any rate, I was soon assured that he was not one of the slavers, and certainly he did not seem to be trying to capture the group, but still, with his heritage I must certainly keep an eye on him. I do not trust him obviously, but I will see what comes of this. The others tell me that he has proven himself in battle already, so perhaps I am wrong about him.
Finally we come to perhaps the oddest member of this strange grouping. I believe his name is Skree, at least that seems to be about the most we can get out of him. He is some sort of rat creature, a ratfolk I am told. It also appears as though he is a wizard, for he conjures balls of fire seemingly at will, and he can also create water and the others think he has the ability to dabble with other elements. While he can definitely conjure fire and water out of thin air, I am not certain what else he can do. Whenever anyone talks to him he just yells "Skree!" or shakes his head. Did I mention I hate wizards?
So there you have our little group. We are certainly an odd mix, but I seem to recall my mother once saying that sometimes the greatest creations from the most unusual sources. Let us pray that mother was right.