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[Glass]

Yes to Truth Enhanced Training
Yes to An Honest Friar (over the original)

And yes, I will pay for all of it.

[Glass]

A nice day, all things considered

Meyli was sitting on the porch, sewing up some old clothing. The sun was beaming down, but there was a gentle breeze, sweeping away the sharp edge of its heat. Inside, she could hear her children yelling cheerfully, probably playing one game or another.

Normally they’d have been out in the field around now - well, her older children would, at least. Not little Tammel, still toddling around the floor. But Jaxel, Sirna, and Mori would have been. Her husband, Ganin, most certainly would have. But no, that wasn’t necessary anymore.

She very carefully didn’t look out into the fields. Oh, she was thankful, no doubts about that, but... did they really have to be... that? Oh, they were clean, yes, and they were half again as far through the field preparation as they ever had been before, but... skeletons? They were a rather unnerving sight, even if they were perfectly pleasant and helpful.

She kept working on the clothing. Well, the neighbor Dhena had seen some clothes up for her skeletons, and when she went over for tea, a quick glance out into the field there didn’t give her the shivers like it did at home. She knew she was being silly - they were skeletons, clothed or not - but it just, made her feel better. She’d get used to it, honest. But in the meantime, well.

She shouldn’t even be complaining, really. She’d never seen Ganin more happy than that first evening he came home from one of the training forges. It was hard work still, sure, but blacksmiths were respected, blacksmiths were... well, not necessarily wealthy, but certainly moreso than a peasant was. And with the time available to dedicate to the craft - why, a truly good blacksmith might only need to take on a job a month! And even besides her husband’s new passion, she certainly knew she enjoyed what she did now more. Oh, yes, she was sewing now, much as she used to, but it wasn’t quite the same. Saunder’s Vale was already somewhat richer, and that came with new goods for sale - included nicer threads, nicer sewing needles, nicer looms and the like. Dyed threads, even, which Meyli had taken a particular liking to. She’d actually made some artworks, now, decorative needlework taking over where sewing was no longer something done out of need. It was quite nice, truly.

All because they’d taken charity from a Lich King...

Any further doubts were interrupted, however, by the opening of the front door.
“Mama, look!”

Mori - her second-youngest - proudly displayed what was clearly a crudely-whittled wooden duck. Meyli, gladly took it to look over, before she noticed a small dot of red on the backside and her face turned stern. “Mori, did you cut yourself?”

He wilted under her gaze. “Only a little...” he said, as he offered his left hand to his mother; indeed, there was a small nick on the inner edge of his palm, likely where the paring knife slipped during his carving. The bleeding had already stopped, though it was still red.

Meyli sighed; she couldn’t be that upset with him, gods knew she’d done the same a child. “It’s alright, Mori, just be more careful in the future.” He brightened back up at that.

“Mama, I want to be a carpenter when I grow up! Woodworking is fun!” His eyes were gleaming; Meyli wasn’t sure where he’d heard the word “carpenter”, and she doubted that he’d stay focused on it for that long, but he certainly sounded confident.

She patted him on the head affectionately, before handing him back his duck. “I’m sure you can be, one day. Now go put that on the shelf for display.”

As Mori dashed back inside, she looked contentedly after him.

If he wanted to be a carpenter, she was sure he could be. After all, he didn’t need to be a farmer anymore.

She returned to her sewing, humming a hopeful tune.

[Glass]

The Kindlewitches

Witch burnings are mildly common. Those that contain actual witches are unfortunately a bit rarer; those that contain actual witches who actually deserve it are depressingly rare. Most witches who need to be killed are slain much more expediently, frequently by the means of a crossbow bolt through the head, a blade through the neck, or a divine smiting, typically during a raid by professional witch-hunters on an offending coven. Despite this, as witch-burnings are the form of killing most often seen by the public, it is them that have been engraved into the public consciousness as the proper way to slay a witch.

This makes the Kindlewitches all the worse of a problem for society.

Every Kindlewitch was once somebody who was partially burnt at the stake, before the coven swept in to interrupt and recruit them. Don't mistake them as heroes of the downtrodden; this practice is done solely to ensure that all members have a reason to despise the rest of civilization, as well as marked in such a way as to make sure they can never participate in said society without notice. What drives the Kindlewitches is revenge and a desire to inflict their own suffering on others, explaining their focus on pyroturgy over other magics, as well as their twisted rituals of capturing villagers and priests to burn as sacrifices to their god, the Lord of Cinder. Notably, even recruits who had shown no capacity for the arcane prior to their burnings have been known to exhibit the trademark spellcraft of the Kindlewitches, indicating that these rituals may also be used to grant power to the members of the coven. Furthermore, Kindlewitches are universally immune to mundane flames and resistant to fire-based magics, and frequently revel in goading villagers to attempt to burn them at the stake.

Most covens, preferring safety in secrecy, broadly avoid the Kindlewitches, but given their habit of interrupting witch burnings, they are nonetheless given a measure of respect. The same relationship cannot be said to exist between Kindlewitches and those covens that reside closer to society; the Kindlewitches see the latter as traitors to witchhood for daring to interact with what they claim are witch-burners-to-be, while village and city witches decry the Kindlewitches as troublemakers who defile the image of witches and sustain the practice of witch-burning due to constant antagonism against folks who would otherwise have no issues with witchery; an unstated undercurrent to the conflict is the belief among witches closer to society that the Kindlewitches are jealous of their relatively-accepted positions, though any who actually dare to say as such can expect a rather short life prior to their immolation.

[Glass]

Somewhere else

"Did you hear about the lich?"

The workshop was loud, with the whir of a dozen lathes and the patter of wood shavings being flung at the wall and floor filling the air. Nonetheless, the second apprentice heard the first, and his work slowed for a moment.

"There's a lich about? Not anywhere around here, are they?" In his distraction, his knife got lodged in the cup he was carving, and he cursed under his breath as his companion responded.

"Oh, no, not here. Out in the countryside, closer to Velchire. A long ways off, you know. But still, a lich! Imagine if we could go out and slay it, we'd be heroes!"

Knife dislodged, the first apprentice's friend scoffed. "We'd be dead, more likely. Come on, now, do you even know how to swing a sword? The church'll handle it before we could ever hope to get there, besides. Let's get back to work before someone decides we're slacking off."


"Aaahm- ahm'a tellin ye! It wa- i' wah tow'rin', it-"

"That's enough, Huber. I told you, you've had enough. I'm cutting you off."

Tareth never liked having to cut off a customer, but any good barkeeper had to; customers who get too stupid from drink have a bad habit of getting themselves killed in one dumb way or another, which, besides weighing on his conscience, was bad for business. But this one was stubborn.

"I' jus- i' just arrire- arri- arviv- came! It came, didn', din' care i' wa holy groun-"

And, for that matter, he was scaring off the guests. Well, some of them. Some of them were gathering around to watch the poor bastard blubber nonsensically, but they weren't paying as much attention to their drinks, which meant he wasn't selling as many. And really. A lich king? Really? Just cropping up in the ass-back of nowhere to scare the shit out of some random friar and his entourage?

Who'd believe that?


"I'm tired, mom."

"I know, honey. We're almost done."

They weren't, really. Ever since Gerard died, the harvests had always been tough. But they had to be done by the end of the week - before the taxman came. The taxes had been raised last year, and she was certain they'd be raised again this year.

Damn the earl.

They worked in silence a few more minutes, before her son spoke up again.

"I wish somebody else could do this."

"So do I, honey. But everybody else has to harvest their fields, too."

Her son's face gained a contemplative expression. "I heard old miss Baker talking-"

Her face hardened. "Don't listen to that old bat. Her age and her magic have driven all the sense out of her, I swear to you."

Her son's expression, though, resolutely refused to change. "No, really! She got news from over in this place called, called Saunder’s Vale! You don't need a person to do the work. She said a necra- necro- a guy came who can make the skeletons move!"

Every word he spoke, her stomach fell a few more inches.

Where had she gone wrong?

[Kilojoule Proton]

B
No to the proposed friar mind whammy; becoming the very monster we fought can wait for another, more thematically appropriate day.
Yes to smithing training?

[chubby2man]

The Merry Stag had seen better days, presumably. Soot clings to the walls, and the hearth fire burns rather dismally. It was crowded though, with hard-bitten men and women nursing their drinks and giving you hard stares. Well, you suppose you could have done better to dress the part, your robes don’t really mesh with their stained gambesons and chainmail.

You walk to the bartender and order a drink. The bartender stares at you for a moment before shrugging and pours you a mug of ale. You take a sip, somewhat curious what it would taste your deadened senses. To your disappointment, but not your surprise, it passes tasteless through your lips. It takes a conscious effort to swallow, you realize with an internal groan. It might take a while to pass the ale through your system.

But the conversation returns to the room, with these veterans returning to their talk. Most conversation circles around their anger against the Kingdom of Learhorn and the king surrendering so much territory to the Aenorian Empire.


“We broke that fokin army on the field! And the King just hands us over after bleeding for him!”

“We could have pushed them back to Leonias’s Shrine. We had them. . .”

“Aye, I saw the charge of their Golden Lords. Terrible they were, those elves. Cut through us like fokin butter. But we stood firm for two charges! They ran before we did. Brought a few of those high riders down. . .”


In the corner, however, you see three men continuing to stare at you. Shrugging your shoulders, you make your way over.

The one in the middle is tall and broad, with a chiseled face, light brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. His frame belies an easy grace, befitting a confident warrior.

He inclines his head to you, “Hello there, good man. I am Sir Thaddington, of the Summer Order,” he shoves a stool towards you with his foot. He gestures for you to sit.


You do not.


He glances at his companions. One bears the same crest, a golden flame, that of the Summer Order, but the other bears a sun and frying pan. A knight of Solstice, you presume.


Sir Thaddington leans forward, “You wouldn’t happen to be a spy for the Aenian’s, would you?”


“No, I am not. You may call me Magnimian the Unholy,” You fold your arms in front of your chest.


The Solstice Knight’s grizzled face shows no emotion at your words, but his grip on his dagger loosens slightly. Thaddington snorts,
“Well, better a friendly Lich King than a spy. A few villages we have stopped by have spoken well of you. What is your business with us?”



You look at the knights and say-

A- “Your presence is a threat to the peace I am building here, you need to take your war elsewhere.” If they won’t leave, you’ll force them to.

B- “ You will leave my villages out of this. You may ask me for any ‘donations.’” Protect the villages and force rebels to deal with you.

C- “Perhaps we can discuss a closer partnership?” Seek to become partners or allies with the rebels.


Also won't make too much of a habit of this, but:
Truth Enhanced Training Retcon? 1 Dominion, action already invested.
-Yes
-No

And Glass earns 3 dominion for lore submissions.

[Glass]

It sounds to me like these guys are legitimate soldiers who mostly got screwed by politics and the bigger strategic picture. We can likely work with that. C.

Also, Yes, because I'd like to make sure that the training we're giving these guys is made relevant.

[Kilojoule Proton]

C

[Madman198237]

It sounds to me like these guys are legitimate soldiers who mostly got screwed by politics and the bigger strategic picture. We can likely work with that. C.

Also, Yes, because I'd like to make sure that the training we're giving these guys is made relevant.

+1

[King Zultan]

C
Yes

[killerhellhound]

Oooh, which parts?

The Acterianism religion
and The Knights of Solstice

Im a sucker for Heroic characters who flip off cultural expectations

[Glass]

The Petitioners

To most people, the Petitioners are one of the nicer knightly orders, dedicated to charitable actions and bettering the lives of others. Oh, yes, they’re certainly pretentious, and gods know they’re condescending as all hells, but better condescending and helpful than haughty and disdainful. They are still nobles, after all.

And then somebody or another gets it in their head to try to steal some of the Petitioners’ goods, because if they have enough to give away, they certainly have enough to be worth taking, right?

And then people are reminded that the Petitioners’ charity is a symptom of their primary cause: to fix the world. And the Petitioners’ primary plan for how to do this is not charity, but rather to find a way to reach the gods, and then beat them up until they’re willing to cooperate with fixing the broken world they’d made.

The religion of the Petitioners is an interesting one: they believe that the gods created the world, but that when they did, they did a crappy job of it. All the world’s ills, in their eyes, are due to oversights and shortcuts made when the gods were creating the world, and that while the gods would be capable of fixing these issues, they are too incompetent, too lazy, too stubborn, too something to be willing to fix these issues without coercion. To this end, the primary occupation of the Petitioners is - or at least, has been - training their martial and magical prowess with the intent of reaching a point where they can access the domain of the gods and beat them in a fight - to deliver their eponymous “petitions”.

Or at least, that has been their purpose. Recent events have been unkind to the Petitioners, most notably the recent discovery that gods can in fact be created through the faith of worshippers, rather than having already existed and waiting for worship before they respond to mortals. This had enormous repercussions across the world despite the finding’s suppression, but for the Petitioners in particular, it was a massive blow to their belief in the culpability of the gods in the state of the world. Many members left to join other, more purely-charitable organizations, no longer able to believe in the Petitioners’ mission. Others have chosen to throw themselves into the study of reaching heaven - even if the gods did not create the world, they are the strongest beings in it, and enlisting their aid in fixing the world would still be an enormous boon to their ultimate goal. Yet others refuse the idea that no god created the world, and have set out on massive archaeological expeditions to attempt to identify the first, “true” god, who should be the target of their attentions. It is a tumultuous era for the Petitioners, and the ultimate fate of the order remains in question.

[Glass]

Plaguedelvers

Disease is a constant of life. Not always dangerous diseases; common colds, random fevers, and similar such ailments comprise most of the illnesses that any given person is likely to contend with through most of their lifetime, but it’s a rare person who’s never been sick. Most illnesses and injuries can be addressed by a quick visit to the village medicine man, or with a small donation to one of the plentiful small temples dedicated to assorted healing divinities. For larger problems, there are larger churches, who can frequently find one priest or another strong enough to help, though it’ll likely take a while and come with a hefty due.

Some diseases, however, will not be touched by the church. They’ll say you’re cursed, or perhaps the plague choking your town is a divine punishment. Their prophets have received a vision that to visit the region you inhabit is to invite doom, or their clerics’ talents are too occupied with healing those within the capital city. Whatever the reason, sometimes, the church will not help you.

In such cases, one relies upon the Plaguedelvers.

Despite the rather official-sounding name, the Plaguedelvers are no monolith; rather, they are closer to a network of mundane medical personnel, independent clerics, healing mages, druids, witches, and any others capable of doing work to assist the medical needs of the needy and willing to go into areas of danger to do so - including the depths of plagued regions, earning them their name. No two Plaguedelvers are guaranteed to have similar practices; surgeons with a purely-material method of healing a broken arm coexist with alchemists who will make health-bolstering concoctions and witches using death magic to directly kill the bacteria and viruses afflicting their patient. There is constant discord among those who call themselves Plaguedelvers, debating what methods are most effective, safest, most reliable, easiest to teach, and a myriad of other measurements - debates that, even as they make divisions within the network, help to drive the various fields of healing to new heights. Only their drive to heal ties the organization together, but the bond is tight nonetheless.

All Plaguedelvers wear an avian mask as an identifier - once a protection devised by the mundane members of the network, now a recognizable mark of healing for the desperate, albeit a highly variable one. Many wear clothing warded against disease, so as to ensure that their patients will not be infected by those who came to heal them, while those who cannot afford such garb make a habit of constant washes or application of flames, both of which are known to sanitize their materials, albeit at the cost of durability.

The reputation of the Plaguedelvers among more organized healing organizations is varied, not only from group to group, but from time to time. Some appreciate them for helping where they cannot; others despise them for assisting those whom they believe to have earned their plight. Regardless, the Plaguedelvers continue to dive into suffering to alleviate it, wherever it may be.

[chubby2man]

“Perhaps we can discuss a closer partnership?” You say.
“I need allies here, a sword to keep foes at bay. And I imagine that you wouldn’t mind a patron, someone to help with supplies and more. . . Esoteric matters.”


The knights glance at each other, and Thaddington clears his throat.
“Well, it’s an unusual offer, but not one that we would be too opposed to. “


Negotiations are going well. You are ambiguous on your stance on the Aenian Empire, promising defensive aid while not promising to help lead an invasion. They agree that they will help protect the villages and your tower from bandits and incursions.


And then someone kicks down the door.


A tall armored knight strides through, sword at the ready, and behind him a crowd of foot soldiers with weapons bared.


The armored warrior blares out, “By order of the Baron, lay down your arms!” One of the men by the door rushes him, but the knight brushes aside the charge and brutally cuts his attacker near in two with a swing of his blade.


There is a moment of stunned silence before Thaddington stands and draws his sword. “Altain you rat.”


Altain shrugs his plated shoulders. “Surrender or die, Thaddington.”

Well it seems you are submerged in a brewing conflict. You feel a rush of energy as you

LEVEL UP.
GAIN 2 Effort.
1 more Influence and turn action.
Attack bonus +1
+5 health

 
You have 2 points available. Each lesser gift costs 1 point, greater gifts cost 2. You are not required to take a gift from each word.

Lich King:

Lesser:
Bonefather:
Commit effort for the scene. You can summon a small mob of 1HD skeletons per every 2 levels you have, or one Undead Minion with twice your level in hit dice. This Minion must be from a corpse(s) that are no more than a month dead, and have not been blessed or consecrated. Both mobs and minions are preserved until this power is used again, upon which their bodies disintegrate.  The Minions can be preserved for 1 Dominion, but then become more independent of your will.



 Fist of the Grave
 Your unholy, eldritch power grants you a 1d10 magical attack with a 200 foot range. On a successful hit, you may Commit Effort for the scene as an Instant action to gain twice the attack's damage as hit points of personal healing, up to your usual hit point maximum

Greater Gifts:
Rage of the Eternal (Smite)
Commit effort for the day while making an attack. Channeling the Truth embedded in your being, you empower your attacks to do straight damage on a hit. On a miss it still does normal damage.


Truth

Lesser Gifts:

Purity of the Brilliant Truth:
Commit Effort for the scene. Defensively dispel a hostile magical
effect on yourself or offensively dispel another gift for a round as if
with a miracle. This gift functions more swiftly than a conventional
miracle of dispelling, and the Effort need not be committed for so long.

A Truth That Burns
Commit Effort for the scene and choose a visible target. Learn the
knowledge of them or their plans that they least want you to know,
as judged by the GM. Worthy foes get a Spirit saving throw to resist
this subtle inquisition.


Greater Gifts:
Mutable Truth:
Commit Effort for at least the scene and choose a target in sight. You can alter their inner truths, including who they are loyal to and  their willingness to live. Lessar foes cannot resist. Worthy foes may use a Spirit saving thow to resist. This Truth may be reconsidered in the case of being very improbable or suicidal once the effort is reclaimed.



Underworld.

Lesser Gifts:
Blessing of the Eyeless Constant
You are invulnerable to heat and corrosives. With an action you can commit effort to share your sightless senses and your lack of need for air and sustenance to your companions for as long as you commit the effort.

Illimitable Darkness:
Commit Effort for the scene to utterly darken all non-divine lights within one hundred feet per character level for the rest of the scene, creating a zone of perfect blackness. Fires still burn, but they emit absolutely no light, and no new illumination can be created while this gift holds. This radius of darkness moves with you. Worthy foes can save versus Spirit to intentionally create light, but only they can see the light they create. Blind creatures are usually unable to use ranged attacks and roll melee attacks twice, taking the worse hit roll.

Greater Gifts:
Keeper of All Beneath
Commit Effort for the day and indicate a particular person, object or type of object that you are physically capable of lifting. If such an object is anywhere below ground level within a half mile per character level, you draw it forth from the earth, regardless of how well-guarded or well-hidden it may be. Conversely, you may instead transport yourself and your companions to any chosen subterranean location within a half mile per level. This gift cannot move you or your allies more than ten miles total per hour.


Generic (Any Word)
Lesser Gifts:

Divine Wrath: Commit effort for the scene, and Smite a chosen foe with divine energies, doing 1d8 of damage per character level.

Corona of Fury: Commit effort for the scene, and unleash your power in a chosen 30ft area. Does 1d8 damage per every 2 levels. May choose to spare allies, but offers a saving throw to your targets. Does straight damage to Mobs of enemies.



Note:Votes should be done in plan form, as in don’t vote for individual gifts, but instead for whole combinations. You may include other gifts not included above.

And Glass earns another 2 dominion.

[King Zultan]

Keeper of All Beneath

This one seems like it'd be a really good panic button for when shit goes down, so I vote for it.