Print

Please login or register.
1 Hour 1 Day 1 Week 1 Month Forever
Login with username, password and session length

[Glass]

Little Hunter

Her prey was near. Out of sight, yes, but the sound of their steps was clear in their ears. Around... yes, just over there.

She stalked over, making certain not to let her own movement produce any sound that might alert her quarry. It wouldn't do to get this far, only to lose them as they scurried off.

There it is. Grazing, wholly unaware of her presence. Excellent. She readied herself, preparing to make her move-
When suddenly, a great thud startled the rat, which dashed away - only to be suddenly intercepted by the sudden descent of a scythe's blade, piercing the pest through its skull.

Huntress ever-so-casually strode out of her hunting crouch and over to where the blade-bearer was removing the rat from their scythe with a bony hand. Obviously, this had been her plan all along. Yes.
Sidling up to the quiet harvester, she took a regal seat and looked up expectantly. The new farmer's face was rather less expressive than the old one, but they served her well enough regardless. Their rictus grin shortly descended, as the rat's corpse was proffered to her, as was right; she daintily plucked it from their hand and began to sup upon it. Before she could, however, she was ever so rudely interrupte-

Oh that feels good. Yes, right there, behind the ears. That feels excellent. Ooooh, yes, the chin.
Aaaaaaaaah, bliss. She hadn't been able to scratch that part anywhere in the barn, all the little overhanging pieces were too flexible to get in properly, and the old farmer's fingers were too fat and soft to get in and scratch properly.
Yes, yes, excellent- no. Do not stop. Yes, right there. Gooooood.

Okay, that is enough. You are dismissed.

The skeletal farmer moved on, depositing some wheat before departing from the building, probably to do more farmer things. Huntress, meanwhile, partook of the tribute that had been granted to her.
Yes, the new farmer was proving themselves an excellent vassal. Life was good.

[King Zultan]

Plan: The tower isn't necessary, right?

-And They Call it a Mine (2 dominion variant): With a wide variety of metals and gemstones, we get a lot of opportunities from industrial, economic, and arcane perspectives, especially after beind paired with our growing number of blacksmiths (though we may want to invest in also spreading the gemcutting industry).
-Talk of Farrow Town: First off, this happens after the mine. Why? Because merchants are much easier to make friends with once you have some goods to show them. Anyway, getting the people here friendlier with us grants us a more populated location from which to spread influence, as well as granting us further protection by dint of the shield of a positive public perception.
-Move the Rebels into a nice Cave: I explained why this would be helpful in An Opportunity, but the key is that by functionally removing the rebels from any visible location, we buy a ton more time and can also help them become better faster. Building off of that...
-Red Fox: Training your Rebels (Pathfinder variant): Guerilla warfare meshes wonderfully with the ability to get around underground. The Baron's army won't know what hit them.
-Lianna: Recruit a Coven: There's no reason not to keep working on this. Perhaps they can't be brought to our tower yet, but we could work on having them integrated with the rebels; magic support would be a great boon to them.
-Adventure: Explore the Complex at the bottom of the Lake: Come on, we have to. Besides, there's little reason to confront the Baron right now since we're having the rebels hidden and specialize into guerilla combat, while the holy investigators shouldn't become much of a problem when our home location is relatively secret and unassuming and the people like us.

Total Dominion cost: 3
I can pay for all of that, and also making Creahorn's recalibration permanent, which would come out to 4. [This has been explicitly stated to be a waste of a Dominion point.]

Also, what's the cost for giving the other villages nearby the skeleton workers?

+1

[chubby2man]

Wealth Rules Rule Change 2

I’m going to simplify the wealth rules somewhat. Since our boy can summon vast amount of wealth to hand, it doesn’t make sense on our scale to keep much track of how much exactly we have at hand at a particular time.

Instead, with our gift selection, we will have the wealth act as another form of Influence you can invest in things where it would make sense that having continual financial investment would help.

Your wealth base will be your level X2, and can be added to through adventures. So currently, you have 4/4 wealth available to be invested.

[Glass]

So as an example of what Wealth would be helpful for, it could be used for “Training your Rebels”, but not for “And They Call it a Mine”, yes?

Would “And They Call it a Mine” be something that increases wealth?

[chubby2man]

So as an example of what Wealth would be helpful for, it could be used for “Training your Rebels”, but not for “And They Call it a Mine”, yes?

Would “And They Call it a Mine” be something that increases wealth?

1- Yes. It can start off due to your gifts (blessing the pathfinders), and as long as it makes sense that it could be maintained through wealth, wealth points can be used to maintain it.

2- I’m going to say no for now. I may give you options in the future to turn raw resources into wealth points, but for now they can be used to unlock further options, or create raw resources for you to use for building or equipping armies, or other in-game uses.

[Fluffe9911]

Creahorn’s values certainly are pliable ones. In this case you don’t need to add values, such as they were. Instead, you strengthen his loyalty to the General, which had almost withered away, taking away his over-indulged self interest.

Man we would make a killing as a therapist

[Rockeater]

PTW

[Glass]

Now all you merry blacksmiths...

I thought to make a horseshoe and asked my hammer thus
He said, "I'll ask the anvil what you require of us"

Her name was Alethea Ashton, and they said she was the greatest blacksmith in the world. No, greatest craftsperson in the world.

The hammer asked the anvil and she at once agreed
That they should meet together in the way that I decreed

If you needed a tool repaired, she could return it in mere moments, better than new. If your horse's saddle was wearing out, she could reinforce it better than ever, practically before you left the room.

I thought to make an anchor, for taking on the main
The hammer and the anvil relented once again

Rumor says somebody dragged a shipwreck across the forest to her, just to see what she'd do with it. She gave it an appraising look, and the next day, not only was it fixed, it had wheels.

So they sat there together, as I prepared the cast
They braced themselves for impact like a sailor on the mast

The people loved her, of course, and she loved them back. Her services were free to all, though she allowed traders bearing her goods to charge a nominal fee. They still had to transport them, after all.

I thought to make a broadsword, for fighting on the field
Much as I know the hammer is a nobler thing to wield

There's one thing she won't do, though.

For though us humble tradesfolk choose a quiet life
The gods of war come to the door of the hammer and his wife

Never, no matter how hard-pressed, no matter how many ask her to do it.

They asked me for a statue of the general who died
A sword raised in his iron fist and a warhorse sat astride

"I will not make you a sword. I will not make you a battle-axe. I will not make you armor nor arrowheads, nor any other instruments of war. Begone."

And though I knew they'd try me for what I did decide
I stuck a hammer in his fist and an anvil by his side

And so even as the people loved her, the king and his generals despised her. And the love of a people cannot hope to stand against the rage of a king.

Now all you merry blacksmiths, a warning take by me
Stick to your country horseshoes and your anchors for the sea

And so Alathea Ashton fled, under cover of night, under cover of floorboards, out of watchful sight of the king's men. Across the countryside, the forges lay dark, coals left as cool ashes in protest.

When the gods of war come calling, promising you gold
They'll take your hammer, take your anvil, take your very soul

Where is she now? Who knows? It's been years since she was last seen; she could be anywhere. But... they say that every now and then, a cloaked tinker comes to town. Silent, but helpful. They don't stick around, but you'll hardly need them to once everything's been fixed.

And it's sparks a-flying, passion strong
I am the blacksmith singing
The hammer and the anvil song

I think she's just looking for someplace where she can forge peace.

[Glass]

A Chance Meeting

“Hello there.”

The stars stretch out overhead, heedless of the exchange below them as their distant light comes merely close enough to reveal themselves, not others.

“What brings you here at this time of night?”

Wordlessly, the refugee stares at her suddenly-acquired companion. The blindfolded man waits for a bit, then tilts his head.

“What?”

“You’re supposed to be silent out here.” The refugee’s voice has a foreign lilt to it, but a manner familiar to any who’ve dealt with craftsfolk.

The blind man just laughs. “Am I, now? Were you going to say anything, either?”

The refugee turns away, refusing to answer. Her companion gives a brief, knowing snort of amusement. He allows the scene to fall into simple silence for some time, before once more trying to fill the space.

“They tell stories about you, y’know.”

“Do they now.” Her tone is acrid with frustration. “Let me guess. Some sort of heroic resistance against a tyrant who wants to do whatever political thing is locally displeasing and standing up for the rights of this-or-that village standing in as a representation of the common people.”

The blind man’s grin said it all.

“I’m afraid you have the wrong woman.” She increased her pace. The blind man sped up, too, his smile a degree more strained.

“Why, there’s always exaggerations and symbolism in stories, you know how these things are, they’re-“

“Ways to tell people what to think in ways that will make them either think they came up with it themselves or else feel clever when they figure out what your instructions are. I know how these things are.”

The blind man’s smile fully dropped. “Stories are not mental weapons. I do not write mental weapons.”

The refugee shrugged. “What are they, then? They tell people what is good or bad, who to look up to and who to despise. They tell you who to let rule and who to overthrow. They can bind folks together or tear them apart. How many innocent girls get tossed to the flames because somebody told a good enough story?”

It was the blind man’s turn to stare wordlessly at the refugee.

“So that’s the game you wish to play, then. Very well. Then you, too, must admit to making weapons.”

The refugee bristled. “Excuse me?”

“Your every scythe will be weilded in service to feeding armies, your horseshoes and saddles to carry generals’ messages and armored knights. Picks and hammers mine and forge the steel that will become axe, spear, and sword. Every nail you make to roof a house allows another to be used to construct a trebuchet. Am I incorrect?”

“And so I left.”

“After you were ordered to make a sword, and no earlier.”

The conversation faded to silence yet again, but not a comfortable one. The two stalked through the night, onward as they had before.

Finally, the blind man spoke again. Softly, now.

“I do not wish to disparage you. You wield your tools to make tools for others, that they may help themselves as they need. My stories are the same - tools, ways to express oneself, to become more of who you desire to be rather than what you are.”

She was quiet, before finally asking:
“What manner of creature are you, traveler?”

He laughed gently, before responding:
“What manner are you, oh merry blacksmith?”

“A lover of peace.”

“We may agree on that.”

A lapse.

“Do you know what you are seeking in your refuge?”

The refugee’s eyes narrow. “Peace. A place that will not ask me to assist them in waging war and violence.”

The blind man nods, quietly. “Fair. Do you know what I am seeking?” He lets them walk in silence for a moment. “Stories. Not of heroes or kings, you know. Just, peoples’ stories. Something different. Lives that deserve to be remembered, but wouldn’t be. Which, is everybody’s really. But I can’t be everywhere.”

The stars above are beautiful, a slow dance of unearthly colors.

“Do you ever wonder what lies between the stars?”

The refugee starts at the blind man’s tangent. “...no?”

“I think there’s more. More that we can’t see, because the stars are too bright. It’s why you can’t focus too much on the grand heroes and world-shattering events. Everything else gets lost.”

Silence reigns once more. The minutes stretch on as the two walk through the night.

An hour passes. The Traveler nods toward his companion. “Dawn’ll be here in a half hour’s time, but there’s nobody else on this road for a few hours in either direction. You picked your path well, Miss Ashton. Perhaps I’ll see you again.”
He pulls ahead, passes a dilapidated road sign-
-and disappears.

Alethea Ashton narrows her eyes and strides toward the sign.

Leahorn
12 miles

[chubby2man]

Power, to shape and change, came rather easily to you nowadays. It sat around you like a mantle, reacting to your will and desires, brimming with that unearthly potential. It gave you a pause, for a moment.
 
You were a solid hours walk from your tower, taking a meandering path to where you decided to place your mine. The location doesn’t really matter, but it might help you focus your power. So you walk aways, to a small clearing on the on the mountain side. You place your hand, cold dead flesh perfectly perserved, on the stone.
 

And you focus.
 

You have wielded Truth before, a bright brand searing order into the chaos around you, and called dead bones to attend you. But you are more.
 
The dark prince of the underworld, a cold heart and a shining crown. Chosen to forge Truth anew, bring Order into the world. Lord of the darkest depths of the world, a suffocating abyss clinging tightly to its wealth that nevertheless eagerly offeres itself to your hand.
 
And so you smile a cold smile and command it come forth.
 
 
The earth rumbles and shakes, as you exert your dominion into the very mountain. The stone underneath your hand ripples like water, smoothly flowing away as a tunnel opens before you. You sense your will and desire working, changing the very rock to valuable ores and gemstones. Here you pass a glittering cluster of opals, and there a shining wall of gold. Rich veins of valuable ores and crystal radiate from you, enough to draw the desire of the richest of merchant princes and kings.
 
You spend a day inside the mountain, raising skeleton laborers to work the mines and bring forth the treasures buried in the earth. Soon your smiths will find themselves with a bevy of iron availble to work, and gemstones to trade or work as they will.
 

2 Dominion Mine complete
 



You rode on the the back of a merchants cart as they returned to Farrow Town. You figured it would be best to remain somewhat descrete due to the paladins and priests on the prowl. And, as it turns out, due to the legion representative in town.
 
You make it through the gate with barely a glance, wearing old brown robes with worn pouches. The sound of craftspeople working and merchants hawking their wares ring around you as you walk the street into deeper into the town. You pass by an armored warrior bearing the sign of the Lightbringer, his face hard and cruel.
 
The main square is active but hardly bustling, and many faces are drawn and pensive. Anxiety hangs over Farrow like a cloud. You overhear talk of the baron asking for legions to move in to deal with the rebels, and bandits are a constant worry.
 
However, you are here to make connections, so you get to work.
 

Who do you connect with?

A- Mayor Jeherim Smalls. The mayor is a well connected merchant with ties to the Baron. If convinced to back you, he could be a useful ally. A good mixture of business and politics.
 
B- Beryl Levari. A up and coming merchant. Doesn’t have nearly the connections of the mayor, but while it might take more work you have a better position to dictate the growth of your merchant connection..
 
C- Rigel Hales. A tavern owner with connections, can you give you an easier access to the shadier elements of society. While not offering nearly the economic power provided by the others, he can make a good connection for spreading your influence covertly.

[Glass]

B

Ties to the Baron make it harder to sway the mayor. Beryl, with fewer ties and - probably - a more mercantile mindset will likely be much more easily swayed with the promise of a wealthy patron.

I don’t see a reason why the tavern owner would be of any greater utility than Beryl, but if anybody does, please speak up.

[King Zultan]

B

[Glass]

Belief

Magic is frequently divided into "arcane" and "divine" based on the source. The former, of course, is any magic that is derived from the caster themselves, or otherwise passes through only a single entity between gathering and action. Runecraft, for instance, is arcane magic, as standing magic is gathered from the area and channeled into the rune's effect. "Divine" magic, meanwhile, is granted from one entity to another - channeled from a god and through their priests, or gifted from nature spirits unto druids. Some of these transferals can even be seen by those few with magical sight.

They are also entirely misleading, for both categories are completely wrong.

Nobody has "intrinsic" stores of arcane power. Any magical ability granted to those who petition gods, devils, and spirits is their own. For the true nature of magic - all magic - is belief.

Let us set the stage. It is a long time ago; how long does not much matter.
Language has been invented.
With language, the truth can be recorded. The truth can be conveyed.
The truth can be fabricated. The truth can be created, and enforced.
Lies arise; laws arise. Some are more trusted than others, are believed more than others. Their words carry more weight.

And if somebody whose words are trusted by all says that they will do something, why should anybody question them? Why should reality?

The power of words are not the sounds themselves; those are practically arbitrary. One man speaking a language eloquently will not be understood by one who only speaks another. The power of words lies in agreed-upon meanings, sounds that all agree - all believe - mean something important.

And if the words are widely believed to carry enough weight to shape reality, why should they not?

This is how the so-called "languages of magic" arise, and how they perpetuate themselves. This spell does this; that spell does that. You can see it before you, can you not? It is easy to believe it.

Spellcraft and magic languages have just as many believers as gods do. Would you expect that to do nothing?

The same is true for all sorts of magic. Draconic blood, fae ancestry, a demon or angel somewhere in the family tree, it's believed obvious that such powerful creatures must be able to pass down their power, never mind that such inheritances can skip dozens of generations at a time and have even showed up when such heritage was falsified. Gods and other patrons may grant power because everybody believes that anything that powerful must be able to do so, and so even barely-living deities not believed capable of much can accomplish such things. Most sites of power or spiritual strength gather belief first by coincidence, then by reinforcement.

And so as the world believes ever more in magic, magic grows ever stronger and more plentiful in the world.

And so the Truth builds itself by consensus.

[Madman198237]

B, I concur that the merchant is superior for our purposes (since we aren't interested in criminals at least right now).

[Rockeater]

B