Ancestries¶
Fantastic peoples inhabit the worlds of Draw Steel. Among them are devils, dwarves, elves, time raiders—and of course humans, whose culture and history dominates many worlds.
Your hero is one of these folks! The fantastic ancestry you choose bestows benefits that come from your anatomy and physiology. This choice doesn't grant you cultural benefits, such as crafting or lore skills, though. While many game settings have cultures made of mostly one ancestry, other cultures and worlds have a cosmopolitan mix of peoples.
In Draw Steel, ancestry describes how you were born. Culture (part of Chapter 4: Background) describes how you grew up. If you want to be a wode elf who was raised in a forest among other wode elves, you can do that! If you want to play a wode elf who was raised in an underground city of dwarves, humans, and orcs, you can do that too!
This chapter details twelve ancestries for the game:
Devil: Devils originated in the Seven Cities of Hell and have a supernatural charisma that helps them persuade others. They are similar in stature to humans, and their skin tones include deep blues, purples, and reds. They sport horns, eyes of all shades (including gold and red), and tails, and some have feathered or leathery wings.
Dragon Knight: Dragon knights are muscled draconic humanoids who stand between 6 and 7 feet tall. The scales covering their reptilian heads, bodies, and tails can be almost any color. All dragon knights have wings, but on only a few are those wings big enough to let them fly.
Dwarf: Humanoids with stony skin, dwarves have short and stout bodies. Many carve supernatural runes into their flesh, and some have beards made of crystals.
Wode Elf: Lithe humanoids with finely furred skin in all shades of blue, wode elves have angular features and large, pointed ears akin to a bat's. They possess a supernatural glamor that allows them to blend in with their surroundings when they wish to hide.
High Elf: Stately and graceful, high elves have tall, willowy bodies, pointed ears, and smoother skin than most other humanoids. Rare metal inlays such as gold, platinum, palladium, and iridium act as organic components within their skin. The truest form of any high elf is hidden from most—sometimes even from themself—thanks to a supernatural glamor that makes them more attractive to others, whatever that might mean to an individual. This glamor transcends physical appearance, also slightly altering a high elf's tone and smell.
Hakaan: Descended from stone giants, the mighty hakaan stand over 9 feet tall and have well-muscled bodies made of organic stone. They are the largest ancestry in this book!
Human: Humans are the most numerous people in Orden and many other fantasy worlds! In Draw Steel, humans have all the diversity that our species displays in real life—and they can sense the presence of supernatural energy!
Memonek: Originating on Axiom, the Plane of Uttermost Law, memonek are a machine people made of metal, marble, glass, and other inorganic materials. Their bodies are lightweight, making them easier to move and letting them fall at slower speeds.
Orc: Orcs have skin in green tones and stand slightly taller and wider than humans. A supernatural energy they call "the blood fire" flows through their veins, igniting colorful lines in an orc's skin during life-ordeath battles.
Polder: The smallest of the ancestries in this book, polders stand no taller than 3-1/2 feet. They look like smaller humans, and they have the ability to blend in with the shadows.
Revenant: No hero starts their life as a revenant. Rather, these undead creatures return to the world of the living because they have dire business that must be finished. A character of any ancestry can become a revenant.
Time Raider: Travelers of the timescape, the time raiders (or kuran'zoi as they call themselves) have four arms and a single ocular sensor instead of a pair of eyes. Many have innate psionic abilities that make them capable warriors.
Other Sections
The rules for using ancestries refer to lots of other parts of the game. You can find information on specific topics as follows:
Edges and banes, Recoveries, respites: Chapter 1: The Basics
Languages: Chapter 4: Background
Abilities, conditions, potencies, saving throws, surges: Chapter 5: Classes
Skills, tests: Chapter 9: Tests
Crafting projects: Chapter 12: Downtime Projects
Main actions and maneuvers, creature size, damage and Stamina, dying and death, flanking, movement and forced movement, winded: Chapter 10: Combat
On the Origin of Species¶
Orden (talked about in Chapter 1: The Basics) is a fantasy world. It works on principles similar to those many people throughout history believed governed the real world. "I dunno, a god did it probably."
Humans, elves, orcs, dwarves, dragons, all have creator gods—the Elder Gods, four of whom made the world for some reason. Maybe they were bored.
The fashion among those gods for creating new, intelligent, species petered out after the orcs. Once humans came along and invented war, it stopped being fun.
It may be all species were created by gods. That's certainly what a lot of people throughout our own history assumed. Orden has no Darwin and probably won't ever. There's still inheritance. People expect children to look like their parents, but there aren't evolutionary pressures except on a very local scale.
And in a world where powerful, world-altering magics are available, mortals sometimes try to recreate the gods' efforts. Some succeed, and new intelligent, speaking peoples are born.
However, mortals are not gods and lack their ineffable wisdom. They are, in fact, very effable. Many have sought the power to create. It is available to any sorcerer of near-godlike power with the right rituals, though these days that power is very obscure. Creating new intelligent species was easier for mortal wizards back in the youth of the world when magic was friskier.
In every instance in recorded history, attempts by mortals to make obedient servitor species backfired. The steel dwarves worked marvels with valiar, the truemetal, and the miracle mineral iridoss, known as prismacore, that grants objects a semblance of life. Eventually their science and magics produced the omnivok—machines that were self-aware. Perhaps uniquely, when the dwarves realized they had created beings equal to themselves they stopped their work and gave their creations full rights and independence, preferring to work with them rather than attempt, and inevitably fail, to be their masters.
Normally, it doesn't work out that nicely. Even with the best of intentions, things go awry. The Dragon Phalanx were created by Good King Omund's wizard Vitae to be the perfect knights, dispensing justice throughout the lands. But the same sorceries that grant self-awareness also grant independence. Agency. And though they enjoyed 30 years of peace and justice, eventually the dragon knights were betrayed by one of their own, seduced by the power offered by Ajax.
The law of unintended consequences applies to the just and the unjust alike.
Usually when some powerful being tries to create an intelligent species, it's for less-than-virtuous reasons. The synliroi are responsible for several intelligent species in the timescape, each an attempt to create a perfectly obedient servitor species. The most notorious example are the kuran'zoi—the time raiders who rebelled almost immediately and who carry a burning hate for the voiceless talkers to this day.
A perhaps less egregious use of this power is called quickening, used when a powerful mage lives in and amongst some clever species just on the cusp of self-awareness. These instances, which are much more numerous than creating a new species from whole cloth, are more like the concept of uplifting found in science fiction. The mage or witch or shaman didn't create anything. They just gave these cute, clever, frog-things a little boost. A little nudge. And suddenly there are angulotls walking around having conversations with each other,
wondering when someone will invent a fabric that doesn't get moldy in the swamp.
This also carries serious ethical repercussions! "You didn't create angulotls! You screwed up some perfectly good frogs! Look at them, you gave them anxiety!"
This is only how it works on Orden. You may have completely different explanations for why there are several different intelligent species walking around in your world. Or no explanation! Or competing and irreconcilable theories on the matter! Use whatever inspires you.
At the end of the day, if you throw out all of this and replace it with something you made up, it will be better. Because it's yours!
Names by Ancestry¶
Obviously you're free to invent whatever name you want for your character! And your director might have their own setting that uses different cultures than those in Orden. But if you want to pick an Orden-appropriate name for your hero, keep reading.
Equally obviously; names are cultural, not biological. Your character probably has a name appropriate to whatever culture they were born into, or grew up in. A human raised by hakaan would probably have a hakaan name.
Last Names and Bynames¶
Most people living in Orden—and this is especially true of Vasloria live in villages. They do not have and do not use last names or family names. Everyone in the village knows who you mean when you refer to "William." Even if there's more than one William in the village, you can usually tell who someone's referring to from context. Sometimes folks prepend "our" to someone's name meaning: the one related to or otherwise concerned with me and my family. "Our William" for instance.
If that's not enough, folks use another identifier known as a byname. If there were two boys in the village named Much, one of them might be called Much the Miller's Son, to distinguish them from the other lad.
If you leave your village regularly, say to trade with others in a distant market, then your byname might be the place you're from. Alan from the village in the dale, might become known as Alan from the Dale, or even Alan-a-Dale. But everyone back home just calls you Alan.
A byname might refer to your profession. Clyde the Cartwright is a perfectly normal byname. But no one you met would assume "Cartwright" was your 'family name.' People who live permanently in a very large city like Capital use family names, because almost no first name is sufficiently unique to identify you, and "Marissa the Cartwright's Daughter" quickly evolves into Marissa Cartwright.
Most nobles in Orden also use the name of the area they rule as part of their name. When someone refers to Lord Edmund Bedegar everyone listening silently, without thinking about it, adds "of" between the name and the place. Edmund is both Edmund, and the Lord of Bedegar, and Edmund, Lord of Bedegar, and therefore sometimes Lord Edmund Bedegar. Even though "Bedegar" looks like a "last name" to us, and is being used in that manner sometimes, it's not exactly his last name. It's still just another kind of byname.
Unlike remote villages, well settled areas where many towns and villages are all networked by roads often do use surnames to help differentiate one William from the other twenty within a densely populated area.
Names and Gender¶
Most cultures in Vasloria make a distinction between masculine and feminine names, though not all do. And for some cultures that make such a distinction, almost no one outside the culture can tell the difference.
Among those cultures which do make a distinction between masculine and feminine names, there are always names that could refer to a person of any gender. Here in the real world, you can't tell a person's gender just from the name "Shane." This is mostly because which names are considered masculine or feminine changes over time, and when this happens, there's a period—maybe a few generations—where the name could refer to a person of any gender.
Of course, there's no law (neither metaphorically nor literally) that requires your character to go by their birth name. They might not even know their birth name depending on what happened after they were born. It's not unusual, especially among talents, for a hero to adopt a moniker or sobriquet instead of a name. And in some cultures, there's a tradition of changing your name—or at least how you prefer to be known—as you go through different stages of life. High elves sometimes adopt a wholly new name when they reach a certain age, or more commonly, they choose a different component of their name. When A Mist Curls Around Dying Embers was a young woman, she was known as Mist. Now that she's the master of the Tower of Translation, she's known as Embers.
Authentic or Comedic?¶
For some players choosing a "good name"—by which they mean "authentic to the setting"—is important and can take a while. Because the right name can ground a character in the world, and this can help the player feel more immersed in the fictional reality. It also communicates to the other players that you're serious about the game and your hero.
For other players, choosing a comedic, joke name communicates the opposite! You are here to have fun and screw around and taking things seriously is something you already have to do all week, and so you pick a ridiculous name just to get a laugh because that's what you're serious about.
The choice of name is an important one, because it says a lot about you and how you view the game as a whole.
Example Names By Ancestry¶
Devil Names¶
Feminine: Ampeth, Arrian, Cyrrik, Frissia, Illya, Oreth, Quallo, Uryalia, Yllioth, Zorri
Gender Neutral: Halciar, Illion, Karya, Moriel, Orliath
Masculine: Bulliarvik, Cenoph, Dhult, Jjaro, Kuryalkin, Radiarsk, Tessiar, Turayvik, Ullian, Villyroth
Dragon Knight Names¶
Feminine: Ahrijiinad, Cyrrijox, Kaikorrivar, Kalliarx, Korazajaan, Korovaamijax, Orrizarviox, Uriquexicaar, Ythirix, Zoronivaam
Gender Neutral: Baiqadrazaar, Ciniceziar, Lorikorivox, Vinkarijaan, Zaikorojax
Masculine: Aarkizovar, Dannorax, Denoxavinaax, Killexiriax, Koraavinam, Raijorozaan, Vanazor, Vorokazinaar, Zakaarior, Zexijorovox
Dwarf Names¶
Feminine: Dazria, Dekka, Djorva, Giria, Kirza, Kuroth, Lurza, Uur, Zareth, Ziir
Gender Neutral: Arzak, Keth, Orikk, Q'ir, Qoroth
Masculine: Darzok, Dazran, Djorek, Durok, Duur, Gavok, Kaaz, Kazaan, Zaar, Zarek
Wode Elf Names¶
Elves in general have a casual attitude toward gender, it having no direct bearing on procreation for them. (Normal elf upon learning how humans mate: "You mean … like animals?") They tend to view the various sex-linked traits associated among other ancestries with masculinity or femininity as a kind of fashion to be taken up or discarded as the mood suits. Over one life, any elf might wear masculine features, or feminine features, or both, many times. For wode elves, this often means adopting a new name, or a different version of the same name. Llyandros might become Llyandra for instance.
Feminine: Elvyr, Eviarwyc, Illwyv, Iorwyth, Lliarwyn, Meithennyn, Nimuë, Rhegyth, Viarwyn, Ysallwyth
Gender Neutral: Arriswyth, Gogellwyc, Hygglwyc, Lliarion, Tywso
Masculine: Calliarwyc, Cillyv, Eidior, Ffyllwyc, Gwyllmach, Llyandros, Ogllvar, Radiarwyn, Ryll, Tafirdwyn
High Elf Names¶
High elf names are poetic. They are an attempt to capture a fleeting, often contradictory, impulse, or emotion. They sometimes contain references to the natural world. They are never meant to be taken literally and they are not an attempt to make a character feel heroic.
Examples: The Anticipation of a Sigh Upon His Lips, A Crown of Starlight on Winter Snow, The Earth Cries the Skies Divide, Echoes of Autumn Heat, Edges of a Leaf Torn by the Wind, Every Flake of Snow a Memory, A Heart That Will Not Yield the Stars, The Last Star Fading With Morning, A Rain of Glass Over a Sea of Dreams, The Sun Reflected in a Lover's Tear
Hakaan Names¶
Feminine: Adrina, Arawanni, Barsina, Irdabava, Kiandot, Mavané, Osorabi, Sitarey, Tyriti, Ulivesh
Gender Neutral: Adaska, Kirashev, Oriamos, Sandauka, Ulion
Masculine: Adusiya, Artabānu, Dahyu, Farnaspa, Fravartiš, Jamaspa, Khosrau, Kithara, Sarames, Utana
Western Vasloria Human Names¶
Human names vary widely by culture. The following examples are from Western Vasloria.
Feminine: Brenwyn, Demelza, Elzbeth, Gwynhyvyr, Maerwyn, Margaret, Meliora, Rowenna, Tamara, Wenna
Gender Neutral: Ashley, Bryn, Jennet, Morgan, Taran
Masculine: Brys, Cadwyr, Dyfan, Edmund, Geoffrey, Gwiddon, Heden, Richard, Taegan, Taethan
Memonek Names¶
Feminine: Abandhaska, Ashariyaa, Devidayya, Gandahraji, Kunismyya, Priyaptaa, Ruthudeva, Urivashii, Vanarishka, Yashovalla
Gender Neutral: Jamiattra, Lotarhixa, Mitterirtra, Sattayarit, Talyana
Masculine: Ayabaskha, Dhamayana, Divarsotto, Duruvatta, Ghaurdamatta, Harakshathra, Khasimandru, Khavettra, Virabanu, Vittarkoya
Orc Names¶
Feminine: Askilli, Dorviath, Jeddoar, Karoskha, Khorisa, Khorva, Moraska, Vakarra, Vhorovi, Zhorva
Gender Neutral: Dorokor, Gorovik, Khettovek, Meadior, Orosk
Masculine: Dezovor, Dhorovek, Djorvok, Korjok, Medozoar, Pakadrask, Rojak, Rokore, Uvarsk, Vordokov
Polder Names¶
For reasons not well understood, polders in Vasloria use surnames. First names seem chosen to imply a degree of sophistication (or, at least, what polders consider sophisticated) while last names are typically common, compound words. No one knows why they do this.
Feminine: Agatha, Amaryllis, Beverly, Esmerelda, Marceline, Modesty, Penelope, Rosemarie, Ursula, Weatherly
Gender Neutral: Bellamy, Bethell, Carrington, Madison, Mallory
Masculine: Aimsley, Alderson, Bancroft, Beechwood, Billingsworth, Broderick, Langston, Owlswick, Patterson, Willoughby
Surnames: Bottlebrush, Bracegirdle, Cheesewright, Cobblestone, Cordwainer, Lamplighter, Pinwhistle, Thistlethrush, Twobuckle, Underhill
Revenant Names¶
Revenants most often keep whatever names they had in life. They may have any number of reasons to adopt a new name in which case that name would reflect their reasons for doing so. Perhaps they adopt a moniker like many talents do, or they choose a new name from their original culture, or something completely different!
Time Raider Names¶
Kuran'zoi names typically end with an epithet, given when the young time raider comes of age, that reflects their uniquely rebellious nature.
Feminine: Ak'karatar, Ip'pritt, Ner'radmok, Orov'vika, Phe'kala, Quix'x, Thes'srika, Thos'sivik, Um'manri, Vir'rikin
Gender Neutral: Jorut'or, Morp'phan, Mot'tira, Sonit'ir, Thir'rip
Masculine: Astro'ogor, Dak'kara, Ik'koq, Jel'lek, Kes'slik, Laz'zir, Mav'vikek, Thork'kar, Uv'vik, Va'antak
Epithet: The Acerbic, the Cynic, the Heretic, the Impious, the Irritant, the Skeptical, the Sneering, the Surly, the Unbeliever, the Unruly
Measurements¶
How tall is a polder? How long does a dwarf live? The Ancestry Measurements table provides the average adult height and weight ranges and life expectancy for each of the ancestries in this chapter. These measurements are only averages, and many folks in the world exist outside of them, so your hero can too!
Revenants aren't on the table, since their height and weight is based on their previous ancestry. Likewise, they live until destroyed or moving on after completing their unfinished business.
Humans have the potential to live a little longer on Orden than they do in the real world thanks to the presence of magic.
Ancestry Measurements Table¶
| Ancestry | Height in Feet/ Inches |
Weight in Pounds |
Life Expectancy in Years |
|---|---|---|---|
| Devil | 5'0''–6'0'' | 120–250 | 70–120 |
| Dragon Knight | 6'0''–7'0'' | 200–350 | 50–90 |
| Dwarf | 4'0''–4'6'' | 500-1,000 | 700–1,500 |
| Wode Elf | 5'6''–6'6'' | 100–150 | 1,200–3,000 |
| High Elf | 5'6''–6'6'' | 100–150 | 1,200–3,000 |
| Hakaan | 9'0''–10'0'' | 1,000–2,000 | 300–500 |
| Human | 5'0''–6'0'' | 100–300 | 70–120 |
| Memonek | 5'0''–6'0'' | 50–100 | 70–120 |
| Orc | 5'6''–6'6'' | 150–300 | 50–90 |
| Polder | 3'3''–3'9'' | 20–50 | 50–90 |
| Time Raider | 5'0''–6'0'' | 120–250 | 50–90 |
Starting Size and Speed¶
Unless otherwise noted, a character of any of these ancestries is size 1M and has speed 5 and stability 0.
Where an ancestry provides you with an ability, see Abilities in Chapter 5: Classes for details of the ability format.
Ancestry Traits¶
Each ancestry has one or more signature traits, which your hero gets for free if they take that ancestry. This is a defining feature that other heroes of your ancestry also possess.
Ancestries also have purchased traits, but you don't get every purchased trait your ancestry has to offer. Instead, your ancestry provides a budget of ancestry points you can use to select traits. Each trait has a point cost that you pay to grant its benefit to your hero.
For example, the devil ancestry has the signature trait Silver Tongue and 3 ancestry points to spend on seven different traits. A player creating a devil hero could select Barbed Tail, Glowing Eyes, and Hellsight, each of which costs 1 ancestry point, or they could select one of those traits plus Impressive Horns or Wings, each of which costs 2 ancestry points. But they couldn't select both Impressive Horns and Wings, since their combined cost of 4 exceeds the ancestry points budget for the devil.
Devil¶
The native ancestry of the Seven Cities of Hell, devils are humanoids with red or blue skin expressed in a wide variety of hues, from bright crimson to deep purple. Each devil is born with some hellmark—horns, a tail, cloven hooves, a forked tongue, fanged incisors, or even wings.
Hell is dominated by the Seven Cities of Hell, each ruled by a different archdevil who constantly plots and schemes against the others in the hope of ascending to the Throne of Hell.
Those devils who join "the trade," as their civil service is called, spend their days in bureaucratic service hoping or scheming for promotion. Devils looking for a quick path up the bureaucratic ladder sign up for the Exchange, whereby mortals in the mundane world who perform the right rituals can summon a devil, who bargains with the supplicant on behalf of their archdevil. Archdevils can grant temporary worldly power in exchange for a supplicant's soul, with the summoned devil acting as the broker.
On rare occasions, though, the summoning goes wrong and the supplicant dies before the deal can be struck, stranding the summoned devil on Orden permanently. Some stranded devils seek to return to Hell, but most prefer life in Orden, where the phrase "stabbed in the back by a colleague" is usually a metaphor.
The majority of devils in Orden are not from, nor have ever been to, the Seven Cities. They are descendants of devils who were stranded in the mundane world decades, centuries, even millennia ago.
On Devils¶
Adelard scuttled across the floor of his basement, a heavy tome clutched in one hand, his index finger marking a page. Occasionally he would stop, open the book, consult a diagram, look at the chalk markings he'd made on the floor, tilt his head, then bend down and refine or rub out an esoteric symbol.
One of the red candles suddenly guttered out, making the small room noticeably darker. "Damn and blast!" he hissed. Then he relit it from another candle.
Stepping back to admire his handiwork, Adelard crossed his arms and nodded. He'd spent his last coppers on the candles—they weren't cheap. And he feared the skull might be fake, but did it matter? The book just said a skull—it didn't even specify a human skull! Did it matter if it was real? It was probably real. What kind of market was there for replica skulls? But it was awfully cheap. Anyway, did it matter? How would the ritual know if the skull was real?
He was wittering, putting off the inevitable. He pulled himself together. It was either going to work, or it wasn't, and wittering wasn't going to help. He opened the book and turned the page—then began to speak the ritual.
Moments later, the candles flared, there was a burst of flame, and acrid brimstone filled his nostrils. When the smoke cleared … there was a devil standing in his basement—dark purple skin, horns, even a twitching tail.
"Aha! Yes, finally." The creature rubbed his hands together. "It's about time," he said, pulling on the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten it. "Now then! How does it go? Oh, yes." He cleared his throat. "On behalf of my lord, his grace Archduke Dispater, Lord of Dis, I am empowered to offer you …" But his speech fell on deaf ears.
"It worked!" Adelard said, holding his clenched fists up. "Ahahaha! It worked! Finally, after years! I will have my revenge! Hahaha …! *cough* *cough*" Adelard was suddenly gripped by a coughing fit, but he kept crowing.
"Dismiss me from service, will they?! *cough* Old and useless … am I?! I'll show them!" He coughed again, fighting to breathe now. "I will hex them and torture them until they …"
He stopped cavorting and capering, and his eyes went wide. "Until they … until …" He clutched his chest.
"Uh-oh," the devil said, genuinely worried.
"HNNG!" Adelard grunted. Then he collapsed to the ground, curled into a fetal position, obviously in immense pain.
"Nono. Nurse!" the devil called out. "Doctor?! Is anyone … you should lie down. Well, you are lying down. Do some … some deep-breathing exercises. Have a cup of tea! That always …"
Adelard gasped one last time and uncurled, muscles relaxed. Eyes open but unseeing.
"… calms me down," the devil said quietly.
Suddenly, the candles were extinguished as one, plunging the room into pitch blackness. The devil's hellsight meant this was only a minor inconvenience for him. "Um," he said to the empty room. "Uh-oh."
He poked the tip of his boot at the chalk symbol surrounding him on the floor. Nothing happened. He stepped on it. Nothing happened. He put his weight on that foot. No alarms went off.
He walked out of the circle. Nothing happened. No one, it seemed, cared.
A few moments later, the door to a small home, little more than a wooden shack, on the outskirts of a small village opened. A well-dressed devil peeked out and then slowly emerged, stepping onto the dirt road that led through the center of the village. A keep stood atop a hill in the distance.
"Ah," the devil said.
A wide woman dressed in wool, carrying a pile of clean clothes, saw him and stopped in her tracks, her mouth open.
"Oh! Good day to you, madam. I wonder if you could tell me …"
"AAAHHHHH!!!" she screamed. For quite a long time. Then she dropped her laundry and ran.
"Ah. Um. Hmm."
A young man in a low, stone building saw this exchange, grabbed what looked like a long iron poker, and ran out to confront the new arrival.
"Have at you, devil!" he said, assuming something like a dueling pose. "I say! Steady on!" The devil raised his hands.
The two of them stood there, frozen in the middle of the street for a few moments.
Then the devil turned and ran away as quickly as he could.
• "And that's how I ended up here!" Riyalkin toasted his dinner companion. "Now, after years of obscurity, a legendary hero!"
"Legendarily vain," his dinner guest teased with a smile.
"Simply playing my part, darling. People expect a certain amount of vanity in a troubadour, don't they?"
She laughed. "Riyalkin the Red Pen is every bit as advertised."
"Thank you. And besides, accusations of vanity are a bit rich coming from my leading lady."
"Not all actors are vain." She took offense beautifully. "Just the good ones." She sipped her drink.
"Well then, you must be very vain indeed," the devil said. "Anyway, does that answer your question?"
"Mostly. Do they speak Caelian in Hell?"
"What a good question. Unless it's very old, the ritual usually grants knowledge of the summoner's language. I gather in the bad old days, we used to just show up in a cloud of brimstone and gabble at people. I'm sure it was impressive, but what did it achieve? Not very professional, I can tell you that."
"No cloud of brimstone now?" she teased.
He waggled his eyebrows. "Style counts for something."
"But wait, that was …" She did some quick mental math. "Fifteen years ago?"
"Well, I was an accountant here in Capital for several years in between." "An accountant!"
Riyalkin shrugged. "It's what I did before. I'm moderately good at it." "And how does one go from being an alien accountant to a famous troubadour?"
"Well …" Riyalkin seemed uncomfortable suddenly. "It's just that … the thing is, accountancy in the Seven Cities is just so much more interesting than it is here. Plotting and scheming, always on the lookout for an assassin, people constantly trying to claw their way up the ladder, usually over your dead body. And I guess I just … missed the excitement."
"The excitement of being an accountant."
"The excitement of being an accountant in Hell," Riyalkin said. "In any event, enough about me and the thrill of double-entry bookkeeping. Perhaps you can enlighten me. Why is it, in spite of my impeccable taste
and the outrageous sums I spend looking good, I always feel underdressed in your presence? Do you employ sorcery? Or is it that any outfit is improved by your unearthly beauty?"
She blushed in spite of herself and raised her own glass in a toast. "You silver-tongued devil."
Devil Traits¶
Devil heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Silver Tongue¶
Your innate magic allows you to twist how your words are perceived to get a better read on people and convince them to see things your way. You have one skill of your choice from the interpersonal skill group (see Skills in Chapter 9: Tests), and you gain an edge on tests when attempting to discover an NPC's motivations and pitfalls during a negotiation (see Chapter 11: Negotiation).
Purchased Devil Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Beast Legs, Impressive Horns.)
Barbed Tail (1 Point)¶
Your pointy tail allows you to punctuate all your actions. Once per round when you make a melee strike, you can deal extra damage with the strike equal to your highest characteristic score.
Beast Legs (1 Point)¶
Your powerful legs make you faster. You have speed 6.
Glowing Eyes (1 Point)¶
Your eyes are a solid, vibrant color that flares to show your excitement or rage. Whenever you take damage from a creature, you can use a triggered action to deal that creature psychic damage equal to 1d10 + your level.
Hellsight (1 Point)¶
Your eyes let you see through darkness, fog, and other obscuring effects. You don't take a bane on strikes made against creatures with concealment.
Impressive Horns (2 Points)¶
Your cherished horns are larger than the average devil's, and a hardened representation of your force of will. Whenever you make a saving throw, you succeed on a roll of 5 or higher.
Prehensile Tail (2 Points)¶
Your prehensile tail allows you to challenge foes on all sides. You can't be flanked.
Wings (2 Points)¶
You possess wings powerful enough to take you airborne. While using your wings to fly, you can stay aloft for a number of rounds equal to your Might score (minimum 1 round) before you fall. While using your wings to fly at 3rd level or lower, you have damage weakness 5.
Dragon Knight¶
The ritual of Dracogenesis that grants the power to create a generation of dragon knights—also known as draconians or wyrmwights—is obscure and supremely difficult for even an experienced sorcerer to master. Small populations of draconians in Khemhara, Higara, and Khoursir attest to this. Descendants of original generations created millennia ago by powerful wizards, they have never been numerous. A typical clutch yields only a single egg. After only a few generations, these draconians begin to show new adaptations like feathers or frilled ridges.
The largest extant population of draconians is the remnants of the Dragon Phalanx in Vasloria. Created by Good King Omund's wizard Vitae, the Dragon Phalanx once numbered several thousand of the king's greatest knights, ensuring the rule of law across the land.
Knighthood was a title carried by every member of that first generation of dragon knights. Within the Dragon Phalanx were shadows, censors, tacticians, and elementalists. Members of virtually every heroic vocation could be found in one of the eight dragonflights that made up the phalanx. For over 30 years, these heroes were symbols of justice, protecting the weak from the strong, and standing between the common folk and those who sought power over others. Those who grew up in that place and time could not imagine any other way of life.
Then Ajax came.
On Dragon Knights¶
The cloaked figure at the back of the inn stood up. As they did so, their hood slipped down, revealing their head and face. A susurration rippled through the crowd. One man standing near the bar dropped his jaw, followed by his flagon of mead.
A tall, broad draconian stepped into the light. He was old, his scales battle-scarred. He rested one clawed hand on the pommel of a mace that hung from a loop on his belt, while the other carried his shield by a strap. His flat, expressionless look was more terrifying than any threatening glower.
The three human bandits took a step back. One of the dwarves just sneered—then, sensing his human compatriots' reluctance, turned to look at them. "What's this?" the lead dwarf growled.
Looking at the dragon knight, another bandit added quickly, "We didn't know there was one of you here."
The draconian didn't move. Didn't give any indication he heard the man. Just stared unblinking at the lead dwarf. "Think of the bounty," the dwarf hissed to the humans, but he kept his eye on the draconian. "We'll all be rich."
The two dwarves surveyed the tavern. The people were now all facing them. A few had stood up. They weren't afraid anymore.
"We'll be back," the lead dwarf said, and the group of them backed out of the inn, sheathing their shortswords before they turned and left.
As one, the people in the tavern turned to look with undisguised awe at the dragon knight. He noticed this, ducked his head to avoid their gaze. "Show's over," he growled, then he turned to go back to his seat in the rear.
A short, doughty, middle-aged man stood up, and two equally doughty women at the same table stood up with him. "Excuse me, sir knight," the man said as the dragon knight walked past their table.
The knight moved on, ignoring them. The man reached out and grabbed the massive draconian's arm. The knight wheeled on the peasant, looming over him.
The man touched his forelock. The two women with him curtseyed. "Begging your pardon, sir, but we been lookin' for you."
The dragon knight sneered and bared a set of sharp teeth. "Look for someone else," he growled as he pulled his arm away.
The man scurried around to stand in front of the draconian, blocking his way. He took off his worn cap and held it over his breast. "I'm sorry sir, but there ain't no one else. There's this new tax, you see, from the new baron. And a priest says he's of Saint Ajax."
The knight bared his impressive teeth, ready to scare Jago and the other two away—when someone else spoke.
"You might want to hear 'em out, Vaant," said a voice from the table the three peasants had been sitting at.
The dragon knight turned sharply to look at the man who'd spoken. His back was to the draconian, but the voice gave him away.
"John?"
The man turned to look up.
"Hi Vaant," he said, smiling. He rose from the table. He was middleaged, fit. Black hair hung down to his shoulders. He was armed with many weapons. "Folks," he said, "this is Vaantikalisax, knight of King Omund in the Thunder Phalanx. He may be the last of the Storm Knights."
The man held out his hand. The dragon knight looked at it for a moment before reaching out slowly to grasp it. "What are you doing out here?" he asked.
"These people need help. I said I'd find it. Heard a rumor someone matching your description was holed up here having a drinking contest with Mr. John Barleycorn."
The draconian sniffed, released John's hand. "Sure," he said. "But why me?"
"Thought maybe you'd like to get back in the game."
"The game."
"Yeah." Sir John smiled. "The hero game."
The inn had mostly gone back to its business but the three peasants watched intently. Eventually the dragon knight spoke again, his voice low.
"I owe you a lot, John—but not everything."
"I'm not asking everything."
"No, that's not how it starts. But I have this feeling that's how it'll end."
"What does your oath say? 'Even should the sun stop in the sky, even should the night—'"
"John," the dragon knight said, his voice suddenly sad. Exasperated. "You don't want to quote my oath to me. You really don't. I liked serving with you. I have fond memories of that time—of you. Don't spoil it." He looked at his friend, the three peasants, then shook his head and turned to leave the inn.
"Vaant," Sir John said, following. "Sir Vaantikalisax, by your oath!" The dragon knight stopped and spun around. Everyone in the inn was watching the show again. Act two.
"The people need leadership," John said.
Vaantikalisax's reptile eyes flashed in anger. "They had it! Thirty years, and what did it amount to?! I watched Ajax … I watched him …" The dragon knight's eyes flinched. His clawed hands tightened on his mace and shield. "I watched the oath … fail."
"Vaant … Vaant, the Dragon Phalanx didn't fail. You were betrayed. It was Mandrake! One of your own, don't you get it? You're just as fallible as the rest of us. You were never 'incorruptible.' It's just what we wanted to believe. You're just people—like the rest of us."
The dragon knight looked at the people around him, at the three peasants desperate for someone, anyone, to help them. Then he looked back to his friend.
"Exactly," Vaantikalisax said. Then he turned and left the inn.
Dragon Knight Traits¶
Dragon knight heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Wyrmplate¶
Your hardened scales grant you damage immunity equal to your level to one of the following damage types: acid, cold, corruption, fire, lightning, or poison. You can change your damage immunity type when you finish a respite.
Purchased Dragon Knight Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Dragon Breath, Prismatic Scales.)
Draconian Guard (1 Point)¶
Whenever you or an adjacent creature takes damage from a strike, you can use a triggered action to guard against the blow. You reduce any damage from the strike by an amount equal to your level.
Draconian Pride (2 Points)¶
You have the following signature ability.
Draconian Pride¶
You let loose a mighty roar to shake your foes' spirits.
| Area, Magic | Main Action |
|---|---|
| 📏 1 Burst | 🎯 Each enemy in the area |
Power Roll + Might or Presence:
- ≤11: 2 damage
- 12-16: 5 damage; push 1
- 17+: 7 damage; push 2
Dragon Breath (2 Points)¶
You have the following signature ability.
Dragon Breath¶
A furious exhalation of energy washes over your foes.
| Area, Magic | Main Action |
|---|---|
| 📏 3 cube within 1 | 🎯 Each enemy in the area |
Power Roll + Might or Presence:
- ≤11: 2 damage
- 12-16: 4 damage
- 17+: 6 damage
Effect: You choose the ability's damage type from acid, cold, corruption, fire, lightning, or poison.
Prismatic Scales (1 Point)¶
Select one damage immunity granted by your Wyrmplate trait. You always have this immunity, in addition to the immunity granted by Wyrmplate.
Remember Your Oath (1 Point)¶
As a maneuver, you can recite the following oath. Until the start of your next turn, whenever you make a saving throw, you succeed on a 4 or higher.
Even should the sun stop in the sky Even should the night last a thousand years I will stand forever I shall not yield Those who suffer and yearn for justice I am your sword and shield I will yield no ground I will speak no lies I will stand against all tyrants Until the last villain dies
Wings (2 Points)¶
You possess wings powerful enough to take you airborne. While using your wings to fly, you can stay aloft for a number of rounds equal to your Might score (minimum 1 round) before you fall. While using your wings to fly at 3rd level or lower, you have damage weakness 5.
Dwarf¶
Possessed of a strength that belies their size, dwarves have flesh infused with stone—a silico-organic hybrid making them physically denser than other humanoids. They enjoy a reputation in Orden as savvy engineers and technologists thanks to the lore they inherited from their elder siblings, the long-extinct steel dwarves.
Dwarves are the children of the elder god Ord, and a common phrase among dwarves is "Ord made the world"—their way of saying, "What will be, will be." They take great pride in knowing that along with Aan, Eth, and Kul, their god created the mundane world, and many dwarves leave their homes to see the world and seek glory in Ord's name.
On Dwarves¶
"They can be stubborn," Embers said.
John smiled and gave her a look as they walked around the barn. "Yeah not like elves and humans, right?"
Embers grinned.
"They're good in a fight," John said, and his tone implied this was all that mattered. "They're natural commanders."
"Yes I can imagine why," Embers said. "Each sentence sounds like an order."
They found the dwarf at the edge of the old quarry outside of town cutting blocks of stone with a long copper saw. It normally took two people a quarter hour, but the dwarf sawed an entire block in two with a single stroke. The stones smoked as they fell, and the copper saw glowed with heat.
John and Embers watched silently as the dwarf hefted another massive stone onto the cutting block.
The dwarf spit into his hands and noticed the two out of the corner of his eye. He paused, walked over to grab his battle staff with the hourglass symbol of Zarok, Law-Giver at the tip. He walked back to the stone and leaned his staff against a tree stump within easy reach should he need to use it.
He went back to work.
"Good morning," John said.
The dwarf ignored them.
"I'm a friend of Morag the Wise Woman," John said. "She said there was a high theochron of Zarok, Law-Giver around here working to earn his keep."
The dwarf paused. "High theochron?" he said. "A lofty title. Far too lofty for a job such as this," he went back to work and a moment later there were two more smoking blocks. He cleared them away.
"There's a job for nine …" John hesitated. Ratcatchers didn't seem appropriate. He went with his gut. "Heroes. In Bedegar. A village looking for someone to stand against Lord Saxton."
"Mm. I have heard of this one," the dwarf said, seemingly uninterested. He hurled the smaller blocks into a pile and went to heft a new stone to cut. "A foul tyrant. Well-suited to these times. Perhaps the people deserve him."
"No people deserve tyranny," Embers said, an edge in her voice. The dwarf appeared to notice her for the first time, peered at her, took in her raiment, and went back to work. "Nine against Saxton." The dwarf carried the massive block over his head to the cutting stone. He shook his head in disbelief at what was being asked. "How great the opposition?"
John told him.
The dwarf dropped the stone in astonishment and stared at the human and elf. Then he smiled. "Hah. You know our traditions well, sir knight. You seek to grant me a glorious death leading desperate soldiers against impossible odds."
"Not that desperate," John said modestly.
"Yes." The dwarf looked at Embers again. "By garb and reputation, I make you A Mist Curls Around Dying Embers, mistress of the Tower of Translation. You are no stranger to power. But your tower is fallen lady," he said. "Seek you revenge? Or justice?"
"I see no reason to choose," Embers said smoothly. "In my case, as well as the case of these villagers, justice would be revenge."
The dwarf's head snapped to look at Sir John. "She speaks my language as well it seems. You are of a kind, you two."
"Three," John dared.
The dwarf failed to stifle a smile. "And what is your stake in this?" John shrugged. "I've already been paid," he said. He fished around in a pouch on his belt. "Here, I'll split it with you, fair and square."
John flicked a coin off his finger with his thumb. It spun and glinted as it arced across the space between them. The dwarf snatched it from the air, opened his palm and stared at it. Something in his face changed. Softened. He looked at the nearby town that had adopted him. Peasants doing labor in the fields.
He clenched his fist around the coin. "A princely sum," he said, mostly to himself.
"You are Dazar," Embers dared. "High theochron in exile. Yours is the greatest dwarven church in all Omund's Land. Thousands look to you for spiritual guidance."
The dwarf said nothing. He looked at the coin in his hand.
"You left your people," Embers said quietly.
"My people left me!" Dazar barked. "When they embraced Ajax!" Embers just watched the dwarf. His rage subsided as quickly as it came.
"I thought … I thought leaving might inspire my people to …" He looked at the nearby village. "Eh, it matters not. I could not have stayed in any event. I lack the stomach for tyranny."
"Kal Kalavar's new thane is not an easy problem to solve," John said with sympathy. "Saxton is."
The dwarf looked up at Embers, "Her I know by reputation." He turned to look at John.
John bowed slightly. "John," he said.
Dazar looked at his armor, the age and weather of it, and made an intuitive leap. "You served under the Good King."
John pursed his lips. "That was a long time ago."
Dazar shook his head once. "Not to me." He picked up his battlestaff and stepped forward. "I knew him, you see. Omund was a fine king. The best we'll see even in a life as long as mine."
No one spoke for a moment. "These people," Dazar said. "These villagers. Do they know what they ask?"
John didn't answer.
"Do they know that asking us for help, asking you," Dazar looked Sir John up and down "… means starting something they must see through to the end? It means hardship, privation, death buying a future for their children? You told them this?"
John shook his head.
"Well why not?!" Dazar demanded. "You of all people must understand …"
"Dazar," John said, and his measured voice was a quick counter to Dazar's protest. "These people are already at their wits' end. Just … just surviving, putting food on the table, keeping their children warm. Giving them hope. It's already more than should be asked of anyone. And then coming to us, swallowing their pride. Asking us for aid.
"It's our job to understand the job for them." Then, quieter, John added, "And forgive them, ahead of time, for when they weaken, and give in to fear."
Dazar stared at the man, this knight of Tor, and looked at Embers quietly radiating pride in her friend.
"Hmm," Dazar grunted. He opened a pouch on his chest armor and inserted the coin. "We must find a troubadour, to tell the tale of Saxton's fall. I cannot wait to hear how it ends!" He walked between them, carrying his staff over his shoulder.
"Come!" he barked. "There's a world needs mending! Why stand we here idle?"
John was grinning madly at Embers. She held up three fingers.
Dwarf Traits¶
Dwarf heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Runic Carving¶
You can carve a rune onto your skin with 10 uninterrupted minutes of work, which is activated by the magic within your body. The rune you carve determines the benefit you receive, chosen from among the following:
Detection: Pick a specific type of creature (such as goblins or humans) or object (such as gems or potions). Your rune glows softly when you are within 20 squares of any creature or object of that type, even if you don't have line of effect to the creature or object. You can change the type of creature or object as a maneuver.
Light: Your skin sheds light for 10 squares. You can turn this light on and off as a maneuver.
Voice: As a maneuver, you can communicate telepathically with a willing creature you have met before and who is within 1 mile of you. You must know the creature's name, and they must speak and understand a language you know. You and the creature can respond to one another as if having a spoken conversation. You can communicate with a different creature by changing the rune.
You can have one rune active at a time, and can change or remove a rune with 10 uninterrupted minutes of work.
Purchased Dwarf Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Grounded, Spark Off Your Skin.)
Great Fortitude (2 Points)¶
Your hearty constitution prevents you from losing strength. You can't be made weakened.
Grounded (1 Point)¶
Your heavy stone body and connection to the earth make it difficult for others to move you. You have a +1 bonus to stability.
Spark Off Your Skin (2 Points)¶
Your stone skin affords you potent protection. You have a +6 bonus to Stamina, and that bonus increases by 6 at 4th, 7th, and 10th levels.
Stand Tough (1 Point)¶
Your body is made to withstand the blows of your enemies. Your Might score is treated as 1 higher for the purpose of resisting potencies, and you gain an edge on Might tests when called for to resist environmental effects or a creature's traits or abilities.
Stone Singer (1 Point)¶
You have a magic connection to the earth. When you spend 1 uninterrupted hour singing, you can reshape any unworked mundane stone within 3 squares. You can't destroy this stone, but you can move each square of it anywhere within 3 squares, piling it off to one side to dig a hole or building it up to create a wall.
Wode Elf¶
Children of the sylvan celestials and masters of the elf-haunted forests called wodes, wode elves see all forests as their domain by birthright. They know and enjoy their reputation among humans for snatching children who wander too far into the woods. Humans should fear the trees.
The wode elves' natural ability to mask their presence, called glamor, complements their guerilla style of fighting, letting them strike quickly from cover and then meld back into the underbrush. These traits also make the relatively few wode elves who dwell in cities naturally adept at urban warfare.
On Wode Elves¶
"I'm scared," Wenna said. "We should go back." The forest felt as if it was closing in on them.
"We're not going back," Jeremy said. Normally, such a statement would be the end of the discussion, but they were alone and far from home.
"What if we're going in circles?"
"Then we keep going in circles!" Dade said from somewhere up ahead. "Until we find the elves."
"The elves have found you!" a clear, bright voice called out. The children froze. They scanned the wood, but there were no signs of the speaker.
Then, only a few feet from them, a half-dozen figures melded out of the background, as if the trees and bushes and grass had been painted on them to perfectly match the wode. They wore light armor covered in leaves, moss, and vines, and they bristled with weapons.
Meliora gasped. Credan frowned, and Wenna hushed her. Dade was ushered back toward them by two more wode elves, his bow in hand. The children huddled together, Credan's hand on the symbol of Saint Gryffyn around his neck, and Jeremy's hand on the hilt of his sword.
The elves were tall, taller than an adult human, but seemed always to crouch as soon as they stopped moving. Their eyes were unsettling, widely spaced and huge. But it was their ears, long and tall and twisting and set with great scoops to catch all sound, that marked them as elves of the wode.
"Admittedly, though, most terrans regret the experience." The voice they had heard called out again—from above. The children looked up and now saw a wode elf with long, furry, twisting ears and nut-brown skin smiling down at them. They wore a brightly colored outfit. The children watched the elf leap lightly from branch to lower branch until finally landing with a flourish on the forest floor before them.
"Consort!" An elf before them spoke in Yllyric as he stood from his crouch and bowed. "We have been tracking these since they entered the wode."
Meliora, who understood the words, whispered to the others. "They called that one 'consort!'"
Llyander smiled, looking from Meliora to the elf who had just addressed them with a See? I told you! look on their face.
The tall, swashbuckling elf bowed to the children. "I am Llyander, the Lightning Strike, Consort to Queen Imyrr." They indicated the elf who had spoken. "This is my cousin, Rhythylthin."
"How did you know we were here?" Jeremy asked. Dade stood just behind him, with an arrow now nocked.
The one called Rhythylthin reached out while Dade was turned, looking at the queen's consort, and deftly plucked the arrow from the young man's bow.
"Nothing happens within the wode without our knowledge," the elf said. Dade spun on him and nocked another arrow. "And approval," Rhythylthin added, clenching his fist and snapping the arrow in it.
"You come bearing a gift for our queen—the Codex Dryadalis." Llyander nodded at the heavy scroll Meliora carried. "My cousin Rhythylthin here was sent to capture you and escort you to the Orchid Court. But I am the queen's consort, and have my own thoughts on the matter."
The elf smiled at the children. "But have no fear," they said. Their Vaslorian was perfect, their voice a melody. "You are safe … now." The pause before "now" spoke volumes.
"Are you a … a … boy or a girl?" Wenna asked.
Llyander smiled gaily. "I am a song! I contain melodies and harmonies alike," they said. Wenna smiled.
Rhythylthin rolled his eyes. Llyander noticed this and winked at him. "Fashions change. My cousin here wears the new trends." They gestured at the other wode elf's garb and masculine appearance. "Me? I'm old fashioned." They gestured to their own outfit and appearance. "Grace never goes out of style."
Llyander turned to Rhythylthin and the rest of the wode elf band. "Their gift goes to Lord Tear, methinks. I will escort them." Then, suddenly imperious, they added, "You may go."
In spite of his previous skepticism toward the queen's consort, Rhythylthin straightened and bowed. As one, the elves turned and flowed into the wode. In only a few steps, they melded into the trees and undergrowth.
"How did they do that?" Meliora demanded, spinning to confront their benefactor.
"Hmm? Do what?" Llyander asked, looking after the elves, wondering what Meliora meant.
"Just … disappear like that!"
Llyander looked at the other children with a combination of wonder and annoyance. "Do terran children not play hiding games?"
"Well …" Jeremy looked at Dade, who was no help. "We do, but …"
Llyander made a theatrical, dismissive gesture with one arm. "Well, it is the same thing, then. But for our people, it is a game we practice all our lives! We would be poor protectors of the wode if we could not conceal ourselves within it."
"But that was …" Meliora was frustrated at the elf's seeming evasion. "That was magic!"
"You say? Well," Llyander mused, "terrans are a part and apart, it is said. It is your blessing and your curse methinks. Perhaps someday you can explain it to me!" The elf's eyes twinkled at Meliora's frustration.
Llyander turned and marched off. "Come!" they called. The children ran to catch up.
"Where are we going?" Wenna asked.
"I enjoy the favor of Lord Tear," Llyander said. "We are old friends. With me as your guide, he will treat you well—likely bestow favor upon you! You should be in anticipation of great treasure." They smiled.
The elf stopped suddenly and spun toward them, serious but kindly. They pointed to each of the children in turn.
"I will instruct you on the proper etiquette, but remember this: Lord Tear will test us. Some tests for you and some for me. The high elves and the wode elves are but distant cousins. You will hear much that is polite, much that is flattering, but it is all another kind of glamor. It hides deep tensions, recently exacerbated by the treaty with Ajax."
The children nodded. The elf, satisfied, marched off and they followed.
Jeremy turned to Dade. "I feel like we're in a dream," he whispered. "You are!" their escort called out. "The wode is a dream! With a little luck, one you may soon wake safely from."
Wode Elf Traits¶
Wode elf heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Wode Elf Glamor¶
You can magically alter your appearance to better blend in with your surroundings. You gain an edge on tests made to hide and sneak, and tests made to search for you while you are hidden take a bane.
Purchased Wode Elf Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Swift, Otherworldly Grace.)
Forest Walk (1 Point)¶
You can shift into and while within difficult terrain.
Quick and Brutal (1 Point)¶
Whenever you score a critical hit, you can take an additional main action and an additional move action instead of just a main action.
Otherworldly Grace (2 Points)¶
Your elf body and mind can't be contained for long. Whenever you make a saving throw, you succeed on a roll of 5 or higher.
Revisit Memory (1 Point)¶
Accessing memories is as easy as living in the present for you. You gain an edge on tests made to recall lore.
Swift (1 Point)¶
You have speed 6.
The Wode Defends (2 Points)¶
You have the following signature ability. Signature abilities can be used at will.
The Wode Defends¶
Thorny vines erupt from every surface and attempt to bind your foe.
| Magic, Ranged, Strike | Main Action |
|---|---|
| 📏 Ranged 10 | 🎯 One creature |
Power Roll + Might or Agility:
- ≤11: 2 + M or A damage; A < WEAK, slowed (save ends)
- 12-16: 3 + M or A damage; A < AVERAGE, slowed (save ends)
- 17+: 5 + M or A damage; A < STRONG, slowed (save ends)
High Elf¶
Children of the solar celestials created to tend their libraries and attend to the true elves as heralds, high elf history describes a better age, before the coming of humans and war. A time when the celestials were still in the world, and all that mattered was art and beauty.
In the millennia since their creators retired to Arcadia, the high elves built a civilization for themselves, primarily living in and among the fallen celestial sky cities. With no creators left to please, the elves continue as they did before—collecting lore and knowledge, worshipping art, and turning more inward and distrusting of outsiders with each generation.
On High Elves¶
"They're so beautiful," Wenna said. "It's hard to imagine we're in danger."
"It's not that hard," Dade said darkly.
The five children stood alone in the center of a large circular courtyard open to the sky, their wode elf escort Llyander at their side. Lord Tear, King of the High Elves, sat on a marble throne, holding the scroll of the Codex Dryadalis in his lap. He had not spoken since Llyander made their speech and handed the codex over. The members of the court, nobles and courtiers and learned sages, gathered to watch. Implacable warriors in golden plate with fine filigree etched into the metal stood guard around the perimeter.
"They seem like …" Meliora said, searching for the words.
"Like the lords of all the world," Wenna said with awe and wonder. "And we are their prisoners," Jeremy said, looking at his brother Dade and Credan beside him.
"You're not prisoners," Llyander said quietly. "You are guests. You're safer here than you would be even in your own homes."
"Yes," Jeremy said, looking at the nearest guards with their longspears and swords. "We feel very safe."
"Who are you kidding?" Dade said. "Everyone knows how much elves hate humans."
At this, Lord Tear exchanged a look with Llyander, consort to Queen Imyrr. It was a knowing look, full of sadness and melancholy. Then he broke his silence.
"Show me an elf who hates humans," he said, his voice deep and sonorous, "and I will show you an elf who loved a human and watched them grow old and die." He looked at the children for the first time and smiled a melancholy smile. "Love is like sunlight for us, you see. We love completely but rarely. The loss of it means an eternity of grief for us."
The king tapped the scroll against his lap, seeming to have reached a decision.
"Well done, consort. Young humans, your escort here seeks to shame me. For they know well they could have taken this prize to their queen and earned her favor. Instead, Llyander brought it to me in the hopes that by doing so, they deliver me the power necessary to throw off the yoke of Ajax's rule. Long has Llyander resented the decision I made and sought to change it …"—he looked at Llyander—"… by changing my mind."
Llyander nodded deferentially, silently congratulating the king on his insight.
"Alas, your escort's efforts are for naught." Then the king's face became softer. He held up the heavy scroll. "But this is not nothing," he said. "We made a treaty with Ajax to deliver unto him any artifacts our search teams discover from the ruins of this city. He benefits from this bargain more than we. But this, methinks, will stay with us. It was written by my grandmother's grandmother in the youth of the world, and there are some things which must be denied the Iron Saint, even should they violate the treaty."
Llyander turned to the children and smiled brilliantly, eyebrows waggling in a show of glee. Wenna and Credan couldn't help but smile. "Well, you see children?" Llyander said. "We only have more to do, not everything to do."
The king stood up and a herald beside the throne announced, "Gather ye, and attend! The Lord of Fallen Irranys, Morning Dew on a Single Leaf Like a Tear from the Sun, speaks. And know his word is law!"
Lord Tear glided down the steps until he was standing, as tall as Llyander, before the children. His face was noble and beautiful. Wisps of silver-like strands of smoke spread across his golden skin. He seemed at once eternal and youthful.
"You have heard many things about my people, but this above all you should know. We do not value lore for lore's sake, but beauty first and above all other things. And the truth, to us, is a kind of beauty. Thus do we find knowledge beautiful.
"You have returned something not only of enormous worldpower, but at the same time, a work of art my ancient relative labored over for many of your centuries. It is something of a miracle that it is returned to me now. I will not forget this. You have made an ally of the lord of the high elves. And though you lead brief lives, while you live, you shall have the favor of the elves." He turned to hand the scroll over to a sage and confer with his herald.
"He seems wise," Credan said.
"And smart," Meliora said.
"I'm surprised how kind he is," Jeremy said. "He seems a good king." Llyander chuckled. Wenna noticed. She didn't say anything at first, but eventually she couldn't resist. "What?"
Llyander raised an eyebrow, then walked in front of the children so that as the wode elf spoke, their back was to the king.
"Do you remember when my cousin's soldiers hid in the wode?" they said, their voice low. "How astonished you were?"
Wenna and Meliora nodded. Llyander nodded to the guards and guests. "This is their glamor. Whatever you find pleasant and attractive in another? That is what you see in them. If you value good humor, they are jesters. If you value beauty, they are breathtaking. If you find intelligence attractive, they are sages. It is not just an effect of appearance, though it is also that. It is one of demeanor."
"But how do they do …"
Llyander put a finger to their lips, silencing young Meliora. "It is not a thing they do. It is an effect in your mind."
"You mean they don't even know they're doing it?" Meliora asked.
"Then what do they really look like?" Wenna asked.
Llyander shrugged. "What does anyone really look like?" And while the other children chalked this up to their escort's normally abstruse mode of communication, Meliora caught a glimpse of understanding somewhere in her mind.
The king turned back to them. "Should any of you seek hidden lore or deep wisdom, please allow me to serve you first. But you, young woman, the human child who learned our language, I name thee elf friend. And my naming carries power. You will find the learning of our lore will come more quickly to you, and all those who still revere the elves will give you safe passage in their lands."
Llyander put their hands on their hips and regarded the children. "Not bad for your second quest. What shall you do for an encore?"
High Elf Traits¶
High elf heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: High Elf Glamor¶
A magic glamor makes others perceive you as interesting and engaging, granting you an edge on Presence tests using the Flirt or Persuade skills. This glamor makes you appear and sound slightly different to each creature you meet, since what is engaging to one might be different for another. However, you never appear to be anyone other than yourself.
Purchased High Elf Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: High Senses, Otherworldly Grace.)
Glamor of Terror (2 Points)¶
When a foe strikes, you reverse the magic of your glamor to instill fear into their heart. Whenever you take damage from a creature, you can use a triggered action to make that creature frightened of you until the end of their next turn.
Graceful Retreat (1 Point)¶
You gain a +1 bonus to the distance you can shift when you take the Disengage move action.
High Senses (1 Point)¶
Your senses are especially keen and perceptive. You gain an edge on tests made to notice threats.
Otherworldly Grace (2 Points)¶
Your elf body and mind can't be contained for long. Whenever you make a saving throw, you succeed on a roll of 5 or higher.
Revisit Memory (1 Point)¶
Accessing memories is as easy as living in the present for you. You gain an edge on tests made to recall lore.
Unstoppable Mind (2 Points)¶
Your mind allows you to maintain your focus in any situation. You can't be made dazed.
Hakaan¶
In spite of their friendly, outgoing nature, the rare presence of a hakaan in human society is considered a harbinger. An omen of dark times.
Descended from a tribe of giants in upper Vanigar, the original Haka'an tribe made a bargain with Holkatya the Vanigar trickster god. They traded some of their gigantic size and strength for the ability to see the future.
But Holkatya betrayed them, and the only future a hakaan is allowed to see is the moment and nature of their own death. These visions are never of some mundane tragedy. No hakaan ever received a vision of dying from choking on a grape. This Doomsight is always momentous. Always dramatic.
The Doomsight can happen at any moment. It does not come for all or even most hakaan, but when it comes, it is considered an act of overwhelming hubris to ignore it. Trying to escape the Doomsight means a painful, tragic death, and cursing your family to live with shame.
But the only hakaan the average human meets is one trying to fulfill their doom. The human superstition—that the arrival of one or more hakaan in human lands is a sign of great forces acting in the world, auspicious times—is literally true. In dark times, many hakaan experience the Doomsight and leave their communities to venture out into the mundane world, in search of their destiny.
Humans in Vanigar have their own word for this concept of a personal fate. "Wyrd." Traditional hakaan sometimes refer to the Doomsight as "wyrdken."
On Hakaan¶
The gate, or door, or whatever it was started to close. With Dazar on the other side of it.
"Embers!" John called out, but the high elf was surrounded. At that moment, a detonation. An explosion of sound that knocked the demons back. And a giant stood before the lumbering egress.
Dust settled on the ground behind the giant, and John realized the thunderclap was the sound of the giant running to them. Air that couldn't get out of the way fast enough, tortured by the pressure of his speed.
The rectangular, toothed egress demon was twelve feet tall at least, the giant almost matching its immense size.
In the instant before the maw of teeth and eyeballs shut, the giant grabbed each side of the mouth, and pulled. Muscles the size of hounds bulged. Tendons like ship cables stood taught, quivering with strain. "Not today!" the giant shouted. "Not TODAY!!"
As the giant forced the maw open, glowing tentacles writhed out of it, wrapping around the giant's arms, legs, neck. "Hahah!" the figure laughed. "You'll find … MY flesh …" the giant's bravado hid the fact that he was at the uttermost limits of his strength. "… too RICH … for your taste!"
John knew what the giant did not—the tendrils drained life, sapped energy. The living portal would gain the strength it needed to defeat the giant by drinking his own life force.
But the arrival of the giant changed the equation. John saw a new solution. The hakaan risked his life to buy them options, and Sir John of Tor would not let the giant risk his life in vain.
Kicking the styrich back gave John room to move, and he dashed toward Embers. A shout, and a thrust into the soulraker's back, and the demons surrounding Embers turned to face Sir John.
He had to focus so intently on the demons who now surrounded him, he wasn't even sure Embers knew what to do. But he needn't have worried. When he risked a glance, she was already gone. A light fall of starstuff the only evidence she had translated into void.
Dispatching a chimeron, John saw Embers emerge from the other side of the egress demon with Dazar in her arms. John couldn't tell if Dazar was conscious. He might even be dead. Who knew what lurked on the other side of that living portal to the Abyssal Waste?
The hakaan struggled against the living gateway to that blasted world. One leg buckled and the stone warrior fell to one knee. The door would take him just as it took their dwarf conduit.
Then, rising behind the egress demon, the high theocron, his battlestaff glowing.
"Back!" Dazar conduit of Zarok, Law-Giver shouted, smashing at the flesh of the living doorway with his battlestaff. "To hell!" He swung again.
The doorway quivered and bled, and the giant stood up. "Yes!" He called out. "YES!"
John and Embers joined the fight. The gamble, unspoken, was that the summoned demons would evaporate if their living portal were destroyed. It paid off.
They only had a moment before the demons swarmed them, but a moment was all it took before the hakaan shouted and finally ripped the bloody egress demon apart with his bare hands.
The demons in midstride all turned inside out, leaving bubbling, steaming pools of organs, eyeballs, and teeth on the ground. Leaving four heroes gasping from the fight.
"I told you …" Dazar said, hands on his knees. "Not to open! That book!"
"You didn't say 'Don't open that,'" John said, leaning back and gulping air. "You just said it was dangerous. I knew it was dangerous!"
"Well met!" The giant laughed at the two friends squabbling.
"Well met indeed," Sir John said getting his breathing under control as the group gathered before the giant. "Thank you for rescuing my friend."
"I had the situation under control," Dazar muttered, all evidence to the contrary.
"Of a surety!" The giant's humor matched his size. "It was my honor to grant thee aid, nothing more."
"You've been following us for a while," Embers said. John wondered what she meant.
"From the beginning," the giant said enigmatically.
"Don't take this the wrong way," John confessed, "but I was afraid we'd meet a barrow-man on this journey."
The giant smiled "Fear? At a meeting of friends? Ah these must be treacherous times indeed if simple folk like us have cause to fear meeting strangers."
"No offense," John said. "It's just that … well … we only ever see one of you when you come down from the hills. Following your doom. Which is usually a …" John tried to find a less dramatic way to say it, but nothing came to mind. "A tiding of ill-omen."
"You are following your wyrd," Embers said.
The giant shook his head. "Following my brother. He hurtles headlong to meet his doom, which I deem is bound up in this matter of this Sky Tyrant."
"Ajax," Dazar said. And the hakaan could hear the darkness in his voice.
"Aye. I did not understand why his path and yours seemed coincident, but now I think it has something to do with the thing they all seek, his demons."
John looked at Embers. "One of the Eleven Who Shall Not Be Named," she said. "The fifth, I suspect. They were the elite deathless servants of the Lord of Swords who once ruled this land, many ages ago. Ajax is collecting the artifacts of ancient emperors. And their servants too, it seems."
The giant nodded solemnly. "You are lorewise. My trust in you was well-placed. I am Ardashir," he placed one palm on his forehead, the other over his heart, and bowed his head once. "It would be my pleasure to journey with you awhile. Stalwart allies are rare and precious in these times." He grinned. "Good company even more so."
"No armor, no sword or staff," Dazar noticed. "Hakaan do not use weapons?"
"Many do!" Ardashir said. "I do not. I left the hills of my people long ago to pursue a different path. A path of order and discipline. It is my birthright perhaps."
"He's a null," Embers explained. "They eschew all weapons and implements of war. It is part of their creed, as I understand it."
"Strength alone might serve," Dazar nodded, "when the strength is such as yours."
Ardashir grinned. "Strength alone is not enough." He assumed a fighting pose, hands clenched, arms in a guarding position before him. "Discipline, training, focus. These are my implements."
"Well you can't ever be disarmed," John said. "That could be useful." Ardashir's smile was brilliant. "I suffice," he said.
Hakaan Traits¶
Hakaan heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Big!¶
Your stature reflects your giant forebears. Your size is 1L.
Purchased Hakaan Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Doomsight, Forceful.)
All Is a Feather (1 Point)¶
You are exceptionally strong. You gain an edge on tests made to lift and haul heavy objects.
Doomsight (2 Points)¶
Working with your Director, you can predetermine an encounter in which you will die. When that encounter begins, you become doomed. While doomed, you automatically obtain a tier 3 outcome on tests and ability rolls, and you don't die no matter how low your Stamina falls. You then die immediately at the end of the encounter, and can't be returned to life by any means.
If you don't predetermine your death encounter, you can choose to become doomed while you are dying with the Director's approval (no action required). Doing so should be reserved for encounters in which you are dying as a result of suitable heroism, such as making a last stand against a boss or saving civilians, or when the consequences of your actions have finally caught up to you—not because you're playing a one-shot and have nothing to lose, Hacaarl.
Additionally, when your Stamina reaches the negative of your winded value and you are not doomed, you turn to rubble instead of experiencing death. You are unaware of your surroundings in this state, and you can't regain Stamina or have this effect undone in any way. After 12 hours, you regain Stamina equal to your recovery value.
Forceful (1 Point)¶
Whenever you force move a creature or object, the forced movement distance gains a +1 bonus.
Great Fortitude (2 Points)¶
Your hearty constitution prevents you from losing strength. You can't be made weakened.
Stand Tough (1 Point)¶
Your body is made to withstand the blows of your enemies. Your Might score is treated as 1 higher for the purpose of resisting potencies, and you gain an edge on Might tests when called for to resist environmental effects or a creature's traits or abilities.
Human¶
Humans belong to the world in a way the other speaking peoples do not. You can sense the presence of the supernatural—that … oily smell in the air, as I've heard it described. And the presence of deathless causes the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. Or why do you think graveyards affect you so? Whatever magic is, its grip on you is light. Whatever drives the deathless, your nature rebels against it.
"No one knows why this should be. We elves have no such senses. Nor do the elementals or the kanin … the dwarves and the orcs as you say. What is it that sets humans apart? I am an historian, not a physician. I cannot say. Perhaps some of you will one day find out and teach us all the reason."
On Humans¶
So, we arrive here at the end of your first semester of Human Culture. I hope to see you next year in the Caelian Empire course, and though it may be hard to believe now, I often see former students' names in our textbooks years later. Perhaps that will be some of you.
I will now answer the one question I am asked most often, and which I save answering until the last day of class. What do I think of humans?
I am a high elf, as you deem it in your tongue. A child of the solar celestials. And I have taught this class, mostly to young humans, for thirteen centuries. I have seen generations of your people come through this classroom, and that alone would well qualify me to answer this question.
What do I think of humans? Well, I will tell you.
I was here, teaching this class during the fire of Chaos 373. The fire leveled this city. Can you imagine that? Can you imagine the heat, the death, destruction that such a thing causes?
Six months after the Great Fire, your ancestors had rebuilt … everything. I have seen many miracles in my life. Witnessing that feat might be chief among them.
Liches are almost always humans. Did you know that? I think I know why. Your lives are so short—almost as soon as you're born, you're thinking about dying, and you refuse to yield.
That refusal to yield to death … to death … is what drives you, I think. Drives you to leave the world better than you found it. Causes ruined people to rebuild great city.
We studied human history in this room. Did you feel that those great ancestors of yours were perhaps made of finer stuff than you? Do not think thus. I knew them, and I know you, and your future is greater. I sometimes think each human generation greater than the last—more courageous, more generous. Quicker to forgive.
Today, Ajax's name is on everyone's tongue, but we learned of many great evils that plagued this world. We met the Pharaoh Khorsekef, desperate, his power failing, as he opened the Great Tet and drank of the time stored there, becoming the Ultralich. He was defeated, and now rules the Necropolitan Ruin in the Abyssal Waste.
We watched Cthrion Uroniziir try to reduce the timescape into one singular universe, wiping out reality as we know it. She was defeated, and we see her cage every day.1
Each of these great evils was defeated by a coalition. The armies and heroes of many speaking peoples. And all of them—all of them—were led … by humans. That's a fact. That's history. You can look it up.
Is there some rare trait that makes you uniquely qualified to lead disparate peoples, bring them together to achieve great things? I think … there must be.
Those great humans, your ancestors, did not focus on differences. They did not weigh different people and grade them based on arbitrary traits deemed virtues and flaws. That is what Ajax does. No, those humans focused on the future. On making a better world … for all of us. A world many of them knew they would not live to see. That is a sacrifice … I can scarcely imagine.
The people who stand against Ajax and tyrants like him will be just like you—normal people. Priests and scholars and merchants and farmers. Maybe even teachers.
Stopping Ajax will require you to become something else. You must become heroes. Conduits of saints, warmasters of great armies. Censors and shadows. That may seem unlikely now, but the future has a way of surprising us.
Some of your names, I will see written in future textbooks. But some of your names, I will see written in the stars.
Human Traits¶
Human heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Detect the Supernatural¶
As a maneuver, you can open your awareness to detect supernatural creatures and phenomena. Until the end of your next turn, you know the location of any supernatural object, or any undead, construct, or creature from another world within 5 squares, even if you don't have line of effect to that object or creature. You know if you're detecting an item or a creature, and you know the nature of any creature you detect.
Purchased Human Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Perseverance, Staying Power.)
Can't Take Hold (1 Point)¶
Your connection to the natural world allows you to resist certain supernatural effects. You ignore temporary difficult terrain created by magic and psionic abilities. Additionally, when you are force moved by a magic or psionic ability, you can reduce the forced movement distance by 1.
Determination (2 Points)¶
A tolerance for pain and distress allows you to push through difficult situations. If you are frightened, slowed, or weakened, you can use a maneuver to immediately end one of those conditions.
Perseverance (1 Point)¶
Giving up is for other people. You gain an edge on tests made using the Endurance skill. Additionally, when you are slowed, your speed is reduced to 3 instead of 2.
Resist the Unnatural (1 Point)¶
Your instinctive resilience protects you from injuries beyond the routine. Whenever you take damage that isn't untyped, you can use a triggered action to take half the damage.
Staying Power (2 Points)¶
Your human physiology allows you to fight, run, and stay awake longer than others. You increase your number of Recoveries by 2.
Memonek¶
The native denizens of Axiom, the Plane of Uttermost Law, memonek dwell in a land with lakes and trees and birds and flowers. But on this alien world, the lakes are seas of mercury, the birds glitter with wings of glass stretched gossamer thin, and the flowers' petals are iridescent metal as flexible and fragile as any earthly rose.
The minds of memonek are highly ordered. Their reason is their great pride. But when descending to the lower planes, including a manifold like Orden where law and chaos mix, a sickness comes over them—an uncontrollable sensation called emotion.
On Memonek¶
"You want to tell me what just happened?" Sir John asked. Count Revile avoided his gaze, then turned and stamped across the bloody battlefield. "I'm fine!" Revile shouted, all evidence to the contrary.
"I know what I saw," John said as he followed his friend. "You went into a bloodlust. And it's not the first time. Listen!" John shouted, uncharacteristically, trying to get the count to pay attention. "You asked me for help, remember? You want to get home," John gestured to the sky, "… and you asked for help and I said, 'Do you remember?' I said, 'Is there anything else we should know?'
"Now I meant, 'Is there anyone coming after you we need to know about?' But it's starting to seem like there's something wrong with you. That you knew about and chose not to tell me."
Vithyaranu, Count of the ALAV Revile paced back and forth, his cloak billowing. John continued.
"Listen, whether you like it or not, whether I like it or not, I'm in charge of this mission. Either you tell me what's going on, or I have no choice. I have to conclude you're a danger to the team and cut you loose."
Revile stopped and turned to look at the rest of the party, recovering from their wounds. The memonek's white porcelain chest heaved as he tried to calm himself. His ceramic skin looked as strong as plate, but John knew it was brittle, fragile.
Count Revile took a deep breath. "We call it velloparatha," he said. "In your tongue it would be … worldsick. Or world-sickness? It is a thing that happens … to my people … when they come to your world. It is an illness of … of feeling. Emotion."
"Are you going mad?" John asked, his voice quiet. He wanted to give the count a chance to answer privately.
The memonek smiled ruefully. "It feels that way sometimes. I spent an hour this morning staring at an insect that landed on my finger. A grasshopper the dwarf called it. I thought I had never seen a thing so perfect and beautiful. That was awe. As powerful as I have ever felt. In the battle today, anger. Just as powerful.
"I thought I could resist it. When I arrived here and felt no different I thought perhaps worldsickness was a legend. But it is a slow process, this illness. These insidious emotions."
"No emotions where you're from?"
Count Revile shook his head. "Not like this. We are creatures of reason, we of Axiom. It is our art, our pride. Our religion sometimes methinks. We have emotions; joy, sadness, wonder, grief. But they are … a fashion. They do not happen to us; they are something we indulge in, out of propriety. Here … everything is order and chaos mixed. Even in me. In me." Revile placed his hand on his chest.
"In the battle today. That anger was not directed at Ajax's war dogs. It was at myself."
"At yourself ? Why? What did you …?"
"John," the memonek said, and now it was his turn to whisper. "I was afraid. Afraid of … of being wounded, of failing you, failing my friends. Of dying. And out of that fear came … enormous anger. At myself. Anger that I was so weak so … useless. Anger so … strong, so powerful … I forgot who I was."
John chuckled. "That's just …" He smiled broadly. "That's just normal. We all feel that way."
"What? No, you don't understand …"
"Oh I don't understand, okay, let me guess. It felt like you were gonna piss yourself."
"Yes!!"
"Yeah, happens to all of us."
"Even you?!"
Sir John shrugged. "Are you kidding? Sure. But it doesn't help. You still got a job to do. In fact I'd say that is the job. Anyone can learn the blade." He placed his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Nothing special about that. It's learning to deal with the fear. That's the job. What separates the professionals from the amateurs."
Count Revile said nothing, just thought.
"Feeling better?"
Revile nodded. "I always recover afterwards. But these outbursts come unbidden. Like thunder from a clear sky."
"Hm. Yeah. Well that explains what happened when you met Embers."
Count Revile did not like being reminded of that. He looked to the sky and shook his head. "I made a fool of myself."
"Don't be so hard on yourself. If you're trying to seduce our void mage you made a good start of it. She's three hundred years old. I've known her since I was fifteen. I don't think I've ever seen her blush. Anyway, now that I know what's going on, now that I know you're basically a giant teenager with overactive glands, I can relax a little."
Embers approached and handed John a small, heavy object. She looked at the two men then walked away.
"She was right," John said looking at the iridoss starcore. "They didn't know what it was, but they sure as hell didn't want us to get it.
"Here," John said, handing the engine over to Count Revile. "I guess you're free to go."
Revile looked at the elaborate cage of brass and glass holding a swirling blue starfield. "I guess I am," he said. He looked at Sir John. "I didn't expect our friendship to be so short."
John smiled and maybe blushed a little. "Well," he said looking at the rest of the crew, "being one of my friends these days is a hazardous profession."
The count just got more serious. "I was lucky to meet one such as you on this world."
John shrugged. "Only world I've ever known."
Count Revile hefted the starcore. "I have responsibilities to keep. I will return home and this place will be only a memory." The count was openly sad. "And you can forget about the alien you rescued and his ship of glass and steel."
"Oh, I doubt that," John said. "But I'll tell you this. I'll never look at the stars the same way again."
John offered his hand. Revile shook it and then held it.
"If there are many like you in this world of gods and sorcery," the noble memonek star captain said, "then your victory over evil is assured."
"I don't know about many," John said, extricating his hand. He looked at the dwarf, elf, and hakaan.
"But there might be enough."
Memonek Traits¶
Memonek heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Fall Lightly¶
Your silicone body is low in density. Whenever you fall, you reduce the distance of the fall by 2 squares.
Signature Trait: Lightweight¶
Your body is light for a creature of your height. Whenever another creature attempts to force move you, you treat your size as one size smaller than it is.
Purchased Memonek Traits¶
You have 4 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Lightning Nimbleness, Nonstop.)
I Am Law (1 Point)¶
Your lawful nature and quick reflexes mean you give no quarter to creatures trying to get past you. Enemies can't move through your space unless you allow them to do so.
Keeper of Order (2 Points)¶
Your connection to Axiom, the plane of Uttermost Law, allows you to manage chaos around you. Once per round when you or an adjacent creature makes a power roll, you can use a free triggered action to remove an edge or a bane on the roll, to turn a double edge into an edge, or to turn a double bane into a bane.
Lightning Nimbleness (2 Points)¶
You can push your body to move at incredible speeds. Your speed is 7.
Nonstop (2 Points)¶
Your connection to Axiom allows you to regulate your movement. You can't be made slowed.
Systematic Mind (1 Point)¶
You gain an edge on tests made to parse schematics, maps, and other systematic documents that aren't inherently chaotic. In addition, you treat any language you don't know as if you know a related language.
Unphased (1 Point)¶
Your ordered mind can't be caught off guard. You can't be made surprised.
Useful Emotion (1 Point)¶
Velloparatha—the worldsickness—might hinder you, but you know how to turn your pain into something your enemies feel. At the start of any combat, you gain 1 surge.
Orc¶
An anger that cannot be hidden. A fury that drives them in battle. Orcs are famed throughout the world as consummate warriors—a reputation that the peace-loving orcs find
The fifth of the speaking peoples, orcs arrived on Orden after humans and elves. They made their homes in the borderlands between those two cultures, preferring the natural forests and avoiding the elf-haunted wodes. For generations, this put them directly in the path of humans who cut down the trees and built roads and farms.
Each orc has within them a fire that causes their veins to glow once blood is drawn. This anger propels them right to the edge of death. The dichotomy between their desire to be left alone and their zeal in battle is summarized in a dwarf proverb:
"Be thankful orcs do not hold grudges."
On Orcs¶
The orc pulled her greataxe from the split skull of the newly dead ogre. Prone heroes scrambled to their feet. Dazar healed the wounded.
The orc hopped down from the corpse of the defeated. "Elg was a ruin ogre," she said. "Infected with a troll disease. An inconvenience for troll-kin but to an ogre …" She indicated the mutated ogre. "You weren't to know."
"Oh, good," Sir John said with obvious relief. "You speak Caelian." "Yes." The orc said. She seemed distant. She gave John a look. "I speak the language of your conquerors."
John smiled. He liked this orc already.
"By the stars!" Ardashir said with open joy on his face. "You saved our lives. It must be you who we seek."
Khorva looked at the assembled heroes. A motley band. "You did most of the work," she said. She seemed disinterested in them and everything.
"You waited until we proved our mettle before acting!" Dazar said, and from the way he spoke it was unclear if this was an accusation or mere observation.
"If you couldn't hold your own," the orc said, "there'd be no point helping you." Her eyes rested on Sir John.
"John," he said.
"Khorva," the orc said.
"Of the Howling," John said.
"Late of the Howling," Khorva said, and looked into the forest with apparent disinterest. Already on the back foot, John thought. Well if it was easy, it wouldn't be called a job.
"We've been looking for you," Dazar said.
Khorva nodded without looking at the dwarf.
"I surmised as much," she said. "It seemed your plan was to wander around the wood until something tried to kill you in the hopes of attracting my attention."
"Well, we didn't have a lot of other options," John said. "We seek the chieftain of the Howling."
"That is my brother."
John looked at Embers. "We were told the Howling was led by a woman."
Khorva sighed and looked away into the forest. "My sister died leaving my people leaderless. I tried to save her. I failed. I tried to lead in her stead. I failed." She said these things with no emotion, no inflection. Then her gaze dropped to the sandy ground and her eyes unfocused. A moment passed.
"How clever the dead are," she said, her voice a little hollow, "to torment us from the grave."
John saw the broken swords on her belt. "Five swords," he said. "Five broken swords." He looked at Khorva anew. "I don't think I've ever seen an orc survived three challenges."
"They couldn't kill me and I wouldn't yield." She looked at the group of them skeptically. "Four of you?"
"We just got started," John said defensively. "And I'm working on a friend of mine. We'll see. One of the Storm Knights."
Khorva frowned. "I thought the Dragon Phalanx were dead."
"Yeah well," John said, wishing Vaant was here to watch this. "They couldn't kill him," he broke out in a feral grin. "And he wouldn't yield."
Khorva nodded once, impressed.
"We need the Howling," John said. "If we get you your tribe back …?" Khorva sighed and said nothing for several moments. After a while, she returned from her reverie to look at John.
"I'd rather go fishing."
John smiled. "My sister liked fishing too."
"Why not talk to my brother?"
"Because we are not fools," Embers said, and Khorva locked eyes with her, standing a little straighter. The orc's brown eyes burned and it
seemed the group rose somewhat in her estimation. She nodded once. "The folk of farm and field go to war," Dazar said, using the orcish term for humans. "A war against Lord Saxton and his priest."
Khorva turned to John. "How is this your matter?"
John tried to find a way to tell the story that wouldn't take all day. He kicked at a stone with his boot as he thought.
"A family came to me. They're desperate. Their village is desperate. They can either die, or fight. And they cannot fight. So they hired me."
Khorva raised an eyebrow. "How much did they buy you for?" "Nine copper bits."
Khorva stared at him. "That's nothing"
John shrugged. "It was everything they had. The village sold everything they had left."
John relaxed as he saw Khorva's eyes soften. She understood.
"A difficult offer to refuse," she said.
"Aye." Dazar nodded solemly.
Khorva looked up to watch three crows idly circling, rising, riding a heat haze into the sky. "How many is the opposition?"
"Saxton has no regulars. Just some knights, we can take care of them. But he has the Whitewater. Led by Bonebreaker Dorokor. That's three companies of elite light orc foot against a handful of peasant levies. We need the Howling."
"Perhaps," Khorva said, and turned away from the crows to look out over the heroes. "I know Dorokor, she is not like my brother. A head of meat and muscle. Dorokor is a thinker. You seek the Howling because you seek a counter to the Whitewater." She looked at John. "But even better, talk to Dorokor. Deny Saxton his pet orc clan, and earn the allegiance of the Whitewater."
"Is such a thing possible?" Embers asked.
A moment passed. Khorva didn't break eye contact with John. "It's possible," she said.
"The Howling or the Whitewater tribe," Dazar said. "Either would be a formidable foe in any battle, such is the reputation of orcish warlore."
Khorva shook her head. "Orcs have no great love for battle. We love trees and green things. We love an unspoiled land. For this reason did Kul place us in the world. The last of the original speaking peoples."
"But also did Kul place the fire within you," Embers said.
"Yes," Dazar added. "You are not pacifists, you are warriors!"
"We are pacifists," Khorva said with an emphasis that seemed almost a shout. Then a beat of silence and a smile played across her lips. "And we are warriors."
"We're not here to make a deal," John said. "We're not for sale and neither are you. This is about righting a wrong. It's about helping people." He paused and something unrehearsed, unbidden came from his lips.
"It's about living with yourself. Sleeping at night."
"Battles do not bring restful sleep," Khorva said. "The opposite, I find." "Battles bring glory! Battles make heroes!" Dazar insisted, and John
felt like he learned something about the dwarf in that moment. He could hear that Dazar believed this to be true, and knew it was a lie. It was a test.
"War makes only one thing. Corpses." Khorva looked down at the high theochron, who nodded. Test passed.
"And veterans," Sir John said. "Who covet peace." Khorva nodded. Respect. "Aye," she said. She looked at each hero then at John again.
"Well," she said. "What do we do next?"
Orc Traits¶
Orc heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Relentless¶
Whenever a creature deals damage to you that leaves you dying, you can make a free strike against any creature. If the creature is reduced to 0 Stamina by your strike, you can spend a Recovery.
Purchased Orc Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Glowing Recovery, Grounded.)
Bloodfire Rush (1 Point)¶
The magic coursing through your veins makes you run faster in the heat of battle. The first time in any combat round that you take damage, you gain a +2 bonus to speed until the end of the round.
Glowing Recovery (2 Points)¶
Your bloodfire allows you to regain your strength quicker than others. Whenever you use the Catch Breath maneuver, you can spend as many Recoveries as you like.
Grounded (1 Point)¶
The magic in your blood makes it difficult for others to move you. You have a +1 bonus to stability.
Nonstop (2 Points)¶
Your bloodfire supplies you with a constant rush of adrenaline. You can't be made slowed.
Passionate Artisan (1 Point)¶
When you are stirred by a passion for creation, your bloodfire allows you to work longer and harder. When you gain your initial skills from your career, culture, class, or other source, choose two skills from the crafting skill group, whether you have those skills or not. Whenever you make a project roll for a crafting project that uses these skills, you gain a +2 bonus to the roll.
Polder¶
After humans, polders are the most numerous and diverse ancestry in Orden. They are not humans, but they live in and among humans and share their gods and culture. Almost every human culture in Orden has a polder saint or a human saint venerated by polder.
Short, averaging 31/2 feet tall, the polders' origins are obscure. They are a young species who, like humans, have no single patron god. Their ability to shadowmeld means they enjoy a reputation as excellent spies and thieves. Many polders consider this a base slander and point out they're also famed as chefs, though polders can be found in every profession, especially in cities.
On Polders¶
The three peasants—Jago, his wife Sarah, and his sister Beth—sat together watching the three heroes talk in the crowded common room of the inn. Well, Jackson Bootblack seemed to be doing most of the talking.
"This kind of shit doesn't work if it's just a bunch of ratcatchers like us," the polder said. "You need the people to rise up. Been fifteen years since Omund died—fifteen years of fighting wolves and bandits and worse. The people welcome a tyrant after that. They like order, you know? They adapt."
"If you stand on the grass long enough, it learns to lie flat," A Mist Curls Around Dying Embers said. "But what do you say?"
"Eh?" the polder asked her. But he glanced at Sir John staring at him. "You say the people have no stomach for rebellion," Embers said. "But what about you?"
"Oh," the polder said, "I say it doesn't matter much what I say. Why's he looking at me like that?" he asked the high elf and pointed at Sir John. Realizing he was being rude, John shook his head to clear it. "Sorry, I just … I never met a polder before," he said.
"Are you kidding me?" Jackson said.
"No! Sorry, I just …"
"What are you, from the moon? Where you from that you never met a polder before? There's polder in every fucking village and town from here to the sea."
"Really? That's weird. I'm from Tor, I've been all over—just never met a polder before."
Jackson looked at his friend, the high elf void mage. "Am I crazy?" "You're not crazy." Embers smiled. She was enjoying watching two of her friends get to know each other. "John's just never run into one, it seems."
"Well, we're adorable," the polder said, and drank some ale. "They must have been around I guess," John said. "I probably just never noticed."
The polder put his drink down. "Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. You know, it's funny. I never have any problem noticing you big assholes. One of you makes about as much noise as a cow, which … I don't even know how you manage that."
"You're talking just … my voice is just as loud as yours!"
"I mean the way you walk around. Just the way you move, the way you stand up and sit down. You make so much goddamn noise."
Jago, Sarah, and Beth all smiled at the exchange.
"Humans are loud, yes," Embers agreed.
"Do we have to … can we talk about something else, please?" John said.
"I just …" The polder wouldn't let it go. "You seriously never … you never been to an inn? Cavall's teeth, I can't count how many inns and taverns I've been to run by polders, got polders in the kitchen or waiting tables. One of the only two things we're good at, I think."
"Yeah?" John asked. "What's the other one?"
The little man smiled. "Getting into places we ain't supposed to be." "Now we're talking," Sir John said. "You were saying we need the people behind us. I agree."
"Yeah, okay. To business: How to rally the people." The polder took the question seriously. "It's not hard. First, we need someone they'll rally around. I could make someone up, invent a local folk hero, but if we can find the real thing? They just need to look the part, that's all. I'll take care of the rest."
"I'm working on that," John said. "But it's … slower going than I thought. I'm betting on a long shot."
"What's the holdup?"
John thought about how to put what he knew into words. "You know …" He shrugged. "Some people can only be heroes if they think they're better than everyone else. Some people can only be heroes once they realize they're not. And some people …"
He looked at his drink, at the expensive clear glass the innkeep had given him because he recognized Sir John. He turned the glass slowly on the table, and now he was mostly talking to himself. "Some people still have to figure that out."
"Which is best?" Jackson asked, and Embers could tell the little man was testing John.
John took a deep breath and came back to reality. "Well. If we could be picky, we wouldn't need a hero," he said.
The polder looked at the high elf and nodded, impressed. Test passed. "Okay. Well, if you've already got a candidate, I could get things started. The other half is: We need a good story—short, punchy. Something that'll catch on, needs to be easy to relate to, but bigger than life. A tax. A toll! Bridge toll, classic. An ogre … no, three ogres. Yeah, three is better. Three ogres in Ajax's livery. A lone figure standing against them. See? Easy."
"Where are we going to find three ogres?" John asked.
"What do you mean?" Now it was the polder's turn to be confused. "What do you mean, 'What do I mean?'" John said.
"I'm not … we don't need real ogres." Jackson looked at the elf. "Is he for real?"
"Trust me," the void mage said.
"You mean you're going to make it up?!" John exclaimed.
"I …" Jackson looked with incredulity at the high elf void mage, then back at the human. "Yes, I do mean that. Does he know what I do?" he asked the elf.
"He'll learn." Embers smiled.
The polder turned back to Sir John. "Hello. I lie for a living. And I'm really good at it. Sometimes also kill people, but only if lying or running away doesn't work."
John turned to Embers. "I thought he was a thief."
"I was a thief," the polder said.
"You were a thief."
"Yeah, I was with the Clock. Probably still am—they don't exactly let you just walk away. We sort of have an agreement. I agree to do what they tell me and they agree not to tell me to do anything."
"Did they kick you out, or did you quit?"
"Depends on who you ask. I don't like being told what to do. It's sort of a polder thing. Hereditary or ancestral or whatever. Everybody wants a polder chef until they start trying to tell us what to cook."
"So what are you now?"
"I'm annoying."
The elf smiled. "He's a troubadour—one of the best."
Sir John looked at him, nodded. "No lute, I notice. And you don't seem the type to sit by the hearth telling stories."
The polder grinned. "I ain't that kind of troubadour. I'm the other kind. I think the best story is the one people tell each other."
"Propaganda," Sir John said, a grin spreading across his face. The polder pointed a finger at him and smiled. John heard the door to the inn open behind him. This wasn't notable, but the gasp from the customers was.
"Hey," the polder said, looking past John to the doorway. "Hey, I think our folk hero just showed up. Damn, he looks the part all right. Or she, I can never tell with these guys."
John turned to see.
Sir Vaantikalisax loomed just inside the doorway, his scales and armor glowing in the light of the hearth fire. Sir John shot up out of his chair, a huge smile on his face.
"I, uh …" Vaantikalisax said. The tall, broad draconian looked from John to the three peasants. Jago, Sarah, and Beth were beaming with even more joy than John, if that were possible.
The dragon knight stared at them for a moment, then turned back to his friend.
"Maybe you're right," he said.
Polder Traits¶
Polder heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Shadowmeld¶
You have the following ability.
Shadowmeld¶
You become an actual shadow.
| Magic | Main Action |
|---|---|
| 📏 Self | 🎯 Self |
Effect: You flatten yourself into a shadow against a wall or floor you are touching, and become hidden from any creature you have cover or concealment from or who isn't observing you. While in shadow form, you have full awareness of your surroundings, and strikes made against you and tests made to search for you take a bane. You can't move or be force moved, and you can't take main actions or maneuvers except to exit this form or to direct creatures under your control, such as one you summon using an ability. Any ability or effect that targets more than 1 square affects you in this form only if it explicitly affects the surface you are flattened against. You can exit this form as a maneuver. If the surface you are flattened against is destroyed, this ability ends and you take 1d6 damage that can't be reduced in any way.
Signature Trait: Small!¶
Your diminutive stature lets you easily get out of—or into—trouble. Your size is 1S.
Purchased Polder Traits¶
You have 4 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Corruption Immunity, Fearless, Graceful Retreat.)
Corruption Immunity (1 Point)¶
Your innate shadow magic grants you resilience against the unnatural. You have corruption immunity equal to your level + 2.
Fearless (2 Points)¶
Courage is all you know. You can't be made frightened.
Graceful Retreat (1 Point)¶
Your small size makes it easier for you to slip away from the fray. You gain a +1 bonus to the distance you can shift when you take the Disengage move action.
Nimblestep (2 Points)¶
A light step serves you well when speed is of the essence. You ignore the effects of difficult terrain and can move at full speed while sneaking.
Polder Geist (1 Point)¶
Evading others' notice gives you freedom to move. At the start of each of your turns during combat, if no enemy has line of effect to you or if you are hidden from or have concealment from any enemy with line of effect to you, you gain a +3 bonus to speed until the end of your turn.
Reactive Tumble (1 Point)¶
Staying light on your feet lets you quickly get back into position. Whenever you are force moved, you can use a free triggered action to shift 1 square after the forced movement is resolved.
Revenant¶
The dead walk among us. Some of them are happier about it than others.
Unlike the necromantic rituals that produce wights and wraiths and zombies, revenants rise from the grave through a combination of an unjust death and a burning desire for vengeance. Creatures sustained on pure will, they have no need of food or water or air—and, unlike their zombified cousins, they retain all their memories and personality from life.
These revenants are rare. Many are hunted by ignorant villagers who see only their dead flesh and assume the worst. Those who survive the pitchfork brigade either choose a solitary life, often as a wandering soul seeking out living company yet constantly in fear of it, or they migrate to a metropolis such as Blackbottom or Capital, where lost souls gather to make a home.
On Revenants¶
"I'm telling you, we are being followed."
"No one knows we're here. No one even knows this place exists! We got all day. We stash everything here, and take a sample to …" The head thief pulled a vial out of a crate stuffed with straw and looked at it.
"It's just …" The junior cutpurse spoke nervously. "There was this lady knight in Blackbottom sniffing around. She seemed serious. I got this weird … chill when I looked at her."
"Hey," the head thief said, his brow furrowed as he looked at the label on the vial. "Where'd you say you bought this stuff ? You said a ship—a ship from where?"
"I dunno, uh … uh, Capital I think."
The head thief looked at the panicking cutpurse. "This lady knight she have a red and blue device on her shield?"
"It can't be Lady Filliamo, can it?" one of the other thieves said. There was a firm knock at the door to the safe house. A door which,
from the outside, looked like an unremarkable section of wall.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"Nonono! How could she … Capital was nine months ago!"
"She's a revenant, idiot! She doesn't even need air. She could have walked here! Just … into the water and across the bottom of the sea! Why didn't you say anything?"
"I did! You asshole, I just did! I been trying to tell you for—"
"Man, there is a difference between, 'Hey I think we're being shadowed,' and, 'There's a deathless copper coming after us!'"
One of the four thieves opened a vial and dipped his dirk into the red oil within.
"What is that gonna do? She's already dead!" Another knock at the hidden door. "Forget it. Let her knock. Grab as many as you can, and we'll go out the back."
The head thief ran for the door out the back of the safe house. He jerked it open—and the other thieves watched as a silver flash silently flared across his forehead. Through the open door, they could see the silhouette of the knight, her open hand held up in front of her.
She clenched her hand into a fist and the judgment she had placed on the head cutpurse detonated, hurling him backward. He sprawled across the floor, conscious but stunned.
The gray-skinned knight walked into the room. Metal heels rang out on the wooden floor. She seemed relaxed, but her eyes burned with inner fire.
"Boys," Lady Filliamo said pleasantly. "Busy morning."
"How did you … this is impossible, how did you find us?" She looked at the man groaning on the floor. "Your boss didn't tell you about the vengeance mark?"
"You marked us. Back in Capital. You marked one of us and just … just walked here."
"Don't be stupid. I marked you in Blackbottom. Capital was just normal detective work. I came here by ship." She smiled—black lips on pale gray skin.
"Come on." The braver of the three remaining thieves drew twin daggers. "She can't get all of us at—"
Lady Filliamo made a broad gesture with her right hand and argent marks flared across the foreheads of all three thieves. A clatter of
weapons hitting the floor. Three pairs of hands slowly rose in the air. "Good boys. Here, put these on." She tossed three pairs of manacles on the floor.
"Hang on, you can't arrest us," one of the thieves, unarmed and still holding his hands up, said. "This isn't Capital. You don't have jurisdiction!"
Lady Filliamo shrugged. "I'm a knight of the church. Jurisdiction's for the city watch." She drew her silver sword a few inches from the scabbard just to show them the blade.
"I deal in steel."
Revenant Traits¶
Revenant heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Former Life¶
Choose the ancestry you were before you died. Your size is that ancestry's size and your speed is 5. Unless you select one of the Previous Life traits (see below), you don't receive any other ancestral traits from your original ancestry.
Signature Trait: Tough But Withered¶
Your undead body grants you immunity to cold, corruption, lightning, and poison damage equal to your level, but you have fire weakness 5. You can't suffocate, and you don't need to eat or drink to stay alive.
Additionally, when your Stamina reaches the negative of your winded value, you become inert instead of dying. You fall prone and can't stand. You continue to observe your surroundings, but you can't speak, take main actions, maneuvers, move actions, or triggered actions. While inert this way, if you take any fire damage, your body is destroyed and you die. Otherwise, after 12 hours, you regain Stamina equal to your recovery value.
Purchased Revenant Traits¶
You have 2 ancestry points to spend on the following traits, or 3 ancestry points if your size is 1S. (Quick Build: Bloodless, plus Undead Influence if size 1S.)
Bloodless (2 Points)¶
For you, an open wound is indistinguishable from a scratch. You can't be made bleeding even while dying.
Previous Life: 1 Point (1 Point)¶
You select a purchased trait that costs 1 ancestry point from your previous ancestry. You can take this trait multiple times, selecting a different 1 point trait from your previous ancestry each time.
Previous Life: 2 Points (2 Points)¶
You select a purchased trait that costs 2 ancestry points from your previous ancestry.
Undead Influence (1 Point)¶
Your supernatural gifts allow you to influence other undead. You gain an edge on Reason, Intuition, and Presence tests made to interact with undead creatures.
Vengeance Mark (2 Points)¶
As a maneuver, you place a magic sigil on a creature within 10 squares. When you place a sigil, you decide where it appears on the creature's body, and whether the sigil is visible to only you or to all creatures.
You always know the direction to the exact location of a creature who bears one of your sigils and is on the same world. You can have a number of active sigils equal to your level, and can remove a sigil from a creature at will (no action required). If you already have the maximum number of sigils activated and you place a new one, your oldest sigil disappears with no other effect.
Additionally, you have the following signature ability. Signature abilities can be used at will.
Detonate Sigil¶
| Magic, Ranged, Strike | Main Action |
|---|---|
| 📏 Ranged 10 | 🎯 One creature bearing your sigil |
Power Roll + Reason, Intuition, or Presence:
- ≤11: 3 + R , I , or P damage; slide 1
- 12-16: 5 + R , I , or P damage; slide 2
- 17+: 7 + R , I , or P damage; slide 3
Effect: The sigil disappears from the creature.
Time Raider¶
The original servitor species of the synliroi—evil psions with near godlike power—the kuran'zoi liberated themselves during the First Psychic War. In the centuries since, they built their own culture and civilization as nomads of the timescape. The exonym "time raiders" was given to them by denizens of the lower worlds who, seeing the advanced technology the kuran'zoi wield, concluded they must be from the future.
Extraordinarily rare in Orden, time raiders thrive on the Sea of Stars, the Sea Between Worlds, where the winds of limbo roar.
In place of eyes, kuran'zoi possess crystalline ocular sensors that grant them high-spectral vision and which are hardened against the extreme radiations encountered in the Sea of Stars, permitting them to operate freely outside their vessels with only their portable rebreathers. Time raiders also have two sets of arms, allowing them to wield melee weapons at the same time as ranged weapons. A single well-trained kuran'zoi is like a squad unto themself.
On Time Raiders¶
"You will tell me the location of the ship you came here in." Taxiarch Lycaon paced outside the ruined stone church. The four-armed woman with crystal eyes and flaming pink hair in a strip down the center of her shaved head sneered at him. She was chained to the ruin of a stone column outside the church.
"Is it that your brain is so small you must talk in order to think?" The woman's smile was a sneer.
Lycaon strode toward the alien, grabbed a length of chain around her waist and yanked on it, pulling it taut so the chain around her neck tightened. "You are going to die in any event," he said. "If you wish to deny me the pleasure of hearing you howl and scream for mercy, tell me what I want to know now and my dogs will kill you quickly."
Up close, she could see the fine stitching along Lycaon's cheeks and forehead, the very slight differences in skin tone that showed his skin was not his own.
"You seem to be made of bits," the alien said as she peered at Lycaon, her crystalline eyes catching and reflecting prismatic light. "And not the best bits. Leftovers? Is that what you are? A walking assemblage of castoff scraps? Hahah, I thought the proteans were hideous. Someone should let them know! There are creatures even more foul-seeming and useless in the timescape."
The taxiarch smiled to himself, nodded with respect at the woman's epithets. He placed his foot on a low piece of rubble, once part of the wall of the stone church, and leaned his arm on his knee. He was not dressed as the other war dogs. No black leather for him. He wore a gold breastplate with the embossed head of a ram molded into it, a white cape over his back. Gold greaves and red leather boots and gloves. The other war dogs only had patches of hair but his was long and blond.
He struck a casual, jaunty pose. "Where is your worldship?" he said in a more reasonable voice. "Or came you here in a single-seater starskimmer?" At this, the alien's crystal eyes went wide, betraying surprise. "You see?" the taxiarch said, impressed with himself. "I am not a primitive like these peasants, who hounded you because you are alien." He nodded at the folk of the small town watching from the stables some distance away. "I am Ajax's elite. Better than his chosen. I was made for victory." Indeed, Taxiarch Lycaon looked almost fully human. Handsome and fit like a statue from Phaedros, which his model had almost certainly been inspired by. Unless you looked closely, there was no sign he was a product of the body banks. "If you agree to lead me to your vessel, I will let you go free."
The alien sighed. "'Blaap blaap blaap,'" she said. "You should hear yourself. Like barking thrazz, you sound to me. Who holds your leash I wonder? For surely a microbrain such as you could not command any more than these rabble." She nodded her head at the other twenty or so war dogs.
Her taunts worked. Lycaon hauled back and punched the alien in the jaw. Her head smashed into the ruined column. She was dazed but she shook it off and laughed.
"Look how easily this one is goaded!" she said. She spat out dark-blue blood and turned to the peasants gathered. "You people! Why do you let yourselves be cowed by these … bits? Bits of people kludged together? Even the least of you is worth more than these."
"Perhaps from the air," Flight Captain Lyria offered, and she stroked the feathers of her giant hawk mount to calm it. "I could scout the forest around the …"
"No!" Taxiarch Lycaon pointed a finger at the Hawklord and strode toward her. "You are the elite of Ajax's winged harriers, I am his chosen brigade commander. We are not scavengers! This one …" he stabbed a gloved finger at the alien, "… will come to heel, or I will give her to my war dogs." He turned to face the chained alien, who yawned. Lycaon seethed.
"They may pull you apart," he said to her, and at this his squadron of soldiers, all in black leather and golden pauldrons, started making barking sounds. Then they laughed at each other.
"Or I may let my crucibite melt the skin from your bones." At that, a war dog clad in leather from head to foot wearing a heavy mask with glass circles where the eyes should be and some kind of canister over his mouth stepped forward. The long thin brass tube in his hands connected to a large metal tank on his back.
"Shall I let you choose?" the taxiarch said, and drew a dagger from his belt. "I will cut off one finger. If you cry out, I kill you. If not, another finger. And if you cry out then …"
Slowly everyone assembled could make out the sounds of a conversation, quiet with a metallic ring to it. The voices got louder until eventually they could be heard.
"… should be ready for anything," one voice said, deep, commanding, and images started to form around and between the war dogs, the Hawklord, and the taxiarch. Like faded images in a manuscript they seemed, gaining pigment and clarity and, eventually, depth as their voices grew louder and clearer.
"Oh, thank you for the brilliant tactical advice," another voice, high pitched, piped up.
Suddenly, the images became three dimensional, solid, and seven heroes stood among them. A human in working battle plate. A dwarf with his battle-staff tipped with an hourglass. An orc with a huge battleaxe casually resting on her shoulder. A polder with twin rapiers in his hands. A tall willowy high elf with night-black skin and golden hair. An unarmed hakaan towering over everyone. And a dragon knight. Of all the motley band, it was the dragon knight who caused the people of the town to gasp. Even at a distance, even with the war dogs between them, they recognized the device of Good King Omund on the knight's shield.
The war dogs scrambled. For a moment, it seemed they might flee at this sudden intrusion, but the taxiarch bellowed "Hold fast!" and they held their ground, uncertainty over the unknown threat of a band of heroes battling in each of them against the certain fear of their commander.
The hakaan looked around and saw a clump of villagers watching the scene from a distance, gathered around what looked like some stables. He waved. "Hello!" he said, smiling.
One of the villagers waved back before being shushed.
John looked at the taxiarch and immediately read the situation. It was a clear enough picture.
There was something about the war dogs. They loved Ajax's cruelty—reveled in it. John had crossed swords with other commanders in Ajax's army before. Ground Commander Vordokov was a professional—could be reasoned with, but he was an orc.
Not the war dogs—they were fanatics.
"What's this?" the taxiarch called out with a hungry grin. "Allies of the alien?" He was projecting confidence. Trying to muster his wary soldiers.
"Allies of all those who suffer, and seek justice," the dwarf announced. Sir John ignored the war dog, tilted his head toward the alien. "Embers?"
"A kuran'zoi," the high elf said, and the alien held her head up with pride. "A time raider from the upper worlds. What the truth is I cannot say, and no people are all one thing. But by reputation? They're intractable, ungovernable, they loathe authority, hate tyranny and are totally, utterly without fear."
John watched the alien. They sneered their approval at Ember's summary. That was enough for Sir John, they could work out the details later. After everything they'd been through before, he trusted Embers explicitly.
He could see the shape of the next moments play out. All he had to do was take the initiative. If he was right, the whole thing would be over in seconds. There was no time to communicate. No time to plan, and everyone, everyone had to play their part.
John knew what came next, but he wasn't an assassin. He had his own part to play. He took a step forward, away from his teammates, and noted the taxiarch didn't react. That spoke volumes. He locked eyes with his enemy.
"She goes free," John commanded, his voice steel, "or you die here." He could feel the muscles tightening in his comrades, the whole company like a steel spring wound tight.
Lycaon cocked his head at Sir John and took a few foolish steps toward the tactician. He was just out of reach. But close enough.
"I see you are a man, like Ajax. Why do you lower yourself with these … creatures?" The war dog taxiarch looked at the elf, giant, polder, dwarf, and dragon knight. "Little more than slimy things crawled out of the sea? Join us. Join me. Join Ajax. It'll be nice for you …"—his voice lowered almost to a whisper—"… to be on the winning side for a change."
Sir John took a deep breath, his body language changed and that was enough. Several things then happened at once, so quickly no one would later be able to say who acted first.
Ember's eyes flashed into a starfield. The time raider's chains dissolved into starspace and reappeared around Flight Captain Lyria pinning her arms to her side. She was giving the hawklord an excuse to sit this one out. Gods, John was glad she was with them.
The time raider's right upper hand shot out, as though she'd been waiting for the void mage to do exactly what she just did, and her meson blaster leapt out of the hands of the war dog who'd chained her. The pistol made of glass and bronze slammed into her hand and its tip flared with prismatic light.
John felt his skin tighten as Dazar warded him, and from the sun's shadow cast by Taxiarch Lycaon the polder Jackson Bootblack emerged, a rapier in each hand, and no one saw him move from where he'd been a moment before.
The hakaan burst into action and sped past him like a blur.
At the same instant, a call—a horn. From directly behind John a blast of sound like a chord played by a dozen trumpets, and hope sang in his heart—the clarion call of the last Storm Knight!
At the sound, the orc dashed forward into a knot of wardog commandos, her axe already hewing about her.
John hadn't hesitated, he'd already drawn his sword and falchion. "All right, you patchwork son of a bitch." He charged Lycaon who fumbled with the shortsword on his belt.
Time Raider Traits¶
Time raider heroes have access to the following traits.
Signature Trait: Psychic Scar¶
Your mind is a formidable layer of defense. You have psychic immunity equal to your level.
Purchased Time Raider Traits¶
You have 3 ancestry points to spend on the following traits. (Quick Build: Beyondsight, Psionic Gift with Psionic Bolt.)
Beyondsight (1 Point)¶
As a maneuver, you can adjust your vision to allow you to see through mundane obstructions that are 1 square thick or less. While your vision is adjusted this way, you can't see the area within 1 square of you and you don't have line of effect to any creature or object in that area. You can restore your usual vision as a maneuver.
Foresight (1 Point)¶
Your senses extend past mundane obscuration and the veil of the future alike. You automatically know the location of any creature with concealment who isn't hidden from you within 20, and you negate the usual bane on strikes against such creatures. Additionally, whenever you are targeted by a strike, you can use a triggered action to impose a bane on the power roll.
Four-Armed Athletics (1 Point)¶
Your unique physiology enhances your movement. You gain an edge on tests that use the Climb, Gymnastics, or Swim skills when you can use all your arms in the attempt.
Four-Armed Martial Arts (2 Points)¶
Your multiple arms let you take on multiple tasks at the same time. Whenever you use the Grab or Knockback maneuver against an adjacent creature, you can target one additional adjacent creature, using the same power roll for both targets. Additionally, you can have up to two creatures grabbed at a time.
Psionic Gift (2 Points)¶
Choose one signature ability from the following options. Signature abilities can be used at will.
Concussive Slam¶
You slam an invisible force down upon the target.
| Psionic, Ranged, Strike | Main action |
|---|---|
| 📏 Ranged 10 | 🎯 One creature or object |
Power Roll + Reason, Intuition, or Presence:
- ≤11: 2 + R , I , or P damage;
- 12-16: 5 + R , I , or P damage; push 1
- 17+: 7 + R , I , or P damage; push 2; M < STRONG, prone
Psionic Bolt¶
You shoot forth a purple beam of psychic force that moves your target.
| Psionic, Ranged, Strike | Main action |
|---|---|
| 📏 Ranged 10 | 🎯 One creature or object |
- ≤11: 2 + R, I, or P psychic damage; slide 1
- 12-16: 5 + R, I, or P psychic damage; slide 2
- 17+: 7 + R, I, or P psychic damage; slide 3
Minor Acceleration¶
You fill yourself or an ally with a burst of speed.
| Psionic, Melee | Maneuver |
|---|---|
| 📏 Melee 1 | 🎯 Self or one ally |
Effect: The target gains a bonus to speed equal to your Reason, Intuition, or Presence score (your choice) until the start of your next turn.
Unstoppable Mind (2 Points)¶
Your mind allows you to maintain your focus in any situation. You can't be made dazed.