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  #61  
Old 07-09-2018, 09:45 PM
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Another question as I ponder ideas - Is there a part of the world that could be described as Aztec/Mesoamerican or is it mostly a European/Mediterranean/7th Sea sort of world?
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Old 07-09-2018, 09:48 PM
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Good question, I didnt develop much the southern continent that is more aztec. They are not part of the empire and they are not very advanced.
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Old 07-09-2018, 10:02 PM
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What are your thoughts, Moon, regarding Pathfinder 2.0, and how it may effect this grand adventure your are rearing?
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Old 07-09-2018, 10:04 PM
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No idea, didnt look into it yet.

My old four years campaign last so long that we converted from 3.5 to Pathfinder in the middle of it. Not impossible to do a convertion later here if the players are asking.
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Old 07-09-2018, 10:09 PM
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Originally Posted by WhiteStag View Post
What are your thoughts, Moon, regarding Pathfinder 2.0, and how it may effect this grand adventure your are rearing?
If it's anything like starfinder it won't be worth the conversion.
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Old 07-09-2018, 10:57 PM
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The Tiny Vicomte
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Name: René Bertrand Claude de Saint-Martin
Age: 24
Class: Arcanist
Race: Human

Physical description: René has always been a skinny little slip of a thing. When he was young he was given the nickname, “The Tiny Vicomte,” and the name has stuck through adulthood. Standing a mere 170 cm and weighing 50 kg, the man hardly imposes upon the room. His slender and lean body is often dressed in finer garments to accentuate his station rather than his masculinity. His face is symmetrical and well defined, with a slightly hooked nose from a break during his youth. His hair is the color of rich coffee, tousled and thick with a lustrous shine. His eyes, a mesmerizing slate grey, flecks of amber light performed ballets throughout, twinkling with his smile. His dark eye brows, slope downwards in a serious expression, matching his tussled hair. His smile is playful with thin lips the color of mauve . His voice is soft and measured, with a serious tone – unless his whims get the best of him and his voice raises an octave or two. His eyes, like bottomless wells stare off into the distance as he sips his Quinta do Vesuvio fortified port wine, his thumb holding open a book – gazing into the endless sea.

Personality: René was a playful and joyous child, but as he grew older the childish laughter was muffled by tears and sarcasm. A dilettante, he furiously pursues knowledge of the arts, the magical arts, and the sciences - using them not only for financial gain but also as a defense mechanism against the world. His mind, filled with knowledge both arcane and mundane, often wanders and can be difficult to wrangle. When it wanders into the distant, dark places of the tapestry René has found strong wine to be an effective countermeasure. Often believing himself to be a tragic figure, one who had the potential to be a great noble, lord of an academy, or some other lofty ideal René is filled with a haughty arrogance, a mixture of his upbringing and his wit. Not unsociable but not altogether friendly either René has few close friends but many acquaintances, especially after a successful payday.

Fear: René does not like dolls. Not one bit. In fact, he's been known to violently smash them. A Pediophobe really. It’s the eyes. And the porcelain...and the everything about them.

Your parents:
Mother: Maria de la Armadya Rosalina Agnelia Cuellar de Christophe, Queen of Cammére and Léon, princess of Camorya and Armadya, Duchess of the Pearl (Deceased)
Father: Christophe Boutin Arsène de Satin-Martin, Elector of Iridya, Marquis of the Sapphire Seadom, and Prince of the Never Setting Sun (Deceased)
Great Aunt Almathea: Known as the The Fey-Touched Dowager, she currently holds all lands, titles, assets, and debts held by the family, as the eldest living relative. Upon her death they will all be transferred to René. (Living [Unfortunately])

Lands and Titles
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Lands and Titles:
Queen of Cammére and Léon – Cammére is a large crescent shaped island with the former estate of the Dowager on the Northern tip. Nestled inside the crescent is the smaller yet very fertile island of Léon. The two formerly independent nation states merged centuries ago under one household as the distance between them can be paddled by a pair of strong sailors in a dingy. Léon has fertile volcanic soil, as it is home of a small volcanic outgassing zone, and Cammére serves as a buffer between it and the harsh ocean currents.

Princess of Camorya and Armadya – Not part of the royal family but holding some distant claims to the thrones of both major factions in the isles if a combined several dozen other nobles suddenly died off, rule of the isles would rightfully fall to the Dowager.
Luckily for them she has no desire to attain the Coral Crown.

Duchess of the Pearl – The pearl is a ‘sacred artifact’ passed down from before formal nation-states were established in the Isles. It is a simple pearl and gold ring which is said to hold power of the seas itself, however the Dowager (who somehow managed to procure the ring after the shipwreck) claims it holds no magical power whatsoever.

Elector of Iridya – Voting member of the council held in Iridya

Marquis of the Sapphire Seadom – Dominant land owner of the tourist islands known as the Sapphire Islands, who’s water is the color of gemstones even dwarven kings would covet.

Prince of the Never Setting Sun – The Never Setting Sun is a military order of knights who have holdings throughout the Isle kingdom. Passed down from his father’s father and before they have claims to most of the lands and castles run by the Order, though they are usually left to be handled by the highest-ranking knight on site who serves as castellan and majordomo.


The trials:
A Letter to the EmpressAlmathea inhaled deeply as the acrid musty smell of incense filled her nostrils. Others found the scents of the old ways to be offensive to the sensibilities, but they reverberated with the powers of the void. The room was dark, a few beams of moonlight filtering in through the narrow windows. The planets were in the proper alignment, stars shining in the correct corners of the galaxy, the planet in retrograde. The Ogham was scribed, the tea steeped, and the crystal polished. Her hands curled around the polished sphere of silvered quartz, Almathea soared through the stars, her mind looking for hints of what the future held, and there in the void of the Tapestry she found one of a million possible fates written in the stars, but one resonated with her more than the others. Her long fingers – scholar’s fingers – glided across the polished surface, the base of the crystal inscribed with the writings of a long dead empire, its peoples long forgotten.

And lo, he shall rule with a clenched fist of darkness and his shadow will fall upon every inch of the land. Dark-forged steel will be his skin and his blood will burn like fire within the earth, with hatred he will conquer all before him. The finest blades of man, of dwarf, of elf will shatter against his might. A storm of chaos brewing across the land, sweeping outwards across the land, stars falling to earth as the very galaxy presented a fanged maw to swallow the world whole. In this darkness, the Dark Empress, slain by neither blade nor arrow but by a ruinous arcane power of darkest magic is consumed in the flames of eternity. From the flames stepped a child, a foster, someone who could reforge the world and pick up the broken pieces, leading the mortals to a new age.

Quickly Almathea scribed the fleeting names burning brightly, like embers, in her mind. And just like embers they are quickly snuffed out, replaced by another. A dozen or so names, listed on a piece of paper – quickly the Fey-Touched scrawls a note about the importance of these young and unborn children, and that they must be protected at all costs.

Sealing the envelope with her sigil, a warped treant, she sent the letter on its way to the Empress. Inside was a warning about the future of the land, the dangers woven into the fabric of the Tapestry, and a list of names which should be held close. The last name on the list, was the name of the babe which still resided in her only living relative’s womb.

René Bertrand Claude de Saint-Martin.

The Letter Arrives René couldn’t believe what he was reading. René didn’t believe what he was reading. René refused to even acknowledge what he was reading. By the fifth time things were starting to sink in, but just for good measure René had one of the parrots in the menagerie read it to him, just to make sure he wasn’t reading it incorrectly. He was named in the empress’ will?

A potential heir? René?

Why René?

He was just a well learned magician who was soon to inherit a tract of forgotten islands far off from the imperials center of power. He was a Lordling and an advisor, he was no king to be – not like Jef.

I wonder if Jef got this same letter?

René looks out his bedroom window across the sea. The cool morning sea spray giving the air its characteristic salty taste.
Maybe it would do him good to get away from it all and see the world. Even if he ended up back on isles as Lord and advisor, it would do him good to see the world and the mechanisms of imperial power. He could only learn so much on the islands and from Almathea.

She will want him to go. To learn the magics of the dry land of the new world, of the colleges.

And Jef would want him to go. Jef would go.

He’d buckle up his armor and grab his sword and shield and smile the crooked smile he gets when he’s planning something devious and he’d bring René along, but René had to do this alone. He needed to do this alone.

Was he really going to do this? It certainly sounded like he was.

He’d tell Almathea over tea. They always had afternoon tea. Sometimes they would go the entire day without interacting – except for tea. Sitting at his desk René faced the ocean the sea roaring in agreement. Taking out his finest quill and his nicest ink he began to write his best friend, to inform Jef of his upcoming journey.


Background:
Childhood Remembrances The carriage ride was long and bumpy as the horse wove its way through the crowded streets of Cammére. The horse’s hooves clicked on the fine cobbles beneath and all around were shops open and catering to the wanton needs of nobles and aristocrats. The sky was overcast, and the sea could be heard rumbling far below in the harbor as the wind throttled the waters below. The carriage continued down a large side street leading to a cul de sac road which had a single manor perched at the end of the bluff, overlooking the Sapphire Sea. This manor was run down and dank, with a strange herbaceous odor wafting out of it - permeating the whole street. Fenced in with a wrought iron fence with a sign with a picture of a bubbling cauldron and a black cat read, “Madame Amalthea’s,” the house appeared to have jaws of its own as the gate swung wildly in the wind. The carriage stopped outside.

“René. We’re here.” The voice called out as the carriage driver opened the door.

“It’s master or sir.” A high pitched voice called from within.

“You may be a lordling, but don’t get too big for your britches boy. I’m not calling a boy who don’t stand to my knee sir.” The little lord chuckled as the brutish caregiver helped him out of the carriage by wrapping his arms around his waist and lifting him out tossing him up like a sack of flour and placing him on the ground in front of the carriage.

“Do you know why I have to stay with Auntie Amalthea for the week?”

“Your parents have important business to attend to in the Capital – the coronation of a new king, and they thought it best if you spent the week with your aunt. Well go on, I can’t stay. Your parents will need the carriage.”

René walked towards the house with a bit a trepidation, his buckled shoes clicking on the drive. Aunt Amalthea was weird, and she smelled even weirder. Her house was full of weird things and strange animals and it looked as though she never bathed. Not half as beautiful as his mother with her olive skin and dark hair, Aunt Almathea was haunting in her own way. Tall, lithe, with grey eyes and hair so dark it was almost purple. As the six-year-old approached the house the door opened as if by some unseen servant. Not many memories remain except for the smell. And the dolls. Oh, the wretched dolls scattered all over the house. Some with their necks twisted all the way around, others missing limbs, some dressed like school girls, other tied and bound with pins in their eyes. On one dark night René crawled out of his bed and peered down the grand stair case to see his great aunt dancing around in a circle with other men and women, naked all chanting and wearing masks. Everyone was acting so strange, they eventually began to wrestle with each other and things became boring after that, René wandered back upstairs but not before seeing a doll with a goat’s head where its own should have been. Porcelain dolls never looked the same to René after spending that week with his aunt.

Later that year his parents met their untimely end, a terrible sea storm swallowed their ship whole – something which should have been easily prevented. While they were nobles by birth, most of their assets were not liquid, but the lands and titles were transferred in stewardship of Almathea – adding to her already impressive swath of land. That is, until the earthquake. Aunt Almathea practiced old magic, magic thought lost by most mortal scholars and in one arcane cascade everything disappeared with her and her home. This was shortly after his 18th birthday, and his great aunt, her ancestral home at the end of the bluff, and much of the bluff as well collapsed into the sea and she was presumed dead.

They found her a week later, a disheveled mess of a woman wandering the streets, she said her magicks had preserved her while the house crashed into depths of hell below. As days turned to weeks she began to babble incoherently. She would look at and talk to things that were not there. Her mind, touched by the madness, would speak of the old ones from the depths of the planes beyond the astral who call out to her, who touch her mind. As weeks turned to months her power as a witch grew stronger but she became less and less coherent until six months aft the earthquake, she went mute. Over the course of the next year she learned to live again, and her faculties began to return, though she has not spoken a word since.


René Bertrand Claude de Saint-Martin sat at the table thinking about his past, as he looked out across from behind a table in the local pub. Hard to believe it’s been so long since all that ugliness occurred. René never stayed at any one tavern long but had found a successful niche tutoring people at various things and putting his intellect up for hire. Accounting, mathematics, language, formal schooling, or the arcane they were all profitable skills that he could sell to the highest bidder. Enough for a few months of rent at a decent tavern, food, clothes, wine, and any other needs. The only problem with this tavern was the doll the barkeeps wife left sitting on the curio near the stairs. It had sickly alabaster skin and brown eyes that pierced the vail between the body and the soul. DID IT JUST WINK? No…No.

René shook his head. He was fixating again. Focus on the task at hand. Translating this old text. It’ll be worth more than a few months’ rent if he can get it done. Looking up again from his work he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror near the door. His shirt, while ripped and positioned to hide a few stains, was pressed and neat. His tabard, though faded was in mostly pristine condition, and his hair was neatly tied back in a half knot to keep it out of his face. His hair and Van Dyke were clean although he was in need a trim. Mother taught him the value of looking the part. Am I reminiscing again? I’m never going to get this done. René orders a second bottle of reasonably priced Merlot and carries on with his translations.
Seaside Holiday It was his fifteenth birthday and he was just beginning to sprout into a fine and proper gentleman. A disaster with a sword, a tragic rider, and poor excuse for a statesmen – René excelled in nothing proper for a lord such as himself. Instead he studied – voraciously. Art, history, arcana, it mattered not, all was his for the learning. Though not fond of the outdoors Almathea had insisted they summer on the coast of the largest of the Sapphire Isles, one of the most beautiful islands in the entirety of the nation.

Sitting in the sand the scrawny boy of fifteen sat in his modest bathing suit the sun nearly reflecting off his pale arms and chest. His right hand holding a quill and his left a small booklet the young man attempts to write a poem about the beauty of the sea, in its native Aquan tongue. Trying to come up with a creative rhyme for shmmregglll the René looked up to brush his hair from his eyes, and that’s when Jef Ponceludon strode into René’s life. Of course he had no idea who Jef Ponceludon was at the time, all René knew was that he was everything the young soon to be named “Tiny Vicomte” wished he were. Strong with a powerful build and wide shoulders, short blonde hair, confidence with a debonair attitude.

The older boy with the toned chest and large arms strode every closer the gauche gold and sapphire dolphin chain dangling around his neck. René was certain he was going to do something cruel like kick sad in his face, when he simply plopped down next toe René.

Who brings a book to the beach, you weirdo.

René’s face flushed. I.. uh… it’s not a book…

Oh I see. Rrugrlll rhymes with shmmregglll.

René looked at the young man, his mouth slightly ajar.

They made me learn Aquan as part of my studies. My name’s Jef.

René. I’m here on holiday.

And still you work. How… studious of you.

The boy’s chatted in the sun for awhile, though Jef did most of the conversing, and René stuck to a few embarrassingly monosyllabic responses. It was as if all his wit had drained away.

The sun was beginning to hang low on the horizon.

I…uh, have to get back to my Aunt’s home for my birthday…

…you should come.


Jef’s eyes narrowed at the mentioned of his René’s Aunt. Yes… I’ll come by and bring my father. He mentioned wanting to meet your aunt, The Fey-Touched Dowager, I presume.

How did he know that?

That’s her. She has everything planned for eight.

Jef stood up and dusted the sand from his backside, and began to head back the way he had come.

Jef… René called after him. Don’t be late. Almathea is a stickler for promptness.

Don’t worry, it isn’t everyday you’re invited to meet The Fey-Touched.

René waited for Jef to wander off down the beach path before practically skipping home to get ready for the affair.

***

The party consisted mostly of Almathea’s strange friends. It was really an event for her to host and show off her wealth and trinkets, but at least René had one friend he had invited.

Who was late.

Lingering near the door waiting for Jef to arrive, René felt absurd dressed up in his finery. Silk and satin, lace and jewels – he felt like a prize pig all dressed up for the slaughter.

While René was lost in his thoughts he was suddenly brought back to reality by the sound of trumpets.

Trumpets?

Suddenly several armed guards in royal tabards entered the estate, along with a crier. René missed most of the speech except for the ending, calling to the attention of all those present that they were now in the presence of royalty.

His Lord Aksel Ponceludon King of the Pearl Isles, and the Dauphin Jef Ponceludon.

Dauphin!

René was caught so off guard he nearly forgot to bow. Even Almathea gave the King a slight nod – and René had never seen the woman bow to anyone.

Jef looked very much like his father, though he was slimmer through the midsection, probably a gift from his mother. They were in their regalia, and quickly began mingling about the guests.

When they finally reached René, Jef smiled warmly and introduced his father to his friend he found on the beach.

So this is the studious boy – Heir to the Dowager’s line. He’s a tiny vicomte, isn’t he? The king gripped René’s small hand in a clench which René could have sworn broke his fingers. Before taking his leave to discuss important matters with your aunt. Leaving the boys alone.

The Tiny Vicomte. I like that, eh René?

Why didn’t you tell me you were the Dauphin? René would have punched the older boy in the shoulder if he didn’t think it would hurt his hand more than anything else.

And miss that slack jawed look on your face? Never. Now rumor has it your aunt has all manner of arcane artifacts stashed away up here, what say you show me some of them?

Well alright, but I’m not sure they covered the intricacies of ‘On Formally Undecidable Dweomer Propositions of Principia Mathematica/Arcana and the solution of a problem relating to the geometry of planar superpositioning’ at your fancy academy.

Alas, no – you’ll just have to explain it.

***

René sat thinking about the first time he met his best friend and confidant. It was nearly a decade ago and they had stayed int ouch all this time. René would even council the Dauphin on matters of academic study and arcane mystery – and was an invited guest to the formal coronation on Jef’s 18 birthday.

Finishing his most recent letter he hopes he can live up to the Empress’ expections so that he can finally be worthy of standing side by side with his friend, the Heir Apparent of the Pearl Isles of Camorya.


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Last edited by wodine; 07-25-2018 at 11:54 PM.
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  #67  
Old 07-09-2018, 10:57 PM
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From what I've heard of Pathfinder 2.0, it isn't as friendly for conversion as 3.5 -> Pathfinder.

I'd rather just stick with original pathfinder all the way imo
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Old 07-10-2018, 02:10 AM
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Let see when we get there, not really something on the menu right now.
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Old 07-10-2018, 02:39 AM
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I normally play rogues... but I thought I might try a Siege Mage. However, the 'Empower Siege Engine (Su)' ability is rubbish (even if it was changed to *spell level {dropping the 3}, the spell likely would have been better). Can I not take it and keep my cantrips? I really do like my cantrips.
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Old 07-10-2018, 09:10 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Ghost6442 View Post
I normally play rogues... but I thought I might try a Siege Mage. However, the 'Empower Siege Engine (Su)' ability is rubbish (even if it was changed to *spell level {dropping the 3}, the spell likely would have been better). Can I not take it and keep my cantrips? I really do like my cantrips.
Hi Ghost -

I think you should think that through as a build, maybe something more polyvalent would be more rewarding. Will the party have a chance to shoot with a canon or trebuchet? Probably, but you see much more traveling and urban adventure, with some dungeon than anything else. Wars will be part of the story and in the background.

I plan to do all scale warfare depending on how the PCs influence the event, but not sure yet how I will present that for the PC to interact with thousands of people beating the crap of each other.

That been said, if it's what you want to apply with, I don't have a problem with letting your character get his cantrip back and let go of Empower Siege Engine.
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Old 07-10-2018, 09:14 AM
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Queen of Cammére and Léon

@Wodine: I suppose you suggesting that Cammére was a city and the whole thing went down into the sea when the earthquake happened?
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Old 07-10-2018, 09:52 AM
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My intention was for Cammére and Léon to be two small islands in a chain near the Sapphire Seadom. - Which are all things I've made up.

And the whole island didn't sink... just the chunk with dear Aunt Almathea's Mansion and estate which was like 3000 acres.

Do you Canadians use acres? Anyway its like 12 square kilometers - which was like half the island.
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Old 07-10-2018, 09:59 AM
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Alright, make sense. Can you clarify this somewhere in your app? Thanks.

We don't use acres, sounds like a fruit to me.
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Old 07-10-2018, 10:03 AM
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Quote:
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Alright, make sense. Can you clarify this somewhere in your app? Thanks.
Yeah I'll outline the titles and holdings in the "Lands" section - which is currently blank.

I just wanted you to have the chance to see if I'd gone terribly awry somewhere.
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Old 07-10-2018, 10:03 AM
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Sounds like a good start, didnt go through all of it yet.
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