Grey
Dialectical Hermeticist
Low-fantasy game of monster slaying and, dependent on party makeup, politics, discovery, or great upheavals. Two players have expressed interest, would like at least four.
See the Freelancer. She is a woman much like any other who one night declared ‘enough is enough.’ She picked up the spear her grandfather brought back from the war, and went out to face the monster that was stealing children. She is one of the people, and they love her for it.
She is walking the path they know in their hearts to be called ‘Hero’, and they fear her in equal measure; she is like them, but she is no longer one of them. She has slain men as easily as monsters, and often, she sees no difference.
See the Inquisitor. He is a hard man, and has led a hard life. Once, he truly was a man of God, but he has trod upon Hell’s blighted soil and faced its terrible denizens; there can be no loving god in a world where these exist. He keeps in the mind the bigger picture - one village’s sacrifice can save a nation.
A crime against mundane law is of no interest to him, but a convicted criminal makes a fine conscript. To the smallfolk, he is an avatar of wrath and a merciless arbiter of justice. He is merciless, but his idea of justice is something most prefer not to contemplate.
See the Monk. She is a weapon. Every moment since her childhood has honed her to a razor edge. Her blade is an extension of her body. She is a vessel for the wrath of the gods, the protector of the innocent, the doom of the unrighteous.
To the smallfolk, she is an enigma - her gods are strange, and make strange demands. Her dress, and speech, and ways are alien to them, yet she looks like one of their own. She cares not for kings nor coin; only that justice be done, though the heavens may fall.
See the Bloodhunter. He knows suffering better than most. He has been beaten, and tortured, and enslaved. He has been outcast by his own; he has lost his very will to a dread creature of the night. And now he is free.
He is free, and nothing will bind him again. He will hunt down the masters of the night, and eat their still-beating hearts, and make their power his own. He will break the chains of the downtrodden and spit in the face of gods and kings.
To the people, he is a monster and a brute. They will fear him, and at best respect him, but they can never love him nor understand what he has become.
See the Alchemist. He is inheritor to an ancient bloodline of warrior-scholars. He is more than human, but by little enough. The plagues and sicknesses, the poisons and rot that trouble the lives of those around him barely touch him.
He has been taken from his home, and raised among others like him, by others like him, in a tradition stretching back to a lost golden age. He has been educated, and knowledge is the weapon with which he has defeated fear.
And that knowledge makes him fearsome - to the smallfolk he knows arcane secrets and magical rites, and he jealously guards that knowledge. He cannot be a normal man; they have seen him drink their best under the table when they sought to rob him. They have seen him gleefully sort through a dead monsters corpse and take away organs.
And sometimes, he wants to take your children away to become like him.
See the Spiritseer. See her and fear her, for she dares to speak to the gods as equals, and threatens them with destruction. She walks a violent, eldritch path to power - her own power, used as she sees fit. She is cursed from birth to hear the voices of the spirits and lay her flesh upon their ephemera.
She tears out their essence and devours it, and becomes like them. Her eyes burn black and her hair is thick mane like a lion. She runs like the wind and commands the dead. Yet she is needed; when the spirits will not be swayed by sacrifice and prayer, she comes with arrogant stride and brings them to heel.
She is a hole in the Celestial Order and the heavens quake at her footfall. The people despise her and revere her. They dare not raise a spear against her, they fear her too much to welcome her home.
See the Freelancer. She is a woman much like any other who one night declared ‘enough is enough.’ She picked up the spear her grandfather brought back from the war, and went out to face the monster that was stealing children. She is one of the people, and they love her for it.
She is walking the path they know in their hearts to be called ‘Hero’, and they fear her in equal measure; she is like them, but she is no longer one of them. She has slain men as easily as monsters, and often, she sees no difference.
See the Inquisitor. He is a hard man, and has led a hard life. Once, he truly was a man of God, but he has trod upon Hell’s blighted soil and faced its terrible denizens; there can be no loving god in a world where these exist. He keeps in the mind the bigger picture - one village’s sacrifice can save a nation.
A crime against mundane law is of no interest to him, but a convicted criminal makes a fine conscript. To the smallfolk, he is an avatar of wrath and a merciless arbiter of justice. He is merciless, but his idea of justice is something most prefer not to contemplate.
See the Monk. She is a weapon. Every moment since her childhood has honed her to a razor edge. Her blade is an extension of her body. She is a vessel for the wrath of the gods, the protector of the innocent, the doom of the unrighteous.
To the smallfolk, she is an enigma - her gods are strange, and make strange demands. Her dress, and speech, and ways are alien to them, yet she looks like one of their own. She cares not for kings nor coin; only that justice be done, though the heavens may fall.
See the Bloodhunter. He knows suffering better than most. He has been beaten, and tortured, and enslaved. He has been outcast by his own; he has lost his very will to a dread creature of the night. And now he is free.
He is free, and nothing will bind him again. He will hunt down the masters of the night, and eat their still-beating hearts, and make their power his own. He will break the chains of the downtrodden and spit in the face of gods and kings.
To the people, he is a monster and a brute. They will fear him, and at best respect him, but they can never love him nor understand what he has become.
See the Alchemist. He is inheritor to an ancient bloodline of warrior-scholars. He is more than human, but by little enough. The plagues and sicknesses, the poisons and rot that trouble the lives of those around him barely touch him.
He has been taken from his home, and raised among others like him, by others like him, in a tradition stretching back to a lost golden age. He has been educated, and knowledge is the weapon with which he has defeated fear.
And that knowledge makes him fearsome - to the smallfolk he knows arcane secrets and magical rites, and he jealously guards that knowledge. He cannot be a normal man; they have seen him drink their best under the table when they sought to rob him. They have seen him gleefully sort through a dead monsters corpse and take away organs.
And sometimes, he wants to take your children away to become like him.
See the Spiritseer. See her and fear her, for she dares to speak to the gods as equals, and threatens them with destruction. She walks a violent, eldritch path to power - her own power, used as she sees fit. She is cursed from birth to hear the voices of the spirits and lay her flesh upon their ephemera.
She tears out their essence and devours it, and becomes like them. Her eyes burn black and her hair is thick mane like a lion. She runs like the wind and commands the dead. Yet she is needed; when the spirits will not be swayed by sacrifice and prayer, she comes with arrogant stride and brings them to heel.
She is a hole in the Celestial Order and the heavens quake at her footfall. The people despise her and revere her. They dare not raise a spear against her, they fear her too much to welcome her home.
