Hi everyone! To those who were wondering why it had been taking a while for me to update The Ghost King(s), this is why. I've been trying to get this back up from where it stalled. If anyone wants to check out his character page, it'll be in my profile soon.
Just listing a few house rules and stuff:
1: Skill points are retroactive with INT boosts.
2: Greyhawk setting.
3: Flaws are used.
4: Using the (fey) changeling race from Dragon Magazine #304. Basically it has +2 to charisma and dexterity, -2 to con and strength, and a few minor cantrips once a day.
Enjoy.
Ah, Sigil.
Aramil had always liked it. It was one of the few places in all the planes where he didn't stick out like a sore thumb. Compared to the neogi trading live goods in the marketplace, the imps weaving in and around the legs of two storm giants in a passionate argument, a changeling was boring. It was a far cry from the Prime Material Plane. Sometimes it felt like he couldn't go two steps before some peasant wanted to burn him at the stake.
One of the neogi scuttled up to him with its spiderlike gait, bringing its narrow head up to eye level.
It spoke only one halting word of Common, and even that seemed like an ordeal for it. "Slave?"
He wasn't sure if that was a offer or a demand. With the neogi, it could be both.
"Um, no thanks." The storm giants seemed to have finished up their argument and Aramil took the opportunity, slipping between their legs before it could harass him further.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The neogi wouldn't be able to do much in the city if they didn't want to be torn apart by the Lady of Pain, but Aramil was not in the mood to waste a few decades as their dominated slave.
Though considering what he was dealing with now...
Aramil took a quick look behind. On the roof, two buildings down the street. It was still there, watching with a detached look. Dammit.
For the past three weeks, that thing had been following him. It started after he had, ahem, liberated a few items from a temple of Kord, so he thought it might have been some sort of divine avenger. But as it had made it into the very anti-divine city, it was clearly not.
It looked like a... well, he wasn't really sure. Every time Aramil turned his back, he couldn't remember what it looked like. Which was something new. Or maybe it wasn't. He wouldn't remember.
Which was why he was here, in Sigil. If anyone would know something about the creature, Delver-Of-Lore would. It knew the universe like the back of its ugly little hands.
If only he could actually find the library. It seemed like the dabus changed the layout every time he was here. But then again, the last time was about a century ago. The buildings may have collapsed into dust. It was always embarrassing, visiting a temple to Nerull only to find out it had been converted into an orphanage. Either time that happened.
That beige-ish door looked familiar. Was the library through there?
Aramil blinked as he walked into a sunny field.
Okay, definitely not The Endless Sigils. He looked behind him for the doorway, only to see it collapse in on itself and vanish, leaving him stranded.
"Alright. That's new." He was stuck on what looked like another plane. It wasn't trying to kill him at the moment, so that was pretty lucky.
He walked around, making a few Spot and Search checks. Nothing. Just a bright sunny field, with grass stretching as far as a roll of 12 could see. Aramil picked a direction at random and started walking. Nothing else he could do.
As he walked, Aramil tried to figure out what plane he was on. He was pretty sure it was the Prime Material, or at least a place that looked like it. It was too mundane for the Outer Planes, and not chaotic enough for any of the Inner Planes (the fact that he wasn't on fire or exploding was a big sign). And it sure as hells wasn't the Plane of Shadow, or the Ethereal or Astral. Also, he wasn't feeling any planar traits so far.
Now all he had to do was find the way to the closest village, hitch a ride to the nearest city, and then... well, not sure what he would do from there. Maybe he could go join Amara on whatever quest she was doing. He'd have a snowball's chance in the Nine Hells of actually finding her, though. Cassandra definitely had the resources to do so. Maybe he could convince her to help him.
And maybe ogres could fly.
Well, ogre mages could. Right? Whatever. Orcs then. Unless there was some incredibly obscure sub-race that had a 150-foot fly speed.
After about an hour, Aramil finally made it to the first sign of civilization, spotting a village down below the hill he was on.
Something about it looked off, though. Maybe it was the buildings? They were in a lot better shape than he would've expected from... well, humans, thought it wasn't really their fault. It was hard for dwarves to mess up stone buildings, halflings were nomadic, and elves usually lived in trees.
A flash of movement caught his eye. Two people (humans, most likely) had just exited one of the larger buildings, which Aramil would guess was an inn. He couldn't exactly tell from this distance, but it looked like they were wearing robes.
One of them turned to the other, shook hands, and disappeared. The other walked away out of his view point.
So the area had at least one Wizard/Sorcerer/Whatever around 10th level. Everything was going better than he expected. Now all he needed to do was convince the-
Wait. Did he even have any money? Aramil reached for his bag, only to feel nothing but air.
Aramil said something rather impolite in Abyssal (which was pretty much every word in the language, so it wasn't really impressive). He was a level 1 sorcerer miles away from everything he knew, and he didn't even have a single gold piece.
Whatever. He'd have to persuade him the old-fashioned way- with good ol' fashioned Diplomacy.
"Well, not going to get anything done here." Aramil picked his way down the slope carefully, taking the time to take 10. It wasn't that big of slope, but with a -1 Climb modifier, it was best to be cautious.
Now that he was actually in the town, he kept on rolling Spot checks, seeing what information he could dig up. One piece of info he noticed was that all the buildings were in pretty much perfect condition, without even a single fleck of paint out of order. It was the sort of level of cleanliness that could only be achieved by magic, but what kind of self-respecting arcanist would spend valuable spell slots on maintenance?
Just as he was wondering about that, a young woman stepped out of a house further up the path, tapping the door with what looked like a wand.
She caught sight of him and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, hey. Don't think I've seen you around before. You new to Hogsmeade?"
She was wearing blue robes with a star pattern. That probably meant she had enough power to sneeze and turn him into a puddle of goo.
Aramil decided to err on the side of caution and not piss her off. "Yeah, first time. The name's Aramil. Aramil Lightflower." He cranked up the charm with a smile and a Diplomacy check.
The woman smiled. He tended to have that effect on people. "Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus. But you can call me Lucy. So what are you doing in Hogsmeade, Aramil?"
Time for a Bluff check. Aramil laughed off the question. "Come on, it's Hogsmeade. Where else would I go?"
Lucy seemed to find it funny, shrugging. "Well, fair point. Not like there's a lot of wizards-only settlements in Great Britain."
Aramil's smile slipped up for a fraction. Every single person in the entire village was a wizard? Either he was in some sort of coma, or they had very different ideas on what a wizard was. Probably just the Magical Training feat. Which would still be somewhat impressive, but not as much as dozens of wizards.
He did his best to keep his voice steady. "Uh, exactly. Nothing can really compare. But I think I'm getting off track. I was supposed to meet a friend at the bookshop here. Would you know where that was?"
For a moment, it seemed like his Bluffing had finally hit a wall. Lucy looked slightly suspicious of him. Maybe the village didn't have a bookshop.
But then it cleared, and she was all smiles again. "Oh, Scrolls and Tomes? You'e heading in the right direction. Just head past the Three Broomsticks over there, and turn right. You can't miss it."
"Thanks. See you around, Lucy." Aramil breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away. He used to bluff his way past demon princes. Now he was almost tripped up by a human wizard, who shouldn't even be peddling around a good Wisdom score. This was going to be a long climb upwards.
Or maybe that was the point.
Aramil had been drained back to first level, stripped of all his gear, and dumped on some godforsaken part of the Material Plane. It was basically the start of a new campaign.
Wait. That actually could be it.
Yes, that made sense. Everyone always needed a reset in a while.
"So if it's a new campaign, shouldn't I go to the inn...? Well, probably. Still need to get my bearings around here. And if it's a wizard-only community like they claim, they probably have scrolls or something there. Or maybe an easy fetch/deliver quest."
With that in mind, he strolled confidently through the doors of the bookstore, only to find what looked like a very ugly and rather tall goblin manning the front desk.
The goblin took a break from the book it was reading, peering over the glasses that it apparently actually used, and not just collected because it was shiny. "Can I help you, young man?"
Okay, that was strange. Usually goblins didn't speak Common that well. Then again, if Delver-Of-Lore could be a librarian, anything was possible. "Uh, I'm looking for a beginner's guide to wizard spells?"
It stared at him for a while. "First shelf, bottom row. We keep it there so toddlers can reach it easily."
Ah, condescension and smugness. Aramil would've replied back with something about how goblins could barely scrounge together a civilization, but he decided to hold his tongue. The ol' Shopkeeper Is Actually An Epic-Level Wizard trick was a common one, and he still needed his soul intact.
Aramil snatched up one of the books at random, finding a dark corner of the shop to red it in.
"Now, let's see what kind of magic this is..."
A weird one, apparently.
Aramil snapped the last book shut. Magic users in this world needed wands to cast spells, it wasn't tied to any particular wisdom or force of personality or intellect, and they could cast as many spells as they could think of in a day.
He wondered if he had stumbled onto some alternate Material Plane. Apparently you could get to them through gateways deep in the Plane of Shadow. Not that he had actually met anyone who had done so. It was basically a myth.
But this world was way too bizarre for it not to be. They had no concept of Hit Dice or spell slots or even clerics. All they had were 'wizards', who were kind of like sorcerers in that they were born with it. Aramil tossed the book back on the shelf and walked out, ignoring the dirty look the goblin sent his way.
So, stuck in an alternate Material Plane with no chance of getting back for a long time. Aramil needed experience, fast.
And as if the multiverse decided to be a kind and loving one for a split second, he leveled up.
"Oh, thank gods. Guess figuring this place out put me over the top." Aramil pulled out his character sheet, updating it with another level. It was best to stay single class, at least for now.
He finished up and watched his sheet vanish back into nothingness. He always wondered where they went. Amara always used to joke that they went to the Great Library in the Sky. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if there was an invisible library a few thousand feet in the sky.
But he was getting off track. What should he do now...
Maybe he should try out the Obviously Haunted House? It was in the middle of a village, so the odds of him running into something like a spectre would be low. It'd probably just be a few shadows.
Of course, there was always the possibility that he'd stumble into an incredibly ancient and deadly ghost and accidentally set it free upon the world. But what were the odds of that happening?
Probably a lot more, now that he lampshaded it. Except for that level up, reality tended to be a cruel mistress, as the existence of atropals, atropal scions, and slaymates proved. No one needed more than one type of undead fetus/child monster.
Off track again. Should he go check out the house? He was way under-leveled for anything incorporeal. But if push came to shove, he'd just burn the house down and expose them to daylight.
What could go wrong?
Damn it Aramil, stop with the lampshading.
Up close, the house didn't look so bad. Sure, the windows and doors and whatnot were ll boarded up, but other than that, it was in pretty good condition for a haunted house.
"Detect Magic." If it was cursed, he might be able to detect it. Magic was different here, but magic was still magic. It might be able to pick up a aura of Necromancy, or Evocation.
Nope. Aside from the general layer of magic that seemed to be everywhere in the village (which registered as Universal, interestingly enough), he wasn't picking up anything tied specifically to the house.
It didn't mean it wasn't haunted, though. Just that there weren't any spells lingering around it.
Which now that he thought about it , was kind of strange for a village of wizards. Magic was like sovereign glue, it never really went away. Constant spellcasting over however many decades the house was inhabited, should've been enough to leave it with at least a faint magical aura.
Or maybe the inhabitants weren't spellcasters? The only ones in the village, and then someone else burnt down their house in a wonderful display of human kindheartedness. Seemed plausible enough.
Just in case, he was going to find a way into the house. The windows were boarded up, and he wasn't breaking them with an 8 in Strength. Aramil wandered around the perimeter, wondering if he could find a cellar or basement entrance. Failing that, maybe he could sneak in through a back window or entrance.
Wrong again. Aramil frowned. Just as a hunch, he tried to pry off one of the window boards. It didn't even budge.
So summing it up: someone made the house, which was obviously haunted, very hard to get into. The house had no magical auras whatsoever associated with it, a rarity in the village. And it was in remarkably good condition. At a closer look, it was really only the paint, and maybe a little non-vital structural damage that was ruining it. It was one of the best haunted houses he had ever seen.
Aramil sighed. First bit of downtime he got, he was figuring out a way to get some sort of divine familiar. He was going to go crazy without someone to bounce ideas off of.
But back to the matter at hand. Assuming it wasn't haunted, someone went to a lot of trouble to give it the appearance of it. That wasn't a new trick to Aramil (the amount of times he had seen someone dressed up as a ghost to scare buyers away from a manor was staggering), but it wasn't like the house was valuable.
Maybe it was the land? But they were 'wizards'. Mining rights didn't seem like something worth all the work.
"Can I help you with something?"
Only centuries of dealing with Amara, who liked to vanish and reappear in the blink of an eye, stopped Aramil from slamming his head into the house. Instead, he calmly paused, and then turned around to see who was bothering him
And then immediately regretted it.
For a moment when he met Lucy, he thought he was screwed. She dressed so much like a stereotype that she was either a fraud or an archmage.
The man standing before him made her look like an Awakened bush. He was a very tall and thin old man, with a beard that went past his waist. He was wearing a very purple cloak, under which he could see a blue pair of robes studded with stars, with a pair of spectacles completing the look.
And above all that, he had a faint twinkle in his eyes.
Aramil was at least forty percent sure he was an avatar of Boccob.
The old man continued talking, now that he had Aramil's attention.
"The house has been abandoned for years, and is known to be quite haunted. I would advise you from trying to enter."
If he had to pick a culprit for the haunting, it would be the old man right here. "And you are...?"
The man gave a little bow. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I was just passing by, and thought I would give a little friendly warning."
A headmaster for an entire school of wizards? Yup, he definitely had to do with whatever was going on with the house. Not that it was necessarily malevolent, schoolteachers were always hiding things from inquisitive, plucky protagonists.
"Well, thanks for the warning Albus, but I'm not so sure this place is haunted. Oh, I'm Aramil by the way."
Albus raised an eyebrow in polite surprise. "Really? I've heard all sorts of tales from my brother, who runs one of the local inns. Howling, unearthly noises... what leads you to believe that?"
"Well first of all, you're trying to convince me to stay away, which automatically makes me suspicious. Second of all, the house seems to have no magical signatures, which seems odd for a wizarding-only village. Even if whoever did live there died a long time go, the residual buildup over however long that was would still be present. Third of all..." Aramil stopped mid-sentence, as he felt a sort of tingling sensation pass over him. The sort of sensation he had come to associate with enchantment spells.
He narrowed his eyes. "Okay, you have six seconds to stop whatever the hell you're trying to accomplish."
Albus seemed confused. Or he was just a very good liar. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure what you mean. Are you feeling alright?"
"I'm feeling amazing, aside from the fact that some human peasant thinks they can mess around with my mind and get away with it. I'm heading to the inn and telling everyone how you're passing off an old dump as a haunted house, bye." He tried to walk away, but Albus stepped in front of him.
"You're right, your thoughts are yours alone, and I shouldn't have done that. I apologize for that. However, I require the house for an important cause, one that is necessary to prevent harm from occurring to anyone."
Aramil stopped. "Well... alright, but don't try that again. What's the issue?"
Albus sighed. "Would you simply accept that it's a matter of great importance, and leave it at that?"
"After the mind-reading, no, not really."
"Expected as much. Let's retreat at least a little further away, so this whole incident was not made irrelevant." Albus walked them over to the footpath. To anyone else passing by, they were just two wizards having a chat.
"So, I was right about it not being haunted?"
Albus nodded. "Indeed you were. You've got quite the inquisitive mind there, might I add-"
"Alright, I'm going to stop you there."
"Did I say something to offend you?"
"Not really, I'm just sensing from your tone that you're assuming I'm like what, in my early twenties? I'm a lot older than that. Probably a lot older than you."
A few wizards passed by them on the street, greeting Albus in an almost starstruck manner. Either he was this world's equivalent of Mordenkainen, or Hogwarts was a really good school.
Albus started up again once the trio was out of earshot. "Very well. Some time ago at my school, we had a pupil. Remus Lupin, who I recently hired as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He became a werewolf sometime before arriving at Hogwarts, and the Shrieking Shack was where he went during the full moon."
"Oh. That makes sense. And now that he's coming back, you want to make sure that the shack is still good?"
"Well, not exactly. He takes a potion to keep his mind during the transformations, something that was unavailable during his youth. But I thought, just in case..."
Aramil nodded. "You wanted a backup, just in case something goes wrong."
"Correct. The shack connects through a tunnel to the Hogwarts grounds. Should unfortunate circumstances occur, we would easily be able to shepherd him to a secure place to wait out the night."
They left the village, turning onto a path that was next to an odd metal track of some sorts. If he had to guess, it was some sort of separate path for carriages. But why the metal?
"So everyone assumes it's haunted from the sounds of the werewolf, and then people stay away without any extra work needed. "
"Precisely. Now that we've settled that matter, could we discuss what you said back at the shack?"
"I'm sorry, what?" Aramil was still distracted. He assumed that the two parallel Material Planes had the same level of technology, but now that he thought about, this world was probably much more advanced. Wizards hiding away from 'muggles' meant less overall magic, which meant less reliance on it, which mean people had to invent other means of creating spaceships other than horrid abuses of Animate Objects and Decanters of Endless Water.
"I believe you called me a 'human peasant?'"
"Oh. Right. Sorry about that."
Albus waved it away. "No need for an apology. What I was driving at was your particular word usage. You specifically said human, implying that you are not one yourself."
Ah. "Well, that's a bit of a long story. But yes, I'm not. But before that, I should probably tell you I'm not from around here..."