I've been teasing everyone about this for over a month now that it is time to actually provide you with the final part of the epilogue for "ToS1-I-02 Something borrowed, something blew", the year-end special that I ran at Conglomeration. One of the big decision they had to make was the decision of who they would offer the crown to.
Like everything in Saggakar, it was not a unanimous decision, but one that was clear enough.
The following is an exerpt of the narrative available on RPGNow/DriveThruRPG for the great price of "Pay what you want". In the coming days, I will post a series of questions on the campaign, and thoughts I have to change and improve the campaign. The narrative section includes a lot more, including how some of the NPCs
But that can wait, the ArchDespot is about to speak...
ArchDespot Hellebora walked alone on the balcony where a few hours ago, she appeared with her late husband, she smiled calmly as she waved to the crowd in the courtyard below.
This was her one chance to rally the ArchDespotate to her rule, one chance to have the slave willingly accept the yoke she would place upon them. She had, after all, barely escaped the assassination attempt that claimed her husbands’ life. Now she was the one who would be their target, unless she found a way to deflect the attentions of every jealous First Ones.
Lucky for her, she had a plan.
Subjects of the ArchDespotate, I accepted to bear the crown my husband bore bravely, with great poise and wisdom for nearly two decades. Too long you have toiled uselessly, working against each other, advancing plots and fighting over scraps as our ArchDespotate fell apart, with rebels and outlaws refusing to pay their rightful dues, flaunting their so-called independence. That was my husband’s greatest failing, a failing he shared with me in the precious few moments we shared before he drowned in his bath. He wanted us united! He wanted us to not be just strong, but great!
I call upon everyone, First One or slave, to join me into creating a grand army that will bring under our collective heel those rebels who flaunt our authority and laugh at the fighting between with ourselves! she said to an unconvinced crowd, some cheered, a few jeered, many simply kept quiet.
WE can fix this! We can flood our markets with slaves. We can fill our homes with plunder. We can make our neighbors cower in fear at the mere mention of our name. Let us strike down those who oppose us, those who refuse to bow down, and those who choose to recognize others are their rightful master. We are to be feared and ruthless. WE ARE FAREMH!
The crowd listened on as its new ArchDespot continued without pause. I call upon every swordsman, every spell caster to flock to my banner! she continued, her enthusiasm palpable. Together, we will re-forge a new, greater Faremh, one that will stretch from the wall of Mists to the West to the distant shores of Nyen’To in the east to the jagged shored of Zuhur in the north! I will fill your homes with slaves and gold, so much of it that we shall pave the streets with it. The blood of our enemies will turn rivers red for two centuries! Her enthusiasm carried over as the courtyard erupted in cheers. The ArchDespot’s promises filled them with thoughts of glory.
Near the entrance, a single group stood quietly. As one, they turned their back to the cheering crowd harangued by the new ArchDepot, pumping her fist in the air. House Faremhi did not buy in to the dream ArchDespot Hellebora promised. They saw their hold on the throne of the nation that bore their name slip.
Losing was not a virtue of House Faremhi.