Lady Sarabian of House Dae'Shar [RPG]

Lady Sarabian of House Dae'Shar is a character I played for a solid 18 months in a Pathfinder campaign, taking her from Level 1 all the way up to Level 13 before her death.  Having previously played a very fun but simple and straightforward character (Little Bigtoes), I thought I was ready for a really complex character I could sink my teeth into.  And Sarabian was certainly complex!  She was multiclassed with levels of Magus (itself basically a fighter/wizard hybrid), a Cavalier archetype called Inspired Commander, and (near the end) a prestige class called Student of War.  In addition, she was focussed around some of the more complex rules subsets in the game, including stronghold-management, mass combat, and feats like leadership.  I often had my hands full with Sarabian!

The character was conceived to help me answer a question about gaming that I've had for years: does having an (in-character) battle leader make a difference in encounters?  In every gaming group I've ever played in, every player just does their own thing and, apart from some obvious precepts (wizards stay near the back, rogues try to flank, etc.), there's absolutely no coordination between the characters.  So Sarabian was designed as a sort of battlefield commander to shout out instructions to her allies and (through the Inspiring Commander archetype) provide them with some really amazing bonuses from the Aid Another action.  The result of the experiment was that I found players loved the mechanical buffs she provided, but routinely ignored her advice (which usually ended up being pretty sound!).

I spent a lot of time on Sarabian's backstory, and it ended up being a major focus of the sandbox-style campaign.  The character had a tragic past and an unfortunately tragic time in the campaign, with a suitable tragic finale: forced to commit suicide to prevent an evil deity from taking over her body!  I was really sad to see Sarabian go, as I was caught up in her story and wanted her to find some glimpses of happiness instead of yet more death.  But in gaming, like life, sometimes fate just doesn't cooperate.
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Lady Sarabian of House Dae'Shar
LN Female Elf Magus6/Cavalier (Inspired Commander)5/Student of War2
Str 12 (16), Dex 8, Con 14, Int 20 (24), Wis 9 (11), Cha 8
Hit Points: 133
AC: 29 (T19, FF22)     Fort +14, Ref +5, Will +9
Attack:  +3 keen small bardiche (w/2 pts. arcane pool):  +15/+10/+5, 17-20x2, d. 1d8+6
Skills:  Acrobatics +2, Appraise +7, Bluff -1, Climb +13, Diplomacy +8, Disable Device +12, Disguise -1, Escape Artist -1, Fly -1, Handle Animal +5, Heal +2, Intimidate +10, Knowledge arcana) +29, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +12, Knowledge (engineering) +14, Knowledge (geography) +13, Knowledge (history) +11, Knowledge (local) +13, Knowledge (nature) +12, Knowledge (nobility) +15, Knowledge (planes) +23, Knowledge (religion) +15, Linguistics +11, Perception +9, Perform (Oratory) +12, Profession (Soldier) +11, Profession (Siege Engineer) +8, Ride +11, Sense Motive +0, Spellcraft +20, Stealth +8, Survival +6, Swim +14, UMD +3
Languages: Elven, Common, Gnome, Goblin, Orc, Sylvan, Draconic, Undercommon
Feats: Combat Expertise, *Escape Route, Leadership, Second Chance, Harrying Partners, Skill Focus (Knowledge: Arcana), Armor Focus (Breastplate), Artful Dodge, Critical Focus, *Power Attack
Traits: Desperate Focus, Warrior of Old, Rich Parents, Family Ties
Class Abilities:  Arcane Pool, Spell Combat, Challenge (Order of the Dragon), Inspiring Commands, Rapid Tactician, Spellstrike, Spell Shield, Spell Recall, Put Your Heart Into It, Arcane Accuracy, Know Your Enemy, Mind Over Metal
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Entry # 1: The War Begins

On this day, in these pages, I declare war.  War on liars, thieves and traitors.  War on the Slavers of Qeth.  War on the vile Drow.  And most of all, war on House Tirith Nor, perfidious swine of the Jade Sea Council.  Let the true tale of the fall of House Dae’Shar be told in these pages, lest it be lost with my death.  For I was there, and should every soul in Bretharis shout “liar”, I will not be swayed from what I know to be truth.

            ‘Twas the feast day of my youngest cousin’s hundredth year in this world.  All of House Dae’Shar had assembled on the grounds of the estate for the ritual of adulthood.  The night was crisp, the wine intoxicating, and the company resplendent.  Hours I must have danced, only to remember with scant hours before dawn of the crystal token I had commissioned as a gift.  I fairly leapt and twirled my way back to the manse, my gown of lavender and gossamer reflecting the moonlight.  I pounced from stair to stair towards my room, until suddenly an intuition of . . . stillness halted my steps.  Not the stillness of true night and an empty home, but of unnatural quiet.  Someone else was in the house—someone whose presence was being concealed by the acrid tang of magic!

            Curious, I tip-toed down the hall to my father’s study.  Therein, a sight never I thought to behold.  An ebon-skinned inhabitant of the netherworld, a fabled Drow!  And consorting with the foul misbegotten creature, none other than my father’s own brother—yea, my uncle Davram, Lord of House Tirith Nor.  They were secreting scrolls into a cunningly-hid niche on the mantle.  I started to speak, but before a single word fell from my mouth, the Drow sensed my presence and turned.  I gaped, and then, with a nod from my uncle, the Drow launched himself into the air and landed behind me.  I did not feel the poisoned blade graze my skin, but as I lurched towards the floor I saw a single drop of blood.  Confusion and fear was swallowed by darkness.

            I was awoken by the sound of heavy footsteps.  I found myself in my own bed, all trace of the night’s events vanished.  A strange dream, I ventured, until my door was burst open by the Council’s inquisitors.  Roughly they dragged me into the hallway, wherein I saw my kin, some still recovering from the night’s exuberances, in similar states of disturbance.  “What transpires?” I ventured, only to receive a boot in the ribs and an unforgettable answer.  “Your father is a traitor, and from the stricken tree falls only diseased fruit.”

            Three days and three nights followed in a blur.  I remember being interrogated by the inquisitors and repeating my story many times over, only to be met with scorn.  There was a proceeding of some sort.  Pei Lei and the Council were known for rendering swift judgment.  How many of them knew the case against my father was a tower of mistruth?  My mother’s wailing echoed in my ears, slowing my cognition of the sentence imposed.  House Dae’Shar had transgressed law and justice, we were told.  Such acts of sedition could not have been solely the work of its head.  The most severe condemnation must be made, and an example set, for all those who would divulge the Jade Sea’s defence secrets to the fell races of the underrealms.  And so:  the daughters of House Dae’Shar exiled, to return only upon pain of death; its sons to be delivered into the hands of the taskmasters of Qeth, with each lash stroke a reminder of the price of betrayal; my mother, the Countess Madame Laeandra Dae’Shar, to live as a kitchen servant passed between the noble houses of the Council; and my father, Lord Michandra Dae’Shar.  My father . . .  My father . . .

            My two sisters and I were taken in a horse-drawn cart to the frontier, our journey oft-remarked upon by a tirade of vile epithet and rotten detritus.  There, in an unremarkable landscape that must have been carefully noted on some map, we were abandoned and told never to return.  We had neither food nor money nor shelter.  But we did have one thing the inquisitors missed—a pendant given to me by my father on my own coming of age festival.  So we walked until our feet found a path, and the path led to a road, and the road led to a small village.  I sold the pendant, not without reluctance, and explained to my sisters what must eventuate.  They remarked upon the fearsome determination in my eyes, but agreed.  They have found positions of safety and gainful employment, to await my summons.

            And so I have outfitted myself for war.  Was I not my father’s daughter?  Did he not teach me the strategems of sword, siege, and evocation ignored by his sons?  My father . . .

            I know my uncle is a cunning man to have turned the nobles of the Jade Sea against my family.  What did he gain?  What is his relationship with the Drow?  His answers will come, in blood.  But although my vengeance is hot, my determination will not fall to the error of rashness.  I will raise riches as a sell-sword.  I will buy or steal my brothers from the hands of the Slavers of Qeth.  I will build an army.  I will find the cavern of the Drow and fall upon them with a fury so wrathful they never venture forth upon the surface again.  And then I will have a reckoning with Davram, destroying House Tirith Nor if I must.

            I will never forget.

            I will never make peace.

            I will never stop.

            Until he dies.