Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 11 Valen's Gamble

Small Packages: Valen’s Gamble

Adrenaline coursed through Jared’s body and for a few moments the pains of a hard life were forgotten. Perhaps all the responsibilities had aged him more than anything else. In the moments he prepared himself for a battle Jared felt younger and more alive than he had in decades. A part of him wanted to meet some great champion in a singular confrontation, preferably someone who was good enough to last longer than a minute.

Time was a funny thing in battle. Seconds felt like minutes, and the details outside of a foe seems to blur and fade into the background. To Jared they came out of focus but remained as facts. A compartmentalized part of his brain was always aware of details like terrain, allies and enemies, even as he achieved a hyper focus on the strengths and weaknesses of his chosen foe.

A single ship would not challenge the city, Jared was intimately aware of every deadly secret piece of defense Briar Hills had. The hidden skyships, the harbormaster’s chain golem, the kobold fireworks master’s invention called a nest of bees. The city had dozens of these nasty little cashes of the weapon hidden at every likely invasion point.

Jared’s troops drilled with a mantra; “Wizard, Officer, Healer, Exotic Mount, Legionnaire.” It was the priority of targets for every archer and slinger, it represented a cost sheet nightmare for the efficient orc logistics officers.

Starstones had a tattoo on the wrists FTFAC for Find The Flank And Commit. If the orc legions thrived on formations it was madness to oppose them in formations so Jared taught his troops to thrive on creating chaos. In a chaotic melee the orcs were just like anyone else.

Jared arrived at the docks just as the slaver galley was approaching, figures aboard busy at the mooring lines. He pulled a fireball wand from a secret compartment opposite of the blade’s as he  drew his rapier dropping the wooden shell of his cane as he went. His brother died in bondage. Jared himself had been produced by rape for a slaver’s amusement, and the first two decades of his life were plagued by beatings and hard labor. A slaver daring to step onto the land Jared called home was a dead man walking.

As Jared prepared to throw a fireball, something slammed him from behind. Jared rolled with the momentum and flip spun to face his foe dropping the wand, then calling and throwing his returning dagger all in the space of time it took to land firmly on his feet and face his foster son.

Valen casually flicked the dagger aside with a snap from Defiance. He pressed a button and the middle finger of the clenched fist end of the mace rose into a sharp point dripping with a potent sleep toxin. The boy spun the weapon into an expert defensive spin that made the ends hard to track.

“Don’t make me do this father, we do not know who they are yet,” he spoke clearly and slowly.

Words were never his adoptive son’s forte and it was something he seemed unable to learn. The boy didn’t stand a chance, Jared had cast too many spells to enhance himself en route. Jared disappeared using vanishing trick, he’d end it quickly and minimize the damage to the boy.  

A soft thud on Jared’s chest  as a canvas bag filled with colored chalk struck him and provided the only warning before the boy charged his position directly. Valen spun and rotated his weapon at a speed that would have deadly consequence if Jared was slow. Of course he had earned his surname Swift for a reason as he dodged blow after blow.

Though with each pass the boy put out more chalk in the air, he used his staff swipes to keep the sack of colored chalk in the air like a hacky sack. It took Jared a moment to realize the purpose of this strange choice. The chalk clung to him and hung in the air long enough to foil both invisibility and illusions.

The boy had taken some potions and was using his ki wisely. He was putting up a frenetic pace to keep Jared moving, he was playing a game of endurance hoping to tire Jared. Jared would have to use deadly force and risk killing his foster son in order to win this conflict. The boy was betting his life against the balance of Jared’s hatred of slavers. For the first time his most calculatingly and cautious son was rolling the dice.

Jared spun back and released his sword and dagger. They clattered on the ground sounding his surrender. “Well played my son.” Jared had never been prouder of the boy.

Moments later as it become apparent the slaver’s galley was filled with slaves that had broken their chains and revolted against their captors he was even prouder of Valen, and his quiet wisdom.

Jared would have enough time to regain his dignity before greeting the new visitors. His wits returned well enough that he noted another winded messenger arriving. The old adage, “it only pours,” came to mind.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 10 A Simple Errand

Small Packages: A Simple Errand

It was approaching dusk and Trigon was running late. The dusk was a favorite time for the grass lions to hunt and all manner of predator preferred the cover of darkness to the light of day. Though he netted a delicious sapphire mana butterfly it had taken him off course for his delivery and if he failed his duty, the elders would be quite cross.

Though he was adventurous for the usually insular grass spider race Trigon had to admit, he was not overly fond of the idea of being in the Famine King’s hills after dark. He towed on his back the six bolts of spider silk for which the Famine King traded a drowned swarm of locusts every fortnight. His sending the locusts to a watery grave as they repopulated in his colonies meant that the grasses were kept safe from the insects penchant for devastation. Instead the locusts fed both his people and the fish of Noman’s Creek and Deadman’s Creek, both of which fed the Compact Tributary on the banks of which almost the entirety of the grass spider race dwelled.

What the Famine King did with the silk was anyone’s guess. Likely the Angry Grass Halfling guerillas traded for it, as they had been observed chasing game into the Famine King’s lands which likely fed his vampires and provided new corpses for his other pursuits.

Grass Spiders are roughly the size of a dog, with pale green chiton marked with mud brown spots that to outsiders generally looked the same but to the spiders themselves were as distinguishing as facial features. Trigon wove a net of grasses over his backside like a ghillie suit when traveling as doing so made him look like a tiny hill when he crouched down.

Unlike most of his insular people, he and a few other braves, had ventured into and introduced himself to the neighboring peoples of Briar Hills. Unlike Humans, Orcs, and goblins; the Halflings seemed to accept and appreciate the overtures and did not try to stomp on them upon being introduced.

Trigon had even trained a few years with their great hero Jared Twist. A set of starstone blades had been custom made to fit over the ends of his front two legs and were enchanted to adhere there when he desired. These fine weapons and his ninja training from the half goblin had made him the elder’s top pick to make the runs.

To cross the water and deliver the goods dryly required a combination of spell and skills. Trigon had the inherent abilities shared by all grass spiders, but he was also a spell thief ninja trained by a legend. While formidable, grass spiders preferred to remain unnoticed rather than embroil themselves in conflict. Bottom line was that Trigon had a unique combination of skills and the ability to borrow more spells from the elders who were too old and could not make the journey.

Trigon usually got this particular errand out of the way early in the day, but he had found that sapphire mana butterflies not only empowered his spell like abilities but strengthened his ki. This particular specimen had been an elusive flyer and it took him a couple hours out of his way. It had also been a potent intoxicant and he lost more hours with hallucinatory visions of a desert city that bled dreams into reality.

On his way back he had been harried at by what must have been a suicidal or starving owl. Lucky for Trigon that that stupid owl put him on his guard because he had adopted an attitude of stealth just before he nearly ran headlong into a trium of orc legionnaires. The orcs were in formations around the log Trigon sometimes used to cross deadman’s creek.

Across the way was a mass of zombies with colonies of ants erupting angrily from every orifice. Trigon guessed that they had somehow sensed a hearty meal of orcs across the water. Either way Trigon was grateful for vanish trick and his race’s vaunted skill at climbing as he made his way up a tree very quickly and quietly. Orcs were scary enough, but orcs and the Famine King’s minions? Too deadly a mix for bravery. Still, he had to deliver his shipment.

Trigon used some of his silk to construct a quick kite. With a solid ki jump, his feather fall ring, and the core belief held by all ninjas that no one looks up, he hoped he would make it across unnoticed. The plan would have failed if not for the crazy owl. There was almost no wind, he would have drifted into angry zombies if not for a helpful talon drag. Trigon wondered for a moment if he had managed to steal an elder’s familiar or something. He tried talking to the beast.

“Hey, owl thanks for the help, fly me over to the southernmost hill would you?” Trigon ventured.

Familiars were supposed to be smart. This one hooted in an almost chastising manner before dropping him off in some cover beyond the mess.

The dying screams of orcs and the hungered grunts of zombies were muted over the hill but Trigon still heard the sounds and felt a pang of sympathy for the orcs. The crazy owl simply flew on.

“Thank you,” he yelled after the creature, hoping that it somehow understood him.

It was near dawn before Trigon reached the designated hill. He had eluded a nightmare horde of creatures to reach the drop spot, and he was barely on time but it was better than late. He dropped the silken ball on the stone dais and contemplated the scene before him. He was unnerved by something more than just the sheer number of undead creatures, it was hard to quantify.

Over a thousand orcs, perhaps closer to two thousand had lined the far side of Noman’s Creek and they had even constructed a small palisade. Though orcs saw well in the dark they had placed torches every five feet in their palisade, beyond they had precise looking tents and racks of weapons. There was no mistaking an invading force.

They would fall like wheat to a scythe. Trigon realized what had unnerved him, it was the humming buzz of millions of insects making a constant steady din. It made him both hungry and fearful.

Should the orcs invade they would die and they would deserve no better for trying to take lands that were not theirs to take. Trigon just would rather not be caught in the middle of said battle. Realizing the darkness was in part flying insects he used a quick jolt in the air to fry a few out of the sky which he caught deftly with mage hand.

After he had his snack he’d head towards a crossing on Deadman’s Creek, make a hammock in some trees he knew grew on the far side and swoop around the orcs in the morning. From his hill he could clearly see both streams and the orcs were not along Deadman’s. Trigon blinked, the spell he used to enhance his vision must have been faulty because there was no water in the creek bed. He looked back over and saw the same was true of Noman’s creek.

The creeping chill of fear swept over the spider as he heard the thundering sound of a stampede of creatures behind and all around him. Trigon was soon no longer alone on the hill as a pack of wolves being ridden by a pair of wild haired gnomes soon joined him on the hill. One of the wolves snarled in his direction but the flame haired gnome calmed it and payed him no mind.

A swarm of wasps formed a face and a voice buzzed out some words for the gnome wearing a translucent crocodile?

Trigon muttered aloud, “must have been a bad butterfly.”

The red haired gnome’s sword flared with fire, his armor reflecting the flames making him look like a dangerous and wild thing. “You can talk creature?”

A few moments later Trigon found himself riding a wolf in the center of a terrifying army going to battle. Flying low in the sky to avoid the harrying insects blotting out the moon and all the stars he spotted the crazy owl again.

With his starstone blade he saluted the bird.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 9 Walkabout

Small Packages: Walkabout

Tullia was eight days into her walk-about though technically she was flying-about in the form of an owl. Alone in the wilds was both exhilarating and incredibly isolating. Once a druid could reliably wildshape, it was a customary rite of passage they they spend a fortnight alone beyond the Green Gates of Grandmother’s Wall, without any companion. Tullia was also a bard and found the lack of companionship quite difficult.

Grandmother herself would interview Tullia on her return. How well the adept orcling druid expressed what she had seen and learned would be crucial to her next assignment. Tullia wanted desperately to either be assigned an adventure or to help tend the more hostile plants in Grandmother’s great rose garden, which was the most sacred grove to all druids.

Tullia didn’t expect to find orcs. She had never seen a young orc or for that matter an orc that had not been maimed and admittedly she was surprised to find an attraction. Despite her divided heritage all she was ever taught of Orcs were lectures on their squandered potential and the evils of the Empire.

Tullia was a part of an emerging generation of orclings, born of both Orc and Halfling blood. Most of the orcs in her village had been in some way handicapped in the first or second hospitality war and dismissed from military service as their empire deemed them broken and unworthy to carry a weapon. Many of them had chosen to mutilate themselves out of disgust for the slaughter and carnage wrought of Orum’s Well fifty years ago. The newly wounded and repentant Orcs were welcomed in Halfling lands and nature eventually took course. It is said that the Emperor still tortures the Field Marshal that allowed what the Empire has privately deemed a mass desertion.

Tullia found a convenient tree to perch in as she spied on the four orcs she found below. Three of them were male and one female. They did not wear the Imperial red of legionaries, but favored more natural colors and stalked like rangers or scouts. They were very clearly using the available cover provided by a small copse of trees along Noman’s Creek which bordered the Famine King’s Hills.

An undead sheepdog infested with scarab beetles judging by the undulating skin, was capering about with its half rotted tongue wagging out of its undead sneer across the water. The orcs, one of whom Tullia found very attractive (despite herself) were very intent on the log and a small crossing.

The sight would be comical if not for a rush of realization that startled Tullia enough that she let out a raucous hoot before she could stop herself. The dog was a distraction! One of the startled rangers turned toward her bow drawn and ready to loose in reflex when he was swiftly and violently tackled by what appeared to be an elven child.

Tulla fluttered down to the ground as she rapidly changed into her natural form. Orclings were nearly as short as their halfling parents but had some of the sheer physical power of their orc parents. The effect was somewhat like the barrel build of a dwarf but with undersized orcish tusks and foot tufts like a halfling. Somehow on Tullia the package was very feminine despite her well formed muscles. She wore a simple tunic with a darkwood studded cuirass and she carried an iron wood sickle and an ironwood gladius both of which were decorated with painted flowers. She also had a darkwood spear across her back, and while she was indeed small she wielded weapons sized for orcs without difficulty making them appear somewhat oversized in her hands.

Trillia screamed, “watch your flank” before utilizing a splinter bolt spell stored in a magic ring to waylay the vampire spawn. The orcs would not have been told the story of the angry elven noblewoman who led her people into theses cursed lands and through circumstance became a master vampire. The running water was supposed to keep them all trapped. The vampire bride of the Famine King and her minions were no trifle to face in combat.

The rangers, to their credit, reacted appropriately. With their comrade cleared of the vampire spawn they rapidly loosed several arrows into the creature which felled it. Unfortunately a dozen spawn cleared the brush and started circling the small group.

These were Imperial orcs, enemies to her homeland, but they were up against vampires which Tullia somehow found more offensive. The orcs repositioned themselves in a loose compass like position to ensure they could not be flanked as a group. Tullia was aware of legion training regarding transitioning weapons and was not concerned the archers would be vulnerable to melee.

The spawn moved as fast as grass lions, and the twisted look of hatred in their faces marred what would have been otherwise attractive elven features. Hate was personified in elvish form, and it stalked the orcs perimeter like a predator looking for the weak link in a chain. They surged forward moving in unison, charging forward in a crisscrossing pattern to confuse ranged fire. Tullia was ready.

The grasses suddenly and rapidly grew and grasped down everything within forty feet of Tullia. The vampires were agile and avoided the grasping plants at first, but in their hate fueled determination to move forward the plants eventually won out in anchoring them down. In this case the spell was a trap and hatred was the bait.

The spawn had every advantage in melee. They had sharp claws and teeth, deadly speed, impossible strength and in this case the numbers. Anchored to the ground and vulnerable to wood and without ranged weapons on hand they were easy targets for the trained archers. Tullia followed up with a rolling ball of fire to finish the beasts.

With the elven spawn dead an awkward moment of silence hung between Tullia and the orc rangers. Rather than allow things to become an even more awkward parley Tullia simply blew the cute ranger a kiss before changing back to owl form and flying off. Let him report that back to his commander!

Tullia heard the rangers sound their trouble horn from a bit of a distance. She figured the orcs gave her a head start and for some reason that made her feel a little more elated. She did not hear the soldier’s screams a few moments later as a second party of vampires arrived and tore into them, then tossed their bloodless bodies over the banks to be reanimated. Nor did she hear the chopping sound of axes felling the trees which would be tossed into the creek waters to create a damming effect.

Tullia did however encounter a grass spider the size of a dog, jumping impossibly high over a mass of zombies.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 8 Famines Respite

Small Packages: Famine’s Respite

Marius had more than a little trouble sleeping that night. Luca’s nap came and went too quickly. The wolves which normally slept and awoke sporadically forewent their normal routine and tonight they simply huddled together in an exhausted and deep slumber.

Marius was bone weary and his body welcomed rest but his mind raced with the grim possibilities around him. Orc arrows and sorcery were enemies he could accept and face, the restless dead and writhing hordes of insects as allies was a bit more difficult to swallow. The landscape surround their campsite in the Famine King’s lands were dominated by burial mounds, monuments that hardly induced comforting rest. Yet what disturbed Marius the most was Luca’s easy demeanor. Luca had no issue sleeping.

Marius was a bit haunted by the battle. The wizard commander tried to use fireballs to burn a hole for the legion soldiers to charge through. Those footmen died horribly the moment they crossed the stream. The echo of the screams of the dying orcs would haunt Marius’ nightmares. The venom in Captain Septimus’ voice as he shouted after them with a magic mouth as he fell, Marius had no doubt the wizard would rise again another creature entirely.

The brothers walked about an hour into the famine king’s territory before settling on a campsite. The entire way they were escorted by all manner of horrors, the last of which was an elvish vampire maiden wearing livery from a long dead elven house. She had prepared the campsite. Luca did a curious thing by bowing to her as deeply as he would an empress.

The oldest and uncensored books were in elvish and usually preferred by scholars. The vampire spoke only elvish which was effectively a scholar’s tongue. After the orcs nearly exterminated the elves by raining alchemical fire down on them from the first fleet of skyships, they conquered most of the northern continent. Old books are often confiscated and translated with some edits into another orc invention the printing press. New books often revised old history, and restructured old ideas. Every village in the Imperium had a school that taught orcish history and had an imperial library. In time men would forget elves or that the world was ever any different than it is under the emperor.

Luca bled for the elvish vampire girl into a cup. She was grateful but Luca dismissed her offer to stand watch. Marius stood watch alone for two hours contemplating their present circumstances. In the end he concluded that he found the Famine King and his minions deeply disturbing and offensive to his moral aesthetic to promote beauty, but to raise his hand against a being whose only actions have been hospitable would be more offensive to his core choice to value loyalty above all other things.

When Luca awoke, a dead legionnaire shambled out of the darkness and greeted the brothers in Punic, the Orcish soldier’s tongue. The zombie’s words were clearly not his own and accompanied by an internal buzzing. Marius eventually realized a locust was wedged in the back of its throat and the buzzing was its wings.

The famine king spoke through the dead orc.“You show old world courtesy winter gnome, for that I accepted your bargain. If I am not mistaken you are a summoner like myself though of a different sort. I would like to discuss your magic with you and perhaps bargain with you further. Do you speak sylvian or draconic?”

Luca of course spoke both and the conversation drifted to places Marius would not likely understand even if he spoke the appropriate languages. Marius drifted into and out of sleep frequently, his will in conflict with the needs of his body.

On waking in the morning, Marius realized two things. First, by the position of the sun in the sky it was far later in the morning then it should be, second that Luca seemed cheerful which was uncharacteristic at best.

“What have you done with my brother?” Marius muttered.

Luca handed him a steaming cup of what from the smell of it was the last of their southern coffee.“Never mind, whoever you are, I think I like you better.” When he tasted the cup, Marius meant it.

As Luca explained what he learned and intended, Marius soon realized that he too was smiling. This was an uncomfortable place to sleep, but the Famine King was in the very least a useful ally. Luca was eager for the road, and perhaps eager for a fight. Marius didn’t expect to be but found that he too was eager for a fight.

A night’s sleep can do that.

Next Chapter

Celtris Tales: Small Packages Chapter 7 Strange Bedfellows

Small Packages: Strange Bedfellows

Luca crossed the stream, followed tentatively by the wolves and his somewhat shocked brother. Once across the hive-infested zombie bull scratched the ground with its hoof then turned it in an unnatural manner that resembled a merchant holding out their palm. Luca read the situation as a request for payment.

“I will relinquish the wand to one of your minions once we have rested and we are nearly out of your lands. I swear by Iz, my Eidolon that I will fulfill the bargain once I can be certain you are holding to yours for safe passage. Is this acceptable?” Luca waited hands outstretched until the beast snorted and nodded yes.

As Luca strode another step forward a tiny marble of fire streaked into the bull’s ribcage and exploded outward in a sphere of flames. Luca felt the heat wash over his face but was not touched by it. The zombie bull and its hive were consumed instantly.

“You are under arrest for the crimes of murder and sedition against the Orcish Imperium, surrender your weapons and any magical items and come peacefully or be slain.”

The orc speaking wore black robes cinched with a crimson sash littered with various pouches and a wickedly long curved dagger. A large silver medallion with an onyx spire indicated him to be a master of the black spire college. He was flanked by two red robed apprentices and a score of archers and another score of legion footmen.

It would not be a long fight. Fleeing wasn’t much an option either as the day’s run had all but depleted them. Luca had but one option, to bluff.

“You have no jurisdiction here. I and my party have an agreement for safe passage through this independent kingdom which belongs to the Famine King. Cross that river and you and all that come with you will perish. In death you will still walk the earth, serving as a home for whatever vermin the famine king sees fit.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment after Luca spoke his words. He and the black spire commander locked gazes as they appraised one another. The moment was broken by a chorus of inhuman roars as the famine king’s denizens poured out of the hills behind Luca.

The orc wizard raised and lowered his free hand and the archers let loose. He muttered arcane phrases and made motions that would summon a killing fog of deadly gas. It would if it overcame Luca’s willful counterspell. It would be the only one Luca would be able to stop but the swarms and his wolves would otherwise die.

Arrows scored hits on Luca, Marius, and two of the wolves though none were yet slain. Another act of will had Luca calling on a burst of positive energy to heal everyone, including Iz. The legionnaires formed up in front of the wizards and archers.

Zombies burst out of the ground between the gnomes and the orcs, followed by swarms of rats and biting insects. The western sunset behind them was rapidly blotted out as thousands of flying buzzing insects filled the air.

In the face of such horrors the legion held formation, determination and training outweighing any fear. The zombies made a formation of their own in an almost mocking tribute. The swarming hordes filled the air between the gnomes and the orcs spoiling any missile fire or the ability to aim. A fireball cleared the air for a few seconds but the effort was futile, a wall of undead and vermin massed along the stream but stepped no further.

Luca recognized the truth in the situation and turned away. He’d lead his pack deeper into the Famine King’s lands and he’d honor their bargain. For better or worse the gnomes had made a new ally and a deadly enemy in the same day. They’d find a camp and sleep under the watchful gaze of one of the world’s greatest terrors.

A magic mouth appeared before them, “I am Captain Septimus Clovis, master instructor of the black spire college, ship commander of the Burning Dawn. You gnomes will pay for your crimes.”

The words faded with the sounds of a million tiny wings.

Next Chapter

Questions about Class: the Cavalier

Image taken from www.deviantart.com and by biotechbob

Welcome back readers! Here is another entry in our Questions about Class series, this time focusing on the Cavalier. As you may (or may not) know, Flying Pincushion Games is about to released its next book, Into the Breach: The Cavalier.  So we thought it was a good time that I, Kiel Howell, sit down with fellow Pincushioneer Jeffery Harris to talk about the class.

KH: First of all, thank you for taking the time to sit down and answer these questions!

JH: My pleasure Kiel, thank you for taking the time to lay down some excellent questions about the cavalier class!

KH: Can you give the readers a little about yourself and your role at The Flying Pincushion?

JH: Well sure, I am of course Jeff Harris, co-owner, CFO, sometimes editor and lead designer here at The Flying Pincushion.  I have been gaming for more than 24 years, but have only been in the industry officially for about two and a half years.  I am married to a lovely wife and live in a house with as many cats as there are core classes.

KH: So what exactly is a cavalier? Isn’t it just a Paladin on a horse? Minus the curatives?

JH: For those who are not aware, the word cavalier in our real world actually means: Cavalier (/ˌkævəˈlɪər/) was the name used by Parliamentarians for a supporter of King Charles I and his son Charles II during the English Civil War, the Interregnum, and the Restoration (1642 – c. 1679). Cavaliers were also known as Royalists.

But for our discussion purposes here, the cavalier is much more than just a magicless paladin with looser ethics.  To me a cavalier in Pathfinder is something of the quintessential hero, or villain.  Charging, challenging, holding the front line, or bolstering allies with tactics, are all things that great heroes and villains do in fantasy literature, and the cavalier does on the battle matt.  While paladins gain power from divine sources, a cavalier draws inspiration and power from dedicating themselves to an ideal, except that ideal need not be honorable or goodly.  In short cavaliers gain their power by belief in the tenants of their Order.

KH: Why does this stand as a whole class to you? Would it have been better as an archetype of the Fighter?

JH: The cavalier is to me a very different animal from the fighter.  Fighters are martial characters, just like cavaliers, but the main difference to me comes back to motivation.  Fighters can certainly have a number of motivations for fighting, but there is no inherent code or motivating factor built into the class, players usually decide why their fighter fights.  A cavalier however comes with a built in ethical and moral compass, which a fighter does not.  Because of the edicts of conduct attached to each order, cavaliers automatically come with some type of ethical motivation, be it personal glory for the Order of the Cockatrice, all the way to defending the common people as with the Order of the Land.  Basically cavaliers take the great role play and ethical/moral aspect of paladins, add all the shades of gray that lie between black and white, and put the end result on a war mount and say “once more unto the breach!”

KH: What is a class that is so dependant on a mount supposed to do when they can’t have their mount?

JH: That is a great question Kiel, as just such an issue often arises for those playing a cavalier in dungeon or narrow terrain heavy games.  The Flying Pincushion deals with this issue in the forthcoming Into the Breach: the Cavalier by providing cavalier archetypes that trade out or alter the mount class feature.  For instance one of our new archetypes trades your mount for an animal companion that you cannot ride, but who makes an excellent combat partner, while another trades your normal horse for a ghostly one, which narrow walls bother not a bit.

However, that answer does not address all of the cavaliers who have a large sized horse or mount, but really want to get into that narrow dungeon.  I suspect this is where clever thinking or a little help from your parties wizard comes in handy here.  A quick casting of carry companion or similar magic can help keep your mount with the party.  Also small sized cavaliers on medium sized mounts are not only interesting to play, but work just fine in most dungeons, I highly recommend trying one out, I happen to know from personal game experience that they can be very fun.

KH: Can you explain Cavalier Orders a bit?

JH: The best way to think of a cavalier Order is as an ethical or moral stance from which all cavaliers of that order work.  They may do things a little differently from person to person, but their strong belief in the tenants of their order make cavaliers what they are and influence how the character interacts with the game world.  

KH: This class seems to suffer from what I’ll call GM arbitration issues. As in, judging when a cavalier character is keeping to his Order’s edicts. Yet there are no rules for “fallen” cavaliers. What do you think?

JH:  On one side, this open area is role play opportunity and wiggle room for the player, but for GM’s it boils down to a judgement call.  If I were GMing a player whose cavalier has very clearly and often violated their Orders edicts, I would have that player lose their Order abilities until he or she undertook making reparations or returns to following more closely the edicts of their Order.  Falling further out of line with ones edicts could well also cause an alignment change or invoke the wrath of that Order, again, it falls to the GM to deal with such an issue as they deem appropriate.  However it does pay to remember that cavaliers are not paladins, and as such likely do not need a “fallen” template.  Also, if a player cannot or does not follow the edicts of their current Order, the GM and player may well just want to sit down and perhaps find an Order whose edicts are more in line with the players style.  This is a spot where communication is likely key to keeping the game fun for all while keeping with the spirit of the cavalier’s Orders.

KH: The way the class itself reads, there isn’t much flexibility for what type of character you can play...

JH: At first glance, that looks very true, as on the surface the cavalier seems very much a “challenge BBEG, charge BBEG.  However, not only have we attempted to broaden the horizons of the cavalier class with our offerings in Into the Breach: the Cavalier by reimagining what the scope of a cavalier is, but just like any other class, how you build and play it define it.  Sure you can just go with the change on a mount basic build and optimize that all day, but taking time to really imagine a unique and personal take on the cavalier is likely more satisfying.  Being size Small opens up quite a few interesting options, as does experimenting with styles that may not be perfect, but that are interesting and flavorful.  As with any class, a cavalier is only what you make of it.

KH: Should the Cavalier get some sort of Weapon Training ala the Fighter?

JH: From a strict balance perspective, I would say no, simply because there is a plethora of feats, traits, and other options that are just as good as Weapon Training that the cavalier can already obtain.  From the theme perspective the cavalier is more than just a fighter on a horse, he can be a general, an outrider, a robber knight, and much more, all just by using the features that class already has.  The answer is not always giving a class something more, it is making what they already have go further.

KH: Challenges are interesting enough, but they seem limited in both number of uses and number of creatures affected. Your thoughts on the mechanic?

JH: I cannot speak for the Paizo design staff, but the limits to challenge make sense to me.  In keeping with the flavor of the cavalier, challenge is likely very much limited in target scope to further play up the heroic and brave/egotistical and brash aspects of a cavalier.  Challenging the BBEG or BLGG (big lawful good guy) and going at him one on one, is cavalier in the extreme (as in, having a cavalier attitude).  Limiting the number of challenges a cavalier gets per day, just like limited spells, or limited channel bursts, is just that, a balance factor, as in the end, Pathfinder is still a game that needs balance to its rules in order to function, and here we see just that.

KH: Should the cavalier be a full BAB class?  Most cavalier type stories I can think of don’t revolve around being able to attack a whole bunch of times...

JH: Here again the choice of making the cavalier a full BAB class is a balance choice in my opinion.  Fiction tells tales of one great charge, hundreds of horses hooves churning the ground and their riders in gleaming plate lowering lances in unison to devastate a massed foe on foot.  However fiction does not have a complex system of rules, which must balance out against each other.  As a martial class the cavalier falls in line with all other martial classes, which means a full BAB.  Sometimes reality needs to be ignored in order to retain balance.

KH: What would you change about the base class if you were given free reign?

JH: I would expand the available mount options for cavaliers, especially for Small sized characters.  However as it sits, cavalier is near the top of my list for favorite martial class to play.

KH: Have you ever had to ban or have you seen the class banned at a table?

JH: At least from personal experience I have never had an issue with a cavalier character at my table, and have not seen any sort of article alluding to there being a ban.  That is not to say it has not happened, but as a martial character, the cavalier lacks many of the “game breaker” factors of certain other classes that will remain nameless.  The GM may feel differently when a cavalier impales his four hours worth of work BBEG with a lance using Spirited Charge, but generally that just means you doing something right.

KH: What is your advice for building a successful Cavalier?

JH: The best advice I can give is be flexible, build smart, and pick a few things you want your cavalier to do well, and build towards those.  The cavalier has plenty of class features that work fine when not mounted, and there are plenty of ways to work with or around the limiting factor of mount size and dungeon/tight space areas.  While mounted charging does lots of damage, I urge people to explore and play with the other features of the class, like Tactician and challenge.  And of course, if you want new and interesting options for the cavalier, pick up a copy of Into the Breach: the Cavalier, as it has lots of new twists and takes on the vanella jump on a horse with a big sharp stick cavalier.  Cavalier is an attitude along with a class, and the The Flying Pincushion writers have really put some ‘tude into their work on the Cavalier.

KH: Thank you for taking the time to have this chat, Jeff!

JH: Not a problem, as it has been an honor to respond to your insightful and interesting set of Questions about Class this time around.  And I hope this discussion helps folk better understand a great class and that its just not for horse fans anymore.  If you like playing a martial character with a reason for being that has nothing to do with gods and lots of attitude, the cavalier is most definitely for you.