I, the Mask was a great album. I even wanted to make a D&D villain of sorts from the album cover. The idea was that there was people dying and every time they would see this grim reaper type of creature. The players would obviously think this was the main bad guy, and attempt to fight/kill this monster who was haunting the village.
Really it was a ghost of sorts that was hunting down the cleric who had caused its death and several others. The cleric was of the Debt domain, and the actual villain of the area.
The debt domain cleric was some homebrewed thing I found, but it reminded me so much of the American healthcare system so much i was going to add it into my games, but not right away. It’s pretty powerful in the right (wrong) hands, such as myself.
The cleric would spend his days traveling to the various towns/villages in the area and every night would go around healing and tending to the sick. The cleric would always carry a big book that he would write in every night, as a debt domain cleric he could charge for every healing spell/action that he did, if people couldn’t pay they went into his book of debts and he could later extract a payment directly from them. In the form of healing himself, or other things.
Of course no one would realize that he was doing this, and possibly he would have helped the players at some point and helped heal them or whatever. Thus putting them in his book and in his debt.
I also had a minor ‘big’ villain that they would have to deal with, a tax-man for the kingdom that the players find themselves hanging around.
The players will be waylaid by this taxman right as they finish up a quest/adventure. Ideally as they emerge from a dungeon with lots of loot. They will be approached by this tax man who will demand a fee based on what they’ve earned, if they refuse the tax man’s henchmen will appear (5 to 10 of them) to ‘convince’ the players they should ‘donate’ their hard earned cash. And now since they refused to pay there’s an additional fee.
Of course after the taxman leaves the cleric will appear to assist them and help the party heal up and get to the next village. Or if they tried to fight, which with my players this is all but guaranteed, the traveling debt cleric just happened to come by at the right time and heal them.
The players will focus all their attention on the obvious threat and ignore the real threat, until a point in time where the undead mask guy shows up to try and take on the cleric.
I think it could be a fun time.
However, my players very very rarely do any thinking beyond, see bad guy, kill them all. Talking is not their..... forte.
But I was hoping through this adventure, they would learn not to trust everything/everyone.
However, as is the case with D&D the group fell apart, the 8 people playing never got back together. Now we play with 1 or 2 people sometimes up to 4. It’s not nearly as good and the group still refuses to talk to anyone, or ask any questions. Just want to be pointed in the direction they should go.
It’s really annoying as a game master, putting all that work into stuff like this and then watching it all fall apart.
Such is life, no?
I have thought about joining someone else’s game, there’s lots of paid games and such, it would be a nice break from being the one running the game to just being a player. I just have to show up and have to think very little of the game in between sessions? Crazy.
If possible I would make a debt domain cleric of my own. He would spend his evenings praying to his god(dess) and healing the locals of wherever we are, gathering names in his book to later use when needed. Not ‘evil’ per se, just pragmatic.
I did start playing a character I came up with, one of the 3rd party books had some new races, like the puppets, either stuffed, or dolls or whatever. even marionettes.
I made a ‘plushie’ came up with a whole backstory and what not. Here ya go.
The Chronicle of Sir William Fluffington III
In the heart of the Glimmer-eye estate, amidst the scent of old parchment and lavender, Sir William Fluffington III was brought into the world—not by birth, but by needle, thread, and the protective magic of the Master Abjurer, Pipin Glimmer-eye.
Master Pipin knew that his work sealing the jagged rifts between planes had earned him enemies in high and low places. To ensure his family’s safety, he didn’t hire a guard who could be bribed or a construct that could be hacked. He sewed a champion. Into Sir William’s chest, Pipin placed a polished brass button as a heart, and beneath it, a silver locket. For three generations, that locket has been Sir William’s most sacred relic, holding three distinct locks of hair—the “Holy Symbols” of his devotion.
The Vigil of Three Generations
For seventy-five years, Sir William was the silent sentinel of the nursery. His first charge was Daisy Glimmer-eye, Pipin’s granddaughter. It was for her that he first took up his “Toasting Fork”—a silver kitchen trident enchanted to strike at the ethereal shadows that crept through the walls. When Daisy grew old, Sir William passed to her son, Bramble. The boy was a chaotic tinkerer who often accidentally tore holes in reality; Sir William spent those years wielding a heavy, brass-headed lion nutcracker—his “Cracker” warhammer—to drive back the curious entities that tried to crawl through Bramble’s failed experiments.
Finally, there was Willa. Named after the plush protector who had become a family legend, Willa was a quiet librarian. Sir William sat upon her mantle for decades, a soft, button-eyed witness to a life of peace. He was there when her breath finally slowed, and he was there when the light left her eyes. As the last of the Glimmer-eye line, she whispered a final, rattling “Goodnight, William,” leaving him in a house that was suddenly, deafeningly silent.
**
The Watcher Awakens**
With the family gone, the ancient wards on the Glimmer-eye estate began to flicker and fail. Sir William felt the “shiver” in the air—the sensation of extra-planar predators sensing a breach. He realized then that his mission had not ended with Willa’s death; it had merely evolved. He was no longer just a guardian of a nursery, but a Watcher of the threshold between worlds.
He tightened the mismatched stitches on his shoulder, polished his brass heart-button, and gathered his tools. He took the silver trident to pin down the interdimensional horrors and the brass warhammer to crush their resolve.
Sir William Fluffington III did not leave the manor out of grief, but out of duty. Somewhere out there, other “children” of the world are sleeping soundly, unaware that the Great Door to the outer realms has been left unlatched. He intends to be the bolt that holds it shut. He may be made of wool and stuffing, but his Oath is forged in iron, and his watch has only just begun.
A song for Sir William FLuffington III, His watch has only begun and as an immortal he will watch so many fade.
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