Archetypes: C

Others find you inherently fascinating. You have a facility with words that draws others in, and you've always found it easy to sway others to your point of view. This ability has grown to the point where you're capable of innate magic. You can bend others' wills to your own by weaving alluring enchantments and compelling illusions. Perhaps this comes from a touch of fey or draconic blood in your family's distant past, or perhaps it's the work of some special boon or curse placed upon you.

Captivators come from all areas of the world and all walks of life. A farmhand with the right gifts, sent to the market every week to hawk their latest crop, could find themself on the path to becoming a captivator. An urchin who relies on the sympathy of others just to survive may become a captivator out of necessity, and a noble, immersed in a deadly game of luxury and influence, might have trained to be a captivator since birth. Regardless of background, most captivators use their abilities to advance their station in life, make things easier for themselves, or befriend those who can help them achieve their goals.

Good captivators use their gifts and skills to bring people together. They might turn a would-be tavern brawl into a night of sharing drinks and telling stories. They might offer encouragement to those facing depression or doubt. They excel at ending conflict peacefully and efficiently, leaving everyone around them happier. When faced with violence, they use their magic to quickly subdue or enthrall enemies while minimizing harm to their companions.

Evil captivators manipulate others to achieve status, wealth, and power. They have no qualms about deceiving someone or using their magic to cause harm. Evil captivators are dangerous tricksters whose enchantments and illusions make them seem harmless, unimportant, or friendly. The slick politician, the devious con artist, the cunning courtier—these are all roles that an evil captivator can easily assume.

Emotions are powerful, and you can tap into that power to enhance your magic for a time. You learn to harness a particular emotional state under the right conditions, but be warned: emotions are volatile and destructive if left unchecked. The experience often leaves you reeling from the unhindered emotion, requiring a rest or distraction before tapping into it again.

You are a skilled and dedicated warrior of the battlefield who specializes in fighting astride a powerful animal companion that serves as your mount. You and your mount are an unparalleled team, moving with shared intent to become a powerful force on the battlefield. You might wield a banner in the name of a greater organization, a liege, or an ideal you uphold, or you might fight solely to further enrich your own prestige, reputation, and coffers.

You're a special personality... and you know it. You're not merely comfortable in the spotlight, you crave it. While the traditional celebrity is a musician or another type of performer, you could be known for any occupation.

You have sworn a solemn oath to your deity, who has granted you champion powers to aid you in your cause.

The flow of time is an unstoppable force. Most are carried downstream inexorably, like a leaf floating on a river. You, however, somehow fell out of the flow of time, if only for an instant, but in doing so gained a perspective that few others have.

Now you stand on the banks of the river, watching the flow, choosing where to dive in, or even defying the current, at least for a short while, as you skim its surface and skip from moment to moment. As a chronoskimmer, time is yours to exploit.

You have the means to see the timelines of all creatures, including your own. You can use this insight to manipulate the flow of time for creatures, much like you can pluck the leaf from the river and place it elsewhere. Manipulating timelines can be dangerous, however, and the Ronid won't allow these transgressions against time to stand forever. The threat always looms of time dimensionals coming to correct your actions or of you becoming removed from time forever.

You are an ordained priest of your deity and have even learned how to cast a few divine spells. Though your main training lies elsewhere, your religious calling provides you divine gifts.

You have unlocked the secret connections between necromancy and clockwork locomotion, giving you the unholy power to reanimate corpses. These minions shuffle forth with the mindless motions of the unliving and are little more than puppets under your control.

Similarly, via careful tinkering and anatomical study, you learned how to make a powerful necromechanical ally. Finally, your technological prowess is such that you can use your innovations to force even powerful, free-willed undead to obey you.

The secret to your success is a combination of alchemy and clockwork, machines and magic, science and spellcasting. Of course, crafting the shell of a wind-up zombie is one matter—your primary focus is on the craftwork necessary to make the whole thing work together. To you, the magic involved is only a means to an end, a way to make science more efficient through necromancy and potentially a little bit of evocation for some electric power.

While some think your creations are vile, you see beauty in utility and believe animated corpses are tools that can be used for good or ill. For better or worse, when it comes to results, the science you've cobbled together fulfills the most important criterium for any new innovation: it works, plain and simple. Your reanimated clockwork corpses are stable, effective, and, more importantly, they don't rampage or crave the flesh of the living in the same way an undead would. Plus, they aren't vulnerable to positive energy, making them easier to use around good clerics and their ilk without your minions taking friendly fire. (Except Grobreiins, always so inconveniently up in arms about the whole "desecrating the bodies of the dead" thing. They can't learn the difference between the stench of undeath and the smell of progress.)

In the era before Brataibrem, the elven people of Falavririak exhibited a wide range of mastery over magic. A sect of elves who venerated the goddess Faleru first developed the techniques of the crystal keeper, but this tradition has since been long forgotten by most of the world. There are those who still remember, though—PCs can gain access to the crystal keeper archetype from the tragic figure that haunts Rumeisam waystation in "Fires of the Haunted City."

Some folks are ridden with bad luck: the rations they were counting on turn out to be spoiled, the ship they were hoping to catch sinks in the harbor, or the new home they bought is destroyed by a rampaging golem. Most know that they are cursed, feeling an emptiness in their soul that weighs upon them, gnawing at their confidence and shrouding their ambitions. Sometimes, these curse maelstroms learn to control and channel their curse; you are one such unfortunate soul.

You have a powerful curse living deep within you. You might have been able to restrain your curse for the most part, but it flares up occasionally and tempts you with the power to curse your foes, should you allow it to exert itself. Why should you be the only one who has to endure a cursed life when others have so clearly earned such woe?

Living with a curse every day, you become intimately familiar with the workings of curses, getting a sense of when bad luck is about to befall those around you. You might try to avoid further bad fortune—which rarely pans out as you'd like—or you could come to terms with your lot in life and regard your curse as something akin to an old friend. Either way, fate cares little.

Misery loves company, so your curse can even be a beacon for more misfortune. You might have multiple curses all tied to you, all fighting to make your life as hellish as possible.