Core or Bust!

Game Master dien

*badass guitar solo*

.

*less impressive piccolo solo*

*Questionable tuba solo.*

*Terrifyingly bad cat shrill*

Dot

**burp** "Pardin' me."

At this point the music has become a weird polka, with the half-orc rogue doing vocals...

Rockin' drum solo, followed by a stage dive

See, Kara has the right idea.

As agents and assets fresh out of your training-- or in some cases, recruited straight from the field-- you are all currently at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a 'mission of utmost importance.' (Yeah, sure.) Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits. Also known for being a wine hobo.

As you come to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches you. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency. “Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”

The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.

“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.

“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled venture captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.

“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”

"I'm sure you can all manage a simple errand for ol' Dreng, eh?" He winks. If you were more seasoned Pathfinders, the words 'a simple errand' would put fear into your hearts-- for some of you, it already may.

(If Korum's sister were here, she'd take it completely at face value, but alas, Shaya was unavoidably detained.)

Barring any questions for the lovable old scamp crusty guy with the hobo fetish drunkard, you set off towards the Wounded Wisp... in the rain... when you would all much rather be inside in front of a warm fire. As you go, you likely introduce yourselves to one another....

Toss in some introductions/initial descriptions! Let's get this party started. :3

Jikan is a gnome of average height wearing purple robes and carrying various scrolls by his side. His blue eyes shift left to right as do his bushy silvery eyebrows as he scans over the party, unsure what to make of the composition of it just of yet. He listens to the briefing the best he can, but gets stuck early on and ends up asking just a simple question.

"A package? What sort of package?"

And after leaving Dreng... "I am Jikan. My parents named me after the town we lived in. Apparently it means 'time' in Tian. Anyway, I am a mage who drew forth some of the power of my home town of Uringen, a place where half of the town disappears from time to time. So, I specialize in space and time. Well... I have just minor spells so far, but I'm sure the more powerful magics will eventually come." Jikan sighs. "When I lived in Uringen, I made clocks from a shop of mine. I had to drop everything to come here, so hopefully we will make some minor wealth soon enough so I can indulge once again in my old hobby."

Seeming to tower over the gnome, the six foot plus half orc pulls a toothpick from his studded leather vest and slides it between his teeth. "Time 'n space huh? Sounds like you mighten' be a good person to know in a pinch. S'funny, you don't look Tianese, if that's a thing." Holding out a hand in greeting, " Name's Korum, master of ale and fornicatin', usually in that order." The half orc adjusts the great ax on his back, "So, how 'bout the rest of ya's? We just gonna stand here in the wet, or are we gonna warm up in a bar?"

A young but massive Shoanti—quietly towering over everyone except Korum—stands at the back of the group through the wet briefing. He moves with a certain oafishness, and frankly … he stinks of fish and sea (a smell made more pungent by the rain soaking his thick hide clothes). His small eyes—fit widely into a blunt, ugly face—flit nervously among the group members, and crawling over his bald head and face is a strange, bright birthmark.

”I am Klo,” he finally mutters quietly, with the painstaking deliberateness of someone who has to work through each word individually. He looks at the assembled team, realizing after a few moments that they likely want to hear more about him. ”I can fish. I can track." He gives a small, reserved grin, "I can lift stuff.” Shrugging uncomfortably, he concludes, ”A bar sounds good”

A Middle-Aged woman of Chelish descent approaches slowly in the rain. Her gaze is steady despite the chill of the weather, and she looks everyone over appraisingly and listens attentively.

She nods in respect when the drunkard reveals himself to be a Venture Captain, and says, a bit formally: We will of course see your task through to the end.

On the way to the bar, she offers a bit about herself. I'm...well, I suppose it's just Kara now. Might take some getting used to. At any rate, it seems as though you all have some introspection about your own talents. She looks at Klo and smiles when he mentions heavy lifting.

False bravado will get us nowhere, believe me. I'll take confidence tempered with realistic expectations any day. I'm here for my tactical expertise, among other reasons. Now, does anyone know where this bar is? I'm new to town, and I don't want to decipher a bloody map in the rain.

Knowledge Local to discern location of bar: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

"I like yer take charge personality Kara. Reminds me a bit o' my lil' sister." Looking to the large Shoanti, "Ain't never been fishin' afore, but I hear it can be done with a jug in one hand. Maybe ya can teach me one day."

Klo returns Kara's grin with his own crooked half-smile a he follows along, his long, lumbering strides hampered a bit by his heavy leathers.

"Fishing is fun," he responds to Korum. "But you don't use a jug," he says with complete sincerity, and pulls out some fish hooks from the pouch at his waist. "These. Or a net."

The compact orc walking astride the other pathfinders nods, pulling a hood over his wild white hair, a match for his almost pupiless eyes. "Kul-Amon has seen the tide of time bringing in a great fish, a fish of knowledge that was eaten by the fishermen that are the world. Kul-Amon believes it to be his duty to bring forth more fish so the world can eat much!" he declares in tones that make it sound like he is addressing a phantom congregation. "Kul-Amon will lift you when you are down, heal you when you are hurt, make your blade cut more often, and be your sword when you don't have one. And if now I need to be the drink bringer to a drunk elder, then that is what Kul-Amon will be. Although Kul-Amon thinks it is a waste of everyone's time."

A younger elf with a frame slightly sturdier than the usual elven man steps alongside the rest of the party. He holds a large shield, almost as large as himself over his head with both of his hands. His two blue-stained hands. Easily noticable as blue wrist meets olive skinned arms.

The tower shield helps to protect him from the rain, causing rivulets to flow down the shield rather than be absorbed by his shoulder length pale blonde hair. Though his hair is not his concern. The state of his scale armor is worn and evidently hand me down, and concern for it's maintenance keeps his arm upright for the length of the walk.

Grey eyes the color of the rainclouds look out from beneath his makeshift umbrella.

"I am Yargul, disciple of the Master of Masters." he nods to the rest of the group. "As we have nothing better to do while we wait on our organization, it seems wise to assist someone in such high standing."

"Cannot say I have fished before as well. Training within schools focused on the body, mind and spirit has left little time for more... lay endeavours."

Hence my presence here.

"I am not from here either, Kara Now."

Jikan looks at Korum. "I'm not Tian. My parents were just fans of the name and found it amusing."

Jikan looks around at the asundry tall people, and feels a little more safe as he continues to walk to the bar with the group.

In answer to Jikan's query as to what exactly this urgent package might be:

"“Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine.”

And on that oh-so-serious note that makes you feel extra appreciated and important... you are off to fetch Drang his super-necessary wine.

***

The Wisp is located in the Foreign Quarter, not terribly far from the Grand Lodge itself. As a popular bar with junior agents and trainees, some of you may have even been there a time or two. As you approach, the ruddy yellow light of the taproom shines out the Wisp's barred windows, and the lantern that has given the tavern its name hangs from a brass ring above the door, its glow steady despite the miserable rain.

Inside, at least, it's warm and more-or-less-dry, with a low hubbub of voices tonight. There's a gangly youth at the coat check who barely blinks at the group of six coming in from the rain; he's seen stranger than your company, but offers to take your sodden cloaks if you wish, and to hang them by the fire.

The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in the main taproom. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink.
An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.

You're not the only people drinking here tonight. A halfling woman sits near the fire, whom some of you may recognize as a recently-Confirmed agent-- Janira Gavix, currently telling tall tales of some ferocious minotaur with a big axe. (She's probably just making it up.)

There's also a man of Qadiran descent seated at the bar- a local shopkeep named Aram bin Kaleel, who owns a curiosities shop in the Coins district and who has a prominent symbol of the Dawnflower hung around his neck. He is studying a handful of coins spread out upon the bar.

Two half-orcs are taking up most of a table that could probably seat more people, but the two are engaged in a boisterous arm-wrestling contest and most people seem to be keeping clear out of a desire not to get accidentally elbowed in the face. Those of you who have trained under the Master of Swords might recognize them as the Boartusk Twins, eager sparring partners of anyone who doesn't mind a good hard workout. They are drinking just as hard as they exercise in the training yard at the Lodge.

The last face you recognize is Yargos Gill, who has books spread out over one of the boothed-in tables and is thumbing through a particularly hefty tome. The greybearded scholar is not a Pathfinder himself, but he's been known to give guest lectures on the history of Absalom from time to time.

The proprietress, Heryn Gale, is bustling around carrying full trays of drinks to the many occupied tables. When you manage to flag her down and state your errand, she rolls her eyes slightly.

"Oh, Dreng... yes, of course, I can take you to get the wine directly. Just, ah, give me a minute, would you, I've got a table full of Molthuni irregulars over there and a group of dwarves hankering for ale-- have a seat, have a drink, I'll be with you as soon as I can."

(Will allow for any RP y'all wanna do but I'll move us on within 24 hours. Loving everyone's characters so far. :) )

As Yargul hefts his tower shied above his head, Korum drifts back to follow the man, under the cover of the shield. With a grin on his lips,
"Gotta appreciate a man who brings his own roof. Tell ya what, landlord, how 'bout I buy you an ale ta pay fer my rent?"

Know, Local: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

"So, an old VC wants us ta grab an older bottle a wine from an even older building...don't sound like there is a lot of coin to be had."

Should I just keep my 18, or roll again when something like this occurs?

To Yargul, she says politely, but firmly: Not Kara Now, just Kara, brother. The last word is in Elven, and said with sincerity. I've seen people use different languages from real life to represent the different languages in Golarion. Would you guys want to do the same here? I think it'd be fun to do this uniformly.

At the mention of the Molthuni, Kara goes rigid, and slowly moves to whomever is seated farthest away from them, smoothing her hair down to cover the side of her face. Just let me know which patron is farthest away from the Molthuni, and I'll RP accordingly :-)

Jikan heads up to Yargos Gill. "Are you Yargos, the famous lecturer? Hi, I'm Jikan, and I'm a Pathfinder as many others here in this bar probably are as well. I've heard other Pathfinders speak of you highly."

"Are you researching for another famous lecture?"

Jikan looks over the books that Yargos has open, seeing if anything interests him.

(Kara, you can keep the 18, and sorry I forgot to specifically address your location-thinking! You are indeed able to successfully guide the others to the bar.)

The Molthuni are situated at a table far from Janira, so Janira seems to be safest best for Molthuni-free interactions!

Yargos looks over his spectacles at Jikan, and beams at the compliment, smoothing down his beard smugly. "Why, how lovely to meet someone conversant with my work! Please, have a seat, Jikan, would you care for some of this wine? It's a fine Kyonin vintage. As it happens I am currently researching many of the aspirants of the Test of the Starstone-- specifically, I am charting whether cycles of increased aspirant activity coincides with the movements of the stars, for as you well know I am certain, the cycles of the celestial bodies influence the humours of man, and thus when a certain constellation holds sway over the skies it follows, sequitur, that mankind's passions might be roused, to attempt great feats-- at least, this is the hypothesis I'm currently finding support for!"

Yargos launches into enthusiastic display of his star charts, and a history book of various stellar cycles, corresponded with another history book detailing the many, many failed aspirants for the famous Test of the Starstone.

Know (Local), untrained: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (17) - 2 = 15; wow. There ya go.

Klo gives the youth his outer layers of hides, which—soaked as they are—are surprisingly heavy, and he leans his spear in the corner. The busy din of the place seems to make the large young man shrink back, but he finally moves to catch up to the team as they trickle into the tavern’s warmth.

Giving the place a slow, steady visual inspection, Klo stands in the middle of the room for a few long moments before realizing he’s probably being rude. So—knowing they have a few minutes to kill—Klo lumbers over towards Janira, whom he’s heard was recently confirmed. He doesn’t actually join her, instead looming awkwardly a few strides away.

His face gives his predicament away … not sure if it’s ruder to join her or not. Desperate for something to occupy himself with, he flags down one of the servers. ”Do you have Shoanti drinks?” He notes the diversity in the place, and his eyes widen, ”No. Wait. Bring me something else.” He picks someone at random … the man at the bar, ”What he’s drinking.”

Well, the big boss man is off to a good start.

Seeing Kara visibly shaken, Korum takes up a defensive stance near her, all pretense of humor gone from his face. She is of my new tribe, ain't no one is gonna touch her. Now, who am I goin' to have ta hurt?

perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15

Hmm... the Molthuni is it? I hear they bleed like pigs. Korum repositions himself between Kara and the table of Molthuni, making no secret of his new feeling for them.

I love dropping a text into Google translate. I have used that for characters with exotic languages in the past. I think it adds a lot of flavor. I have done Elven=French, Dwarven=German, Orc=Russian, Tian=Japanese, Mwangian=Swahili, Ignan=Urdu. That said, open for whatever works/feels right.

"Gotta appreciate a man who brings his own roof. Tell ya what, landlord, how 'bout I buy you an ale ta pay fer my rent?"

Yargul smirks and lifts the back end of his shield higher.

When they enter the Wisp he stops to check his shield in with the child at the coat check.

Yargul approaches the bar while the party fans out. Curious, he takes a seat near Aram bin Kaleel and watches his interest in the coin in front of him.

"Your regalia says Sarenrae, but your manners say Abadar. Is there a puzzle in your currency?"

The halfbreed notices Kara of the incomprehensible and ever changing last name attempting to avoid the Molting humans, a feat which he was not aware humans could do, but the world is indeed vast and possibility abounds. Thinking through it all thoroughly, he comes to the conclusion that the Molting humans must wish to spread their gift to other humans or the like, and Kara does not wish to molt. Perhaps they even want to pass on their Molting forcibly. With that fact firmly established in his head, he approaches the two wrestling half-orcs. "And in the thrashing between Earth and Sky was the Truth Found. I see you and greet you. There are molting humans here who wish to inflict their gift upon the unwilling. Will you help protect the ones who do not wish to molt?"

Kara watches Korum block the Molthuni's path and smiles disarmingly. Korum, you gotta hear this! Janira here slew a minotaur! Klo, you coming to? She asks of the befuddled Shoanti.

Bluff to send secret message, DC 15: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

The soldier signals a passing server, pointing to the nearest patron who has a mug of ale, then to herself before turning back to the halfling now seated across from her.

Congratulations on your recent appointment to the Society! So, a minotaur. What're they like, up close? I've always wondered.

So, the lady don't want ta cause a scene.

With a nod to himself, "Fair enough."

Korum slides a new toothpick into mouth as he walks up to the bar. "Hey now Yar, I believe I said yer first one's on me. Barkeep, two ales if ya don't mind. I gotta keep a roof over my head."

Jikan listens quietly the best he can to Yargos's lectures until someone pulls him away. He doesn't catch it all, but tries his best. I hope there's not a quiz later.

Klo, you coming to? She asks of the befuddled Shoanti.

Klo nods thankfully, taking a seat at the table. A seat that groans threateningly under his weight. "I heard they are huge." He looks over at the halfling, clearly impressed, "Did you kill it yourself?"

Klo is served his request: what the man at the bar is drinking, which turns out to be a fermented drink of some sort-- it's probable that Klo has never had a date before (as in the fruit. We're not commenting on his social life), to know what date wine tastes like, but it's that, anyway, both sweet and acrid at the same time.

The Molthuni throw glances your way, but it seems aimed more at Korum and the stink-eye he is giving their table than Kara herself-- possibly they haven't even noticed her, and are just responding to a big half-orc looking their way with dislike. One of them sneers his direction, making a show of setting a dagger on the table, but it doesn't seem like he's willing to make an actual move. When Korum moves on to get Yargul their ales, the Molthuni show no signs of trying to pursue or pick a fight.

Yargul approaches the man drinking the date wine with curiosity. Aram bin Kaleel looks up with a smile. "A man can serve both! For works of charity, the Dawnflower. For works of commerce, Abadar. And no, no puzzle to my coins, per se, except for that of what is valued and what is of value. See here, these coins are from old Osirion, sold to me by a finder of treasures. And now I in turn but see what they may sell for, to price them correctly! Do you know much of coinage?"

Yargul (or any other PCs who want to join in), you can make a KN History or Appraise check to try and assess the value of Aram's coins.

Kul-Amon avoids the temptations of drink and coin to address the brothers of his species, who look up blankly from their arm-wrestling at his very loquacious speech of Earth and Sky. They look at each other, then back at Kul-Amon with his white hair and odd eyes, then at each other. The brother of the pair shrugs. "Eh, what, man? Dunno what you're saying, all earth and sky and molten stuff." He squints at Kul's symbol of Nethys (assuming it's displayed!). "Waaaait. Is this some... religion thing?"

His sister laughs. "Yeah, we ain't got religion. We got muscles! Wanna wrassle?"

Kara, meanwhile, settles by Janira, encouraging the halfling to tell more of this tale. She's brought a respectable ale and sips it while Janira grins at the compliment.

"Well, thank you! I think the same is due to you as well, aren't you all recently Confirmed? As for the minotaur... I would advise you NOT to get into close quarters with them. They stink! And quite hairy."

She beams at Klo settling in, though also watches the chair uncertainly. "Kill it! Oh no. But I bought time for some other young agents to get into a cave. And then I just led it on a wild snipe chase! I jumped from rock to rock with the minotaur behind me every step of the way, his hot, rank breath on my neck-- until finally I managed to squeeze between two trees! In the time it took him to batter them down, I'd found a place to hide. Still, very scary, friends! Danger might strike at any time, on even the most innocuous sounding mission."

Janira beams and Kara and Klo. "Do either of you have stories to share?"

Diplomacy, Bluff, or a Perform skill if you'd like to tell a tale!

Jikan tries to absorb Yargos's endless stream of information when abruptly the old man seems to run out of breath, at least for a moment. Gill takes a swallow of his wine, then says to Jikan-- "And what did you say your field of study was?"

A knowledge check of your choice to impress Yargos, Jikan.

I'll give potential rollers a chance to roll, and then move us on ... as long as the site doesn't decide to crash out for me again.

"Uh... I study the effects of time magic and how the ins and outs of it. Back in my hometown of Uringen where half of the city disappears in a time loop, I used to make clocks, and it was interesting to see how a clock on the stuck side or unstuck side would compare. They would often yield interesting results...."

No knowledge, but trying to BS this. Jikan never really did any kind of experiments there. :p

Bluff: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

I've always got time for a story, Kara says with a smile. What good is it surviving battle if you can't talk about it later? She draws her dagger and carves a line on the wooden table.

So here we were, entrenched, but surrounded on three sides by enemy archers. She slides three pint glasses into appropriate positions.

We had cover, and the rain gave us a respite from the arrows, but supplies, and morale, were low. We could wait it out, as the mercenary company we hired was supposed to strike the southern position, giving us an escape route. But our commander was a fool and paid them up front, and if none of us survived, none could tell of their deception. I knew they wouldn't come. Damn hobgoblins...

Kara pours a thin line of beer on the 4th side of the trench.

On the eastern side was a stream, that'd swelled a bit with the rain. If we could get to the banks, we'd have a chance. So, the three best swimmers, Harl, Goose, and Cutjack, they stripped down to their skivvies and crawled through the mud 300 yards to the river. Now Harl, he's a dwarf, so he had to tell the others where to go...

It is clear that reliving her glory days is right up Kara's alley.

Perform (Oratory): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15

"A man can serve both! For works of charity, the Dawnflower. For works of commerce, Abadar. And no, no puzzle to my coins, per se, except for that of what is valued and what is of value. See here, these coins are from old Osirion, sold to me by a finder of treasures. And now I in turn but see what they may sell for, to price them correctly! Do you know much of coinage?"

Appraise: 1d20 ⇒ 18

"Our temples have had visitors from across the world, and they sometimes had coins with different emblems or sizes on them. I don't know that any of them ever had a sentimental value. Seems that the value of sentiment is based on the person, and you might benefit from assessing your buyer more than the coin itself."

"The mysteries of the arcane began when we reached the limit of our own strength. I will now test where mine and yours end. And when I beat you, you will help me with the molting ones, before their shed skin is too much us all" grins Kul-Amon, readying himself to wrestle with his people.

Korum leans against the bar, keeping an eye out on his friends and out for trouble.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Jikan is familiar with the gnomish proverb: If you can't blind them with your brilliance, baffle them with your b#+@#~##... He manages to give a convincing-enough account to Yargos, who blinks uncertainly a few times through the 'scientific explanation' but doesn't seem confident enough to challenge Jikan's explanations. When the gnome continues, Yargos tugs on his beard slightly and clears his throat. "Well! That was very interesting! Should your research into time magics ever touch upon my own areas of expertise, local history and so forth, ah, do let me know, I should be happy to assist you in any way I can..."

Meanwhile, Yargul is managing to give an analysis of the coins that starts with the old precept of 'know who you're selling to.' Aram chuckles at this bit of wisdom and taps the side of his nose slyly. "Too true, my friend! Value may be in the mind of the buyer. Well, I don't wish to cheat anyone-- I think they are genuinely coins from Old Osirion-- but I think I know just the sort of curio-seeking soul who will give me good value for them. Thank you for the advice. Should you ever find any relics or historical or religious objects that need examining, don't hesitate to visit my shop, good sir, we can have a discussion on the relative merits of my goddess to the Master of Masters..."

By the fireplace, Kara is giving everyone a rousing military history. Janira's audience, and Janira herself, listen raptly to the tense tale of escape. When it concludes, Janira claps enthusiastically. "Oh, that was very good! You know how to spin a good tale, thank you. I felt I was really there in the mud, fearing an arrow at any time! As thanks for a good story, if you ever get scratched up and I'm in the area, give me a holler! I know a few spells."

Kul-Amon is just settling into a vigorous arm-wrestling match with the Boartusk twins, who are eagerly making room for him at the table, when Heryn, the bartender, comes up with a wiping of her brow and a key in one hand.

"Sorry for the delay! At this rate I won't have feet come morning, all the running I'm doing. If you'll all just follow me..."

Heryn leads through the crowded taproom (the Molthuni soldiers eye your group as you pass, but nothing is said) and to a back stairs that leads down. The cellar that Heryn unlocks is dark, but she lights a lantern that hangs on a wall hook and hands it over to anyone who wishes to carry it.

"Right, so, Dreng wants the 4306 Jeggare, it should be on the south wall, they're ordered by year. You're welcome to go hunt for it. Mind the plank-- the quakes a while back opened a damn big hole in my cellar, I lost four kegs of good brandy and I don't know what else. Anyway, I keep meaning to get in some carpenters to lay down a proper floor, but until then, there's a board down to cross. I'll be upstairs if you need anything." Heryn fixes you all with a gimlet stare. "And don't even think about snagging a bottle other than what Dreng sent you for!"

A wild map appears.

The plank that Heryn mentioned is easy to spot once you're into the next room: it looks like a rather rickety footbridge thrown over a ten-foot deep rift, and the larger among you, like the half-orcs and Klo, aren't entirely sure it's going to hold your weight.

"There is no intention of shining a negative light on our organization," Yargul offers as he moves across the plank.

As he clears it, he looks down to see how far down this rift may go, in case one of the party tumbles.

Double moved to clear off the board.

Dien, would you mind removing GM Upaynao as one of the aliases participating in this campaign? Thanks!

It is with a dirty look of his own towards the Molthuni that Kul-Amon leaves the main room, muttering about "molting humans".

Within the darkened cellar, he gazes around. "Finding the wine is going to require much patience." With a resigned sigh, he inches slowly across the plank. "Looking upon the imperfections of stonework is a task for another time. Come, let us find the bottle."

Klo stops to look down into the gap, "I have rope, if it helps."

If we need to problem-solve this, Klo can toss a rope to anyone who reaches the other side to create a running-rope-handle for everyone else to cross over.

Seeing the others go down safely, Jikan heads down and searches.

"We need to look for it right?"

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 11

Let us know if you need anteing else from us to get across the rickety bridge thing.

As the team fans out to search, Klo follows suit. He scratches the characters he thinks he's looking for on a piece of old paper, having one of his teammates verify that he's looking for the right stuff. Then he lumbers off into the gloom, but not until after he breathes onto the end of a stick at his belt ... which catches fire with a heatless flame.

Casting Light and searching for the wine bottle.
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

Kara also walks across the bridge (so long as no one else is on there at the time), and sticks close to Klo, trying to help him find the correct bottle.

Lemme see, what was the name of it again...

Perception AA: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

"The 4306 Jeggare. Whatever that combination of words and numbers may mean" offers Kul-Amon, as he motions for the others to make their way across sloooooooowly.

The rogue, untrusting of the Molthune, lags to the back of the party to ensure no one follows them down the stairs. He walks up to the rickety palnk...

Klo was able to get across on that? Well, I should have no problem.

With that, the half orc crosses the plank to join the others. He pulls the plank across to their side of the gap.

Rather proud of himself, he can't hide a smirk. "Just in case anyone comes along with a clever idea to trap us here." Korum joins the others in their dull, boring, pointless task.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

"You are very wise. The molting ones could have gone mad from the incessant pain they suffer from their flesh falling down around them, and decide to chase us all down here" comments Kul-Amon with a nod.

Regarding the cleric with a curious glance, "Uh, what now? Molting ones..oh HAH HAH HA!" Laughter erupts from the rogue. We wipes away a tear with the back of his hand. "No Kul, they were Multhune, as in where they are from. Not 'molting', which is puttin' a funny picture in my head about dem boys." Dropping a fist on his fellow half orc's shoulder, "Yer okay Kul." Walking to join the others, "Gotta love that. Molting, that's a good one."

Okay, sorry about the slow down, thank you site. That plank is tedious in PBP; essentially, if someone weighs over 250 lbs it's supposed to break, but short of guesstimating character weights and adding up gear, I'm really not arsed to deal with it, and you guys are going across one at a time, and you have rope, and the pit is all of ten feet deep, aaaand it's dumb. Moving forward:

The Pathfinders make it across the rickety 'bridge' with no trouble, though the piece of wood groans and sags alarmingly under Klo's bear-like size. All the same, the other side is reached with no difficulties. Moving forward, the Pathinders scan for the bottle of Very Important Wine that Dreng so desperately needs... it's Korum's keen eyes that are able to first spot the bottle. After explaining the intricacies of 'molting' vs 'Molthuni', of course.

Korum reaches out to triumphantly pluck the bottle from the shelf...

...only to hear a faint click, and a little grinding sound, as the shelf swings to one side and reveals a passageway! You're all shocked. Shocked I say.

The room beyond is lit beyond the gentle glow of Klo's magic: a lamp burning with heatless fires come to life as the door is opened, showing a small study with a desk and bookshelves, and dark, jagged fissures interrupting the walls, perhaps more work of that earthquake Heryn mentioned. There are two wooden chests beneath the desk.

Map updated; go ahead and position yourselves as you please. Also, nice work whoever made the rounded portraits.

The papers and books on the desk are covered with a layer of dust; clearly nobody has been here in some time. The air in the room smells musty and rank, with an undercurrent of death and rot.

Mystery GM roll: 1d6 ⇒ 6