Dot.
13th of Rova 1369
Heavy rain and wind tears at your home and besides a lone howling dog, the streets of Abslaom are absolutely quiet tonight. Rova, the month of the world-devourer has already begun with a triumphal procession of a violent fall and during the first days of the month, the temperature has already fallen considerably.
The first storms of this year's fall have already paid their visit to Absalom and while the people liked to spend their evenings in street cafes only a month ago, now the alleys and boulevards are deserted once the the veil of night begins to shroud the city.
Anyway, after a hard day's work you are just elated that you are in your bed now. Your warm and cozy bed, and the best place to enter Desna's realm...
A leaning monument to the district's pain, this four-story courthouse is a crumbling marvel of cracked plaster and chipped marble. Once a testament to justice wrought in white stone, the courthouse is now a crushed dream, its wretched exterior corrupted by a bloated evil festering within.
Rainwater from a recent downpour mixed with mulch oozes from ruptures in the rock like pus bubbling from a wound. The structure of the eastern wing of the upper floor buckled long ago, and now the bell tower tilts perilously, appearing as though it might careen to the ground below at any moment. Two massive pillars frame the heavy oak doors of the court. The pillars' surfaces run with cracks and fissures like so many burst veins. The doors sag in their archways like the drooping eyes of a madman. The surrounding structures long ago fell in upon themselves in supplication to the creaking courthouse.
A salt wind blows up the precipice and and rakes across the tangled weeds of Beldrin's Bluff. The whole building groans as the wind blows, its tortured lamentation fading to a rasping hiss as the wind ebbs. This croaking murmur never fades away. The sun sets in the west, the last slivers of twilight painting the courthouse blood red as darkness creeps closer.
Dot
Awakening in a cold sweat, the swarthy,olive skinned Varisian recieves a look of mixed curiousity and annoyance from the scorpion resting beside him. Wiping his head he says,"Most peculiar this dream I am having. The courthouse, it is very much covered by evil. Then sun sets and bathed in blood. What could this mean?" Attempting to slow his thoughts, the wizard lays back in his bed pondering the meaning of this vision. Varisians being Varisians, a dream is not just dream. Rubbing the tattoo on his arm he comptemplates what may come next.
dot
"By the steel fist of Gorum I dot this page in his mighty name!"
Jez is happily sleeping. She sees before her some strange purple person who everyone refers to as DM. The with a great cheer a large Monty Pythonesque foot squishes the purple person. . . Then suddenly the dream returns to a normal dream.
The Visions
The courtroom buzzes with nervous anticipation. Dozens of eyes, from the crowd behind you and the juror's box across the aisle, focus on you. The expressions range from contempt to pity, but there is no forgiveness in their faces. The magistrate smashes down his gavel repeatedly and snarls for silence. The murmur of the crowd relents as the stocky magistrate draws up to his full height, smoothing a silver beard with one hand as he sets down his gavel and focuses on you with shining green eyes.
"Jarbin Mord. For the brutal and savage slaying of your own wife and six-year old boy, it is the verdict of this jury, with which i concur wholeheartedly, that you shall hang by your neck until dead. May the gods take mercy on your blackened soul."
A cloaked figure enters a small attic. A voluptuous woman with dark features sits in a rocking chair, swaying as she hums and knits a sweater for a small child. She looks up, alarm on her face, as the figure closes, its back to you as it advances toward her. Slowly the alarm changes to horror as the figure looms over her.
A clack of wood on wood is followed by a crack of rope drawing taut. The crunch of vertebrate echoes off the walls. A man's booted feet twitch freakishly as his last breath rasps from his ruined throat in a choking death rattle. You suddenly realizes the man is you, and you look down in horror at your own twitching legs. The crowd jeers with delight and laughs as you rasp your last.
The hall is buzzing with laughter and joy. Everyone you know is assembled at this cheerful feast and with anticipation awaits the performance of the jester. Catcalls, a battle of wits, curses and swearing and a promise at the end. What began like an evening to remember, ended in a confrontation you never wanted...
Light glinting on the blade of an axe. Body parts scattered all over the floor. Long dark hair caked with blood and a severed small boy's hand grabbing a toy. The floor coated with blood and boots that wade through this ocean of life fluid. Regret and hate mix up and soon become horror and fear of being caught and found guilty. The axe clatters to the floor and quick footsteps can be heard that hasten away. Boots clacking in the distance...
A hulking man is hunched over in this dark dreary corridor of cold flagstones, his back to you. His right hand work feverishly, sawing away at something unseen with a blood-slick shortsword as he gibbers "Show me the way, Sashrala, you can do it. Use your magic to show me out of here. I love you. I love you so much. Just please show me the way." With a final wet snap of sinew, blood pools at the man's feet and he hefts the head of a beautiful elven woman. "Thank you Sashrala. I love you." The man cries and laughs at once as he kisses her still-working lips and then thrusts her head forward like a lantern. The poor woman's eyes still blink in disbelief; you get the horrid sense that she can still see as her mouth trembles out a vain and silent plea for mercy. Her body lies in a pool of blood flowing freely from her hacked neck. Her right arm is outstretched, her finger pointing toward something beyond the darkness.
Slowly the vision fades away as you return to consciousness, but the sight that greets you is almost as disturbing. The dying gray light of sunset peeks through slits in the boarded windows, barely illuminating a yawning courtroom replete with pews and a towering bench covered in cobwebs . A shadowed mural on the domed ceiling above depicts Iomedae in her shining plate mail of gilded sunlight, locked in mortal combat with Norgorber, Calistria and Asmodeus holding the trifecta of evil at bay with her shining sword. You find yourself in a juror's box and you are not alone. In the other chairs, figures stir in the darkness, each emerging from troubling dreams into a new nightmare.
Halgrak Five Toes: A sturdy, broad faced half orc, with tousled hair and strong shoulders and arms, wearing a leather apron and having one strange clumsy looking boot (the other is normal).
Ebin Blithoddle: A jaundiced-faced gnome who has covered his face in poor quality white makeup. His motley is stretched tight over his hanging paunch. Several of his teeth are broken.
Patrissa Vrakes: A stunningly beautiful human woman in her mid-thirties, wearing bright red lip-stick and an abundance of rouge. She wears a figure hugging red gown that accentuates her considerable curves.
Killian: A rosy cheeked elderly human dressed in threadbare finery with a broad handlebar moustache and a frayed top hat.
Malgrim Hurkes A burly hobgoblin, who looks like you wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley at night. He waers a studded leather armour and a spiked chain.
Sir Rekkart Cole: A tall, sturdy human man in his fifties, with the snow of age gracing his hair. His face is chiseled as if out of marble and his eyes stare down an impressive nose. With longsword and chainmail he is the best equipped .
Th huge Ogre awakes with a snort,and then holds his nose as though to either check that it hasn't fallen off or to silence it and hope no one heard the offending noise.
Slowly he looks around the box, unsure of what is going on.
One of his meaty hands slips from his nose as he scratches his head in confusion.
"Huh?"
A beautiful half-elven woman with dark golden hair and simple clothes tosses and turns fitfully in her sleep, whimpering occasionally. Suddenly, her long-lashed eyes flick open. She springs up and jumps out of the juror's box, rolling and landing gracefully, crouched in an almost feral stance, as if ready to protect her life.
Acrobatics:
She looks around quickly with deep brown, almost golden eyes, taking in her surroundings.
Perception:
After a moment, she seems to truly wake up and realize that there is no immediate danger. She seems embarrassed and stands up, dusting herself off and blushing. What...is this place? Where are we, exactly? she asks in a deep, mellifluous voice. She speaks with a slight and unidentifiable accent.
Knowledge, Local:
"Umm dunno, but it must be pretty dull as we was both napping"
The hefty hand is no longer scratching his head, but instead both hands are now occupied scratching more freely over his body as he awakens.
He looks around to see what is going on, and as he does, his meaty fist starts almost unconsciously reaching for his sword.
Perception
Ragnvald coughs and chokes as he awakens grabbing at his throat with a cry of fear and outrage he awakens. Taking the briefest glances around he roars and leaps from his seat hurling the chair away from him as his blade comes free from its scabbard. "By blood and steel what treachery is this !?!?"
You see a small attractive woman with brilliant blue hair. She is sitting upright, but her head is nodding up and down as she snoozes. When you look a second time, you see the scabbard of a huge sword sticking up above her right shoulder, you cannot imagine how someone as small as her could carry, let alone wield such a huge weapon.
Suddenly her eyes open and she quietly scans the room. When the large human jumps up and begins swinging his sword around, she loosens her sword, but does not draw it - no reason to have bloodshed if it is not necessary.
No need for violence. We all appear to be unsure as to why we are here.
Diplomacy:
Looking about the courtroom.
Hmmm - did anyone else have a dream about a courtroom? I have no idea how I came to be here, but was dreaming about a trial in a courtroom just like this.
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As the chair clatters to the ground, the small sack of potatoes in another chair twitches, grunts, and falls with a thud to the floor. As the burlap unfolds, a dirty wide-brimmed hat is revealed topping the bulbous green head of a very confused goblin. A gnawed tindertwig hangs from his mouth, but he seems not to notice.
His beady red eyes dart around the room, barely topping the juror's box. Reflexes draw his little hands behind his burlap poncho, but he draws no weapons yet.
"Bad dreams."
Sir Rekkart: The grizzled human paladin draws his sword as soon as he spots the goblin
In the name of Iomedae, I will purge Golarion from your existence!
Patrissa: The beautiful woman rolls her eyes and with a voice sweet as honey says
Oh please, Ser Rekkart, not again.
Malgrim: The hobgoblin sneers and loosens his spiked chain from his belt.
Yeah, you better not threaten anyone again, old man. Don't you remember what happened last time, huh...heh!
The other three are quiet for now.
All of the six (NPCs) seem to have been at this place before and are not as disoriented as the (PCs) are.
Ragnvald's eyes narrow as he grips his sword tighter. The joviality and confusion doing nothing to lighten his mood.
Sense Motive:
Jez sighs - Sir Rekkart, I spent many years being raised as an orphan by good followers of Iomedae, I do not recall in their teachings that killing goblins who are calmly sitting and not bothering anyone was part of the faith. If you wish to put steel against steel, I will happily fight you, but I really do not think that would benefit anyone.
With this, Jez reaches over her shoulder and draws a huge falchion. The sword is more than half as tall as she is, yet she holds it as though it weighed no more than a toothpick.
Now, please put your sword away. And you as well my good friend. Jez casts a disapproving look at Ragnvald. I need to find out why I am here, and from the confused looks on several peoples faces, I am guessing that I am not the only one who did not expect to awake surrounded by strangers in what appears to be a deserted courtroom.
Sir Rekkart blinks several times and a large vein begins to bulge on his forehead, but after a critical moment has passed, he sheathes his sword again.
Well, you're right. Let me Introduce myself, I'm Sir Rekkart Cole, defender of the true faith and champion of Iomedae. And I have to say, that not all of those present at this ruined courthouse are strangers to me. I would li...
Ebin: ...ke to be boring. he draws an invisible check mark in the air accomplished.
Malgrim: You're still not funny, idiot.
Looking around the room: Well met Sir Rekkart. And who would your friends be? It is an interesting group to say the least.
Glancing from person to person: A half-orc blacksmith, a gnome entertainer, a merchant's wife, a hobgoblin brawler, and a sage from the looks of things, but appearance can be deceiving. Looking at the rest of the room. And a, hmmm, ogre or small giant, a cheerful gobiln, a half-elf mage, an Ulfen warrior, and hmmm, a Varisian scholar.
Well all, I am Jez, a sellsword by trade, and I do not believe I know anyone here.
Patrissa: What? A merchant's wife? for a second she seems really annoyed, but soon she calms down again and smiles Well I guess your judgment bases on my fire opal necklace?! And Indeed, she now shows a necklace of fire opal that must have cost a small fortune. It really is a piece only a rich merchant's wife could afford, but no, I'm a noblewoman by birth.
Ebin: Well Patrissa, sadly no merchant was rich enough to afford a longer stay in your company.
Sir Rekkart: Shut up you insect! No one insults the noble lady Patrissa you...
Halgrak: Right, Not the time for jokes...not a good thing we are here...again...
Ragnvald frowns as the group prattles on. "You surround me with monsters and men who draw weapons as if on the precipice of battle and expect me to calm? This blade does will not leave my hands until I ahve joined my fathers in valhalla, it has tasted blood, or one of you." Ragnvald waves his sword in the direction of the group that obviously have some clue of what's going on. "Explains yourselves."
Malgrim: You're not from here, huh? You speak like a clown.
Sir Rekkart: Malgrim you're a criminal, it's obvious that you don't recognise a heroic man like this Ulfen warrior when you meet one. putting his hand forth, the paladin explains Some of us have been here before, exactly fifteen years ago when the Mord Murders trial was held.
Killian: Fifteen years already?
Halgrak: Exactly fifteen years...I will never forget that day... the half orc says gloomily.
Sense Motive:
Nymeria stays where she is: removed from the action-packed and apparently blood-thirsty group. She seems confused. Do you all know each other? I can't say I remember seeing any of you...ever...
She turns her back to the bickering group and walks down the aisle of the courtroom, looking around and exploring. How strange...and what a strange dream I had... she mutters to herself.
At the mention of the Mord trial, she turns back around and returns to a safe distance. Did you say the Mord trial? My master, Ardolan Kindiri was a juror in that...And today is the anniversary? What day is it? The last thing I remember, I was walking out to the waterfront...
Sir Rekkart: You know Ardolan?
Patrissa: Mhhh, well...
Ebin: Huh? What? Hey! What are you mumbling Patty?
Halgrak: I bet my life that the others also have a connection to the trial...we're all doomed...
Sir Rekkart: Halgrak, I won't let you down. I will defend you with my life if...ummm if...I mean if we...
Ebin: ...are ever out of dull phrases, then Sir Rekkart will surely help us.
At the mention of the Mord Murders, Jez puts her hand to her chin thinking:
Are you sure this was the Mord Murders, that horrific trial that occurred so many years ago? I think that my father was a juror in the trial, he was never the same after. Do you recall Pareth Mazrorn as being one of the jurors?
Killian: The candle seller?
Halgrak: Oh yes, we know him...all makes sense now, besides... he looks over to the goblin and the ogre
Sir Rekkart: Umm yes, but...umm...well, never judge a book by its cover..ahem...
Ragnvald eases a little but does not drop his guard even for an instant. "Very well. But that does not explain how we came here or the purpose of being here. And call me a clown again, goblin and you'll drown in your own blood."
Intimidate
Turning to the ogre and the smaller less mouthy (ironic indeed) goblin he call them out. "And you?"
Malgrim: You can not threaten me northman...should we make it out of here, I will show you what I can do...
Sir Rekkart: Please, we should work together now. Umm, you my friend he looks at Ragnvald are from the frozen wastes of the far north, I guess?! How come you ended up here with the rest of us?
Patrissa: Yeah, that would also be of interest for me.
Patrissa: Cocks an eyebrow...
Killian: And you, why are you here?
Sir Rekkart: A good uestion, Killian my friend. Tell us your name, Goblin!
Malgrim: You can not threaten me northman...should we make it out of here, I will show you what I can do...
Sir Rekkart: Please, we should work together now. Umm, you my friend he looks at Ragnvald are from the frozen wastes of the far north, I guess?! How come you ended up here with the rest of us?
Patrissa: Yeah, that would also be of interest for me.
Ragnvald answers still holding his blade. "Yes, I was sailing to Absalom to...visit relatives. I do not know how I came here."
Jez stands up and grabs something solid looking (a chair leg, table, bench) and rips it from the floor and then snaps it in half.
Strength:
ENOUGH - the next person who threatens someone is going to get clubbed so hard they will not wake up until tomorrow.
It is clear that most, probably all, of us are here because of a tie with the Mord Murders trial of 15 years ago. Lets figure out why we are here, and solve this problem. Until then no more weapons, no more threats.
This is said while swinging the broken pieces like a fan of clubs.
Intimidate(Dazzling Display - effects all within 30'):
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"Mobo is called Mobo. Mobo was sleeping all comfy cozy, wasn't gonna have to leave til the tavern man came back and found me. Woke up here. Which one of you picked Mobo up and put me in the dark?"
Mobo stares transfixed at the swinging woman. "... if you angry Big Folk keep breaking chairs just to keep Mobo quiet there won't be nowhere for Mobo to sit."
"Hmmmm Mordy trial? Think that was something my sort of uncle was in. What's a mordy anyway?"
"Not sure how I got here either. How am I getting home? Are you giving us lunch?"
Malgrim: Heh, the ogre is borderline ga-ga...perfect, and the goblin is a goblin...Halgrak, the first time you're right, we're clearly doomed. Hey and you, he points at Jezbazeel You could join the northman in the circus...pfff
Halgrak: She is strong...
Ebin: Like the goblin's odor, heh.
Sir Rekkart: Please, the lady is right, we have to work together now. So, let me explain: Malgrim, Halgrak, Ebin, Killian, the beautiful lady Patrissa and I were on the jury during the trials. But there were also six other jury members, maybe you have a connection to them?
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The Ogre stares at the speaker a minute.
"My name isn't Borderline Ga-Ga, I dont know him and I never grew up in the Ga-Ga tribe. You have the wrong Ogre."
Attalas looks at the man as though awaiting some dawning understanding.
Malgrim: Cocks an eyebrow, shrugs and says Well, his jokes are better than yours, Ebin.
Jez sits back down. That is better. Hmmm, can't say that I recognize any of your names. My father never really talked about the trial.
"Hans. It was probably Hans. He always started all the trouble"
Now that you have accustomed to your surroundings a bit, you get a better view of the room.
Rows of dusty benches, several askew or knocked over, are lined behind a waist-high partition separating spectators from trials. A dusty wooden jurors' box, rickety from generations of termites and time's crul fangs, stands against the south wall. A high bench covered in muslin rests against the east wall. Two thick tables once stood facing the bench, now one has been smashed to kindling. An evidence table rests against the south wall.
Ragnvald relaxes, his sword no longer at guard. HE doesn't seem to fear anyone here and when the strange woman goes about smashing up furniture he looks on with a bizarre sense of approval.
"I do not know of my own connection in all of..." He waves his sword in the general area of the courtroom. "This. Unless my uncle was involved. Though I'm not sure how. He was working here as a bodyguard last I heard from the man."
Sir Rekkart: Please tell us, warrior of the northlands, what was his name?
Malgrim: I don't care, we should just see if we can get out of here. Who wants to follow me?
Harlak: There is no way out...we will all die.
Meanwhile Patrissa has walked over to Attalas
Well, you have some big muscles my friend.
Ok - now that we are all being more civilized - and Mr. Ebin that means not making jokes at the expense of the good Mr. Halgrak and Mr. Malgrim. You all claim to have been here before, so is this some type of a recurring dream? Or is there something that we need to do?
Looking at the Paladin: Why don't you start Sir Rekkart. As for the rest of you, please hold your peace until he is done, there will be more than enough time for everyone to have his or her say.
Sir Rekkart: No m'lady, we have been here fifteen years ago...this was the place where Mord was sentenced to death...by our vote.
Halgrak: And now he has returned to take his revenge.
Malgrim: B$$+@&~@, you're all cowards. You have always been a coward Halgrak.
Halgrak: It's easy to be courageous as a criminal without a family!
Ebin: Depends on the family, hah!
Ragnvald watches the rest for a moment and seems about to answer when the half orc opens his mouth. "And will you mewl like that when death comes for you? Or will you fight? Will you spit in the eye of damnation itself or will you cry like a naked babe as the wolves come for you? If not then save yourself the pain and us the time and slice your own throat now." As a point Ragnvald draws his hunting knife from its belt sheathe and flips it around so its handle is facing the half orc. "My uncle's name was Wolgar Vallakson brother of Hrolf Vallakson. Perhaps you knew him?"
As he holds the knife out his bare muscular flesh of his arm pokes through his woolen shirt clearly displaying a splotchy birthmark in the shape of Gorum's holy symbol.
Sir Rekkart: The tall knight lays a hand on your forearm and gently pushed it down. Even Gorum's followers know that there are those who fight and those who have to be defended.
Ebin: And those that give annoying speeches, heh!
Malgrim: At least you got some guts, northman. Will you join me?