GM Fuzzfoot |
Welcome to the Blakros Museum - Nigel Aldain, curator.
Please, have a seat and introduce yourselves. Your adventure will begin shortly.
Armistead Pike |
A giant of a man saunters into the room, his heavy blue metal armor making a loud KHACHUNK with each step, a sound like a safe door locking shut. Each of his shoulderplates has a picture of a woman in a classy pin-up pose: Calistria on one and Desna on the other. He pulls up his visor, revealing a shaved, leathery head. His five o'clock is so pronounced that his cheeks seem to turn steel grey.
"Well, what's this we got goin' on heah." While many Andorans are said to have a bit of an accent, the particularly deep and deliberate tone of this man's voice cannot be called anything other than a drawl. In fact, calling anything else a drawl suddenly feels disingenuous.
"Name's Armistead. My boy Colson tells me there's work for a man out this way."
He pulls out a cigar, cuts the head off by wedging it between the edges of the plates on his armor, then lights it as he puts it in his mouth.
He continues speaking, now out of the corner of his mouth, never removing the cigar. "I trust none a' you are gonna have issues workin' with a hardened criminal."
He grins and folds his arms, giving the illusion that the women on his shoulderplates are leaning into him.
Armistead is your not so fresh ranger one game away from 2. He has a fresh cure light wounds wand if someone wants to hold it.
The Agent |
The Agent rubs his eyes and takes a sip from a heavy glass filled with equal parts creamy and smoky brown goodness. He leans back, clearly comfortable in his robes and possibly just having woken from a nap.
It's hard to see any other expression through his long red-brown bangs, but if you had to guess, you'd probably wager it's complacency.
"Man... I recognize you. You were that guy saying 'heah' out in the Lodge's main room talking about a boy named Colson."
Smacking his lips and swirling about the contents of his glass so they combine ever so slightly, The Agent holds up a hand in a peaceful gesture.
"Ain't no problems with you just gettin' out of lock-up if you're sayin' you're gonna be chill... but I gotta admit, I'm curious now, Armie... what exactly did you do to get locked up in the first place?"
The Agent blows his bangs away from his face, for the briefest of moments, and smiles.
Armistead Pike |
"Robbed a spice caravan on the Taldor border."
He taps his cigar against his armor.
"Well, got caught robbin' one. Robbed a hell of a lot more than the one. Beat a few caravan guards. Not to death, of course. They take a man's head for felony murder."
Armistead sniffs the air as he catches a waft of The Agent's drink.
"That one a' those White Irrisenis? Didn't know we were allowed to bring 'liquid refreshments' on these missions."
He shifts his cigar in his mouth.
"I tell you what: why don't you make up one a' those for 'Armie' here, and I'll pay you back with one when we get back from the library."
The Agent |
"Man..."
The Agent smacks his lips, clearly enjoying what he was drinking.
"Man, I'll tell you, man, that's like..."
The Pathfinder clearly loses track of where he's at in the conversation.
"I mean, that's what I'm saying. The man, the guards. That's certainly a thing."
As his drink is mentioned, he holds it up and considers it as if he were unaware he was holding or imbibing a drink.
"Sure, a White Irriseni. Maybe that's it."
Swirling it around, The Agent rubs his stubble, spreading more of the contents of his drink around in its deeper recesses.
"You know they give these things out in Riddleport? You just gotta sit down like you're gonna play a game. You don't even to bet that much. Just a couple coppers, like four or five times an hour."
The Agent holds up the glass as if his explanation was unclear, or that the next point is particularly important.
"Free, man. You don't need to pay for them."
Deftly, the Desnan continued efforts to turn the conversation away from anything involving him expending effort through the form of labor, however trivial, for another.
"So, a museum for the mission? That sounds nice, man. Some exhibits, kid-friendly, low risk... I can abide with some low risk..."
Althera |
Althera glides gracefully into the room, wearing a practical yet stylish traveling dress. She wears a ring on one finger, in the image of a snake swallowing its own tail.
"Well now, I can see why they assigned me to this team. Someone needs to be able to speak on level terms with the finer folk we might encounter."
"My name is Althera, magic user and diplomat in training. You two seem a bit rough, if you don't mind me saying so, but I suspect you're skilled where fighting is concerned."
Armistead Pike |
Armistead's deep, slow chuckling feels strangely unsettling, but his demeanor is nothing if not friendly. The light of his cigar flashes in time with the puffs of air from his laughter.
"Yeah. Probably best to just call it a 'thing' and be done with it."
Armistead takes a seat, the chair creaking loudly under the weight of the massive man and his armor.
"Can't say I've had the luck to get up to Riddleport yet. All this globe-trotting stuff's new to me. Sounds like a fine place for a man to enjoy himself."
As The Agent turns to the museum, Armistead leans back in his chair, its groans even louder than before.
"Somethin' low-risk sounds nice, but Colson says these missions never turn out that way. I don't know how long you've been with these heah Pathfinders, Mr--wait, is your name again? I don't think you mentioned it."
-------
When Athera enters, Armistead immediately stands up, giving a regarding nod. After she introduces herself, he takes his cigar out of his mouth.
"Why hello there, little missy. Colson mentioned there'd be some finer company along today."
He folds his arms, cigar still in his hand, tilting his head back in a pose full of machismo.
"Don't you worry none about Armistead. You walk from the west side a' the Aspodell Mountains to east edge of the Verduran Forest, and every faithful Calistrian workin' girl you meet would tell you that Armistead Pike is nothing if not a gentleman."
D'lack Firestar |
A long fin man, clearly of mangwi heritage, moved in the waiting room, joining the others.
He bowed to them and said with a strong mangwi accent
D'Lack Firestar, student in History. Happy to meet you fellow Pathfinders.
Seeing "The Agent" in the room he added Oh! I see a friendly face here, glad to have you in our team again.
Ranor |
A Tall muscular man enters the room. He sets he shield down on the floor with a loud thud. A flail hangs loosely at his side easily within reach.
The shield is emblazoned with what appears to be a giant dark green octopus face. A multitude of tentacles dangling from the bottom of the portrait. The creature seems to be glaring with a series of ten eyes painted upon the beast.
He gives a nod and a gleaming smile to the men and woman in the room.
This is Tyranius
GM Fuzzfoot |
Fuzzfoot, were you advising we introduce ourselves as players or as characters?
I was actually suggesting characters, although personal introductions are also nice! Maybe we can do that in the discussion thread, though.
GM Fuzzfoot |
And so we begin...
The Blakros Museum rises into the night sky, its single black spire severing the full moon in twain. The black iron gates surrounding the exhibition hall grind in protest against the wind. Beyond, the museum’s large oaken doors stand wide open, a silver-gray mist belching forth from the cavernous darkness within. You wonder how you ended up here, standing at the precipice of unknown terrors, and instantly Venture-Captain Adril Hestram’s wide looming face is conjured into your minds’ eye. His booming words ring out from memory as clearly as he spoke them only one hour ago:
"The Blakros Museum is cursed. Some darkness has descended upon the place and those who enter are blasted with evil and left raving through its halls, more beast than men. The curator, Nigel Aldain, is an old associate of the Society, though he chose to leave our organization some years back after a disagreement." Adril looked sheepish then, as if remembering some distasteful incident from his youth. "Nigel has long denied the Society access to the Blakros Museum’s considerable collection of relics and scrolls, using his extensive contacts to nab several excellent finds right out from under us... he always had a nose for the hunt. Whatever is past between Nigel and the Society, he needs our help now. Perhaps if we can come to his aid, he may think on rejoining the Pathfinder Society, or at least offering to share his discoveries with us."
"Apparently the trouble at Blakros Museum began this morning, shortly after a wayward Pathfinder named Lugizar Trantos returned to Absalom after months spent in the Mwangi Expanse. Supposedly, instead of coming straight to the Lodge to report in, he went to Blakros, sold his finds to Nigel, and then disappeared with a hefty sum of gold. The few who glimpsed Lugizar claimed he was much changed by his time in the Mwangi... gaunt, his eyes yellowed and unfocused, a strange rasping cough that seemed to wrack his now wasted frame. Whatever he brought back with him, we believe it is the cause of the Blakros Museum’s ills. Root it out."
Adril also gives you a map of the museum and suggests they head to the offices first to find Nigel as he may have some insight into whatever foul curse vexes the place.
If you do some research before beginning, roll once for the check and then read each spoiler up to the point that you succeeded the check. For instance, if you roll a 17, you may read the DC 10 and DC 15 spoilers, but not the DC 20.
Much of the Mwangi’s darkest interior worships a demon lord named Angazhan, who is described in the Book of the Damned as a thing of primordial darkness, a foul-breathed demon who grunts prophecies of blood to apes and madmen. The jungle is his beating heart.
Lugizar Trantos spent the better part of a year in the Mwangi Expanse. At first he wrote letters to his brother and wife, but after a few months these stopped coming and most gave him up for dead.
His letters spoke of a lucrative find at one point, three idols of dark wood carved in the shape of bearded
monkeys.
The last of his letters evidenced an unhinged mind, and was covered in strange sketches of monkey
paws. He described dark eyes glaring out from the mists. Shortly after his return to Absalom, many of the monkeys
and apes in the city’s menageries attacked their keepers and fled into greater Absalom.
D'lack Firestar |
Know. History: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Diplomacy (Gather Info): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Despite his vast knowledge, D'Lack remember nothing about hte museum or the strange incident the Venture-Captain takled about.
Can we ask some question to the VC before our departure ?
The Agent |
Gather Info: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
The Agent speaks to a few other agents on their way out of the Grand Lodge. To the observant member of the party, they can hear his first questions are regarding Drendle Dreng's "open bar", but he later gets around to asking about Lugizar Trantos or the Blakros Museum.
@Everyone: Feel free to pop the three spoilers for Gather Info as the Agent will relate details..
The Agent, shaking his head, reports his first important discovery.
"Man, it looks like Drendle Dreng's out on some sort of scouting mission or something. His personal bar is locked up tight. My guess is we're on our own when it comes to beverages today."
After digging around in his pockets, which seem to be empty, the Desnan sets his empty glass on an arbitrary bookshelf in the Grand Lodge before gesturing at it.
"I'm sure someone will clean that up..."
GM Fuzzfoot |
Yes, feel free to ask questions before getting going...
Kayde Morson |
Kayde Morson wrote:Fuzzfoot, were you advising we introduce ourselves as players or as characters?I was actually suggesting characters, although personal introductions are also nice! Maybe we can do that in the discussion thread, though.
Doh! Okay, well, I couldn’t have posted anything of substance friday or this weekend, anyway …so my bad.
Knowledge (History, untrained, DC 10): 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (10) - 2 = 8
Gather Info: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10
Oh well, at least the Agent had some decent success. :)
A tall, athletic half-orc jogs up after the Agent, a Cailean-emblazoned wooden stein swinging from his belt at each step. ”Sorry I’m late, fellas.” He looks the simple, friendly sort, and his black eyes go immediately to the Agent’s empty glass, ”I got ale. And road wine. Can’t leave home without it, ya know?” He resettles his pack on his shoulders and gives the team a wide, toothy grin, ”I’m Kayde.”
He listens along to the Agent’s gathered information, but you can tell the details are lost on his blank stare. ”Okay. Well, I'm ready when y'all are.”
D'lack Firestar |
<< Thanks for the head's up TA >> said D'lack to "The Agent".
----
before being in front of the Blakros Museum's gates
I know for a fact, that the Mwangi Expanse is not for all people and it seems that Lugizar was one of those.
But Captain, do you think the thing Lugizar sold to the museum was what caused all the troubles ? Have you any ideas of what it was ?
Cursed relics I suppose ?
GM Fuzzfoot |
Adril Hestram ponders the question, and then replies. "I think it is certainly logical. Sometimes these collections include strange and wondrous magic, and he didn't consult with us first. It is probably not wise to assume this is the case, but it definitely is a possibility."
Armistead Pike |
Over the course of The Agent's recount of the information he found, Armistead's expression drifts into a deep frown.
"This sounds like some kinda weird magic B.S.. Bad juju, that's what it is."
He cocks his mouth to the side and begins shuffling through his bag.
"Dammit. Shoulda got some good-luck-charms."
GM Fuzzfoot |
V-C Hestram wonders why you all don't already recognize Nigel, as surely you spend all of your downtime exploring the local museums! Nevertheless, he gives you a detailed description.
"Urgency here, agents. We don't know what is happening inside, but the longer it takes to solve, the more potential harm to be done."
Althera |
Earlier, Althera replies to Armistead:
"Well, if the Calistrians will vouch for you, that's not a bad thing at all. They can harbor a grudge like no-one's business."
She smiles just a bit at the end.
Later:
"Yes, hurry hurry. I suppose we'd better before this Nigel winds up dead."
At the museum itself:
"Well now, that mist looks rather unpleasant. Do you think we should take precautions?"
Any check to know more about it?
-Posted with Wayfinder
Kayde Morson |
Assuming we’re moving onto the Museum…
Kayde stands looking up at the imposing museum, then down at the mysterious mist. His face is scrunched up in intense concentration … of thinking.
He points at the museum. ”So somethin’ was brought here. Weird stuff happened.” He points at the mist, ”That showed up. And stuff went crazy?”
He moves up so he’s about fifteen feet from the mist, pulls a small flask, whispers a prayer, punctuates it with a swig, and kneels down to inspect the mist.
Cast Detect Magic, using it to see if the mist is magical or natural (while staying well back from it).
The Agent |
The Agent appears reluctant to leave the captain's office, but finally gets off the sofa and shuffles out.
"Man, I specifically put in a request to the Ten for low risk missions. You know, like maybe getting into Zarta's archives, doing some catalogue work?"
Shrugging, The Agent follows the others to the museum to see what the deal is.
Armistead Pike |
Armistead nods in agreement with The Agent.
"And I heah there's a buncha senior Pathfinders getting sent to eat at some fancy Tien restaurant in the Ivy District on the Ten's coin."
Armistead adjusts his cigar, now more than half burnt to ash. He looks over The Agent and himself, noting the former's "casual" attire and his own intimidating mien, and he gives a deep chuckle.
"Guess I can't blame 'em for not sending us to that one."
GM Fuzzfoot |
There is no other check I can give you regarding the mists, but if you want to try a library, I will allow another set of knowledge rolls. It will take 1d4 hours, however. You should decide whether to spend the time or not.
Regarding detect magic, the mist does radiate magic.
Kayde Morson |
Kayne grunts as he stands and steps back from the mist, giving it a suspicious look. ”Magic.” He looks at the group, ”I don’t like it. But we gotta go in there, right?”
With a shrug, he rips the sleeve off his own shirt, wrapping it around the lower part of his head to cover his nose and mouth. ”What?" he asks, his voice muffled though the impromptu breathing filter, "I don’t want it in me.”
Then he pulls a greataxe from over his shoulder, hefting it a few times to psych himself up. ”So … front door?”
Althera |
Althera likewise cuts away the hem of her dress to create a makeshift mask. Once it is situated, she nods in agreement.
"That way seems best to me."
She will follow along behind the warrior types, keeping her loaded crossbow in hand.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Ranor |
Ranor pushes forward shield and flail in hand. We have no time to contemplate the magical properties of this unnatural fog. A man's life hangs in the balance.
Ranor moves into the fog opening the front door.
GM Fuzzfoot |
You enter the building. An unnatural cold permeates this chamber and the tendrils of silver-gray mist flowing out the front archway into the courtyard beyond seem to effortlessly pierce the flesh and gently caress the bone in a cold embrace. The grand entrance way’s vaulted ceiling is supported by six great pillars of hewn black stone. Braziers mounted on the pillars cast white radiance from balls of continual light. The light glimmers eerily in the silvery haze that fills the atrium, giving the impression of something alien watching from the glowing fog.
If you missed it, the map of the building is here. You are in the Atrium now.
Please make a DC12 Will Save, and then open the appropriate spoiler. If you fail the save, read only Private Message #2. If you succeed, read only Private Message #1.
You get an eerie feeling about this place, but the room seems quiet. Do not read either of the Private Messages.
You get an eerie feeling about this place, but the room seems quiet. Do not read either of the Private Messages.
You feel a cold shiver down your spine.
You have gained the Mist-Tainted template:
• Both Intelligence and Charisma go down to 6.
• You gain +2 to Strength and Dexterity. This gives you +1 Initiative, +1 Armor Class, +1 to Attacks, and +1 Damage.
• You are immune to fear effects.
• You have +10 to Climb checks and a climb speed of 20 feet.
• You have +5 to Acrobatics and Stealth checks.
• You gain a slam attack. It does 1d4 (+Strength Bonus) Damage.
Feel free to play this up. Imagine yourself becoming ape-like. Do not feel the need to immediately attack your friends or anything of that nature.
Kayde Morson |
”Well, this is creepy,” Kayde mutters uneasily, straining against the cold mist to catch any threats before they can … well … threaten the team.
Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Ranor |
+1 Initiative, +1 Armor Class, +1 to Attacks, and +1 Damage
Ranor begins to drag his flail on the ground as his body gives quick fast twitches.
The Agent |
Will DC12: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
As the Agent experiences a cold shiver down his spine, his intelligence (or lack thereof) continues to shine through.
"Man, it's cold in here."
As he notices the others wearing makeshift covers on their faces.
"Hey -- what's the deal with those? The mist doesn't even smell bad or anything. In fact, it kind of smells like almonds. Wait, maybe that's caramel... or some sort of exotic Mwangi fruit."
The Agent inhales deeply, testing the mist further.
"I kinda like it, gives me the munchies. What do you think D'lack? Smells good, huh?"
Armistead Pike |
Behind the visor of his helmet, Armistead raises an eyebrow at The Agent.
"Hmm? Smells like food?"
The ominous portents of his companions apparently being for naught, Armistead opens his visor and takes out the piece of cloth so he can take a sniff of the fog.
D'lack Firestar |
Not really answered the mwangi man.
It's pretty cold in fact, not my taste anyway and certainly dangerous as Kayde said this mist is magical.. Can we proceed ? Time is the essence here, I think...
D'lack scan the room for any dangers, waiting for the scout or fighters to move.
Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
Kayde Morson |
"Hey -- what's the deal with those? The mist doesn't even smell bad or anything. In fact, it kind of smells like almonds. Wait, maybe that's caramel... or some sort of exotic Mwangi fruit."[/b]
Kayde gives the Agent an incredulous look, then shakes his head as he goes back to his inspection of the room around them. "Yup. It's magic,” Kayde’s muffled voice responds, ”And magic's like exotic drinks ... until ya know what's in'em, I don't want'em in me. Some of that stuff can mess you up."
When no one else steps forward, Kayde does ... advancing warily.
Unless Kayde can see that the source of the mist is in this room, he'll advance right down the middle ... making directly for that hallway on the far end of the room.
The Agent |
The Agent nods sagely to Kayde.
"I'm sure, you know, it's like, there's something happening inside me, something..."
The Agent taps his head.
"I mean if the mist does something, the Ten would set us up in a little beach house somewhere while we recover, right?"
The Agent begins to ponder how clever he is in putting himself in harm's way, hoping to collect on some sort of "workman's compensation" while in the line of duty.
GM Fuzzfoot |
Other than the mist, nothing seems amiss in the atrium. You do not see a source for the mist.
You are able to approach and enter the hallway without incident.
Kayde Morson |
Kayde stops between the first two doors in the hallway, looking helplessly at first one, then the other, then down the remaining stretch of hallway. ”Mister Nigel!” he shout-whispers, ”it’s us! Where are you?”
Unsure of which direction to proceed, he looks back at the other pathfinders … only now noticing what Althera pointed out about Ranor. ”Aw, man.” He hastily re-checks his own mask in paranoia. ”What do we do?”
The Agent nods sagely to Kayde.
"I mean if the mist does something, the Ten would set us up in a little beach house somewhere while we recover, right?"
The Agent begins to ponder how clever he is in putting himself in harm's way, hoping to collect on some sort of "workman's compensation" while in the line of duty.
”I don’t … think ... that’s how that works.”
Do we want to try to do anything for our teammates? Or just press on?”
GM Fuzzfoot |
The door on the left (top of the map) has a placard above it that reads "The Honored Dead" in blood-red calligraphy.
A large placard above the entryway to the opposite hall reads "Hunting
the Beasts of Legend" in great block letters.
At the end of the hall, you can barely make out a sign that simply says "North Exhibit Hall".