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A handsome blond Taldan warrior in full plate, his breastplate emblazoned with a lifelike horse symbol sits down in the middle of the room and awaits his fellow Pathfinders with an easy calm. He's fairly well known throughout the Society as an outstanding bodyguard and combat leader.
"Good afternoon. I am Sir Terramor. I'm looking forward to keeping you meeting all of you."
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A diminutive figure of a gnomish lady slips in and grinz at Sir Terramor. Hi Terry, I'm Lorelendral Teklet, but you can just call me Lore, everyone does." Her purple hair flounces as she walks, and you can hear the rattle of chain, though her clothing appears to be simple leathers with a sun symbol emblazoned on the front of her vest. That symbol matches the brilliant sun symbol that appears to be branded... or maybe tattooed, since there's no scarring visible, on her forehead. "Blessings of Sarenrae on you. Are you well, or can I offer you any healing today? Healing isn't my forte, even though it should be, but I CAN do it.. trust me!" She hops up on a chair, which takes some effort as all the chairs are far too big and high for her, but she manages to climb up into one, her feet dangling above floor level.
"I wonder where everyone else is... we seem to be the only ones here so far... Mission briefing won't happen til we're all gathered, at least, I think not. I always do like these mission briefings... The VC tells us what we need to do, challenges us to ask questions, which I can rarely think of anything at the time. I usually think of the questions I should have asked when we are well on our way to get killed where they tell us to."
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A patient expression crosses Sir Terramor's face when the Sarenrite gnome calls him 'Terry'. Still, he knows of Lore's reputation and lets it go.
"I'm not the planner, either," he admits to Lore. "I plan battles, not missions. And thanks, but I am well.
"It is!" says Sir Terramor to Ariana. "We were just getting to know each other. My...you have a lot of weapons!"
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The room darkens as a tall pale faced, where you can see his actual skin, man dressed in midnight black clothing passes though the doorway into the room. His long white hair hangs to his shoulders. His face bears the tattooed unholy symbol of Zon-Kuthon across the majority of its exposed flesh.
A pair of spiked chains are wrapped around his torso from shoulder to hip so that they cross over his chest.
He silently pulls a spiked chain off of his chest and coils it on the floor before finally kneeling on it.
In a raspy voice he speaks. "The Midnight Lord's blessing upon you all." He adjusts his position on the spiked chain before finally settling his full weight upon the sharp barbs. "Is anyone here opposed to the Midnight Lord's assistance during our travels? Speak now or hold your peace."
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"oh my! that looks like it hurts! You poor fellow... I'm afraid I don't share your predeliction for pain, but I guess I can sorta understand blind devotion to a cause. I hope you find peace and light in your calling at least. Or would it be darkness that you seek? Whatever fulfills you, I guess," the little gnome ends with a sympathetic tone for the dark cleric. "As with your offer, I return it to you in kind. Should you need the assistance, I hope you don't mind healing arts or aid from a servant of Sarenrae."
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Ariana asks the new cleric, "I'm not too particular about which god keeps me alive. Does your healing hurt?" She shrugs. "I've been know to let wizards fireball me in battle. There was a spell cast first. Not that I understood what it was."
-Posted with Wayfinder
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A handsome half-elf strides effortlessly into the room, his loose fit clothing billowing slightly with his movement. The sound of his sturdy boots on the hard wooden floor announces his arrival as much as anything else, and his smile is warm and inviting, even while his sharp eyes seem to take in the room.
He pulls back his hood, revealing a mop if medium length white blonde hair, slightly unkempt until his smooths it back by running it through with a free hand. His open shirt reveals the hints of several tattoos upon his well tanned skin.
"So this is where all the beautiful people are gathering!" He says to the gathered group.
As he catches sight of Lorelendral he practically slides over to the purple haired gnome. "Milady," he says with a deep bow, "the pleasure is all mine! I am Aelwynd. I have to say, you are absolutely ravishing. Purple is my favorite color! Once all this Society business is done, perhaps we could grab a more private drink, say, aboard my ship?" he says with a friendly wink.
He quickly turns back to the rest of the group, exposing the exquisite rapier strapped on his right hip that was previously hidden by his cloak. With a friendly tone he addresses the room, "Well met one and all. I hope I have not delayed you with my lateness."
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Lore blushes slightly and smiles at Aelwynd... "What a wonderful offer... How can I possibly refuse? You are quite the fetching fellow yourself! Oh my... I think I'm blushing!" she says a little embarrassed. "Just the two of us, you say? My sister and auntie would be shocked!" she says with almost conspiratorial smile and a bright twinkle to her eye. "How marvelous!"
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An ageless woman enters. Her hair is bone white and her face has a metallic sheen to it, evidence of some kind of outsider blood. Her features are perfect yet too sever to be considered comely. Her movements aren't so much graceful as studied, her every movement planned. She is dressed in unassuming clothes (with no visible armor) except for an extravagant cloak in brilliant red and gold with the emblem of Ragathiel emblazoned on the back. She has a variety of weapons about her body and a long spear tickling the ceiling. As many of the others in the room her body is orbited by a number of familiar ioun stones and atop her head is a glowing halo.
"Well met." she says perfunctorily in an androgynous voice that demands notice only to be met by a stare that could wilt a powerful demon. "Call me Marta."
"What is this about an objectionable patron?... Oh, I see," she answers herself as she spots Ali and his markings. "We need to talk."
"Ragathiel be praised. Another chance to help a misguided soul!"
An aura surrounds her and changes nature as she shifts from shadowy tendrils, to white motes, then metallic stars, and finally coruscating worms. By the end of things, barring any magical misdirection, she will know the alignment of each member of the party - a task she always performs when she is teamed up with a new group.
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"Don't worry my beauty. The rose of your cheeks goes beautifully with your eyes." he says to Lore with a wink. "You must be told this often, but your eyes are simply mesmerizing."
"If her sister and auntie are even half as pretty as she is...no that will have to wait till later, once we know each other better...yes, till later." comes the thought unbidden to his mind.
Bringing his attention, how ever briefly, back to the group at large, Aelwynd says offhandedly, "Magic can be fickle, but in a hand with good intentions toward me and mine, 'tis welcome to indeed."
He stands and raises a sweeping hand to the ceiling, "May the gods smile on us all, each and everyone one of us."
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"Hello Marta," Lore says, tearing her gaze away from Aelwynd for the moment. "A follower of Ragathiel, how refreshing... I love that he's always portrayed limned in flames... " her eyes glow with their own inner flames for a moment as she contemplates the beauty of something as small as even just a lit candle wick. "Fire... good!" she seems to lose track of syntax for a moment as she contemplates the perfection in flame. She shakes her head and then smiles as she comes back to full awareness of her surroundings...
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@Lore
"You remind me of Bauble. A poor human boy raised by goblins that I converted, kind of, to the cause. He also was enamored of Ragathiel solely for his fiery aspect. I wonder how he's doing... Anyway, there is far more to Ragathiel. An intriguing combination of vengeance and mercy. He was once a demon, you know."
Though an eager light burns behind her eyes as she discusses the topic of her deity, he demeanor remains reserved and tight. One might wonder how she could convert anyone to anything.
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Just moments ago, Venture-Captain Adril Hestram stood beside you inside the great hall of the Grand Lodge in Absalom and said, “Good luck and gods speed. Find out what you can and get back in one piece.” With that, a masked member of the Decemvirate, gender and race impossible to determine under black cloth and an ornate face mask, muttered an incantation and teleported you nearly a thousand miles south, to the northern frontier of the necromantic nation of Geb. Just 24 hours ago, messengers from the Decemvirate banged on your door and demanded your presence at the Grand Lodge. Venture-Captain Hestram, it seemed, had received an important bit of news about work that a Nethys cleric Pathfinder named Rijana was doing in the Mana Wastes— important enough to summon you at such an early hour and demand your preparedness for a new mission assignment.
“Rijana is one of the best scholars on arcane mysteries that we have,” said Hestram as he paced back and forth. He shook a thin sheaf of papers in his hand. “This missive from her hand just a month ago tells a daring tale of hidden dimensions in the Mana Wastes that could be used to return magic once again to that failed, desolate garbage heap. I could care less about restoring magic there—but I care a lot about what bizarre ruins and hidden sanctums might have been concealed there while magic lay dormant. I haven’t the time to waste to send another message back and await its answer—I’ve asked a Decemvirute member, a powerful wizard, to teleport you to Rijana’s last known location, a dusty hamlet on the edge of the Wastes in northern Geb called Geb’s Rest. I’m sending the lot of you because Geb is dangerous, the Mana Wastes are deadly, and I want this thing done right.” Hestram snorted. “Well, I at least want it done. You lot will have to do. Get to Geb’s Rest, find Rijana, and bring back whatever notes she’s got in her journals about the Mana Wastes. She should have four journals if my memory of her bizarre organizational skills is correct—I want all four of them. Tell her I’m reviewing them for inclusion in the Pathfinder Chronicles, I don’t care. Just bring them back. Now get yourself ready to go—you can’t buy a decent potion within a hundred miles of this backwater dust pile.”
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Lore runs out and picks up a few potions, hoping they will work in the Wastes. When she returns she says with a smile, "I think I'm ready to go... I will be very sad if my spells don't work, but I've got a little backup now. Sarenrae will be on our side, I'm sure of it... her brilliant, fiery power will find a way to manifest."
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Remembering back fondly to the mission assignment session, Aelwynd recalls the mention of fickle or dead magic in the Mana Wastes and he checks his packs once over for his favored alchemical items. Realizing he is short a few things he makes a mental list before the journey, making sure he is well stocked ahead of time.
"Lore, you might want to get some troll styptic, in case you need healing in a magic dead area. It is nasty stuff but it helps in a pinch." Aelwynd says with concern followed by a quick grimace and a shudder as he remembers the effect it has while it does it's work.
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"I've never been to the Mana Wastes. What can we expect in a land that has no magic? Will our magical armor and weapons be useless?" Ariana looks nervous at the thought of not having her magical weapon available to her. I've not been able to use my sword before, but I don't like it. What about the clerics? Will their magic work? She makes her way to the shopping district to pick up a few items before returning ready to go.
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Eyeing the tall exotic warrior appreciatively, Aelwynd responds, "From what I have heard, there are spots that magic works, albeit haphazardly at best. Your armor and weapons are still finely crafted items, and from the looks of them by masters of their craft, so they are not useless. But to truly answer your question, yes their magic would likely fail there. It is not something I would prefer, but one must go where one must go for the good of the Society! Better us than less seasoned agents."
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Sir Terramor sets down his tea, goes to the door and speaks to the young squire waiting there for him. "Bellamy, here is some gold. Go into town and buy what I have written on this list. Oh, and get yourself a hat. Geb is very hot."
"Yes, sir," says the young man, hefting the weight of the gold the knight has given him.
"And Bellamy," continues Terramor, "There's no time for diversions. Buy yourself an ale if you must, but no companions this time, hear? The Decemvirate will not wait for your side trips."
Returning to the Venture-Captain's study, Terramor resumes drinking his tea. "We'll be ready shortly," he says.
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The teleportation thousands of miles across the world seemed instantaneous though it does leave your stomach feeling queasy for a short bit until everything settles.
In the distance lies a squat, tumble-down hovel comprised of a few turrated domes, a collection of ramshackle huts, a solid, two-story inn, dusty red streets, and a large central fountain. There are maybe four dozen intact buildings scattered about the town, with the central hub largely surrounded by weedchoked ruins of a time when the town was more prosperous.
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Sir Terramor taps the horse emblem on his breastplate and in a puff of smoke there stands before him a huge white charger in chain barding, complete with lance and saddle. "Ho, Morningstar!" says the knight. "No more the sweet grass of Elysium, my friend. I have need of you here on Golarion."
The knight quickly mounts up on his steed and looks down at the team. "Miss Ariana or Miss Lorelendral? May I offer you a ride? Morningstar will not mind." He pats the big warhorse's snowy neck.
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Makes me pity the things that are summoned... I wonder if Ali enjoyed that?
After examining the state of her spells (see tag line - these are the spells she casts before entering areas like this) and taking a close look at her surroundings, Marta says to nobody in particular "I see no need to scout the area first, do you?"
Then begins a steady march towards the buildings.
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Lore holds her arms up for a lift onto the horse... "I'd love a ride, thank you Sir Terry!" She's a bit heavier than she looks... and you hear the rattle of chains though she doesn't appear to be wearing any armor. Still and all, she weighs in at less than 50 lbs. Once on the horse, she settles herself as comfortable as she can and still be out of Sir Terramore's way, as he is the main rider. "Did you call him Morningstar? He's just beautiful!"
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"Ah, yet another confused soul. It is not a life of torture as so many others choose to see it. It is a life of joy in which pain is the primary driver."
"It is to this end that I myself aspire. I seek joy and final release from our mortal pain. For life is pain, darkness, and suffering until finally one day you realize that a whole new life awaits beyond death. I choose to suffer now when I can choose the method of my inflicted pain so that perhaps when finally my end comes upon this mortal coil I may be released to truly gaze upon the beauty of The Dark Prince and serve him for eternity."
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After unfurling his banner and revealing the device of the Open Road upon it, Sir Terramor pulls Lorelendral up before him. He smiles at the little gnome, putting his arm around her waist to hold her on the saddle and reminding himself that this is a great representative of his faith and not the tiny schoolgirl she appears.
"Indeed he is, Mistress Lorelendral. Strong as twenty men and smarter than most folk I've known. My family raises horses in Taldor and he is the greatest of his line for two dozen generations. Morningstar has been my companion through many trials."
"He likes apples. I've brought a few of them from the inn. You can feed them to him later, if you like."
"I am glad that a divine of the Dawnflower is with us. Though I am of Taldor, I share that faith."
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Placing a colorful plume in the recently acquired wide brimmed hat, Aelwynd sets it upon his head, adjusting it just so, while the others get ready to move out.
As they are whisked away via the teleport magic, Aelwynd feels a familiar thrill rush through him. "Similar to dimension door, only more intense! I must do that again!" he thinks to himself.
He walks alongside the others on their trek to Geb's Rest, attentive to the conversations being had, but also keeping a keen eye out for trouble. "Please let there be trouble. Please let there be trouble." the dashing thrill seeker silently hopes. "Please don't let anyone die. Please don't let anyone die."
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As you approach Geb’s Rest, they see no signs of life at all. No people, no animals, no birds—nothing. The entire town is silent and vacant. Exploring the outer reaches of the hamlet you find dinner plates still set at tables with spoiled food on them, clothes hung out to dry, mugs of ale still resting on the bar in the inn, and feed set out for the animals in the barn and the nearby animal pasture.
You nearly give in as you reach the central fountain, where you find a single corpse lying in the middle of the fountain. It looks like Rijana!
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Ariana looks impressed at the horse. She responds to Terramor's offer of a ride with, "Beautiful animal. I'll walk though. I'm better on the ground. She pats her sword." and takes off at a brisk clip toward the town. As she walks along she listens to the discussion between Marta and Ali. They both have interesting points. If I were a religious person I might take them into account. This is the third mission where someone has tried to convert someone to their religion. Maybe the gods are trying to tell me something.
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Aelwynd looks over the body, then the surrounding ground, and then to the horizon, looking at first for clues and then for danger. He draws his blade slowly from it's scabbard, saying, "I agree. Why leave just the one body? Is she bait of some sort, to get us to come to this particular place in the town? This smells of something dangerous to be sure."
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Hamarabi only has a moment to look around as he catches sight of what appears to be a single journal underneath Rijana's body. He is cut short before he can grab it as Hamarabi and Aelwynd catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of their eye.
Spread throughout the desolate buildings surrounding the fountain lurk the remnants of what is left of the town. An overwhelming aroma lingers from recently decaying flesh hangs from several of the folks as they shamble forth from doors all around with a low moan.
From the south emerges an enormous beast. Merging the most horrifying features of carrion-fed insect and withered cadaver, this bony devil moves in unsettling lurches.
Aelwynd
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Bony Creature (DC 19 Know Planes
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Marta
Ariana
Sir Terramor
Lorelendral
Hamarabi
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Undead (DC 15 Know Religion)
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