[PFS]GM Dennis - #3-23 The Goblinblood Dead (closed) (Inactive)

Game Master Dennis Muldoon

The goblin blood is dead?

Or is it!?

Wow, blast from the past there. That takes me back to 4th grade, when those books were used as currency.

Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng’s appearance in the middle of the night is surprising only due to his unfamiliar accomplice, a burly man dressed in full Isgeri military trappings. “Pardon the intrusion,” Drandle says as he juggles the numerous scrolls and writing materials precariously balanced in his arms, “but I have a request that is of utmost importance to ask of all you. I’m afraid we have something of a situation on our hands.

“It is perhaps well known among the Pathfinder Society that trade is vital to our organization. Not for any monetary gain, of course, but because we rely heavily on overland caravan routes and trading lanes at sea to get important documents, treasures, and personnel from central Avistan to the Inner Sea. When such materials are of particular import, we have even been known to use more illicit modes of transportation, such as caravans operated by the Sczarni organized crime syndicate.

“It appears that a number of such Sczarni caravans, carrying important cargo for delivery to the Pathfinder Society, have recently begun to go missing along their more discreet trade routes from Cheliax to Druma, a little-known path that runs through the Chitterwood in Isger. Of course, the route along the Conerica River would be viable for more legitimate operations, but oftentimes we can’t afford to be forestalled with matters such as customs, tariffs, and inspectors, especially when such hindrances could also potentially result in the arrest of our business partners. Alas, I digress.

”I have agreed to work with the local Sczarni leader, Guaril Karela, in order to reclaim the caravan route through Isger’s Chitterwood. That’s where you come in. I have made all the arrangements necessary to ship you to Isger in the morning, where you’ll meet the caravan you are tasked with escorting through the goblinoid-infested woods. In the meantime, I have summoned the honored Isgeri war hero Gaspar Desime to help answer any questions you might have about your upcoming visit to the Chitterwood. Guaril Karela is also available and can answer any questions you have about the caravan you’ll be guarding, though I believe he is currently stationed at his shop in the Docks district.”

Gaspar Desime, with his chiseled Chelish features and elaborately bedecked Isgeri military uniform, cuts an imposing figure as he steps forward.

”Good evening. The nation of Isger has fallen on hard times. Less than two decades ago, the savage goblinoids of the Chitterwood organized and attacked the nation from within, sparking the deadly Goblinblood Wars. So great was the threat to Isger and its neighbors that only an unlikely alliance between a regiment of Eagle Knights from Andoran, a small order of Hellknights from Cheliax, and a contingent of Druma’s Mercenary League--not to mention a few heroes--”, he says with a wink,” could stem the goblinoid tide. In the end, we put much of the Chitterwood to the torch, forcing the surviving goblinoids to seek refuge deep among the caverns below to escape our wrath.

”So, what would you like to know?”

You have a chance to as Desime questions now, and can then go speak with Karela if you wish.

"Do you believe the gerbl...goblins are causing the problems with the trade route?"

Eugressia looks as though she dressed in a hurry, and her mithral chain shirt is on backwards. Her curly white hair is a tangled mess, and she yawns rather loudly.

When Dreng and Desime arrived, you were all busy reading letters sent by your respective faction heads:

-----------------------------------------------

Desime answers Eugressia:

“Isger is currently besieged by numerous threats—the undead roam the lands to the north and south of my beloved homeland, while bandits prey on the weak throughout the countryside.

As for goblins, the Chitterwood itself is still the home to the scattered remains of goblinoid armies, left over from the Goblinblood Wars. I doubt, though, that they have yet forgotten the thrashing we gave them, or that they are brave enough to risk another one."

Rowdy, his shirt untucked and his hair in disarray:

"Cayden's liver Dreng, don't you know a man needs his sleep? We had to get waken up in the middle of the night for this? I've got about five things I'd rather be doin' than talkin' about some caravans right now, and all of 'em involve me bein' in bed asleep."

He hastily tucks in his shirt as he speaks.

"Not that I don't appreciate some ilicit goods now an' again, mind you. But is it only Sczarni caravans they's attackin', like they's targetin' them ones special, or is it other caravans too? And whose bright idea was it to pick a path through the Chitterwood of all places anyway? That's the genius you should be wakin' up an' talkin' to in the middle of the night an' not us."

"Come now, Pathfinder! A good agent must be ready at all times!" Dreng chides with a grin. "You ask some astute questions, though I"m afraid I can only answer one of them. It is difficult to tell whether the Sczarni are being targeted specifically, as most of the more...reputable travelers avoid the Chitterwood and pass through Isger on the main roads. As for your second question, I suspect that the path was chosen for maximum 'discretion', rather than safety, though that's really a question for Mr. Karela."

Oiur oozes into the room. They have a bundle of sheathes and hafts under one arm, and a backpack hangs precariously by one strap from the other.

"Venture-Captain... Dreng? The midnight celebrity! Pleasure to make... yourahkwaytan." They mumble out the last words, stifling a yawn, and look about the room with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Oh!" They perk up at the site of Rowdy, Eugressia, and Ibb. "What a coincidence! Your shining familiar faces will have to do in the absence of dawn's rays. And hopefully this time the weather's better."

They rescue their slipping backpack before it can make a great clanking dent in the floor. They sheepishly address the Isgeri man.
"Pardon, general—which of these threats is mostly likely to be waylaying Chitterwood caravans? If the goblins are too scared to interfere, the undead are in the north and the south—where's the Chitterwood exactly?—and bandits are all over, what faction's mostly likely to organize and disrupt clandestine shipping lanes?"

"Pardon, general—which of these threats is mostly likely to be waylaying Chitterwood caravans? If the goblins are too scared to interfere, the undead are in the north and the south—where's the Chitterwood exactly?—and bandits are all over, what faction's mostly likely to organize and disrupt clandestine shipping lanes?"

"That, agent, is why we're sending you instead of simply hiring guards" Dreng interjects. "Track the breadcrumbs back to the source of these attacks and put a stop to them, if you can."

"The simplest explanation is bandits, and for your sake I hope that's all it is," adds Desime "though I'd be glad to give you some pointers on dispatching goblinoids, if you'd like."

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8

Oiur nods at Desime. "I've heard about them, but never encountered any. I'd be glad of any advice."

"Goblinoids or not, I ain't never liked anythin' that chitters."

Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

To see what I might know about goblinoids or the Chitterwoods.

Turning to Desime: "Am I correct in supposin' you fought in this Goblinblood War?"

"Why yes, of course I did! Slew more than my fair share of goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, and the like, too! I'll tell you, if you really want to scare those buggers, line em up so you can cut them down a handful at a swing, or run them through, four to a pike! That'll turn 'em on their heels, I dare say! Why, I once routed a whole platoon of the little green ones by myself, with just a few swings!" You remember that he was introduced by Dreng as an Isgeri war hero, though you suspect his stories are rather exaggerated.

To call him out, or not to call him out...

Rowdy grins. "Out in the Mana Wastes we get us these ones called barghests. They's the kinda goblins that runs around on four legs like a wolf. We used to use 'em as target practice. Shoot one a them in the behind and they'll howl to the heavens like you ain't never heard. But you better have a good back up plan if you get a pack a them on your tail. They'll eat you down to nothin' in six seconds flat."

Oiur rubs their left eye with the back of a hand, momentarily distorting the filigree of blue ink on their cheek. They flick rheum onto the floor.

"Badger there is quite a shot, as is his friend Sarena. She's almost as good at waking people up as the good Venture-Captain."

They turn to Dreng, and are about to ask him something when their eyes widen. "Oh. Oh." They chuck the uncharacteristically mute Sir Ibb on the shoulder. "Did you get a letter, too? Maybe Irp read it to you?"

They address the others. "Venture-Captain Valsin said the Aspis Consortium is probably using the same routes as the Sczarni. If the goblins are too frightened of the..." They smile slightly . "...fine military minds and sword arms displayed by General Desime here, maybe the Consortium's the force behind all this."

"Wouldn't surprise me, " says Dreng, "though it also wouldn't surprise me to learn that they too were clients of the Sczarni caravans from time to time, and thus were similarly disrupted. That may be another question for Mr. Karela."

"It's my understandin' that this route is also used to smuggle freed slaves out of the country. An iffin' that's the case, then I got a personal interest in making sure this route remains clear."

”Well, if you’ve no more questions for me then I shall wish you the best of luck and bid you good evening. I look forward to hearing of your exploits upon your return.” With that, Desime rises and departs. Dreng follows him out the door, pausing to bid his own farewell. ”Good luck agents. Don’t forget to stop at the Pickled Imp and talk to Karela before you depart tomorrow.”

If you have any more questions for Dreng or Dasime, feel free to ask them before you left.

------------

The next morning you arise and, after breakfast and any last preparations, find yourselves in the Docks district in front of Karela’s curio shop. The inside seems dark and cramped, and you suspect it is thus regardless of the time of day. The dirty windows block most outside light, leaving the inside of the store permanently encased in shadow. Rows upon rows of shelves filled with knickknacks, baubles, and trinkets—all of varying levels of quality and authenticity— run the length of the store, leaving little room for people to move about.

As you enter a small bell tied to the door rings and you hear a voice call out. ”Ah, hello valued customers! Welcome to the Pickled Imp. If we don’t have it here, it probably doesn’t exist!” The voice seems to come from behind a bookshelf, but soon enough it is matched to the face of a man, walking out to meet you.

When he gets a look at you his smile fades a bit. ”Ah, you must be Dreng’s team, here for information. A pity, not many customers about today. Anyway, ask away, dear agents.”

Eugressia looks somewhat more polished the next morning, with her hair at least combed, though most fighters would still wince at how her armor is fastened. She gets slightly distracted by the baubles, but then remembers that they came with a purpose.

"Hello, Mr. ...Kareli," she says carefully. "We're looking for information about the Cloverdale. I mean, the Chitterwood. Do you know what's happening there?"

Rowdy tips his hat. "Yep, you done figured us out alright. Inerestin' shop you got here."

Rowdy picks up a jar of what looks to be pearlescent fingernail clippings and promptly puts it back down.

"We was wonderin' if you could tell us what you know about these missing caravans. Has there been any survivors? Anyone who could identify who's behind the attacks?"

"If there have been any survivors, I have not heard...and you'd be surprised how much I hear. What else would you like to know? They are generally short caravans, usually only one or two wagons at a time; easier to defend that way. The one you'll be traveling with is a single wagon with a small crew. The caravan master is a woman named Jandri, one of our best remaining allies in the area."

"Who do you think is attacking the caravans?"

Her clothing moves around in a breeze that seems to affect no one else in the cramped shop.

"This is not something I often have to say, but I have no idea. I have...reasons to believe that it's not one of my organization's usual enemies. Without witnesses to interrogate I have no way of knowing."

Since last night Sir Ibb has been silent, fidgeting with his butter knife. The bird is missing.

As the meeting comes to a close something thunks against the windowpane. You hear a high-pitched curse. Silence.

Moments later, a somewhat disheveled Irp waddles in, chest puffed out. It spreads its wings and flies atop on the big man's head, who drops his nodachi point-first on the floor (missing the proprietor's toe by millimeters), and tries to pat the bird on its head. It scuttles off to the side.

Hand resting on his head, Ibb looks at the ceiling and yells "Irp! Where you been?

The bird daintily nips a flea. "Did you hear that pigeon hit that window? Ha! City birds think they're so cosmopolitan but they're just hobos who'll eat anythign they find in the gutter.

Bluff: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (13) - 2 = 11

It looks down at Ibb.

And speaking of hobos with questionable diets... don't roll me up with your filthy socks in that ratty blanket; I've been stuck in there since late last night! As a bonus, I probably won't die of suffocation, get infected leprosy, or worse.

Ibb pulls free the sword and waves it around the room. See, our friends are here! Did you hear, this General invented a new game we're gonna go play, where you line up little goblins and mash 'em — there's lots where we're going! He said we can kill hon-dreads in a swing!"

The bird digs its talons into his skull.

Outside with that.

It considers the room. I'll jump in feet first on any adventure with this lot, but only if you wash your feet first.

Ibb dashes outside, shouting over his shoulder. Also I got a secret letter full o' birdy words. And, there's chitters in some wood. Maybe good to eat.

He takes a huge practice swing in the middle of the rapidly emptying street.

"I wanna call it 'Golfblin.'"

Rowdy, hearing the commotion Ibb is causing on the streets of the Docks, but not able to see it through the dirty windows, continues:

"Did these missing caravans have anything in common with each other, like the same type a goods or somethin'? Could there be some reason we should know about why they's the ones being targeted?"

"I have to respect the privacy of our clients. So, regretfully, I cannot tell you what they were carrying, and neither can Jandri, were you to ask her. I can tell you that the cargo on each was a variety of goods, without a consistent thing in all of them."

Rowdy crosses his arms and looks at Karela.

"I'ma just have to trust that you don't actually value the privacy of your clients over the safety of our lives. An' that if you really knew somethin' useful you'd share it with us, regardless a how much money you might be makin' off this racket."

"Indeed, you'll have to trust me on that. Remember, though, that I have a vested interest in stopping these attacks. If I had any leads for you in that regard, it would be in my interest to tell you." Karela delivers this reassurance with the practiced smile of an expert salesman.

Rowdy crosses his arms and looks at Karela.

"I'ma just have to trust that you don't actually value the privacy of your clients over the safety of our lives. An' that if you really knew somethin' useful you'd share it with us, regardless a how much money you might be makin' off this racket."

Also, just for fun and because Rowdy's post made my think of it, if any of you think your character would have been a member of the Shadow Lodge were it still active, you might have discovered the following note slipped under your door last night:

Haha, cool. I was going to say something about "maybe the shadow lodge has got it right" but I wasn't sure if we should bring them up, or if Rowdy would know about them. I guess they did exist until season 4, right?

I still think that as a slave freed by the Society, Rowdy would be in Liberty's Edge regardless, even if he can see the darker side of the Decemvirate's decisions. In the back of his mind would always be this idea of "But they freed me, so they can't be that bad", which would give him some cognitive dissonance.

They certainly existed through season 3, since there is a faction mission for them here.

Oiur ceases perusing the cramped aisles of gewgaws to shut the Pickled Imp's front door, cutting off Ibb's enthusiastic exertions and the resultant cries of alarm from passerby.

They lean over to peer closely at what's either a xylophone, or a specially arranged collection of extremely strange bird skulls. They pipe up, voice muffled by shelves and curios.

"'Your organization's usual enemies,' eh? If they're not clients, perhaps you could tell us a bit about them?" They tickle the avian ivories with gentle taps of their fingers—just the dull click of hollow bone. Well that's disappointing.

They stand and turn towards the counter. Seen through a large round flask, their flaming hair and green eyes balloon into an approximation of some aberrant tropical frog.

"And Jandri, while you're at it. It'd be nice to know a bit about our traveling companion. Something about these caravans' usual defenses and loadout, as well." The aberrant frog winks, and a gargantuan eyelid briefly consumes half its face. "Assuming that's not confidential, of course."

"Simply put, our 'usual enemies' are those that would rather we don't exist. Mostly rivals and the like. As I am convinced they have nothing to do with this, I don't think I need go into further details." He gives you a look that clearly conveys the message that the topic was closed.

"As for the caravan, that's simple. It's a small crew, led by Jandri. Joining her are two guards: Kazrin, who will be your contact when you arrive in Logas, and Arik.

"The caravan is kept small and quiet, relying primarily on stealth and discretion for defense. Along the path are some hidden watering holes and campsites known to the crew. If you can secure the caravan at one of these safe points, Jandri and her crew should be able to defend it in your absence, should you need to leave the trail to investigate.”

The monstrous frog hooks an undersized (and decidedly non-amphibian) thumb towards the door, from which burble the muffled sounds of Ibb and Irp engaging in erudite conversation on matters of physical activity and sport.
"Excellent! We're nothing if not stealthy and discrete."

"Indeed," agrees Eugressia, as the breeze picks up around her.

I'm actually going for Breeze-Kissed being active here, not a reference to her Dark Half!

Rowdy puts a hand on his holster, and grins.

"I ain't so sure about that, but we can get the job done."

Seconds after 'Badger finishes his sentence, a woman in the street screams in terror. Footsteps thud toward the shop; you hear Ibb's voice yelling SORRY.

The door flies open; dark wings blot the sunlight before disappearing into the shadows. Ibb rushes in, mud up to his knees, and slides on the dusty floor before falling flat on his face.

Rolling over, he looks up at Karela. Is it time to go yet? I think it's a good time to go.

”Yes, I think that’s a good idea. Here, take these” he says, handing you each a colorful Varisian scarf. ” Kazrin will be looking for them in Logas.”

-------------------

The journey between Absalom and Isger takes several weeks, first by sea and then by land, until finally ending in front of the gates of the Isgeri city of Logas. The Goblinblood Wars may be over, but the goblinoid threat still lingers, as is made apparent by the rows of fresh goblinoid corpses that hang from pikes along the city’s walls. Every now and then, seemingly at random, a trebuchet from behind the city walls hurls a huge boulder into the forest

You enter the city and wander around the shops of the mercantile district for a while before you’re approached by a young varisian man in travel-stained clothes. ”Jandri said some agents were coming," he says, eyeing your scarves, "and I’m thinkin’ you must be them. My name’s Kazrin, pleasure to meetcha! If you folks are done shoppin’, then we should be on our way. I know Jandri wants to make an early start of it in the morning, and we’ve got a long walk to get back to the wagon.”

You can make any purchases you’d like in town, then you have about an hour and a half of walking to get to the caravan. I’ll get the next post up in the morning.

Growing bored with solo parts, and feeling at times homesick and melancholy, Oiur spends part of the journey trying to teach their companions to sing.
In cabins or wagons, their resonant alto hangs in the air for a few seconds, almost solid enough to stand on, before fading away into patient explanations, impressed exclamations, or barely controlled laughter.
It takes focus, concentration, and constitution to keep that steady, soul-warming tone, and it's certainly not for everyone. But they enjoyed their attempts at instruction, and it helped pass the time and draw them closer to their fellow Society members.

---------------------

Reasonably prepared and reasonably poor, Oiur is more interested in sightseeing than shopping. At Kazrin's approach they hop down from the market crate they were using to boost their squinting search for trebuchets on the walls, jangling their pack when they land. They adjust their scarf, tucking an errant end into the jade and aqua pastry-like layers of its wrap around their neck.

They step forward and extend a hand to the young man, matching his enthusiasm.

"We are, in fact, them! And it's been weeks by sea and road from Absalom, so what's one more long walk?"

Assuming the caravan will provide rations and the like, I can't think of anything I need to buy.

Eugressia happily participates in the singing lessons. Her mezzo-soprano vocals are pleasant, though untrained, and she seems to lose most progress between sessions. Still, she enjoys it, and Oiur is a patient teacher.

This would be a lovely skill to remember. Most of the things I remember I can do are terrible.

Super tempted to put a rank in Perform (sing) after this.

At the market, Eugressia reviews a note that seems to have been written by someone else. Buy two spring-loaded wrist-sheaths. Put your dagger in one and a healing potion in the other...

10 gold for two wrist sheaths.

As she packs up all of her gear, she realizes that it weighs her down uncomfortably. "Oiur, Ibb? Would one of you mind carrying some of this for me?" 9 lbs would cover the bedroll and the waterskin.

I'll grab it if Ibb doesn't, still got 60 lbs. 'til a heavy load!
Also, hooray! Oiur would be happy to provide further instruction! (though they're not classically trained or anything)

In cabins or wagons along their trail are fresh holes in the floor and nicks on the furniture from Ibb's musical lessons. His tattered scarf flutters weakly in the wind; Irp has picked it apart to create a colorful nest of ear protection that rests atop the rucksack.

Sure, Eugressia. I'm good at dragging everyone down, remember? More easier with more stuff.

He begins stowing the gear. Irp won't rip holes in your blankey, either.

Deep in the nest of threads, birdy eyes glint.

No shoppin', more choppin'! Ibb begins walking off in the direction of the wagon. Cheaters killing all my golfblins with stupid rocks!

Kazrin, leads you to the caravan rendezvous point, several miles south of Logas, where you find a large, covered wagon, pulled by a single horse waiting for you.

”Jandri, I’ve returned with the agents” Kazrin calls out. A middle-aged woman, busy tending to the horse, turns her head and responds ”Hm, hello” before returning her attention to the horse.

”Don’t mind her” Kazrin says, ”that’s just her way. You’ll see, she’s great. Hey Alik,” he says, turning to a Varisian woman sitting on the cart next to a halfling man, ”come meet the agents that’ll be traveling with us.” As she notices you, she seems to position her body a little bit between you and the halfling. She regards you for a moment, then nods in greeting.

”You can probably guess why I was the one to meet you in town. Don’t mind them, though, they’re nice enough in their own ways. Oh, the passenger up there is named Camon, I think. Feel free to set your packs on the cart, if you’d like. No need to carry them while we walk.”

Kazrin shows you where you can stow your gear, and you get a brief look inside the wagon, catching glimpses of bolts of cloth, bags of spices, bottles of brandy, and many unmarked bags and boxes containing unknown wares.

Oiur does their best to greet the others in similar mood and fashion, giving a sleight bow to Jandri and a nod to Alik and Camon. "No worries, I understand we're strangers," they say to Kazrin as he shows the group around.

Oiur removes a potion and a thin length of ruddy stone from their pack before they stow it. Holding the neck of the potion and the stone branch between index, middle, and ring finger, they waggle them at their friends. "Learned from your good examples last time! Should I succumb to the artistry of one of Badger's stories or Ibb's stunning performances, these should perk me up. Oh, and the wand activates with a... barking cough? It's easy enough." They put items into their belt pouch.
Potion of cure light wounds and a wand of cure light wounds.

They address Kazrin. "If there's anything I can do to help get us travel ready, let me know. I want to pull my own weight!"

As they work and observe, Oiur tries to get a read on the caravaners, as well as recall any details on Varisian culture.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (1) + 0 = 1
Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
Knowledge (all others): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 2 = 11

Rowdy greets everyone with a tip of his hat. "You all can call me The Honey Badger. I'm here to shoot things and look pretty."

"Ain't none a you related to a Baroness are ya?" Rowdy says with a grin. "An' I'm glad to see you's prepared this time, Oiur."

While packing his gear onto the caravan, Rowdy sides up to Camon. He hands the halfling a small card with a blue bellflower on one side.

"The farmer sends his regards," Rowdy whispers to the halfling man.

He bought 2 alchemist fires and 2 alkali flasks in town.