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Bozmir's eyes follow the speedy speedy cleric as he dashes to and fro. He is so amazed he keeps his remark regarding Jeza's size to himself.
He tries to cross the log slowly and carefully.
He loses his footing...
But manages to stay on the slippery log, lying down along its length instead of in the river. Choosing to stay where he is, he trusts in his magic to not falter as he readies an Ear-Piercing Scream for when the minotaur comes into range.
and DC 14 Fortitude.
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Barid and Dissa double move towards the action.
The minotaur ignores Jeza and takes a swipe at Kontha as she charges up to attack.
10 damage vs. Kontha and she is staggered.
He shakes off Bozmir's spell and takes 1 damage.
The minotaur takes its first swing at Kontha.
Kontha takes 11 damage and falls prone and begins bleeding out.
It continues the rest of its attacks on Dulomak.
Janira continues to lie there.
Everyone is up.
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Kontha stabilizes.
Seeing no one else within reach, the minotaur takes its fury out on Dulomak.
miss
hit
16 points of damage. Dulomak is at -3/13 and goes down while bleeding out.
Looking around, the minotaur targets the only other target within reach. It 5 foot steps to the northwest and rams its horns into Barid.
hit
6 points of damage. Barid is at 4/10.
Dissa calls upon the power of all that is good in the world and declares the minotaur it's primary enemy.
The General charges the minotaur with a mighty swing of his fauchard.
hit
15 damage. Everyone within 30' gets a bonus of +1 to hit and +1 damage against the minotaur for the next round.
Everyone else is up. Figured this was a good time to use Weal's Champion.
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Barid dives and rolls further next to the minotaur in an attempt to avoid any opportunistic swings heading his way.
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The half orc will rise and cast lead blades on his weapon.
Lead blades increases the momentum and density of your melee weapons just as they strike a foe. All melee weapons you are carrying when the spell is cast deal damage as if one size category larger than they actually are. For instance, a Medium longsword normally deals 1d8 points of damage, but it would instead deal 2d6 points of damage if benefiting from lead blades. Only you can benefit from this spell. If anyone else uses one of your weapons to make an attack it deals damage as normal for its size.
I believe it will not be 2d6
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The minotaur begins to panick as it's slowly surrounded. It swings wildly, unsure who to hit.
It's first swing of the large axe misses Dissa.
The axe follows through toward Bozmir, burying deep into his side, staggering the ulfen.
The minotaur then tries to gore Barid but misses.
Dissa focuses his energy into his arms as he unleashes another powerful swing.
Dissa cuts deep into the minotaur's shoulder and it cries out in pain and frustration.
Everyone is up.
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Janira thanks you and studies the minotaur. "I don't know how you did it recruits," she says with a little awe in her voice, "but thank you for saving my life."
She then leads the expedition back to Absalom without further incident. Once safely back in the Grand Lodge, Master of Scrolls Kreighton Shaine
inquires excitedly about what you found and asks to see your notes.
"Congratulations recruits. You have done a wonderful job, says the Master of Scrolls. "And I want to thank Janira as well as for leading you through your confirmation."
Three days later, you are all officially confirmed as Pathfinder Society field agents in a ceremony with the three Masters. They present you all with an engraved wayfinder.
Congratulations heroes on the successful completion of your first mission.
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You have been stationed at the Grand Lodge in Absalom, awaiting assignment for a mission of utmost importance. Things finally seemed in motion when Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng sent out a summons for available agents. Specialized in the history of Absalom, Dreng is known for putting off-duty agents to work on sundry tasks when he finds them resting within the city’s limits.
Coming to the meeting place—an odd choice of venue, as it is a street corner far from the Grand Lodge—a lone beggar garbed in baggy robes approaches. The only figure visible in the constant drizzle, the beggar sticks out his hands for currency.
“Have you any coin to spare, fine folk?”
The question hangs in the air for only a scant moment before the figure pulls back his hood to reveal the wizened face of Venture-Captain Drandle Dreng. He gives a crooked smile, soaked head to toe from his unprotected time in the rain. His clothes smell faintly of cabbage.
“Sorry about that,” he says with a wink. “I always like to play a little joke on agents when I stumble across them during my jaunts into town. Now, why did I summon you fine folk here again…?” Dreng shakes his head from side to side, as though trying to knock water out of his ears, despite the constant downpour.
“Ah yes, the Wounded Wisp! I’m undercover now and can’t stray far from the site I’m watching, but I need someone to retrieve a package for me from that fine establishment. It’s among Absalom’s most storied taverns, you see, and one that holds a special place of privilege in the Society’s lore as the place where the organization began. Well, I could drone on and on about it, but standing out in the rain is doing none of us any favors.” As if anticipating agreement, the bedraggled Venture Captain produces a small slip of folded paper from one of his many stitched pockets. Dreng quickly shows a glimpse of the page’s contents: a map detailing the location of the Wounded Wisp bar.
“The bartender is a woman by the name of Heryn Gale, a fine lady who came to own the Wisp after the passing of her father from—oh, bah, it’s really getting too cold for me to give a proper history lesson! If you could just go to the Wisp, and tell Heryn you’re there to pick up my parcel, it would be most appreciated. I’ll be around here for several more hours at least.”
As you listen to Dreng speak, you seem to remember some things from your history classes during training...maybe.
The Venture-Captain looks at you with a sly look.
“Before you judge, despite my current attire, I’m still a man of taste. The parcel is actually a special vintage of wine from the cellar of the Wounded Wisp. I’ve been sampling their finer wines in descending order of bottling. I dare not disappear from my current role in this district, but I also would appreciate some comfort items. After all, I doubt anyone would judge a supposed beggar sipping from a bottle of wine.”
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Drendle Dreng gave Bozmir a sideways glance before saying, "Well you best be on your way. There is no further point in standing in the rain any longer." Without another work, he dons his hood and wanders away.
The smell of smoke and spilled ale assails the senses in this wide-open area. Walls of dark-stained wood make up the sides of the Wounded Wisp, while well-used wooden tables are spread throughout the space. A raised area in the back of the establishment houses several additional tables and eating areas for groups seeking more than just a good drink. An austere bar supported by kegs instead of wooden panels commands the northern end of the room. A stained-glass cabinet stands behind the bar, its dark panes cracked in several spots, yet not so opaque as to conceal the several dozen types of hard liquor within.
There are already several parties here enjoying themselves and relaxing. You catch hints of talk of a new Aspirant for the test of the Starstone, Sir Reinhart of Kenebres. There is a woman working behind the bar and chatting with various customers as she fills glasses.
In one corner of the bar sits a Halfling, whom you recognize as Janira from your previous adventure, Wayfinder shining proudly upon her breast and in an animated tale of what sounds like Durvin Gest to a small group of newly confirmed Pathfinders.
A man sits at the bar talking with the bartender. Though he is not wearing armor he has his own Wayfinder attached to a small chain on his belt like a pocket watch, for it appears his breast is reserved for a golden holy symbol.
A group is gathered in another corner cheering loudly as two half-orcs arm-wrestle with one another.
The only other patron is an older looking gentleman, conspicuous for his lack of a Wayfinder. He is sipping from an oversized flagon of ale and reading through a large and ominous looking tome.
The woman looks up at Barid as she hands one of the half-orcs a mug of ale.
"I'm Heryn. Who's asking?"
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Dissa casts a wayward glance at the book, but is far more interested in the welcome sight of his friends.
"Hello again, I have missed you very much since yesterday. Perhaps tomorrow we will fight a Minotaur, but today is an excellent day to spend with you. I see we all have Wayfinders, so we must all be Pathfinders today." He moves slowly, bracing his powerful and athletic frame on the heel of his fauchard like an aged wizard with a grizzled staff.
"I wonder why we met our Venture-Captain outside, when this place has been a friend to Pathfinders since tomorrow?"
He turns at the greeting from Heryn, and nods. "Do you have a proper breakfast? Baked fish, eggs, and rice would me most excellent. I once was General Dissa Ray, but today I am only Dissa. Perhaps tomorrow we will be remembered as we truly were."
He clears his throat and remembers his purpose, stating "We are here for more than breakfast, our friend sent us for a parcel. I'm sure you can guess which parcel from our garb."