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An older Shoanti warrior, dressed in heavy armor and armed to the teeth strides to the sign up sheet and checks the board for any new work. Seemingly satisfied, he scans the lodge for any familiar faces before sitting down and ordering a double shot of Absinthe and plopping a few coins down on the wooden table, quickly losing himself in his thoughts and liquor
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A familiar face entered the Lodge, well familiar to some. The tanned woman had a completely different outfit instead of her old bright flower patterned dress. She now wore tall blackened leather boots, with dark-tan leather breeches. A plain white blouse tightened at the stomach with a black corset and a short overcoat with the front open. Her hair was pulled back and braided, around her neck was her usual assortment of charms. Adorning her hip was her faithful rapier and opposite of it was a shiny new pistol slung in the belt, her belt pouches just behind it. Of course the whole set was still accommodating to the backpack stuffed with supplies and books. She held herself tall finally feeling like an actual adventurer and looking it too.
She strode in and approached Heria, "Ah good to see you made it back here to the lodge safely. Took a few detours myself... mostly the market. Any word from the others?"
[dice=disguise]1d20+19
** spoiler omitted **
Shaking his head, the wizard notices Lynn leaving as he raises his hand calling out, "Safe travels, Lynn!"
After mustering up for my Solstice Scar B special run, I only have 4 PCs who can attend. So I have 2 more slots open. Lots of tough guys are already in the party, so a face, skill monkey or magic user can find their niche.
CLICK HERE and post your character details. I'll pick two lucky winners within 48 hours.
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Hearing his name, the man stops chewing on his musket a moment. "Whatcha needin now? As Big Bobby Boom recalls, it were a fine shindig wit a fair amount o pretties!"
"As fer ma roomies? Be might shiny cohabulatin witch yall."
"Silly, wizard." Gahlethea responds with a smile, "We weren't talking about YOU! We were talking about the foreigned-exstrange student, Bob. You, know, the one from the field trip that claimed all those lives."
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"Well... I suppose he could use a good NUMBER of baths." Gahlethea concedes. "Its too bad, really, that there is no running water at our new home out in the Caring Lands."
Still not sure why they call the place that. The blonde thinks. (They don't.) comes a reply.
"The place still needs a lot of work because that landlord, she really let the place go." the witch notes. "I'm starting to sort of wish now that you guys hadn't... you know... killed her and all." Gahlethea motions her finger across her neck, as if making a sign for death.
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"AIYEEE!" shrieks the man as he notices the fool standing nearby.
Leaping backwards a few feet, he quickly checks for any of the telltale signs of infection. "Aint no white spots...aint no big feets....k. Gettin ma all-fired up. Gorram!"
Settling back down, with a safe distance between them, he smiles. "I dare say that fancible bughouse were a bit o'er run. Tad bit of the local color done run afoul. All good now. Wes got the house in order."
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"Well, let us see what we have here. Ahem. It looks like Valoria Lackland, Seren's Seven, Teric Cain, Undiana Jones and Tessara Omelion are summoned to the Grand Lodge for the usual end-of-year good cheer and training and overbaked pies.Come on! Chop chop!"
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A strange, heavy pattering noise from outside, followed by an odd, vaguely angry, animal groan, and a panicked cry from a passerby precedes the entrance of a stunning figure into the Lodge: A literal knight in shining armor - it can be difficult to look at, it's so shiny - like something that had leaped up of the pages of an old Taldan storybook. He is a Taldan Human, though a bit fair-skinned for one, and with a certain fey or elven sensibility about him; his spindly build can be noticed even beneath his armor, and his long, droopy mustache bounces to and fro as he walks up to the bar.
"Lentil soup and a hearty shandy, if it please, boniface!"
He turns to the others. "Alself me to introduce mylow: Ich soy Sir Spenser Pellinore Quixote The Last, Marquis de Exupery! Monself and mein boon companion yonder, Lot," He gestures out the window, beyond which looms the silhouette of a massive two-humped camel, "Come hither in search of hearty goodfellows, wights of steel, guile, theurgy, thaumaturgy, and thelema, that we may ride alongside them in our quest, sans any sunset, to SAVE THE STORIES!!!" He bellows triumphantly, causing his mustache to suddenly drop to the floor, which he hurriedly snatches up and reattaches to somewhere just a bit to the right of his philtrum.
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The sound of honest laughter bubbles up like fresh water from a spring in one tastefully dim corner of the tavern.
"And he said: Gentlemen, you can't fight in here. This is the War Room!" The the speaker’s dry, masculine delivery provokes another round of laughter from people seated around him.
It was growing late though, and at last the greater bulk of people had said their reluctant goodbyes. Leaving the interesting man with a few empty spaces at the large table.
Among those left is a young man with a long face, and sad eyes. The man looks depressed.
The very interesting man turns to him and asks: "What is the matter?"
"I'm new to this whole adventuring lifestyle. I usually just keep to my books and such, and now the Master of Swords at the Society Lodge has called me to his office tomorrow, probably for some terrible adventure, and honestly I don't really have the faintest idea of where to begin."
"First steps are often the most difficult my friend." says the interesting man. "Best to dive in, and then sort it out as you go."
Involve yourself in these interesting events?
"Sage advice." says a robed woman with fiery red hair. She smiles sweetly and takes a seat at the table.
Eventually the barkeep announces closing time, and the table finally breaks for the evening.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Stay thirsty my friends.
Hey guys!
New to PbP here in the Paizo forums.
I have played Pathfinder for the past 3 years, and I hope I can get an opportunity to enjoy some good Pathfinder with all of you.
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Having taken a break, the gnome lass takes stand on an empty table.
(clears throat)
"Ladies and gentlemen, may i have your attention please?
The eldest daughter of the Blakros family is said to soon wed...a member of the hellknight order no less.. and the society is sent 4 invitations to represent it. There are two vacant lots."
She looks attentively at the people around.
"Currently only a muscular scaled one and a cleric are our representatives."
The sound of honest laughter bubbles up like fresh water from a spring in one tastefully dim corner of the tavern.
"And she said: That's no gentleman, that's my husband." The the speaker’s dry, masculine delivery provoked another round of laughter from people seated around him.
It was growing late though, and at last the greater bulk of people got up and said their goodbyes. Leaving the interesting man, and a young halfling woman sitting at the large table alone.
The halfling had her elbows on the table, small fists buttressing her chin. Her legs, kicked idly at the air beneath her chair.
"What's wrong Janira?" Asked the man smiling. His eyes crinkled at the corners with genuine affection. He was paying for his departed friends’ drinks with coins seemingly pulled from thin air, and the serving girl's ears. The serving girl giggled.
"I've got to head out in a couple of days for the Kortos Mounts. I'm supposed to be taking a bunch of Society initiates with me, to check up on that—" Janira stops and gives a quick look around. "...that activity I noted in my report a couple of months back. The Master of Scrolls, Dean Shaine, wants to use the trip as their Confirmation. I guess the Lodge is sort of desperate to push initiates into the ranks after all that trouble with their Rose Garden time contraption, and the flare up at the World Wound, and all the recent tangles with the Consortium. I'm not sure I'm just not sure I'm up to it."
Involve yourself with these interesting people?
"Uh, 'gobbies'?"
"Haha, Of course you can't get further away from water here on Kortos than heading to the mountains." the interesting man smiles. "What are you having? Not to be rude but you seem a bit on the seasoned side to have to take your Confirmation. I expect you've had a lot of real-world experience and came to the Lodge later than most."
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"GOBBIES!" Ironshanks emphasizes, a bit of spittle breaking through his thick mustache as his voice raises "Them green, overgrown s%~& rats that always show up when yer just about ta sit down fer supper!" He bites his lip slightly to keep things relatively subdued.
He turns to the bearded man, taking a swig of ale and wiping the froth from his 'stache "Aye I've seen more than a few winters if that's what yer sayin'. I got ta the party a bit late on account it took me 50 years ta get off guard duty. Stompin' gobbies ain't glorious, n they ain't givin' out medals 'cept when ya do somethin' impressive." Apparently SOME people don't think curb stompin' a dozen gobbies a week fer 50 years ain't impressive!
After another charge of ale the Elder Dwarf continues his tale "First time I got 'ere one of them Venture Cap'ns had me shanghai'd and by the time I got outta the hold we were in the Frozen F#+!in' North! Them barbarians are some tall mugs of ale if ya catch my drift. Since then I guess I was too important an agent ta go through the formal Confirmatin'. Well, here I is, ready ta walk across that stage finally!" Sure hope I get one of them fancy compasses, make mine outta adamantine!
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The door to the lodge opens and the light from outside is momentarily blocked. A large all-white wolf completely blocks the doorway. It sniffs the air for a few seconds, then squeezes her bulk through. Immediately following comes a slender, tall half-elven man, long brown hair in a pony-tail down his back. Standing next to the wolf he pets her fur. The wolf continues to watch the room with piercing yellow eyes, though not as closely as her companion.
The half-elf's eyes dart quickly across the visible area, though a observant person might tell he sees more than he lets on. A calm voice comes from him as he speaks two words. "Come, Winter."
The long, smooth strides he takes through the lodge speak of someone comfortable in this environment. The gleaming adamantine nodachi he wears at his side might add to that comfort; the highly ornate bow on his back, embellished with the holy symbol of Erastil speaks volumes to it.
Heading toward the back where the area is more suited to those with large companions, his head never turns from his fixed destination, but he still takes in his entire surroundings.
As he sits, he takes the bow off his back and sets it next to him, one hand always on it. With the other he gestures toward the server, patiently waiting to place his order. The wolf, closely following him the whole way, settles on the floor next to him, surprisingly not out of place in this den of adventurers.
there seems to be some sort of disturbance at a nearby thread table.
"Fascinating." The man says in response to Ironshanks tale and seemingly oblivious to the disturbance. "Takes me back to the last time I was in Irrisen, invented a new sport--chicken hut skiing. You see we were...."
Eventually the barkeep announces closing time, and the thoroughly interesting table finally breaks for the evening.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Stay thirsty my friends.
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A forlorn tengu watches a new band of Pathfinders hurry off to their Confirmation, jealously. He grips the Wayfinder hanging from his neck, a personal gift from Kreighton Shaine.
"Good luck!" he calls, though likely too meekly for them to hear.
For what feels like the thousandth time, but is probably only the hundredth, he gets up and crosses over to the posting board, examining the offerings. Just like last time, everything mission is either beyond his skill or better suited to newer Pathfinders.
He gives a heavy sigh drug up from his toes and returns to his table, taking another sip from his mug more out of boredom than any appreciation for the taste or effect of the contents.
"I thought becoming Master Drang's protege would mean I'd get to help more," he mutters to himself.
"I'd even go back to the Gloomspires, at this point."
He looks up hopefully as the door opens, but the person who enters neither makes a proclamation of a new mission available, nor hangs up a new notice and he returns his attention to his drink, literally crest fallen.
Despite that, he takes a few more sips over the next few minutes then goes back to the board, studying it as though a new notice might have magically appeared without anyone placing it there physically (which isn't actually out of the realm of possibility.
A tiny fox, having lurked around for a while, jumps onto a table, and then onto the tengu's shoulder, looking at him attentively to try and relieve the disappointment a little.
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Kahwen notices his friend from his last mission sitting there waiting as well. Though he is in too much despair to even get up to check the board, he tends to summon a small critter to go look for him with hopes they come back with good news. This boredom is what leads to the bleaching! I need something soon...
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Kahwen pats the fox on the head then scratches it between the ears. His mouth is incapable of grinning, but he is clearly pleased by the little creature's presence.
"Greeting's Friend Nigel. I see you are waiting for someone to need your services as well. Perhaps we can figure out a mission together."
Anything from Season 8 or 9 would probably be good, too, especially if Drenge gives the briefing, and because I prefer the later seasons.
Ooor anything you want to run since beggars can't be choosers.
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"I thought becoming Master Drang's protege would mean I'd get to help more," he mutters to himself.
"I'd even go back to the Gloomspires, at this point."
He looks up hopefully as the door opens, but the person who enters neither makes a proclamation of a new mission available, nor hangs up a new notice and he returns his attention to his drink, literally crest fallen.
”Excuse me,” says a swarthy Qadiran with a scimitar at his belt and a smile on his face, ”But I couldn’t help but overhear your predicament. It is sometimes difficult for Pathfinders to find adventures appropriate to their skill levels. However, word is that Aya Allehe is asking for the aid of the Pathfinders in a matter concerning the most infamous city of Bloodcove. She’s asked that interested parties meet her in the Mwangi city of Nantambu.”
He turns to Nigel, “Trade Prince Aaqir al'Hakam has informed me that members of our noble faction, in particular, could find this adventure extremely profitable.”
He looks around at the room at large, and raises his voice slightly, ”I wonder if anyone else would be interested.”
"Hmm," muses Daryus. "My friend Drexel told me that there was a cute, good-natured fox running around the Lodge these days. How nice. I wonder how Drexel is doing in Numeria..."
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The gnome comes back into the room.
She climbs up onto a bar chair, peering into the audience.
"Remarkable news, everyone, two, perhaps three, more invitations for the Blakros Wedding have 'found their way' into the society's hands. Any able bodied agents are welcome."
"Calling one Mr. Spenser Quixote! You have been summoned personally."
Those interested, follow me for debriefing, if you please.
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A dark blue Undine woman, effortlessly beautiful, glides into the Lodge. After ordering a light, refreshing white wine, she casually makes her way to the board of job postings with eyes full of interest. That look fades, however, as she doesn't find anything to her liking. Instead, she finds a table in the center of the room and smoothly descends into a chair, people watching as she nurses her wine.
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With a mop of short, orange hair and peach skin, the female gnome who enters next bounds straight for the jobs board. As she peruses the scant listings, her shoulders sag. "Nothing," she mutters.
Forcing a smile, she marches over to the bar and orders a half pint of a sour, fruity drink. One sip, and the delight spreads across her features. "Mmmm! You do yourself proud!" She compliments the barkeep, tossing him an extra coin. She clambers up onto a bar stool and perches at the edge, seemingly about to fall right off of it, her eyes roving the room as she sips her delicious drink.