MisCon 2013

Sunday, June 30, 2013

Over Memorial Day Weekend, Adam Daigle, John Compton, and I went to MisCon 27, in Missoula, Montana. Without a doubt, it's one of the finest and most fun regional conventions I've been to. There were around 1,200 attendees, but you wouldn't know it—the way the con organizers use the space makes it feel pretty intimate.

Venture Captain Kyle Elliot was there, as a madman running Pathfinder constantly for longtime fans and enthusiastic new players. Here's what he had to say about that"

"Pathfinder Society is soon to be a growing trend in the great state of Montana. Muse: Comics and Games is the newest hotspot for PFS in the city of Missoula, hosting games every Sunday. MisCon 27 was a great starting point to meet fans of the game and get them involved in a local community. I ran across several gaming clubs that connect gamers to one another across this spread out state. From Hamilton Gamers Guild or the crew at Black Shield Productions these folks were great examples of what type of amazing community that is waiting for more to join. I've already set my travel plans for MisCon next year, and I hope to see y'all there too."

Dave Gross, author of the Pathfinder Tales novels Prince of Wolves, Master of Devils, and Queen of Thorns, joined our happy quartet for the Paizo Ask Us Anything panel, where we talked about upcoming books, rules questions, life cycle of products, things like that. It was a good crowd, and because it was such a nice day, the convention staff held that panel outdoors.

Photos Courtesy of the Gamerati

We each have particular convention highlights. From Adam:
"I had such a great time talking to people during the weekend, especially all the people that came to my panels and stuck around to talk when they were over. I think we all came up with some fun ideas during the monster design panel, and though Monday was a bit slower as people went back to their normal lives. We had some good talks with people about writing for publication. I was most touched when Erik Evjen found me on Friday and presented me with a sweet thank you card, on behalf of all Montana gamers, to bring back to the office and share with my coworkers (along with a bottle of booze!)."

From John:
"MisCon 27 was my first opportunity to represent Paizo while wearing the blue shirt, and I enjoyed the experience immensely. All of the panels that I participated in were lively, informative, and well attended. Of particular note were the monster design panel that I ran with Adam, a "how to make paladins fun" panel, and the ever-infamous Deck of Many Situations exercise that concluded an expanded series of GM 101 seminars. Missoula was an excellent host, and I look forward to returning in the future."

And I personally had a lot of fun during my two-hour Improvisational GMing seminar. That's always a blast, but the crowd at MisCon was especially fun to work with, because they jumped right in with the improv exercises. There were also a few people running The Dresden Files RPG non-stop over the convention, so I stopped by at the end of the show and high-fived them. Finally, I got to meet and talk with Jim Butcher, which was a real treat after reading his books for years and working on the game about his world.

And, of course, we all enjoyed the after-hours shindigs, sitting around and chatting with fans and newfound friends.

If you get a chance to go to MisCon, we cannot recommend it enough.

Ryan Macklin,
Developer

Dress for Success

Saturday, June 29, 2013

We went a slightly different direction with our newest deck of Pathfinder Cards, Iconic Equipment. Sure, we could have put together another set full of cool, general use items&mdasha neat glaive, a shark themed suit of hide armor, another quiver full of arrows, whatever&mdashor we could give you a collection that's provably awesome. And you know it's awesome because we're not talking about just any gear, we're talking about the weapons and equipment the Pathfinder iconic characters have been kicking ass with across dozens of adventures, covers, comics, and more!

Take Seelah, the iconic paladin, for example. Here are her seven distinct pieces of equipment that, beyond being cool, are typical of Golarion's paladins of Iomedae. Some might even make you take another look at all those pictures of Seelah too. I'm sure you recognize the armor, helm, and sword, but how about her cape, bow, and key?

Pathfinder Cards: Iconic Equipment covers all 11 core classes from the Pathfinder RPG: Core Rulebook, putting some of Pathfinder's most famous equipment at your disposal. And the best part: you don't have to fight Amiri for her giant sword or, worse, Valeros for his mug.

F. Wesley Schneider
Editor-in-Chief

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Back Into the Water!

Friday, June 28, 2013

After two weeks of focusing on the Undead Horde, it's time to get back into the water for more previews from August's upcoming Skull & Shackles set of 55 prepainted plastic miniatures!

Up first this week is a terror from below the seas, an undead creature known as an Elder Brykolakas. This shapechanging undead menace appears in Pathfinder #59, and if the player characters aren't very careful, they may end up facing hordes of them. Accordingly, we've assigned this figure to the common rarity.

Here we have the pirate lord Barnabus Harrigan, the cover-model for Pathfinder #55 and the captain of the good ship Wormwood. Your players will have plenty of reasons to hate Captain Harrigan, so we thought it important to include a miniature for the inevitable battle against him. The figure doubles nicely for any kind of pirate, thug, barbarian, or even a player character. Barnabus Harrigan is slated at the uncommon rarity.

Not all pirate lords of the Shackles are right bastards like Barnabus Harrigan. A few of them might even turn out to be allies. Such is the case with Tess Fairwind, Mistress of Quent and captain of the sloop-of-war Luck of the Draw. Tessa turns out to be one of the most valuable allies in the Skull & Shackles Adventure Path, making her a must-have figure. She also makes a great figure for a swashbuckler PC. We've put her at the uncommon rarity.

BOOM! The impressive Cannon Golem leaps off the pages of Bestiary 3 and into your Skull & Shackles campaign with this amazing miniature. Clocking in at CR 15 and packing a hell of a gunpowder punch, this menace is one your players will not soon forget! This Large figure is slated at the Rare rarity.

That's it for this week. Tune in next Friday for a very special “from the PaizoCon floor” post with new reveals we hope you'll really enjoy! In the meantime, please consider setting up an Ongoing Pathfinder Battles Case Subscription to make sure you don't miss a single figure!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Preview: Upcoming Developments

Thursday, June 27, 2013

As the August 15 release date, and the July 5–7 demos at PaizoCon approach, I've been given the opportunity to pull back the curtains and talk about the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game a bit. As a developer for the game, I've spent much time and effort translating the Rise of the Runelords storyline and elements of the Pathfinder rules and campaign setting into a new medium. One of our biggest challenges was keeping the flavor of the world and of the RPG intact while keeping the card game fun, exciting, and respectful of the established traditions of Pathfinder.

Though much of my focus involved adapting the Rise of the Runelords storyline, the PACG Base Set also offers three introductory scenarios that take place around the town of Sandpoint before the actual Adventure Path kicks off. One of these, Black Fang's Dungeon, was inspired by the introductory adventure in the Pathfinder RPG Beginner Box, and in this blog, I'll use that scenario to illustrate how we developed elements of the PACG to evoke the flavor of the Pathfinder RPG and the Pathfinder campaign setting while meeting the needs of a new kind of Pathfinder game.

We'll start with the Black Fang's Dungeon scenario card itself.

Scenario: Black Fang's Dungeon

The dragon Black Fang lairs in a cave connected to a network of ancient ruins inhabited by undead. The card back—that's the image on the right—lists a variety of locations that characters will explore during the scenario, and offers some flavor text to set the scene.

On the front of the card—the image on the left—you can see that Black Fang is the villain for this scenario, while the "Henchmen" list indicates that the players will also encounter a number of Ancient Skeletons. The "During this Scenario" text effectively changes each skeleton that a character encounters into a small cadre of undead that attacks everyone at the location. The bottom of the card describes the reward that the players will receive after completing the scenario.

Let's take a look at Black Fang's undead allies.

Henchman: Ancient Skeleton

Fights against animated skeletons have been a staple of adventure roleplaying since its very earliest days. We designed the pieces of the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game to fit together in a multitude of ways, for the benefit of the scenarios and adventures we design, and also for any you might put together yourself. The Ancient Skeleton henchman is a great basic opponent for a low-level scenario.

Let's look at the Ancient Skeleton's powers. As befits a creature of animated bone and steel, the Ancient Skeleton is completely unaffected by poison or by magic that targets the mind. And as in the RPG, it's not impossible to take out an Ancient Skeleton with a longbow or longsword, but a savvy adventurer will reach for the mace or sling first. This is represented by increasing the difficulty to defeat the Skeleton—listed in the circle at the upper right—from 8 (which isn't too difficult for even starting characters) up to 11 (which is considerably harder on the unprepared) if you're using a Slashing or Piercing weapon.

In the upper left corner, you'll see the Ancient Skeleton has both the Undead and Skeleton traits. Traits give us ways to have cards interact without being overburdened with special cases. For example, Kyra, the iconic Cleric of Sarenrae, gains a bonus to checks against cards with the Undead trait, and the item card Holy Water will help you deal with any undead you may encounter.

The characters will explore several locations in their hunt for Black Fang, but one in particular is likely to cause trouble: the Desecrated Vault.

Location: Desecrated Vault

In the Desecrated Vault, even after the undead are overcome, they might just rise from the dead again. The PACG rules make it simple to handle things like monsters rising, resurrecting, or magically escaping: they are undefeated, which means they're shuffled back into the location deck; if you continue to explore there, you may face them again.

Each location card in the PACG represents a different part of the Pathfinder world. Some locations are very specific, such as the Sandpoint Cathedral, while others, like the Desecrated Vault, serve multiple duties. The vault is a great way to add some undead flavor to a scenario. While exploring Black Fang's Dungeon, adventurers are very likely to run into at least one undead monster here—perhaps more than one, and perhaps more than once.

Now, let's take a look at the scenario's big bad, Black Fang himself.

Villain: Black Fang

In developing the PACG, we looked at various ways to represent the complex, detailed conflicts found in Pathfinder campaigns. Many encounters are handled with a single check, but some are more complicated. Villains such as Black Fang have a very real chance to injure the characters, even before combat.

Dragons have always been tricky challenges, both to design and to defeat, and even a young dragon like Black Fang doesn't disappoint. With a Check to Defeat 50% higher than the Ancient Skeleton, you can tell right away that this fight won't be easy. Black Fang is a young dragon, but he's still a dragon.

Black Fang makes his presence felt before you even begin the fight, spewing acid at every character at his location. While particularly hardy characters such as Valeros or Harsk might withstand the acid with ease, those who are less hale—or just unlucky—might be in serious trouble. Damage in the PACG removes cards from your hand, so those who succumb to Black Fang's acid breath might find themselves ill-prepared for the fight to come.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you like the Pathfinder Adventure Card Game. We're all very excited to see you playing it!

Chad Brown
Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Developer

The Wizard's Mask Sample Chapter

Wednesday, June 26th, 2013

In The Wizard's Mask, two unlikely heroes—an escaped halfling slave and a dangerous masked fugitive—are forced to join forces on a magical quest across the war-torn border between Nirmathas and Molthune. Yet can two scoundrels used to being on the wrong side of the law really learn to work together, even if the other alternative is a painful death?

Chapter One: Hard Times in Halidon

The Masked goes by many names.

The only man still alive in the room smiled behind his dark mask.

The warning was encrypted, but Molthuni codes had never risen above simple. Always the same pattern, always strict adherence to unimaginative authority, leaving many holes for a clever rat to slip through.

And although more than a few things had slipped away from him recently, he was still a clever rat.

He read the Molthuni intelligence report again. Bluntly flattering. No wonder Tarlmond had laid a trap for him.

The man Tarram Armistrade always wears masks, and so is most widely known as "The Masked." Nethran gives his name as "Armistrode," but this is now considered a misreading of a handwritten ledger entry. Has gone by several other names, including Bellowbar, Jalosker, and Markant.

Makes his living as a thief; successful, is wanted for many crimes in Cheliax. Many small thefts within our borders probable, but none proven. Suspected of involvement in the Five Dragons thefts.

Is swift to violence and must be considered dangerous.

Tall. Agile. Speaks courteously and in cultured sentences; can and has impersonated nobility, law-officers, priests, and officials. Observant, and remembers what he sees.

Some recent accounts report that his face has been damaged or altered in some manner.

Recently seen in Canorate and Braganza. Apprehend on sight for interrogation, but slay without hesitation if difficulties arise.

Ah, yes, those oft-arising difficulties. Annoying things.

It had been a nasty little trap. A needle tipped in soporific poison, thrusting up under the seat-cushion. If his long-ago preparations for getting past the defenses of the Five Dragons hadn't left him immune to that particular poison forever, he might be slumped helpless in that chair right now, lost in dreams, waiting to be awakened by the ungentle handling of cold-faced men in blood-red Molthuni tabards, eager to take out their frustrations on the dangerous fugitive known as The Masked.

If Tarlmond had been a better actor, if the man had been better able to leash his own anger and keep it off his face ...but he hadn't.

The Halidon merchant's fury at discovering just how badly he'd been hoodwinked had fairly bellowed across his cozy office at his arriving guest. The Masked would have had to be blind and deaf not to notice the blazing glare, the tight-lipped smile, the greetings curt even for Molthune.

Luckily, he wasn't either of those things. Yet.

His good mood turned bitter.

As if he needed to be punished. If he could have undone that theft—years ago, now—he might still have a face. He might be able to live a comfortable life without the constant threat of pursuit—and by those far more dangerous than any Molthuni investigator.

Who would have thought such danger lurked in masks? Masks!

Bejeweled, darkly elegant, one even sporting feathers. He should have known a wizard's mask would harbor magic.

He should have done so many things differently.

And if so, what then? He might have died years ago, drowned in boredom behind a desk in some ledger-cluttered shop cellar room, in one of the more crowded and noisome cities, keeping track of "chamber pots, black" or "false noses, flesh-hued."

False noses like those he no longer bothered to use, because there was nothing left to keep them from sliding down to plummet from the chin he no longer had.

It had been the easiest of mistakes. He'd needed to see in the dark in order to make his escape, and so had put on the one mask of his newfound loot whose magic was supposed to help with that.

He'd taken it off again soon enough, but "soon enough" had been too late.

The curse had begun. Slowly wiping away his face.

Someday, a dying sage had warned him, it would leave only eyes staring out of a blank, smooth sheet of flesh. Noseless, mouthless, and chinless. He'd go mute, reduced to breathing through his skin, with an endless, droning whistling. He'd be something people would recoil from, or else draw sword and hack at in terror and revulsion. A walking worm that would quickly starve to death.

He wasn't that far gone yet. He could still fare well enough far and wide across Golarion, in increasing desperation to find magic to halt and reverse his curse. Nothing he'd yet found even slowed what was happening to him.

"Yet I remain Tarram Armistrade," he told the dead man on the floor gently. "For now."

His once-handsome face was a ruin, nose gone and mouth a mere slit in a chinless slide of flesh. He covered it with masks that had no magic, because leaving the mask on hastened its foul work.

Yet he dared not leave the cursed mask hidden, for any harm done to it happened to his face, too. Usually he wore it like some sort of hidden codpiece, under his clothes, where it was least noticeable. Where he was wearing it right now.

"Though more truly," he added to the sprawled and forever silent Tarlmond, "I am now The Masked."

It was a matter of necessity. If he went around unmasked, he'd no doubt be mistaken for a monster and slain by the first warrior he passed. The laws of Molthune allowed citizens who perceived danger to slay "horrible monsters." Molthuni law was so clear-cut and brutally simple. Pity for everyone that most people weren't.

The Masked looked around the room and smiled, though he took little pleasure in it. Cozy rooms like this one, chambers of wealth that stank of power and ill-gotten gains, were where he flourished these days. While his victims fell.

Enough self-pity. He took up the poker and stirred the small fire in the grate to spitting, popping vigor. He dropped the intelligence report onto its flaring flames, pinned it there with the point of the poker, and watched it curl and blacken into ash.

When nothing recognizable was left, the tall masked man turned to survey the shelves behind the desk again, peering at the lowest-down tomes.

Ah. There.

Escolarr Tarlmond was as predictable as he was greedy. That particular fat volume. Sigh.

When purchasing a false book as a treasure-coffer, even a dolt should be aware that to buy one out of a shop window in Canorate, from a shop that made scores of identical volumes, meant that many would recognize your hiding place for what it was at a glance.

There'd be a removable floorboard somewhere in this room, too, and a rather better coffer beneath it. With another poisoned needle, no doubt. Best toyed with at leisure, elsewhere, so take the second and leave the first. Between the book coffer, Tarlmond's purse, and the gems that undoubtedly rode in a hollow boot heel, no one would notice the missing floorboard stash.

But first, there was still business to attend to.

Molthuni sword-tutors taught too many showy flourishes. Tarlmond had taken so much time singing his blade free of its scabbard, and needed so much room to do so, that it had been simplicity itself to step inside the man's reach, thrust the elbow of his sword arm away with one hand, and throttle the merchant with the other. A quiet and bloodless death, but it left The Masked needing to account for—or conceal—the congested purple of the dead man's face.

He caught up the decanter that held Tarlmond's best wine, splashed it generously over the corpse's face, front, and hands, then arranged the remains with that purple face in the fire, a goblet in one dead hand and a stool overturned where it would look as if the drunken merchant had tripped over it and ended up in the fire.

Finding the right floorboard, and its spring-dart trap—my, but Tarlmond had been a nasty, suspicious man, and Halidon was better off without him—took but a moment. The coffer thus gained was smaller and lighter than most, which was even better. Into the padded underarm sack it went.

The Masked shot a last, careful look around the room, and found nothing that could be linked to a tall masked visitor. Closing the door softly behind him, he strolled out and down the stairs, not hurrying.

The first faint wafts of burning flesh preceded him. It smelled like boar, reminding The Masked he was hungry—but the reek of Tarlmond's perfumed hair oil, rising to overtake it, was just horrible.

Yes, Halidon was much better off without him.

∗ ∗ ∗

Tantaerra Loroeva Klazra had run out of curses days ago. The abominable creaking of the ill-maintained wagon had long since half-deafened her and brought on a ringing headache that felt as if someone had put a metal bowl over her head and started tapping it with a hammer.

She could tell by the color of the road-mud passing slowly and lurchingly beneath her that the caravan was far west of Canorate now, up out of the low river-vale farms and close to the Backar Forest. The roadside was littered with twigs and withered leaves fallen from carts that would soon have been snatched up for hearth-kindling, back where she'd come from.

Come from? Hah! Escaped from.

She'd come from Nirmathas, too long ago. Canorate had only been where she'd lived—existed—as a slave.

A small, puny, but useful slave.

If she hadn't been short and gaunt, even for a halfling, she could never have fit between the rotten wagon floorboards and the ramp-boards slung under the decaying conveyance on open frames—recently repaired frames that were probably the stoutest, best-built part of this damnable, never-to-be-sufficiently-cursed wagon.

A turnip wagon, no less, its old sides and bottom too full of cracks to haul grain any more. Which at least made it unlikely anyone would soon be needing to haul forth the ramp-boards that were serving Tantaerra as a floor. Turnips got forked out of wagons, or clawed into sacks and the sacks tossed down.

She hated turnips.

Still, being wedged here like an opportunistic rat won out over being a Molthuni slave. Just about any situation would—and Tantaerra had been one of the luckier slaves. Her master, back in Canorate, had been a maker and seller of knives, specializing in throwing knives. She'd been his sharpener, errand-runner, and demonstrator of the art of hurling and catching razor-sharp knives. Which had made some Molthuni wary of kicking or throwing handy objects at a scuttling, skinny, two-and-a-half-foot-tall halfling.

Not that she'd spent most days doing much more than running the grinding wheel or scampering along the highest shelves, fetching down blades to save Hroalund the puffing work of moving his stockroom ladder. And happily eating the apples and wedges of cheese he literally tossed her way.

That had all ended, very suddenly and not long ago, the day someone had killed old Hroalund in a dispute over prices.

Tantaerra had taken his smallest, most exquisite throwing knives—the little adorned ones he sold to women of wealth, to wear hidden under their garments as sharp little surprises for those who offered unwanted attentions—strapped them all over herself, and gotten out, far and fast, seeking the caravan yards. Slaves were blamed for murders all too often, and she'd no desire for that painful a death.

So she'd left the grandest city in Molthune the way most vermin did, hiding under a turnip wagon and living like a rat, foraging by night when the wagon stopped. Whatever she could find—ground-grubs one night, and handfuls of grass too often. Sometimes she stole from the caravan as well—anything but turnips. Halfling slaves were always hungry, but she wanted food, not turnips.

Well, the sun was lowering; it would soon be foraging time again. The puddles passing under her were starting to stink of more than ox-dung and horse heaps, too, and her wagon was starting to rattle over larger rocks, the broken and half-buried remnants of flagstones. They were coming to some sort of settlement.

That meant more danger for her than the open road, yet it might be a good thing in the longer run. The wagon's groans were deepening, which meant she might soon have to find a different home—if something right beside her didn't break with sudden violence and maim her in an instant.

Oh, life was such an endless parade of amusements...

"Ho, Yarlin! Get that banner up! Halidon's garrisoned, and I'd rather not be wearing half a dozen bolts before nightfall!"

That gruff shout came from almost beside Tantaerra, as the head of the caravan guards rode past.

Halidon. She'd heard it mentioned once or twice during her years in Canorate. A small place—logging village, most likely, as it stood at the edge of the Backar Forest. A usual waystop because it was near mid-journey, when taking the most direct roads between Braganza and Canorate.

So they were that close to Halidon. Good. This gods-cursed wagon just might make it.

KeeEEERAKKh.

Or not.

The wheel that was thankfully farthest from Tantaerra rode up over a particularly sharp stone and then thumped down its far side—and the axle that had been spitting grease all over her for days shivered and split, from the hub of the wheel halfway to where a certain small and uncomfortably cramped halfling was grimly watching it from.

The wagon—and the caravan it was part of—lurched right on. No one had heard, of course. No surprise there. This lot saw and heard nothing that didn't jump up and dance for coin under their very noses.

The constant groaning of the wagon was different now, as the dying axle added its own protest to the general din. A sort of rising, wobbling, wandering shriek that—oh, how could they not hear it?

When someone stuck his head in and under for a look, a certain non-paying passenger would be discovered. Though there were halflings in Molthune who weren't slaves, Tantaerra had never known any personally—and stowaways of any height were rarely greeted with much kindness. Moreover, to a certain breed of merchant, a female slave—even a two-and-a-half-foot-tall halfling, well out of girlhood and approaching middle age—would be something to cage and make use of.

Neither the wagon in front of this one nor the one behind had ramp boards or anything else slung underneath. The wagon three back trailed a broken-off length of rusty chain and the dangling remains of a ramp-board frame, but she doubted they'd carry much more than the weight of a few spiders or flies before tearing free and falling to the road.

The light was failing, the sun sinking low, and by the rattling of slowing iron-shod wagon wheels and the clip-clop of hooves rising ahead of her now, there was less mud and more stone underfoot. Voices, too, and some excited shouts. Children.

The caravan had entered Halidon proper. Which meant, the gods being the gods, that it was just about time for this axle to—

SheeEEEEEREEAKH!

Tantaerra dropped and rolled even before the far wheel came off the separating axle and the wagon lurched and then sank down into a nightmare of splinters, amid a chorus of surprised and angry shouts.

She had a glimpse of the wheel wobbling away on its own, bouncing and swaying like a drunkard leaving a tavern late. Then her own hasty escape snatched her view of it away. Out and back, to scuttle like a crab under the next wagon and hope its oxen weren't fast enough when stamping at her to—

"Hoy! You! Crannor, what's that? It just went under your wagon! Like a halfling, but smaller!"

Like a halfling, but smaller.

Tantaerra growled silently at that and kept scuttling, running on hands and knees just as fast as she knew how, trying to—

"There! I saw it! Over there, under Derethrai's wagon, now!"

"What's all this?" Sharper voices, and unfamiliar, not from the caravan. She risked a look.

Molthuni soldiers. Big, clomping hobnailed boots, dark breeches, blood-red tunics, helmets too big to stay on without chinstraps, and spears. Led by an officer without a spear, who was instead carrying some sort of short battle-hammer with a wicked-looking spike where its pommel should be.

"Stowaway, or a thief, under the wagons. It broke yon turnip cart, somehow."

Oh, aye. Blame me for your born-of-neglect breakdowns, now!

"'It'?" the Molthuni officer snapped. "Some sort of beast?"

"Don't rightly know, yet. Small, and fast—and something's been stealing food from us, all the way from Canorate! If you'll look under that wagon!"

"Trail thefts are your problem, citizen, not the duty of the soldiers of Molthune to ..."

Boots, tramping closer, the sharp points of spear-heads dipping down into view, and Tantaerra had run out of wagons.

Cursing silently, she doubled back. The one place they'd not be so enthusiastic when thrusting spears would be in among the mud-spattered legs of the oxen at the front of each wagon. Oxen cost coin, good coin, and so did harness, and—

"Hah!" One of the soldiers, too dim-witted not to thrust his spear right into the snorting, stamping midst of the oxen. "I see it—a boy, a really small boy, a—no, a girl! Barefoot—"

"Croel, haven't you ever seen a halfling before? Slave Pits of Absalom, boy, but they're—mind! You'll have—"

Whatever else the older soldier might have been going to say was lost in a dozen shouts of alarm. An ox had felt the burning bite of a careless spear-slice, and tried to rear back and kick out at where the pain had come from. The wagon it and three fellow beasts were yoked to shuddered under its buffeting, and frightened and angry muffled shouts arose from within it.

Shouts that grew suddenly louder as doors banged, and the ox kicked again and soldiers leveled spears at the beast as if it were some sort of battlefield foe.

"What by the ponderous teats of Lamashtu are all you idiots doing? We just about got a dozen jars of Mereth's best honey-wine sauce in our laps! D'you have any idea how much that goes for in Braganza? Nearly lost a handful of Crysta's map-painted plattercloths, too! Stand back from my oxen, you spear-waving idiots, or I'll have your guts for my next batch of sausages, I will!"

"Citizen, have a care for how you speak to soldiers of Mol—"

"I am having a care, helm-for-brains! If I were treating these louts of yours like mere brigands, they'd be choking around my fists run far down their gullets right now! You in charge of this untrained, murderous rabble, then? Well, let me tell you a thing or two about how officers conducted themselves when I was wearing a uniform as ugly as yours, and going up against real foes of Molthune rather than handy oxen! Why, back in those days, we—"

Tantaerra grinned. Good old Bryhraun, and his Finest Sausages, too! He could keep this up right through the night, and would, if someone didn't put a spear through him to shut him up.

Bryhraun! Yes! His wagon was crammed with edibles, and it had those little light-windows up by the front that opened from within. If she scampered just right, she could snatch and be gone onto its roof before anyone could grab her.

Bryhraun was still spewing oaths and belligerence at the Molthuni officer, who was busy putting one of those sneeringly weary "I'm only going to put up with this for so long, old windbag, and my patience has just about run out" expressions on his face.

Tantaerra stuck out her tongue at him as she raced into view, caught hold of the trail-step of Bryhraun's wagon, and swung herself into a backflip and roll up and into the wagon—right between the merchant's legs, where she hoped they'd not be foolish enough to thrust spears at her, given the old merchant's temper.

Ah, but they were. She found her feet only to see Bryhraun's stout and hog-ugly wife and daughter converging on her, shrieking.

Tantaerra plucked up a fat "dragonsmoke" sausage as long as her arm, sprang to the high shelves beside the little window on her left, hauled on its dog-lever as hard as she knew how, and was out into the breeze and the gathering dusk before Bryhraun's wife could draw breath for her next scream.

And up onto the wagon roof, thanks to a hard swing on the frame of the window itself. Only long enough for a deep breath and a wild peer all around, before she took a firm grip on the sausage—sinking her fingers into it, that was the trick—then sprang into a wild leap for the roof of the next wagon. Dingy blue, which meant it housed Maraskho's Fine Garments.

She only just made it, landing hard and bruisingly, skidding along most of its dirty, warp-boarded length.

Behind her, Bryhraun's wagon rocked. Its oxen grunted and shrieked and tried to snarl as their hooves sliced into each other, and general mayhem erupted. She could hear falling goods crashing around in the merchant's wagon and his family's screams rising into wild and frightened incoherence, but was more intent on all the villagers converging to see what was happening.

No more soldiers yet, which was good, and some of the patrol that had gathered around Bryhraun's wagon were being jostled by arriving locals, spears waving wildly as they tried to follow her yet not gut someone. Even better.

It would be dark soon, but not soon enough. Everyone who cared to could see her, and it seemed Halidon bred or reared hardened folk. If any of them got a grip on her, she'd have to be fast and vicious with a knife to get free.

And her left hip was aching from that landing. Time to get gone. On her left, not much more than two streets away, the forest loomed up like a great dark wall. That's where she'd have to hide—and climb, because a village next to a forest meant skulking beasts with sharp teeth prowling by night.

Tantaerra dropped onto Maraskho's oxen, her landing and swift run along them setting them to snorting, bucking, and twisting, too. Perhaps she could get work as an ox-tamer, if—

Blast! More soldiers were coming, hurrying down those streets she had to get through to get to the woods, and they were alert and hard-eyed—and had spotted her already. Keeping in formation, carrying the same long spears, and led by an officer whose swift hand-signals were being heeded. No slouches, these soldiers. She'd not get past them alive, unless they wanted her taken for questioning.

And when they discovered the slave brand under her chin ...

Her escape must be the other way, using the halted wagons of the caravan as a barrier to these Molthuni reinforcements, and it must be now.

She sprang off an ox that seemed heartily glad to be rid of her, landed with a wince, and ran, ran as she'd never run before, keeping close to the line of wagons as she darted along it, a racing arrow more than a thing of stealth. She could tell by the thunder of boots and the waving spears that soldiers were running, too, on the other side of the wagons, which meant she'd have to time this just right ...

Here, and now! Where this knot of village women were standing hands on hips gossiping, obviously sourly amused at seeing soldiers having to run. She dug at the slits in her belt as she ran, her thumb finding the sharpened edges of the coins she kept as handy slicers and moving on to—yes, the gold piece that wasn't sharpened. Absalom minting. She could clearly recall the disbelieving face of the merchant she'd plucked it from, and she was going to miss it, but—

"Blessed coin," she called, pitching her voice as low and loud as she could, "lend me some of your luck now!"

Still running hard, she flung it past the heads of the staring women. It rang off the side of a wagon just beyond them, at about the time the meaning of her words sank home. Then in almost perfect unison they turned, in a swirling of skirts, and went after the coin.

In their wake, Tantaerra swerved out, straight away from the line of wagons, and sprinted down a handy street ahead. Past a few hanging signs and their shops, away from the caravan, away from the great forest. If she couldn't reach the trees now, she'd have to wait for deep night to try for them, and in the meantime she needed somewhere high enough that she could climb out of the reach of spears, somewhere that was hopefully also large enough for her to hope to hide in, on, or atop.

Which meant the watchtower she could see ahead, standing like a stubby lance against the setting sun, and the Molthuni military barracks attached to it.

As the old Nirmathi saying put it: When hunted by wolves, the best place to hide is among them.

Come to think of it, the "wolves" those words referred to were Molthuni soldiers like these. Fair enough. Like a wolf, then, she would be.

The street was full of older villagers strolling to see what was going on at the caravan. She got more than a few curious looks, but no hindrance or pursuit. And thankfully no dogs.

Which might well mean there was something in the forest that prowled Halidon by night, hunting such barking beasts.

Something to mull over later, when there weren't Molthuni soldiers pelting along after her, still far behind but waving their spears and yelling at her to stop.

Did that ever work? Did they really think someone running from them would be foolish enough to stop and give up? Or that common folk who increasingly resented the ever-increasing laws and little rules, and the heavy-booted zeal of the crimson-coated soldiers who enforced them, would leap to catch or hinder a fleeing fugitive?

No one was leaping in Halidon, that was for sure.

She ran past staring villager after staring villager, her hip really starting to ache, now. Ahead, the street ended in a muddy open space in front of a long row of empty paddocks, with the barracks looming up on her left. No palisade or gatehouse, and no door guards, just a tall, ugly stone building with a shake-shingled roof, various sections of it having different pitches, as the building had been expanded over the years by builders with their own ideas of what a barracks roof should look like. No gables, nor anything as fancy as a spire or a turret, except the lone, square watchtower, which was wrapped around with rotting wooden gutters sloping down from the surrounding roofs and jutting well out into the street. Evidently it rained hard in Halidon.

Good. If those gutters weren't too rotten, they'd be her climbing aids and help to hide her, once she was up and—

Light flared, at the far end of the barracks. Panting for breath, Tantaerra slowed to peer. A soldier on a ladder, his back to her, was swinging shut the shutter of a massive, rusty hanging metal lantern ...and starting back down to the ground.

He'd be heading this way to light the next one, and the next. Stout bars jutted out up there beside each lantern, the ladder hooking over them for stability. She had to get up onto the roof, and hide in the angle where it descended to meet the watchtower, before he—

No. Impossible.

She'd have to do this the other way.

She raced to the streetside wall of the barracks and flattened herself against it, just before he reached the base of the ladder.

Then she waited, shuddering to catch her breath and trying to ignore the pursuing soldiers getting nearer. It was dark enough now for not every idle glance to notice her, if she kept still.

This should have been about long enough ...

She went to the ground, crawled to the corner, and peered around it, chin almost in the dirt. The lamplighter was just settling the ladder into position by the next lantern. She waited, in case he was one of those sightseers who liked to take a look around every so often, but his attention was entirely on the tinderbox slung on a loose baldric at his hip, and positioning it to avoid banging it against himself as he climbed. He started up.

Like a small and silent wind, Tantaerra raced to the ladder and went up it behind him, moving only when he did, stretching with great care for silence, and keeping over on the left side, because the tinderbox was hanging down the soldier's right side.

She waited until he was right at the top and had swung the lantern-shutter open before climbing up on its far side, to hang right beside his head. He was intent on striking a striker, inside the box on a short-chain, against the box's row of flints so as to catch sparks on a taper—a fiddly task that really needed more hands than he had, and was consuming all of his attention save enough to mutter tunelessly, "She was only a shopgirl from Canorate, but she was a jewel to me ..."

Wrapping her legs around the bar that the ladder was hooked over, Tantaerra let herself dangle head-down beside his left shoulder and pushed against the lantern until she could murmur a provocative purr right into his ear.

"All the way from Canorate I've come, dreaming of your manly strength, and now at last, lover—"

The lamplighter stopped humming and stiffened.

Tantaerra licked her lips, then planted a wet kiss on his earlobe.

The resulting startled shriek and fumbling clatter were gratifying. The soldier's head snapped around to look, and slammed into the open lantern-shutter, setting the lantern to swinging and the startled man to falling back—

With a sudden, arm-flailing shout, the lamplighter was gone, and the abandoned ladder was swaying ...

The crash, below, was impressive.

Delicately, Tantaerra gave the top of the ladder the little push necessary to send it toppling slowly over and down, then swarmed along the bar onto the roof and clawed her way up it as hastily as she could, ending on the roof side of the watchtower. The gutter there was in deep gloom, and sturdily wedged between the wall just under the roof and the rising side of the watchtower. She made herself as small and slender as she could, and snuggled down into it, prepared to become a motionless part of the building until full night came.

The sausage was more than a little battered, but tasted delicious.

Purchase the whole novel here.

Coming Next Week: A new story of River Kingdoms justice in Ari Marmel's "Best Served Cold"!

As the creator of the Forgotten Realms, Ed Greenwood is one of the most famous RPG designers of all time, with a veritable dragon’s hoard of game setting products under his belt. In the Pathfinder universe, he’s the author of the new novel The Wizard's Mask and the short web fiction story “Guns of Alkenstar.” In addition, he’s written more than twenty Forgotten Realms novels (many dealing with his signature character, Elminster) and ten independent novels.

Art by Eric Belisle.

Welcome to the End of the World

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Illustration by Fabio Gorla

It's no secret that demons are pretty much my favorite monsters in the game. When we were brainstorming ideas for regions to include in Golarion, the concept of a realm where the demons had invaded and now ruled was near the top of the list. In fact, we ended up with two regions where the demons are in charge—the smaller of the two being Tanglebriar in southern Kyonin (a region more or less transplanted directly from my homebrew world), and the much larger Worldwound itself. Whereas Tanglebriar was basically the work of one nascent demon lord, and as such was relatively limited in the scope of its area, the Worldwound was the work of a full-on demon lord, Deskari, and the resulting demon blight is correspondingly much more massive.

We've tinkered here and there with the Worldwound over the past few years, but with the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path, we're finally diving into the deep end of the demon-haunted pool. Which means the time is finally write to head on into old Sarkoris and explore it. Aptly titled The Worldwound, this 64 page Campaign Setting book aims to do exactly that. Of course, it covers the entire demonblighted region—even though Wrath of the Righteous remains pretty tightly focused along the northeastern border, The Worldwound has a lot more secrets to reveal.

There's plenty of new demons and monsters lurking in the Worldwound, as well as in the pages of this book, as evidenced by the creepy monster pictures that grace this post, but even the plants in this realm want to kill you. Take, for example, the following excerpt from the book's chapter about Adventures in the Worldwound:

Leechweed (CR 3 hazard): These plants cluster thickly in the muddy marshes of the western Worldwound, typically growing in a 5-foot-square patch. A single plant is slightly smaller than a human hand, and consists of a mass of dark green leaves from which a single feeding stalk extends. The tip of this stalk contains a small, lancet-like protrusion that can pierce flesh with ease. Spotting a patch of leechweed before blundering into it requires a DC 17 Knowledge (nature) or DC 22 Perception check. A living creature that comes into contact with a patch of leechweed swiftly learns the source of the plant's name, as dozens of feeding stalks suddenly stab and slash at any bits of exposed flesh. As soon as a creature is in contact with leechweed, the plant attempts an attack against it with a +9 bonus. The attacks continue at the end of each of the creature's turns if it doesn't move away from the plant. On a hit, the plant deals 1d4 points of damage and 1d6 points of bleed damage. Fire kills leechweed, as does holy damage or any magical effect that specifically harms plants (such as blight).

Illustrations by Jorge Fares and Damien Mammoliti

That, in a nutshell, is the Worldwound for you—a place where even the grass wants to kill you.

James Jacobs
Creative Director

Rescue in Riddleport

Monday, June 24, 2013

Venture-Captain Sheila Heidmarch confidently strode into the wharf district's 27th warehouse to find it nearly packed with Pathfinders of all stripes. Hellknights grudgingly rubbed shoulders with buccaneers, twitchy humans bent over their traveling alchemical laboratories, and a small menagerie of trained war beasts looked about hungrily as if more eager to start the mission than their humanoid companions.

"As you know, Pathfinders, more than a month ago a band of Riddleport pirates captured our shipment of Chronicle sheets, determined that they had little resale value, and announced an impossibly high ransom. This is a mistake they shall regret," she promised her motley army. The crowd responded appreciably by waving blades, cheering, and shouting grim vows. Motioning for everyone to be silent, Heidmarch continued, saying, "Fortunately, in the intervening time our long-time friend Guaril Karela has been asking questions around the city to determine exactly when we should strike our enemies. He assures me," she added as the slick Varisian flashed a crooked smile and twirled his moustache, "that his methods were clean enough to make a paladin weep in admiration." Guaril Karela smiled reassuringly for a moment, but his grin melted away in horrified mock innocence when nearly half of the assembled troubleshooters all spat in disgust and disbelief.

With a glance to ensure that there would be no trouble, the venture-captain continued. "I am glad to have this intelligence, for it shall make the operation a safer one. As you well know, I would never send you into dangerous territory underequipped or uninformed—"

Illustration by Daryl Mandryk

Mouths fell open in incredulity. More of the seedier Pathfinders spat upon the floor to express their displeasure, a few tore back sleeves to point at terrifying scars acquired on recent missions, a tall human warrior pointed at the venture-captain and shouted "doppelganger" in open accusation, and a tearful gnome waved a sheet of parchment that bore the names of no less than a dozen deceased animal companions—each name differentiated only by a different ordinal epitaph. As the mutinous din grew louder, Guaril stood and quickly laid out the plan. "There are two ships—The Sanguine Sahuagin anchored in the harbor and the Bog Nixie at a dock to resupply. We know that the Chronicle sheets are evenly split between the two vessels, so we're sending in two teams."

As the Pathfinders' display of defiance died down and a few put away their banners bearing the slogan "Shadow Lodge for Life," Sheila Heidmarch picked up where Guaril had left off. "We intend to put an end to these villains' piracy, so it is your job to run them off or run them through as quickly as possible before they can destroy the cargo. Secure the ships, and from there return the Chronicle sheets here for distribution."

Their orders received, a handful of Iomedaeans and Hellknights shouted their vows to deliver justice, competing with the projected confidence of a halfling who challenged all of the offending pirates to single combat. As almost everyone prepared for the upcoming bloodshed, a Taldan lady reached the front of the crowd, flicked open a fan, began questioning much of the operation's premise, and proposed an alternate solution that might secure a nonviolent resolution. Her well-reasoned oratory began to calm her colleagues, and several of the Iomedaeans began to look somewhat sheepish as if questioning their rash announcements earlier. Nonviolence enjoyed a brief period of popularity before a powerfully built man raised his sword in a battlecry to Gorum and rallied the more bloodthirsty Pathfinders to join him in striking out at the Sanguine Sahuagin. Wayfinders held high, they marched out to board the personal ship of one of the Pathfinders.

Amused, Guaril leaned over to Sheila Heidmarch and inquired with some amusement, "Are they always this rowdy and uncontrollable?" Out of her sight he slipped a handful of faction missions to one of his loyal agents.

"Almost every time," the venture-captain sighed with exasperation. "Sometimes it's a wonder that they listen at all."

Only a handful of Pathfinders remained behind, including the orator, a few delicate spellcasters (both humanand elven), and a handful of others with more exotic lineages who were debating when it is right to kill, what the pirates' motivations might be, whether redemption was out of the question, and the merits of judging others at face value. The small entourage worked its way to the docks and hailed the Bog Nixie's crew, where the three diplomats and their philosophically inclined bodyguards presented a small purse of 50 gold pieces in exchange for all of Chronicles.

The assembled pirates drew cutlasses and shared in a hearty laugh at the paltry offer before one of the pious Pathfinders cradling a heavy scimitar shot back, "If you cannot agree to our terms, and do not wish to seek redemption for your vile acts, then you shall have but one last chance to surrender before we are forced to give you redemption of a different sort."

The pirates simply sneered evilly at the small group before one of them pointing out into the harbor. "Just remember that we only has to signal our pals out there, and all your bits of paper will go sinking straight t'the bottom!" The villains chuckled and shared a few iconic "yarrs" to remind everyone just who was pirate and who was prey.

Just at that moment, the Sanguine Sahuagin's sails burst into flames, and its crew quickly followed suit before diving into the water. The barely perceptible glimmer of wayfinders about the necks of those souls who then climbed aboard and made for the cargo hold were all that the Bog Nixie's crew needed to see to know that their plan had failed. One of the negotiators flicked open her fan to hide her look of disgust at her fellows' tactics before repeating her offer to the befuddled buccaneers.

"Fifty gold?"

Well, it seems we were able to reclaim what was rightfully ours, and the Pathfinders gave a fine thrashing to the pirates on one ship and an inspired proselytizing to another. The Chronicle sheets for the Skull & Shackles Adventure Path are either already up on the Additional Resources page and respective product pages.

I had a good time reading the posts that people made in character, and I was certainly impressed by some of the character profiles attached. Seeing some names that I haven't see around the Pathfinder Society forum was also good fun.

Thanks for participating!

John Compton
Developer

Illustrations by Lars Grant-West. Widescreen version here.

Dragon's Demand is Coming Soon!

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Make your friends green with envy with this new wallpaper featuring the fantastic cover art from Dragon's Demand! This latest Pathfinder Module is an action-packed adventure which takes the players to the small town of Belhaim, where one event has started a chain reaction of mystery. Has Belhaim's ancient draconic nemesis returned? It's also the first Pathfinder Module using the 64-page format, which includes new monsters, treasure, a new location and double-sided poster map.

Find out what's got this town in a tizzy this July with the release of Dragon's Demand!

Jenny Bendel
Marketing Director

THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING!

Saturday, June 22, 2013

The Reign of Winter Adventure Path continues with the upcoming release of Pathfinder Adventure Path #71: Rasputin Must Die!, where the PCs find themselves in Russia in 1918 facing off against animated tanks, headless Cossacks, and the "Mad Monk" himself, Rasputin! The adventure contains several encounters with large numbers of World War I-era Russian soldiers. Rather than treating each soldier as an individual foe, they're combined into units with a single stat block and new subtype: troop. Encounters with troops aren't meant as studies or simulations of modern tactical warfare; rather, by condensing many individual soldiers into a single stat block, you can concentrate on the atmosphere of the adventure without bogging down every combat round with dozens of die rolls. To whet your appetite for early twentieth century adventure, here's a preview of the new troop subtype that appears in Rasputin Must Die!

Illustration by Craig J Spearing

Troops

The troop subtype represents an organized group of trained soldiers that act as a unit, rather than as individuals. A troop is something of an abstraction, in that the component creatures that make up the troop are mostly irrelevant; only the troop as a whole matters for the purposes of combat. A troop is similar to a swarm, but is normally composed of Small or Medium creatures. Large groups of Tiny or smaller creatures should use the normal swarm rules.

Troop Subtype: A troop is a collection of creatures that acts as a single creature, similar to a swarm, but typically as part of a military unit. A troop has the characteristics of its type, except as noted here. A troop has a single pool of Hit Dice and hit points, a single initiative modifier, a single speed, and a single Armor Class. A troop makes saving throws as a single creature.

A single troop occupies a 20-foot-by-20-foot square, equal in size to a Gargantuan creature, though the actual size category of the troop is the same as that of the component creatures. The area occupied by a troop is completely shapeable, though the troop must remain in contiguous squares to accurately reflect the teamwork of trained military units. A troop has a reach equal to that of the component creatures based on size or armament. A troop can move through squares occupied by enemies and vice versa without impediment, although the troop provokes an attack of opportunity if it does so. A troop can move through any area large enough for its component creatures.

The exact number of a troop's component creatures varies, but in general, a troop of Small or Medium creatures consists of approximately 12 to 30 creatures. Larger creatures can form troops, but the area occupied by such a troop should increase proportionally according to the size of the component creatures.

Troop Traits: A troop is not subject to flanking, but it is subject to critical hits and sneak attacks if its component creatures are subject to such attacks. Reducing a troop to 0 hit points or fewer causes it to break up, effectively destroying the troop, though the damage taken until that point does not degrade its ability to attack or resist attack. A troop is never staggered or reduced to a dying state by damage. Also, a troop cannot be tripped, grappled, or bull rushed, except by area effects that include such effects. A troop can grapple an opponent.

A troop is immune to any spell or effect that targets a specific number of creatures (including single-target spells such as disintegrate and multiple target spells such as haste), though it is affected by spells or effects that target an area or a nonspecific number of creatures (such as fireball or mass hold monster). A troop takes half again as much damage (+50%) from spells or effects that affect an area. If a troop is rendered unconscious by means of nonlethal damage, it disperses and does not reform until its hit points exceed its nonlethal damage.

Troop Attack: Creatures with the troop subtype don't make standard melee attacks. Instead, they deal automatic damage to any creature within reach or whose space they occupy at the end of their move, with no attack roll needed. A troop's stat block has "troop" in its Melee entry with no attack bonus given. The amount of damage a troop deals is based on its Hit Dice, as shown in the table on page 313 of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary.

Unless stated otherwise, a troop's attacks are nonmagical. Damage reduction sufficient to reduce a troop attack's damage to 0 or other special abilities can give a creature immunity (or at least resistance) to the troop's attacks. Some troops also have other special attacks in addition to normal damage. Troops threaten all creatures within their reach or within their area, and attempt attacks of opportunity as normal with their troop attack.

Because of the chaos of combat, spellcasting or concentrating on spells within the area of a troop or within its reach requires a caster level check (DC 20 + spell level). Using skills that involve patience and concentration requires a successful DC 20 Will save.

Russian Rifle Troop

The following stat block represents an average troop of Russian soldiers encountered in Rasputin Must Die! A Russian rifle troop's troop attack is a combination of small arms fire, bayonets, trench shovels, and other close-combat attacks. In addition, Rasputin Must Die! presents some variant troops equipped with additional weapons and special attacks, such as chemical warfare troops, flamethrower troops, machine gun troops, and mortar troops.

Russian Rifle Troop CR 11

XP 12,800
LN Medium humanoid (human, troop)
Init +3; Senses Perception +23

DEFENSE

AC 24, touch 14, flat-footed 20 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +10 natural)
hp 152 (16d8+80)
Fort +11, Ref +13, Will +8
Defensive Abilities gas masks, troop traits

OFFENSE

Speed 30 ft.
Melee troop (4d6+8)
Space 20 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
Special Attacks fusillade (DC 23), grenade volley (DC 21)

STATISTICS

Str 26, Dex 17, Con 18, Int 11, Wis 12, Cha 11
Base Atk +12; CMB +20; CMD 34
Feats Ability Focus (fusillade), Combat Reflexes, Dodge, Great Fortitude, Iron Will, Skill Focus (Perception), Skill Focus (Stealth), Toughness
Skills Climb +15, Craft (firearms) +4, Knowledge (engineering) +1, Perception +23, Profession (soldier) +6, Stealth +10, Survival +8
Languages Russian

SPECIAL ABILITIES

Fusillade (Ex) Rifle troops can fire a fusillade of rifle bullets as a standard action. This attack takes the form of up to four lines with a range of 200 feet. These lines can start from the corner of any square in the troop's space. All creatures in one of these lines' areas of effect take 6d10+6 points of bludgeoning and piercing damage (Reflex DC 23 for half). The save DC is Dexterity-based, and includes the bonus from the troop's Ability Focus feat.

Gas Masks (Ex) The soldiers of a rifle troop are all equipped with gas masks. This makes the troop immune to inhaled poisons and other nonmagical airborne attacks that require breathing, and grants it a +2 bonus on saving throws against magical cloud or gas attacks.

Grenade Volley (Ex) Rifle troops are equipped with grenades. As a move action, a rifle troop can target a single square up to 60 feet away with a volley of fragmentation grenades. A volley deals 12d6 points of piercing and slashing damage in a 30-foot-radius burst (Reflex DC 21 for half). The save DC is Dexterity-based.

Rob McCreary
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: More of the Undead Horde!

Friday, June 21, 2013

This week brings the final six reveals for the upcoming Pathfinder Battles Undead Horde Builder Series, which is set for a September debut. This set of 12 figures features new sculpts and repainted favorites to help you swell the legions of undead in your Pathfinder campaigns. Figures come one per pack, with 24 $2.99 packs in a single "gravity feed" display. Our first Builder Series release, We Be Goblins! came out last week, and reviews have been very positive. We think you'll like the Undead Horde just as much!

But enough preamble! Let's get right to the miniatures!

Up first this week we have the Ghoul, everyone's favorite long-tongued bad guy this side of Gene Simmons. The figure debuted in the Rise of the Runelords set, and has since become one of the most popular singles from that collection. This time he's got a chalkier, grayer cast to his skin. We though he deserved a repeat performance. The Ghoul is a common figure.

We didn't want the Ghoul to be too lonely in the Undead Horde, so we decided to also include this charming Lady Ghoul. While this figure may look like a new sculpt, in fact it's a repaint of a Skull & Shackles figure we haven't previewed yet, so consider this an ominous hint of things to come on the deadly seas ahead of us. The Lady Ghoul is a common figure.

Here we have a genuine new sculpt, the Festrog, an undead creature that crawls on all fours that we first introduced way back in the old GameMastery Modules line (Hungry are the Dead, to be specific). The CR 1 creature's statistics got a Pathfinder upgrade in Bestiary 3. Since Festrogs often appear in gangs or packs, we slated him at the common rarity.

This familiar face originally appeared as the Spectre from our first set, Heroes & Monsters. The sculpt resurfaced as the Festering Spirit for last year's convention season promotional figure, and now he makes his third (and likely final) appearance as a Ghost. The Ghost is a rare figure.

Another favorite from Heroes & Monsters, the Vampire returns in Undead Horde with an all-new paint scheme and the same dark designs on your player characters. The Vampire is a rare figure.

Last up this week we've got the Wraith, a new paint scheme on a favorite figure from Rise of the Runelords. Now with deep purples but with the same malevolence as ever, the Wraith looks forward to wrapping your player characters in an energy-draining embrace. Give him a hug! The Wraith is a rare figure.

That's it for this set. Next week we'll return to the Skull & Shackles preview, and I've got some exciting developments to reveal shortly thereafter. Believe it or not, we're currently finalizing the set list for THREE sets from now, and that's not including additional Builder Series and Encounter Pack releases that will be making their way to you throughout the rest of 2013 and into 2014!

Make sure you don't miss a single figure by setting up an ongoing Pathfinder Battles case subscription today. Subscribers receive special discount codes they can use on releases like the Undead Horde Builder Series set, and they always enjoy a significant discount on single sales on paizo.com.

Next week we'll see if it's safe to go back in the water!*

Erik Mona
Publisher

*It isn't.

Author Interview: Ed Greenwood

Thursday, June 20, 2013

As the creator of the Forgotten Realms, Elminster, and countless game books and novels (seriously, we couldn't even begin to count them all), Ed Greenwood is one of the most influential figures in fantasy gaming. Now that folks are finally getting a chance to check out his new Pathfinder Tales novel, The Wizard's Mask, we thought it would be fun to do an all-new interview with the wizard himself, asking questions about both his new book and his not-so-humble origins...

In your own words, what's The Wizard's Mask about?
It's about being a misfit in society, and finding your own way (your own life, how you can fit in and meet the world on your terms as much as possible, not just accepting one of the lowest rungs on society's ladders—a slave or a shunned individual). Not just for major characters, but (if you ponder this while reading) for darned near every character in the novel.

Without spoilers, what was your favorite aspect of this novel? What was the most fun part to write?
The banter between the two main characters, as they (rather uneasily) got to know each other, then started to slide into friendship.

Who's your favorite character and why?
I can't choose one. The Masked is a mystery man and I love mysteries, and Tantaerra is a feisty escaped slave literally looked down upon by most people she meets, and they clash but are forced to work together. If I'm forced to pick a favorite character, it would be the team/partnership the two of them form, however uneasily and reluctantly, to stay alive in the rather harsh claws of adventure. (By the way, no weak female leads in this book!)

What drew you to this particular region of Golarion as the setting for a novel?
It was one of half a dozen areas that intrigued me enough to suggest them as settings for a novel. As a storyteller, the "rebels in the woods" aspect of Nirmathas appeals to me (lots of room for adventure and for individual heroics), and as a game designer, I need to see how a militaristic, authoritarian land like Molthune looks and feels when you're living in it. Does everyone "cheat" authority in small ways (i.e. as much as they dare)? Are the leaders corrupt, or do those under them cynically see them as corrupt? Do citizens chafe under the laws and those who keep them, or see them as the foundations of peace, prosperity, and personal safety? (And why hasn't this military powerhouse conquered Nirmathas yet?) Both lands should be changing under the goad of drawn-out war, and I want to see that, AND experience how it feels to travel through where they clash.

What's your favorite part of Golarion that you haven't written about yet?
I have several candidates for a favorite, depending on what mood I'm in. The Mana Wastes offer a GREAT setting for episodic, "Conan-like lone wolf or pair of travelers" adventures, but I also love to explore intrigue among nobles or within a guild, or gritty urban adventures in large, sinister cities, like Kaer Maga. And I can't resist any chance to explore the idea of adventurers setting up their own realms or holds, as I did in the Border Kingdoms in my Forgotten Realms setting, or that Golarion offers in the River Kingdoms. And then there's... heh, as you can see, pinning me down to just one "favorite part" is going to be as tough as "favorite character." I want it ALL.

How did you first get into writing?
I started by asking my father for sequels to books I read in his den as a very young kid (I was reading books for grown-ups when I was four years old), and writing those sequels whenever he told me the pulp-era (or earlier) writer whose book had grabbed me was dead, so if I wanted to read any more, I'd have to write them myself. Most of my attempts were dreadful, but I was starting to write about the Realms by age 6, and was published by then, too, (not Realms fiction, but romance and "smart-aleck first person narrator space opera"). No, I'm not going to name titles and publishers. Most of my early work is BAD. (Hey, you in the back there, I HEARD that observation about the quality of my later work!)

Any advice for aspiring writers?
Read, read, read. Everything, not just the genre or styles of writing you're most interested in. See what "works" for you, and what doesn't. Then write, write, write. Set what you write aside for a few months while you read and write other stuff, then go back to it, read it, and fix it. As in, rewrite anything that seems weak and awkward. The age of computers means we don't have to throw earlier drafts away; always work on clearly dated copies, but never think your words are perfect. Don't be afraid to rewrite. (Just learn to stop rewriting and FINISH something, too!) Lather, rinse, and repeat. But try new things all the time, to avoid falling into a rut and burning out. The famous elder-days SF editor John Campbell was famous for telling writers, "Good story, but this time tell it from the point of view of the airlock (or the spaceship's computer, or the hero's blaster gun) and I might buy it." Try that. You'll never know if you're the world's greatest winemaking and tuba-playing cheese sommelier if you never try any of those things. (And if you suck, well at least you've tried making wine and judging cheeses and playing the tuba—you've LIVED!)

What's an interesting bit of trivia that our readers might not know about you?

In my youth (as in, when I still had knees that worked), I often explored caves, and fenced (usually not at the same time, and by "fenced" I mean swung swords, not fixed fences, which is the only sort of fencing I do these days). Before I had throat surgery, I could sing (deep basso profundo), too. And I had nicer legs than I do today.

Last but not least: if you had only 30 seconds to convince someone to read this particular novel, what would your pitch be?
Want to read a fun adventure yarn where magic isn't center stage, but realistic people who verbally spar a lot are? Want to meet a lot of unpleasant people and see them get killed or at least taste comeuppances? Want to read a swords & sorcery book written with humor? Want to read the unlikeliest of "buddy" novels? Ever wanted to see a female halfling star in a fantasy novel? Then read The Wizard's Mask!

Convinced? Check out Ed Greenwood's The Wizard's Mask, on sale now!

James L. Sutter
Fiction Editor/Senior Editor

A Matter of Knives

by Ed Greenwood

Chapter Three: An End to All Skulking Games

"Helms don't have feelings," a sultry female voice announced sharply. "They really don't care if you leave them in those crates. Now go. Bendrar and I need to confer."

Boots went, hastily.

From her hiding place behind a stack of shipping crates, Tantaerra leaned forward, trying to get as close to the conversation as possible without being seen. Bendrar was Loryn Garldrake's son, and the woman giving orders had to be Semdeira Sarpent.

"Ah, good, good, you're both here," said a hearty voice; Loryn Garldrake. "Ben, we were hoping to leave you out of this, but things have changed, and we need you to be able to say and do just the right things if you're questioned by the guard. This is all happening rather fast, but... uh..."

Semdeira is just like the blades she sells—hard and sharp.

"Let me," Sarpent interrupted firmly. "Our plan has always been to find a scapegoat for when the General Lords send for us, someone we can blame for tricking us—supplying us with inferior weapons and armor. A scapegoat who promptly gets killed, the body too damaged for any priest to work with. The dead defend themselves poorly. He takes the blame, we pay whatever fines the Lords want to levy, and if need be we depart Molthune. The problem is, a certain official here in Canorate is suspicious of us already. Too soon."

"We intended to frame Alsaerdus," Bendrar's father put in, "and rid ourselves of a big creditor, but he's out of the country. So we need someone else. Right now."

"Hence Master Hroalund," Sarpent purred. "Knife-hurler and trap-spinner. Who insists on providing his own knives for his traps, and has many suppliers, some Drumish—and high Molthuni officials dislike those who have too much to do with foreigners. What we sent to kill him the fastest, tidiest way failed, but our cleverness at engaging him has brought him right here, and we have his demise in hand right now. When he's dead, we'll claim to have killed him and his assistants in a desperate fight, because they tried to murder us when we confronted Hroalund about shoddy knives he'd provided to us."

"You're going to, ah, kill him here? Now?" Bendrar sounded nervous.

"No." Sarpent's voice was crisp. "At his shop. If the bloodcoats want to search and pry, we want them to be confiscating and rummaging his stock, not ours."

"Never you mind where and when yet, son. For now, get out to the front counter before Indur and Yelhar do anything foolish, and run things until closeup. Make certain no patron gets near Hroalund or sees his work. A trap someone's seen is useless to us."

Tantaerra heard Bendrar hurry away.

"Tonight," Garldrake muttered. "Velar will come at nightfall. Shall I tell him to bring Urling and Taethur?"

"No. Too apt to be clumsily over-enthusiastic. We need far quieter, during and after. I know who to get."

In her hiding place, Tantaerra grit her teeth. That was it, then. Garldrake and Sarpent had to die, or the lives lost would be hers and the Master's. The rest of the staff she could take down with her sleeping darts–without their masters, the underlings would be no problem when they awoke, if indeed they even knew of the plan. For Sarpent and Garldrake, though...

Well, mercy was just one of many things a humble slave couldn't afford.

∗∗∗

Nine darts were gone, all well sped, and the Master long since headed home by the time Bendrar Garldrake met the tenth—and dropped a decanter as he slumped.

The crash brought Loryn Garldrake around the corner at a run. He had a decanter of his own. Upon seeing a dark-swathed assassin—even a half-sized one—standing above his unmoving son, he howled and threw the glass carafe without hesitation.

It shattered just above Tantaerra's head, drenching her with something reeking and sticky.

She ran, but Garldrake snatched a long horse-lance down from a wall-rack and used it more wisely than she expected. Instead of trying to spit her, he swung it like a club, raking her feet out from under her.

Tantaerra landed groaningly hard on her hip against a wardrobe—and then he lowered the lance to run her through.

"Hah! Roast halfling on a spit tonight!"

Tantaerra promptly grabbed the wardrobe doors and toppled the massive thing over on top of herself.

The falling furniture caught the lance-tip and bore it down. It shrieked along, digging a deep gouge out of the polished floor, before breaking—but held up more than long enough for a hurrying halfling to hurl herself out from under the wardrobe.

And turn to race right up the lance-shaft at its wielder.

Garldrake got his belt-dagger out and slashed at her viciously, forcing her to leap aside, but her next leap slammed her headfirst into his crotch.

Garldrake shrieked and went down, and Tantaerra jumped up and down on his nearest ankle, repeatedly, until something broke under her.

He shrieked—and suddenly Semdeira Sarpent and three ruthless-looking men were in the room, drawn daggers gleaming in every hand.

Tantaerra used her next dart to stab Garldrake, and fled.

The rooms were dark, and there were many of them, but after three she saw the curtains and remembered the chart. The Master never seemed to hurry, but his work was swift, and she was shorter than the height his trap-bows would be set to fire at in here, so one of them should be just... here.

It was. Not loaded, but cocked and with its trip-line in position. Ready to demonstrate to Garldrake and Sarpent when—

Well, why not now?

Tantaerra dropped a dart into the little launcher's maw as she passed, then ducked around behind the next shelf. Deliberately jostled armor clattered.

One of the killers chasing her went for the bait, but Tantaerra was already two shelves away, loading trap-bows for all she was worth. She heard his heavy fall, grinned, and went right on scurrying, keeping low.

Before she slipped out of that room, a second of Sarpent's professional slayers had gone down.

Whereupon a tense, straining silence fell. Sarpent and her last slayer were closing in far more warily, and Tantaerra was running low on darts.

If she didn't move fast, they'd—

Too late. A door closed, and she was shut in an end room full of stock shelves.

She could hear her pursuers hastily moving things on the other side of the door. Blocking aisles, no doubt. Those display frames of spears and lances, set on their sides, would make deadly walls of sharp points. And a cargo net from their back room draped over the shelves could entrap a climbing or leaping halfling.

Then came a sound she knew well. Twice. Thrice. Three crossbows cocked, and no doubt loaded and laid ready.

Bright light flared under the closed door. Then the door slid open, and Tantaerra saw the last assassin standing ready with a crossbow.

The light came from an unshuttered storm lantern Sarpent was carrying into the room with a stepstool. All menacing catlike grace, she hung it on a ceiling-hook, lighting the room brightly.

"Let there be an end to all skulking games," she purred smugly, retreated to the doorway, and took up a loaded crossbow of her own.

Then she and her hired killer waited.

Tantaerra, comfortably flat on the floor under a shelf, smiled coldly, and resolved to wait them out.

Time unfolded.

∗∗∗

A lot of tense silence stretched before Sarpent and the assassin grew restless enough to enter the room and explore.

Which was Tantaerra's cue.

She heaved herself up off the floor, shoulders against one side of the shelf above her, and toppled it toward the doorway.

It crashed into the shelf next to it, and both shelves groaned, leaned, and started to fall. The swearing assassin got clear just in time—and the lantern fell, bounced clangingly amid falling stock, and ended up on the floor, half-crushed but alight. Tantaerra tossed her hood into its blazing interior.

Flames flared up, spreading swiftly across the polished floor, and Semdeira Sarpent spat something less than ladylike. Tantaerra scuttled along that aisle, back into darkness, straining to see where her foes were.

As it turned out, they were both in the room with her and staring at the open doorway, waiting for her to try to dart through it. Tantaerra found something suitable on a shelf and threw it through the opening—and two crossbow bolts chased it.

The flames spread merrily, and she repeated the gambit. Just one bolt, this time. Neither of them went for her next throw, but a distant shout told her someone had smelled smoke, and when she flung something much larger—a shield—two bolts rang off it.

Tantaerra knew how long it took to recock a crossbow. Line and trap ready through her belt, she risked a run.

There was Sarpent. Throwing a knife at her.

Tantaerra sneered. She'd demonstrate knife-hurling—and did, her own spinning blade striking aside the one coming at her.

The last hired assassin came charging out of the darkness. He avoided the little trap she was dragging along with contemptuous ease, but Tantaerra slowed, then sprinted again and tugged on the tripline. The little trap-bow sprang through the air and landed under the man's boots. He stumbled, staggered, clawed at her—and Tantaerra stabbed him through that reaching hand with one of her sleep-poisoned darts.

Then she was through the door into the next room, with Sarpent hard on her heels.

Time to play the agile little monkey. Tantaerra swarmed the nearest shelf to get out of reach.

There were the lance-barriers, and there was the netting overhead, just as she'd suspected. Sarpent jumped and grabbed at it, trying to pin Tantaerra atop the shelf—and succeeded.

She was stuck, but not helpless. Tantaerra snatched up pieces of armor from the shelf and flung them at Sarpent's face, one after another, until she saw blood on that enraged but hitherto unmarred visage.

"Who are you, you little rat?"

"A concerned citizen," Tantaerra panted, not slowing her armor-flinging.

The arms-dealer tried to fend off the rain of sharp metal and get closer.

"Citizen? You're a halfling! Slave, more like!"

"You want my Master dead—my master who's done no ill to you!"

"So you're Hroalund's wench, then? I should have known. But well enough—showing the guards how you attacked us in our own shop can only help us when we explain how we were forced to kill you both in self-defense!"

Then Semdeira Sarpent was close enough, with a needle-rapier in hand. She stabbed at Tantaerra.

Who kicked out at it, desperately—and shrieked as her foot got skewered.

Sarpent snarled and pressed the advantage, stabbing again and again.

Tantaerra twisted and arched and flung stock frantically, emptying the shelf and getting free of the netting. Sometime during all of that, the rapier skidded along her side, slicing open smoke suit and skin beneath.

She felt icy, and there was a lot of blood on her and all over the shelf.

She flung herself at Sarpent and managed to scissor her legs around the woman's sword arm, clinging to the blade's ornate knuckle guard and bearing the rapier down. Sarpent slapped at her, and Tantaerra clawed right back, the room a whirl around them as the arms-dealer tried to shake her off the blade. Sarpent tore at her ear and hair—and Tantaerra slapped her fingers across her foe's face, smearing her own sticky spilled blood into those glaring eyes.

The shriek was impressive.

When it sank into words again, they were a strangled, "Get off me, slave!"

"Certainly," Tantaerra snapped—and drove the second to last of her poison-tipped darts through the palm of Sarpent's descending hand.

Sarpent shrieked again, going wild.

"Oh, be quiet," Tantaerra snarled, driving the last of her darts deep into Sarpent's throat—and kicked her way free.

The arms-dealer went down, staring at Tantaerra in horror and disbelief as she choked and gurgled on her own blood. Yet already the poison was closing those terrified eyes.

Tantaerra was more interested in what she could see of the end room. It was now an inferno of raging flame.

"Ah," she panted, turning to burrow through the stock on the nearest shelf behind her and so get clear of the barriers and netting, "that has become useful."

Sarpent dead, Garldrake and the hired slayers all too asleep to escape the flames, their splendid business burning down. Satisfactory work, indeed.

Of course, those weren't the only people in the building. The ordinary staff she'd put to sleep were going to need to be woken up. Fortunately, Tantaerra never used poison without also bringing along the antidote, and there was a wide variety of sharp instruments with which to deliver it.

Already the smoke was hiding the high ceilings from view. Tantaerra sighed and sprinted for the stairs.

She was two rooms away before she wondered which useful tools the Master might have left, that she should fetch before the entire building burned down.

She settled for stuffing a helm full of coins to pay for them, instead. Better to save the people—but nobody said heroes had to work for free.

∗∗∗

When Master Argulk Hroalund cautiously opened the door, three throwing knives at the ready in his free hand, an exhausted and bloody halfling stood on his back doorstep.

Through the blood, she gave him a triumphant grin. "Your traps worked well."

Then she reeled and toppled.

Before his frantic grab could catch her, Tantaerra put a hand down to the cobbles and flung herself into a somersault that brought her unsteadily to her feet again.

Limping and wincing, Tantaerra handed her master the coin-filled helm, and gave him a harder grin.

"Bath," she said. "Something to drink."

They were not requests.

Her Master smiled down at her. "Of course."

She smiled back, and fell into oblivion.

Like Tantaerra the plucky halfling? Read more of her adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Wizard's Mask, coming soon!

Coming Next Week: An action-packed sample chapter from Ed Greenwood's The Wizard's Mask

As the creator of the Forgotten Realms, Ed Greenwood is one of the most famous RPG designers of all time, with a veritable dragon's hoard of game setting products under his belt. In the Pathfinder universe, he's the author of the new novel The Wizard's Mask (also featuring Tantaerra) and the short web fiction story "Guns of Alkenstar." In addition, he's written more than twenty Forgotten Realms novels (many dealing with his signature character, Elminster) and ten independent novels.

Illustration by Mariana Gomez

The Wizard's Cat!

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

The new Pathfinder Tales novel, The Wizard's Mask, is getting ready to ship out to stores and subscribers! Folks have been asking us for years when we planned on releasing an Ed Greenwood Pathfinder novel, and it's hardly surprising—after all, Ed is responsible for both the Forgotten Realms and Elminster, his wizardly alter-ego who's without question one of the most recognizable characters to come out of fantasy RPGs. Now, at last, all those Greenwood fans will finally get to see what happens when Ed's turned loose in Golarion for a complete novel, and I can safely say that The Wizard's Mask is chock-full of all the crazy action, witty repartee, and detailed world building you'd expect!

The Wizard's Mask is set in the middle of the conflict between authoritarian Molthune and rebellious Nirmathas, with the heroes caught up in a deadly game of espionage and magical missions, and you can read more about it here or check out a brand new free story featuring Tantaerra, the halfling half of its protagonist duo, on the weekly web fiction. Yet the thing I want to talk about today isn't the heroes or their quest, but that awesome cat on the novel's cover!

You see, fiction isn't the only way Ed Greenwood's contributed to the Pathfinder campaign setting. Way back in the Kingmaker Adventure Path, we brought Ed in to help suggest monsters for that AP's bestiary. He came up with a bunch of crazy stuff, but one that stuck in everybody's heads was the dweomercat from Pathfinder Adventure Path #36, a First World creature attracted to magic that has the strange ability to teleport whenever it's targeted by a spell. Naturally, when it came time for Ed to plan out a novel, we were all excited to see the dweomercat step back into the spotlight.

Though native to the First World, dweomercats sometimes pop up in particularly magical areas of the Material Plane as well, having followed the metaphysical scent of magic through planar rifts. While I don't want to give any spoilers about the book, it's safe to say that you'll be seeing plenty of these furry magic junkies in The Wizard's Mask, and they're not nearly as cuddly as they look...

Illustration by Damien Mammoliti

Dweomercat CR 7

XP 3,200
CN Medium magical beast
Init +10; Senses darkvision 60 ft., scent; Perception +16

Defense

AC 23, touch 17, flat-footed 16 (+6 Dex, +1 dodge, +6 natural)
hp 85 (10d10+30)
Fort +10, Ref +13, Will +6
DR 5/magic; SR 19

Offense

Speed 40 ft.
Melee 2 claws +16 (1d4+2), bite +16 (1d6+2)
Special Attacks dweomer leap, pounce, rake (2 claws +11, 1d4+2)
Spell-Like Abilities (CL 10th)
Constant—detect magic
At will—lesser globe of invulnerability, dispel magic
3/day—dimension door (self only), antimagic field

Statistics

Str 15, Dex 23, Con 16, Int 13, Wis 16, Cha 16
Base Atk +10; CMB +12; CMD 29 (33 vs. trip)
Feats Dodge, Improved Initiative, Mobility, Spring Attack, Weapon Finesse
Skills Climb +6, Knowledge (arcana) +11, Perception +16, Stealth +19; Racial Modifiers +4 Climb
Languages Common, Sylvan
SQ spell link

Special Abilities

Dweomer Leap (Su) When a dweomercat is targeted by a spell or within the area of effect of a spell, it can, as an immediate action, choose to teleport to a square adjacent to the spell's caster, effectively appearing mid-leap and aimed toward the caster. This ability takes effect regardless of whether or not the spell overcomes the dweomercat's spell resistance. If it chooses, the dweomercat can immediately make a full attack against the spell's caster as though pouncing. Using this ability does not provoke an attack of opportunity. If there is no safe space adjacent to the caster—or if the dweomercat chooses—the dweomercat can forgo using this ability.

Spell Link (Su) When a dweomercat is targeted by a spell or within the area of effect of a spell, it can, as an immediate action, forgo its dweomer leap ability to gain an effect related to the school of the spell targeting it. This effect activates before the dweomercat is affected by the spell targeting it and regardless of whether or not the spell overcomes its spell resistance. Each power lasts for 1 minute per level of the spell targeting the dweomercat, until the dweomercat uses this ability again, or until the dweomercat chooses to dismiss the effect as a free action, whichever duration is shortest. This ability does not prevent the spell affecting the dweomercat from taking effect; it only provides an additional benefit.
Abjuration: Gains acid, cold, fire, electricity, or sonic resistance equal to 2 per spell level.
Conjuration: Gains a deflection bonus to AC equal to +1 for every 5 levels of the spell.
Divination: Gains the effects of detect chaos/evil/good/law.
Enchantment: Grants the effects of the spell heroism.
Evocation: Inflicts an amount of damage equal to the spell's level upon the spell's caster.
Illusion: Grants the effects of invisibility. This effect ends as per the spell.
Necromancy: Gains the effects of false life, as if cast by the opposing spell's caster.
Transmutation: Gains an enhancement bonus on its natural weapons equal to +1 for every 5 levels of the spell.

Ecology

Environment any forest (First World)
Organization solitary, hunt (2–3), ambush (1–3 dweomercats and 2–12 dweomercat cubs)
Treasure standard

James L. Sutter
Senior Editor/Fiction Editor

Primed for Adventure

Monday, June 17, 2013

Illustration by Paolo Puggioini

Next month, we’ll be releasing Pathfinder Player Companion: Pathfinder Society Primer, a 32-page player-focused sourcebook specifically designed for use in the Pathfinder Society Organized Play campaign. Written by John Compton and myself, the book should provide characters of all sorts with new options to use both in the organized play environment and in society-themed home campaigns.

Among the many new rules presented in the book are a series of feats designed to accentuate the difference between Pathfinder agents commissioned from the field after proving themselves as able adventurers and those initiates who receive training at the Grand Lodge before earning their wayfinders. While none of these feats has the prerequisite of either character background, those for field commissioned Pathfinders tend to focus on luck and spontaneity, while those for trained Pathfinders benefit characters whose abilities are based on study and extensive training.

Here are two sample feats from this section of the book.

Patient Strike (Combat)

Your training under the Master of Swords has taught you that a well-timed strike is worth waiting for and that patience will serve you well in the long run.
Prerequisite: Int 13.
Benefit: You can choose to ready an attack as a full-round action instead of a standard action. When you do so, you gain a +2 bonus on your attack roll when your readied action triggers.
Normal: Readying an attack is a standard action and doesn’t grant a bonus on your attack roll.

Versatile Spontaneity

You made a good name for yourself in the Pathfinder Society in part because you knew how to prepare for the challenges before you, even if your natural magical abilities lend themselves less to preparation and more to spontaneity.
Prerequisites: Int 13 or Wis 13 (see Special), ability to spontaneously cast 2nd-level spells.
Benefit: When you regain spell slots at the start of the day, you may opt to prepare one spell you don’t know in place of a daily spell slot 1 level higher than the prepared spell’s level. To do so, you must have access to the selected spell on a scroll or in a spellbook, and the spell must be on your spell list (even if it is not one of your spells known). This process takes 10 minutes per spell level of the selected spell. You can cast the selected spell a single time, expending the spell slot as though it were a known spell being cast by you. Preparing a spell in this manner expends a scroll but not a spellbook. A spell prepared in this way is considered its actual level rather than the level of the spell slot expended. You can apply metamagic feats to the spell as normal, as long as the spell’s actual level plus the increases from metamagic feats is 1 level lower than the highest-level spell you can cast. For example, a 12th-level sorcerer with this feat, a scroll of fireball, and the Empower Spell metamagic feat could prepare an empowered fireball spell in her 6th-level spell slot.
Special: If you spontaneously cast arcane spells, you must have an Intelligence score of at least 13 to take this feat. If you spontaneously cast divine spells, you must have a Wisdom score of at least 13 to take this feat. If you have both arcane and divine spellcasting classes, you can use this feat to prepare a spell using a given class’s spell slot as long as you meet the associated ability score prerequisite.

Pathfinder Player Companion: Pathfinder Society Primer is set for a July release, so preorder your copy today to ensure that you can start using the great character options within at the start of Pathfinder Society Organized Play’s Year of the Demon, which launches at Gen Con Indy on August 15.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Pathfinder Battles Preview: Unleash the Undead Horde!

Friday, June 14, 2013

This week I'm pleased to announce the latest release in the Pathfinder Battles line of prepainted plastic fantasy gaming figures: the Undead Horde Builder Series! Our first Builder Series release, We Be Goblins, just came out this week, and has been receiving positive reviews both online and here at the Origins Game Fair, where I'm writing today's blog. In September, we plan to follow up this week's set with a new release packed with 12 sculpts of classic undead creatures, including four all-new sculpts and new paintjobs for popular undead figures from previous sets.

Undead Horde figures come one to a pack, in both common and rare varieties. Gamers who pick up a full "gravity feed" display box of 24 figures should receive a complete set (although with all randomly packed product, collation is not guaranteed). A full display should include one each of the six rare figures and three each of the six common figures. Each single-figure pack has a retail price of $2.99.

This week I'd like to preview half of the figures in the set. Next week I'll show off the other half, and then we'll get back to our regularly scheduled reveals of August's 55-figure Skull & Shackles set.

Up first we have the Skeleton, an old friend from our very first release, Heroes & Monsters. This figure's all-new paint scheme presents a more bleached, older skeleton. When our partners at WizKids brought this figure to our office a couple of weeks ago, all of us agreed that the new paint scheme is an improvement on the original. And since all of us liked the original Skeleton, that's really saying something. The Skeleton is a common figure.

Here we have a brand new sculpt of a classic undead horror—the Wight! Drawn from the creature's illustration in the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary, this Wight has a bit of nautical flair, making him a good match for several of the figures in the Skull & Shackles set. The Wight is a common figure.

Here's another amazing new sculpt culled straight from the pages of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary. Many of you probably remember our original Zombie from Heroes & Monsters. That figure already got a repaint in the Champions of Evil Encounter Pack, so I didn't think it was appropriate to include that sculpt in this new set. But come on, the set is called Undead Horde! It's got to have a zombie! Anyway, I figure most GMs need as many interesting Zombie sculpts as possible, and with arrows and spears sticking through this one, I thought it made for a perfect fit. The Zombie is a common figure.

Here we have the Mummy Lord, an alternative paint scheme of the Mummy Cleric from the Shattered Star set. We've given him a red cloak and tabard, and we think he looks just as menacing as ever—and perhaps more so! The Mummy Lord is a rare figure.

The Lich was always one of my favorite figures in the Heroes & Monsters set. He looks like a serious badass, especially with his new Undead Horde paint scheme. The new version turns up the contrast to a chilling effect. This was another one that everyone in the room when it came in agreed was an improvement on an already awesome original. The Lich is a rare figure.

Last up this week we've got another rare figure, perhaps the coolest in the whole set. I give you the Grave Knight, star of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary 3 cover and one of the most popular monsters in the entire book. WizKids' sculptors did a great job combining details from the cover painting and interior illustration to bring us an imposing figure in a suit of haunted full plate armor. This figure is sure to inspire a ton of horrible ideas about how you can use it to scare the pants off of your player characters. I know I can't wait to drop it on mine!

All figures in the Undead Horde Builder Series set are Medium.

I suspect you are going to love them. I do.

At this point it's probably not surprising to hear that we are already plotting with WizKids to develop the NEXT Builder Series release. I can't tell you what it is yet, but I can tell you that we have big expectations for this product format. It's a great way to add some cool new figures while offering a chance to build up large groups of key monsters at a reasonable per-figure price. I'd love to hear what sorts of Builder Series releases YOU would like to see in the comments to this post.

Set up an ongoing Pathfinder Battles subscription today to make sure you don't miss a single figure! The Undead Horde Builder Series is not formally part of the subscription, but subscribers can use their Encounter Pack/Builder Series discount codes to receive a 20% discount on display boxes (the code does not apply to single pack purchases).

That's it for this week. Next week I'll reveal six more figures. After that, we're back to revealing the rest of the Skull & Shackles set!

See you then! I'm off to get in some gaming here at Origins!

Erik Mona
Publisher

We Be Free!

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Summer's coming, and that means Free RPG Day is just around the corner! As you no doubt know, June 15th is a day set aside for your friendly local game retailer to give you free goodies to get you excited about playing RPGs. This year, Paizo is contributing We Be Goblins Too! This follow-up adventure to the popular 2011 Free RPG Day module, We Be Goblins! puts you and your friends back in the goblin POV as you try to find a place for yourselves in an unfamiliar tribe.

Don't miss out on We Be Goblins Too! Stop by your local game store on Free RPG Day and pick up a physical copy. If you can't make it to Free RPG Day, you can get these 16 pages of goblin mayhem from the Paizo store starting in July.

Jay Loomis
Editorial Intern

A Matter of Knives

by Ed Greenwood

Chapter Two: When Someone Wants You Dead

Tantaerra hastily transferred her hands to just the bottom edge of the crate-lid as she backed away—and the first slashing blows fell on it, numbingly hard.

A few splinters flew, but the swift dark swords were sharp, and the arms that drove them very strong. Steel sliced deep and caught, binding in the wood.

The silent slayer shook its swords to free them. Tantaerra let go of the lid before she was shaken dizzy and darted around behind the huge stack of crates. Time to enact her clever plan.

She ran right up the reaching pole and kicked out hard against the cellar wall, slamming her back against the big stack of shield crates. She hit hard, readying herself to leap clear of the avalanche as the crates overbalanced and came down on top of her attacker.

Yet the big stack of shield-crates wavered not an inch.

Tantaerra cursed foully, then cursed even harder as she felt swords biting into the far sides of the crates she was now clinging to. The manyswords thing was hacking and hewing crates as high as it could reach, cleaving wood that was a lot older and damper than the lid it had just flung aside; its blades were through one crate-side already.

Tantaerra climbed wood that shuddered and groaned at each sword-blow, and was a crate higher when a sudden cacophony of sliding metal announced the riven crate was abruptly spilling all of its shields.

Spilling them right onto the head of the manyswords monster, or automaton, or golem, or whatever it was. The thing came staggering into view around the edge of the stack. By then, Tantaerra was atop the uppermost crate and holding onto one of the cellar ceiling beams, sneezing out dust.

The manyswords thing regained its balance and determination, and charged back at the stack, hewing at the next crate down.

Sparks and shrieks flew as metal struck metal, and all too soon the deluge of rusting shields emptying out of a half-destroyed crate rang out again—but this time, the weight of two full crates stacked atop the two now-empty ones was too much, and Tantaerra's perch groaned, toppled, and came down on the thing of swords with a thunderous roar.

Tantaerra rode the ponderous fall almost to the cellar floor, but sprang free at the last moment to land in a dead run up the stairs.

She halted halfway up, listening as the crash rebounded off the walls, ready to continue running at the slightest stirring in the shield pile. Yet no new sounds interrupted the fading echoes.

She turned and moved cautiously down again, halting two steps from the bottom, peering into the cellar's half-light.

Nothing was moving but eddying dust. Swords lay still here and there on the floor, and a few corners of the cage-like apparition that had been their wielder could be seen protruding from under a great heap of shattered crates and flakes of rust.

Stairs creaked as the Master moved down into the basement. "Is it dead?" he asked.

"Well and truly crushed," she responded.

He shook his head, and they crossed the cellar together to peer at the fallen swords and shields, then examined the coffin-like crate lying open and unscathed. The lid had borne the "Hroalund Only" directive; the solid box was well used and empty, and bore no other markings save the usual chalked street-carters' mark that meant "delivery fee paid."

Tantaerra looked again at the label on the lid. Although its lettering was different than the label on the crate of gorgets they'd received from Galdrake and Sarpent, the labels and glue were the same.

"Someone wants you dead," she told her master grimly, tugging the rag from her face.

He looked angry, but said only, "I believe we both know who."

"So what happens now?"

"I go and do the work they've hired me for," the Master told her, his words flat and hard. "Argulk Hroalund doesn't run from threats."

"Argulk Hroalund can't run, these days," Tantaerra replied. "From anything."

The Master of the House of Blades gave her a scowl that lightened slowly into a chuckle and a nod. "You have the right of it, little one. And I see from your face that you have an idea." He started for the stairs, and added over his shoulder, "Your ideas have never led me astray thus far, so..."

When she reached the head of the stair, he was holding out his belt-flask.

"Drink," he ordered. "You've earned it. Then talk."

∗∗∗

Loryn Garldrake is a snake of a man—making him an excellent merchant.

It was hot and cramped inside the box, even wearing only light gauzy silks. Tantaerra had taken the hood off, and resolved to stay that way until Hroalund was actually opening the catches. She wore a smoke suit: tight-fitting breeches, slippers, a jerkin, and a full-head hood, all mottled gray to make the wearer hard to see in mist, shadow, or dim surroundings. It was identical to the sort favored by Molthuni scouts and sneak-thieves of all lands, and she was surprised they'd been able to find one small enough to fit her—once the arms and legs were doubled back on themselves, that is. Sometimes it proved useful to work in a shop that sold war-gear.

Useful, but not precisely comfortable. She was bumping and rumbling along on the House of Blades' freight cart, in a box that had only two tiny air-holes where nails had gone "missing" (thanks to the Master's prybar), and huddled on a bed of coiled cords inside a frame that held a tray of the Master's smaller tools just above her nose. Her carrybag was across her legs, reassuringly heavy. The traps Master Argulk Hroalund installed were almost always activated by trip-cords or wires, and his working gear also included many pulleys, hooks, ring-catches, hinged treadles, and the like. So the cart held no less than six boxes—because Garldrake and Sarpent could afford the best, and wanted it.

The holes were too small for Tantaerra to see the splendid carved sign that proclaimed "Garldrake and Sarpent/Arms and Armor For All," but as she was carried through its doors—double doors!—she could tell that it was brighter and roomier than the House of Blades.

She did catch a glimpse of the fabled polished copper ceiling. The Master had spoken scornfully of that particular addition to the main showroom of what was increasingly his chief rival in Canorate. Sheets of copper that were polished nightly, there to make everything grander and brighter, reflecting everything on display and showing the counter staff what patrons were up to in every back corner and aisle. Ornamental pillars and moldings had been added everywhere, and doors turned into tall archways, to make the premises appear much grander.

The prices had soared, of course, but unlike the Master, Garldrake and Sarpent were happy to charge extra for their fancy show room. And it had worked—not only had they retained most of their patrons, they had gained some new ones; foolish nobles who judged a smith on the beauty of his store rather than the quality of his steel.

Where the House of Blades was crammed with knives, knives, and more knives, Garldrake and Sarpent had lots of empty space, and lone suits of armor standing on their own in gleaming displays. The shop still carried far more wares than the Master did, but most of them were on shelves filling room after room opening off the showroom.

You could do that, the Master had said a trifle enviously, if you'd taken over the next-door shops on both sides, and had coin enough to swallow more. Over the last eight years, Garldrake and Sarpent had gone from strength to strength, buying out many—no, most, by now—competitors. They were the purveyors of armor and weaponry to Molthuni of wealth and discernment.

And welcome to it, she'd often heard the Master say, but from time to time he'd sounded wistful while saying it. The rest of the time, he sounded merely bitter.

"Well, well, Master Hroalund! I am most pleased to see you!"

To Tantaerra, Loryn Garldrake sounded more astonished than pleased. That confirmed her suspicions: that the manyswords thing in the coffin had been expected to kill him, and this prearranged hiring to outfit their store with traps was an alibi—for who would kill the best trap-fitter before he did his work for you?

"Welcome, welcome!" Garldrake went on, more heartily. "And you've brought all your, ah, fixings and fittings, I see! Can you have it all done today, d'you think?"

Loryn Garldrake was one of those who could melt butter on his tongue, jovially and heartily. Probably until the instant he thought you were crossing him, and then—watch out.

"I fear not," the Master replied gently. "I could if you closed your doors, but your partner was most firm that the shop—"

"Establishment, please!"

"Ah, pray pardon—the establishment should stay open, and that one room at a time would be curtained off as I worked. Here's the chart we agreed upon; please let me know if there are any changes you'd like, or..."

"No, no," Garldrake spoke slowly, his voice sharp and shrewd. No doubt he was studying the chart. "No, this is all in order. You're the best, Master Hroalund, and the best is what we want. You'll start at the back, then?"

"Yes."

"My lads will carry your boxes through. Six, aren't there?"

"Six and my little satchel, here," the Master replied agreeably. "My thanks. The curtains? Ah, good, good..."

A few bumpy moments later, Tantaerra felt her box being set down. With care, thank the gods.

"No, leave them closed, thank you," the Master said firmly. "I'll open them as I need them. Until then, less clutter, and easier to move if a patron needs something I'm in front of. Thank you."

There were murmurs from Garldrake's shop workers, booted feet shuffling away, and then the familiar clinks and clanks of the Master getting out tools and starting to hum softly to himself.

Though Garldrake and Sarpent ran to nothing so common as a shop-bell to announce the front doors opening, Tantaerra didn't have to see to know the shop was busy. The hubbub of many voices never stopped, not a few of the nearest inquiring what was behind the curtains. Hastening feet fetched things from nearby shelves on more occasions than she could count. It made the pace in the House of Blades seem one step from the grave, by comparison.

Abruptly the catches on her hiding place were thrown back. She only just had time to tug on her hood before the Master was dragging her out by an elbow and murmuring, "Now."

After the dimness of the box, the light even in this back room seemed nigh-blinding, but she was out in it for barely long enough to snatch two quick breaths before being plunged into darkness again—dustier and faintly moldy darkness this time, with a cool draft.

The Master had bundled her into the Garldrake and Sarpent dumbwaiter—or rather, atop the box that traveled up and down the shaft on furry-with-dust but well-oiled cables. Easily done by hauling on cables and thrusting a foot down into the box, when all one needed was enough space for a lithe halfling to pop through. Tantaerra checked that her carrybag was leashed securely to her wrist; it was heavy with trap-guns, triplines, and cork-guarded darts coated with poison that brought swift and deep slumber to those they stung.

She was here to spend the night, peering and hearing as she stayed unseen. Riding the top of the dumbwaiter, or climbing its ropes to get higher, the better to spy.

Being discovered would bring almost certain death, because the Master had a pretty fair idea of what Garldrake and Sarpent were up to: cheating the rulers of Molthune by providing inferior armor and weaponry—like those gorgets—and undercutting competitors' prices, driving said rivals into business failure or forcing them to sell out to Garldrake and Sarpent. No doubt they knew that Master Hroalund would never willingly hand over his shop, and had decided it would be easier to acquire his share of the market after his untimely death.

They had to know they'd be found out eventually, but obviously planned to make their fortunes first, and probably buy merchant ships and buildings in the heart of bustling cities in other lands, so they could leave Molthune in haste and still keep some wealth. Or perhaps they'd simply quietly pay off the injured parties whenever their shoddy quality was discovered—and in the meantime, grow to dominate Molthune's arms and armor trade, and heap up coins as high as they could.

A fine plan in theory. Yet if Tantaerra could discover evidence of it, Hroalund could easily use that knowledge to expose them—or perhaps simply hold it over them, using it to secure his own safety.

Safety—and more than a little gold, if Tantaerra had her way. For anything that threatened Master Hroalund also threatened his slave. And no one threatened Tantaerra and got away cheaply...

Like Tantaerra the plucky halfling? Read more of her adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Wizard's Mask, coming soon!

Coming Next Week: Darts in the dark in the final chapter of Ed Greenwood's "A Matter of Knives"!

As the creator of the Forgotten Realms, Ed Greenwood is one of the most famous RPG designers of all time, with a veritable dragon's hoard of game setting products under his belt. In the Pathfinder universe, he's the author of the new novel The Wizard's Mask (also featuring Tantaerra) and the short web fiction story "Guns of Alkenstar." In addition, he's written more than twenty Forgotten Realms novels (many dealing with his signature character, Elminster) and ten independent novels.

Illustration by Mariana Gomez

No Tears at This Bitter Manor

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Photo by (and of) Steven Helt

My first RPG game was a high-level adventure, and had something to do with queens, demons, webs, and pits. We didn't last long, but I was hooked on the concept. Over the years, I graduated from aimless power gamer to aspiring storyteller. I've been blessed with great friends and great campaigns. Though I cherish my faith and family more than anything, I have been a gamer longer than any other attribute or hobby I could ascribe to myself, so this opportunity is very special to me.

I'll compete for my third Iron GM crown at Gen Con this year. As I became a better GM and storyteller, I began to flirt with the idea of adventure and game world design, even making notes on a few novels. I entered every year of RPG Superstar thinking I'd improved from the year before, and hoping I could get past the gatekeepers into a round where I might shine. When I made it in this year, I immediately started working to take advantage of this great opportunity.

Fortunately, I have lots of contacts from my two favorite gaming towns, both those who know about the large events I host at Gen Con and organizers and fellow competitors at Iron GM, LLC. In addition to gathering support from multiple areas, I worked on several design options. In fact, not a single entry for any round of Superstar this year was among my first three ideas.

If I have advice to offer next year's contestants, "never give up" seems pretty strong. Also, I'd offer the same counsel I give hopeful Iron GMs. Always keep your brain (and your flashdrive) stocked with new ideas. The first one or two might not be your best. A rules twist might make your adventure pitch impossible to submit in the final round. Have confidence, and never stop working or improving. Submit cinematic ideas, and surround yourself with honest editors and writing critics.

I'm working on Tears at Bitter Manor every day. My goal is to deliver a gritty horror/mystery adventure, and to include plenty of new material so players who read the proposal round will still be challenged and surprised. I look forward to your comments and questions about the adventure when it's released, as well as a lengthy and detailed obituary. Thanks to Paizo for this fantastic contest, and to the online community of Pathfinder players for making me this year's RPG Superstar!

Steven Helt
Contributor

When a Faction Turns Out the Lights

Monday, June 10, 2013

Illustrated by Lindsey Wakefield

Ever since we divulged which factions would disappear, the forums have been humming with speculation, questions, and clarifications about exactly how the whole faction retirement process will work. In brief overview, we are removing two factions from the available options for Pathfinder Society Organized Play. These factions are not necessarily disappearing from the face of Golarion, but for a variety of reasons they are withdrawing their direct involvement in the Pathfinder Society. Two new scenarios, #4-21 Way of the Kirin and #4-23 Rivalry's End, allow Lantern Lodge and Shadow Lodge faction PCs respectively the opportunity to play through their factions' conclusions. Of course, anyone can play these scenarios, but there's a special something waiting for members of the above factions. On August 14th, whether a person has played the scenarios or not, the two factions will be removed, and all existing Lantern Lodge and Shadow Lodge characters will have to switch factions.

Allow me to provide a compiled list of answers for as many of the many questions as I can.

Can I play a pregenerated character and get credit?
According to the Pathfinder Society Guide to Organized Play, pregenerated characters are treated as members of the Grand Lodge. As a result, playing a pregenerated character does not grant a player access to the faction-specific boon.

I have a Lantern Lodge character who is 8th level or higher. Shouldn't I have an opportunity to experience my faction's conclusion?
We are allowing GMs to do something special for these two scenarios. Anyone who GMs the scenario can apply the sheet to a character of level 8+ even though the character would not normally be eligible to receive credit. This Chronicle sheet includes the experience point, Prestige Points, items, and gold for Subtier-6–7.

My Lantern Lodge or Shadow Lodge character is not yet level 3. What happens if I assign him GM credit before August 14th?
Follow the normal rules for assigning a Chronicle sheet to a character from GMing; the Chronicle sheet is held until the character reaches a high enough level to qualify for earning the Chronicle sheet. The key difference is that the character's faction might change by the time the Chronicle sheet kicks into effect. If the character does not reach 3rd level by August 14th, the character will no longer be a member of the Lantern Lodge or Shadow Lodge and will no longer qualify for the faction-specific boon(s).

What happens if my Lantern Lodge or Shadow Lodge character doesn't play the scenario before August 14th?
Your character will receive the free faction change on August 14th but no other benefits. The character must choose a new legal faction the first time he plays a scenario on or after that date.

Happy pathfinding,

John Compton
Developer

Kyra's Helmet

Saturday, June 8, 2013

At the conclusion of every costume production course at UWM, students are assigned a choice project that will fully illustrate the variety of techniques that they have learned throughout the semester, and explore techniques that they have not yet learned about in order to create a project that is uniquely tied to their interests. My interest in costuming is directly tied to my love of gaming and fantasy, so naturally I decided to build Kyra’s helmet.

Building the helm was a trial and error process, as I was trying to replicate a metal object using plastic, fabric, and acrylic paints. We had three weeks to work on the project, and I used every last second. The final process involved shaping foss-shape over a clay covered head block to provide the foundation (with some changes to the shape, as I liked the longer Persian helms better), painting several dozen layers of gesso and sculpt-or-coat, creating the headpiece by sculpting and casting it (with a couple of failed casts!), painting the helm after sanding it fairly smooth, and wrapping a dipped-down fabric filled with battering to make the turban.

While the result looks far more weathered than I originally planned, it was a favorite among my classmates and my teacher, so it was a huge success for me!

...Now I just have to make Kyra’s robes and I can show up to PaizoCon as everyone’s favorite cleric!

Levi Miles
Contributor

Pathfinder Battles Preview: It’s All My Fault

The August release of the Skull & Shackles set of Pathfinder Battles prepainted fantasy miniatures is only a couple of months away. WizKids has delivered final production samples of all 55 figures in the set, and it's pretty amazing how they continue to raise the bar on sculpting and painting with each Pathfinder Battles release. It's always amazing to see creatures and characters we created in our minds finally taking form as three-dimensional full-color objects we can hold in our hands. I often consider it one of my greatest powers as a publisher, in fact, and this week's preview fittingly covers four figures that probably would never have existed if it wasn't for yours truly, even if I did not directly invent any of them.

Let me explain.

The devil-binding empire of Cheliax, a major nation in the Golarion campaign setting of the Pathfinder RPG, has a long and storied history that predates the founding of Paizo Publishing and the creation of Gen Con.

It all started more than 20 years ago, when my folks took me and my brother on a special vacation to see the Final Four NCAA tournament being hosted that year in Seattle. It was my first trip to the city, and as far as the basketball, the museums, and the monorails were concerned, it was a highly enjoyable trip for the whole family, and Seattle was a great city (little did I know then that I would end up living here a couple of decades later).

The problems started after the tournament, when my father had to stick around for some business meetings in the city while my mom took me, my brother, and my grandmother to a timeshare unit in a lakeside resort community called Lake Chelan to spend our final week in Washington state in a gorgeous, rustic stay in a tourist-oriented town filled with lake activities, waterslides, and other fun attractions. The only trouble was that we arrived in late March, whereas all of the town's fun activities were scheduled for the summer tourist season.

We arrived to find the lake mostly drained, the "resort" part of our accommodations flooded, all of the waterslides closed, and even the local bowling alley booked solid for the high school "bowling unit" (!!!). For a little kid of 13 years, that immediately qualified the trip for "WORST EVER" status, and it soon became a legend in our family, a source of laughs years later but something that actively and truly sucked for every hour during which it was actually taking place in what seemed like slow motion.

The word "Chelan" soon became synonymous with the depths of evil in my teenage mind, and as I moved on to college in the early 90s, I'd taken to using Chelan as the name of the evil kingdom in most of my fantasy fiction. By the time I moved to Seattle in 1999, I realized that everyone in my new home knew Chelan as a classy resort destination, and since they didn't share my teenage loathing for it, it just stuck out, like calling a kingdom Bellevue or Redmond or something. It didn't work.

But man, I still hated Chelan, and wanted to continue my literary revenge upon it. When it came time to design an evil kingdom for what would become the Pathfinder Campaign Setting, I decided to incorporate much of the creative work I'd done on Chelan, only I decided this time to mask it a little more with a slightly modified name: Cheliax.

So yes, I'm afraid Chelaix is all my fault, at least in concept. Others took the concepts I laid down and added significantly to them (especially Wes Schneider, the demented mind behind the Hellknights). One of the great things about being in on the creation of a huge part of the campaign setting is seeing where others have taken "my" original ideas. Cheliax has come a huge distance from my freshman year scribblings, and every time I see some new bit of development for it, I can't help but feel like a proud parent.

And the Skull & Shackles Adventure Path gave me plenty of reasons to play the proud papa, as Cheliax plays heavily in the background of the campaign and in its resolution.

Today I present three miniatures associated with the Chelish faction, intended to help you stage epic Skull & Shackles encounters but usable in any fantasy RPG. I didn't create any of these characters, but I was responsible for a big part of their background and I'm ultimately the one who decided to include them in the set. This close to Father's Day, I'll call that close enough and declare them my twisted progeny by proxy.

Up first we have the leader of the Skull & Shackles Chelaxians, the insidious Admiral Thrune! This diabolical naval "hero" and her crew play a huge role in the campaign's endgame, and her heavy mace, crossbow, and noble costume make her an ’interesting choice for a player character, as well. But in the campaign, I'm afraid you're going to have to fight her. And her companions, too! This medium figure is slated at the uncommon rarity.

Here we have one of Admiral Thrune's most trusted allies, the Scourge Hellknight Paralictor! This fully armored female polearm master Hellknight does everything in her power to protect the leadership of House Thrune, including pole-axing your player characters in twain. The medium figure is also uncommon, and while she is the first Hellknight we've produced in the Pathfinder Battles line and the only one in this set, it's fair to say she'll soon get a fair amount of company from others in her order…

A navy needs officers, of course, and the Skull & Shackles set is ready to deliver in the form of this figure, the Chelish Marine. His smart uniform matches that of his admiral, making them look great together. Because you'll probably want more than a single crewman, we've slated this medium figure at the common rarity.

And that's not all for this week! Last week I accidentally previewed only two figures, so I've decided to make up the difference by revealing what is probably my personal favorite figure in the entire set. Open your eyes, me hearties, and behold the SEAWEED SIREN!

The hideous creature is a CR 13 Large magical beast that inhabits islands and coastal regions, luring sailors with its three false heads. These bad boys (or girls, I suppose) have a host of cool powers, from a gaze attack to a curse power to bolts of sonic energy. Mostly, I just thought it looked amazingly cool. Even though the Seaweed Siren does not technically appear as a monster in the six adventures of the Skull & Shackles Adventure Path, its game statistics do appear in the Bestiary section of Pathfinder Adventure Path #60, technically making it qualify for inclusion in this set. And really, I just love the way it looks, so I used a rare bit of publisher fiat to include it in the set simply because I wanted it.

So blame me. Indirectly speaking, all four figures this week are my fault!

That's it for this week. Tune in to this space next week for a big announcement and an even larger preview of figures… from something other than the Skull & Shackles set. What? A NEW set of Pathfinder Battles minis? Whatever could it be?

Well, come back next week, and I'll tell you.

In the meantime, don't forget to set up an ongoing Pathfinder Battles subscription to make sure you don't miss a single figure!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Enhance Your Game with the Shattered Star Face Cards!

Thursday, June 6, 2013

I'm a big fan of Face Cards. In my own games I have used cards from multiple sets both to depict NPCs and to inspire creatively blocked players during character generation. Face Cards add a lot of depth and color to any game. The Shattered Star Face Cards, available now, are no exception! These cards depict notable characters from the Shattered Star Adventure Path, but the faces are also intriguing and evocative even if, like me, you haven't had the chance to play though Shattered Star yet.

But enough of my jabber, here's a sample of some the awesome art found in this 54 card set:

Illustrations by Miguel Harkness, Dmitry Burmak, and Dmitry Prosvirnin

I hope you find these cards as useful as I do!

Jay Loomis
Editorial Intern

A Matter of Knives

by Ed Greenwood

Chapter One: In the House of Blades

"I do not waste time dealing with slaves," the citizen in the splendid red doublet informed her. "Go and fetch your master. Now."

"Come back tomorrow," the halfling said flatly, her eyes two flames of fury. She stood on the shop counter facing him, chin thrust forward and hands on hips, as if she owned the place.

Which she didn't, of course. She was indeed a slave—and a halfling of shorter stature than most halflings, to boot.

The citizen looked down his nose at her, dubiously. It was unusual in splendid and sprawling Canorate to see a slave openly armed, but this one had daggers that looked like they'd serve her as swords strapped to her arms and legs.

Yet this was Hroalund's House of Blades, a shop that sold knives and daggers. The problem was, this arrogant little above-herself slave looked ready, willing, and one angrily spitting moment away from using them.

"Yes," she hissed, as if reading his mind, her hands suddenly stroking dagger-pommels. "I hit what I throw these at. Every time." Her voice became a menacing purr. "Would sir care for a demonstration?"

The citizen opened his mouth to say something sneering and dismissive—and then thought better of it. "Tomorrow, then!" he snapped, then spun on one magnificently booted heel and stormed out.

Through the shop window, Tantaerra Loroeva Klazra watched the embroidered tail of the citizen's fine cloak swirl in his wake, and sighed.

The Master steps out on business for the afternoon, and half of Canorate comes in here to try to bully the shop slave into giving them things for a quarter their worth—and a sixth of the asked price. It was hardly surprising—she was, after all, an outlander and a little child of a creature, no doubt untutored and naïve.

Pah. Molthuni were such aggressively arrogant idiots.

That went double for rich Canorate citizens out adventuring beyond the walls of the gilded Sweet Orchard district, to where the lungs of Canorate breathed, the real daily business of Molthune was done, and shops that sold useful things crowded together along busy streets.

Tantaerra plucked one of the mirror-bright sample knives from an upright fan display of them atop the polished countertop, buffed it on her sleeve, then turned her back on the now-empty shop and strode right off the countertop, tossing the knife casually back over her shoulder as she started to fall.

Those who judge Tantaerra based on her size are fools indeed.

It thunked into the target even before her feet sank into the heap of soft mats the Master had accumulated behind the counter as his gout steadily worsened.

She did not have to look to know she'd struck the target dead center. She was, after all, better at demonstrating the throwing knives Argulk Hroalund was deservedly famous for than the Master was himself.

The shop guards watched her pad across the shop and leap up to retrieve the blade, their faces as impassive as ever, but when she sighed loudly and told the ceiling, "If one more overblown scion of Canorate's elite comes in here before we close..." she saw the ghost of a smile pluck at the lips of one of them, just for an instant.

As if her lament had been a cue, the singing clash of crossing swords rang out, courtesy of the enchantment on the shop door. Well, it was better than those annoying bells any day.

Tantaerra swallowed a sigh, fixed a professional smile on her face, and sprang atop the stool behind the counter once more. After all, if the Master didn't eat, neither would she, and Canorate wasn't the cheapest of places to—

Her smile became genuine. It was the Master.

Yet the grin faded as quickly as it came, and she found herself struggling to get the professional smile back into place. The Master was worried.

And it took a lot to worry Argulk Hroalund.

He was the best maker of throwing knives in five lands, probably more, and offered the best stock of knives of all sorts—from tiny hide-in-your-hair ladies' death-needles to joint-an-aurochs cleavers—in Molthune. And had been for fifty years, perhaps sixty. Which meant he'd dealt with a lot of Molthuni. And anyone who sold arms and armor had to be ready to defend themselves, as well as tough as mountain stone against intimidation, or...

"Braerand, Luthkul, Orrlehm—have my thanks; this day's shift is done. Be off home with you. The House is closing until the day after tomorrow. So tomorrow is yours, though I'll pay you for it as if you were here."

The guards were surprised, yet said not a word. They merely nodded and went.

As the Master shot the bolts in their wake and reached to swing the metal doorbar down into place, Tantaerra set the first trap, but he turned with a frown and held up a hand to stop her.

Surprised, Tantaerra stood on the counter and watched him shuffle back to her from the door and begin the routine of setting all the traps himself.

He was worried.

Most shops had traps against thieves, but the Master's were the best. Oh, a knife shop's traps almost had to be, but even the Orchard-dwellers in Canorate hired Argulk Hroalund to trap their homes.

He designed the most elaborate and best hidden mechanical traps, from half a dozen for a small shop to scores of silently waiting deadlinesses in a grand mansion; elaborate mechanical traps that could wound intruders with "knives or darts, launched or thrust." Tantaerra knew the Master's skill well; because she was deft, supple, and small even for a halfling, she was often set to work installing his creations in spaces too cramped for the Master himself.

The knives were the daily soup and cheese of the House of Blades, but the trapping was big coin.

"Anything I should know?" he growled at her as usual, as he checked the day's takings. Not too worried to entirely abandon routine.

"Two odd deliveries, both crates. The smaller from Garldrake and Sarpent, the larger from no one who wants to share his name, and who ships in crates that could double as coffins; it's labeled ‘To Be Opened By Master Hroalund Only.' So I left it. I opened the other, though. Forty-six gorgets, steel, all the same size—and utter slop. I bent some accidentally, between two fingers, lifting them out. You can't sell them. You're being insulted. Or set up for a fall, somehow."

The Master frowned and then sighed. He looked old and tired—but not surprised. "You left them in the back?"

At Tantaerra's nod, he set off for his private rooms, pinching the lamps dark as he went. Tantaerra scampered after him. His abrupt and early closing meant she hadn't even warmed the water atop the little stove, but she could rub oil into his gouty feet while supper was cooking, rather than after...

"I'd like that," the Master grunted, and she froze. She must have said her thoughts aloud.

Then he turned and proved again why he was the best Master any slave could have. "And we'll talk. My worries are bothering you, and I need someone to talk to. I trust you, Little Firebrand. You've more sense than any twenty Canorate shopkeepers—or any forty Sweet Orchard highcloaks—put together."

"Flatterer," she told him affectionately. "See if you can be as complimentary about my supper—and I'll try not to burn it."

∗ ∗ ∗

Tantaerra's stomach was both full and warm; she was finally getting the hang of hot savory pies. The Master belched and smiled, several times each, then stopped smiling and told her, "It seems Garldrake and Sarpent may turn out to be difficult trading partners. At best."

"Oh? Share?"

"Nothing to share but suspicions. Yet. Let's be looking at the larger crate."

A few shuffling moments later and they were standing over it, eyeing the crate that looked very like a coffin.

To Be Opened By Master Hroalund Only. That boldly lettered label was imperious enough.

The Master looked at her.

Tantaerra sighed. "You want me to open it, don't you?"

Hroalund nodded, looking a little ashamed and a little sad.

"Not here," she said crisply. "In the cellar. Back corner, next to the big stack."

The big stack was the one fixture in the cellar of the House of Blades. Hroalund's only deadwood; a six-crate-high tower almost brushing the ceiling beams. Bigger crates than most carters made these days, full of shields silently rusting away—shields the Master would never be able to unload, now that Molthune's armies used a new design. Not without scouring clean and reshaping every last one, and they just weren't worth the time and expense.

The Master nodded and went for his cart.

One of Tantaerra's tasks was keeping its side-ramp well greased, and she did tasks thoroughly. The Master only grunted twice as he shoved the coffin-crate up onto the cart; its journey was swift and easy.

Tantaerra had improved the winch on the pulley-lift so it rarely creaked, and gave off sighs rather than its former high, raw groans. A few pumps of the handle and cart and burden were down in the cellar.

The Master wheeled the cart to right beside the stack of crates and gave his slave a questioning look.

She nodded, and he stepped back. She pointed at the handle of the cart.

"Ah," he said, after a moment. "Take the cart away. Good thinking."

He did that, then stopped halfway across the cellar to watch. Tantaerra gave him an exasperated look, then used the prybar she'd fetched down with her to point at the ceiling, then at him, then at the ceiling again. Imperiously.

Hroalund nodded reluctantly and set off up the stairs. She made sure he wasn't halting to turn and come back down before she hastily downed breeches and emptied her bladder all over the polishing-rag she'd brought with her.

She tied the damp result over her nose. A feeble defense against poison gas, but better than nothing. She was still tightening its knot behind her ears when the Master reappeared. He had a long length of cord in his hands.

"What're you—?"

He tied it securely around her waist. "In case I need to drag you to safety."

He'd brought the long reaching-pole from the shop with him, and used its jaws to thrust the free end of the rope up through the open pulley-lift hatch in the ceiling. When he started for the stairs again, Tantaerra caught hold of the reaching-pole. "Leave it."

The Master looked surprised, but relinquished it readily enough.

Tantaerra positioned it against the wall behind the stack of crates. When she returned from behind them, Hroalund was upstairs and peering down at her through the hatch, the cord tied to her waist hanging from it.

She waved cheerily and set to work with her prybar.

The nails were few but secure. Tantaerra hauled and heaved, and it went swiftly enough; this was work she did every day. As she finished one side and started around the end of the crate—it did look like a coffin, to be sure—she caught sight of her master watching her. He looked anxious.

When every nail was out, she levered the lid up and hauled it back, keeping behind it as if it was a shield.

Silence. Stillness.

And then, as she'd expected, something erupted up out of the crate with a clatter and clang of ringing steel. The Master shouted in alarm.

The thing emerging looked like a man's skeleton sheathed in a metal cage-work—if, that is, human skeletons came with eight arms, each of them ending in wicked-looking sword blades.

It stepped out of the box and toward her, blades reaching...

Like Tantaerra the plucky halfling? Read more of her adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel The Wizard's Mask, coming soon!

Coming Next Week: Professional rivalry in the weapons business in Chapter Two of Ed Greenwood's "A Matter of Knives"!

As the creator of the Forgotten Realms, Ed Greenwood is one of the most famous RPG designers of all time, with a veritable dragon's hoard of game setting products under his belt. In the Pathfinder universe, he's the author of the new novel The Wizard's Mask (also featuring Tantaerra) and the short web fiction story "Guns of Alkenstar." In addition, he's written more than twenty Forgotten Realms novels (many dealing with his signature character, Elminster) and ten independent novels.

Illustration by Eric Belisle

A Righteous, Mythic September!

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

In a lot of ways, Gen Con is like the start of the gaming year. You've probably already heard all the excitement over Paizo's upcoming Gen Con releases, but we're just getting this new year of games started! Here's what we have in store for you in September:

A Truly Righteous Adventure Path

The second installment of the Wrath of the Righteous Adventure Path, Pathfinder Adventure Path #74: Sword of Valor continues the story of newly mythic PCs fighting against the encroaching horde of the Worldwound. This is our first Adventure Path to use Pathfinder Roleplaying Game: Mythic Adventures, and you don't want to miss out!

Getting Even More Mythic

Speaking of being mythic, check out these two books that give you even more to play with: Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Mythic Realms and Pathfinder Player Companion: Mythic Origins. Mythic Realms will introduce you to a host of epic legends, secret places of power, and mythic hotspots. If you're looking for ways to put the mythic into your game, this book is for you. And everyone playing a mythic character will want to grab Mythic Origins, for loads of new options for every mythic path and plenty of ideas for being mythic heroes.

Fearsome Adventuring Gear

Playing the Reign of Winter Adventure Path? Or in a campaign centered on the vicious perils hidden in the ice and snow? You'll want these Pathfinder Pawns: Reign of Winter Adventure Path Pawn Collection, with over 100 different critters, villains, and other NPCs. These work with the plastic bases from the Pathfinder Pawns: Bestiary Box.

For that most classic of adventure openers—that creepy, dirty, poorly lit tavern—we've got just the flip-mat for you: Pathfinder Flip-Mat: Seedy Tavern. From vile criminals ambushing the heroes to the PCs getting into a drunken brawl, the scenes you could have in this Seedy Tavern pretty much write themselves.

Looking to play the upcoming Wardens of the Reborn Forge deluxe module? Then check out Pathfinder Campaign Cards: Wardens of the Reborn Forge. This 54-card Campaign Deck is a great way for the players to keep track up the items and NPCs in the game, and introduces the Quest Cards to help the players keep track of the adventure. With gorgeous artwork, you'll surely find uses for this even after the adventure is over!

Ryan Macklin
Editor

Ratfolk and Catfolk and Race Boons Oh My

Monday, June 3, 2013

Of all the feedback I receive about Pathfinder Society Organized Play, whether it be in person when I am visiting different regions, through emails, or on the messageboards, what I hear most is that non-convention-goers have little to no chance to obtain some of the convention-only boons that are offered at regional shows. The most popular of these boons are the racial boons, which open up the player's options to choose a unique race. I have thought long and hard on how we can even out things for those players who are not able to attend a convention for whatever reason.

First, let me clarify that we will always have special boons that can only be obtained at conventions. These will consist of a multitude of various options, from extending the range of the Day Job earnings chart to unique races. Our regional and national conventions and larger game days are where we garner the biggest PR for our game. But that doesn't mean I don't want to offer the chance of getting cool boons, especially racial boons, to members of our player base who don't attend conventions.

At these regional conventions, players only receive approximately a 10% chance to receive any boon that is provided at the convention. I don't think it is unreasonable to offer a similar chance to non-convention players.

One tool that has finally been opened to me is I am able to filter play of individual scenarios, and to see every reported table and every Pathfinder Society number that was at that table. I am also able to filter dates so I can see exactly how many tables of a specific scenario were reported over a specified time. Playing around with this new tool got me to thinking about how I could utilize it for the benefit of the entire Pathfinder Society player base.

My initial thought is that when a scenario presents something unique, such as helping a race like ratfolk, catfolk, or dhampirs (and no, I am not advising one way or another whether either of these races will make an appearance in Season 5), it might be possible to offer these races (or whatever races were aided in a specified scenario) via a lottery type of system. While I certainly don't want to flood the OP with a zoo of races (such as making them available on a Chronicle sheet for everyone who plays the specified scenario), I don't think it is a bad thing to occassionally give a limited pool of players the chance to play a new race, similar to the Grippli boon at Gen Con this year, as long as we control the flow of how many become available. With that said, my thinking is that after the first month or two of a specified scenario, I would randomly select from all tables that reported success in the specified scenario. All the players and GMs of the randomly selected tables would then have the unique Chronicle sheet sent directly to them.

Maybe this is or isn't the best way to offer unique boons to the entire playerbase, especially those who can't or won't attend conventions. However, it is the start of a working idea I am still toying with that would offer an equal chance to everyone who plays the specified scenario in a specified time limit. If you think this is a horrible idea, please offer a solution for how we can make it better. I would very much like to hear your feedback on what you think of the above system, or hear your thoughts on any other suggestions you might have for how to best utilize this new tool I have been given. As always, your feedback and comments help to strengthen the community at large, and without your feedback and participation, Pathfinder Society wouldn't be as awesome as it is today. I look forward to reading all of your comments.

Mike Brock
Pathfinder Society Campaign Coordinator