Pathfinder Battles Preview: From Digital Renders to Final Product
Friday, December 30, 2011
When we first started revealing images from the Pathfinder Battles Heroes & Monsters set, all we had to show off were the very earliest computer-rendered images from the first few weeks of production. These gave a good idea of the quality we were shooting for with this first set of prepainted miniatures, but the digital renders lacked some of the depth and paint steps of the final miniatures.
Now that we’ve revealed the complete set in one way or the other and we stand on the precipice of the actual release, I wanted to go back through the set and update a few minis that you’ve only seen in digital form thus far. Below are actual photos of actual miniatures from the Heroes & Monsters set.
This little guy was one of the very first digital renders we revealed way back in August. Here’s the wily Gnome Fighter in all his final glory, complete with a tankard on his belt and bright orange hair to terrify his enemies. This uncommon miniature comes packed with the Dire Rat we showed off two weeks ago.
Next up is the rare Half-Orc Barbarian, one of the set’s most complex figures in terms of pose and detail. This figure looks wonderful in-hand, and makes a fantastic mini for the archetypal, well, half-orc barbarian. Good? Bad? He’s the one with the axe.
This rare Vampire, on the other hand, is all bad guy. WizKids did a great job bringing out the complex detail on the Vampire’s stylish armor. Whether he gets you with his upraised sword, his nasty fangs, or his essence-draining touch, the Vampire will get you one way or the other.
This sexy lady with red demon wings is looking for a good time, and promises a kiss you will never forget (note: do not actually make out with your Pathfinder Battles figures). She’s the rare Succubus, and she’s not pleased with your remark that Bettie Page hairdos are so 2002.
This bad boy, the rare Troll, leaps off the cover of the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary to menace your gaming table. Sure, he looks a little like he’s got his hands in the air like he just don’t care, but those jazz hands will tear your player character to shreds, which will then be devoured by his jazz tusks. He will kick your azz.
Also awesome: The more than 25 paint masters for the next set, Rise of the Runelords, that WizKids brought over for approval this afternoon. I won’t be revealing any of those until after Heroes & Monsters is out, but when I crassly mentioned how I thought you guys would react upon seeing them, James Jacobs was friendly enough to offer two G-rated corrections. In his words, you will “poop your pantaloons,” or “brown your britches.”
I couldn’t have said it better (or cleaner) myself!
Greetings, potential superstars! There’s been some discussion about the Round 2: Organizations challenge, as smart competitors want to start working on a Round 2 submission early just in case they make it into the Top 32. While we haven’t finalized the rules document for Round 2 yet, we have decided the Organization format will match that in the Inner Sea World Guide, which looks like this:
Organization Name
Alignment: [two-letter abbreviation] Headquarters: [location] Leader: [character name] Structure: [multinational corporation, military hierarchy, orders of crusading lawbringers, loose affiliation of like-minded explorers, religious cult, assassin’s guild, and so on] Scope: [regional, national, or global (specify region or nation, if any)] Resources: [property, valuable assets, castles, fortresses, equipment, network of local agents, informants, safe houses, and so on]
[100-word introductory paragraph summarizing the organization.] Structure and Leadership
[100 words on this topic.] Goals
[100 words on this topic.] Public Perception
[50 words on this topic.]
Note that the organizations in the Inner Sea World Guide are approximately 1,400 words, so your submission write-up is a lean, stripped-down version of that. If you don’t have a copy of the Inner Sea World Guide handy, here’s the entry for the Aspis Consortium - (3.9 MB zip/PDF) from that book that you can use as a model for your write-up.
Your organization should be something PCs would normally oppose or come into conflict with, not an organization a typical heroic PC would join. The organization doesn’t necessarily have to be villainous, but it should definitely be a potential antagonist.
Full details (including a BBcode-formatted template for this challenge and an example organization from the Inner Sea World Guide) will be available next week. In the meantime, use the above information to guide your design for Round 2.
Remember, the deadline to submit your wondrous item is January 6th! You can’t submit an organization in Round 2 unless you make it into the Top 32 by submitting a wondrous item!
The ancient mechanisms thundered, the giant gears crushing boulder-sized rocks between their iron teeth and spitting out rubble in disdain. Beyond them, the furnaces set into the stone dwarf mouths glowed with Abyssal fury and spewed rivers of molten rock destined for the deeper bowels beneath Darkmoon Vale.
Darvin couldn't concern himself with that, however. To his left, Fife—halfling, adopted brother, and friend—lay unmoving on the giant conveyor belt that ferried him closer to the hungry gears eager to gnash him into bloody pudding. To Darvin's right, however, the beautiful Princess Miranna dangled from a metal chain, her once stunning gown in tatters and hanging only by the curve of her ample hips and shoulders. Inch by inch, the mad, twisted dwarves from beneath Darkmoon Vale, long forgotten by wind and sunlight, cackled monstrously and lowered Miranna closer to the vat of molten ore.
Darvin couldn't save them both, he realized. Or could he? He glanced left at Fife (still unconscious as the belt carried him doomward), then right at Princess Miranna (screaming his name, the vat warming the pads of her naked feet). Then up at the dwarf king, Madbeard IV, who laughed maniacally at his evil cunning, the Necklace of Fortune's Charms with its dozens of luck rings hanging from his neck. Finally, Darvin looked down at his hands, and at the only thing he hadn't yet spent or broken in their quest to uncover the Vale's secrets: a lockpick.
It would have to be enough.
"Too late!" Madbeard IV cried triumphantly, his half-burned face twisted in a sneer, the rings of his necklace jangling. "You cannot save them both!"
Darvin grit his teeth and steeled his jaw. His voice, low and dangerous, sliced through the clamor.
"I'm thirsty," he said.
∗∗∗
"What?" an old man asked, leaning so far forward that he almost spilled from his chair.
"I'm thirsty," Darvin repeated. He smacked his lips as though dismissing a bad taste. "Where's that serving wench?"
Three of the men shouted for another barley stout from the kitchen. Fife pretended to annotate the ledger on his lap, but a sideways glance told him the story. Seven men and two women sat around their table, on the edge of their seats. They eyed the necklace hanging in Darvin's languid grip, a handful of rings all that were left of its charms.
When the black-haired lass appeared from the kitchen carrying a serving tray, they motioned her over impatiently.
She set the drink down, at which point Darvin rolled his eyes. "Damn it all... Fife, old friend, I've forgotten my monies upstairs. Go fetch my purse?"
Fife nodded and jumped down from his large chair.
"This won't take a moment," Darvin said.
"Here," one of the men said, slapping down coin on the serving tray and glancing at the necklace of lucky rings. "Go on with your story. The lockpick?"
Darvin nodded as Fife quietly took his seat again. The halfling tried not to smirk. Darvin had them wrapped around his finger.
It was only when Fife glanced again that he saw the two men seated away from them, in the shadows. Neither appeared to be smiling.
When the evening ended, Fife followed Darvin as he swept into their room. The human collapsed into the hay bed with a groan, his belly distended. "I may have eaten too much," he admitted, draping an arm over his forehead.
"No no," Fife said, closing the door, "you had to eat all that food before it threatened anyone else. You're a hero."
"I am, aren't I?" Darvin said with a chuckle. He jangled the copper necklace, now bereft of its rings. "We need more charms for tomorrow night. I had them eating out of my hand."
"Oh, so you did leave some food?" The halfling sat on the opposite bed and opened a leather-bound book that swallowed his entire lap. "I hadn't noticed."
"Pff. You halflings eat like birds anyway." Darvin glanced over to see if he'd hit a nerve, but Fife pretended to study the page.
"Now... you got the princess's eyes wrong," Fife said. "You called them blue when they're supposed to be sea-green."
"So?"
"It's the reason why Madbeard IV decides to sacrifice her. Because of his promise to the Mage of Conqueror's Bay."
"So!" Darvin said.
Fife sighed. "The waters of Conqueror's Bay are green!"
"Fife," Darvin said, "nobody here's been to Nidal. We haven't been to Nidal—or Darkmoon Vale, or anywhere else for that matter. Nobody's going to notice."
"Authenticity is key. Speaking of which, it's getting harder to keep track of your... embellishments."
"I go with the moment," Darvin said, closing his eyes.
"For example, I never described the princess as a ‘plump sausage.'"
"Some moments are better than others," Darvin said, grinning. "Besides, I grow bored. Have you written something new?"
"I'm working on it," Fife said, flipping through pages. The comment rankled him. Like it was that easy to create something worthwhile.
"You worry too much," Darvin said. He sounded like he couldn't fight the iron weights of sleep any longer.
"Darv... did you notice those two men seated away from everyone else?" Fife asked.
But Darvin was already asleep, and soon Fife was fast dreaming as well.
∗∗∗
It wasn't the two new men in the room that awoke Fife that morning. It was Darvin's deep snort that did the trick. For a moment, the halfling had forgotten where they'd taken shelter, then it slowly bubbled to the surface... the Andoren inn, the food and drink, another community entertained and bilked.
"Hello," Fife said to the seated man. The intruder wore a grey tunic with a thick peppered mustache, and had shoulders wider than Fife was tall.
"Mmm... ‘ello," Darvin muttered back and then turned over. He snored almost immediately.
The human who stood behind the seated one was black haired and balding, his arms thick with equal measures of muscle and fat, his face knotted in a disapproving scowl. Neither man appeared armed; Fife remembered them both from last night as the pair who had watched them from the shadows.
"Darvin, we have guests," Fife said.
"Mmm... are they pretty?" Darvin muttered.
"Give him a moment," Fife said, smiling nervously at the visitors. "His instincts are slow to start, but you'll find none sharper."
"I hope so," the seated man said in a deep voice.
Darvin cheered softly. "Huzzah! Fife's voice has finally broken."
∗∗∗
"For an ordinary merchant, Cullins is exceptionally persuasive."
"You don't look like much," the standing man said. He'd introduced himself as Harvander, Master-at-Arms for the Merchant Cullins. Cullins remained seated, his arms crossed as though daring someone to entertain him and certain they'd fail.
"It helps if people underestimate us," Darvin said, splashing his face with cold water from the rinse bowl. The shock jolted him awake. Fife handed him the washcloth. "Lulls them into a false sense of security."
"I assure you, it's working," Cullins replied.
"Good," Darvin said, deciding to smile at the insult. "How may we be of service?" He already knew these two would be tough to charm or crack.
Harvander paused and stage-whispered in Cullins ear, "I don't think this is a good idea."
Cullins shrugged. "They die, we don't pay them."
"Die?" Fife said.
"Pay?" Darvin said at the same time.
"The village is cursed," Cullins said. "For five years, we suffered under the rule of Malificar—"
"Who names their child Malificar?" Darvin whispered to Fife, but Fife shushed him with a motion.
"He blighted our crops," Cullins continued. "He raised the dead and conducted foul, perverse experiments on our livestock."
Fife elbow-jabbed Darvin in the ribs just as a snarky comment rose to the human's lips.
"We killed him for it," Harvander said flatly. "A year ago, in fact. And we destroyed his manse."
"But the killings didn't stop?" Fife asked.
Darvin noticed the halfling squirming eagerly in his seat, and realized he was in trouble.
"Foolish locals," Harvander replied. "They looted his stead and awoke... something."
"There's been a death every week or two since," Cullins said. "Their throats opened."
Fife smiled up at Darvin. This is fantastic! his expression read, but Darvin tried to look indifferent.
"Over thirty deaths in total," Harvander replied. "All farmers or travelers, their throats slit cleanly."
"We've searched the ruins during the daytime, but at night, nobody dares approach the property." Cullins studied them both and then tossed a leather pouch to Darvin. The pouch clinked when he caught it, and the weight felt solid. "Silver—not a copper piece among them. Yours if you help us."
"If not," Harvander continued. "Well, there's no telling what the hard-working people of this town would do to the liars who sold them cheap trinkets as luck charms."
∗∗∗
Harvander escorted them through the gray drizzle to the ruins of a manse outside of town, then left them to their business.
Only a shell remained of the main building, the wings of the manse upright except for a collapsed roof, the middle of the home burnt and in rubble. A mess of blackened timbers and shattered bricks reached plaintively for the dismal skies.
"We should run," Darvin said.
"They need our help," Fife replied. The halfling poked about with his walking stick, deftly jumping across patches of floor that would have collapsed under a human's weight. Darvin envied him that grace.
"This isn't one of your stories," Darvin warned. He paused near a hole and peered down. Here, a fire-eaten grid of floor beams separated the main floor from the dark pit of the basement.
"This is better!" Fife replied. Grinning madly, he pulled his cloak over his head to ward off the rain, opened a small ledger, and began jotting something down.
"What do you think you're doing?" Darvin asked. He tested one of the beams, but it groaned; Darvin backed away.
"Recording every detail," Fife replied, and then read aloud, "The heroes stood over the black gulf, staring intently into the abyss."
"All the while" Darvin continued, "Fife unaware that his partner was about to kick him over the edge."
"Not in character," Fife responded absently. "Let's go down."
Darvin peered over the edge. "How?"
The halfling looked around, and Darvin followed his gaze over to a debris slope of collapsed bricks, timber, and furniture mounded up on the floor below.
"Follow me," Fife said, slapping the book shut and jumping from beam to beam, seemingly oblivious to their poor state. He reached a broken ledge, the remnant of the floor abutting an exterior wall, and from there jumped down to the slope. From beam to tabletop to broken wall, he reached the plank-floored basement in a series of deft hops, barely disturbing the slope.
"You next!"
"Not on your life, you malnourished hummingbird!" Darvin called down, then quietly cursed the easy grace of halflings. Darvin took looped rope from his bag and secured it to an exposed foundation stone. "You know," he said, "I bought this rope strictly for show." He swung his legs over the side and, inhaling, lowered himself into the darkness. His heart beat harder.
"Hey," Fife chirped, peering at a hole in the floor. "There's a level below this."
Darvin concentrated on his descent. He spun gently and dropped in fits and jerks. He flailed his legs trying to steady himself and quickly found his world spinning even faster around the axle of the rope.
"Darv," Fife said, with concern in his tone.
"I've got this," Darvin said, but the taste of breakfast in his mouth told him perhaps not.
"Darv!" Fife shouted. "Above you! Spider!"
Darvin jerked his head up and saw it: a fist-sized spider descended down the rope.
No, he realized. Not a fist-sized spider, but—
"It's a hand!" Darvin shrieked. "A fist-sized hand!"
Runes marked the amputated hand, the skin gray, wrist terminating at a bronze band. The knuckles were exposed to the bone, and the fingers sheathed in steel blades.
A rock careened through the air, missing the hand. Darvin swung around to find Fife aiming again.
"Don't make it mad!" Darvin screamed.
"How do you make a hand mad?" Fife screamed back.
The hand twirled around the rope once, and then the line creaked. Darvin realized too late that the creature had just cut halfway through the rope with its fingers. Braiding frayed with a snapping sound, and before Darvin could drop down, the rope broke completely.
Darvin fell ten feet, the planks of the basement floor shattering under his weight. Then both he and Fife were falling once more, down into the darkness that yawned below the basement.
Coming Next Week: The further misadventures of Fife and Darvin in Chapter Two of Lucien Soulban's "Fingers of Death—No, Doom!"
Lucien Soulban is an accomplished fantasy and science fiction author who's written shared world fiction for White Wolf, Wizards of the Coast, Black Library, and more, including the novels Blood In, Blood Out and The Alien Sea. For more information, visit his website at www.luciensoulban.com.
Last week Sean shared a list of the featured races appearing in the Advanced Race Guide. He’s a softie, intoxicated with a dose of holiday cheer, and was hopped up on the sugary goodness that is Andrew Vallas’s mom’s delicious baklava. (She sends a care package with enough for everyone in the Paizo offices just in time for Christmas and it is marvelous. Phenomenal even...but I digress.)
This week, you get me. I’m not nearly as charitable, I’m a bit of a humbug, and all my baklava is long gone, so I’m going to make you work for the next preview. As Sean explained last week, Chapter 3 of the Advanced Race Guide provides information about 14 uncommon races. Below you’ll find the first letter of the name of each of those races. Let’s see how long it takes you to correctly guess them all.
Using the Beginner Box to Create a Pathfinder Society Character
Monday, December 26, 2011
I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday and is looking forward to an exciting new year. I am sure quite a few folks gave or received the Beginner Box as presents this past weekend. Inside that box, there is a flyer for Pathfinder Society that includes a link to the website but no explanation of how to integrate the play or rules from the Beginner Box into use for Pathfinder Society play.
One of the earliest experiences I had during my first week at Paizo was Erik Mona, our publisher, handing me the Beginner Box and advising me we needed to have a guide that allowed players to create a legal Pathfinder Society character using just the Beginner Box rules. As I had not seen it until that moment, the task seemed quite daunting.
Like many of you, I had looked forward to the release of the Beginner Box with much anticipation and I liked what I found inside. I was scheduled to go to a trade show the following week and the airplane flight gave me plenty of time to read through everything in the box. The pawns also served as a good conversation piece for the people seated near me on the plane between Seattle and Chicago. It was at 36,000 feet that I started formulating ideas of what I thought should be included in a character creation guide.
Once I was back in Seattle, I posted a list of ideas and solicited suggestions from the Pathfinder Society Venture-Captains and Venture-Lieutenants. We brainstormed a good bit about what I had missed that should be included or what I had placed in it that should be taken out. We worked at the phrasing of sentences, brainstormed several more times about missed ideas, and finally arrived at the finished free product. The guide provides a step–by–step walkthrough of the Pathfinder Society character creation process while referring you back to the Hero’s Handbook. These instructions allow for a seamless transition from the Beginner Box to Pathfinder Society play. A special thank you goes out to Boston Venture-Captain Don Walker for his incredible amount of wordsmithing that went into the final document.
If you have any questions, especially if you are new to Pathfinder and Pathfinder Society, please visit the Pathfinder Society messageboards. Our Venture-Captains and Venture-Lieutenants are more than happy to answer any questions you might have, whether they are about how to find a local Pathfinder Society game or about how some rule works that is found in the Core Rulebook but not in the Beginner Box.
If you have never experienced Pathfinder Society, I encourage you to make a New Year’s resolution to give it a try. If you can’t find a game in your area, there are options for play-by-post Pathfinder Society sessions. If you are a veteran of the campaign, I look forward to working with you in 2012 to make Pathfinder Society even better than it is now.
Brick up your chimney and hide your dogs and horses! The Holiday Goblin is coming to town!
The Paizo staff are taking a break today. The blog will be back to normal on Monday, with some important information for Pathfinder Society members. Happy holidays, everyone!
Illustrations by Eva Widermann and Wayne Reynolds. Widescreen version here.
Dragon Empires Gazetteer Wallpaper!
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Check out this great wallpaper for the Dragon Empires Gazetteer, courtesy of two of the nicest and most talented artists in the business—Wayne Reynolds and Eva Widermann!
Salim slipped through the pools of shadow cast by branches and shrubs, trusting to his robes to break up his outline and make him invisible. Around him, the sounds of the night creatures were sporadic and tense. Expectant.
Connell slid along beside him, still wearing his peasant disguise. Salim had to give him credit—the eidolon was surprisingly graceful. Ahead, the manor house stood huge and whitewashed at the end of the drive, its windows cavernous and dark save for three in an upper corner, which glowed with dim red light.
As welcome as the shadows were in hiding their approach, Salim would have preferred to come during daylight. Yet he had wasted too much time trying to convince Father Adibold that Salim and Connell would do better alone than with his assistance.
It was utterly stupid. The priest's little mob of peasants would likely scatter at the first sign of a walking corpse, and those who stayed would be slaughtered. Worse, if this Lord Mirosoy had advanced to making ghouls, then every farmhand who fell would rise again shortly to add to his army.
The old priest and his son might have been more useful—the man claimed to have some magic yet, and the boy's armor was solid. Yet Salim had seen enough in the priest's eyes to know that it wasn't worth it. For all that Adibold talked of the Pharasmin Penitence, that hopeless splinter sect of ascetics and self-deniers, it wasn't religious fervor that made Adibold cut himself, or so eagerly throw himself and his only son into harm's way. It was grief for his dead wife. Perhaps even a desire to join her early.
Salim understood that all too well. But the boy still had plenty of years left, and suicidal warriors were a liability.
In frustration, Salim had even attempted telling the old priest part of the truth: that Lord Mirosoy wasn't acting of his own accord, but rather had been enchanted by a cursed magic item.
The priest would have none of it. "I've seen souls corrupted by a shiny coin, or a bit of bare thigh. The nature of the temptation is unimportant."
At last, once it became clear that even the prospect of killing a potentially innocent man wasn't enough to dissuade the priest—"sorting good from evil is the Lady's job, not ours"—Salim had given in and agreed to join them in their attack at dawn.
Which is why he and Connell were out here in the dark, with the sun still hours below the horizon.
Salim caught the eidolon's eye and nodded. The eidolon had given him the layout of the house, and they'd decided on the servants' entrance around the side rather than the grand double doors that faced the drive. It was time to break with the road and circle left.
Something shot out from the brush near Salim's feet.
Without thinking—because in combat, acting was always faster than thinking—Salim drew his sword and slammed it down, pinning the scurrying shape to the earth. The creature squeaked once and expired.
"Mouse," he whispered, and withdrew his blade, rodent still clinging to its tip. He started to scrape it off against his boot, then stopped.
The thing's ribcage was hollowed out, the flesh rotted away from tiny bones. Salim's sword had spitted it neatly, yet its back legs still kicked feebly.
Another tiny form catapulted itself from the bushes. Before Salim could move, Connell leaped, springing forward with the grace of a cat and coming up an the undead rat in his hands. The eidolon popped it into his mouth, bones crunching, then looked back at Salim and smiled.
Perhaps the eidolon would be more useful than Salim had expected. Connell swallowed and asked, "Scouts?"
Salim nodded. It seemed Mirosoy wasn't totally without defenses. He slipped the twice-expired mouse from his blade and ground it under his boot heel before continuing on.
The servants' entrance was unguarded. From the tree line, it was a solid hundred feet of open lawn to the steps up to the back porch, and then the door. Salim covered it at a run, body bent almost double, sword under his robes to avoid reflecting the moonlight. Connell paced him. At the door, they paused for a moment, listening. When nothing revealed itself, Salim nodded to Connell and thumbed the latch.
Beyond lay a long hall, its wood-paneled walls lit only by the feeble shaft of moonlight from the open door, quickly disappearing into utter black.
Salim smelled it first—the charnel stench of putrefaction. He thrust out an arm to stop Connell, but the eager eidolon had already bounded into the corridor.
A hand reached from the darkness.
Salim moved. There was no time to let his eyes adjust, so he closed them and let his ears and nose guide him past the struggling eidolon, deeper into the dark.
Something rose up in front of him, grave-wet and stinking, and he brought his sword out and down, feeling it cleave through cheese-soft flesh. The thing gave a sigh and fell heavily into him, knocking him back into the wall and what felt like a tall table or stool. His free hand closed on a smooth, heavy object, and he brought it down hard on the thing in front of him, then spun to skewer a new attacker to his right. Back toward the entrance, Connell shouted something.
They were stuck. Salim might be able to keep this up indefinitely, but there was no telling about the eidolon, and they needed to move fast if they wanted to retain the element of surprise. Gritting his teeth, Salim reached out and touched the goddess.
It was only a second, but it was enough. The Lady of Graves flowed through him in a black rush, as grotesque and violating in its own way as the creature putrefying on his feet. The energy passed through him and into the blade of his sword, and cold steel flared with ghostly incandescence, lighting the hallway.
There were only three zombies, all dressed in the rotting finery that had probably once been the best clothes the little town could offer. Two lay at Salim's feet, his sword having severed the fragile magic that kept them animated. Down the hall, Connell struggled with the third. The eidolon had dropped his disguise, and the long neck of his true form snaked around the back of the zombie's futilely chomping head, wrapping it like a boa constrictor. Long jaws locked around the undead creature's skull. There was a twist and a pop, and the last corpse dropped to the floor and lay still.
Salim looked down at his off hand. The object he held was a stone bust of a young man, handsome in a vaguely arrogant and pupilless sort of way. He held it out toward the eidolon. "Your boss?"
Connell nodded.
Salim let the stone drop onto the corpse it had clubbed, then wiped his sword on the tattered linen shirt. He gestured down the hall.
"You know the house," he said, "but don't leave my side unless I tell you to. Are we clear?"
Connell bobbed his head in what appeared to be genuine contrition and led the way deeper into the house.
The manor was a shell. Though the pair passed several well-appointed sitting rooms, with plush armchairs and walls of bookshelves or big bay windows overlooking the moonlit grounds, the layer of dust at the entrance to each argued that no one had bothered with them in some time. Connell avoided the showy front half of the house, with its hangings and sculptures like the one Salim had appreciated, and instead led them through a series of narrow, more utilitarian corridors and staircases. Salim kept the light from the sword carefully banked and focused by a fold in his cloak, yet nothing stirred in the dead house. If it weren't for the slight but ever-present scent of decay, Salim might have thought the place a summer home, packed away for storage while the lord was away.
At last they came to a door whose bottom edge was limned with the same red light they'd seen from the road. The eidolon's barely existent lips moved, and after a second Salim realized Connell was attempting to mouth the word "workshop." Salim nodded, and the eidolon turned the knob. The door swung open.
The room was large, the kind other lords might put to use as a ballroom or formal dining room for parties. The huge set of windows they'd observed earlier cast moonlight on the hardwood floor, yet this illumination was overpowered by red lights that floated like swamp fire at the room's far end. The glow from these flying lanterns was soft, and cast a flattering glow over the guests. No doubt that generous lighting would have kindled more than one midnight romance among the figures standing in a knot on the dance floor. Except that the guests were dead.
As one, the corpses turned to observe the newcomers. These, too, were still dressed in their funeral finery, some in the clothes of peasants and merchants, others in simple shrouds marked with the symbol of Pharasma. There was no pattern to their features—young and old, male and female all stood with the awkward stances or constricted limbs of rigor mortis. A few had clearly been magically preserved for their funerals, and even now were only beginning to show the first signs of decomposition. Others were little more than fleshy skeletons, their bones tied crudely together with twine where tendons had fallen away.
Behind them all, a man stood in the center of the lights, obscured from the chest down by a long dining table repurposed as a workbench. Stacks of books and bubbling alembics cluttered every surface, along with stranger implements and silvery surgical tools with whose use Salim was thankfully unfamiliar. Though the man's face was the same as that on the stone head in the servants' hall, this version was older, and so drawn and haggard as to resemble his zombie subjects. Above the face, a black crown of long thorns and vertical spikes pierced and pricked at his brow, holding back long, dark hair.
Lord Mirosoy looked up from the book he'd been studying, yet his face barely registered the newcomers' presence. With one finger still marking his place in the text, he flicked his hand toward his uninvited guests.
"Lord Mirosoy appears to have embarked on some significant life changes of late."
"Kill them," he said, and went back to reading.
The undead convocation shuffled forward.
Connell growled—a deep, resonant rumble in surprising contrast to his usual excited tenor. Three-fingered talons flexed.
"No," Salim said, and put a hand on the eidolon's shoulder.
Connell looked at him in puzzlement, but Salim simply squeezed once and then released him. He stepped forward and drew his sword.
The eidolon might be better in a fight than he let on, but that wasn't the point. Salim had seen enough to tell that these people were no ghouls, no vampire spawn or vengeful wraiths. These were just farmers, their corpses denied the slow transition into the same dirt they worked, forced to walk again at the whim of some spoiled lord.
This wasn't a fight. Nor even an execution.
It was a funeral rite.
The zombies approached, and Salim flowed like a river to meet them.
The undead fought silently, and Salim did the same, the only sounds the swirl of his robes and the wine-glass ring of steel sliding free of flesh, punctuated by the thumps of corpses hitting the floor. They moved to surround him, and he let them, whirling like a dervish, blade kissing them lightly in the only blessing he knew how to give.
Rest, he thought as a child's body slid from his sword, crumpling to the fouled floor. Rest.
And then he stood alone. Around him, the hardwood was covered with bodies, splayed once more in the posture of death that, while undignified, was so much more than they'd had a moment before. He looked down at the corpses and wished them well.
At last they had Mirosoy's attention. The lord looked at them as if dazed, struggling to understand the mess of bodies staining his ballroom floor. "Who are you?" he asked.
"It's me, Master!" The eidolon's voice was the whining, eager tone of a dog hoping to regain its master's good graces. "I've come back to help you! Please don't be angry!"
Mirosoy ignored his creation, instead focusing on the dark-eyed man moving toward him, sword drawn. The lord's voice didn't waver. "And you?"
"Just a friend," Salim said. "One who's come to do you a favor."
His sword lashed out.
"No!" Connell's scream was grief bordering on pain. The eidolon leaped for Salim's back, talons outstretched, but it was already too late. Salim's upward slash carved a shining arc toward Mirosoy's face.
The blade missed the man's cheek by inches. With a tiny clink of metal on metal, Salim's sword caught one of the black, curving thorns of the crown and tore it free from the summoner's head. Mirosoy gasped at the sudden absence, or perhaps at the furrows the embedded thorns carved through his scalp. The crown fell to the table, and Salim followed it down, sword hilt gripped in both hands. Blade met crown with Salim's full weight behind it.
There was a flash that wasn't so much light as its absence, and a high, keening wail that might have been a word, or a name. Then there were only two halves of a crown, the metal seeming to shrivel and fold in on itself like burning briars. The newly rusted slag clattered to the floor and lay still.
"Master!" Connell was past Salim and gripping Lord Mirosoy's shoulders. The noble stood with head hung on his chest, looking ready to fall face-first into his workbench. Slowly, he raised his eyes. "Connell?"
"Yes. Yes, Master." The eidolon was weeping in earnest now, huge tears rolling down the reptilian face. Above them, the rune on his forehead glowed brighter than ever. "I'm back now. I knew it was the crown that sent me away, not you. And now you're free!"
Mirosoy straightened, shrugging off the eidolon's steadying hands. "Yes. Well." He looked over to Salim. "You do realize that's a priceless artifact you just destroyed?"
Salim marveled. Even half-dead and surrounded by his own failure, the man exuded entitlement. Salim looked down at the corpses on the floor, then back at the noble.
"I'm sure we can arrange an accounting of debts." His voice was soft.
The summoner followed Salim's gaze down, then swallowed. "No, that won't be necessary. Clearly, the crown needed to be destroyed. You have my thanks."
Salim inclined his head, unconvinced. Perhaps the crown wasn't as responsible for these atrocities as Connell wanted to think. He opened his mouth to say something—then stopped.
There was a new sound. Salim saw the other two pick up on it as well: a low, muttering hum.
Voices.
Salim moved swiftly to the window. Out in the darkness, a line of torches snaked down the manor house's long drive.
"Damn." Apparently Father Adibold was no longer interested in waiting until dawn.
Salim turned back to Mirosoy. "We need to get out of here. In two minutes, their families"—he gestured to the corpses on the floor—"are going to burn this place to the ground. And you're going to let them."
"Oh?" The noble's lip twitched toward a sneer.
Salim raised his sword suggestively.
"Oh," Lord Mirosoy said again, this time with considerably less vigor. "Well, you see, that may be something of a problem." He raised a hand and gestured to his waist.
"Oh, Master!" Connell's voice was horrified. "What have you done?"
And now Salim saw it. The various beakers and sealed containers on the worktable didn't stand alone. Below the rumpled blouse, several thick tubes snaked out of Mirosoy's abdomen and into the vessels and retorts on the table, steady streams of black and red fluids cycling through them.
Once more, the summoner ignored his servant and spoke to Salim. This time he looked almost embarrassed.
"The crown," he said. "It had several suggestions as to how I might...improve my longevity."
"Lichdom." Salim understood now why the man looked so hollow. He almost spat, but stopped himself for fear of hitting one of the corpses. "You were trying to turn yourself undead."
"Not me—the crown!"
Salim didn't care. "Can you stop it? Reverse it?"
"Almost certainly," Mirosoy said. "But it'll take time. Days."
Behind Salim, the villagers were drawing closer. He could hear individual voices in the rumble of the mob. "We don't have days."
Lord Mirosoy ventured a tentative smile, greasy and anxious. "If you'll allow it, my manor has certain defenses which—"
"No. You've done these people enough harm already." Salim thought hard. "Can you teleport? Move this whole setup somewhere else with magic?"
The noble grimaced. "My studies of late have been focused on other matters."
"Clearly." Salim sized up the various tubes that nosed into Mirosoy's clothing like hungry worms. "And I were to just pull those out?"
"Then I would die. Likely in excruciating pain."
Works for me, thought Salim, but he knew the eidolon would never stand for it. Besides, there was no telling what sort of backlash the expiring spell might generate.
Beyond the window, dozens of feet crunched on gravel.
"I have a suggestion."
Both Mirosoy and Salim turned to look at Connell. The eidolon was holding up a hand, as if waiting to be called on. Salim nodded.
"I have a suggestion," the eidolon said again. With one three-fingered hand, he reached up and touched the amulet hanging from his serpentine neck.
And then there was no Connell. Only a second Mirosoy.
Salim understood immediately. "Connell—" he began.
"They're looking for the master," the eidolon said firmly. "If we give them one, maybe they'll go home."
"They're a mob," Salim pressed, throat suddenly tight. "Even if they think Mirosoy's gone, they'll burn this place down anyway."
"Then you'll have to stop them." The eidolon held out a hand. "Goodbye, Salim. Thank you."
The hand hung there, unmoving. After an eternity, Salim stepped forward and took it. They shook.
Connell looked to Mirosoy.
"It's good to have you back, Master."
Then the eidolon walked out of the room and was gone.
Silence reigned as the two men stood looking at the door where the second Mirosoy had disappeared. Finally Salim spoke.
"If you lived a thousand years," he said slowly, "you would still be unworthy of that love."
"What?"
Salim's glance flicked sideways to the noble.
"That sacrifice. For you."
Mirosoy seemed genuinely puzzled. "It's an eidolon," he said. "I made it to protect me. When it's gone, I'll make another."
Salim stared at him.
Outside, the crowd roared.
∗∗∗
Three empty cups stood at parade rest on the wooden table. A fourth, only halfway drained, stood before them, the officer addressing its troops.
Salim took another drink. Around him, the familiar buzz of the Clever Endeavor continued as usual, a dozen conversations that never happened, between people who were never here and had never met. This time, no one was looking at Salim. That suited him fine.
The wood between his elbows was stained dark with spilled wine. Salim grimaced and set his mug down on top of the splotch, but the cup wasn't quite big enough to hide it from view.
Connell hadn't screamed. He hadn't made a sound at all. By the time Salim reached the front door of the manor house, passing corpses which lay motionless without the crown's animating touch, the worst was over. The bravest of the mob was still hacking away with hoes and scythes, while others shouted encouragement. At some point, someone tore away the amulet to reveal the eidolon's true form, which Father Adibold loudly proclaimed a sign that the noble had been a monster all along.
And then, finally, it was over. With a last gasp from the crowd, the eidolon's body disappeared. Only the bloody stain on the gravel drive remained.
Still giddy with the ease of their victory, the mob might have indeed charged the manor, had Salim not chosen that point to reveal himself. Stepping forth to address Father Adibold by name, Salim announced that the evening's festivities were over, and that he'd dealt with the rest of the lord's creatures himself.
A few of the mob, drunk on blood, had yelled abuse. Salim raised his still-glowing sword, and the newfound bravery dissipated. With Father Adibold at its head, the crowd turned and made its way back toward town. In no time at all, Salim was alone on the driveway. Just him and the stain Connell had left behind.
A single torch, dropped by a villager, still sputtered in the dirt. Salim bent down and picked it up. He looked up toward the manor window, where the red lights still played.
He could finish things. Mirosoy had perverted the corpses of innocents, and attempted to do the same to himself. Salim had executed men for less. He could set the torch against one of the tapestries in the entrance hall and let the whole place disappear.
Instead, he had opened his hand and let the torch drop.
And now he was here.
Salim drank deep, draining the last of the mug. The wine at the bottom had an unpleasant copper taste, and he looked down to see blood pooling there, mixing with the dregs. He put fingers to his nose, and they came away red. He sighed.
"You have a terrible way of announcing yourself, Ceyanan."
The creature across the table was neither male nor female, its pale skin as smooth and inhuman as an alabaster statue. Behind its shoulders, great wings that were half feathers, half shadow flexed once and then furled tightly in the dingy confines of the bar. Gray cloth like funeral shrouds wrapped its waist and chest.
Salim wiped his bloody upper lip with the back of his hand. "You want to tell me why you sent him to me?"
The angel smiled. "What do you mean?"
"Don't play coy." Salim put down his empty mug and leaned back, crossing his arms. "Your boss deals with more complex judgments than Mirosoy's little change of heart on a daily basis. If you hadn't sent me in, the mob would eventually have made it through those zombies and killed him, thus removing any reason for the Lady of Graves to take an interest."
"Many innocents would have died," the angel observed.
"And since when does your mistress give a flying fig about that?" Salim held up two fingers to the barman, who appeared almost immediately with two more mugs.
"Thank you," said Ceyanan, "but I don't drink."
"Who said one of these was for you?" Salim pulled both drinks close.
The angel watched him. "You're an excellent hunter, Salim. Your skill does you credit. But you still have much to learn." White lips twitched higher, the smile becoming almost beatific. "Connell did something very brave today. Out of love and devotion to his friend."
"Who didn't deserve it," Salim growled.
"Does it matter?" The angel's big eyes bored into Salim's. "Is the eidolon's sacrifice any less admirable because of it?"
Salim laughed sharply.
"Is that what this is all about? Teaching me to take pride in my work, even if I don't have any choice in the matter?" He showed his teeth. "Haven't I learned enough about duty? About sacrifice?"
Ceyanan shook its head, half sad, half bemused.
"Maybe not," it said at last. "But don't worry. You will."
"Just what—" Salim began.
But the angel was gone.
Salim stared at the chair where the angel had been. Then down at the stain on the table.
A mug in either hand, he began to drink in earnest.
Coming Next Week: A brand new romp exploring the perils of bragging in Lucien Soulban's "Fingers of Death—No, Doom!"
James L. Sutter is the Fiction Editor for Paizo Publishing, author of the novel Death's Heretic (also starring Salim), and co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game campaign setting. His short stories have appeared in such publications as Escape Pod, Starship Sofa, Apex Magazine, and the #1 Amazon bestseller Machine of Death, and his anthology Before They Were Giants pairs the first published stories of SF luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves. In addition, James has written numerous Pathfinder supplements, including City of Strangers and Distant Worlds. For more information, check out jameslsutter.com or follow him on Twitter at @jameslsutter.
Now that we’re wrapping up the last of the Advanced Race Guide, we’ve decided to give you a very early sneak peek at some of its contents. While Chapter 1 covers the races in the Core Rulebook, Chapter 2: Featured Races gives more details on many popular but less common races for the game, plus game mechanics like alternate racial traits and favored class options (like you saw for the core races in the Advanced Player’s Guide) and some other neat stuff you’ll find out about later. Here’s the list of races in this chapter, each getting 6 pages:
Aasimar
Catfolk
Dhampir
Drow
Fetchling
Goblin
Hobgoblin
Ifrit
Kobold
Orc
Oread
Ratfolk
Sylph
Tengu
Tiefling
Undine
If your favorite non-core PC race isn’t listed here, don’t worry—there are 14 races getting two pages each in Chapter 3, and the build-a-race options in Chapter 4 give you even more choices.
Night of the Pale is mentioned on page 249 of Pathfinder Campaign Setting: The Inner Sea World Guide. We are advised it is a night of morbid revelry, as people wait indoors for the ghosts of last year’s dead to pass by their homes.
Creative Director James Jacobs wrote the description below of the Night of the Pale and beneath that you’ll find a special Pathfinder Society Chronicle sheet you can download and apply to a Pathfinder Society character.
Illustration by John Gravato
Not all of Golarion’s holidays and festivals are times of rejoicing and delight. Holidays worshiped by dark and sinister cults and religions tend to be hidden affairs, their rituals and ceremonies involving cruelties and vile practices that send shivers of fear through gentler society. Scholars suspect that the Night of the Pale—a holiday that traditionally takes place on the last day of the year, the 31st of Kuthona—has links to several sinister religions, but today no one church has specific association with the event. Nonetheless, the Night of the Pale is an event that many look forward to all year, whether in fear or excitement.
On the Night of the Pale, it is said that the ghosts of those who died during the previous year manifest upon the world and come to visit the homes they lived in during life. Although some might think that the chance of seeing even the shade of a dearly departed one might be a blessing, the Night of the Pale is not a time for tearful reunions, for these ghosts, tradition says, do not return out of love for those they left behind but out of darker compulsions. Lingering jealousy, unfinished arguments, or the simmering need for revenge are said to be what compels the dead to return to torment the living on the Night of the Pale.
The evening of this night in many communities is celebrated by a morbid feast, the food prepared with themes revolving around graveyards, the dead, and other spooky traditions. This feast, on one level, helps the celebrants to make light of their fears while sharing good company with similarly nervous neighbors, but at another level is believed to placate vengeful spirits as toasts are raised to the memories of the recently departed. These feasts include retellings of favorite memories of the departed, in hopes of reminding the approaching ghosts of brighter and kinder memories than those that compel them to return. The feast always ends at least an hour before midnight in order to give participants time to return home, decorate doors and windows with salt and other trinkets taken from the feasting table (salted bread baked into crook-like shapes are a favorite, as these can be hung from doorknobs and eaves) to ward off evil spirits, and hide in their bedrooms until dawn. Brave youths and adventurers often deliberately stay out after midnight, either to dare the ghosts to challenge them or simply for the thrill of bucking tradition. Every Night of the Pale, it seems, there are disappearances among those who stay out after midnight, although whether these vanishings are the result of dissatisfied locals taking the opportunity to run away from home, murderers or wild animals or other mundane dangers, or the vengeful spirits carrying off their victims depends upon the circumstances.
The morning after a Night of the Pale is also the first day of the new year—a time that many celebrate more as a relief for surviving the night before than in anticipation of what the new year might bring, although regional preferences for how this day is celebrated vary enough that no single tradition holds over the other. Save, of course, the lingering fears of what dread spirits might come knocking upon warded doors one year away...
As always, I am interested in reading your thoughts on future holiday write-ups and boons. This is especially true in regard to the various equinoxes and solstices.
Download the Night of the Pale Boon! - (111 KB zip/PDF)This Boon is no longer available as of 1/9/12.
Mike Brock Pathfinder Society Campaign Coordinator
The official release date for Heroes & Monsters is now only a few weeks away, and by this point I’ve revealed every miniature in the set in one form or another. Later today our friends at WizKids will be bringing over first-run outputs of the approved sculpts for the next set, Rise of the Runelords, so my mind is already on the next amazing set. But those previews will have to wait until next month, as I want to take one more pass through Heroes & Monsters to show off some of the final versions of minis you’ve only previously seen as computer models or unpainted practical sculpts.
First up we have the uncommon Dire Rat, one of the earliest miniatures we revealed for the set. Your comments (and our own impressions) said that the computer-generated 3D sculpt of the rat looked too “clean,” so I asked WizKids to add a layer of filth over the whole guy to really sell the idea that he just stepped out of a sewer. I’d say they nailed it. Gross!
Speaking of early reveals, next up we have the rare Lich, previously seen only as a computer sculpt. The final production-run miniature shown below reveals nice metallic effects on the shoulder pads and chestplate, while WizKids’ talented paint operations have added a cool speckled highlight effect on what originally appeared to be a flat black cloak. This guy really looks like a badass, and I love the way the detail at the hem of his cloak gives the whole thing a sense of texture. I can’t wait to put this guy on the table and see my players run for cover.
Next up we have the common Lizardfolk Champion. This is your first look at this guy in color, and honestly, I’m not sure our camera is up to the challenge of showing off how good the Champion looks, especially for a “common” figure. I count eight different colors, from his black toenails to the touch of blue at the top of his crest. The Lizardfolk’s curved tail and weapon pose give it a great sense of three-dimensionality. We call him a Champion, but at the common rarity, he makes a great troop-builder figure for a Lizardfolk squad. More Lizardfolk will certainly follow (with plenty of variety within the types), but this guy gets us off to a good start.
Speaking of amazing commons, the Orc Warrior is one of my absolute favorite figures in the set. Not only is he an amazing likeness to the illustration in the Pathfinder RPG Bestiary, but he’s got more detail and a better paint job than most prepainted orcs that preceded him (although I also really like the Orc Brute from this set). There will DEFINITELY be more orcs in the future, and we’ll be careful to match the skin tones, size, and general “look” to make sure all of them work well together.
Lastly we have the only iconic character in Heroes & Monsters, the rare paladin Seelah. Although the way this photo frames her face makes her seem like a bit of a Popeye look, the mini looks really nice in hand. The metallic silver and gold of her armor really pops, and I love the design WizKids pulled off at the hem of her skirt. There will, of course, be more iconic characters to come, with Rise of the Runelords getting two, bringing the total (including the four in Beginner Box Heroes) to 7. Only 14 to go before we’ve covered them all!
That’s it for this week! WizKids is bringing a pile of new minis over later today, and I can’t wait to start planning preview blogs for the next set! Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to know about Heroes & Monsters, and I’ll do my best to help out!
These things are almost in your hands! I can’t wait to hear what you think of them once you get to see them for yourselves!
We’re one week into the Round 1 submission period and we already have 12 items in the “keep” pile! If we maintain this pace, we’ll have well over 40 interesting wondrous item submissions when the round closes on January 6th! At that point, the three other judges and I have the difficult task of whittling down those “keeps” to the Top 32 (plus four alternates), whose next task is to write a “new organization” for Round 2!
Have you submitted an item yet? If not, why not? RPG Superstar is a unique opportunity to get your foot in the door as a freelance game designer. If you haven’t submitted an item yet, be sure to check the contest rules and Round 1 rules. Don’t forget the helpful advice in my consolidated advice thread and Clark’s link to the recording of the PaizoCon RPG Superstar panel where all four judges answered questions about what we’re looking for.
Remember, the deadline to submit your wondrous item is January 6th! You can’t participate in the later rounds—or win the competition—if you don’t submit something for Round 1!
There was the usual moment of darkness and cold, the terrible feeling of being drawn through space like a fish on a line, and then the light was back and the amulet deposited them safely.
Right in the middle of an angry mob.
Salim looked quickly to Connell, but the eidolon was already holding his own pendant. Before Salim could say anything, the eidolon’s disguise as an axiomite melted into something less suspicious. The pointed ears were still there, but shorter. Gone was the inhumanly perfect skin, replaced by a moonscape of old pockmarks. The cowl of the robe he wore—now old and tattered, stained as much by the road as any dye—came up to cover the glowing forehead rune.
It was a good job. The peasant closest to the new arrivals blinked, peered at the two of them as if he trying to remember something, then visibly gave up and returned his attention to the shouting man at the front.
They were in the central green of a modest town, a ring of shops and public houses encircling a muddy patch of grass long since chewed into submission by the hooves and jaws of livestock. Beyond, Salim recognized the dark and craggy peaks of the Hungry Mountains rising ominously on all sides. Even now, at midday, the fog that shrouded their dark forests was thick, and moved in strange ways just beyond the valley’s last farmsteads.
The mob was barely worthy of the name—perhaps forty men and women in varying states of disrepair—yet Salim had seen such groups before. The deciding factor for mobs wasn’t in their muscles, or their makeshift weapons, but in their eyes. These folk were afraid. And where there was enough fear, something could break, and turn even the most timid housewife into a killer.
The man trying to catalyze that change stood at the focal point of the loose semicircle, perched precariously on an overturned wheelbarrow. He was middle-aged and almost completely bald, with only a few wisps of white hair scrambling to cling to and cover his shining pate. From beneath voluminous black robes similar to Salim’s own poked stick-thin arms, gesticulating wildly. At his throat hung a large silver spiral on a chain—the holy symbol of Pharasma.
"Too long have we suffered the monster to remain in our midst!" the priest cried. "Far too long! You, Silva," he pointed at one of the women near the front, "was not your husband’s grave torn up, just weeks after his passing? And you, Tam"—this time a fat man in a flour-stained apron—"your uncle’s grave as well. No wolf digs so deep, or so thoroughly."
He returned to addressing the whole crowd.
"Suffering is our lot! Yet that doesn’t mean the Goddess desires us to lie down and let monsters roam the night, taking our loved ones. As your priest, I should be leading you—yet I am old, and my hands shake with the palsy." He raised the offending appendages high. "Thus I must pass the burden to my son, Sir Percinov. It is he who will lead you to glory."
The crowd shifted slightly, and Salim glimpsed the figure that stood at the old priest’s knee. The plates of its armor were all in black and silver, the chest embossed with Pharasma’s spiral, and a businesslike bucket of a helm obscured the face. At the figure’s waist rested a long sword in a matching scabbard. All in all, a suitably imposing sight. Yet something about the way the warrior stood gave Salim pause.
"When?" a voice from the crowd cried.
"At dawn," the priest said. "Mirosoy and his creatures are things of darkness. We will bring them the cleansing light."
"That’s my master," Connell hissed, and Salim tapped his arm to quiet him.
The crowd shouted its ragged approval, and then the church bells began chiming. In twos and threes, the people shuffled off to be about their errands, or perhaps just to rest up before the lynching.
The priest had stepped down from his wheelbarrow and was talking with the knight. Salim approached.
"Excuse me, Father. May I have a word?"
The priest turned. Above his beak of a nose, hard little rat eyes crawled up and down Salim’s length, taking in the black robes and sun-darkened skin, the short beard and strangely melted-looking sword hilt. His eyes lit upon the amulet, which Salim had left hanging prominently against his chest, and the hard mouth softened almost imperceptibly.
"A fellow clergyman?"
"Something like that." Salim drew the spiral of Pharasma in the air between them.
"Yet not from around here." Salim’s southern skin, so much darker than the sickly pale Ustalavs, kept the words from being a question.
"No," Salim agreed. "My companion and I have traveled far to offer our assistance. It seems others in the church have learned of your situation."
"Hum," the priest said, a sound that wasn’t altogether pleased. "Very well, then. My name is Father Adibold, and this is Sir Percinov. My rectory is just over here—please, allow me to welcome you properly." Without bothering to wait for a reply, the man turned and began stalking toward a little house attached to the church, the armored warrior just behind him. Salim and Connell followed.
"A child in armor is still a child."
The house might better have been called a cell. Though the walls were still painted white, they’d clearly been neglected for some time. The outlines of less-faded regions suggested that, at one point, there had been more furniture in here—a bureau, a couch—yet now the room contained only a stove, a cupboard, the roughest of wooden tables, and two chairs. Salim accepted the priest’s invitation and sat in the nearer chair, then immediately wished he hadn’t. He’d interrogated men in more comfortable chairs than this.
Father Adibold took the opposite chair. Connell remained standing next to the door, while the armored figure took up a respectful position behind the priest’s left shoulder. For the first time, the metal mountain spoke.
"Da, may I—?"
"Yes, fine!" The priest waved a hand. With an audible sigh of relief, the warrior removed his gauntlets, then reached up and pulled off his helmet.
It was a boy, brown-haired and skinny. His bobbing larynx didn’t even come close to touching the steel gorget meant to protect his throat. Salim bet that if he struck the breastplate, the teenager would rattle around inside the armor like the clapper in a bell.
The old man spoke first. "You’re not a priest," he said bluntly. "The sword tells me that much. So what are you?"
"A hunter," Salim said. "A problem-solver for the church, specializing in the sort of thing you now face. Or have I heard wrong? It’s undead creations that your people fear, is it not?"
The priest grunted. "Indeed." Reluctantly, he got to his feet and went to the cupboard. He returned with two cups of water and a cob of bread, which he set between them. "Please," he said, gesturing. "Eat."
Salim tore off a chunk of bread and bit into it. It was hard, and old, but blessedly weevil-free.
"I’d apologize for not offering better fare," the old man continued, not sounding the least bit apologetic, "but we of the Kavapestan branch don’t believe in southern niceties."
Aha. Suddenly both the ostentatiously poor hospitality and the deliberately uncomfortable furniture made more sense. Salim’s eyes twitched toward the man’s sleeves, which had fallen back when he proffered the food. The priest caught the look and deliberately pulled the cloth back down, but not before Salim caught the telltale lines of dozens of thin white scars on his forearms.
"So you follow the Penitence, then."
The old priest thrust his jaw out pugnaciously. "The Lady of Graves judges us not only on what we do, but what we endure. Those who suffer in this life are rewarded in the next. We Ustalavs have known this for generations."
"Very admirable," Salim said.
The priest searched for any sign that he was being mocked, and upon finding none, slowly nodded. "Yes, well. It’s rare to find a southerner who understands the value of forsaking worldly pleasures."
"Believe me," Salim said, "I’ve forsaken plenty. But I didn’t come here to discuss theology. Tell me of Mirosoy."
"Bah!" the priest said, and spat on his own floor. "A magician and minor noble who lives in a manse at the far end of the valley. He’s been there for years."
"It’s disgusting," the armored boy put in helpfully. "Using magic to avoid honest sweat and labor."
"Shut up, Percy," the priest said, yet he nodded at the sentiment. "It’s true, we have no love of wizards and witches here. Yet it’s still not a crime, and his business helps keep the village alive through hard times. Of late, however, the lord has turned to darker arts. Graves have been disturbed, even within the grounds of the church."
Now it was Salim’s turn to grunt. Grave robbing from a church of Pharasma was bold, if not outright suicidal. "And his creatures. You’ve seen them?"
"Not personally. But the villagers who cart out his provisions or used to work in his house speak of moans, and shambling forms, and the stench of death."
Salim nodded. "And you’d send a mob of villagers to handle things?"
The priest bristled. "Not alone! I would offer what magics I have, and my son would lead them!"
"Ah yes, your son." Salim turned to the would-be warrior. "Show me your hands, boy."
Confused, Percinov did as he was told, holding them palms out. Salim nodded.
"That’s a fine suit of armor, boy. It’ll serve you well one day. But not yet."
"Now wait just a minute—!" the priest began.
Salim silenced him with a raised finger. "Calluses."
"Pardon?"
"You may know penance, Father, but I know war. And the calluses on this boy’s hands are from chopping wood, not a sword hilt. The pattern’s all wrong." He glanced back at Percinov. "You can put your hands down now, boy."
Percinov did. His father glowered. "The boy will be fine," the old priest growled. "Any wounds he suffers, I’ll heal. And his pain will buy credit with the Goddess."
As it happened, Salim knew precisely how little credit such suffering earned. Yet he set that sentiment aside and decided to test out a suspicion that had been building.
"And what would the boy’s mother think if he were killed?" he asked.
"Don’t you talk about his mother!" Tiny drops of spit flew from the priest’s lips to land halfway across the table. "Serafina is with the Lady now, assisting in the judgment of souls. We should all be so fortunate."
"But, Da—" Percinov began.
"Shut up, Percy!"
The priest put his head in hands. For a moment, no one said anything. At last, the priest looked up, his lined face appearing older than ever.
"What do you propose?" he asked.
Coming Next Week: Confrontations with a summoner gone bad in the final chapter of "Faithful Servants."
James L. Sutter is the Fiction Editor for Paizo Publishing, author of the novel Death's Heretic (also starring Salim), and co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game campaign setting. His short stories have appeared in such publications as Escape Pod, Starship Sofa, Apex Magazine, and the #1 Amazon bestseller Machine of Death, and his anthology Before They Were Giants pairs the first published stories of SF luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves. In addition, James has written numerous Pathfinder supplements, including City of Strangers and Distant Worlds. For more information, check out jameslsutter.com or follow him on Twitter at @jameslsutter.
Subscribers should start checking their inboxes because Bestiary 3 is shipping out now. That means that in the next few days you can expect to see this mighty malicious tome arriving in your mailbox and soon you’ll also be able to download the PDF. Not a subscriber? Fear not, these beasties will be showing up on store shelves very soon, possibly even in time for a last-minute gift. Need more convincing? I’ll let Mr. Demilich here take over from here.
Demilich CR 14
XP 38,400
NE Tiny undead Init +7; Senses darkvision 60 ft., true seeing; Perception +27
Defense
AC 25, touch 21, flat-footed 21 (+3 Dex, +1 dodge, +4 natural, +5 profane, +2 size) hp 142 (15d8+75) Fort +14, Ref +15, Will +21 Defensive Abilities channel resistance +5, rejuvenation, unholy grace; DR 20/—; Immune acid, cold, electricity, magic, polymorph, undead traits Weaknesses torpor, vorpal susceptibility
Offense
Speed fly 30 ft. (perfect) Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft. Special Attacks devour soul Spell-Like Abilities (CL 20th; concentration +25)
Constant—true seeing
At will—greater bestow curse (DC 21), telekinesis (DC 19), wail of the banshee (20-ft.-radius spread centered on the demilich; DC 24)
Statistics
Str 6, Dex 17, Con —, Int 21, Wis 20, Cha 21 Base Atk +11; CMB +12; CMD 30 Feats Ability Focus (devour soul), Alertness, Defensive Combat Training, Dodge, Flyby AttackB, Improved Initiative, Iron Will, Lightning Reflexes, Mobility Skills Bluff +20, Fly +23 Knowledge (arcana) +23, Knowledge (dungeoneering) +20, Knowledge (history) +15, Knowledge (planes) +15, Knowledge (religion) +18, Perception +27, Sense Motive +27, Spellcraft +23, Stealth +24 Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Common, Draconic, Giant, Infernal
Ecology
Environment any Organization solitary Treasure double
Special Abilities
Illustration by Jean-Baptiste Reynaud
Devour Soul (Su) As a standard action with a range of 300 feet, a demilich can imprison the soul of a living creature within one of 10 special gems embedded in its skull. If the target succeeds at a DC 24 Fortitude save, it gains two permanent negative levels. If it fails, its soul is immediately drawn into one of the gems in the demilich’s skull. The soul remains trapped within the gem, visible as but a gleam except under true seeing. The soulless body corrupts and decays rapidly, reducing to dust in a single round. As long as the dead creature’s soul remains trapped in the gemstone, it cannot be restored to life via any means save direct divine intervention. Gems with souls trapped in them can be retrieved from a destroyed demilich, at which point they can either be crushed to release any souls within to their afterlife or used in the place of the usual material components to restore the soul and body with resurrection or true resurrection. After 24 hours, the demilich can choose to consume any soul trapped in a gem, healing it 1d6 hit points per Hit Die of the soul, at which point only miracle or wish can restore the dead creature to life. The save DC is Charisma-based, and includes a +2 bonus for the Ability Focus feat.
Greater Bestow Curse (Sp) This spell-like ability functions like bestow curse, but can have one of the following effects: –12 to one ability score; –6 to two ability scores; –8 penalty on attack rolls, saves, and checks; or a 25% chance to act normally. This ability is treated as a 6th-level spell.
Immunity to Magic (Su) A demilich is immune to any spell or spell-like ability that allows spell resistance. In addition, certain spells function differently against the creature, as noted below.
A dispel evil spell deals 2d6 points of damage, with no saving throw.
Holy smite affects a demilich normally.
A power word kill spoken by an ethereal caster deals 50 points of damage to the demilich if it fails a Fortitude save (with a DC determined as though the spell allowed a saving throw).
A shatter spell deals 1d6 points of damage per two caster levels (maximum 10d6), with no saving throw.
Rejuvenation (Su) A destroyed demilich reforms in 2d6 days. To permanently destroy a demilich, holy water must be poured over its remains within the area of a hallow spell. To complete the destruction, holy word or dispel evil must be cast. If the caster succeeds at a caster level check with a DC equal to 10 + the demilich’s Hit Dice, the demilich is permanently destroyed.
Telekinetic Storm (Su) As a special use of its telekinesis spell-like ability, a demilich can churn up its treasure, dust, bones, and other loose debris in the area into a whirling storm about its skull. The storm obscures vision as a fog cloud within a 20-foot spread centered on the demilich’s skull. Creatures within the storm take 12d6 points of damage per round on the demilich’s turn (Reflex DC 20 for half damage). The demilich can maintain the storm indefinitely by concentrating.
Torpor (Ex) A demilich takes no actions against intruders unless its remains or treasure are disturbed.
Unholy Grace (Su) A demilich gains a bonus on saves and a profane bonus to AC equal to its Charisma modifier.
Vorpal Susceptibility (Ex)Vorpal weapons of any kind ignore a demilich’s damage reduction.
A year ago, Pathfinder Modules were sanctioned for play in Pathfinder Society Organized Play. As Atlanta Venture-Captain for a year, I appreciated the fact I could offer the sanctioned modules to local players, especially those who had played every scenario that had been released. But the rules that were established bothered me. No negative effects carried over from module play, even death or consumable use. Many players I talked with felt that sanctioned module play was not as good as it could be because of the rules put into place. One of my top goals when hired as Campaign Coordinator was to reevaluate sanctioned modules and see if we could change the way they worked to make them a more valuable part of the Pathfinder Society Organized Play campaign.
What I would like to see in the comments to this blog are what you do and don’t like about the below proposal. How will this proposal affect your game in both a positive and negative way. Once I review feedback over the next few weeks, the Venture-Captains, Venture-Lieutenants, and I can decide what changes we want to make in the upcoming 4.1 update to the Guide to Pathfinder Society Organized Play.
Spoiler:
Pathfinder modules are produced for a wider audience than just Pathfinder Society Organized Play. Because modules are structured differently from scenarios, the specific rules changes needed for playing sanctioned modules in Pathfinder Society Organized Play are presented below.
How to Play
Sanctioned modules are generally three times the length of a standard Pathfinder Society scenario and will likely take players two or three 4—5 hour sessions to complete. They do not contain Pathfinder Society faction missions, nor are they tiered for play by characters over a wide range of levels. Thematically, modules do not assume the characters are members of the Pathfinder Society. GMs and players are encouraged to create a reasonable plot hook for their characters’ participation.
Legal Pathfinder Society Characters
Players have the following three options when playing sanctioned modules for Pathfinder Society:
A player must use an existing Pathfinder Society character (without modification) within one level of the module’s starting level.
For modules below 9th level, a player who does not have a character in the correct level range may use a Pathfinder Society pregenerated character available on paizo.com. In this case, the chronicle sheet must be linked to an existing Pathfinder Society character and applied when that character reaches the level of the module. The linked character must be declared before play begins and recorded on the scenario reporting sheet.
As mentioned in Chapter 5 of the Guide to Pathfinder Society Organized Play, if you have already played the sanctioned module and wish to play it an additional time for any reason, you must inform the GM that you have already played the sanctioned module. If you spoil the plot for the other players at the table, the GM has the right to ask you to leave. You are free to replay the sanctioned module in order to meet a minimum PC requirement (see Chapter 7), but if you already have received a player Chronicle for this sanctioned module for any of your PCs, you do not earn any additional rewards beyond having a good time. The Tier 1 exception still applies for Tier 1-—2 modules.
Conditions, Death, and Expendables
Whether playing your own character or a pregenerated character, all conditions (including death) not resolved within the module carry beyond the end of the module. Likewise, any wealth spent or resources expended during the course of the adventure are tracked and must be recorded on the Chronicle sheet.
If you are using a pregenerated character, calculate the cost of any consumables used and mark this cost on the Chronicle sheet. Any remaining conditions are applied to the linked character when the Chronicle sheet is applied to that character.
The one exception is when a character remains dead at the conclusion of the module. In this case, the linked character is permanently dead and removed from play immediately. In resolving any conditions on a pregenerated character, Prestige Points and gold from the linked character may be used to pay for the cost of the raise dead or resurrection spell.
Applying Credit
All players receive a Chronicle sheet unless, at the GM’s discretion, they are replaying the module for no credit. If a player uses an existing Pathfinder Society character for the adventure, he must apply the Chronicle sheet to that character immediately. A player who uses a pregenerated character must apply the Chronicle sheet to his linked Pathfinder Society character when that character reaches the starting level of the module.
A GM who runs a module may likewise apply the Chronicle sheet to one of her Pathfinder Society characters. The GM must decide which of her characters will receive the Chronicle sheet when the module is completed and the Chronicle sheets are filled out. Playing a module from beginning to end earns a character 3 XP and 4 Prestige Points if that character is on the normal advancement track or 1.5 XP and 2 Prestige Points for characters on the slow advancement track. There are no day job rolls when playing a sanctioned module.
If a character dies and is brought back to life, the GM must determine the rewards for that character. The minimum possible reward is 0 GP, 1 XP and 1 PP on the normal advancement track or 1/2 XP and 1/2 Prestige Point on the slow advancement track. If a character participates in more than 2/3 of the module, he should receive full rewards. GMs and active players are encouraged to hasten the return of a character waiting to be raised from the dead.
Players who do not complete each game session earn 1 fewer XP and Prestige Point for each session missed. This also applies to players who join later sessions; they receive 1 fewer XP and Prestige Point for each session missed. In both cases players earn a minimum of 1 XP and 1 Prestige Point (or 1/2 XP and 1/2 Prestige Point on the slow advancement track). If a character earns more XP than she needs to reach her next level, she may not choose to switch advancement tracks at the new level earned.
As always, each player may receive credit for each module once as a player and once as a GM, in either order. Players must accept a Chronicle sheet for their character the first time they play a module. A player may replay a module at the GM’s discretion, but the player may not receive more than one player Chronicle sheet per module. The only exception is Tier 1—2 modules. A player may only play a Tier 1—2 module for credit once with a 2nd-level character, but may use additional 1st-level characters to replay the same module for credit.
Running Multi-Session Modules
Since sanctioned modules can be multi-session events, Pathfinder Society characters may not be used in other Pathfinder Society events until they receive a Chronicle sheet for the module. This does not apply to a player using a pregenerated character until the linked character reaches the starting level of the module.
GMs are advised to work with players who miss the final session of the module in order for those players to receive their Chronicle sheets.
Retirement and Beyond
In the interest of allowing Pathfinder Society characters to extend their adventuring careers, and to utilize sanctioned Pathfinder Modules to their fullest enjoyment, I would like feedback on allowing Pathfinder Society characters to advance past 12th level for sanctioned module play only.
The level cap for the campaign is still 12. There are no current plans for us to publish any Pathfinder Society scenarios of 13th level or higher. However, there are more modules on the schedule that are 13+ levels. We do have some stand-alone, Tier 12 scenarios on the radar for those that do not wish to play Eyes of the Ten, but wish to play three additional scenarios at 12th level and then retire. Just as with every other Pathfinder Society Scenario, Eyes of the Ten is not open for replay and that isn't going to change. So, the addition of more Tier 12 scenarios, or another retirement arc, allows for players to have options.
This part of the proposal would allow people to play a “retired” character through higher-level sanctioned modules, receive credit, and not have to play an artificially leveled character. This also helps to balance the wealth-by-level curve as presented currently at the end of Eyes of the Ten that presents 13th-level wealth for 12th-level characters. Right now it is difficult for us to plan special retirement events for 12th-level characters mentioned 3 years ago because characters’ wealth-by-level is so imbalanced.
Mark and I have discussed this and here is how I plan to incorporate advancement for 13th level and higher. This will open up the extended career of Pathfinder Society characters if people want to utilize modules in that manner.
Spoiler:
Once you reach 12th level, it would require 3 XP to advance to 13th level and beyond as normal. We will adjust the Eyes of the Ten arc so you receive 2 XP after Part 1 and 1 XP for Parts 2, 3, and 4. Once you complete Parts 1 and 2 of Eyes of the Ten, you may advance your character to 13th level. Mark and I reviewed Parts 3 and 4 and all CRs are higher than 13 so there shouldn't be a significant effect on the play of either of those. Once you complete Eyes of the Ten, you will still be 13th level and one XP short of advancement of 14th level. This will allow you to roll right into playing Academy of Secrets at level for the module. Any character who has completed Parts 1 and 2 of Eyes of the Ten may advance to 13th level.
At 13th level, you can then play your Pathfinder Society character in Academy of Secrets and receive full credit as normal, but you may play it at 13th level. We will be adjusting the gold received at the end of Academy of Secrets.
Upon completion of Academy of Secrets, the character would receive 3 XP and be one short of 15th level.
In the future, Paizo will release additional high-level modules that will also be sanctioned for play. We will eventually sanction The Witchwar Legacy once it is possible for someone having played everything to reach 17th level. We will make gold adjustments accordingly for those Chronicle sheets.
To help GMs and players use their Pathfinder Society characters in retirement and beyond, both the wealth and Fame tables will be extended beyond their current limits.
The above changes would not go into effect until version 4.1 of the Guide to Pathfinder Society Organized Play is released. Also, I am very aware that people might be in the middle of a multiple-play session for a sanctioned module, or be involved in a play-by-post game that takes months instead of one or two game sessions.
If these changes were to go into effect, I plan to grandfather in modules caught in the middle of multiple sessions when this goes live. I also plan to assign a Venture-Captain as the coordinator for this endeavor. Players and GMs will have a month to register their games as "grandfathered" games. After that time, no new module play should begin under the old rules. These registered "grandfathered" games have until the start of Season 4 to complete their games and report such to the Venture-Captain.
So there you have it. This is a proposal to modify play of sanctioned modules to bring them more in line with standard scenario play, as well as open options for players to extend the life of their Pathfinder Society characters. As mentioned at the beginning of this blog, I would like to hear what you do and don’t like about the above proposal, and how this proposal would affect your game in both a positive and negative way if put into place.
Mike Brock Pathfinder Society Campaign Coordinator
Pathfinder Battles Preview: A Gaggle of Goblins and Gargoyles
Friday, December 8, 2011
Today’s preview blog marks an important milestone for the Heroes & Monsters set of prepainted Pathfinder Battles miniatures. With this preview, we’ve revealed all 40 miniatures in the set! In the few more weeks leading up to the formal release of Heroes & Monsters (looking like very early January, at this point), I’ll go back through the set and show off painted versions of early unpainted preview sculpts and digital renders, but with the images below, you will have seen (in one form or another) every single miniature in our first Pathfinder Battles set.
The most elusive preview image for Heroes & Monsters has been this Gargoyle, based on art from the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Bestiary. Like his counterparts perched upon gothic buildings, the Gargoyle blended in well with his surroundings, and I never managed to add him to the preview pile until now. There’s no reason we’ve been holding him back—he’s a really cool miniature, with sweeping wings and big curved horns. If you’re feeling adventurous, a coat of paint on this guy could make him into a demon or devil too.
Next up we have all four goblins in the Heroes & Monsters set. A few weeks ago, I mentioned that we had to remove the Goblin Mystic sculpt for quality control reasons (his noggin was way, way, way too big), leaving us in a significant pickle. Unfortunately, there was no time to add a full-on new goblin sculpt, so we made the best of a bad situation, and decided to add a re-decoed Goblin Hero in place of the badly sized Mystic. The four goblins in the set, from left to right in the image above, are Goblin Warrior, Goblin Hero, Goblin Hero, and Goblin Warrior.
We’ve painted these similar miniatures in two distinctive paint schemes, making it possible to imagine them as members of different goblin tribes. The two Goblin Warrior sculpts are very minor variations with very slight pose differences. The Goblin Heroes are the same sculpt painted differently.
The goblin minis come two to a pack, so you should be able to start your goblin horde fairly quickly. The next set, Rise of the Runelords, has several more goblins on the way, including a Goblin Warchanter, Goblin Commando, Goblin Commando on Goblin Dog, and a goblin chief astride a giant gecko.
Having written several of the monsters for Bestiary 3 during my long-ago days as a freelancer (I can’t believe it’s almost been 6 months since I started work as a developer!), I have a lot of reasons to be excited for its upcoming debut. While it was fun working on the beasties from various mythologies, I would be lying if I said all of my favorites came from that background, because this book is simply so packed with monsters both new and old. For example, check out these four creatures, some sinister beings hinted at in the Pathfinder campaign setting, others beasts of RPG legend finally updated for the Pathfinder RPG. Recognize any favorites? Discover or rediscover more than 300 legendary monsters when Bestiary 3 releases later this month!
Illustrations by Jean-Baptiste Reynaud, Tyler Walpole, Carolina Eade, and Dmitry Burmak
The two men—for Salim had returned the eidolon's amulet, and the snake-man once more looked like an axiomite—walked shoulder to shoulder through one of Axis's many parks. To either side of the cobblestone path, trees and bushes of a hundred different varieties stood in a riot of color, each with a neat little placard giving its name and world of origin. Several were surrounded by decorative fences, and one of these quarantined plants shook and hooted as the pair passed by, its spherical fruit opening to reveal sucking lamprey mouths.
"My name is Connell," the eidolon said. "My master is Gatis Mirosoy, of the nation of Ustalav. More than thirty years ago, he called me forth from the aether of the Cerulean Void and gave me form, shaping me into his constant companion."
Salim nodded. He didn't know much about the practices of the so-called summoners, but he knew that the spirits they used in their magical creations were drawn from the Outer Planes. They weren't true souls—otherwise his own master, Pharasma the death goddess, would have something to say about the poaching—but they were close enough to provide the necessary animus. If Connell were a product of the chaotic Maelstrom, then it explained his appearance—and the disguising amulet. The serpentine proteans native to that plane were despised everywhere, but Axis had been at war with them since the universe began.
All of these thoughts passed by in the time it took Connell to draw breath and continue.
"For three decades, I served my master faithfully, protecting him from enemies, researching incantations, and managing his household affairs. He made this amulet specifically for me, so that I might treat with the local villagers on his behalf without unduly alarming them." One slender axiomite hand came up to caress the object, where it hung on its repaired leather thong.
"Sometimes, perhaps once every few years, his research would take us beyond the manor, to some forgotten library or dusty tomb where valuable knowledge lay languishing, waiting for the master to rescue it. It was on one of these excursions that he found the—the crown." The eidolon's voice caught, and for a moment he was silent.
"Crown?" Salim prompted.
"It's terrible!" the eidolon wailed, then reined himself back to a more reasonable volume. "We found it in the burial chamber of Arachyx the Ghoul-Handed. The master had brought us there in search of an ancient tapestry, but as soon as he saw the crown, all thought of the original mission went out the window, and he had to have it. It's a sick thing, an evil thing—a twisted band of iron with thorns that jut out in all directions, even back into the wearer's scalp. The whole thing has a weird, slick feeling to it, not like iron at all, but like oiled or decomposing flesh. And when the thorns prick you, the blood never drips—the thorns suck it up. I hate it." With this last pronouncement, a single tear welled up and rolled down the eidolon's disguised nose, dropping to the dirt.
"Missionary work is hardly Salim's forte."
"After the master put it on, he...changed. Before, he'd been a quiet man, and stern as any good master, but not without a sense of humor. After that, he became something else. He lost all interest in summoning lesser servants from the distant planes, which before had been his greatest joy, and even quit experimenting with my form. Instead, all he wanted to do was research death. He became obsessed with creating undead things, from rat skeletons and dog zombies to more... substantial works." Connell paused, embarrassed. "I dug up graves and brought him the remains of the townsfolk. He said we were just borrowing them."
"Right."
Connell shrugged, helpless. "He was my master. If he wanted to study necromancy, that was his prerogative. An eidolon doesn't question."
Salim nodded, but trained ears had caught the verb tense. "Was?"
All at once, the eidolon's composure broke, and the face he turned to Salim was a caricature of anguish.
"He sent me away," Connell whispered. His tone made it sound like a death sentence. "In all my life, I had never been more than a mile from his side. But he had changed so much. He had never been over fond of travel, but now he never left the manor. He quit eating hardly at all, and would go for days without sleep. He ignored the clean clothes I left out for him. He tore down the shrine to the magic god Nethys, and built a new one to Urgathoa, the Pallid Princess. The old one was wood and paper, beautifully made. This one was made of parts from his—experiments."
Salim had seen plenty of such shrines, and could well imagine the decomposing limbs and reanimating scramblings it entailed. The Pallid Princess was a sick bitch, and made Salim's own goddess look downright warm in comparison. Where Pharasma was, for all her faults, at least even-handed and devoted to perpetuating natural cycles, Urgathoa was devoted to undeath and gluttony, her necromancers filling the world with perverse beings that refused to die. Needless to say, the two ladies didn't get along.
"You said he sent you away."
Connell wrapped thin arms around himself. "It was that stupid crown—I know it was. After a while, he didn't even take it off to sleep, and didn't notice when the wounds from the thorns got infected. I tried to take it off him once—just for a minute, to clean them out!—and he threw me halfway across the room. And that was when he said he didn't need me anymore." Another slow tear. "That—that he had plenty of new servants. Better ones. And then he cast a spell, and I was somewhere else."
The eidolon went silent, and Salim gave him his space, recognizing in the set of his shoulders how hard this must be for him. After a moment, Connell continued.
"He'd sent me back to the Maelstrom, the chaos plane he'd drawn me from. Except it didn't feel like home anymore. I was awkward, and lonely, and everything I met was either terrified of me or trying to eat me. But worse—I could still feel him. My master. The thread was faint—so faint—but I could still feel him." The eidolon pointed to the rune on his forehead. "I'm still my master's creature."
"That's when I realized how much danger he was in. He had his undead things, but they were still weak, and sooner or later someone was going to get fed up with the grave robbing and try to do something about it. And I wouldn't be there to protect him."
Salim was starting to get tired of the eidolon's puppylike devotion. He attempted to hurry the story along. "And so?"
"So I went to see Pharasma."
Salim stopped walking so abruptly that Connell almost tripped and fell over onto a flower whose blossoms were shaped like tethered hummingbirds, petal-wings buzzing frantically to pull them away from the clumsy eidolon.
"You went to the Boneyard?" Perhaps Salim had underestimated the creature. Though the goddess of death wasn't the sort to slay anyone out of hand—quite the opposite, in fact—there were plenty of other beings around the Gray Lady's realm who were less discriminating, and the journey there was hardly easy.
"It took a while," the eidolon agreed, "but I got there eventually. Some nice crow-vulture-things in masks led me in and showed me to one of her servants, a black-winged angel called Ceyanan. I think you know him?"
"You could say that," Salim said wryly. In the same sense that you know your master, he thought, just without the hopeless love. But he didn't bother confusing the eidolon with his own problems.
"He was very nice," Connell said. "I simply explained the situation as best I could, and he agreed that it would be in Pharasma's interest to help me." Here the eidolon grinned, and despite the amulet's illusion, Salim could easily imagine the serpentine smile beneath it. "See, it's not just the necromancy—I know the goddess hates undead, but that problem will take care of itself when someone eventually comes along and kills him. The real issue is the crown. It's what's changed him and made him do all these evil things—I'm positive. And if it's the crown, that means it's not his fault. And if it's not his fault"—here the eidolon raised a triumphant finger—"then it shouldn't affect the final judgment of his soul. It's a tricky situation. If my master dies while the crown's magic is making him do bad things, does that count against him? Does his soul go to Urgathoa, or to Nethys? At the very least, it seems like a long and complicated judgment is in order."
Now Salim understood. "And Ceyanan sent you to me."
Connell nodded enthusiastically. "He agreed that such a judgment would be needlessly complicated and take up the goddess's valuable time, and that the best thing to do was remove the cursed crown and let my master's soul cleanse itself. Then he gave me your description, and the name of a bar, and transported me to Axis."
"Of course he did." Salim had to admit, the eidolon's logic was sound. And it would be just like Ceyanan to send Salim on a job that was, in essence, missionary work. Soul saving. That would tickle the angel's sense of irony.
"So will you do it?" the eidolon asked eagerly. "Will you help me help my master?"
As if he had a choice. "Ustalav, you said?"
"Aton's Field, a village near Kavapesta."
Salim reached into his robes and produced an amulet of his own. The size of his thumb, the stone was a perfect, lightless black, save for an iridescent spiral that seemed to shimmer and move of its own accord. Cupping the stone in one hand, he offered the other to Connell. "Let's go, then."
Coming Next Week: Angry mobs and broken men in Chapter Three of "Faithful Servants."
James L. Sutter is the Fiction Editor for Paizo Publishing, author of the novel Death's Heretic (also starring Salim), and co-creator of the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game campaign setting. His short stories have appeared in such publications as Escape Pod, Starship Sofa, Apex Magazine, and the #1 Amazon bestseller Machine of Death, and his anthology Before They Were Giants pairs the first published stories of SF luminaries with new interviews and writing advice from the authors themselves. In addition, James has written numerous Pathfinder supplements, including City of Strangers and Distant Worlds. For more information, check out jameslsutter.com or follow him on Twitter at @jameslsutter.
When brainstorming a new hardcover bestiary, we have many goals. These books give us an opportunity to support new Adventure Paths and other products. A new 300-plus-page volume of monsters gives us a chance to delve deep into the world’s mythologies and find new and interesting creatures from stories around the world. We get to express our love for classic creatures, exploring the genre’s rich history and smoothing out some of its wackiness. But it also gives us the opportunity to be evil.
And we love us some evil.
Monsters have the potential to take on a number of roles in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game. They can help a GM illuminate his or her campaign world. Monsters can serve as the impetus for adventure, calling the characters to quests with both words and actions. There is little doubt, though, that the chief job of monsters is to bring the hurt. Some of the best monsters are unflinching in their evil, and that’s the way we like them. While any monster has the potential for true evil, few fill that role like undead. And Bestiary 3has a large portion of undead. From the life-draining hollow serpent, to the soul trapping demilich, to the ship-wreaking sea bonze, all of these monsters have an all-consuming hatred for living things and the living world that has forsaken them. Even on the rare occasions where diplomacy is employed and parley is engaged, all but the most hopeful or deluded adventurer knows that an encounter with undead is doomed to end in the destruction of that corrupt thing or with character death. Their foul nature leaves little room for any middle ground. Even the gun-toting pale stranger—a gunslinger risen from the grave to right some past wrong—is corrupt, evil, and must eventually be put down to make the world a better, safer place.
So if you are like me, you love your monsters purely evil, and like to unleash hordes of unredeemable and creepy undead at your party, you are going to like what you find when you crack open Bestiary 3. While Halloween is long gone, consider celebrating a nightmarish holiday season with the ghastly things you find within its pages. You can start with this one: the tzitzimitl, and creature of apocalyptic evil, which exists only to blot out the sun and end all life that dares come across its path.
Illustration by Kieran Yanner
Tzitzimitl CR 19
XP 204,800
NE Gargantuan undead Init +9; Sensesarcane sight, darkvision 60 ft., true seeing; Perception +31
Defense
AC 35, touch 11, flat-footed 30 (+5 Dex, +24 natural, –4 size) hp 319 (22d8+220); fast healing 15 Fort +17, Ref +14, Will +19 Defensive Abilities channel resistance +4, light to dark; DR 15/bludgeoning and good; Immune cold, electricity, undead traits; Resist fire 15; SR 30
Offense
Speed 50 ft., fly 60 ft. (good) Melee bite +26 (2d8+14 plus 3d6 electricity and energy drain), 2 claws +27 (2d6+14/19–20 plus 3d6 electricity) Ranged eye beam +17 touch (10d6 electricity and 10d6 force) Space 20 ft.; Reach 20 ft. Special Attacks eclipse, energy drain (2 levels, DC 31) Spell-Like Abilities (CL 19th; concentration +29)
Constant—arcane sight, fly, true seeing
At will—bestow curse (DC 24), deeper darkness
3/day—animate dead, contagion (DC 23), greater teleport, haste
1/day—create undead, temporal stasis (DC 28), wail of the banshee (DC 29)
Statistics
Str 39, Dex 21, Con —, Int 20, Wis 23, Cha 30 Base Atk +16; CMB +29; CMD 44 Feats Awesome Blow, Combat Reflexes, Improved Bull Rush, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes, Point-Blank Shot, Power Attack, Precise Shot, Vital Strike, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Fly +35, Knowledge (arcana) +28, Knowledge (nature) +27, Knowledge (planes) +25, Knowledge (religion) +30, Perception +31, Sense Motive +31, Spellcraft +23, Survival +21, Use Magic Device +30 Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Celestial, Common
Ecology
Environment any Organization solitary Treasure standard
Special Abilities
Eclipse (Su) Anytime a tzitzimitl casts deeper darkness, any creatures in the area of darkness when it is created take 8d6 points of cold damage (DC 31 Fortitude for half). Any creature that takes damage from this effect becomes staggered as long as it remains in the area of darkness and for 1d4 rounds after it leaves that area. The save DC is Charisma-based. Eye Beam (Su) As a standard action, a tzitzimitl can fire a glowing beam of force from its eyes at a range of 100 feet as a ranged touch attack dealing 10d6 points of force damage and 10d6 points of electricity damage. Light to Dark (Su) As an immediate action up to three times per day, a tzitzimitl can convert a positive energy effect that affects it into negative energy. Doing so transforms the entire effect, such that it affects other creatures as well. A tzitzimitl can transform channeled positive energy in this way even if the positive energy would not otherwise harm it.
Tomorrow marks the official launch of RPG Superstar 2012, Paizo’s annual open-call RPG design competition! That means a lot of excitement here at the Paizo offices, because if this year’s Superstar is anything like the previous four, we’re about to discover some serious design talent that will help us years into the future.
And while winning the chance to write a published Pathfinder Module is great, it’s also important to remember that RPG Superstar offers value to more than just the single winner. This year, the three finalists will also earn a contract to write a Pathfinder Society Scenario, a downloadable adventure sanctioned for play in Paizo’s worldwide Pathfinder Society mega-campaign. The first Pathfinder Society Scenario from last year’s finalists, Jerall Toi’s The Edge of Heaven just came out last week, and the two additional sequels that make up the “Quest for Perfection” campaign arc are all being written by RPG Superstar finalist and semi-finalist alumni.
Speaking of prizes for finalists, did you know that Pathfinder Adventure Path developer Rob McCreary first came to our attention as a finalist in the first year of RPG Superstar? He didn’t win the final challenge, but his hard work and excellent creativity made him a natural choice when a staff position opened a few years ago, and he’s now one of the most important elements of Paizo’s monthly editorial effort here at the Paizo offices.
This year’s competition begins tomorrow with an open call that asks you to submit an original wondrous item by January 6, 2012. If you can use your 300 words wisely (and awesomely) enough to earn a place in the judges’ Top 32, you’re on your way to what might just become a RPG design career! As a special treat, we plan to include selected wondrous items from this year’s Top 32 in 2012’s Ultimate Equipment Pathfinder RPG hardcover, which will also include selected favorites from previous years.
See paizo.com/rpgsuperstar for more details, a complete RPG Superstar calendar, and rules for Round 1.
So start sharpening your pencils and shaking up your creativity. The next RPG Superstar could be you!
With a continuing effort to strengthen the entire Pathfinder Society program, as well as to continue tying up loose ends, Winter Witch and Death’s Heretic have now been incorporated into the Pathfinder Society.
Because of the differences between reading a novel and playing a game, there are specific rules needed for using sanctioned content from a Pathfinder Tales novel during play and we'll be providing a Chronicle sheet for players to use with their characters. You can download the Chronicle sheets on their respective product pages.
Sanctioned novels you ask? How do you sanction a novel? Because Pathfinder Tales novels are stories first, there is no easy way to sanction items, spells, feats, or other special abilities whole cloth. Therefore, the Chronicle sheets use the following rules.
Only items, feats, boons, or abilities found on the Chronicle sheet are legal for play.
Each player must have a copy of the Chronicle sheet with his or her character at all times.
In order for the Chronicle sheet to be considered legal for play, the player must show to the GM a copy of the Pathfinder Tales novel, either in printed or digital format.
A Chronicle sheet may be applied to each character the player currently has or creates in the future.
GMs are advised to work with players to make the sanctioning of Pathfinder Tales Chronicle sheets easy and fast. As long as the player has a copy of the book, she should be able to use the Chronicle sheet just like any other.
If you would like to learn more about the Pathfinder Tales line, please visit paizo.com or your local bookstore. Other novels in the line include Master of Devils by former Dragon Magazine editor Dave Gross, and Plague of Shadows by Howard Andrew Jones.
Mike Brock Pathfinder Society Campaign Coordinator
The official release of Heroes & Monsters, our first Pathfinder Battles prepainted miniatures set, is approaching! Over the last few months, I’ve used this weekly space to reveal sculpts and final images from the set, and with this post, I will have revealed all but one of the miniatures here on the blog! (You’ll have to wait for the Gargoyle, alas, as I forgot to ask the art department to photograph him this week. Sorry!)
After that, I’ll show off a few painted versions of figures we have only seen in sculpt form, and after THAT I’ll begin showing off sculpts from the NEXT set, Rise of the Runelords. I’m very pleased with what we’ve seen so far from Heroes & Monsters, but holy moley, Rise of the Runelords takes things to the next level. I can’t wait!
But that’s the future. Onward to today’s previews!
First up we have the Wolf, a common miniature sculpted in a nice leaping pose. Note the haunting red eyes and the nasty teeth! Aside from this being a solid miniature of a wolf, I’m pleased to report that the paint scheme used on its fur is identical to that used on the Werewolf I previewed a few weeks ago, making this a perfect choice for the “wolf” version of that creature. Throw a pack of these bad boys at your party and they’re sure to be barking at the moon!
Next up we’ve got the Mummy, an uncommon undead menace lurching its way toward your campaign. When we originally added the Mummy to this set, he was pegged to the “rare” rarity, but when the final sculpt came in he struck me more as a “rank and file” Mummy than a super awesome end-of-the-campaign undead overlord, so I busted him down to uncommon, making it easier to rack up a few of these guys for a nice higher-level encounter. Some day soon I hope to get that Mummy Overlord to make the perfect “captain” for a squad of these guys, but in the time being I think this one packs a suitable punch.
Next we have the Chimera, which I must confess has been one of the most difficult and frustrating models in the entire set. Some of you may recall a digital Chimera sculpt we released as part of our initial publicity push for the line. We were never really satisfied with that sculpt. It wasn’t based on Pathfinder art, and it just looked too cartoony and “not right,” no matter how many times we modified it. Worse, it lacked a critical part of a Pathfinder Chimera’s anatomy—wings. That was the death knell for that sculpt, but just when we thought all was lost, WizKids came to the rescue! It turns out they weren’t satisfied with the original look, either, so they green-lit a resculpt behind the scenes to see if a different artist might be able to come closer to what we needed. The final Chimera pictured here is the result of their effort, wings and all.
So there you have it for today’s previews. I’m off to approve more amazing sculpts from our next set, Rise of the Runelords!
Illustrations by Eric Belisle and Wayne Reynolds. Widescreen version here.
Monsters Are Coming!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The time draws nigh for Bestiary 3, so while you sharpen your blade and prepare your spells in advance of the monstrous onslaught, here's a little something to keep your mind on your task.
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