Ultimate Campaign Art Preview!

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

The release of Pathfinder Roleplaying Game: Ultimate Campaign is getting ever closer. Whether it's kingdom-building or leading an army, starting a business or crafting magic items, Ultimate Campaign is for all of the adventures that take place outside of the dungeon. The pages of the newest Pathfinder Roleplaying Game hardcover provide all kinds of useful information for your campaign, but many fantastic illustrations are contained within! Check some of them out!

Being a ruler has many responsibilities, but also many rewards.

Eidolons and other companion creatures are more fun when treated as a separate character rather than an obedient stat block.

Retraining rules allow you to replace a feat, change an ability score increase, or improve your hit points.

The quest to find a missing family member is a driving force for many heroes.

The section on marriage talks about how a spouse (or any relationship) can be an ally or an adversary.

Illustrations by Sam Burley, Eric Belisle, Lydia Schuchmann, and Maichol Quinto

Kingdom-building rules allow PCs to control their own country—or be the power behind the throne.

Followers, apprentices, and similar companions can be positive or negative plot hooks for a PC.

A character's lineage is a chain of characters linking a PC to the history of the campaign setting.

Illustrations by Denman Rooke, Jim Nelson, and Grafit Studio

Ultimate Campaign releases this May, preorder your copy today!

Sarah Robinson
Senior Art Director

Pathfinder Battles Heroes & Monsters Preview: Getting Into Character

Friday, October 14, 2011

Things are moving rapidly on the Pathfinder Battles front! This week, our partners at WizKids sent us 13 pre-production samples from December’s Heroes & Monsters 40-miniature set. These figures are very similar to the final production-run, so we’re within 95% of the final look of the miniatures. These figures are not yet attached to bases, but beyond that, they’re pretty close to done. We’ve spent the last couple days looking over every millimeter of these miniatures, getting our final feedback to WizKids so they can make minor adjustments before the figures start coming off the production line.

For today’s blog, I thought it would be fun to show off brand new photographs of three of these miniatures. Unlike the monsters we revealed last week, these three figures are designed to represent NPCs and player characters, and each belongs to a race and class found in the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game.

Our first miniature is the sneaky Human Rogue. This little guy wears a long, dark cloak with a cute pointed hood, but his hidden short sword shows he means business. This figure doubles as a good urban thug or even an assassin.

Next we’ve got an Elf Wizard, caught in the act of casting a deadly spell. Though it doesn’t come through particularly well in the photograph, the elf’s robes have a neat color gradient that blends from bluish-gray at the shoulders down to purple at the hem of the robe.

Lastly we have a Human Druid from the deep jungles of the Mwangi Expanse. Who knows what powerful ritual is inscribed on her huge scroll? As much as I like this picture, it’s difficult to appreciate the detail on this figure without holding it in your hand. With metallic blue shards hanging from the strap on her side to the cool texture of her hair, this is a fantastic-looking miniature.

There you have it. Three adventurers ready for your game table, and we haven’t even gotten to the set’s iconic character yet!

All three of these figures are at the Uncommon rarity. Next week I’ll reveal more of the preproduction samples, and I’ll also list several more Uncommons we have planned for the Heroes & Monsters set.

See you in seven days!

Erik Mona
Publisher

Ezren, in the Flesh

Thu, Aug 4, 2011 at 02:01 PM Pacific

If you were here, you could see up close and personal just how good this looks: the paint master of Ezren, from the Pathfinder Beginner Box Heroes Miniatures Set. (Photo by Jason Bulmahn.)

Gary Teter
Software Developer

The Future of Pathfinder Society Organized Play Part XI: Pick Your Pace

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Well, loyal Pathfinders, I have returned from a weeklong adventure in which I conducted an ancient ritual at the prophesied time to eternally bond me with an intelligent magic item of incredibly high Charisma that now occupies my left ring slot. And whether the Rapture came or not, I'm in heaven (though there's little time to take in the sights as we scramble to get the finishing touches on all the great new Pathfinder Society material debuting at PaizoCon in little more than a week).

But enough about me and my new cohort (or am I the cohort?). Let's talk about one of the biggest changes coming to Pathfinder Society Organized Play next year: variable advancement tracks!

Illustration by Maichol Quinto

Currently, all Pathfinder Society PCs level at the same rate: 3 XP to level up, which breaks down to three scenarios per level, or at the most 37 scenarios between character creation and retirement after a completed 12th-level adventure arc. For someone playing only a handful of scenarios a year at large conventions, this means they can play the same PC for years and years and still feel like they're actually getting something out of those few sessions they play at Gen Con or PaizoCon annually. But for players who participate in the campaign on even a bi-weekly basis, they will have leveled a character from inception to near retirement in just over a single year.

We’ve listened to the feedback, and feel there's a simple solution already present in our rules system. The Pathfinder Roleplaying Game includes several different advancement tracks to allow GMs to run their campaigns at the pace that works best for them and their players. While most of our products to date assume the medium advancement track, some groups prefer using the fast or slow progressions to move more quickly to higher-level play or to savor each step along the way to 20th level. Pathfinder Society Organized Play will be implementing a similar optional advancement track beginning in Season 3.

Players who enjoy the three-scenario-per-level pace don’t need to do anything. For you, nothing will change. But for those who want a slower progression, you can opt instead to move at half-speed, earning only 1/2 XP, 1/2 the total maximum gold, and a maximum of 1 Prestige Point per scenario. Because the net gain per level will be the same whether you use the slow track over six adventures or the normal track over three, PCs will be able to choose which progression they'll use for their next level each time they gain a level.

In addition to allowing individuals to operate at their own pace, this plan should allow small home groups or even growing store and convention groups to cooperate to ensure that higher-level PCs slow down enough for new players or replacement characters to catch up, condensing the level spread to make things easier for event coordinators. I'm sure there are other benefits to these new options that we haven't even thought of in-house yet. What most excites you about this new development?

Be sure not to miss next week's Monday blog for a look at the fifth of the existing factions: the decadent empire of Taldor. Anyone who's already played The Dalsine Affair likely already has an idea of at least one change that will be coming to this faction—a change that players of the four new scenarios at PaizoCon are likely to notice right away.

Mark Moreland
Developer

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Adventure Begins Here!

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

The first RPG product I ever purchased came in a red box, with a fighter laying the smack down on a red dragon. I was 12 and I've never stopped gaming since. I suspect that this fall some young whippersnappers will see this Beginner Box, pick it up, and begin their own journey into this great hobby of ours. With this amazing art from Wayne Reynolds, how can they not? And what can you do to make their journey easier?

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Illustration by Kieran Yanner

Ultimate Magic: Witches and Wizards

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

This week's theme is witches and wizards: two new familiars, two new patron themes, and two arcane discoveries.

New Familiars

The following are two of the many new familiars presented in Ultimate Magic.

Fox    CR 1/4
XP 100
N Tiny animal
Init +2; Senses low-light vision, scent; Perception +8
Defense
AC 14, touch 14, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +2 size)
hp 5 (1d8+1)
Fort +3, Ref +4, Will +1
Offense
Speed 40 ft.
Melee bite +1 (1d3-1)
Space 2-1/2 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Statistics
Str 9, Dex 15, Con 13, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 6
Base Atk +0; CMB +0; CMD 9 (13 vs. trip)
Feats Skill Focus (Perception)
Skills Acrobatics +2 (+10 jumping), Perception +8, Stealth +10, Survival +1 (+5 scent tracking); Racial Modifiers +4 Acrobatics when jumping, +4 Survival when tracking by scent
Ecology
Environment any
Organization solitary, pair, or skulk (3–12)
Treasure none
Foxes are small, doglike carnivores with narrow snouts and bushy tails. A fox's master gains a +2 bonus on Reflex saves.

Hedgehog    CR 1/8
XP 50
N Diminutive animal
Init +3; Senses low-light vision; Perception +1
Defense
AC 18, touch 17, flat-footed 15 (+3 Dex, +1 natural, +4 size)
hp 2 (1d8–2)
Fort +0, Ref +5, Will +1
Offense
Speed 20 ft.
Space 1 ft.; Reach 0 ft.
Statistics
Str 1, Dex 16, Con 6, Int 2, Wis 12, Cha 7
Base Atk +0; CMB –1; CMD 4 (8 vs. trip)
Feats Athletic
Skills Climb +5, Stealth +19, Swim +5
Ecology
Environment tropical or temperate forests
Organization solitary or pair
Treasure none
Special Abilities
Spiny Defense (Ex) As a move action, a hedgehog can roll itself up into a spiny ball. While rolled up, it gains a +1 enhancement bonus to its existing natural armor, and any creature attempting to grapple the hedgehog takes 1d3 damage on making a grapple check. While rolled up, a hedgehog cannot take any action other than leaving this state. The hedgehog can leave this state as a move action.

Hedgehogs are spiny, insectivorous mammals. When threatened, a hedgehog rolls up into a spiny ball as a defense mechanism. A hedgehog's master gains a +2 bonus on Will saves

Witch Patron Themes

The following are some of the alternative witch patron themes presented in Ultimate Magic.

Healing: 2nd—remove fear, 4th—lesser restoration, 6th—remove disease, 8th—restoration, 10th—cleanse**, 12th—pillar of life**, 14th—greater restoration, 16th—mass cure critical wounds, 18th—true resurrection.
Winter: 2nd—unshakable chill*, 4th—resist energy (cold only), 6th—ice storm, 8th—wall of ice, 10th—cone of cold, 12th—freezing sphere, 14th—control weather, 16th—polar ray, 18th—polar midnight*.

Arcane Discoveries

Arcane discoveries are a new option presented in Ultimate Magic. A wizard can learn an arcane discovery in place of a regular feat or wizard bonus feat.

Fast Study: Normally, a wizard spends 1 hour preparing all of his spells for the day, or proportionately less if he only prepares some spells, with a minimum of 15 minutes of preparation. Thanks to mental discipline and clever mnemonics, you can prepare all of your spells in only 15 minutes, and your minimum preparation time is only 1 minute. You must be at least a 5th-level wizard to select this discovery.
Multimorph (Su): Your studies in transmogrification have increased your control over shapechanging spells. When you cast a spell of the polymorph subschool on yourself, you may expend 1 minute of the spell's duration as a standard action to assume another form allowed by the spell. You can do this as often as you like, subject to the duration of the spell. You must be at least a 5th-level wizard to select this discovery.

Sean K Reynolds
Developer

The Illusionist

by Elaine Cunningham

To Oyamba, High Sun-Mage of the Magaambya, from apprentice and sojourner Bonali Kwazeel.

My lord,

I am well settled at Korvosa's Acadamae, in good health and most grateful for this opportunity to learn the ways of foreign wizards. Most of the first-year magic is familiar ground, but an unexpected lesson was taught to me yesterday by a fellow scholar. Though the story does me no credit, I will nonetheless report it faithfully.

My first impression of the Acadamae was, admittedly, not very favorable. The compound itself is impressively large, a walled city within the city, but the buildings are scattered about in random fashion rather than arranged in a sun-circle to focus power. It is strange to walk streets more twisting and contrary than goat paths, to see water contained in wells rather than free-flowing through the dreamwalk patterns of ancient cisterns. There is no symmetry in the Acadamae, and little beauty. It seemed incredible that magic could be called to such a place.

Still, the school is world-renowned, and I felt one might reasonably expect a certain breadth of knowledge in its scholars. To my surprise, little is known of the Mwangi Expanse. We are all one to these northerners. When they express admiration for my gold ornaments and the thread-art on my garments, their manner suggests an expectation of jangar-skin loin clouts and necklaces of monkey bone. On the whole, however, I found my new peers to be cordial and curious, if only in the hope that I might share some bit of exotic magic, or perhaps some jungle spices more potent than those they currently smoke.

I was assigned quarters with one Jamang Kira, a young man of Korvosa. If you can envision a strutting kimboda rooster, endlessly crowing and preening at his black-and-red plumage, you need no further description of the man. Despite his small stature and irritating ways, he stands near the head of our class and shows promise of becoming a powerful wizard. He is a first-year student, no older than my twenty years, but he spends much of his time ingratiating himself with older, more powerful scholars. One of them is Asmonde Avari.

Rumors flourish in any school. I had thought the Magaambya scholars worse than village gossips, but in the Acadamae whispers wander the halls like the unquiet dead. More than a few of them speak of Jamang's mentor.

Shortly after the dinner hour, Jamang, whom I seldom see before midnight, burst into our shared room. "Asmonde is casting a summoning in his chambers tonight," he announced with great excitement. "He allows a few friends to observe. You should come with me."

I put down the herbs I was grinding for the morrow's potions class and turned to face him. "Were I tired of living, I would gladly accompany you."

A smile bent one side of his mouth. "Asmonde is ambitious," he admitted, "and he does tend to overreach. Even so, his reach is long. We could learn much from him."

	"The Korvosans have little knowledge of the grand traditions of southern magic."

With difficulty, I suppressed a shudder. The summoning of demons and devils is bad enough, to my way of thinking. For a mere student to summon devils more powerful than most wizards can contain is hubris. Rumors whispered tales of earlier failed attempts. It was said that most of his family's wealth had gone to shielding him from the consequences of these failings. That Asmonde kept on with these summonings, despite the devastation he'd already wrought, was incredible to me.

To my surprise, Jamang did not press me. He reached for the small pot of herbs I'd just crushed. I caught his wrist before he could raise the pot to his nose.

"That is zumalli," I explained as I carefully reclaimed my property. "It is like mosswort in tincture, but far stronger."

Enlightenment flowed into his small black eyes. "No wonder you best me in potions class," he murmured. "You've access to plants most of us have never heard of. Stronger than mosswort, you say?"

I nodded. "Had you inhaled the volatile oils, you would have become confused and sleepy."

Jamang strode over to the little cabinet where I kept my pots and vials. "And this one?" he demanded, pointing to a jar of snakevine sap.

"Greatly diluted, it is a powerful restorative. In its current state, it is green-death. Deadly poison."

He stared at me, clearly puzzled. "Aren't you concerned that someone might use it?"

A moment passed before his meaning became clear. Horror swept through me like venom.

"That would be... most unwise," I said carefully. "The use of any Mwangi medicinal would swiftly bring the Acadamae's masters to my door."

"My point precisely," he said. "It would be an easy way for a rival student to implicate you."

"Or you." Some instinct I did not quite understand prompted me to add these words. Jamang did not take offense. If anything, he looked amused.

"In that case, we are both safe enough. If Mwangi poison were suspected, a magical enquiry would quickly establish our innocence."

I thought that would be the end of the matter, but Jamang reached for the setoli sitting atop my cabinet.

"This is a spirit house, yes? A protection against evil?"

The observation surprised me, since Jamang had shown little interest in Mwangi customs before. The reason for his inquiry came to me suddenly.

"I am not sure whether it could contain a devil," I said candidly. "That is not its intended purpose."

He nodded as if he'd been expecting this answer. "If I thought it would come to that, I wouldn't ask. Asmonde promised he would take every precaution known to him. Asmonde is good, but I'd feel better if magic not known to him were guarding the perimeter."

This was a side of Jamang I had not seen. It was clearly difficult for him to ask this favor of me, but his concern for his friend outweighed his pride. I'd dismissed him as vain and shallow, concerned about no one but himself. He was a better man than I'd credited him, and I was ashamed to have judged him unfairly.

All the same, I locked up my medicinal cabinet before we left.

∗ ∗ ∗

Asmonde Avari met us at the door. I saw at once why Jamang followed him like a hound. Power surrounds some men like shadows and mist. Asmonde stood in a dark cloud of his own creation. He was nearly as tall as me and quite handsome, with the dark hair and pale skin common to Korvosans. There was something about his eyes, however, that I did not like.

Still, he greeted us cordially and showed us where we should stand. His chamber was larger than the one I shared with Jamang, as befitted his years and higher standing. The furniture had been pushed back against the walls, and a circle surrounded by elaborate runes had been painted onto the floor. Painted, not drawn—a permanent work of art and magic, clearly the product of considerable time and effort and study.

This was unusual, but I must admit that I breathed a little easier. Clearly Asmonde was not quite as reckless as rumor suggested.

Six of us had gathered to observe the casting. At a gesture from Asmonde, we fell silent.

He began the casting, chanting in a voice as resonant with power as an oracle's as he strode slowly around the circle. When he came to a stop, I noticed that there was a small gap in the circle and an empty place where a rune should have been drawn.

Asmonde drew a small knife from his belt and pressed it to his arm. A line of blood welled up. He knelt, still chanting, and closed the circle with his own blood.

I lack the words to describe what happened next. Imagine that thunder and lightning struck simultaneously, yet without sound or light. There was no roar or flash. There was only the devil.

Several moments passed before I recovered from that first shock of power, and even then my mind could hardly encompass what my senses perceived. I have a half-memory, like something from a fading nightmare, of great size and glistening hide and twisted black horns.

I glanced at Jamang. He stood calmly at my side, meeting the devil's gaze without any apparent difficulty. For some reason, that disturbed me more than anything I'd yet seen. I tore my gaze away. It was easier to watch Asmonde as he intoned the chant that would bind the foul being to his will.

But his words faltered. A strange look came over his face, the expression of a man confused, not by some failing of will or intellect, but by some enchantment. Or perhaps even by green-death...

My gaze flew to the knife in Asmonde's hand. It was small and silver, identical to the blades most scholars carried for magical purposes. Substituting another knife—a knife touched with zumalli—would be a simple matter.

Asmonde continued to chant, but he no longer controlled the spell. Blood spattered the floor as words of power tore free of his throat. He rocked back and forth like a man retching himself dry. Closer and closer to the circle he rocked.

Too close.

A great, black-taloned hand snatched Asmonde by the hair. The devil dragged him into the circle and tore his head from his body.

All of us stood frozen, too horror-stricken for thought or action.

Jamang was the first to recover his wits. He slapped the shock from my face and pointed to Asmonde's body, lying half in the circle, a bridge of mortal flesh.

"The spirit house," he shouted. "Contain the devil now, before it crosses over!"

Whatever Jamang's part in this catastrophe might have been, his reasoning now was sound but for one thing: I was not sure my magic could reach into another wizard's circle.

Nor could I risk setting that devil loose.

I gave a curt nod, more to steel myself than to respond to Jamang.

"When I step into the circle, pull the body out," I said. "Then run for help."

Not waiting for a response, I leaped into the circle, brandishing the spirit house and shouting the word that would activate it.

At least, I think I shouted it. Any sound I might have made disappeared into the devil's shriek. A terrible wind buffeted me with blistering heat and a roar like the screaming of tortured souls. How long it went on, I could not say, for when two of the Acadamae's masters stepped into the empty circle and lifted me to my feet, my ears still rang with the hellish sounds.

One of the masters took the spirit house from my hands and raised it to peer into the window. A look of wonder crossed his face, as if the thing captured within were no more than a pleasant toy. He looked upon me with new respect and said something I could not hear. The other master pointed to his ear. An expression of chagrin crossed the first master's face and he handed me a small amulet.

The cacophony died, suddenly and completely.

"You may keep the amulet," the master said, lifting the spirit house meaningfully.

"A fair exchange," I agreed.

Jamang reached up to place a hand on my shoulder. "That was the most astonishing act of courage I have ever beheld," he said solemnly. "As is custom, Asmonde deeded his personal effects to a younger student, but I think he would want you to have this."

He pressed something into my hand.

Asmonde's knife.

Without thinking, I raised it to my nose. There was no trace of zumalli. For a moment, I knew shame for my suspicious thoughts.

And then I realized that there was no trace of blood on the knife, either.

∗ ∗ ∗

The first thing I did upon reaching my room was to empty all of my Mwangi herbals, every pot and vial, into my jug of asperengi. I did it quickly, before Jamang could return and learn that I possessed a nearly universal solvent. I did not like to imagine what use he might make of such knowledge.

He came in late that night, flushed with self-satisfaction and laden with Asmonde Avari's books and scrolls. I made no move to help, nor did he seem to expect it.

I meant to keep silent, for what good can come of barking at a jackal? And I might have done so, had he not smirked at the sight of the empty zumalli pot on my table. Temper overcame me. I snatched up one of the books, a slender volume bound in blue leather, and hurled it against the far wall.

"I will go to the masters," I promised. "I will tell them everything."

Jamang made a show of yawning and stretching, as if he could barely hold himself awake for such inconsequential threats. "And what exactly is 'everything,' Bonali?"

"You killed Asmonde Avari!"

"A devil killed Asmonde Avari," he corrected me. "Several people bore witness to that fact."

"But the knife—"

"The knife in your possession?" He shook his head in the manner of someone gently chiding a boy too slow of mind to learn simple runes. "If anything is found on it, who do you think they will accuse?"

I was about to remind him of our earlier conversation about our shared access to my store of green-death when my gaze fell on "Asmonde's" spotless knife. I had no doubt that the knife Jamang gave me was not the knife Asmonde had wielded. If dangerous herbs were found on it, it could only be because I myself put them there. Any magical inquiry would reveal this. No one would believe that I did so to bring another man to justice. If I accused Jamang, I accused myself. Bringing the spirit house to the summoning, destroying my store of Mwangi herbals after—these would not be construed as the actions of an innocent man.

But perhaps the masters might listen and believe, if the motive were sufficient. "Are those books so valuable?"

Jamang glanced at the slim blue volume, which he hadn't bothered to retrieve from the floor. "Asmonde's books? I doubt it. He comes from a family of innkeepers. Even his knife—and you do have his knife, by the way—is of middling quality."

A great confusion fell over me. "Then why? What did you gain that was worth a man's life, even such as man as Asmonde Avari?"

He picked up the empty zumalli pot and placed it among the other empty containers in my cabinet. The smile he turned upon me was something I will not soon forget.

"Ask me again," he said pleasantly, "after tomorrow's potion class, when I stand first in the student rankings."

∗ ∗ ∗

Master Oyamba, I am mindful of your desire that I learn the art of abjuration, but with your permission I would like to devote myself to the study of illusion. Perhaps knowledge of how falsehoods are told with magic might prepare me to better perceive the illusions built with words and deeds. That ability, I suspect, might hold me in better stead than anything else I might learn from Korvosa.

Respectfully,
Bonali Kwazeel

Coming Next Week: Erik Mona introduces us to the etiquette of cannibalism in "Two Pieces of Tarnished Silver."

Elaine Cunningham is the New York Times best-selling author of numerous novels in such varied settings as the Forgotten Realms, Star Wars, EverQuest, Spelljammer, and Ravenloft. Her other contributions to the Pathfinder campaign setting include the Pathfinder Tales novel Winter Witch and work on Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Guide to the River Kingdoms

Art by J. P. Targete.

The Walkers from the Crypt

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Four: The Pendant

Prince Dolandryn explained that in life he'd known only a handful of spells, for he had bent his concentration upon necromantic studies to the exclusion of almost all other magics. Yet he had learned one or two useful tricks, and upon Elyana and Arcil he placed a dweomer that hid their pulse and gave them a semblance of... Elyana was not sure how to describe it, for she saw nothing different in Arcil's appearance once the spell had been cast, but she certainly perceived it upon both of them when she looked down at her hands.

"You will no longer seem alive to the dead you encounter," the spirit told them. "But you do not have long. You must move quickly."

And so they did. They left Mirelle on the steps near the horses, neither of them offering suggestions as to what she should do if they failed in their mission. The girl would have no good options left her.

Elyana and Arcil hurried through the streets toward the city outskirts. Here they finally saw more of the moving dead, and sign that at least some of the Galtans lived, for scores of the animated corpses had gathered around a square redoubt that looked like a watchtower. Lights burned at its heights; figures in Galtan liberty caps were silhouetted in the vacant windows of the place. By that light Elyana recognized men in Galtan uniforms gathered in the ranks of dead about the tower and knew that many of those who'd tracked them to this place must already have fallen.

"How are we going to get through there?" Elyana asked.

"I don't think we'll have to do so," Arcil told her, breathing a little heavily. He pointed out into the darkness. "As far as I can tell, the pendant is that way."

"Lead on, then. How much longer do you think we have?"

"Probably not long enough," he said, and was so startled by her abrupt laugh that his grin was rather charming. She slapped his back.

"Onward then, Arcil."

They did not have much farther to go. Out there in the darkness they saw another light, near a copse of trees. A group of dead men ringed the light, and their shadows were etched upon the surface of the earth before they stretched into the surrounding darkness. From within this ring came the distinct chuk of shovels thrust into the soil, the grunt of men at work, and the sound of earth being cast from the tools. Elyana perceived then that inside the ring of corpses were a handful of Galtan soldiers, along with another figure that was quietly cursing them to quicken their efforts.

It looked as though Elyana and Arcil were not the only ones protected by some kind of shielding enchantment.

Elyana decided then that things could quickly be made much simpler with a few easy steps, and so she darted behind a bush and slipped her bow from her back. Arcil went with her, smiling as she bent the bow and slid the string into place around the nock.

"A well-placed arrow, eh?"

"Or three," Elyana said. "It should save us a little trouble."

"And if this doesn't work?"

"I guess you'd better have your wand ready."

It did not take long. Elyana had three of her finest arrows remaining; the rest had been scavenged from Galtans. She watched the diggers for only a few moments. They did not seem to have been at it for very long, for their dirt pile was but a low mound.

One of the men with the shovels bent down, lifted something, and brushed at it. The hooded figure stepped closer.

	"The mask might actually improve the necromancer's appearance."

Until then he'd been partly obscured by the protective line of corpses and the diggers themselves. No longer. As the necromancer stared at what Elyana thought must be the pendant, she loosed her first arrow, then the second, in quick succession. As they soared through the night, she took a moment longer to aim a third.

The first one tore through the air, over the shoulder of one of the dead sentinels, then passed just beyond the head of the Galtan wizard, who looked up. The second one came within a handspan of his throat, but somehow dropped away just as it drew close. Elyana cursed—the Galtan necromancer must have some sort of protective barrier.

The third, though, took the fellow in his chest. He sank to one knee.

Arcil leveled his wand then, and at his shouted words a firewall appeared beside the Galtans, casting all of them in stark red light. The men with shovels screamed in anguish.

Elyana fitted more arrows and fired again and again even as the wall of fire raged.

Then the corpses were running toward them, eight in all. Five were the long-dead skeletal remnants of the valley, but three were Galtan soldiers. Their opponent was apparently an equal opportunity necromancer.

"Do you have anything else?" Elyana asked.

"A web," Arcil told her.

"Perfect."

The wizard set to work, and with a few whispered words a long strand of material glistened into existence between a bush and wall directly in the path of the charging corpses. They rushed right into the sticky strands, where they flailed helplessly. Elyana was already on the run, arrow in one hand, bow in the other. She and Arcil bypassed the writhing bodies, closing on the Galtan position. The necromancer was standing once more, and she fit the arrow to her bow as she ran.

And then there was something clasping her ankle and leg, and a rope of darkness had snared her wrist and waist. Black tentacles formed of shadow had shot up from the ground and wrapped her with implacable power, pinning arms to her sides, holding her legs in place. She turned her head and saw Arcil caught in the same fashion. The eerie, cold restraints were secure and inflexible.

The wall of fire had faded finally, but by the light of the lantern he bore, the necromancer could be seen as he walked to meet them. Two of his still-living guards paced at his side.

Upon closer inspection, the fellow did not seem especially intimidating. He wore a tanned, gray leather mask that concealed all of his face but his eyes, his mouth, and his chin. His hair was hidden by a hood that seemed tied to the mask itself.

The man was round and short, with large hands and stubby fingers, and though the high boots of a huntsman flashed from beneath his robe, his waddling stride made it clear they were an affectation rather than his customary dress. Probably he was a merchant of some kind when he was not serving his state as a Gray Gardener.

He stopped only a few feet before them. In one hand he held a tarnished pendant of silver and gold. The only sign of the arrow Elyana had skewered him with was a dark patch upon his jacket near his heart.

His two uniformed guardsman looked scorched, from their blackened faces to their singed coats and eyebrows. One of them had both his sword and his teeth bared.

"I would have been much more upset with you," the necromancer said in a mild voice, "if you had not led me to this place with this treasure. Why, if you're still alive when I decipher its workings, I may have to thank you."

"You don't need to decipher its workings," Elyana said. "I can tell you what it does."

The necromancer chuckled. "Really. And why would an elf know anything about it?"

"You hold the pendant fashioned by Lord Dolandryn to ward his valley from invaders."

The necromancer's mouth set firmly. This was apparently not the answer he'd expected. "How do you know?"

"Why do you think we came here?" she asked. "I could have lost you the moment we entered the forest."

"You should just kill her, honored citizen," the soldier with the sword suggested.

"Hush," the wizard replied without looking at him. "Elf, I have ways to learn the truth from you."

"There's no need for any of that," Elyana said. "If you free me, I will promise to tell you how the pendant's magic works."

The Galtan laughed, a merry sound such as friends share at a good jest. No one joined him. "You wish me to free you both?"

"Just me."

"Elyana!" Arcil said.

"Now what would the state say if I were to show favoritism to a criminal? Justice must be blind, elf."

"Think what you'll be able to do for the state with the power of that necklace."

The necromancer hefted the thing in one hand, clearly considering it. "Your proposal intrigues me. I sense the power in this thing, and know that it is linked to these dead."

"Then free me."

"No, no. I think you must prove your loyalty to me. Tell me its use, and then I will free you."

Elyana knew that he would never do that, but to acquiesce too quickly would make the fellow suspicious. "You must swear."

"Very well. I swear, by the love I hold for the republic and people of Galt, that I shall free you from those bonds once you have told me the secret of this necklace."

"Don't listen to him, Elyana!" Arcil spat.

It was clearly a very poor sort of oath. The necromancer might mean he would free her of those bonds but put her in others, and he had in no way indicated that she would be freed generally. She knew only that the necromancer would want both of them alive for the guillotine if at all possible, for Galtans loved a show.

"Very well." Elyana feigned reluctance. She heard Arcil still begging that she say nothing. "You must extend your power into the necklace itself," she said. "You will feel the stirrings of the dead when you do so. If you are truly talented, you might be able to command dozens upon dozens of the folks, though they say only Lord Dolandryn could send forth the whole of the valley at once."

The Galtan smiled. "I can do anything that this lord of yours could have done. He could not be so great, if I have never heard of him."

"Free me now," Elyana said.

"First," the wizard said, lifting the necklace, "I will test the truth of your words." He fit it over his neck, and the pendant hung down, shining incongruously on the pot belly that distended his robe.

The necromancer stared off into the distance, then smiled, then laughed. "By the glorious state! You did not lie! I can feel them. I will command them to depart the fortress... I can sense them all the way through the valley. They are set, somehow, to guard the place from intrusion." His voice sounded strained.

"You make it sound easy," Elyana said. "The prince had to work harder than that."

"I can command them all," the necromancer declared.

"Prove it," Elyana said.

He lifted his wobbling chins proudly. "I will. You will see me march from this forest with my new army, for you will be my prisoner! Oh, I will free you from these bonds, but you were a fool to think I would release you from the custody of the state and the justice you are due."

"You're all talk," Elyana told him. "I have yet to see this army you command."

His lips curled.

It took only a moment, then. He stared off into the distance, fists clenched. "I can feel them. I can feel them all! Come, children. Come to me—he will... we will... all..."

Quite suddenly he dropped limp to the ground. He made no attempt to catch himself, and lay twitching. The guardsmen started, unsure, and Arcil shouted a command. The tentacles vanished.

He had dispelled the Galtan's work by use of the ring he wore, looted like his wand from the River Kingdom crypt. Elyana snatched up her bow, charged forward and caught the blade of the lunging Galtan on the edge of her bow. She backhanded his face with its other end and drew her sword as he staggered, crying out in pain. A quick thrust sent him groaning to the ground.

By then the other Galtan was advancing.

Arcil shouted for her attention. "Elyana—the dead!"

She saw them from the corners of her eyes, advancing from every direction. The maddened or enfeebled necromancer lay on the ground, racked by spasms, but the last command he'd given through the faulty artifact still worked, and they had been called to him. Thus they came.

"Put up your blade, fool," Elyana shouted at her opponent. "There's no time for this!"

"Die, wretch!"

Elyana beat his blade aside and drove her own through the Galtan's coat and breast. He sank to his knees, dying with a look of astonishment.

Arcil was already holding the necklace when Elyana turned, and at the whispered word the ghostly prince had taught him, the thing fell open to reveal a glowing center. He set it amid the burned grasses.

Elyana lifted her sword and Arcil quickly backed off, leaving the necklace with its brilliant blue nimbus.

"Elyana!"

The two Galtans she had but lately slain were in motion. One staggered at her, arms outstretched. The other had not even bothered climbing to its feet—it snatched at her ankle, enclosing it in a grip of iron.

Elyana dragged it forward with her, raised up the sword, and sliced down into the amulet's blue glow.

She felt the magical energies of her blade thrum as she made contact with something, as if an invisible hand had slowed her descent. The pendant's light had not diminished or dimmed. The grip on her ankle tightened. She heard Arcil shouting something and the thud of his staff against bone.

She raised the sword higher and struck once more, and again, and a third time. Usually she wielded the weapon with more finesse, but she was tired, and, truth be told, more than a little afraid that all of their effort had been expended for naught.

But then, on the fifth blow, the glow shimmered and lessened. She felt the grip about her ankle relax, and on the sixth strike, the magic winked out. All about her the dead dropped, hitting the soil and pavement with a rattle of bones and armor.

There was then only the sound of Arcil panting. She turned to find the wizard leaning heavily on his staff.

"That was very clever," he said.

"Did you know what I planned?"

"I guessed. Did you like my dramatic denial?" He smiled. "I thought I did a fair job, acting. I waited for the right opening to use my ring. You certainly gave me one."

Elyana nodded, and bent over to wipe her blade on a dead Galtan's clothes.

"We make a good team, Elyana," Arcil was saying. "I think that was very nicely managed." He stepped over to the Galtan necromancer, the man's limbs still shaking at random intervals. "What shall we do with him?"

"Leave him," Elyana said darkly, and sheathed her sword.

Arcil appeared unsure about that. When he bent down over the fellow, Elyana thought at first he meant to deliver a mercy blow, but instead he rifled through his belongings until he rose with a book. "I fancy learning that black tentacle spell," he said.

"You're not going to start dabbling in the dead, are you?" Elyana asked.

Arcil shuddered a little. "You're joking, right?"

When they returned to the tower, Mirelle was waiting for them. The prince was gone.

"We were watching from the tower," Mirelle told them. "He told me when he felt that the necklace was in use, and he grew very sad. But a short time later he turned to me with the most amazing smile. He tried to say something, but I couldn't hear him, for at that very moment he faded away. It was like he had never been there at all."

They rested in the tower for half the night. Elyana expected no trouble from any surviving Galtans, but she still roused her weary group before dawn, leaving the valley via its southern exit. Arcil might ordinarily have groused about having to share a horse, but he did not complain about having Mirelle pressed behind him on the saddle.

By dawn they were on the southern heights, and Elyana could not keep herself from taking a final look over the valley. In the dim light, it was almost possible to imagine the ruins as they must once have been, with folk leaving the houses for their fields, hoes slung over their backs. They would have walked forth in groups, their children running ahead. Others might have pushed carts toward the city square.

"We did it," Arcil said. He had dropped off Mirelle's horse to join Elyana.

"Yes."

"You look sad. Against terrible odds, we came through alive. I can't think of better reasons to be happy."

"I was just thinking about the prince. He loved his people so much that he destroyed them."

"Love," Arcil said. "Sometimes I think we're all better off without it."

"Well, then we end up with the Galtans, don't we? Justice beyond compassion. There must be a middle path."

"Let me know if you find it," Arcil said. "Right now, though, I would rather you focus on the trail home."

"That I can do," Elyana told him. "That I can do." And she turned from her contemplation of the valley, climbed into her saddle, and headed for the woods.

Explore Further: Though this story is finished, the adventure isn't. Read more of Elayana's adventures in the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!

Coming Next Week: A blast from the past as Dave Gross brings us the adventures of a young Count Jeggare in the Mwangi Expanse in "A Lesson in Taxonomy."

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword and sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

The Walkers from the Crypt

by Howard Andrew Jones

Chapter Two: City of the Dead

"I don't care for it at all." Arcil had swung down from his horse to contemplate some glyphs carved into a stone pylon thrust into the ground beside an oak tree. It was tilted a few degrees off vertical, and pitted with age. Overhead, the leafy canopy was so thick it seemed twilight had already fallen.

Elyana was eager to keep moving; she meant to lose the Galtans only after she'd led them deeper into the woods, but she hadn't reckoned on them pressing so close. Perhaps the sight of their quarry fleeing before them on the plain had excited them, for they were now crashing through the brush a few bowshots behind with almost reckless intensity. Yet her voice did not betray her concern. "What do they say?"

"This is old, and marks a boundary. A warding, perhaps?" Arcil brushed at some moss with two fingers to better view one of the glyphs.

"A warding for what?" Mirelle asked. She glanced over her shoulder, apparently more focused on the noises of their pursers. Her horse shifted uneasily beneath her, stirring the leaves with its hooves.

"These are more initials than words," Arcil said hesitantly. "I'm not certain I can correctly infer the meaning."

He sounded as if he knew something and did not wish to say it. "Speak, Arcil. We've no time to waste."

He glanced up at her and then brushed fingers over the three uppermost glyphs. "I think this means 'the walkers.'" He stood, frowning, and brushed leaves and dirt from his pants. He passed close to Elyana, speaking softly as he glanced up. "Walkers from the crypt."

"What was that?" Mirelle asked, straining forward, her face screwed up with worry.

"We're in this together," Elyana said to Arcil. "You might as well tell her what you're thinking."

Arcil climbed back into his saddle, sighing a little. "I think we're heading toward an old burial ground. We're being warned away. It's likely some local superstition."

"Looks like we'll find out." Elyana started forward. She planned to keep moving south, into the woods. Come nightfall, she'd use her better vision and skills to cut west from the forest. She doubted even the best-trained Galtan woodsmen could keep up with them in darkness. More troubling was what a Galtan necromancer could do with a whole graveyard beneath his feet. Hopefully his selection of spells would be as limited as Arcil's after a full day of work. Surely it had been no easy feat to send so many hounds against them, even if he were a caster of great power.

She guided her charges on, ignoring the occasional grunt or low oath from behind her. The humans didn't always notice the branches she ducked.

Occasional gaps in the forest canopy allowed wide shafts of evening light to stream in, but far from reassuring, the muted illumination served only to emphasize the greater darkness around them. There was a silence here. The bird calls had diminished.

"I don't like this place," Mirelle announced quietly.

"Do not worry, my dear," Arcil told her. "Do not worry."

He sounded less soothing than patronizing.

They continued a gradual decent, and then, suddenly, arrived at what Elyana first took as the forest's edge, though she knew intellectually that the Verduran Forest stretched south for hundreds of miles. Slipping from her horse, she advanced to find instead that they had arrived at the edge of a small, crescent-shaped valley mysteriously bereft of trees. Within it were scattered the bones of a small city. Long-shattered stone walls stood out from the gnarled bushes. Paving stones showed gray here and there beneath the undergrowth and detritus. A few buildings were intact, notably a tower near the center, but most were fallen in, and all of the roofs had collapsed long ago.

The abandoned city felt even more desolate than the surrounding woods, and she thought first to skirt it, then reasoned that she could use the place to better confuse their pursuit. She even briefly considered wearing away their numbers from the defensible positions at hand.

They wound deep into the ruins, Elyana leading the way, and the silence here was so deep the sounds of the Galtan mob were quickly lost to her behind crumbling walls marred by thick vines . The sun sank lower, and twilight came on at last. Elyana had been raised by humans and was well acquainted with their instinctive fear of the dark. Still, she was surprised to hear the soft but clear concern in Arcil's voice.

"Elyana."

She looked back at him, saw him paused at a turn down a winding, cobbled road angling for the tower. Mirelle had paused beside him.

"What is it?" she called back.

"Something... someone... waved for me to follow."

There was no time for hesitation. Not hearing the Galtans made her more concerned about their position. If they reached the valley before her team cleared it...

Yet it was unlike Arcil to sound so indecisive. Or troubled. "A Galtan?" she asked.

	"Arcil may not be as suave as he thinks he is, but he's a good man to have in a fight."

"I think it may have been a ghost," Arcil admitted.

"You're sure you saw it?" Elyana asked.

"I am not entirely sure, no," he said, sounding a little defensive. "I saw something from the corner of my eye, and when I turned to look directly, it was gone."

Elyana frowned. Arcil was not especially prone to flights of fancy, but a more urgent threat loomed. "Let's press on," Elyana said. Reluctantly, she noted a new chill in the air and their mounts' ears swiveling nervously to catch no sounds but their own.

As they passed beneath the dark silhouette of the tower, Elyana herself glimpsed a figure standing in the gap between two craggy walls. It had the semblance a man, garbed in a white robe and motioning them onward, but before she could properly focus, it vanished.

At that same moment, from somewhere far behind came a masculine scream and a cacophony of shouting and clashing arms. The Galtans?

"What's happening?" Mirelle gasped.

Elyana pulled her horse around, but before she could locate a vantage point to investigate the distant struggle, a shadowy figure lurched up from the darkness on their right. The horses shied, laying back their ears, and Mirelle stifled a scream.

It lacked a head. Behind it, striding out from the yawning maw of a ruined building, were a half-dozen helmed figures in broken armor. There limbs were nothing but bone.

Elyana cursed. "Time to go!" Her horse was eager to race ahead, and Mirelle and Arcil followed. They quickly outdistanced the dead, but as Elyana continued down the street, more dark figures shambled out of the darkness.

"This does not seem to be Galtan necromancy," Arcil shouted up to her.

He was right. Although she supposed that some Galtan soldier might have shouted because he was frightened by the horrific power wielded by one of their mages, the sounds of battle had been unmistakable. The Galtans were fighting these corpses. More likely this was what the markers had been set to warn visitors away from.

"We ride, fast as we dare," she said. "Out of this valley. Follow me."

She darted down a winding side street, urging her horse to leap over something she took for rubbish in the middle of the street until it rose up, waving a notched sword. She pulled back instead and her animal reared, striking the thing with its front hooves. The dead warrior was flung backward, shedding bones as it flew through the air. It struck the street with a muffled clatter and did not rise.

Other shapes were slipping from the ruins. Some strode confidently, bearing weapons. Other shambled. A few were completely intact, but most were missing limbs, or even heads. And all advanced toward them.

She came to a halt and the others drew up near her. "I've few grand spells left, Elyana," Arcil said soberly.

"Then we shall cut a swathe." She drew her blade, a comforting weight in her hand.

"We cannot hope to destroy enough of them," Arcil said, gesturing around at the gloom alive with shambling movements. "What about the ghost?"

Elyana considered the overwhelming number of foes. "What about the ghost?"

"Suppose it meant to guide us to safety? It was the only one of these that did not attack."

True enough, but that didn't mean it intended no harm. However, there had been a tower nearby, which at least had the benefit of being a more defensible point. It had appeared intact, and was much closer than the crumbling walls that marked the city's edge. "Ride for the tower," she commanded. Her horse reared again as she turned it.

"Let me clear a way," Arcil shouted, and Elyana reined in. Mirelle looked on with wide eyes as the figures shambled ever nearer. The horses danced nervously.

When Arcil shouted and cast, his horse shied, but the sudden movement did not interfere with the tiny ball that left his hands. A moment later dozens of the corpses were wrapped in a sheath of expanding fire. So sudden and explosive was the blast that it destroyed them utterly, as if the street had temporarily been touched by the light of the sun. Unfortunately, other dead were already moving to take their place.

Elyana kicked her horse into gallop, sword outstretched to catch the corpses converging on their path some lengths beyond the reach of Arcil's flame. Behind her, Arcil grunted as he laid about with his staff. From Mirelle she heard only shouted commands to the horse. Elyana had no choice but to release Vallyn's mount, which in any case galloped after its fellows, trying to stay within the relative safety of its herd.

Elyana cut her way forward and slowed just two crumbling buildings away from their destination. Arcil shouted something from her left, and wind rolled forth from his hands, pushing a skeletal assailant into two of its neighbors, tangling all three in a heap of rotting limbs.

"Hurry," Arcil cried, and they pressed forward. Elyana chanced a glance behind at Mirelle, who frantically kicked a grasping, headless woman away and then saw Vallyn's horse go down under a pile of scrambling bodies. The horse screamed again and again, and Elyana gritted her teeth.

There must be hundreds of these animated dead throughout the ruins. There would be no way to gallop through them. She wondered if she and Arcil would be able to hold them off long enough even to trap themselves in a high tower room. The mage had already worn through many of his spells. Provided they could even make it to the tower, the poor horses were probably done for.

"One side," Arcil snapped, and came up a bit ahead of Elyana. In his hand was the black wand they'd found in the river king's tomb. He shouted a single word, and instantly a wall of flame licked into existence along their left, consuming the first two rows of dead. Arcil spun in his saddle and shouted again to right, and then behind. The flames burned on, and a charred, acrid smell washed over them. The horses screamed and rolled their eyes in terror.

"That," Arcil said breathlessly, "is about all I've got."

Their way forward was now free, and they kicked their frightened steeds into full flight. The corpses pressed forward determinedly into the flame, immune to fear or concern about their condition.

"Look at that, Elyana!" Arcil said.

The ghostly figure stood beckoning to them from a rotted doorway into the tower. This time it spoke in a strained voice, like a winter wind heard from a great distance. "Hurry."

They arrived before the portal to the tower. Elyana's horse uncharacteristically slid to a halt before the dark passage, despite her urgings. Arcil's and Mirelle's didn't make it even that far, and Elyana heard a thump and an oath as Arcil was thrown from his beast. Elyana leapt down from the horse, keeping tight hold of the reins, and reached out to grab the bridle on Mirelle's. "Go—inside!"

Mirelle slid off her mount and hesitated for only a moment before doing as she was told.

Arcil picked himself up, scowling and distinctly ruffled. His horse danced near the wall of flame, looking for an exit and keeping as far as possible from the tower.

"Arcil, hold this." She handed him the reins to her horse while she threw her cloak over the head of Mirelle's mount and led it in a circle, then into the tower itself. Elyana could barely see after the brightness without, but there was no sign of the ghost within the ebon gloom of the large chamber, which surely encompassed the whole diameter of the structure. She handed Mirelle the reins to her horse and hurried back to Arcil.

The flame walls were fading already as she emerged and saw Arcil struggling to copy her actions with his own cloak. With her assistance, they steered the animal inside while the third horse leapt over the diminishing fires into the crowd of dead, then died screaming under their blows.

Elyana briefly took in their surroundings. There was nothing within save some dilapidated shelving, some warped wooden planks—probably floorboards that had rotted out from the floors above—and a staircase leading up. As she studied this last, the ghost reappeared upon a stair. In the utter darkness, even the dim light of his transparent body shone like a beacon. For the first time she saw him clearly, a young man in a robe with great mournful eyes. He wore soft boots, and jeweled rings shown upon two of his fingers. He beckoned once toward them, turned upon the stair, and vanished again.

Elyana stepped back to the doorway, expecting to see the ranks of skeletons marching toward them. However, those few not milling over the remains of the dead horse seemed listless. Many simply sank back to the ground; others were wandering away.

"Well that's quite interesting," Arcil said. "I suppose that the tower's warded against them. Or perhaps they're unable to recognize intruders within the tower itself."

"What do we do now?" Mirelle asked.

Elyana eyed the stairway. "I guess we go up."

Coming Next Week: Galtan necromancers and ancient curses in Chapter Three of "The Walkers from the Crypt." This story is a standalone prequel to the new Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows, available now!

Howard Andrew Jones is the author of the newly released Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. He's published one other novel, the new historical fantasy adventure The Desert of Souls, as well as edited eight collections of literary giant Harold Lamb's work, and currently serves as the Managing Editor for the iconic sword and sorcery magazine Black Gate. For more information, see his website at howardandrewjones.com.

Illustration by Dan Scott. Wallpaper design by Crystal Frasier. Widescreen version here.

Bark at the Moon!

Friday, March 4, 2011

Last week we showcased the cover art from Howard Andrew Jones' Pathfinder Tales novel Plague of Shadows. This week we go back to the beginning and give you a wallpaper based on Prince of Wolves by Dave Gross, the novel that launched the entire line. If you haven't read it yet you really should. It's got fighting, murder, mystery, true love, werewolves, ancient magics, curses from beyond the grave, and even dead Pathfinders! Best of all, if you know any Pathfinder Tales subscribers, they may have received a free copy to give away...

And tune into this spot on Monday as Pathfinder Designer Stephen Radney-MacFarland guest-blogs and things get... explosive.

Hyrum Savage
Marketing and Organized Play Manager

Iconic Love

Monday, February 14, 2011

For some of us, Valentine's Day is just another day. We go to work, come home, maybe hang out with our significant others a bit or send the kids off to the sitter for a rare night out. For other people, however, Valentine's Day carries more significance, and flat-out demands acknowledgement. They see it as an excuse to truly cut loose, to go all-out with the romance and treat it like a real holiday.

And then, apparently, there's a third type of person: the type for whom Valentine's Day means a chance to go totally insane. Such appears to be the case with Pathfinder Tales author Kevin Andrew Murphy. How else can you explain the fact that he chose the occasion to, without any prompting or warning, write us an entire heroic crown of sonnets immortalizing the iconic characters' backgrounds in prose. (For those of you who've forgotten your 400-level literature classes, a "heroic crown of sonnets" is a specialized form of poetry in which you have 14 sonnets, each linked by their first and last lines, plus a fifteenth which is made up exclusively of the previous sonnets' linking lines, in order. Needless to say, it's incredibly difficult to do well.)

I'd say more, but I'm still processing the whole thing, so I think it's better to just post the sonnets in their entirety. Happy Valentine's Day!

The Fifteen Loves of Golarion

A Heroic Crown of Sonnets for Valentine's Day 2011
by Kevin Andrew Murphy

1. Alain, the Cavalier, "For Love of Glory"
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.
The victor is the braggart of his fame,
The first to know the glory of his name
But not the last. The bards now all regale
The common folk with ballads of my deeds,
The battles won by force of my prowess,
The ransomed kings who've bowed to my duress,
And Donahan, the noblest of steeds.
Sometimes I think he is my only friend.
The men I ride with? Those I can replace.
The maids I bed? Each just a pretty face.
Yet Donahan is mine till journey's end.
If he falls first, then part of me is dead.
I've said the words that needed to be said.

2. Alahazra, the Oracle, "For Love of Truth"
I've said the words that needed to be said,
For Truth is blind, and I am blind in truth.
My clouded eyes see little but forsooth
My inner eye sees clearly. I have read
The fates of men with but the barest glance.
I know the future as I know the past,
Which seeds will sprout and which of them will last,
For Destiny leaves nothing up to Chance.
It was not Chance that burned me with its fire.
The simoom's breath is but the Wind of Fate
That claimed me with its Flame. I now relate
The Fate of Love, if that is your desire:
All present loves become in days ahead
Mementos kept in memory of the dead.

3. Seelah, the Paladin, "For Love of Those Now Gone"
Mementos kept in memory of the dead,
Reminders of what nothing can restore.
The wingéd helm that dead Acemi wore
Now hides my face and my unworthy head.
I feel its weight: part guilt, part gift, part theft.
Part love. She saw and yet forgave her thief,
The child who stole her helm. Ergo, my grief.
Acemi is still dead and I am left.
I have no words to say in my defense.
I know my deeds. I must have faith in grace
So now I wear her helm and take her place.
What Iomedae learned: Inheritance,
A gift of trust from those you must not fail
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale.

4. Harsk, the Ranger, "For Love of Solitude"
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale,
My brother lies–and those who took his life.
I ended theirs with crossbow quarrel and knife.
The giants dead, now I alone prevail.
My kin who dwell below with bended backs
To toil at the forge or in the mines,
Or worshiping our gods at dwarven shrines,
Have my regard, and yet my brother's axe
Is all I bear away from whence I hail.
A hunter's life is love of solitude.
A Spartan camp, a pot of tea fresh-brewed
Will keep him more alert than mugs of ale.
My quarry's tracks are runes left for the sage.
I know the letters written on this page.

5. Ezren, the Wizard, "For Love of Scholarship"
I know the letters written on this page,
My father charged with some impiety
Against our god, some awful blasphemy
Too dire for words, and nothing can assuage
The gossips' tongues, for rumor needs no proof.
And Abadar? The merchant god cares not
Who prospers or who fails nor what is bought.
The Golden One stays in his Vault, aloof.
I spent my youth to clear my father's name,
In quest to save the business that he built,
But in the end I only proved his guilt.
Now scholarship's the only love I claim.
Yet law for arcane law can be exchanged.
Old orders sometimes must be rearranged.

6. Sajan, the Monk, "For Love of a Sister"
"Old orders sometimes must be rearranged."
So said the monks when taking twin from twin.
My sister Sajni's gone. I should begin
Describing how we came to be estranged.
We were conceived. Our lives were intertwined
Like threads of web and woof strung on a loom,
So were our limbs locked in our mother's womb.
Though born as two, we're more when we're combined.
We trained with temple swords and so time passed
Till at twelve years we each were sent away
And battle woes lost her to Jalmeray.
I left, deserting all I knew, my caste,
To seek my sister. Far too far I've ranged.
I've changed some facts which never should be changed.

7. Damiel, the Alchemist, "For Love of Change"
I've changed some facts which never should be changed
And yet that is the goal of alchemy:
Quicksilver shifting, mutability.
The philosophic art just seems deranged
To those too dull to grasp aetheric heights
Or dream of fixing one's perfected form,
Not living with the dull and banal norm.
You reach out when the stars are in your sights,
Yet what you grasp may be the fulgent dark
For nightmares ride as well between the stars.
Like Shelyn's smile can hide Zon-Kuthon's scars,
The bright quicksilver sea conceals a shark,
And from the left the villain steps onstage
To let men feel the battle fury's rage.

8. Amiri, the Barbarian, "For Love of Oneself"
To let men feel the battle fury's rage,
The Six Bears tribesmen donned the skins of bears
They'd taken from our totems in their lairs.
Each boy was sent to do it at an age.
We girls were told to sit inside and spin,
Awaiting a barbarian's return.
This never was a name that women earn.
I brought a she-bear's hide back to my kin.
The time came that a warband of my clan
All dared me to bring back a giant's blade.
When I returned, they mocked me as a maid.
The blood rage came. I slew them to a man.
That bastard blade I bear with me. Beware
To taste the kiss of malice and despair.

9. Seltyiel, the Magus, "For Lack of Love"
To taste the kiss of malice and despair,
One needn't know the touch of love or hope–
At very least, not of an equal scope–
And pain is seldom more than one can bear,
And when it is? Well, there is always death.
My mother died the moment I was born.
My sister's cries, those spared my life that morn.
I often think she should have saved her breath.
Sioria, oh how could you divine
The babe you saved would still be here alive
Or on a feast of wormwood one could thrive.
I'll kill your father once I first kill mine.
Foul Lairsaph was a fool to teach his spawn
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn....

10. Valeros, the Fighter, "For Love of Adventure"
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn
Is how a sellsword passes most his days.
That much at least is truthful in bards' lays.
The rest? Well yes, there is a need for brawn–
The same goes for an ox that pulls a plow–
But when your sword-arm makes some villain yield,
That's better than some plowshare in a field.
At least it's more exciting anyhow.
One day I may retire to a farm,
Grow beans and beets or brew a bit of beer,
But now I love my freedom and I hear
A distant village sounding the alarm.
If there's adventure calling, I'll be gone
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn.

11. Kyra, the Cleric, "For Love of Hope"
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn,
The Crown of Our Beloved Sarenrae
Who cast the Beast below to Asmodae,
Is how a priestess prays for I'm Her pawn.
Whate'er the Dawnflower wishes I will do.
When bandits burned my village and Her shrine,
That's when I saw the face of the divine.
Through streaming tears the sun shone and I knew
The Everlight had filled me with Her power
To heal the sick and ailing with Her light
And cleanse those past redemption of their blight
By scimitar, like Dawn's Eternal Flower.
One day I'll join my goddess in the air
To live a life of joy and forswear care.

12. Merisiel, the Rogue, "For Love of Freedom"
To live a life of joy and forswear care
Is what I always felt the world should be.
See something that you like? Then take it. Free!
If you don't like your lot, then folk should share.
They call it thievery, who gives a fig?
My knives can teach their tongues to be polite,
And while some think I could be more contrite
It's not like they're not working the same gig.
This knife I got from some Azlanti queen.
This one? From Galt. Belonged to some coquette
And these? From Geb. But most I just forget.
I only care if I can keep them keen.
You make life up like some bard's folderol.
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul.

13. Seoni, the Sorcerer, "For Love of Magic"
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul
And write the runes appearing in my dreams.
The ones I walk with talk about my "schemes,"
If schemes they are, or just an unknown goal.
I'd like to say I like just who I am,
Yet who can say just who they are? Not I.
Or what I am, or how I am, or why.
That statement just might be my epigram.
I only know when spells wish to be wrought,
The way they say that love pulls at the heart.
Just so I feel the call of arcane art.
It springs to mind like any other thought.
I'd work alone, but I lack that control
For love and friendship are what make one whole.

14. Lini, the Druid, "For Love of a True Companion"
"For love and friendship are what make one whole."
So spake the norn who whispered in the wood.
She vanished but her fey advice is good
And with it I can talk to mouse or mole.
The purest love is love you get from beasts.
My friend Droogami taught me this is true.
It's something though that I already knew.
I never bought the nonsense from the priests
About the love of gods as the most pure.
Who can believe a love you never see?
My love is for the leopard next to me
And she for me and that's what shall endure.
She's great and strong where I am small and frail.
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.

15. Lem, the Bard, "For Love of Happy Endings"
I am the one who lives to tell the tale.
I've said the words that needed to be said,
Mementos kept in memory of the dead
Now silent in the realm beyond the pale.
I know the letters written on this page.
Old orders sometimes must be rearranged.
I've changed some facts which never should be changed
To let men feel the battle fury's rage,
To taste the kiss of malice and despair,
To walk the road with weapons sheathed or drawn,
To greet the hope that rises with the dawn,
To live a life of joy and forswear care.
I sing the songs that rise up from my soul
For love and friendship are what make one whole.

James Sutter
Fiction Editor

Illustration by Wayne Reynolds

Design Tuesdays

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

2011 is here at last, and with the start of the new year, we've got a new program that we are happy to unveil. Every Tuesday, you are going to see a blog from one of the members of the design team (that being Sean K Reynolds, Stephen Radney MacFarland, or myself), looking into the mechanics of the game and giving you tips, tricks, and tools to make your game run smoothly and easily.

I am hoping to use these blogs to present new and interesting rules and ideas to use at the game table, perhaps even a few serials, where we explore a concept or idea more deeply. For example, we might run a series of blogs that explore intelligent magic items and how they can be used in your game, giving you a host of samples, and presenting a few new abilities. Or, we might spend a few weeks looking at the rules for afflictions, and adding a couple of new curses, diseases, and poisons to use in your game. Now, I have a list of ideas for what we might use to fill up this space, but here at the outset, I thought it might be useful to ask you, the reader, what you want to see appear in this space. I'll leave the campaign-specific material and preview for the other days of the week—this space will be used exclusively to look at the rules of the game.

I want to hear what you want to see. Check out this thread on our messageboards and add your thoughts to the growing discussion. See you next week.

Jason Bulmahn
Lead Designer

Into the Inner Sea?

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Off to the printer goes Pathfinder Player Companion: Inner Sea Primer, our new guide to what's what and where's where for characters in the Pathfinder campaign setting. Aside from being filled with the baseline, "what your character knows" details of Avistan and Garund, it's also our new go-to book for traits from around the Inner Sea, with each column-length country write-up including two new options for natives of that region. As a bit of a preview, here's a new trait for Sargava to help all you Serpent Skull players soon to be in need of replacement characters. (What can I say? The Mwangi's a killer.) Also, take a peek at more of Carolina Eade's incredible art: a Chelish infernal binder—just one of three new Golarion magic archetypes included in the guide. Enjoy!

Illustration by Carolina Eade

Jungle Guide (Regional): You've made your living outfitting and guiding expeditions deep into the Mwangi interior in search of ancient ruins and lost cities. You gain a +1 trait bonus on Handle Animal checks, and a +1 trait bonus on Survival checks in jungle terrain. One of these skills is a class skill for you.

Wes Schneider
Managing Editor

Certainty

by Liane Merciel

Chapter Four: The Stone

"Jelani, Adrun, with me," I said. "The rest of you, keep going." Whatever the scout had found had terrified the man, and I didn't want his panic spreading to the others.

"Found tracks," the scout said when we were out of the others' earshot. "Followed them." He thrust a hand forward, jerkily, as if to hurl the memory away.

I was about to ask how he had spotted tracks on the tundra when I saw them myself: a line of booted prints sunk deep into the ground, as though it were summer's soggy marshland instead of the rock-hard terrain of late fall. The earth was slimy and discolored in those prints; the very dirt and ice seemed to have rotted at the touch of whoever had passed there.

"Seen that kind of thing around the Worldwound," the scout said. "Never on this side."

The bootprints tattooed a dark line back to the wardstone. Nearer us, they went over a low, rocky rise and into a shallow cleft. I followed, uneasy. Adrun and Jelani were watchful at my sides; the scout lagged fearful behind.

In the cleft we found the man who had made those prints. He'd died badly. Deep gouges tore through the back of his sheepskin coat. Green-black rivulets leaked from the wounds; the stench of sickness pervaded the area despite the wind and chill. I could see brown bone under the flapping tatters of the man's coat; the skin and muscle was rotted away entirely.

He'd survived his poisoned wounds long enough to get this far, though, and I didn't think they'd killed him. Blisters covered his mouth in a frozen pink froth. His throat had collapsed, eaten away from the inside; its long red track vanished into his sternum. The soft part of his jaw was gone, too, and a shaggy beard of red ice spilled across his chest.

An empty waterskin lay near his hand. It bore the same mark as the ones we'd received in Kenabres.

"Holy water," Jelani said, reaching the same realization that I had. "He was already dead—or rather, undead. He killed himself by drinking holy water."

"Maybe he thought it could flush out the poison from whatever got him in the back," Adrun said. "Maybe it would have, if the poison hadn't spread."

I left them to their speculations and rummaged through the dead man's kit. He didn't have much. A few blankets, some lamp oil, a good sheepskin hat. Most of it was standard-issue, like ours. He'd been a soldier, or stolen from one—and, like many crusaders, he had a sizable collection of warding amulets. I picked them up as an afterthought. They didn't take much space, and he might have a sweetheart or an orphan back in Kenabres who'd want them.

We returned to the company in silence. The others watched us apprehensively, aware that something had gone wrong without knowing what. A gloomy mood fell over the camp, and it deepened when the other scout failed to come back. No one mentioned it, but I knew no one expected to see him again.

That night, as the others talked or slept, Jelani scratched furrows in the frozen ground and filled them from one of our blessed waterskins.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Making spears," she said.

"Of ice? They'll shatter."

She only smiled. In the firelight, that smile was a mystery. "I have seen storms that sent twigs through solid walls. My spears will have their use."

She would tell me no more than that, and I went to my bedroll puzzled.

Morning did nothing to lift our spirits. The tundra stretched on, frozen and lifeless; the wardstone waited, leaning against a stricken sky. Soon after we broke camp, the wind turned, bringing a charnel house stench that defied the cold.

"It's not from the Worldwound," Jelani said, prying sticks of ice up from her furrows. "Wind's blowing the wrong way."

"Weapons ready," I ordered, drawing my own sword. I could hear bones popping and teeth gnashing on the wind. It might have been miles away; I wasn't used to judging how the tundra played with noise. But if it wasn't, I wanted to be armed.

I was right to be cautious. As we crested the next rise, we saw our foes.

They were eating our scout. Eight of them crouched around his corpse, hissing and snapping at one another over the meat. They wore the tatters of soldiers' clothes, but they weren't human anymore.

"Ghouls," Adrun whispered.

"Not quite," I said. They were ghouls—I recognized their quick, jerky movements, the high-pitched feral snarling, the carrion reek of guts rotting in their bloated bellies—but something else blighted them too. Their veins bulged with the same greenish-black filth that had corrupted the dead soldier's wounds. Oozing sores covered their tongues and spotted their backs, dripping the same putrescence.

"Close enough," the priest said. "I'll keep them from noticing us immediately. You've a few minutes before my spell fails."

"Let me," Jelani said, touching her quiver of dirty icicles.

	"Even outside of the desert, Jelani is a formidable ally."

I saw nothing but calm confidence on her bronze face. I nodded, stepping aside.

Jelani laid her ice spears on the barren crest, angling them toward the ghouls. They never looked up. She stripped off her mittens and began a chant, her fingers dancing through the spell's gestures.

A gust of wind circled around the woman, gathering intensity until it whipped her black hair free of its scarf and forced Jelani to squeeze her eyes shut in the cyclone. Then, abruptly, it howled away, hurling the icy lances into the ghouls with spell-driven force.

The spears shattered as they plunged into undead flesh, but the wind-whipped shards were just as deadly. Ice ripped the ghouls' hides apart and pinned their limbs to their bodies. The stink from their ruptured stomachs was overwhelming; two of my men doubled over, vomiting.

Some of the ghouls fell. The survivors' heads snapped up. One's left eye was gone, replaced by a thick splinter of ice; another had two feet of ice through its gut. But the attack had broken Adrun's spell, and the ghouls had seen Jelani. Howling, they rushed at her.

She didn't flinch. Holding her hands out, Jelani called another invocation. Sunlight twinkled on her gold and bronze rings, then ignited in her cupped palms. She threw it, and the spark swelled into a fireball as it flew. It exploded over the ghouls in a rush of translucent, blue-edged flame. They shrieked as they burned—and then they collapsed, spasming, as the ice lances melted in the fireball's heat and spilled holy water through their innards like lye.

"Finish them," I shouted, leading my soldiers into the fray.

Even dying, the ghouls fought viciously. They writhed on the ground, covering it with their own deliquescing corruption, and pulled down soldiers who slipped on the slime. Those who fell were doomed. The Kellid woman lost her footing when she swung too vigorously at a fallen ghoul; she crushed her victim's skull, but went to a knee as she did. Instantly two of them were on her, and by the time we battered them away, nothing was left but the bear claws of her necklace, scattered among red rags of skin and bone.

Another crippled ghoul bit its own arm, filling its mouth with poison, then sank its teeth into Adrun's calf when he ventured into the melee to heal a wounded soldier. The priest screamed, hitting it with his holy symbol in a fist. White light flared, consuming the creature; its skull dropped lifeless onto a bed of ash. But the damage was done. Adrun staggered away, clutching his leg as sickly discoloration seeped through his skin. Two steps from the battle, he fell.

We destroyed the rest.

I took stock of the casualties as Jelani cauterized the survivors' wounds with enchanted flame. The Kellid was dead, as was one of the Mendevians. Adrun was badly injured, but if we could get him to a healer before the ghoul's poison took hold, he might live. I wasn't optimistic, but I was willing to take the chance. If it came to the worst, I'd give him mercy myself.

I touched Jelani's shoulder. "These ghouls carried crusaders' tokens. I think they were the last company of soldiers sent to Valas's Gift. If the wardstone has failed that badly, I don't want to risk the others—but you and I should examine it."

She paled, but she put her mittens back on. "As you will."

I hadn't realized how huge the wardstone was until we reached its foot. Even with its wind-pushed lean, it towered thirty feet above us and measured ten feet across its base.

Chunks of the lichen-stained stone were missing, rupturing the wardstone's rings of runes and leaving a gap large enough for a man to walk through. Peering into the breach, I saw that the wardstone was hollow at its core. Hard-packed silvery dust filled it, or had. The dust had been scraped out as far as a tall man could reach. Where the wardstone had been hollowed, its runes were black and oozing, weeping like cuts in a pine tree's trunk. The ground was spongy with decay where that ichor trickled, as it had been in the dying soldier's bootprints.

"They took the nexavar," Jelani breathed, tracing the ruined sigils. She was careful to avoid their dripping ink. "That's why the wardstone's failing, and why those soldiers turned to ghouls. They were mining out the nexavar. They took too much, though, and they couldn't have known what these runes said, or they wouldn't have broken through this section. They ruptured the ward, and the backlash killed them."

"Why would they take nexavar from a wardstone?" I asked.

She gave me a skeptical look, then laughed. "I forgot. You don't have time for superstitions like the rest of us. You've seen those warding amulets people wear to fend off demons."

"Yes."

"The ones that work use nexavar. It's weak magic, but real. People around the Worldwound will pay a lot of money for that—even, or especially, the crusaders themselves. If you care more about lining your own pockets than protecting the border, a wardstone's better than a diamond mine."

I scowled. If Jelani was right, the dead men had paid for their selfishness, but their deaths didn't end the danger. "Can you fix it?"

Jelani paced around the wardstone, examining its broken runes and hollow core. At length she stepped back, shaking her head. "I'd need enough nexavar to replace what was taken. Without it, my spells would fade in hours, if I even had the strength to hold them that long."

My heart sank. It could take months to requisition that much nexavar and bring it back to the wardstone... or longer, with winter hard upon us. I'd heard the nexavar trade depended on river traffic. If that was true, and the supply was locked on frozen boats, we might have to wait until spring. All the while, the Worldwound's poison would seep through the crack in the wards. I hadn't felt so hopeless since Iomedae turned from me.

And yet that desolation might hold the answer to this one.

I knelt by the ruined wardstone, just beyond the reach of its spoiled earth. I'd come to Mendev expecting a clear-cut war of good men against evil demons. I'd found selfishness, greed, fanaticism, and bitter grief. And grace, sometimes, though it was fragile and fleeting.

But no certainty, not until now. Only now, as I clasped my sword between both hands to hold it up as Iomedae's symbol, did I know with absolute, soul-deep clarity that I was acting on behalf of something right. Healing the wardstone was an absolute good. The people of Mendev weren't saints; neither were the unwilling exiles who had joined their war. But they had the potential for virtue amidst their flaws, and sheltering that potential was an unalloyed good. Valas had seen the same before me, and his gift was proof that the gods agreed.

Iomedae, I prayed, hear me. Grant your unworthy servant this boon. Hold the wardstone's magic a little longer. Protect the people of Mendev from the Worldwound. I ask this for them, not for myself. I will give my life for this, if you ask. I will give my soul. But shield them, I beg you.

I waited, kneeling, for some sign. Light, song, agony. Anything.

Nothing came. The wind wailed on. My knees ached. I heard Jelani pacing back and forth behind me, trying to keep warm as she waited.

Finally, despairing, I opened my eyes.

The ground before me was laced with frost—bright, clean frost, with no sign of the previous decay. The rift in the wardstone's side remained, but a shimmering lattice filled the gap, like a tapestry of starlight stretched over black night. The runes at the base had stopped dripping; the poisoned ichor might have been an ugly dream.

"You did it," Jelani said in wonder. "I don't know what you did, but you did it."

"How long will the magic last?" I asked.

"I don't know. It's... not the magic I know. This is holy work." She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you weren't a paladin."

"I'm not." I'd had so little faith that I hadn't believed Iomedae heard me without a sign.

"Then what—"

"We have a reprieve. The chance to do good. But only a chance."

"Ah." She smiled wearily. "Well, a chance is more than we had before."

"It is," I agreed, and we walked back to our war.

Coming Next Week: Death in the bog in the first chapter of Amber Scott's "Swamp Warden."

Liane Merciel is the author of The River Kings' Road: A Novel of Ithelas, available now from Gallery. For more information on her writing, visit lianemerciel.com.

Art by KyuShik Shin.

Gen Con 2010 Promotional Paizo Mini from Reaper Miniatures

Monday, August 16, 2010

Not only did Reaper Miniatures bring miniatures of the six new Advanced Player's Guide iconics to Gen Con, they brought a promotional mini of half-elven venture-captain Varian Jegarre—a Pathfinder of Egorian and protagonist of Dave Gross's Pathfinder Tales novel Prince of Wolves—which con guests got for free if they spent $50 at the Paizo booth. If you couldn't get one at Gen Con, though, don't worry—we'll have some for sale here at paizo.com in the near future.

One really nice thing about this mini (above and beyond the nice sculpt and detailed face) is it's a one-piece mini, which makes it nice for people new to painting minis—there's no assembly required!

Painted miniature by Meg Maples

Sean K Reynolds
Developer and Miniatures Aficionado

Varian Jeggare mini

Sat, Aug 7, 2010 at 11:01 AM Pacific

Lisa Stevens
CEO

The Foxes Have Landed (part II)

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Sara Marie: Those were some delicious biscuits! Over.

Crystal: This time we should say something less confusing and less likely to end with us eating biscuits. Like "Hedgehog."

....

Crystal: Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: I like porcupines better. Porcupine.

Crystal: Where are you, anyway? I got lost when the cave raptors were chasing us. Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: Let me turn on a light... Looks like I'm in Sarah's office. There's art all over the place. Porcupine.

Crystal: She must have left in a hurry. Does it look trapped? Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: I don't SEE anything that looks like a trap. Where are you? You're better at spotting traps than I am. Porcupine.

Crystal: I don't know. I dropped my darkvision when that lurking ray grabbed at us. Where ever I am, smells nice! Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: There's a folder marked "TOP SECRET" sitting right on top of her desk! I'm going to see if I can get a closer look. Porcupine.

Crystal: No wait! The "top secret" folder is Midwestern family recipes! It's almost certain to be booby-trapped!

Sara Marie: Where else should I check?

Crystal: Check the refrigerator. I think that's where she keeps the special art. Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: You're right! This thing is chock full of art-like pictures. Most of it seems like stuff that's already released. Porcupine.

Crystal: You should see what's in the dishwasher!

Sara Marie: Oooh wait! .... What's this! .... It's marked "Future Cover Art". Porcupine.

Crystal: Stuff from the future, huh? Sounds neat! Open it and see if a paradox destroys us all! Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: Wow! These are amazi-- ...Umm... I just heard a "click" sound. Is that bad? Porcupine.

Crystal: You've either stepped on a mine, or else let her lucky cricket out of its cage. Possibly both. I'm not certain if the cricket explodes. Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: PORCUPINE IS LEAVING THE NEST! REPEAT PORCUPINE IS LEAVING THE NEST!

...

Crystal: Sara? Sara, are you okay?

...

Crystal: SARA?!

...

Sara Marie: I'M OK! COPY THAT? I AM OK!

Crystal: Stop yelling or the cave raptors will find us again. Hedgehog.

Sara Marie: Where ever you are... Watch out! These people know how to lay traps! On the up-side, I made it out with two incredible pieces of artwork!

The GameMastery Guide: Mascots & Masterpieces!

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Aside from a metric ton of advice, new rules, charts, tools, and the like, one thing the GameMastery Guide has in spades is awesome new art! As you might have seen on the snippet from the credits page last week, a horde of fantastic artists contributed to this tome. We also did something a little unusual. Rather than illustrating every topic with our iconic heroes or scenes of battle or whatever have you, Andrew Hou created a host of murderously adorable little mascots. A host of murderously adorable little goblin mascots. So, guiding you through the ins and outs, the perils and the pleasures of the GM's art, you'll find these mischievous little menaces causing all sorts of trouble.

Illustrations by Andrew Hou

But the goblins aren't alone. We've got an entire gallery full of incredible art, with quite a few familiar faces, to preview over the coming weeks. For now, check out a few of our mascots' hijinks, along with a sampling of some of the GameMastery Guide's other full-body illustrations.

Illustrations by Eva Widermann	Illustration by Florian Stitz

Next week, check in for a first look at one of the things sure to get you GMs drooling, a preview of the GameMastery Guide's expansive NPC Gallery.

F. Wesley Schneider
Managing Editor

City of Strangers

Thursday, April 22, 2010

It is still coming.

	Illustration by Alberto Dal Lago

...Man, it's so tempting to leave the blog post at that, but I've got to stop with these one-line blog posts. They're too addictive!

Suffice to say, then, that City of Strangers, the new Pathfinder Chronicles guide to Varisia's outlaw city of Kaer Maga, has shipped to the printer. What you may not know is that this book has been in the works, in one form or another, for more than two years at this point. What started out as a few-page setting for Seven Swords of Sin grew into one of the first Pathfinder's Journals in Pathfinder Adventure Path #3: "The Hook Mountain Massacre." From there, with it clear to everyone around that I was in love with this city beyond any affection I'd felt for a game setting before (though a few have since come to rival it—*cough*solarsystem*cough*), it was decided that there should be a book... and not just any book. A setting that was at once a bizarre city filled with subterfuge and strange sights, but also containing a monumental dungeon that people could venture into again and again, with different tropes and themes to the various layers. Not a small order (especially considering Erik, James, and Jason had just finished writing the new Castle Greyhawk book, whose map turnovers were a million times cooler than anything I'd ever drawn). If it was going to be done, Erik decided, it had to be done right, and that meant it needed to take as long as it took. Rather than announce the project and a projected release date, we wouldn't so much as acknowledge the book publicly until it had been completely written.

And so, with nothing on the schedule, I officially unofficially began work on City of Strangers. Six months and a learning curve or two later, I turned over the completed manuscript, and the book was officially put on the schedule. If I may say so myself, I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. All the gangs are there—the Sweettalkers, who sew their own lips shut, and the troll augurs, who read the future in their own entrails. The wormfolk and the Tallow Boys, the golem-crafting Ardocs and the mysterious Temple of the Child Goddess. All the districts are there, from the egalitarian Bottoms where freed slaves fight a shadow war of abolition, to the necromantic markets of Ankar-Te where zombies trail after their masters like faithful dogs. The Undercity is there, with levels like the Godsmouth Ossuary, the Dark Forest, the Forever Bore, the Still Place, and of course Xavorax, City of Silence, the city-beneath-the-city that houses the mysterious Caulborn. And despite all the words in this book, I'm perhaps most pleased with the maps—it's downright intimidating trying to design a city map of a Jacobsian or Schneiderian level of detail (especially when they're sitting 20 feet from you), yet Jared Blando did an unbelievable job of bringing both the city and the dungeons beneath it to life in a way that both mirrored and exceeded my imagination.

And now it's away to the printer, set to hit stores and subscribers this summer. I hope you enjoy visiting it as much as I have. It's been a long, strange journey...

James Sutter
Editor

The NPC Guide: The Babies Are Back!

Friday, April 2, 2010

Cave raptors are sated and have finally released me from their grim, stony world—it's time to blog!

Back when I served as a lowly intern, a weary and overworked Sean K Reynolds offered me my very first Paizo gig. The encroaching Pathfinder Chronicles: NPC Guide would need dozens of generic stat blocks if GMs were to treasure it above even their own families. A not-insignificant portion of my sanity died off as I stared into the abyss of an estimated twelve billion 1st- to 5th-level nonplayer characters, but ultimately the turnover made its way back to Sean and his shiny, shiny knife.

In any creative industry, there's a phrase that goes something like, "Your babies will get cut first." Meaning that in any creative project, your favorite elements or that extra something special you really loved creating will probably end up on the cutting room floor. The NPC Guide was no exception, and several of my favorite characters ended up cold and lifeless at Sean's feet. But now, through the miracle of the Internet, I have the power to bring them back!

So behold these glorious characters, free of charge! Behold the glory that is the Internet!

Er... I mean, check out these sweet NPCs, coming straight to you as a super-sized web enhancement for the NPC Guide. This first installment of five is only the beginning; we'll toss up more batches from time to time, so stay tuned.

ALKENSTAR: GUNMARSHAL CR 3
Hero or villain, the Gunmarshal stands as a proud icon of Alkenstar's victory over the chaotic Mana Wastes. Even gunslinging rogues and bandits are influenced by honor and tradition afforded by that pride.

Spoiler:

XP 800
Dwarf fighter 4
N Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft; Perception +6
DEFENSE
AC 16, touch 13, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +3 Dex) (+4 dodge vs. giants)
hp 22 (4d10)
Fort +4, Ref +4, Will +3; +2 vs. poison, spells, and spell-like abilities; +1 vs. fear
Defensive Abilities bravery +1
OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee short sword +5 (1d6+1/19–20)
Ranged revolver +8 (1d6) or Rapid Shot +6/+6 (1d6)
Special Attacks +1 on attack rolls against goblinoid and orc humanoids
STATISTICS
Str 12, Dex 16, Con 10, Int 14, Wis 15, Cha 8
Base Atk +4; CMB +5; CMD 18 (22 vs. bull rush or trip)
Feats Exotic Weapon Proficiency (firearms), Gunslinger (see below), Point-Blank Shot, Rapid Shot, Weapon Focus (revolver)
Skills Acrobatics +5, Craft (guns) +9, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (engineering) +7, Perception +6 (+8 unusual stonework), Survival +8
Languages Common, Dwarven, Kelish, Osiriani
SQ armor training +1, stonecunning
Gear studded leather, revolver, short sword, gun cleaning kit, cigars (3), smokestick, tindertwigs (3)
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Gunslinger (Ex) This character does not provoke attacks of opportunity when attacking with firearms. See page 59 of the Pathfinder Chronicles Campaign Setting.

BELKZEN: THUNDERING CHOIR MUSICIAN CR 1
Though feared for their swords and the mad gleam in their eyes, the one memory that forever haunts those who've warred against the orcs are the drums. Carried for miles across hills and rocky plains, the ominous drumbeats of orc thundering choir musicians weigh on the minds of men like the heartbeats of tireless predators, never stopping, never slowing. The thundering choir musicians are fierce warriors, but the rhythm of their drumbeats and chants is their foulest weapon, whipping other orcs into murderous frenzies and inspiring terror in the hearts of even the bravest men.

Spoiler:

XP 400
Orc bard 2
CE Medium humanoid (orc)
Init +0; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision; Perception –2
DEFENSE
AC 13, touch 10, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor)
hp 13 (2d8+4)
Fort +2, Ref +3, Will +1
Weaknesses light sensitivity
OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft.
Melee longsword +4 (1d8+3/19–20)
Ranged masterwork sling +2 (1d4+3)
Special Attacks bardic performance (13 rounds/day, standard action), countersong, distraction, fascinate, inspire courage +1
Spells Known (CL 2nd; concentration +3)
1st (3/day)—cause fear (DC 12), cure light wounds, remove fear
0 (at will)—dancing lights, daze (DC 11), message, resistance, summon instrument
STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 6, Cha 13
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 14
Feats Extra Performance
Skills Appraise +5, Craft (leather) +5, Intimidate +6, Knowledge (geography) +6, Knowledge (history) +6, Knowledge (local) +6, Knowledge (nobility) +0, Perform (Percussion) +6
Languages Common, Orc
SQ bardic knowledge +1, versatile performance (percussion), well-versed
Combat Gear thunderstones (4); Other Gear studded leather, longsword, masterwork sling, bullets (20), lucky human foot, masterwork drums

DRUMA: KALISTRADE PROPHET CR 1
By achieving wealth, the Prophets of Kalistrade prove themselves more righteous than those around them. They travel to discover converts and new business opportunities, furthering their enlightenment. Part entrepreneur, part cultist, they open doors and pull strings for those they consider friends, or financially hinder their detractors.

Spoiler:

XP 400
Human expert 3
LN Medium humanoid (human)
Init +0; Senses Perception +2
DEFENSE
AC 11, touch 10, flat-footed 11 (+1 armor)
hp 10 (3d8–3)
Fort +0, Ref +1, Will +5
OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft.
Melee quarterstaff +2 (1d6)
Ranged light crossbow +2 (1d8/19–20)
STATISTICS
Str 10, Dex 11, Con 9, Int 13, Wis 14, Cha 8
Base Atk +2; CMB +2; CMD 12
Feats Persuasive, Skill Focus (Knowledge [religion]), Profits of Kalistrade (see below)
Skills Appraise +7, Bluff +1, Craft (jewelry) +6, Diplomacy +6, Intimidate +7, Knowledge (geography) +5, Knowledge (history) +6, Knowledge (local) +2, Knowledge (nobility) +3, Knowledge (religion) +5, Linguistics +5, Perform (Oratory) +0, Profession (merchant) +7, Ride +1, Sense Motive +8
Languages Common, Dwarven, Elven, Kelish
Other Gear padded armor, light crossbow, quarterstaff, copy of The Prophecies of Kalistrade, mercenary contracts
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Feats The Kalistrade prophet has the Profits of Kalistrade feat, which grants him a "resource pool" of 300 gp, allowing him to obtain goods of this value even in settlements too small to have something that expensive. See page 73 of the Pathfinder Chronicles Campaign Setting.

FIVE KINGS MOUNTAINS: DWARVEN TRADITIONALIST CR 2
In the eyes of some dwarves, the civilizations of the surface world slowly erode dwarven culture and values, tearing away at their heritage like the rain wears away great stone monuments. Elves bear inefficient frippery, while humans buck the social order, and the less said about halflings and gnomes the better. These traditionalist, xenophobic members of dwarf society would love nothing more than complete isolation from other cultures, and perhaps even to return to the depths of the Darklands. While this usually amounts to little more than talk, the numbers of these radical conservatives swell on occasion into dangerous political groups and gangs.

Spoiler:

XP 600
Dwarf expert 2/warrior 2
LN Medium humanoid (dwarf)
Init –1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +3
DEFENSE
AC 18, touch 9, flat-footed 18 (+7 armor, –1 Dex, +2 shield) (+4 dodge vs. giants)
hp 30 (4 HD; 2d8+2d10+10)
Fort +5, Ref –1, Will +4; +2 vs. poison, spells, and spell-like abilities
OFFENSE
Speed 20 ft.
Melee masterwork dwarven waraxe +5 (1d10+1/×3)
Ranged light hammer +2 (1d4+1)
Special Attacks +1 on attack rolls against goblinoid and orc humanoids
STATISTICS
Str 13, Dex 8, Con 14, Int 11, Wis 12, Cha 8
Base Atk +3; CMB +4; CMD 13 (17 vs. bull rush and trip)
Feats Alertness, Power Attack
Skills Craft (armor) +7, Knowledge (engineering) +3, Knowledge (history) +3, Perception +0 (+2 unusual stonework), Profession (blacksmith) +8, Sense Motive +5
Languages Common, Dwarven
Combat Gear caltrops (3), potion of bull's strength; Other Gear masterwork banded mail, masterwork heavy steel shield, masterwork dwarven waraxe, light hammer (2), genealogy books, masterwork artisan's tools

GEB: BLOOD LORD INITIATE CR 2
The practical seat of power within Geb rests with the Blood Lords. Administrators and necromancers both, any family of repute attempts to position their members within its ranks. The most fortunate embrace undeath, gaining immortality as vampires, ghouls, or other intelligent undead.

Spoiler:

XP 600
Ghoul necromancer 2
NE Medium undead
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +5
DEFENSE
AC 14, touch 12, flat-footed 12 (+2 Dex, +2 natural)
hp 24 (4 HD; 2d8+2d6+8)
Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +7
Defensive Abilities channel resistance +2, undead traits
OFFENSE
Speed 30 ft.
Melee bite +3 (1d6+1 plus disease and paralysis) and 2 claws +3 (1d6+1 plus paralysis)
Ranged ray of frost +4 (1d3)
Special Attacks channel negative energy (DC 15, 6/day), grave touch (1 round, 6/day), paralysis
Spells Prepared (CL 2nd; concentration +4)
1st—cause fear (DC 14), shield, reduce person (DC 14), ray of enfeeblement (DC 14)
0 (at will)—arcane mark, bleed (DC 13), detect magic, ray of frost, read magic
Prohibited Schools illusion, conjuration
STATISTICS
Str 12, Dex 15, Con —, Int 17, Wis 11, Cha 14
Base Atk +2; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Command Undead, Improved Channel, Scribe Scroll, Weapon Finesse
Skills Acrobatics +4, Climb +6, Knowledge (arcana) +10, Knowledge (history) +8, Knowledge (planes) +8, Linguistics +9, Perception +5, Profession (politician) +6, Spellcraft +10, Stealth +7
Languages Aklo, Common, Draconic, Infernal, Kelish, Osiriani, Vudrani
SQ arcane bond (amulet)
Combat Gear scroll of mage armor, wand of true strike (15 charges); Other Gear acolyte robes, government seal, spellbook

Crystal Frasier
Production Specialist

The Best Laid Plans...

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I hate airing our dirty laundry in public...

Who am I kidding, I relish airing our dirty laundry in public, but professionalism and good taste often makes doing so... "inadvisable." But this is a special situation and in this instance it's easy to talk around the specifics so to protect the innoce—well, in this case, to protect the guilty. As we've been trying to show off our editorial processes with this project, even more reason to let you all in on how things sometimes play out around here.

The product in question: From Shore to Sea, our Pathfinder Module partnered with Wolfgang Baur's patron-fueled Open Design venture.

The topic: Sometimes we get screwed.

So, let's backtrack a little bit. Here's something most folks didn't notice—unless you've been getting emails from me or really enjoy reading the credits pages of our projects. Around October of last year my title here at Paizo totally didn't change. What comes after that title did, though. Thus, "Managing Editor of Pathfinder" became "Managing Editor of Paizo Publishing." The distinction: now I'm not just in charge of making sure everything runs smoothly for Pathfinder Adventure Path, but everything else we publish too. And, as a special bonus challenge, that it all happens in a timely manner. That's been the real trick. It's like telling someone to build a number of towers (one for each product line) but, hey, for fun, let's start at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon, in this case, is our "schedule debt," a sizable hole with depth markers called Dragon and Dungeon magazines, the Pathfinder Campaign Setting, the Pathfinder Core Rulebook, and other beautiful fiascos that have gradually meant nearly everything we publish has fallen off its intended tracks. A real nasty peril when you've got thousands of gamers rightly demanding the products they've subscribed to and expect from month to month. But with my shiny Paizo-brand carrot and Paizo-brand stick, and the incredible efforts of our insanely talented and even more dedicated designers, editors (with a special nod to Judy Bauer, Chris Carey, Rob McCreary, and James Sutter), and folks at all levels of the company who have sacrificed nights, weekends, sleep, and meals to write and edit, those towers have reached up and up toward the light. The first tower to break the surface was the Pathfinder Module line with From to Shore to Sea, scheduled to go to print, on time, March 5th.

Or rather it would have, if the art we ordered actually came in. Oh, I don't just mean came in on time, I mean, was going to come in at all. What we got on the due date instead of a half dozen illustrations was an apology from Joe "You'll-Never-Work-in-this-Town-Again" and a very empty "good luck!" Lame. Now, art directorix Sarah Robinson is a goddess for a variety of reasons, but the power she employed in this particular crisis was to bat her eyelashes via email and coax a whole host of fantastically talented artists to take up the slack, and in record speed. What that did mean, though, is that instead of going out on time, From to Shore to Sea is now going out next week, three weeks behind my precious schedule. Ugh.

Illustration by Dan Scott

Wolf set us up with this great plan, author Brandon Hodge pulled together a fantastic adventure, the Open Design patrons made a host of inspired suggestions, and Rob developed this thing into a fine addition to our Pathfinder Modules line in record time. And Dan Scott, our ever reliably awesome cover artist, did the incredible cover I’ve attached here. (Again, Dan: great and timely work. We love Dan’s stuff.) Yet despite top-notch materials and everyone who touched the adventure doing heroic work, sometimes things still don't work out the way they should. Sometimes it makes things frustrating and stressful, but never, ever boring.

From Shore to Sea will be awesome, there's no doubt about that, and I'm more excited about this one than I am about most. But, sadly, this one has had a bumpy journey, and my first tower breaking the surface will likely have to wait for City of Strangers in the Pathfinder Chronicles line later this month. Missing a deadline sadly isn't something new, so don't go adjusting orders or rechecking release dates; this happens sometimes and no one outside this building ever hears about it. Our website and warehouse teams are also quite adept—to our chagrin—at picking up our slack. And, should all our plans continue to work and there are relatively few additional catastrophes, you shouldn't ever hear me griping about our "editorial debt" again.

So just a heads-up for all the folks who have been invested in and keenly anticipating Open Design's From to Shore to Sea: it's awesome and it's coming, but sometimes the path from author to your hands has some unanticipated adventures. And expect a very boring blog post from me in a few months announcing that all our product lines are, at last, shipping to the printer on time. It might not matter much to folks outside these offices, but here, it's going to be cresting the top of a very tall hill.

Wes Schneider
Managing Editor

Illustration by Alex Aparin

One for the GMs

Thursday, February 11, 2010

My day... week... life as of late has pretty much been dominated by putting the final (-ish) touches on our next big hardcover, the GameMastery Guide. It's at that weird and exciting point right now where it's making that transition between a maddening number of .doc files and something at actually looks like a book. So between the dozens of tables, charts, stats, and hundreds of pages of advice, some pretty awesome art and incredible layouts are creeping in. While I'll save most of the really exciting parts for previews closer to this behemoth's release, I wanted to throw one of my favorite new half-page illustrations out there. For now, though, it's back to those endless tables. 100 dungeon features, here I come...

F. Wesley Schneider
Managing Editor

Gold Fever!

Monday, February 8, 2010

As I write this the finishing touches are going in on our newest Pathfinder Module, City of Golden Death, the climactic conclusion to the Price of Immortality campaign arc. Written by our own Events Manager, Joshua J. Frost, the adventure takes the PCs to the notorious Isle of Terror, where they'll face agents of the Living God Razmir, ageless menaces from ancient Thassilon, the undying machinations of the Whispering Tyrant himself, and even greater perils! Here's a sneak peak of some of the scenes your PCs can expect to face when the module releases in just a few short weeks. Enjoy!

Illustration by Andres Espara

Illustration by Jorge Maese

Wes Schneider
Managing Editor

Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Preview #12

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

The Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook is set to release on August 13th, 2009, and in anticipation, we are releasing a preview of the game each week until the game hits store shelves. This week, we are delving the depths of power with Ezren, the iconic wizard.

Ezren
Male human wizard 10
NG Medium humanoid (human)
Init +3; Senses Perception +12
Defense
AC 15, touch 11, flat-footed 15 (+4 armor, +2 deflection, –1 Dex)
hp 57 (10d6+20)
Fort +8, Ref +4, Will +11
Offense
Speed 30 ft.
Melee club +5 (1d6)
Special Attacks hand of the apprentice (9/day, +11 ranged), metamagic mastery (2/day)
Spells Prepared (CL 10th)
5th—cone of cold (DC 21), teleport, wall of force
4th—dimension door, enervation, ice storm, stoneskin
3rd—dispel magic, fireball (DC 19), fly, haste
2nd—bull's strength, invisibility, mirror image, scorching ray (2), web (DC 18)
1st—alarm, magic missile (3), ray of enfeeblement, shield
0—detect magic, light, mage hand, read magic
Statistics
Str 11, Dex 9, Con 12, Int 22, Wis 15, Cha 9
Base Atk +5; CMB +5; CMD 21
Feats Arcane Strike, Combat Casting, Defensive Combat Training, Empower Spell, Great Fortitude, Improved Initiative, Scribe Scroll, Silent Spell
Skills Appraise +19, Fly +12, Knowledge (arcana) +19, Knowledge (engineering) +19, Knowledge (geography) +19, Knowledge (history) +19, Knowledge (planes) +19, Perception +12, Spellcraft +19
Languages Common, Draconic, Dwarven, Elven, Gnome, Halfling, Orc
SQ arcane bond (cane), cantrips
Combat Gear potion of cure serious wounds, scroll of dispel magic, wand of magic missile (CL 9th, 50 charges); Other Gear ring of protection +2, cloak of resistance +2, bracers of armor +4, cane (treat as a club), bead of force, blessed book, headband of vast intelligence +2 (Perception), pearl of power (3rd level)

Here we are, growing ever closer to the release of the game with Ezren rounding out the preview of the 11 core classes. As one of my favorite classes, I save the wizard for last. When we first started working on the class, back in the Alpha version of the game, the initial thought was to treat arcane school specialization like cleric domains in some regards, with the school granting limited power to add some real flavor and depth to an otherwise straightforward class. This left us with a balance issue, though, and that was what to do with the universalist wizard (the wizard without a specialty). We couldn't just remove him, as he is an iconic part of the game (literally, Ezren is a universalist) and we couldn't just give him the same powers as the specialists (as we did in the Beta playtest), so we had to search for a middle ground.

In the final version of the game, wizards with an arcane school receive bonus spells, much as they did in 3.5, but universalists do not. That said, the universalist school does grant a pair of powers. The first is the ever-popular hand of the apprentice. This power has undergone some significant redesign since the Beta, where it was arguably a bit too good (and quite confusing). The new power reads as follows.

Hand of the Apprentice (Su): You cause your melee weapon to fly from your grasp and strike a foe before instantly returning to you. As a standard action, you can make a single attack using a melee weapon at a range of 30 feet. This attack is treated as a ranged attack with a thrown weapon, except that you add your Intelligence modifier on the attack roll instead of your Dexterity modifier (damage still relies on Strength). This ability cannot be used to perform a combat maneuver. You can use this ability a number of times per day equal to 3 + your Intelligence modifier.

This new ability works off the ranged attack rules, making it simpler to use and adjudicate than the previous system, which was full of odd rules exceptions. The second ability also caused a bit of trouble in the Beta playtest. Metamagic mastery now allows the wizard to add a metamagic feat to a spell without increasing the spell level, but it does come with some restrictions. First, it can only be used 1/day at 8th level and one additional time per day for every two levels beyond 8th. Adding a feat to a spell that would increase the spell's level by more than 1 uses up an additional use of the ability for each level beyond one (i.e., if you Empower a fireball, it would use up two uses of this ability). Finally, you cannot add a metamagic feat to a spell using this ability if that feat would have made the spell higher level than a level of spell that you are capable of casting.

I do want to take a moment to talk about some of the other arcane schools before moving on to spells themselves. Many of the schools got a bit of a revamp, most due to playtester feedback. Take the necromancy school for example. The core power of this school now allows a necromancer to control or turn undead (as per the feats) a number of times per day, meaning that a necromancer does not necessarily have to be evil (the white necromancy option). We also changed the way that wizards with an arcane school interact with their prohibited schools. They can now learn and cast these spells just like any other wizard; however, when they prepare them, spells from a wizard's prohibited school take up two slots instead of one. For example, a 6th-level wizard with three 3rd-level spell spots could use two of them to prepare a dispel magic spell, even if abjuration was one of his prohibited schools.

Moving on, let's take a look at some of Ezren's spells. There have been some modifications to a wide variety of spells and effects to make them a bit more balanced with one another. Take teleport, for example. In 3.5 you could use scry to view a location and then use teleport to get there quickly. While this was fun for the players, it could very easily ruin a plot or bypass large bits of the adventure. While we did not want to completely eliminate this option, we have made it a bit harder. Now when you use scry to view a location, it only counts as "viewed once" for the purposes of teleport, making it quite a bit more risky to cast (25% chance of something going wrong).

Wall of force has seen some changes as well (as have all of the spells that create force bubbles or other effects). These force walls now have a hardness of 30 and 20 hit points per caster level. While this means that they are almost impossible to break down, they can no longer be used to hold back the tarrasque or a lava flow, which was asking for a bit much out of a 5th-level spell. This also means that if a wall of force cuts off half the party, they have a chance to destroy it without having to resort to a disintegrate (which still instantly destroys the wall).

Fly, and other spells like it, now grants a built-in bonus to Fly skill checks, to help compensate for characters without any ranks in the skill. They will not be doing loops around dragons anytime soon, but they at least try to pull a 45-degree turn at full speed in an emergency. Web has seen some changes as well. This spell now works as a grapple, with those that fail their saves being caught by the sticky strands. Those that make it can move with a combat maneuver or escape artist check (DC = to the DC of the spell). Characters moving through the webs that fail their checks are grappled in the first square that they enter, whereas those that make it can move through the difficult terrain. The spell is still good and useful to control the battlefield, but it is no longer the combat-ender that it once was. Ray of enfeeblement was sort of in the same boat, as a spell that was a bit too good for its level. To balance it out a bit, the spell now allows a Fort save to reduce the Strength penalty by half. Other spells on Ezren's list have seen some shifts as well, such as ice storm and dispel magic (both of which we covered in the Seoni preview).

You might have noticed that Ezren does not have a familiar. Instead, he chose to bond with his cane, using the arcane bond class feature (which allows you to get a familiar if you want). This ability allows him to cast any one spell that he knows and is capable of casting, once per day without having the spell prepared. He can also enchant his cane as if he had the feats required, so long as he is of the minimum level to get the feat (such as 11th level for a staff using Craft Staff, or 7th level using Forge Ring). Such power does not come without a price though, as Ezren must make concentration checks to cast any spell if he does not have his cane in hand.

Before I close things out on this preview, I wanted to point out a bit about Ezren's feats. Ezren has Combat Casting, which means that he has a total of +20 on his concentration checks, which means that he can defensively cast his 5th-level spells by rolling a 5 or higher on his checks. Ezren's Arcane Strike feat allows him to spend a swift action to add a +3 bonus to damage with his cane for 1 round, which he can combine with the hand of the apprentice ability to give it a bit of power. You might also notice that Ezren has a rather high Combat Maneuver Defense (or CMD). This is because of the Defensive Combat Training feat, which allows him to treat his character level as his base attack bonus when calculating his CMD, making this feat handy for wizards and sorcerers.

There are only two more previews left to go before the release of the Core Rulebook. Since we are done with the core classes, next week we are going to take a look at Seltyiel, our iconic eldritch knight!

Jason Bulmahn
Lead Designer

How Do I Play a Barbarian in Service to Andoran?

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Continuing the idea of the July 10 blog post, we thought we'd give you another sneak peak at the Pathfinder Society Player's Guide and touch on some of the 3.5 OGL base classes that might not mesh well with the "Freedom over tyranny!" theme prevalent in both the nation of Andoran and the Andoren faction of the Pathfinder Society. We also threw in a few other base classes just to give you an idea of possible themes for your Andoran-based character.

Andoren Pathfinders

Andorens are particularly suited to the life of a pathfinder. Natural explorers with the bravery to face ominous frontiers of mystery and danger, these sons and daughters of freedom are perfect candidates for membership in the world's most elite adventuring society.

Barbarians: The freedom fighter tradition is a long and gloried one in Andoran. Past freedom fighters prowled hard stony hills and dense forests, striking out against Chelish oppressors in brutal, guerilla assaults. Freedom fighter tactics are a point of honor among the old revolutionary families, and training in these warrior traditions have passed from father to son over many generations. Also found among the Andoren ranks are former gladiatorial slaves, refugees from less enlightened regions of Golarion. These peerless warriors embrace the dogma of freedom and Common Rule and lend their ferocious fighting skills to the defense of their new home.

Fighters: Andoran's military traditions are myriad. Before their independence, Andorens often served as the vanguard in the armies of Cheliax and Old Taldor. The finest naval captains and dragoons of Old Taldor's armada were also largely Andoren, and the tradition of excellence in combat on land and sea persists now that the nation's independence is won. Brave, intelligent, and tactically-minded warriors serve in Andoran's modern military, and the best among them eventually earn the mantle of the Eagle Knights. The threats against Andoran's fledgling democracy are very real, and only the best, most highly-trained military men and women can keep the armies of darkness at Andoran's borders at bay.

Rogues: There is a saying among Andoran's thieves: "You can't eat freedom." While liberty is the right of every citizen, Andoran was forged by the mercantile class and is fueled by gold and silver. In the teeming cities of Augustana, Carpenden, and Oregent, the unwashed masses are slaves to poverty instead of a dictator's lash. The burning desire for freedom instilled in all Andorens often manifests as a complete disregard for law and order resulting in outbreaks of larcenous behavior. A great number of the privateers in service of His Excellency are little more than pirates granted letters of marque to prey on the nation's many enemies and the host of slaver ships sailing the Inner Sea. Merchant consortiums and patriotic nobles maintain circles of spies to pry into the affairs of the nation's enemies as well as rival groups inside Andoran's borders.

Wizards: The musty tomes and old ways of wizardry are unpopular in Andoran, as the fledgling democracy is more concerned with the bright prospects of the future than they are the clouded secrets of the past. Wizards in Andoran are confined mostly to large cities, though some remote training academies exist in the wild frontiers where research into fel magics can be conducted without interference. Many Andoren wizards focus their studies on breaking enchantments and liberating the minds and souls of those oppressed by evil magic. Necromancy and any magic that enslaves others are widely frowned upon, and the open practice of either can earn one a prison sentence. Beyond these taboos, magical research is fairly unrestricted. While it may be unpopular, the right of citizenship gives every wizard the freedom to delve into any studies they wish so long as they do not harm others.

Joshua J. Frost
Director of Marketing

Nicolas Logue
Organized Play Coordinator

Meet the Iconics: Ezren

Friday, October 26, 2007

For many adventurers, wanderlust strikes at a young age when minds are impressionable and the urge to escape the doldrums of homelife become too much to resist. In other cases, there's never a choice at all—being raised on the streets leaves few other options available for those who do not wish to become criminals. Rarest are those who come to adventuring late in life.

This was Ezren's path to adventure. Born to a successful spice merchant in one of Absalom's more affluent districts, Ezren's childhood was pleasantly safe. As the fourth of six siblings, he never knew the responsibility implicit in being the eldest (and therefore the one expected to carry on father's trade) or the freedom of being the youngest. He enjoyed the comforts of a well-to-do family, lived in a neighborhood relatively safe from crime, and seemed poised for a life of mediocrity.

That changed when his father was taken away, charged with heresy by the church of Abadar. The charges were too spurious to stick, and while his father escaped excommunication, the damage had been done—his father's business fell to pieces. Shocked, dismayed, and convinced that his father was innocent, Ezren abandoned his future and spent his adult life trying to repair his father's ruined reputation. So when Ezren finally uncovered irrefutable proof of his father's guilt, and he realized he'd wasted his life on a lie, he turned his evidence over to the church and said goodbye to his home, his family, and his life.

At the age of 42, Ezren is full aware that he's missed his adulthood, yet at the same time he looks forward to discovering the world, and making a difference for a cause that he believes in. His dissatisfaction with family, religion, and government left him precious little to trust but his own intellect—in fighting for his father's redemption, he had become a gifted researcher, scholar, and intellectual. Lacking the spry limbs of youth, the trust in religion, the strong arm of the soldier, or the way with words of the politician, Ezren felt he had but one option open. He traveled to tarnished Oppara, capital of Taldor and one of the oldest cities of the continent of Avistan, hoping to join one of several prestigious schools of wizardry. Yet time and time again, he was turned away due to his age. No wizard seemed to want an apprentice who, in many cases, was older than them. So Ezren was forced to strike out on his own once again.

Over the next decade, as he traveled Avistan, Ezren studied where he could, picking up tricks of the wizard's trade here and there. The combination of arcane study mixed with his worldly first-hand experiences have given him an edge over young wizards fresh out of apprenticeship and eager to make names for themselves. Ezren knows about the many ways the world can trick and betray you, but now he's finally begun to master the art of magic, giving him the tools to fight back.

Ezren is scheduled to make his debut as a pregenerated character in volume 7 of Pathfinder and in GameMastery module U2: Hangman's Noose.

James Jacobs
Editor-in-Chief, Pathfinder