The Pawns of Hell

Monday, November 16, 2009

Illustration by David Bircham

It's an exciting time around here at Paizo. With all the hustle and bustle, if you've seen me on the boards at all, it's probably been commenting on Pathfinder fiction—how it's spooling up now, how some of the authors signing on are blowing my mind, and how we plan to manage things so that both the novel line and the gaming lines can flourish without breaking the world. (If you're curious, it's also the subject of the editorial in Pathfinder #29.) Yet in all this discussion of the Pathfinder fiction that's coming, it suddenly came to my attention that it had been a while since I'd talked about the amazing fiction we already have.

If you've been reading Council of Thieves, I don't have to tell you that Dave Gross is one of the most talented authors we've had the pleasure of working with on Pathfinder fiction. But I can tell you, having just finished the final chapter of "Hell's Pawns"—the noir-fantasy Pathfinder's Journal in which the tiefling Radovan and half-elven Pathfinder Varian Jeggare hunt a murderer through the upper echelons of Cheliax's corrupt nobility—that Dave has something few fantasy authors in any world achieve: Weight. Gravitas. An honest, emotional connection to characters, not just the world they live in. It's what we've always striven for with Pathfinder fiction, and there can be no question that Dave delivers—along with plenty of murder, intrigue, and gangsters both official and amateur.

But I won't get into spoiler territory. Instead, I'd rather give you all a sample of what I'm talking about, a snippet from the beginning of the story, in Pathfinder #25:

On the scaffold, a knobby-kneed herald emerges from behind the canvas. He looks to either side, shuddering with exaggerated fear when the guards eye him up and down. The groundlings laugh, recognizing him as one of the Fools of Thrune, a jester from House Sarini sent out to amuse them while they wait. I lose interest the moment he raises a trumpet to his lips and blows out a length of crimson silk and a pair of sagging pillows meant to suggest he's blown his lungs out through the horn.

I see plenty of familiar mugs among the groundlings: stevedores, stable hands, street sweepers, barmaids, a seamstress I once gave a memorable night on the Bunyip Dock. A pickpocket I know tips me a wink as he pats a mark on the shoulder while his adolescent accomplice dips his hand in on the other side. A few others touch their chins or smile when they see me. I nod back.

No one from the stands throws me a greeting, but more than a few know me better than they'd admit. I know several of them better than I'd like their husbands to know, but to most I am only the silent bodyguard of Count Varian Jeggare. The only one among them bold enough to return my gaze is Ivo Elliendo.

The Paralictor glides out of the stands where he has been receiving the compliments of the ladies. His tall figure stands out like a plow cutting through a garden. The sharp red scourges on the ribs of his black leather jack give him a gaunt silhouette.

He squints when he spots me, and I can feel his scorn hot on my face. What else can I do but shoot him my toothiest smile? All around him, ladies who had followed his gaze snap up their fans to shield themselves from the sight of a mouth that I'm told looks like a drawer full of knives. The commotion distracts Elliendo, and when he sees he is surrounded by a halo of fluttering fans, his lined face darkens.

Elliendo stalks away from the stands and mounts the stairs, followed as usual by two hulking Hellknights. I begin to frame a prayer for rotting steps before deciding that's too much to ask, even on Judgment Day. On the scaffold, Elliendo peers north at the approach of the golden Royal Carriage down the Imperial Promenade. He snaps his fingers, and the clown retreats behind the canvas to a clatter of applause. Once the carriage halts and the window shades rise just enough for the occupant—no doubt some minor Palace official, rather than the Queen herself—to peer out, the canvas on the scaffold falls away to reveal the Instruments of Judgment.

In the center is a blazing furnace in the shape of a three-faced devil. From each of its gaping jaws jut a bramble of iron implements: knives, spears, chains, rods, brands, and most conspicuous of all the Tines of Cheliax. Each is a two-pronged fork sized for a stone giant, and today there are two of them.

Arrayed between the furnaces are racks of torture devices retrieved from every civilized nation on Golarion, and several not so civilized. The spiked cages of Geb are a crowd favorite, and two of them already hold prisoners. One is a fat man who begins screaming the moment he is revealed, while the other is pock-faced Gellius Bonner, the Butcher of Merrow Lane.

I fell into the Bonner case when the boss sent me to nose around the tannery across the river. I was supposed to catch a stable master selling the carcasses of his lady's mysteriously sickened horses. That went nowhere, but I spied the tanner sneaking out of his own home well past midnight. Curious, I followed him into town, expecting to discover nothing more than a mistress in some Cheapside flat. Instead, he led me to Bonner's shop, where he joined six men wearing crude robes. Bonner greeted them with some fiendish phrase, though I could understand only a few words before he led them downstairs. I let myself in for a peek. When I saw the yak-headed thing Bonner conjured and what they intended to offer it, I ran to Greensteeples and beat on the boss's door until his sleepy halfling butler woke him. With a few questions, Jeggare confirmed that the cult was demonic, not diabolic, so he sent a message directly to the Temple of Asmodeus, who in turn asked the Hellknights to capture the cultists, minus a few who resisted arrest. They even recovered two boys who had not yet been devoured.

The discovery broke the cases of more than a dozen missing children, disappearances that Elliendo had publicly sworn to solve. As he was not on duty that night, he was surprised to hear the criers' announcement of another mystery solved by the celebrated Varian Jeggare.

If it were for the murders alone, Bonner might have met his Judgment at the edge of an axe or, if it were only one or two killings, in hard labor for a decade. The devil-worshiping lords of Cheliax, however, do not suffer the denizens of the Abyss in the city. For consorting with demons, Bonner earned his special voyage to Hell.

While not an admirer of the spectacle, I make a point of witnessing the Judgment of anyone convicted on one of our cases. This time, the boss insisted that I bring something to confirm it was Bonner and not some magic-masked substitute who did the dance of the Tines. He sent me to the Plaza of Flowers with a couple of sakava leaves plucked fresh from a plant in his greenhouse.

Once the Instruments are unveiled, four proper heralds stand on the corners of the scaffold and announce the list of Judgments. Behind them, brawny shirtless men in red hoods prepare the braces for the Tines.

When a couple of the big men unlock Bonner's cage, I slip the sakava leaves from a sleeve pocket. The size of my thumbs, they are thick green ovals with tiny white hairs glistening with oil. Just before I crush them, someone calls my name.

She is taller than me, which is not too uncommon, but most of that height comes from a pair of legs snugged in black calfskin trousers with tiny stars and suns cut out along the outer seam to reveal bare skin. Her blouse hangs loose except in just the right places to make a celibate throw himself off the roof. Her big hazel eyes are too far apart with heavy eyebrows, but they look fine above a long nose pierced above one nostril with a tiny ruby. The stone sets off a hint of late-summer red in her brown hair.

I'm staring at her over the little green leaves.

"Are you Radovan?" she asks again. I could listen to her say my name all day, but then she ruins it by adding, "Count Jeggare's servant?"

"His bodyguard." Immediately I think of three or four suave answers.

"My messages to Greensteeples have gone unanswered, and I require the count's assistance," she says. "And naturally his utmost discretion."

"Naturally," I say, but before I can give her the pitch, I feel a sharp poke just below my shoulder blade.

"Say goodbye to the girly, copper-tongue," reeks a voice inches beneath my ear. I know who it is from the stench of garlic and boiled eggs.

"Not now, Ursio." I try to sound casual, but the scratch he gave me starts to itch. Out of the corners of my eyes I see a couple of shapes that must be his backup. "I'll stay in this very public place while you and your playmates go climb your thumbs."

"These bolts are tipped with black lotus venom," says Ursio, and I know it's his treasured hand crossbow with its steel "fangs" jammed into my back. "You'll be dead before your body hits the street."

It seems unlikely that Ursio has acquired the deadly and expensive poison, but on the scaffold I see the hooded men dragging Bonner to a table, where a third man awaits with a pair of curved knives held high for the crowd's acclaim...

For more of Radovan's adventures in Cheliax, check out the Pathfinder's Journal section of Pathfinder volumes #25 through #30. I promise you won't be disappointed.

James Sutter
Fiction Editor

Illustration by David Bircham

Half-Elf, All Druid, No Tree Hugging

Monday, April 20, 2009

When you think of characters in game-world fiction, what first comes to mind are the fighters, wizards, and rogues. Priests are fine if they're sufficiently powerful and conflicted, otherwise, not so much. Bards generally play second fiddle, you should pardon the expression, and paladins are seldom cast in starring roles. The druids, apparently, are too busy communing with nature to bother with fiction.

Since the publication of my first shared-world book, Elfshadow, in 1991, I've hit most of the character classes with the exception of the druid. Channa Ti, the protagonist of the Pathfinder's Journal fiction in the Legacy of Fire Adventure Path, is my first.

I started with a typical D&D druid—a serene mystic who dwells in emerald groves, nurturing the woodland creatures and healing hapless passersby with potions brewed from rare herbs and crafted from recipes learned at the feet of wise, benevolent elven mentors. And then I put him in a cage match with Channa and observed while she stomped him into organic fertilizer.

Sometimes the creative process takes interesting turns.

Once I started thinking seriously about druids, one of Tennyson's more famous quatrains came to mind:

Who trusted God was love indeed
   And love Creation's final law—
   Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shrieked against his creed—

Why should druids embody calm serenity and selfless love rather than "Nature, red in tooth and claw"? Surely some druids would be more closely attuned to nature's predators. This notion was central to Channa Ti's creation. To her way of thinking, "A paladin's noble steed must eat, but then, so must a crocodile."

Another inspiration came from Pathfinder's ingenious addition to the druid class: the Nature Bond, which allows druids to specialize in one of the domains—Air, Animal, Earth, Fire, Plant, Water, or Weather—rather than forming a partnership with a companion animal. Since Channa is a loner by nature and circumstances, this suited her perfectly. An affinity for water also gives her considerable value in a desert clime. An expert dowser, she occasionally pays her way as a "water witch." Her ability to sense a coming rain is highly valued in a culture that still mourns the passing of the Age of Prophecy and is always seeking some way to foresee the future. Finally, her affinity with water gives her skills that interest people obsessed with an ancient, sea-swallowed realm.

Nature Bond offers intriguing potential for character development and storytelling, not just for fiction, but also for campaign use. For those of you who've never played a druid—and I'm guessing that's most of you—the Pathfinder setting is a great place to start.

Elaine Cunningham
Contributor

Snagged from the Vault: Ratsheek

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

For those of you who have been following the adventures of the druid Pathfinder Channa Ti in Elaine Cunningham's "Dark Tapestry" Pathfinder's Journal, as featured in the , we bring you the visage of Ratsheek, the villainous gnoll, as depicted by artist David Bircham...

Vadid and Nahk
Preview Purloiners

Illustration by David Bircham

Osirion, Land of the Ph-rickin' Awesome

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Part of the joy of being an editorial intern is getting to read all the goodness that is Pathfinder. For free. And before the rest of the world. Recently, I was asked to give an editing pass over a few chapters of the new Pathfinder's Journal, "Dark Tapestry," penned by the prolific and outrageously talented Elaine Cunningham (seriously, who wouldn't want this job?!).

Set in the desert realm of Osirion, this new Pathfinder story does everything a piece of fiction set in an RPG campaign world should do: it reveals believable and interesting characters, it brings the setting to life, and most of all, it makes me want to play a Pathfinder campaign set in Osirion right now.

Really though, the story highlights for me everything I really enjoy about Pathfinder. There is a touch of the familiar, but at the same time, never once can I say, "Hey, I've been here before." While reading the Pathfinder's Journal, I recognized many well-known aspects—a magical item here, a class-name drop there—and even though I have been playing RPGs since I was in junior high, never once did I feel like it was just another tired rehash. And while Osirion clearly draws inspiration from ancient Egypt, never once does it feel like a shallow interpretation of real-life history. While reading Elaine Cunningham's words, it truly felt that if I could somehow peel back the crawling desert sands, it would reveal the bones of countless centuries, a deep, rich, and lived history filled with epic stories and sweeping tales of heroism and tragedy, of which the PCs' adventures comprise only the latest chapter.

So I think I'm going to slip on some sandals, slap on some sunscreen, and head on back over to Osirion. See you there!

Hank Woon
Paizo Editorial Intern

Illustration by David Bircham

Legacy of Fire Outline

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

With Pathfinder Adventure Path volume #19, we launch the fourth campaign set in the world of Golarion. Legacy of Fire features jilted genies, bestial gnolls, sinister merchants, and the legacy of the Rough Beast Rovagug in an Adventure Path intended to bring to Pathfinder a sense of the tales of Sinbad, the Arabian Nights, and the mythology from the Middle East. If you're looking forward to GMing this new Adventure Path, check out the free preview of Pathfinder Adventure Path volume #19 we've posted—the complete outline and backstory for the Legacy of Fire Adventure Path! NOTE: It doesn't get much more spoilerrific than this, folks, so if you're intending to be a player in this Adventure Path, you should probably not look any further!

Legacy of Fire Campaign Outline (840 KB zip PDF)

James Jacobs
Pathfinder Editor-in-Chief