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Bag of Holding

DM Oladon's page

2,402 posts. Alias of Oladon.


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The mayor shakes his head. "I've received no demands, at least not yet," he replies. "Their instructions were particular in regard to my helping or participating in any investigative activities; you understand, I'm sure, that I cannot risk my daughter's life by defying them... whoever they are."

Sense Motive DC 20:
He seems to know more than he lets on, but he doesn't seem to be lying outright.


Sorry guys, client launch this week = busy Oladon!

Tercio narrows his eyes at Kleines' introduction, but takes the letter and glances over it quickly. "Ah. Yes. Well, I should wish to welcome you to our town under better circumstances. As it is, I'm afraid whatever action you choose to take must be entirely disassociated from me, as difficult as that may be for me due to the personal nature of the situation. I'm sure you understand that I cannot risk my daughter's safety by defying the orders in the letter I received from her abductors. They were very specific in their instructions."

Bryton inclines his head politely at Verrix' greeting, murmuring a not-quite-audible acknowledgment of the compliment before turning his attention back to the mayor.


Heh, I hear you.

Like many things in Pathfinder, it's an abstraction; somehow at some time, your character figured out from others that... <insert factoids here>.


The woman holds one hand up to her mouth thoughtfully, but shakes her head. "No, no, nothing unusual at all. We don't see many strangers around here, you know, and those we do we don't just go and... befriend, you understand. It just isn't done."

Turning to Kleines, she shakes her head once again. "Certainly not, I'm no follower of theirs! You'd do better to ask one of the elves from the Forest."

Just as she finishes, the door across the hall opens and two men emerge. The second, a tall Taldan with curly, graying black hair smiles graciously at the other. "I thank you again for your concern, Cousin Sander, but the services of the Eagle Knights are not called for here. Surely you would not risk Thalia's safety in such a bold manner."

As the two men notice the group, both fall silent. The Taldan (who, incidentally, matches the description of Tercio Andares given to the party) speaks again, this time to the Pathfinders. "Hello," he offers after only a moment of silence. "I don't believe we've been introduced. You are...?"

Sense Motive DC 20:
As the group begin to introduce themselves, a nonverbal communication passes between the two men: "Cousin Sander" seems to be wanting to ensure that Andares is alright with the visitors, and Andares appears to be assuring him that there's nothing to worry about.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 10:
Sander Bryton is a consul, one of the elected officials responsible for directing Andoran's military.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 15:
Although the consul General Reginald Cormoth is the head of the Eagle Knights, Sander Bryton often assists the general directly in deciding Eagle Knight actions and policy.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 20:
The Bryton family--all successful military leaders going back four generations--has been prominent ever since the People's Revolt. At no time has the elected national government not included a Bryton.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 25:
Immediately after Tercio Andares joined the People's Council, Sander Bryton mysteriously reversed his position on an important trade agreement, clearing the way for the Andares family's Sauerton Red wine to become the household name it is today throughout the Inner Sea region.


Kleines, you've heard the names 'Ketephys', 'Cernunnos', and 'Yuelral' as elven gods having some connection with forests, but you've never heard them referred to as 'forest gods'.

The woman raises both hands to ward off the swarm of questions. "Now, now, I've only got one mouth and two ears, so you'd all better just wait your turns!" Looking at Iovo first, she replies, "Dear me, no. Thalia was always a sweet one, she was, and even were it that she gained an enemy somehow, well, no one would... her family name would certainly protect her. No, it was the elves."

Turning to Verrix, she frowns severely. "Young man, you need to respect your elders! I ask you, how would I know it was elves if I didn't know what elves look like?"

Leaving Verrix to ponder that question, she turns next to Damiar, and her frown dissolves into a fond smile. "You're quite correct, young lady. Now then, other missing people? Well, you know, just... people. No one in particular. Certainly no one near as important as Miss Thalia."

Patting Damiar's hand, Dorabeth looks over at Garif with a different smile. "Of course I did, and of course I will!" she replies. "Such a sweet girl! I last saw her here at the manor. She didn't go out much, poor thing, but she was good to us and we all loved her. And now..." the woman begins to sniff softly and dab at her eyes. "And now she's all alone with elves and going to be sacrificed to their forest gods!"


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The woman's eyes widen slightly as the Pathfinders all begin speaking at once, and slightly more when they mention Thalia. They narrow again at Damiar, and it seems for a moment that she's about to give the young elf a scolding, but she relaxes and even cracks a reluctant smile. "Oh, it's her you're here about? Why didn't you say so? Come in, come in..."

The woman motions silently to a nearby servant, who strides down the hall and disappears around a corner. As she ushers the group into a tastefully appointed drawing room (the size of the house makes it seem likely that it has more than one), the older woman becomes almost as talkative as she was gruff and reticent before. "I'm Dorabeth, the Andares' housekeeper... I've been their housekeeper near forever, I suppose. Frilit there will let the master know you're here, and I'll just keep you company while you wait, shall I?" She doesn't wait for permission, but quickly continues. "Strange goings-on around here of late, and we're all so very sad about Thalia! Do you know..."

At this, Dorabeth pauses and leans forward conspiratorially. "I think... no offense to present company, you understand, but I think it was the elves that took her! They're always poking about around the Forest, and they've got those strange forest gods of theirs, probably demanding sacrifices... people go missing, you know, and me, well, I keep my eyes and ears open, yes sir."


Wanna give me a Diplomacy check? :)


The woman utilizes her frowning muscles a bit when Iovo claims they aren't selling anything, but she doesn't close the door. When Iovo finishes, she hrmphs and shakes her head. "He's quite busy," she replies in her slightly-gruff manner.


The friendly guard captain glances around the group and decides he's been dismissed. Waving cheerily, he skips off down the path, "accidentally" stepping on the bright green lawn a few times and glancing back with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Shuffling footsteps are heard from within the large house at the knock, and a moment later the door opens to reveal an older woman with homely features and deep frown lines etched into her forehead. Her clothes are simple, but clean, and her hands bear the callouses of hard work. Glancing out at the group, she peers from one to the other until she's taken them all in, and finally she speaks. "Don't want any of whatever it is you're selling," she offers gruffly.


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"I'll show you!" replies the cheerful halfling.

He leads the group through town, pointing out buildings of interest ("There's the best inn; they stock an out-of-town wine, you know") as they progress. In front of one shabby, run-down house on the edge of town he pauses and points. Its lawn is thickly covered in waist-deep weeds, and bits of rubbish litter the faint trail that remains leading up to the front door. "See, this is what your theory made me think of," he explains, gesturing expansively. "This is the Old Badger's place... he drinks a lot of Red."

Eventually the Pathfinders find their path leading them toward a tall, stately mansion fronted by pinkish marble pillars and surrounded by a beautiful (and well-trimmed) green lawn.

Knowledge (Engineering) DC 15:
The architecture can be identified as Old Chelish, but the many columns are a recent (largely ornamental) addition.

What's the plan?


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1d20 ⇒ 6

Merton opens his mouth to reply to the first comment, but pauses as Iovo blurts out the second bit. His face changes to one of confusion. "Er..." He stops, then reaches up and scratches his head thoughtfully. "That's a very intriguing theory," he replies. "I've never thought about it, but now that you mention it... I think you'll find that it works better for weeds than flowers, but there just might be something to it. Here, if you like I'll show you to the Andares' manor and point out what might be some interesting evidence for you to use in your other endeavour along the way."


The halfling laughs heartily, placing one hand over his stomach as if to better contain his amusement. Finally regaining his composure, he beams back at Kleines. "Captain Merton Demrick, at your service. I welcome you to the illustrious town of Sauerton, and would be delighted to guide you during your visit if you should so desire. Might I inquire as to your purpose here? We don't get many tourists these days..."


Thanks for the update, Verrix! We'll be here. :)

And we probably won't finish recovering the nobility's coiffures before this weekend.


The Andares' manor is not difficult to find, being one of several dozen stately homes still standing in the town as functional reminders of a past age's nobility. As the group makes their way through a particularly narrow alley, a halfling wearing light armor and a rain-spattered helmet steps out from behind a corner. "Hail!" he offers, by way of greeting.


Feel free to back-ask any questions if you don't feel you got the chance; moving us along!

The group's voyage up the Andoshen River is swift, and good weather prevails until they're almost to their destination. Sometime during the final hour or so of their journey, the sky turns grey and a light rain begins to fall.

Most of Sauerton appears well-maintained, and although the grape-picking season has passed, several presses are still set up in the town square in hopes of fair weather's return.

Welcome to Sauerton! Where to first?


Ready to go?


And thematically appropriate, too!


Telfyr the seer speaks up again. "Tall, dark hair, fair skin. Sea-green eyes, and... how shall I put this..." he pauses for a moment as Venture-Captain Bracket rolls his eyes. "rather a... well-endowed... olfactory organ."


Major Maldris coughs quietly, glancing over at Venture-Captain Brackett with a querying look. The Venture-Captain shrugs slightly, but does clear his throat after a moment. "Unless you have any other questions for us...?"


"Perhaps you know of her as Lady Liberty," replies Telfyr. "That's what most Andorans call her. She wrote fervently during her life of peace, justice, and freedom — popular topics in Andoran over the last half-century."


After a few days' rest, the Pathfinders receive a summons for their next mission — together! They head south toward Almas in Andoran, and arrive, finally, at an inn which has been set aside for them.

The next morning, the group makes its way to the Cathedral of Aroden, and arrives with the morning light streaming in through the massive stained-glass windows. Venture-Captain Bob Brackett is seated behind a large, antique desk replete with hair-thin lines that mar its surface like nearly-healed scars. He scans a handful of papers before addressing the group of Pathfinders and the other assembled guests, among them the no-nonsense wizard Wystorn Telfyr and Major Colson Maldris.

"I recently received news of a kidnapping in Sauerton, up in the northern wine country. Thalia Andares, heir to the Sauerton Red wine fortune and daughter of Consul Tercio Andares, vanished during the Silverglazer Sunday celebration and has not been seen since."

With a meaningful look, Maldris catches Brackett's attention, and the two nod in understanding as the major contributes. "Tercio Andares is powerful and widely respected; not only has he been the mayor of the large town for many years, but he is also a strong voice in the Andoren military—even for a consul. The Sauerton Red winery has made him extremely wealthy, and his financial support could be a considerable asset to the Pathfinders' important work in and around the Worldwound. He seems uninterested in foreign affairs, though, perhaps because it's politically safer to focus on domestic matters. Even so, he is known to help those who help him."

"I appreciate the summary, major," continues Brackett smoothly. "I am convinced that the Andares' gratitude would do much to refill our war chest for a struggle that is unlikely to end quickly... and we believe we can earn that gratitude by rescuing his daughter, which is where you come in. When you track down Thalia, as I trust you will do quickly, it is important not only to the Pathfinder Society but perhaps to the whole world that you request funding for the military campaign against the Worldwound. Of course, convincing Tercio to contribute troops and military aid would be even better, but aim for finances first."

With a sigh, Major Maldris picks up his tricorne hat and prepares to depart. "I would stay longer, but I must make final preparations to travel," he states in a quiet voice. "While I hope that the Andares family agrees to help the society, I am also wary of this political practice of mutual backscratching. As all of you are in Sauerton—especially those who care for this fine country—remain vigilant for signs of short-sighted corruption and abandonment of Andoran's founding principles: freedom and democracy. Follow what you believe to be the best course of action, as I will not be available to advise you. Nonetheless, I would appreciate any reports of corruption after the situation is resolved." After sharing a quick handshake with Brackett and a nod of farewell to the rest of you, he departs, closing the door
behind him.

Telfyr breaks the moment of silence that follows by reporting, "My scrying indicates that the young Andares is being held in a building with high ceilings and once-elegant adornments in a style popular in this nation before the People's Revolt. The structure seems to have sustained extensive fire damage which has not been repaired. Thalia is alive and unhurt, at least for now. She was reading a fresh copy of the essays of Alysande Benedict when I saw her."

Brackett begins to bring the briefing to a close by concluding, "We have transportation ready to take you to Sauerton as quickly as possible. When you arrive, present this letter to Consul Andares before you begin your investigation. It introduces you and offers the condolences and assistance of the Pathfinder Society. Not only is this proper etiquette to announce your intentions to the mayor, but Thalia vanished from the Andares manor. Someone there should be able to make sense of Telfyr's visions."

Telfyr frowns at Brackett’s diction. "Scrying, Brackett, is diff–" "Alright, yes, scrying," the venture-captain concedes as he pushes a sealed letter across the table. "Introductions, rescue operation, then negotiation for funding and possible military support. Make any questions quick; you've got a boat to catch."

For information about Mayor Tercio Andares: Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local).

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 10:
Tercio Adnares is mayor of Sauerton, one of the consuls who administer Andoran's military, and owner of the extremely successful Sauerton Red winery.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 15:
Mayor Andares has generally remained popular in Sauerton despite the town suffering from a rash of attacks by wild beasts from the Verduran Forest in recent years, as his winery employs much of the town directly or indrectly, and it is rare for any public figure to suggest Andares might be responsible for any problems.

Diplomacy (Gather Information) or Knowledge (Local) DC 20:
A few unpopular individuals around Sauerton say that the Andares family is rotten, and that anyone who makes trouble for Tercio or his kin is quickly and quietly encouraged to leave town.

For information about Sauerton, Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local).

Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local) DC 10:
Sauerton is infamous for its cheap and widely distributed wine, called Sauerton Red. It has become immortalized in an Andoren proverb that something of poor quality "must be down from Sauerton."

Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local) DC 15:
Sauerton is a large town located in wine country in northeast Andoran, about equally distant from the Andoshen River, which is used to ship wine to Andoran's southern ports for export, and the Verduran Forest, which occupies much of the tense border with Taldor and Galt.

Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local) DC 20:
Sauerton has been a site of productive vineyards for centuries, and the once-noble Andares family has been a major owner of those vineyards since long before the People's Revolt. Although the Andares family chose to give up their noble privileges during the revolt, nearly every mayor of Sauerton in the 44 years since has been a member or close relative of the Andares family.

Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local) DC 25:
The local captain of the guard, Merton Demrick, has publicly petitioned for more funds to hire additional guards, claiming the current numbers are too few, but he has not received enough support from Mayor Andares or the townspeople to implement the change.

Knowledge (Geography) or Knowledge (Local) DC 30:
A local vineyard's villa was burned down in a then-famous fire about the time of the People's Revolt by a spiteful noble belonging to the Sauer family. It seems likely to fit the description given by Wystorn Telfyr.

Feel free to finish up your shopping during the briefing. :)


I'll get us kicked off with some interim/intro stuff tomorrow. I hope you're all looking forward to complex intrigue and intricate coiffuring in...

Spoiler:
The Stolen Hair


Yeah, I'm just standing in until the other guy stops slacking. Definitely too busy not slacking to do anything about your drow issue. Frankly, that sounds like a personal problem.


Asht'el wrote:
I will be slacking Friday PM until Monday, and posting will probably not happen. Then, over the next few weeks, I will be slacking extensively, which will wrap up on March 19. I should still be able to slack most days, but my schedule will be a bit erratic.

Fixed that for you.


This last book was a bit silly when it came to wealth... they seemed to expect the players to thoroughly ransack the fortress. As in... it gives values for the paintings of the councilors in the council chamber, and the accoutrements of Perelir's Calistrian temple.


You're all a bunch of slackers.


On that note, please welcome level 14 and your new overlord.


The elf-like image reaches out and takes the strange form's outstretched hand. Suddenly, the misty scene begins to writhe and shift, the background fading away until all that's left are the two forms, hands joined; the sandy ground is gone, the structures are gone, and the startled-looking woman is gone. A moment later the Jametor-like figure begins to grow larger and nearer until the mist seems to rip in half and Jametor himself steps through.

Jametor:
As you reach out and grasp the entity's hand, the world around you begins to fade away. You catch a glimpse of the woman beside you looking extremely startled, before she too disappears and all that's left is... nothing. The entity grips your hand strongly, then, and you see a world begin to fade in around you... yet it is not your world. The moment you realize that, it begins to fade back into Nothing.

Over and over again this happens. It begins to feel as though you've been traveling like this for months, until suddenly you recognize the same room where Hialin was killed... when? As the details of your friends fade into view around you, the entity releases your hand and the Voice speaks once more. Remember your debt, Jametor Darksbane, and do not attempt to evade me when I call.

Not Jametor:
Participants in the ritual take 2 points of Constitution drain.

Asht'el:
As Jametor steps through the torn mist, you feel an enhanced brotherhood with him. Whenever Asht'el casts an Elemental Commixture spell with Jametor and provides a fire spell as his contribution, the ifrit can spend an extra action (swift or move) to split his fire resistance with Jametor for 2 rounds.

Randall:
When Jametor appears, you feel newly in tune with his actions. Once per battle when Jametor casts a directed spell which requires an attack roll, Randall can anticipate the attack and take advantage of the foe's momentary distraction. This allows Randall to treat the foe as if it is denied its Dexterity bonus against his attacks for the duration of Randall's next turn. You can declare that you're using this ability any time between Jametor's action and your next action.

Njord:
The big bear-man feels an enhanced familiarity toward the elfling as Jametor returns. As long as Jametor is within 60 feet, Njord can always understand his spoken words, even in bear-form, and Jametor can get a sense of Njord's meaning. (Feel free to play this however you like.)

Xiddik:
As Jametor appears once again, Xiddik feels a stronger sense of camaraderie toward the elf than she's felt before. Up to two times per day when Xiddik targets Jametor with a spell that heals hit point damage, she is healed for half the amount restored to Jametor. Declare that you're using this ability before rolling for healing.


Jametor:
Enough. Those who call you have shed their blood... for this? Accept, or decline.


Jametor:
Your kind has many names for mine... none of them particularly accurate. I am one who watches; that is enough.


The watchers see Jametor hesitate, his mouth moving in what might be a question.

Jametor:
I will deliver you to those who call you, and you will be in my debt. Someday, I will call upon you to repay your debt.


Though the watching group hears nothing, they see the figure before Jametor incline its head slightly and hold out its hand.

Jametor:
If you accept the sacrifices which have been made and will be made on your behalf, take my hand. The Voice pauses for a moment, then continues. Know that this is a contract between us, Jametor Darksbane: between you and those who call, and between you and me, and between me and those who call. Consider carefully.


Jametor:
The woman smiles. "Sixty-eight point five seven," she replies, before turning toward the boat behind her and speaking a word that Jametor can't quite make out — it sounds like the language of magic with which the elf is so familiar.

A bright barrier appears in the air across the door of the boat, and the woman turns back to Jametor with another smile. "Come on, I'll show you," she offers, beginning to walk back toward the tunnels.

After no more than a dozen steps, the air in front of you suddenly begins to warp, and a moment later, a... something... steps out in front of you. You hear a Voice in your mind; a Voice that thunders like a hundred roaring waterfalls. Jametor Bruinfriend, it begins. Flame-brother, Koboldkin, Halflingbalm. Friend to all but your own kind; you are called to return. Is it your wish to do so?

Njord:
Your heart is true, Warrior. Trust it.

Xiddik:
Learn of yourself, hatchling, replies the sibilant Voice, unaffected by Xiddik's tone. When next we meet, you will tell me of your running.

The Voice speaks a final utterance: Very well.

The shimmer hanging in mid-air grows even as Jametor's likeness shrinks and seems to sink into the shimmering area. After a few moments, it (he) begins to walk, and the group sees a woman walking beside him. Her clothing is strange and foreign. The Jametor-likeness follows, then stops as the air in front of him begins to twist and throb.

A moment later, a strange, blurred figure steps out of the air before Jametor's likeness, halting the elf's progress. The woman looks around as if unsure what the delay is, but the group hears no sound.

The group feels blood welling from their wrists; it drips toward the floor, but disappears in mid-air.


Jametor:
Jametor spots some boat-like objects on the ground nearby. Standing outside one is a completely non-blurry young woman who smiles at Jametor as she sees him wandering around. "We'll be accepting departing passengers on board in the morning," she says, though the light level seems the same as it was when Jametor first found himself in this place nearly a day before. "Until then, may I provide you with accommodation recommendations for the night?"

Asht'el:
If it were not for you, she would still be alive. Do you deny it?

Njord:
You have lost other friends and let them go. Why is this one so special?

Randall:
If it were, would you accept it? comes the question. The Voice no longer sounds like Harvey; instead, the inaudible tone is mild and gentle.


Jametor:
The woman laughs. "Same way you got here; go topside and wait for one of them wizard-boats to fly you away. Best get some sleep first, though... they won't leave until tomorrow at least."

Xiddik:
You have always run, comes the Voice again. Now, answer, hatchling: why have you summoned me?

Asht'el:
Drove you out? Do you really blame him? As the Voice continues, Asht'el can almost swear he feels the lick of flames within his mind. And if you have him back, will you slay him as you slew your mother? And when you have done, will you flee this place as you fled Katapesh?

Randall:
Randall hears mocking laughter in his head. Do you blame your life on me? Was it my fault your mother refused to improve your lot—and her own? How many times did you hear of maids and cooks needed, and your mother wouldn't lift a hand? Do you really believe she wanted to be saved?


Jametor:
"What? No tour guide?" demands the woman, incredulous. "You must've been too drunk!" As the woman speaks to you, you suddenly have a strange feeling, as though someone just out of hearing is calling your name.

"Well anyway, the tour guide would have told you that you can't do anything to the former years' inhabitants, or their tunnels, not without the right gear anyhow." She shakes her head slightly and gives Jametor another smile, though her voice turns sadder. "A single veil cuts you off from the rest of the world forever," she explains. "That's why the tourists are all getting ready to leave; veilfall is coming early this year!"

The room stills as Xiddik finishes. The central figure stretches, thins, and acquires new detail; it's now definitely Jametor's likeness, but its eyes hold a faraway look, unseeing and unknowing. The blood on the floor suddenly vanishes, the participants' wrist-wounds begin to ache, and each one hears a Voice.

Asht'el:
Asht'el... comes the Voice, cracking inside your head like flames upon newly-spun silk. Destroyer. What does this elf mean to you, Kinslayer? What hold has he upon your life, that you shed your blood on his behalf?

Randall:
Randall's your name? comes the Voice, seeming somehow familiar in its inaudible tone. Randall the Vandal? Or the Scandal? As the Voice speaks, Randall realizes why it seems familiar; it sounds... or thinks... vaguely like Harvey. What are you doing here? Is this the life that you've chosen, the one that would've saved your mother? Spilling your blood on behalf of an aristocrat? Why are you really here, Randall?

Njord:
The Voice in Njord's head sounds massive and shaggy. Njord, it rumbles in acknowledgment or greeting. Who is the elfling? You are a warrior; why have you called upon me?

Xiddik:
Xiddik feels the slightest whisper; a hint of scales, sliding across scales, and then a Voice like silence itself. Xiddik... it hisses, pronouncing the name flawlessly. You run. Answer: why have you summoned me?


Jametor:
DM Oladon wrote:

People seem to be generally ignoring you, but not as if they don't see you; more that they just see a lot of people and don't particularly notice you being any different.

It appears that if something is blurry, Jametor can see and even hear it to some degree, but can't physically interact with it at all. It also appears that somehow, physical material that's blurry can be in the same place as physical matter that isn't blurry; as if they don't run into each other at all.

Jametor hasn't seen any evidence that magic wouldn't function here, and his fly spells certainly worked.

As Jametor is standing near the inaccessible tunnel and pondering all that he's seen, a somewhat blurred young woman approaches, a somewhat-blurred smile on her face. Her words seem blurry as well, somehow, and Jametor gets the feeling she's speaking a bit more loudly than he's hearing. "Didn't believe the tour guide on your way here?" she asks, with a nod toward the wall-tunnel and a mischievous wink.

As Asht'el invokes the words that begin the ritual, the air between the group begins to shimmer softly. At his summary of Jametor, a blurry humanoid form slowly begins to take shape in the shimmering air. It looks vaguely like a frowning elf, but it's devoid of detail.

At Randall's words the shape darkens, turning nearly black and then slowly fading back to its original pale incorporeality. Njord's description seems to hang in the air a moment, then coalesce and meld with the vaguely elf-shaped figure, sharpening the details as if removing a gauzy veil.

The three companions' blood pools slowly together on the floor as the ritual progresses.


It's not so much a spell as it is a ritual, requiring four participants and a target. There are some chants and ritual motions described, but the bulk of the ceremony involves two parts: a) identifying the target (wherein each participant describes something about the target which aids the magic in distinguishing him from others in the world) and b) making the connection, which requires a sacrifice from each participant to fuel the magic. The nature of the sacrifice required isn't spelled out, but there's a note scrawled in the margin: "Woe betide those who attempt to shirk this duty."


Jametor:
Sent you a PM.

People seem to be generally ignoring you, but not as if they don't see you; more that they just see a lot of people and don't particularly notice you being any different.

It appears that if something is blurry, Jametor can see and even hear it to some degree, but can't physically interact with it at all. It also appears that somehow, physical material that's blurry can be in the same place as physical matter that isn't blurry; as if they don't run into each other at all.

Jametor hasn't seen any evidence that magic wouldn't function here, and his fly spells certainly worked.

Between the six of them (with Prickles as the extremely helpful sixth), the group eventually discovers an old journal. Inside, in spidery wizardy handwriting, are chronicled the author's adventures in extra-planar exploration and research. He writes of hundreds of planes he's either explored or studied from afar, and there's another with simply a list of names but no information.

Near the end of the journal is a cleanly folded sheet of parchment detailing a ritual that claims to be able to retrieve any willing creature from another plane... without knowledge of the creature's current plane.


Jametor:
You do not appear to yourself to be blurry.

Jametor attempts to follow the blurriest person into the side tunnel, and finds himself unable to pass that way! Similar to your experience trying to descend into the blurry hole outside, you don't seem able to pass into blurry tunnels.

How about this... give me a skill that's relevant and tell me why. *pulls a card from the 13th Age deck*

Asht'el: the bow and arrows are very small. See "dart-sized" descriptor.


Jametor:
Jametor notices some of the very-blurry people walking straight into the walls... or rather, into wall sections that happen to also appear to have very-blurry side tunnel entrances in them.

With Xiddik's rather skilled assistance, Randall is able to determine that these gloves were intended to aid the wearer's manual dexterity. However, as he noticed earlier, they aren't quite finished, and so he suspects the magic upon them might require a bit of fine-tuning to function as intended.

Unfinished Gloves:
These function as Gloves of Dexterity +4... usually. Any time the benefit from these gloves would turn a failure into a success (or an undesirable outcome into a desirable one), roll 1d20; on a 2 or 3, the gloves fail at the crucial moment. On a 1, the magic in the gloves temporarily escapes, granting the +4 bonus to the nearest creature for one minute. If more than one creature share the closest distance, roll a die to resolve.

When Asht'el climbs atop the chair and peers onto the shelf, he spots a tiny bow and a quiver full of itty bitty arrows -- roughly dart-sized to the Ifrit. The bow and many of the arrows give off strong auras of enchantment; based on the particular eddies of magic, Asht'el believes that the bow is magically enhanced to hit harder and more frequently, and that the arrows' enchantments vary between magical memory modification and sleep.


Jametor:
The people pay little attention to you as you pass, though you notice that your own garb differs greatly from theirs. You pass numerous people whose features are blurred to varying degrees; they all move to avoid running into you... or possibly through you, based on your experiences with the buildings.

You notice side tunnels as you walk; some are heavily trafficked and very sharply delineated, while others blur into the wall until you can't tell whether they're even there. Give me a Perception check.

Randall catches a particularly nasty trap before it has a chance to harm the group, and just as he's finishing disarming it he finds another thing: barely protruding from behind a worktable is a pair of finely-crafted gloves. One of the fingers on the left glove is not quite finished, but other than that they appear quite delicate. Intricate stitching on the back of the hands depicts black ravens with silver outlines, claws extended as if in attack. Spellcraft/Appraise?

Asht'el discovers that there is magic just about everywhere in this room, but his eyes are drawn particularly to a shelf above the central workbench.


Jametor:
You enter an older, more primitive world. (And if you haven't played Nethack, that quote is probably lost on you.)

Jametor descends into a large tunnel, roughly twice his height and roughly three armspans wide. The tunnel is fairly well-lit by light-producing stones affixed to the walls periodically, and before he's gone very far, Jametor sees people moving about not too far down the tunnel. In the low light it's hard to tell, but the elf thinks he sees some blurring here and there among the passersby.

Perelir nods. "Good idea. I'll take you there, and help you look." Taking her leave of the other (ex-)councilors, she precedes the elfless party back to Hialin's laboratory, where they visited the wizard previously.

Clearly an arcane workshop, the room is filled with materials used for testing the properties of magic items and potions, and the center of the room is dominated by a long table topped by a magnificent alchemist's laboratory. Perelir points helpfully at a door across the hall. "That leads to his chambers."


Jametor:
By trial, error, and much exploration, Jametor discovers that he can pass through anything with even the slightest blur to it, though there seems to be an direct correlation between the ease with which he passes through a substance and how blurry it is. After checking four or five such buildings, Jametor discovers a tunnel inside one, with stairs descending into the ground.


She said "I believe he was sent to another plane of existence", and mentioned that Hialin was inclined to that kind of topic. DM hint: Hialin had a study/laboratory.

Jametor:
There are other buildings around in varying state of blur.


Jametor:
Jametor manages to keep his head, though the strange otherness of the experience leaves him feeling a little woozy.

DM Oladon wrote:
[Perelir] frowns slightly at Xiddik's question. "I believe he was sent to another plane of existence," she says. "Unfortunately, I know very little of such things... Hialin was always the one most inclined to those types of studies. Still, I will help you as much as I am able."


Jametor:
It's very disorienting to stand in a spot that looks like both empty space and solid ground all at the same time. Jametor does not sink into the ground, but he finds himself wobbling uneasily from the disparate sensations. Give me a Will save.


Jametor:
As he approaches the blurriest of the buildings, Jametor stumbles over a geometric figure sprouting up out of the landscape. He reaches out to catch himself on the nearest wall, and his hand goes right through it! A moment later he manages to get his balance without toppling over, though there's no one around to see. Within the building, there's a strange sight: there appears to be an extremely blurry opening in the ground, but at the same time Jametor can see normal, unblurred ground in the same spot.

Perelir's eyes widen slightly at Randall's response, and she looks to the others as if for confirmation.


Jametor Darksbane wrote:
I would prefer you add a "Hey I've been ported to another plane of existence and need to get back to my murder hobo friends" thing.

Done. Unfortunately, it isn't available in your current plane.

AinvarG wrote:
I think I would prefer sorting by the last time I posted because the New indicator would tell me if the last to post was not me (if it was me, it won't be flagged as new, am I right?)

Yep, unless you went and refreshed your campaigns page right as you posted.

AinvarG wrote:
I've wanted to ask: Do you code in your day job or is this just a for-fun thing?

Both.


Ooh, that's an interesting idea... being able to sort your campaigns by the last time you posted in them. Would you use that? Would you prefer it to be the last time /anyone/ posted in it?

One of the features being voted on in the thread I linked above (here) is a "you need to post" indicator for games. Would that be useful for you?

That actually helps a lot -- thank you!

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