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With most of its manpower and matériel devoted to Worldwound and the Jormundur expedition, the Pathfinder Society's massive fortress holds but a handful of agents and servants.
Outside its tall stone walls the Foreign Quarter bustles with the intrigues of a dozen nations...but inside silence smothers the grounds of the Grand Lodge. Even the lights of Skyreach, the enormous five-towered building which also houses Grand Hall of the Society, seem dim and subdued.
Scattered about the near-empty property, a few agents tend to their own affairs in the waning hours before dinner.
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A feral-looking hulk of a woman sits at a table on a stool that can barely support her weight. A breastplate peeks out from beneath the stained and shredded clothing that hangs on her muscular frame. Her pointed ears and incongruously delicate features betray an elven heritage. A comically over-sized sword leans against the wall next to her. Its sheer weight has already cut a groove in the floor.
She is working on some kind of list:
Giants
Dorianna Ouidda
Grandmaster Torch
Grandmaster Torch >:(
Krune
Barnabas Harrigan
The tip of her pencil breaks. She drives the rest of it into the table, sighs, and folds the note away in a pocket.
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A pure clear chime sounds, filling the air with its sweet tone. Dinner is now being served in the communal dining hall of the Grand Lodge.
Master Calathes students limp from away the combat circle, heading towards a well-earned meal and a much-needed rest. They respectfully part as Venture Captain Silverwood, who is bearing his newest enchanted purchases, passes by.
Merceil and Calathes feel the air compress as something teleports in. In the center of the grounds, a bloodied, prone body blinks into existence.
For a moment, everything freezes.
"Pathfinder down! Fetch a cleric!" cries a veteran groundskeeper.
Trainees scatter, scouring the Lodge for a healer.
The commotion draws Wander to her room's window. From her vantage point above the grounds, she sees the pool of blood spread around a battered body. With a start, she realizes that it is Ezren.
Unconsciously, she notes the wounds were made by a massive blunt weapon.
Eath's ruminations are disturbed when a page runs into the dining room shouting, "Healer! Healer! We need a healer!"
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Master Calathes efficiently binds the elderly man's wounds while Pathfinders-in-training stand dumbfounded in shock. Calathes steadies the man's lolling head and pours the potion down his throat. The old man's eyes flutter open. He gurgles up some blood and gasps, his arms flinging up to fend off a remembered blow. "Nooooooooo!"
"Peace, Ezren!" calls a deep voice. "You are home."
The assembled Pathfinders part and the bulky, bearded form of Adril Hestram strides forward. The wild-eyed wizard relaxes and his upraised arms slump to the blood-stained grass.
Venture Captain Hestram's stern gaze sweeps the crowd. His voice booms.
"Initiates, if a little blood and magic makes you weak in the knees, apologize to the Three Masters for wasting their time on you and leave the Lodge. Return to your duties...or I'll find some for you!"
Roused from their slackjawed shock, the younger Pathfinders scamper away, throwing back a fleeting inquisitive glance or two as they hurry off to their work assignments.
Adril looks to the remaining Pathfinders. Their travel-worn clothes and battle-scarred weapons mark them as veteran agents. His voice lowers but still holds steel.
"Operatives, your concern is commendable. The other Venture Captains and I will caretake, Ezren. Go and prepare yourselves for Jormundun. You are much needed in the Worldwound. Aram Zey awaits you by the Tapestry."
The veteran Pathfinders exchange glances. After a moment, they walk towards the Grand Lodge.
The immediate area clear of bystanders, Adril nods in respect at the remaining party of Venture Captains and Seekers.
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Ezren ends his futile search for his friends.
"I was the only one to make it out?"
Ezren drifts off. After a moment, he rattles in a full breath and composes himself.
"Giants. Damned Stone Giants."
He sits up on one elbow and continues.
"We were sent to Varisia to chase whispers of Grandmaster Torch. It was weeks of slogging from town to town, interrogating and intimidating the foulest of lowlifes. We learned not a Gods-damned thing. We decided to head back to Magnimar by ship from Sandpoint."
"When we arrived, Sandpoint was under attack by Giants, Ogres and a massive red dragon. Harsk charged recklessly into battle with Valeros right behind. We rallied the town's defenses and drove off the attackers....and it took everything Kyra could do to keep Harsk from killing the Giant we had captured."
Adril nods. "Because of his brother?"
Ezren sighs. "Yes."
With great effort, Ezren pulls out a crystal from his Pathfinder pouch. "We were to use this if we captured and interrogated Torch. It found a new use at Sandpoint."
Ezren mutters a word and the crystal projects an translucent image around the party. Valeros, Harsk, Lirianne, Kyra and Ezren surround a chained Stone Giant. Ezren holds the same crystal in his hand. Kyra, purposefully stands between Harsk and the prisoner, her hand pushing against his chest.
The injured giant squints, frowns, and then chuckles to itself. “Defeated by nosy little humans,” it says. “Never thought this would happen to the Plateau People. Well, I can tell you this: My lord is mighty Mokmurian, one of the dark giants of old come again. His magic, the things he has made... He has convinced the tribes that they will rule all the lowlands again, down to the sea. He has mastered the ancient arts.
“He will certainly kill you all, run rough over your tiny homes with the army he has called. The fortunate few will become his slaves. You beat us today, but you won’t beat us when there are a hundred or a thousand of the Plateau People marching together. Lord Mokmurian will make it happen--"
Kyra curtly interjects. "Who is Mokmurian?"
"He’s our lord and leader. He promised us glory and riches. When Lord Mokmurian marches down from the Storval Plateau, he will take from you everything.”
Valeros grins and quaffs deeply from his wineskin. He belches then raises a mocking salute to the Giant. "I've killed many claiming to be lords or overlords or underlords even. What manner of creature is he?"
“I have only heard him speak from afar, and have only heard from others of the power of his magic. He is the rarest of us all, a child of the stones who has mastered the magic of the Ancient Lords. They say he can turn the living into immobile stone and can turn his own flesh into granite armor. I’ve even heard he can cause the very stones of the world to quicken and pull those who stand atop them into a tomb below the earth. And I’m sure he can do much more than that.”
Lirianne cleans her pistol with a rag. "All I need to know is how many bullets to bring. How many creatures does he command?"
“He has at least seven tribes of under his command, with each tribe numbering in the dozens. The number of lesser kin he’s conscripted—ogres, hill giants, ettins, trolls—is not insignificant. He also enjoys the support of several lamias—degenerate followers of the Mother of Monsters."
Harsk growls, "Where is Mokmurian?
“Mokmurian has claimed a place taboo to my people: the Valley of the Black Tower in the Iron Peaks. He calls his fortress Jorgenfist, after the name of the fortress that guards the entrance to the afterlife. Our elders found the name blasphemous, but Mokmurian is powerful enough not to fear blasphemy. Lord Mokmurian himself dwells deep below Jorgenfist—in hidden places he does not allow us to visit--AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!”
The Stone Giant roars in pain as a bolt sprouts from his massive leg.
Harsk shouts, "That was for Sigur you stone-skinned piece of--"
The illusion fades as the Pathfinders grab at Harsk.
Ezren lays flat on the ground again.
"It took 2 weeks to get there. We traveled by horseback from Sandpoint, up the Lost Coast Road, over to Ember Lake, then up to Galduria, Wolf ’s Ear, Ravenmoor, and finally the Storval Stairs. At the top of the stairs, we headed directly east into the Iron Peaks and the Valley of the Black Tower."
"We snuck past the many camps of giants and into Jorgenfist through some river caves. Lirianne wisely holstered her weapon and we fought quickly and quietly as we penetrated the castle, looking for a way below.
As we lay hidden, a stone giant patrol passed us. That bloody fool Harsk sprang from cover to attack. Before we could slay them, the giants sounded the alarm and more giantkin and their pet bears swarmed us...it was..."
Ezren takes a breath.
"...the survivors ran for the ramp of giant pit. It seemed lead to underneath Jorgenfist. Giants swarmed us from above and below. We were separated. My Contingency spell to teleport back here must have triggered when I was felled..."
He then falls silent.
That way we won't be dropping into the middle of a swarm of stone giants.
Wander grins, her teeth stained red.
"Best to prepare."
She glares at Corisar. "Can you turn stone back into flesh?"
She glares at Liam, Merceil, and Calathes. "Can your weapons pierce granite armor?"
She glares at everyone. "We have no one to mend our wounds. We best prepare for death. And worse."
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Ezren answers Eath'Corisar with wheezing breaths.
"We did not learn more--we were still trying to find a way underneath Jorgenfist where his most powerful allies reside. The ramp we fled to lead down below the fortress."
"Valeros and Harsk fell first, broken like toys by the giant's weapons. Lirianne, Kyra and I ran down the ramp of the pit, hoping to find somewhere beneath Jorgenfist to seek refuge. We were trapped when the Giants and their bears surrounded us." Ezren's brows furrow in thought. "I think Lirianne's guns fell silent before I was struck down. I don't know what happened to Kyra."
"We did not see prisoners above ground...but who knows transpires beneath Jorgenfist."
Ezren's eyes flutter and slip out of focus for a moment. He shakes his head to fend off unconsciousness and answers Merceil.
"Venture Captain Silverwood, Kyra felt he was truthful. I suppose the giant figured we would fail to stop his lord Mokmurian. We all feared it was a trap...but the fort was unaware of our infiltration." Ezren spits. "Until Harsk's thirst for vengeance doomed us all."
Ezren closes his eyes. "If anything, Jorgenfist should not be on alert any more since they...stopped...our group."
"If Ethan still has his mirror, I can use it to spy a cave in the side of the pit. You could teleport there and continue underneath Jorgenfist."
Ezren's eyes snap open at Wander's coughing.
"What was most disturbing of all...the giants wore primitive badges or tattoos displaying their fealty." His gaze sweeps the party. "It was a Sihedron."
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"Another Rune Lord?!!" blurts Adril. "I wish Saranrae would have tossed all of Thassilonian and its cursed fruit into the Pit of Gormuz!"
"One, find out if this Mokmurian is another Rune Lord or harbinger of one. Two, secure whatever is under Jorgenfist by any means necessary." He looks over at Ezren. "And three, bring back the survivors--or their bodies--back home."
Adril stands and plants his feet.
"I'll send some initiates to transport Ezren to my office. I'll notify Ethan and have him meet us there. If you have any other questions or preparations, make them now...we cannot let another Rune Lord wake."
With that, he turns and departs.
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Eath'Corisar, practiced wielder of magic, knows that Flesh to Stone is of the transmutation school of magic.
He remembers from his arcane training that Stone Giants are NOT actually made of stone--the chiseled faces of stone giants are flesh, not rock; their hardened bodies skin, rather than granite; and in their veins runs blood as red as any other, not sand or dust.
While other preparations are being made, Eath' consults with the Grand Lodge's library about Rune Lords (granting a bonus to your Knowledge: History). The Society's recent Varisian adventures and clash with Krune feature prominently in the records, but Eath' teases out some other information from the texts:
Thassilon was founded more than 11,000 years ago by First King Xin who had been exiled from his homeland of Azlant. As the empire grew beyond the bounds of Xin's ability to control, both militarily and administratively, he appointed powerful arcanists as governors to oversee his lands. The mightiest of these were the Runelords, seven of the most skilled wizards in Thassilon, if not all of Golarion. The First King Xin destroyed himself and much of his palace in an unexplained magical event. The Runelords seized the opportunity to rule and subjugated those loyal to Xin, each plotting to become ruler of all Thassilon.
There are many holes in the Society's knowledge of Thassilon and the Runelords, but Eath' reconfirms other information about the Runelords:
The Virtues of Rule (wealth, fertility, honest pride, abundance, eager striving, righteous anger, and well-deserved rest), passed down from the goddess Lissala and First King Xin himself were seen as the benefits of power, and each of the Runelords was drawn towards one of the seven. Over the course of time, the Runelords corrupted these into what modern scholars understand to be the "great sins of the soul," abandoning the positive aspects of each and embracing the negative connotations of each (greed, lust, boastful pride, gluttony, envy, wrath, and sloth) as the rewards of rule. Each of the seven rulers specialized in a single school of rune magic and possessed a mighty weapon which not only served them in battle, but also became a symbol of their rule.
Meanwhile, pages and initiates scurry back and forth, fetching the items Wander and the party request for their mission.
5 Potion of Enlarge Person 250
2 Potion of Fly 1500
1 Wand of Infernal Healing 750
2 Potion of Lesser Restoration 600
2 Restoration Scroll 1400
1 Scroll of Raise Dead 6125
1 Potion of Remove curse 750
1 Potion of Remove Disease 750
2 Potion Remove blindness/deafness 1500
2 Potion of Remove Sickness 100
5 Potions of invigorate 250
2 Dust of emulation? 1600
1 Stone Salve 4000
1 Potion of Owl's Wisdom 300
1 Blood Reservoir of Physical Prowess 2000
1 First Aid Gloves 4500
1 Incandescent Blue Sphere Ioun stone 8000
1 Dull grey Ioun Stone 25
1 Cracked Purple Prism 2000
1 Moderate Fortification 15000
1 Ring of Sustenance 2500
1 Ring of Freedom of Movement 40000
