"Welcome, travelers, to the ancient land of Osirion, where the countless ages are preserved beneath the sand, awaiting your exploration. Please use the following promotional illustrations as a reference when deciding to brave our welcoming and accommodating land."

Ever since we divulged which factions would disappear, the forums have been humming with speculation, questions, and clarifications about exactly how the whole faction retirement process will work. In brief overview, we are removing two factions from the available options for Pathfinder Society Organized Play. These factions are not necessarily disappearing from the face of Golarion, but for a variety of reasons they are withdrawing their direct involvement in the Pathfinder Society. Two new scenarios, #4-21 Way of the Kirin and #4-23 Rivalry's End, allow Lantern Lodge and Shadow Lodge faction PCs respectively the opportunity to play through their factions' conclusions. Of course, anyone can play these scenarios, but there's a special something waiting for members of the above factions. On August 14th, whether a person has played the scenarios or not, the two factions will be removed, and all existing Lantern Lodge and Shadow Lodge characters will have to switch factions.

I'm not in the office today, and neither is anyone else at Paizo. And any of you in the USA also shouldn't be. Because today is a holiday! But that doesn't mean you can't get a glimpse at what's coming in this month's Pathfinder Society Scenarios—The Halls of Dwarven Lore and Way of the Kirin—which are set to release later this week. Enjoy the art, and don't spend too much time in the sun. Happy Memorial Day!

They moved silent as breath through the empty tunnels, tucking charges into crevices and butting them against wooden support beams. The devil's scent of saltpeter made the caverns smell like Hell, ready to burn with a single, ragged spark. Fairy lights danced in the deeper darkness where the Lieutenant and Trilaina licked wicks and set fuses, making certain everything was perfect. Up near the ore doors, Garm and Chaplain laid their casks with held breath. They were so close they could smell the sweat of the Molthuni regulars on the other side of the barred doors.

The assault was precision-perfect, and quiet as a greased whisper. They charged into the blackness, teeth bared, ready to bring permanent silence to the dark places beneath the mountain. Instead they found an empty hallway, the door flanked by dark lanterns and lonely-looking chairs. A deck of cards sat on a scarred tabletop, dog-eared and forlorn. The air tasted stagnant, and cold as second-day stew. They lowered their weapons, and Chaplain pulled the door closed.

The place looked more like a kicked anthill than an iron mine. Built of heavy bulwarks of timber and stone, its arms curved out from the mountain like a mother's arms around her belly. A hundred eyes peered out of the crenelated sockets, sweeping the land. The gate was simply a drawbridge that spanned a dry moat filled with dust and splintered stakes. Pitch or filth lined the bottom--it was impossible to tell from so far away. A portcullis hung ready to fall, cutting the people inside off from anything short of heavy bombardment. Parties of guards, some on foot and some on horse, went in and out, regular as an old man on a steady diet.