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Looks like we need some add'l players! Too bad the others have already played it.
DME: are you going to post to the Recruitment Board? You could also post to this group on the Boards: Flaxseed Pathfinder Lodge.
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Looks like we need some add'l players! Too bad the others have already played it.
DME: are you going to post to the Recruitment Board? You could also post to this group on the Boards: Flaxseed Pathfinder Lodge.
Awaiting Berosius' reply from the other thread. :)
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The party has been summoned to Nerosyan, near the Worldwound.
As you approach, you can see Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury stands on a balcony of Starrise Spire, overlooking Nerosyan. The sounds of saws and hammers echo from the city below. He turns to the tall woman in full-plate armor standing by his side and says, "Ollysta, I believe our Pathfinder agents have arrived."
The Venture-Captain and Ollysta Zadrian, a paladin of Sarenrae and leader of the Silver Crusade, descends to greet the party. She is particularly pleased to see another member of the Silver Crusade is among you, and she smiles warmly at Davina. "Pathfinders, it is my honor to introduce you to Jorsal of Lauterbury, Venture-Captain of Nerosyan."
Jorsal bows slightly and smiles. "A pleasure. As you can see, Nerosyan is still rebuilding. However, thanks to the timely and decisive actions of the Pathfinder Society, Mendev still has a city to rebuild. I want to personally thank those of you who had a direct hand in helping to contain the threat of the Worldwound. We now look for new sites to establish forward bases of operations."
"Yet, even our victories shine a light on our failures. It seems that while we were able to rebuild Nerosyan and drive out the demonic scourge, we could not rebuild the body and mind of one of our own."
Ollysta takes over, "For nearly two years the Silver Crusade has worked with the Pathfinder Society to attempt to cure Valais, a Pathfinder sent to investigate former Venture-Captain Thurl. He kidnapped her, then shattered her mind and body, replacing most of her physique with babau and kalavakus flesh.” The paladin splays her hand and holds it up, as if to the rising sun. “Even the light of the Dawnflower cannot banish Thurl’s darkness; usual healing magic has had no effect."
Jorsal steps forward, "Valais has an idea that she believes could help the Society and herself, but I’ll let her explain it to you. Are there any questions you have about her unique situation before we call her in? I can also answer any questions you have about the crusade against the demons of the Worldwound before we continue."
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A broad-shouldered warrior walks in wearing furs over armor in a mix of ulfen and dwarven attire. He is armed with a longbow slung over his back in addition to two swords strapped over each shoulder. Upon closer inspection it is revealed he is a half elf, but looks and acts nothing like an elf or other fey for that matter. He is silent and dour...
"...Silver Crusade do-gooders..." he mutters under his breathe when they are mentioned in the brief..."Oh my name is Uthred." he says when people look over at him.
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A tall slender assimar woman with glowing blonde hair enters the room. Her skin is pure and unblemished. She is armored in a mithril chain shirt and carries a shield. She scans the room looking for friendly faces.
"Greetings all. I am Davina. Venture captain Jorsal it is good to meet you again. I have not seen you since the Crusade."
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A tall, strong, and absolutely hideous half-orc listens to their orders. He wears full plate armor and a red cloak, so battered it is hardly wearable. Fastening his cloak at the neck is a shiny silver brooch of Ragathiel. He carries a finely crafted nodachi with a blade of solid adamantine. As he has done on previous adventures, he spends much of the briefing flexing and admiring his massive muscles before he realizes the other Pathfinders are watching him. For those who know the half-orc, he is full of bravado and cock-sure, as always.
"Harrow Tatterhood is name. Harrow strongest enforcer of Ragathiel, 'Spec-ial-ity of Harrow be wrecking bad guys...'specially bad guys in cults. Some might think smarter than Harrow, but Harrow fight for right, and also fight to show Harrow better! Harrow will be in front-line kicking butts and taking names, and also knows how to make people share things when not in fight...Harrow have special power make bad guys poop pants."
Something about the half-orc makes it clear messing with him might be a bad idea.
Harrow had brought his shaggy, wild horse of savage temperament, just in case he had a chance to ride him. Those that had seen the two in the past knew they had a love/hate relationship, often kicking or biting each other. [b]"Harrow ready to go. Harrow always think better not ask questions...just get job done. Cryp outside, in case," the half-orc adds.
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An odd sight enters the Pathfinder lodge, bringing with it a breath of heat and the smell of sand and dust. Standing before Venture-Captain Jorsal and the paladin Ollysta is a 6'1 efreeti, his eyes sunken and glowing red. About his neck is a collar, upon which is branded a single rune in Ignan. The efreeti exudes defeat and despair, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed.
"My master, Mareq ibn Bolthuni, the Rejected, the Scorned, the Avenger of all Iniquities, Ambassador Percipient to Golarion from the City of Brass, humbly offers his assistance in the matter of the Pathfinder Valais."
The efreeti bows low and sweeps his hand dramatically towards the door.
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Following the efreeti in the door, timed with the outsider's introduction perfectly, is a man with fiery red hair, an engaging smile, and a confident stride. Well-dressed in a Keleshite (?) courtier's on-the-road outfit and cloak, he snaps his fingers imperiously at the efreeti.
"Must I script you every time, you loathsome squirt of azer diarrhea? How many times do you need to be told, use all my honorifics! The introduction of strangers is where the future begins!"
Mareq, without even turning to Jorsal or Ollysta, speaks. "I apologize for my thrall-- my uh, my charge. He requires constant discipline in the ways of propriety and right," he says quickly, noticing the paladin, Ollysta. "My work with him is yet incomplete."
"Begone, Husarq! You have done your duty. Return to your abode until you are needed again!"
Mareq holds out a simple oil lamp towards the efreeti and shakes it once. The efreeti bows his head again, grimaces, and dissolves into smoke which quickly is sucked into the lamp's mouth.
"Hello, worthy Venture-Captain Jorsal and the esteemed Ollysta of Saranrae. Your fame and worth proceed you, like a wave upon the shore, changing the beach with your strength. I am Mareq ibn Bolthuni al-Shamiri, a humble visitor on this world you call Golarion. You will find me a willing and eager partner in this worthy task. I am able to bring a few small sorceries to bear in our quest, should the need demand it. If the occasion warrants, I can also summon my charge, Husarq, to our aid, though I hold him in little esteem and would not recommend speaking to him at length, as his intellect has fallen from a great height and made him an unsuitable conversation partner."
The man smiles a winning smile of perfectly aligned teeth and begins engaging the room in small talk, going from Jorsal and Ollysta to Davina and Uthred, learning their names and shaking their hands, suggesting to each with his humble and interested demeanor that he would be happy to adventure alongside each one them. With Davina (but not Ollysta) he displays interest in each, bordering ever so subtly on the immodest, yet never venturing into unwanted advances or other rude behavior.
Initially, he deflects inquiries about himself with a soft wave of his hand and a modest grin, replying frequently "Oh, well, I am of no account, yet your tale sounds much more engaging. Tell me more..." But slowly, over time and several drinks, he reveals to one, then another, small bits and pieces of his own self.
Mareq (pronounced with the Ignan hard, snapping k sound), is a native of the City of Brass, having eventually left for Golarion as an ambassador of the City's great vizier. He claims some small efreeti ancestry, thus accounting for his fiery red hair, which some would swear afterwards is actual fire (!). He is a diplomat by trade, but can fire a crossbow at need and bring forth useful magics occasionally. About his efreeti thrall he remains silent, gently and diplomatically changing the subject whenever asked.
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A tall, strong, and absolutely hideous half-orc listens to their orders. He wears full plate armor and a red cloak, so battered it is hardly wearable. Fastening his cloak at the neck is a shiny silver brooch of Ragathiel. He carries a finely crafted nodachi with a blade of solid adamantine. As he has done on previous adventures, he spends much of the briefing flexing and admiring his massive muscles before he realizes the other Pathfinders are watching him. For those who know the half-orc, he is full of bravado and cock-sure, as always.
Mareq steps up and bows courteously to the half-orc. "My good Harrow. What a pleasure it is to see your visage again."
He stares at the half-orc's adamantine blade.
"An excellent blade, to be sure. Shall you put it to use in the name of your fiery empyreal lord, again?"
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Harrow snickers uncontrollably at the mention of the 'loathsome squirt'.
He does seem to like the ifrit well enough, though he does not understand quite some number of the summoner's vocabulary words (not that he would ever say so).
"Harrow have best blade ever made," the half-orc boasts. "Harrow use blade for Ragathiel, for vengeance of rightooos, and for glory of Harrow."
The half-orc also points out, rather boastfully, a belt that made his muscles ripple even more.
"Harrow have muscles on top of muscles now!"
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Jorsal steps forward, "Valais has an idea that she believes could help the Society and herself, but I’ll let her explain it to you. Are there any questions you have about her unique situation before we call her in? I can also answer any questions you have about the crusade against the demons of the Worldwound before we continue."
Mareq steps slightly forward, drawing attention to himself and his questions, "If I may, Venture-Captain, what abilities did Valais gain from the grafting of babau and kalavakus flesh? Does this affect her mental state?"
"Also, what is the current state of affairs here? Will we be venturing into enemy territory/"
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Davina briefly looks at Harrow.
"Hmmm...You HAVE muscles....I guess I'm the brains of this outfit."
She walks over to Mareck.
"I hope your charge can watch his tongue and go easy on the insults?"
She shakes her head and continues.
"At least we didn't get stuck with that half orc witch who carries around shrunken heads and hangs out with that dirty goat. She smells! I don't think she's EVER taken a batch let alone knows WHAT soap is.. She flicks her hair and the light in the room sparkles off it.
She finds the most comfortable chair in the room and sits down.
"Now Jorsal we have some questions..."
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A gnome with bright orange hair, formerly blue, and no eyebrows bursts in through the door. "SORRY!" He pants. "I'm late! Penelope wouldn't settle in the stable and i had to stay until she calmed down. What did i miss?" He says. When he notices Harrow, Berosius and Mareck he smile excitedly. "So were going on another adventure right? Cool!"
Once filled in.
"Thats terrible. How can we help? What is her plan and is she fully there? No Thurl left over right?" Quartz asks. "Of course I trust that the crusade has checked her fully and has no doubts. But if there is a hidden effect on her if she gets close to something... That wont happen right?"
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"Harrow Tatterhood is name. Harrow strongest enforcer of Ragathiel, 'Spec-ial-ity of Harrow be wrecking bad guys...'specially bad guys in cults. Some might think smarter than Harrow, but Harrow fight for right, and also fight to show Harrow better! Harrow will be in front-line kicking butts and taking names, and also knows how to make people share things when not in fight...Harrow have special power make bad guys poop pants."
Both Ollysta and Jorssal raise an eyebrow at Harrow's demeanor. But, at the mention of Ragathiel, the nod--seeming to understand Harrow better. When the cavalier/inquisitor mentions his special brown noise power, Ollysta actually smiles: "I suppose that is more merciful than slaying your enemies." And she offers the half-orc a collegial fist-bump.
____________________________________________________________"Must I script you every time, you loathsome squirt of azer diarrhea? How many times do you need to be told, use all my honorifics! The introduction of strangers is where the future begins!"
...
"Hello, worthy Venture-Captain Jorsal and the esteemed Ollysta of Saranrae. Your fame and worth proceed you, like a wave upon the shore, changing the beach with your strength. I am Mareq ibn Bolthuni al-Shamiri, a humble visitor on this world you call Golarion. You will find me a willing and eager partner in this worthy task. I am able to bring a few small sorceries to bear in our quest, should the need demand it. If the occasion warrants, I can also summon my charge, Husarq, to our aid, though I hold him in little esteem and would not recommend speaking to him at length, as his intellect has fallen from a great height and made him an unsuitable conversation partner."
Recognizing that the Pathfinder Society is an inclusive organization, Jorsal and Ollysta ignore the "loathsome squirt" remark and bow their heads in greeting to Mareck and Husarq. "We have read your chronicles and know you bring much to this mission."
____________________________________________________________"If I may, Venture-Captain, what abilities did Valais gain from the grafting of babau and kalavakus flesh? Does this affect her mental state?"
Jorsal responds: "Thurl used her in his experiments. He replaced much of her body with demonic flesh and suffused them into her essence. Thurl was a dwarven demonologist and former Pathfinder venture-captain. He worked out of Nerosyan in his own lodge, attempting to study the demons to find their weaknesses. Apparently, he was corrupted by his own fascination."
Ollysta adds: "We’ve tried removing the demon flesh and using regeneration magic to regrow her human body, but the demonic essence is so infused that the demon flesh grows back. Some have considered powerful resurrection magic, but we’re afraid her soul might not be able to return. Perhaps you should meet her now."
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"The Crusade has certainly calmed down. The demon armies have retreated and crusaders seek to reclaim land inside the Worldwound and to build more wardstones to further contain the demonic threat."
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"Thats terrible. How can we help?"
Ollysta says, "We'll let Valais herself explain the situation."
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Valais says, "Greetings Pathfinders, My name is Valais. I hope that you do not find my appearance too disturbing AND GROVEL IN FEAR. I need your help investigating a mystery and Jorsal won’t let me go outalone, skulking in the dark, waiting."
"I've been having strange dreams lately about stone halls, a terrible beast, and a bleeding tree. Echoing throughout is a single word: 'Laktharis.' Our scholars say he is A POWERFUL SARKORIAN GOD. I've also felt a compulsion to find something in the Worldwound, dark and hidden."
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Jorsal interjects, "We’d like you to escort her and help her overcome any trials. Keep her safe and watch for anything that could help her condition. While out there, the Crusade asks that we keep an eye out for any abandoned buildings or fortresses we could use and to ensure they are habitable. The crusaders have already sent out a scout, an elf named Shyael. She hasn't reported in for a week and they’d like an update on her progress. If you don't run into her, just report your findings about potential sites directly to me."
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"And greetings to you, Valais," says Mareq, with a polite bow. Without batting an eye, he steps forward and begins speaking with her, as if all was normal and she didn't look like a monstrosity from the Realm of Nightmares.
His smile is genuine and intrigued as he hears the different parts of her personality come forth in her speech.
"What does the tree bleed, may I ask? The blood of man or of something else?"
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Listening to Valais speak of "Laktharis," Mareq wonders if he has ever heard of such a god on his travels across the multiverse. Perhaps something in the library of Yndri Ysalaa, the White Mage of the City of Brass.
"Ollysta of Saranrae, what can you tell us of the lost gods of Sarkoris? Do YOU know of this powerful Sarkorian god, Laktharis?"
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'by the heavens what happened to this poor person" Uthred thinks to himself and has to turn away during the brief to pretend looking at something else lest he act extremely rude... after the speech Uthred just nods and then gauges the capabilities of his companions...
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"What does the tree bleed, may I ask? The blood of man or of something else?"
"It's a fairly large tree with gnarled limbs and no leaves. Cracks in the tree bleed and burn!"
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"Ollysta of Saranrae, what can you tell us of the lost gods of Sarkoris? Do YOU know of this powerful Sarkorian god, Laktharis?"
Valais answers: "Our scholars say he is A POWERFUL SARKORIAN GOD. The Worldwound used to be called Sarkoris before the demons slaughtered the weak. The clans of Sarkoris worshiped innumerable gods BECAUSE THEY WERE WRETCHED. Some even had personal gods they could summon to their sides. Known as god callers, they were the most revered members of Sarkorian society."
____________________________________________________________Based on the results of a Knowledge (history) or Knowledge (religion) check, party members might know more about the history of Sarkoris.
Based on the results of a Diplomacy check to gather information or a Knowledge (local) check, party members may acquire information about the current activities in Nerosyan.
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Harrow, not one to be scared of much aside from scorned half-ling girlfriends, swallowed hard as the monstrous woman briefed them on the situation.
He stared at her one good eye, and would not allow his gaze to move even slightly from that one patch of skin. He shifted noticeably in his chair toward his best friend, Berosius.
"Harrow think maybe time to start. Harrow want help lady with one good eye."
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When the monstrous Valais appeared, Berosius, small and easily overlooked, took an unconscious half-step behind Harrow. Also not a great view, but somewhat safer.
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"Venture-Captain Jorsal, are there any Sarkorian tribes currently operating in the target area that are attempting to reclaim their lands and reestablish their communities? Any that worship(ped) Laktharis? Any we could consider allies?"
Jorsal responds: "The church of Iomedae, appalled by the demonic invasion, declared the Mendevian Crusades in order to drive back the demons. However, whilst they have been somewhat successful in containing the threat, Sarkoris itself remains firmly under demonic control. Only the remote southern town of Gundrun remains free--mainly because the demons have more or less forgotten about it in their larger conflict with Mendev. Refugees of lost Sarkoris huddle here, all that remains of a once-proud culture. I have been involved with the pragmatic aspects of demonic warfare; I know little of the culture or the current ways of the refugees. I would expect them to be a complicated mix of emotions--grateful for allies against demons, frustrated by the plight of their people, and angry about the state of the Worldwound."
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Valais doesn't know exactly where she is leading the party. "The path feels familiar, like a dance you can only remember when you hear the melody," she says in a rare moment of complete lucidity.
Valais leads the party through the many alleys and side streets of Nerosyan. She heads east to Thurl's old Pathfinder lodge, then northwest, before stopping in front of a small burned down shop near the city's western walls. She sifts her way through the rubble, uncovering a concealed trap door that leads into a smugglers tunnel that travels beyond the walls of Nerosyan and past the Egelsee River.
While traversing the tunnel, the party passes through the protection of the wardstones. Collectively, you feel much more vulnerable now.
At this moment, Valais pauses. She seems lost and confused for a moment before finding the path again and continuing west. Once the party leaves the city, Valais leads you out into the Worldwound and toward the demonic city of Storasta, through the scorched hills that used to be the Falling Forest. The journey from Nerosyan through the worldwound takes on foot.
- A battle between crusaders and demons in the worldwound. You espy this from a distance.
- A horde of demons entering the worldwound from the abyss. This, too, you espy from a distance.
Thankfully, you do not come across anything that poses a significant challenge to adventurers of your caliber. Instead, you encounter fiendish small animals and wandering dretches, the least of the demonkind, which you frighten off or dispatch without expending any resources. In the distance, the ground occasionally explodes in geysers of raw elemental energy.
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You reach some ruins. Picks and shovels lay haphazardly around an excavation camp. The spire and roof of a stone building peek out from the dense, ashen mud.
The cliff edge of the dig rises 20 feet, though the rough stone looks somewhat easy to scale. The roof only rises 10 feet out of the earth, but has smooth walls.
Valais has kept a hood drawn over her face for most of the journey. Now she stays behind the party. She has learned that people tend to treat her with disgust and hostility, especially crusaders.
A humanoid with a bow stands atop the partially excavated structure. Once you come within 60 feet, the humanoid looks at you intently. Over a dozen other humanoids stand along the edge of the ridge, digging away at the dirt to uncover the ancient structure. There are a handful of additional humanoids acting as overseers. (Foremen?) The workmen and overseers ignore you. Only the humanoid with a bow seems to acknowledge your presence, and does so with an intense stare. Her bow is not nocked and aimed at you, but she is at the ready.
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Harrow surveys the scene around him, looking more reserved or apprehensive than normal.
"Harrow say we go most west...tiny bit north and west. These be ruin of a fallen Sarkorian place. Think called Dredarin. Fallen Forest close."
Once they approach the partially excavated structure, Harrow raises a hand to wave to the woman on top of the building.
"No shooting. Harrow Tatterhood and friends only good guys here to help!"
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"I think what the scholar is trying to convey is that we need to head west by northwest. These are the ruins of a fallen Sarkorian settlement called Dredarin I believe. We are very close to the Fallen Forest. Best be on our guard." Uthred tells the others and then slaps the half ork on the back as a good gesture.
'this Harrow character is very persuasive it seems' Uthred mutters to himself after observing the half ork begin talking to the woman...
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Mareq shivers as he passes through the wardstones' barrier. He is familiar with the feeling of planar barriers meant to keep things out... or in. From his earliest childhood, barricaded in the closet his brothers and sisters called his "palace," he could feel the walls between the Plane of Fire and... other places; the walls between him and freedom; the shimmering walls between him and salvation. To a young Mareq they were meant to imprison him. But as he grew in size and wisdom, he realized they were likely to keep enemies OUT of Bayt Shamir.
Now, he feels the planar walls shatter every time he summons Shit-For-Brains, Dung-Face, the Killer of Childhood, the Hated Horror, Husarq.
Mareq grimaces as he notices the similarities between the barriers. His mind shifts to Husarq. But soon, watching the demons swarming crusaders, watching them slip into the Worldwound from the Abyss, his hatred is overcome by fear for his own safety.
Maybe I will find a new way for you to die, Uxoricidal Imbecile. Today... or tomorrow... we shall see. I shall watch the demons tear you apart. Mareq shudders in some sort of sick ecstasy at the thought of Husarq being ripped limb from limb. Or maybe eaten. Or maybe crucified. Or, or or... Ahh, the possibilities are endless.
Mareq smiles and tells his compatriots that he must stop briefly to summon his thrall to his side.
"We shall need his strong arm as we go forward, my fellows."
What to do with my time? thinks Husarq. He looks about the small room, its polished brass walls curving around. He can feel the mystic barrier curving too, matching the room's brass walls, keeping him in his small abode.
He looks at the small wooden chair he brought with him when his Master returned him. It was after fighting the Sage dragon in the desert of... what was the name of that place on this world? Osirion! The local Osiriani style is beautiful... or was, until his Master flooded his room and summoned him forth again. The chair's papyrus reed backing is soggy and molding now.
Husarq hates water. It molds his chair. It quenches his power. He doesn't know why. But it doesn't feel good on his skin. And when he breathes it in... oh, terrible. The coughing and retching are horrid. Water suffusing his lungs, lungs meant for the burning air of Fommok Mahdinat, its charcoal streets, the smell of the azer slaves' forge on the Street of Pasha Zorayan, where war blades are pounded into shape. Husarq always thinks of blood and death and victory, the wash of enemies' life sluicing over his body, whenever he smells the forge.
Blades are meant for war. The efreeti looks at his sole, beloved possession in this closet-sized room. His blade. His great scimitar. The curve. The beauty of the tang, wrapped in salamander skin leather.
Al-Saif, al-Saif, Husarq thinks.
The unseen walls suddenly shudder. Husarq can almost see them. A second wall passes over his own Closet and then is gone. Only his mystic walls remain, keeping him here in the room.
The air, over a short time, gets musty, earthy. As if he were breathing in dirt. Like when he was fighting the shaitan on that... on that... that time when he was... elsewhere. Dirty earth. Mud and stone.
Without warning the roof of The Closet tears open and pebbles, rocks, dirt cascade down, like an earthen flood filling his brass-walled room. He is up to his chest, his neck, his nose in dirt and then... blackness. Covered, drowning in dirt. The two worst things. Dirt, but like drowning in water, dirt filling his lungs.
Must... reach... top. Get out. Dying of dirt! Husarq thinks to himself as he swims (he would never call it that) to the top of what was once his little room.
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Mareq watches with pleasure as Husarq bursts forth from his lamp, buried beneath a foot of demon-tainted earth. It is an explosion upward of dirt and rocks, cascading down like brown, earthy rain upon Mareq's smiling face.
"OFFSPRING OF A SALAMANDER WHORE! What took you so long? Was your Closet too comfortable to leave? Were you admiring your so-intelligently-named blade?" Mareq says to Husarq as the efreeti crouches, covered in dirt, spitting out rocks and pebbles and moist plant matter. He strikes Husarq across the face <slap!> and motions to the forward position among the pathfinders. "To the front! Protect me, slave!"
Husarq stumbles away, pulling al-Saif from his back scabbard, and takes up his position at the front of the Pathfinders.
Mareq crouches down and digs through the dirt to find Husarq's lamp where he buried it. The damaged, crushed thing slowly reforms in his hand as he concentrates on it. The dirt sluices off it, out of it, and onto the ground. The brass lamp gleams, ready for its guest once again.
"Hehe... yessss. Demons and death. Dismemberment. Disembowelment. Mmmmm. Sooo many words. So many ways to say, 'Justice' in this world's Taldane language," mutters Mareq as he follows the group onward into the Worldwound.
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(Why can't I tell what this creature is? wonders Mareq.)
The humanoid looks at the party. She asks, "Jorsal of Lauterbury sent you?"
As if the land itself wished to mirror the diffused tensions, a number of magma vents erupt. Thankfully, no party member is in the "danger zone" and nobody takes 2d6 of geyser damage while being pin-cushioned by a bunch of arrows.
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The humanoid pulls back her hood revealing a female elf. "I am Shyael. Well met, Pathfinders. Well met, allies of the Crusade."
"I adjure you, help me to guard these Sarkorians from the dangers of the Worldwound as they finish clearing the entrance to this cathedral of Laktharis. In return for helping them recover their ancestral lands, they have agreed to allow the Crusade to build a fortress nearby to patrol the Worldwound! The Crusade sent me; it is my responsibility to see the Sarkorians settled safely."
An idea pops into her head: "Erastil be praised! It is good fortune that you arrived when you did. Ancient ruins are a Pathfinder specialty. Would you lead the expedition into this long lost cathedral? None are more suited to make sure it's safe for our Sarkorian friends."
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Valais pulls her cloak more tightly around her to hide her demonic features from the Paladin of Erastil. She says to the party: "I am drawn to this place."
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Harrow looks at Valais, glad she is wearing the hood and hoping it stays on.
As he watches her, it occurs to him to try something he has not yet tried before. He uses his newly-granted power to cycle through all the alignment extremes to determine what her inclinations are.
Then he nods to the elf.
"Harrow want to help. Harrow like ruins, if ruins not full of rivers of gold that turn people mad. Well, you not know Harrow just explore ruin like that, but hopefully this one not have river, too."