DM Dr Evil's PFS - 01-47 The Darkest Vengeance (Inactive)

Game Master DM DoctorEvil

It isn’t every day that one receives an invitation to the Karcau Opera House, with the ticket prices being what they are—not to mention the cost of seats in a private box. Of course, as soon as the usher leads the PCs to their seats, it becomes obvious why the Society has sent them
to enjoy a night at the opera. Already seated within the private booth, a lean Ustalavic noblewoman waits, watching the show with detached enthusiasm. She turns slowly, the crimson of her elegant gown contrasting starkly with her dark hair, pale skin, and sharp features. She motions to nearby seats and dismisses the attending usher.

"Thank you for coming. I am Venture-Captain Basia Kalistoff, currently without a home lodge. The Decemvirate requested that I speak with you here, in private, to discuss a problem that needs sorted out. I trust you’ve heard of Skeldon Miregrold?"

Regardless of how the PCs answer, Venture-Captain Kalistoff continues:
"Miregrold is a disreputable and duplicitous rogue of my own, noble, Ustalavic blood—my second cousin, in fact, though I’m loathe to admit it. He’s also quite renowned in our little Society, though again, few would boast of associating with him. When his father passed, Skeldon invested most of his sizable inheritance in illicit trade operations with the dark denizens that dwell below this city. Though he is valuable as a font of knowledge about the subterranean passages below—and the
Darklands in general—he’d sell out his dying mother if he thought he could profit from it."

"Despite my personal warnings, the Decemvirate granted him permission to open a lodge in Karcau, though this grant came with several stipulations. As I’d suspected, none of these conditions have been met. The Society requested Skeldon send them his research notes along with some samples of a rare mineral he’s being experimenting with called aureolyte. Neither the notes nor the samples ever arrived. Furthermore, it’s been a month since Skeldon contacted the Decemvirate, who are increasingly concerned about the additional finances they granted him to conduct his research. Other sources have led us to believe he has squandered this money for his own purposes and owes significant sums to one of Karcau’s most influential crime families."

"That's what we need you for. Make your way to the Karcau Lodge and present Skeldon with these transfer orders."She slides a stack of sealed envelopes across the table. "Once inside,try to collect whatever information you can about Skeldon, his side deals, and the kind of trouble he's in. It would be even better if you could procure copies of his research and a sample of aureolyte. The Manor sits on a sizable hillside property just south of town. Any questions?"

Some of you may have met or heard of Skeldon Miregold or you may have a working knowledge about Ustalav.

As far as my character changes, we can either retcon this character to be the one I've been playing as, or do new introductions...I don't really have a preference.

Silverback is an incredibly tall, hunched elf. Though his stature and scars suggest he may have been a warrior in his youth, that almost appears another lifetime. Unlike most of his ageless kind, he seems old and frail. His weak form seems almost as if it had been stretched too thin.

Long, silver hair flows down his back in wispy patches.

"Eh? I can't hear you with all the confounded singing! Speak up! Ustalav! I remember when that had nothing but a couple Varisians in tents. All the blasted fog is a new thing, too! Well, it's been too many centuries since I visited that place...all I recall is a spectacularly charred mutton chop, a lass named Helena, and some upstart tyrant who could only whisper...bah!"

His rounded back and shoulders rest heavily on a cane. "I know everything there is to know about the most majestic of the races...less about the humans. I'll support you whipper-snappers with spells...even the fabric of time I can manipulate."

knowledge local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Orovan listens, frowning a bit. "Sounds like someone I've done business with, but the name isn't familiar."

At the remarks of the withered elf, Orovan responds, "Looks like you might've overused some of those tricks..."

"Overuse of bricks? In Ustalav? I don't know where you got that information, young one, but I don't think that's accurate..."

The VC interrupts with a scowl on her face. "Any questions, I said? You can take your foolish banter elsewhere. As for Ustalav, it is the finest place in Golarion, your opinion be damned!" She looks around the table at each of severely, awaiting a pertinent question.

The ancient Silverback, seemingly not hearing that the VC is speaking to him, elbows Orovan in the ribs.

"I think she wanted you to ask questions about those Ustalav bricks..."

"Do we just go in and ask to speak to Skeldon? If he has a crime family mad at him, it seems like dropping his name around could get us into some trouble."

The haughty VC ignores the old elf completely, addressing Orovan's question with a superior air:

"Miregold Manor is his home and erstwhile lodge. It's not like you'll be asking for him all over town. Go to his home, give him the orders, find out about the aureolyte and whatever trouble he is in. Report back to me. Simple really, even a mindless brute like yourself should be able to pull it off."

"Thanks." Orovan says with a smile and a wink.
Diplomacy (get my flirt on): 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (10) - 2 = 8

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

Maximilian has never been to Ustalav before, and much of what he knows from stories is likely wrong, or at least exaggerated. Having been sent here by the Society, he's not going to pass up a chance to see the legendary Karcau Company perform, and he is paying more attention to the show than to the Venture Captain's instructions. "Deliver papers to the lodge, sure," he confirms distractedly.

"Will you two be quiet," he snaps at his companions, "I'm trying to listen to -- what? They skipped the entire third movement of Nami's death aria! But that's crucial to understanding Isola's motivation in the fifth act..." he trails off into a sullen silence.

Silverback looks at his companions.

"We haven't all the time in the world. Well, at least you don't. Let's get on our way!" he says a bit too loudly.

Ruinor listens as intently as he can with his companions babbling and tries to recall what he knows about Skeldon Miregrold and Ustalav but is too distracted by the noise to be able to concentrate.

Know Local: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12 wow, what sad rolling. So much for being the brains of the group. We are clueless. lol

Ruinor shakes his head disappointed. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with him. I don't think I run in the same circles as he does. Given that he is no longer communicating with the Society, I doubt he will come willingly. To what degree are we to persuade him to come along?" Ruinor says, raising an eyebrow.

"Ustalav, uh?" a voice emerges from the shadows, showing a little halfling in the corner of the room.

He is about 3ft. tall, have one eye eyeglass, brown hair with some dreadlocks and uses a corsair-like clothes.

"I've never went there before", he continues. "I think it will be interesting. Explore, report and cooperate, all right, guys?

The halfling looks at the others in the room, waiting for their answer.

The halfling seems to be sad, because no one commented on what he said.

Orovan looks confusedly at the halfling, wondering how long he's been standing there and what his business is with them.

VC Kalistoff pipes in just then. "Oh yes, I thought you could use a bit more firepower on your squad so I invited Bernard here to join you. He may not be much to look at, but his shots pack a punch. Take care with him and do try to return him undamaged."

Hearing Maximilian's knowledge of Ustalvic opera, the severe lady, nearly melts at his words. "Perhaps, when this is all over, you might join me here again, Max? We might create some movements of our own to fill in the intermissions, eh?"

Just continuing the meme of every female NPC falling for Max...Let's cut scene, before this gets out of hand, to outside Miregold Manor.

Good call. Darn that Max.

Orovan flips through the pages of "Religion and the Populous", a generic volume on knowing thy god and thy neighbor. Probably never meant for a cultist such as himself.
"So we've arrived? Alright, someone else do the talking. When I talk to people, they just kind of... collapse. With bruises."

The Karcau Lodge is located in the manor of the modest hillside estate just south of the city that overlooks Karcau's opulent spires and vaulted roofs. A lone cobbled path traverses the property, weaving through the copses of dully-colored, gangly trees and overgrown grass. Eventually, the path makes its way toward a small two-story manor house built in the classic Ustalavic style. Its steep roof is shingled with dark slate, and elaborately carved bargeboard highlights its high cross gables.. Its lead framed windows rise in slender, cathedral-like arches. A pair of pointed turrets flanks the manor's thick, iron-shod front doors.

All the window drapes have been drawn closed. The iron front door is quite ornate, covered with decorative filigree and has a lion-headed knocker and massive handle, both made of tarnished bronze.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
"Someone broke in here. They did it up nice afterward though. I'm guessing we have a surprise waiting for us. Who votes for sneaking in?" Orovan says, examining the lock and then raising his hand to vote for his own suggestion.

Ruinor looks over at the half-orc with raised eyebrows and a look of surprise. "Wow, Orovan, nice observation. It's nice to know you're more than just muscles and you actually have something useful between your ears,"he says with a grin.

"That makes one of us." The tusked orc says casually. "Don't ask me how I know that about locks."

"Eh? Someone broke in? This was an empty field last time I passed through here...wasn't much to steal."

The ancient elf examines the broken lock.

"Still...transfer orders are going to be harder to give if we can't find this lowly Miregrold fellow. Maybe there's another way in other than the front door?" he says as he looks around.

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

After the half-orc's words, Bernand holds his crossbow in hands.

"Well, let's check it out, boys."

He looks like a real brave warrior.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23

Ruinor scans the area around the front door. "I agree Silverback. Since I don't think any of us can pick a lock or disable a trap, let's see if there is another entrance that hopefully hasn't been tampered with."

A quick stroll around the perimeter of the manor house reveals there are several windows, but all have the drapes drawn and nothing is visible through them. Around back, stairs lead up to a rear door which is made of sturdy wood and stands firmly in its jamb. It also appears to be locked fast.

"Hey, Orovan, can you push down the front door for us, please?", Bernard says with a smile in the face.

"Well then..." Silverback observes.

"In times past, when we were missing the critical skills of a locksmith, the strapping young lads would handle jobs like this. Perhaps a swift kick might do the trick. Once, I might have handled this with ease, but now I'm afraid I would throw my back out."

"Well, I'd better get it right the first time or they'll know we're coming." Orovan says, preparing to charge the door. "Whoever 'they' are..."
He surveys the door and pauses to mention, "You two stand there and give it a good kick when I hit it. Ready? One, two..."
Three! STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

Four! STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Five! STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6
Six! STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

"...Okay, any other ideas?"

Are you battering the front door or the rear one? Bernard say "front" above, so I am assuming at until further notice.

Orovan batters the door but the iron-wrought front door barely budges. It does, however make significant noise. Even the normally robust fists of the brawler make little dent in the sturdy door.

You can roll damage if you like, but hardness 10 means you'll be there for a while unless someone brought adamantine.

"Hmm... What about to try on the other door? I can help you with some pushing kicks too."

If the half-orc agree, Bernard will help him with the other door.

STR - Aid Another: 1d20 ⇒ 13

Orovan shrugs and makes for the back door.
Strength: 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 3 + 2 = 14
Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

"Well, what now?"

"What kind of half orc are you, who can't break down a simple door, uh?"

Now the halfling starts to search for any other ways to enter the house, or where can have a 'key' to enter there.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

"We must enter this premises!" Silverback insists.

"That's no way to break a door down! Do it more like this!" the ancient elf says as he puts his shoulder to the door. Though it appears he may have once been strong, the group winces as it appears the elf might break now.

str check assist: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (18) - 2 = 16

I think we need to force the door, but you can take 20 on the check...it just might make a lot of noise. Since we have already made a fair amount of that, I don't see a difference in continuing until you break the door. That said, I thought we were at the back door trying to get in, not the front.

Well we're at the back door now either way. I'm fine with taking 20, I just wanted to see if anyone wanted to do anything first.
GM, assume I take 20 if nobody objects.

No problem for me. :)

Ruinor winces everytime Orovan tries to break down the door but eventually he can't keep a grin coming over his face.

"Good effort, Orovan. At this point in time, should we just knock? I think they know we are here," he says jokingly.

It seems we don't have a choice on taking 20.

Maximilian shakes his head and rests his forehead in his palm, sighing, "and here we are in the obligatory slapstick interlude."

Slamming his beefy shoulders into the back door over and over again, Orovan doesn't have sense to quit before the door starts to shake in its jamb. Eventually the wood frame splinters, and the door bursts free, swinging open with ease. Orovan's bruised shoulder may never be the same, but at long last the Pathfinder's have secured entry to Miregold's manor.

The door opens onto a cold porch where iron lattice-work covered with thorny vines protects the contents from would be thieves. A stack of split firewood lies here as well as three sealed barrels, in the far corner. Another wooden door, not as stout as the entrance, leads into the main house.

"Nice, boys! Let's check this out, uh? Hey, Orovan, could you please lead us inside there?"

The halfling load his crossbow and keep it in hands.

"I've got a hunch..." Orovan says, indicating the barrels. He slowly creeps towards them to examine them for danger.
Stealth: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (11) - 1 = 10
Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

Silverback nods in appreciation as the door finally bursts open.

"Should have done that the first time!" he says with a crotchety voice.

He watches the others enter the room, but stays behind at the entry as he determines whether it is safe to enter.

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12

"Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?" Silverback says with a disapproving voice.

"Get in there and look around! Or do you want me to do everything?!" he says, becoming increasingly crotchety.

"Ok, ok, Mr. Tetchy. I'll search for something too, ok?", Bernard smiles to the elf, than starts to look for something hidden in the room.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

Bernard and Orovan begin searching the cold porch. At first they don't notice anything out of the unusual, but when they approach the barrels, they smell something putrid rising from them.

"Alright. Orovan, can you...?" says the halfling, while points to the barrels, hinting for him to check them.

Orovan moves forward and tries to open one. "Everyone back up and hold your breath."
Str?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
Str?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Str?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13

Ruinor steps up near the doorway, but stops outside of the porch and peers in to see what is going on.

The burly half-orc finally succeeds in opening one of the outer barrels, and quickly wishes he wound't have. The pungent, sickening smell of decaying flesh wafts out.

When he can breathe again, Orovan looks into the befouled barrel and unfortunately, sees a pair of fine explorers boots looking back at him.

All with in 5' of the barrel must make a DC 12 Fort or be nauseated for 1 round. Bernard, and Orovan are the only ones affected by this scent for now.

Do you have a map of the place to show us?

Fort: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16