DM Khel's Core Wounded Wisp (Inactive)

Game Master Khelreddin

Tog scratches his head.

"Illusionist... be wary."

Rokdor’s sharp eyes pick out the curve of a circular shape inscribed on the floor, or rather a bit of the curve which sticks out from under the round carpet. Adding her magical senses to her investigation, the stout astute dwarf is able to determine that the circle is infused with conjuration magic.

How did Tog know there was an illusionist? Because I forgot to cover the word 'illusionist' on the map? I so cleverly cropped it out of his picture caption...

Halp! It's a tarp!

Also, don't half-orcs have to be level 12 or something before they can use four-syllable words? Or does Tog have some obscure (Core) feat that allows it?

Rokdor points to the circle on the floor. "Conjures something," she informs the others in her deep voice. "Don't go near it."

Moving cautiously into the house, she skirts the rug as she begins a thorough examination of the room.

Sobestian snaps out of his daze. "Oh dear! I could have tried to pick that lock. Much less destructive...."

Following the group into the house, his eyes widen as Rokdor calls out a warning. "Oh! What do you think it conjures? A barlor? A mutant ogre, maybe?"

Giving the rug wide berth, Sobestian moves to the room the gnome was in. "Yoo Hoo! You have visitors!

Opps, I honestly don't remember where I saw the word but must have been the map, sorry about that.

Lets try a slightly different line:

Tog say "Tog not Gnome enthusiast... be wary."

Tog will skirt the edge of the rug and peer through the door on the right.

Sobestian and Tog move to the door of the study and open it. Within, they see the gnome, still pulling books off the shelf, studying them a moment and replacing them, a contented smile on his face. He does not react in any way when Sobestian calls out.

Tog – not to worry on the illusionist reference. You are the last person I would think was metagaming anything. I was mostly making fun of myself, because I caught the word ‘illusionist’ on the bottom of Fimbrik’s picture just before I shared it with you all, and was so pleased with myself for editing it out – and completely missed it on the map. xD

"Tog will go wake Gnome, he must be sleep reading"

Tog will walk up to the Gnome and tap him on the shoulder.

Sobestian nods. "Ok. Though I'm not sure how you stand and read while sleeping. Maybe he is deaf."

The gnome does not respond to Tog’s tap, and the clever half-orc notices that his finger might have passed right through the gnome’s shoulder.

Scenario says it’s a DC 20 to disbelieve this, though I think you guys are there already…roll if you like, or infer what’s going on and move on.

Will: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21 Dang. Sobestian was going to think the gnome was a ghost.

"Oh dear! It appears to be an illusion! How curious!"

Tog turns back to Sobestian

"Oh dear, what if real gnome has been kilt?"

Tog turns back around and pokes the figment several times to be sure.

Wicket waddles into the room studying everything carefully. He approaches the false gnome with wide-eyed wonder.

”OOoooooo it’s an illusion! A good one even!” he explains. ”Do you think he left it here just to have some fun?”

For all the Pathfinders’ concerns and curiosity, the illusory gnome offers no explanations, but goes on perusing the books on the shelves, as if content to do so until the end of time.

Wicket frowns a bit at the illusion's aloof behavior and pokes around the room.

Take 20!: 20 + 8 = 28

Wicket’s slow, methodical poking reveals a total of four chairs, a table, a statue of a gnome gazing eagerly into the distance and a whole mess o’ books, none of which are of any particular value.

Wicket artfully mimics the statue's pose.

Perform: Act: 1d20 ⇒ 12

Tog pokes Wicket.

"Nothing useful, huh? Tog go check next door."

Tog heads over to the next door which he knocks on, waits a moment and then opens.

No one answers Tog’s polite knock, and on opening the door to this chamber, Tog discovers more seating! The room contains enough chairs, pillows, and desks to accommodate at least six visitors. An examination of the desk along the southern wall reveals a neatly penned letter. Underneath the letter is a hastily scrawled note in similar handwriting, containing nothing but the name “Karina Clamp.”

Rokdor nods slowly. "No date," she observes. May as well look through the rest of the place, though probably won't find anything else.

Glancing around again, the dwarf moves cautiously to the next room.

Sobestian reads over the letter, then let's out a small giggle. "How clever! What do you think "waffle" is a password for?"

With her casual, last-minute glance, Rokdor notes a couple of small glass bottles sitting on the windowsill.

The dwarf moves carefully to the windowsill (avoiding any suspicious-looking rugs) and picks up the vials, sniffing each one in turn.

Tog scratches his head "Tog know waffles are delicious, but think password is wiffle. A much less delicious password."

Tog scratches head. "Maybe we should check rest house for spare lock before we leave."

Tog will check out the doors on the other side, once again avoiding the rug.

After some diligent sniffing, Rokdor is able to identify the contents of the vials: a potion of cure moderate wounds and a potion of lesser restoration.

Across the living room, Tog opens the double doors and sees a large, elegant bedroom, quite unoccupied except for a bed, a desk, and the obligatory scattering of chairs, to cater to the gnomish love of sitting.

A quick look up the stairs reveals an unfinished second floor, and the stairs down lead to an unused basement filled with stacked newspapers.

Nothing really left to see here. You’ve checked out the stonemason’s tomb and Fimbrik’s house, the Wall of Names is the only location mentioned in Foster and Adolphus’ notes that you have not yet visited.

Tog scratch head.
"Rokdor, can you help fix lock we broke, would be shame for Gnome to get robbed because we broke lock."

In the basement full of unopened newspapers, Wicket and Sobestian stage an impromptu competition, to see who can find the oldest one. Wicket is amazed to find one from eleven years ago, and then disappointed when Sobestian digs one up from 26 years back. They both begin furiously digging through the piles and discover monthly newspapers going back decades, even a couple of centuries. It becomes very clear that Fimbrik has been out of town for a long, long time.

Rokdor shrugs at the orc's comment. "Not much to steal," she mutters, but she nonetheless moves to the door and attempts to bend the lock back into working order.

Strength?: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
Strength?: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Tog speaks his mind.
"Tog think time to go to wall."

Wicket harrumph at the half-elf's obvious cheating during the otherwise friendly competition. "Yeah, let's go!"

Sobestian gives Wicket an apologetic look and follows along. "I'm hungry for waffles now. Why did you bring them up, Tog?" Moving down the street, Sobe looks around. "Does anyone know the way to this wall?"

Even such junior Pathfinders know that the Wall of Names can be found on the grounds of the Grand Lodge, the home and heart of the Pathfinder Society. After securing Fimbrik’s door – kind of – the party makes their way to the lodge, though their progress is delayed somewhat by Sobestian's hazy recollection of a place that has decent waffles, and his insistence they take a roundabout route to go by it on their way.

The Wall of Names is a curving monument of black glass that stands atop a small hill at the western edge of the lodge’s grounds. Trees surround the hill, providing ample shade and privacy for those visiting the wall to remember fallen comrades. Carved into the wall are the name and date of death of every Pathfinder killed in the course of duty since the wall’s construction, and most entries also include a sentence or two summarizing either the agent’s greatest accomplishments or how she died.

After a somber study of the many names and varied deaths of their predecessors in the Society, Rokdor, Tog and Sobestian each find one of the names listed in Adolphus’ note – names of false Pathfinders added to the wall by the mysterious Eylysia. They are scattered about the wall, each with an epitaph written under the name.

Tog speaks up.

"Tog glad to not have found own name here, sad to see Stone Dwarf Dominic that he trained with though."

Dominic, my Oread recently died permanently. RIP.

Tog scratch head.

"Waffle, errr Wiffle!" Tog exclaims in a vain hope that remembering the magic word will solve all their problems.

Tog looks around to his companions.

Also, holy crap this scenario has a lot of handouts.

Aww, sorry to hear. :(

Rokdor looks up in surprise at the orc's statement. "You... trained with a dwarf?" she asks, the pendant on her brow shifting slightly as she frowns curiously.

Tog scratches head
"Well, he was built like Dwarf, but made from stone. He said Abadar was too dull, liked to butter flies or something. Tog not sure why one would butter a fly, guess it taste better that way."

Rokdor suddenly laughs aloud, seeing her orcish companion in a new light. "You ain't so bad for an orc, Tog. How'd you come to train with this Dominic?"

Tog scratches head for a moment.

"Well... I used to have problem with swinging too high so Marcos, Sword Master, pair me with short opponent."

Tog blushes a little.

"You must have strong kneecaps."

Sobestian will hit that Knowledge DC by taking 10 (or even taking 5), and I imagine he'd share the info with you. If y'all want to keep rolling, you can peek behind the spoiler, or you can wait.

Tog - sorry to hear about Dominic, I don't believe I ever had the pleasure of playing with him. As to the handouts - yes, this one has a lot of them. A good chunk of the DM discussion about this scenario focuses on the handouts and how to simplify them and not have them slow down RL play too much. The one you guys just got, with the epitaphs, actually involves cutting and pasting bits of one handout onto another - such a pain.

Dominic had GM credit up to level 3. I played him once and we TPKed on his first adventure, "The Seagang Expedition." I plan to use a star to replay that one.

Tog scratches head.
"Didn't somebody at bar say something about Starstone Test?"

Sobestian purses his lips in thought, then says. "Oh dear! The underlined portions of each inscription refer to failed aspirants to the Test of the Starstone. We might find information on each at the Shrine of the Failed, which honors the memory those who have attempted the test but not achieved godhood." Sobestian puff up his chest, not but a little proud.

Wicket studies the inscriptions and then raises his hand insistently. "Oh! Oh! Does that mean we're going to meet gods? Well, almost-gods."

"To the shrine!" he announces while pointing a random direction.

With Sobestian’s erudite guidance, and Wicket’s random pointing, the Pathfinders make their way to the Starstone, and the nearby Shrine of the Failed. Erected centuries ago by an unknown organization, the Shrine is a dour, multi-tiered complex that pays homage to those who failed in their attempts to overcome the Test of the Starstone.

Just as the party arrives at the Shrine, a great racket can be heard nearby: a large crowd, including the black-robed acolytes who would normally be tending to the Shrine, have gathered to watch Sir Reinhart attempt the Test of the Starstone! Sir Reinhart, his eyes shining with eagerness for his ascent to godhood, can be seen astride his charcoal-grey steed, cantering back and forth along the edge of the chasm that separates him from the Starstone Cathedral.

Due to the focus on Sir Reinhart’s feat, most of the Shrine is closed, but a set of stairs leading to the lower-level annex remains open and unattended.

Tog scratch head at Rokdor last compliment.

Tog scratch head at shrine.

Tog scratch head worrying he might have lice.

"Ah, it'll be nice to get out of the open air for a bit," sighs the dwarf, heading for the stairs down.

"Someone pick me up! I wanna seeeee!" Wicket wails as he struggles to see over the shoulders of the crowd. "Is he exploded yet?"

Tog scratch head.

"Maybe we should watch, a first hand report on a new god would be good for society."

Tog will pick up Wicket and put him on his shoulders as he steps aside for a better vantage point.

Rokdor stops. "Oh, very well," she grumbles, glancing in the direction of the ruckus and wishing she had a better vantage point. I don't think Rokdor is much taller than Wicket. :P

Sobestian sneaks a glance at Rokdor, hoping very much she doesn't ask to be put on his shoulders, fearing he doesn not have the strength for such an endeavor. Taking a few steps away, he peers toward the Starstone. "Do you think the other gods throw a welocming party if you ascend to godhood?"

Rokdor joins the rest of the party with a sigh, wishing she were heading down the stairs to complete their mission, or at least to get underground. Her lack of enthusiasm is more than outweighed by Wicket’s zeal to see what’s going on. It’s a man on a horse, riding around! A bunch of people shouting! What could be more exciting? The lack of explosions disappoints him somewhat, but there’s still hope.

Sobestian’s question about partying gods draws a few curious glances from others in the crowd, but all eyes turn to face the front when Sir Reinhart pauses, leans down to whisper a word to his mount, then charges across the paving stones! One of the first challenges of the Test is to cross the chasm around the Starstone without using one of the three bridges that extend to it, and Sir Reinhart aims to leap across! He gathers momentum, his horse moving like the wind as the crowd roars. As the Mendevian crusader and his steed reach the edge, they spring from the ground, soaring through the air like none in the crowd have ever seen, lifting, lifting…and then beginning to slow a bit. Sir Reinhart’s extended hand points committedly at the Starstone, but his horse is no longer rising. In fact, it seems to have reached a standstill, the way a ball thrown straight up will seem to hang in the air a moment at the apex of its flight.

Sadly, Sir Reinhart’s journey across the chasm now resembles the thrown ball after its apex. Soundlessly, man and horse drop straight down into the chasm, the knight's hand pointing ever higher as he falls, the only noise from the spectators a single, in-drawn breath. Sir Reinhart disappears from sight and the crowd surges forward to see what has happened, leaving our Pathfinders standing alone.

"I guess we should go now", Wicket says glumly after the crowd departs. "It's a shame we can't even see his *splat*."