Speed run in preparation for GameDay IV.
Let the fun begin. Some advice from my personal experience with "fast" play by post:
1. Post an action every time. Even outside of combat either announce that you're ready, or tell the party what you DO.
2. I'll run combat initiative my normal way, which is essentially before bad guys and after bad guys. So it's first come first served before that. If you have a specific action in mind that depends on someone else, I'll obviously be considerate. For example if someone wants to aid another I'll give the aid ex post facto.
3. Combine rolls. Put it all up there. If you're going to sneak through a room, look for traps, then disable them if there are any, post all of those rolls. Even if you end up not finding any.
No 4th? I'll post tomorrow. Pick your Pre-gen to make the table legal.
Done and done. I'll post tomorrow am. (Jal if that other does join, no problem if it's before the first roll.)
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A Kellid man, not tall, but solidly built, wearing dull black armor made of some sort of leathery scales, and carrying a very large, very wicked looking bardiche enters the room. He looks around to see what sort of people the Venture-Captain is going to send him in to protect this time. Too many times already he's had to put himself into harm's way to protect those weaker than he is, but he knows he will do it again.
"I am Trask. Hamilton Trask. Lady Zadrian has requested that I report her, and report I have. I am ready to do what is needed to protect the Society, and those who work for it. I do what I do so that the Heroes do not have to."
He sighs. "Any of you folk heroes? Just wanna know ahead of time, so that I know what to expect."
He thinks on what he has said. "If needed, I am also skilled at such things as the Paladins of the Crusade think beneath themselves. I am trained on lockpicking and trap disarming... so that those heroes in their shiny armor don't get hurt. And only for that reason, mind you."
A week ago, you were seated in the main hall of the Grand Lodge of Absalom, waiting for the arrival of Absalom’s newest venture-captain, a tall, dark-haired and olive-skinned Varisian woman named Eliza Petulengro. Renowned for her composure under pressure and the author of more than two dozen Pathfinder Chronicles entries, she appeared in the hall suddenly, a stack of chronicles in her arms, and looked you over before speaking.
My greatest pupil, Pathfinder Bodriggan Wuthers, has gone missing. He followed a cleric contact back to Wuthers’s home city of Oppara to work on a massive dig beneath the House of the Immortal Son, Oppara’s famed opera house and once temple to the dead god, Aroden. That was a year ago. He sent monthly reports, hoping to see their publication in a chronicle, before all contact dried up a few months back. I’m worried something has gone wrong, and the Society has a vested interest in the artifact he was researching and seeking. We want you to travel to Oppara and find Wuthers. We’d like to know exactly what he was seeking, too, since he neglected to inform us through his monthly correspondence. He hinted only that the cleric of Irori he was working with told him the object was the world’s greatest ‘living’ artifact—whatever that means.
have a few tidbits of information to pass to you before you go: the House of the Immortal Son is nearly impossible to access. It took Wuthers months and countless bribes to get where he did. For you, I have a much simpler idea. Go to an opera, wait for an opportunity, and then exploit it to find Wuthers and his dig site.
Be sure to wear something festive—the Taldan nobility are arrogant on their best days and if you arrive at the opera dressed like that,” she waves her hands at you, “they’ll surely lose your tickets or regret to inform you that the opera house is oversold.
Go and report back to me directly upon your return
to Absalom.
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Jal—a long-limbed, heavily-tattooed varisian mercenary—lounges against the wall through Trask’s introduction with a reserved expression. Finally, he gives the man a crooked smirk. ”I pick locks because there’s usually shiny stuff behind them.” He shrugs, ”And from where I’m standing, heroes usually just end up getting themselves killed. And that sounds way too painful if you ask me.”
Whatever else he might have said to Trask is cut off as Petulengro walks in and begins their briefing. Jal’s casual air doesn’t change, but there’s an intensity to his gray-eyed stare that gives away his focus on the task she’s setting forth.
”So you want us to go to an opera … in Oppara … Taldor.” He rolls his eyes heavenward. ”Na déithe a shábháil dom ó éin deas sotalach,” he mutters in varisian.
He shrugs, his smirk returning, ”On the other hand, maybe some of that gold that’s shoved up their behinds since birth will fall into my pockets.”
"Ah, how refreshing – an opportunity for pomp and formality. I'll have to polish my armor."
Bodriggan Wuthers was an orphan of unknown ancestry, found 20 years ago on the doorstep of the Pathfinder Lodge of Taldor’s capital, Oppara. He was raised in an orphanage, but the Taldan Pathfinders made it a point to look in on him from time to time, encouraging the boy’s curiosity and pushing him toward the life of the vagabond scholar. They got what they desired. When Wuthers turned 16, he left the orphanage behind and traveled to Absalom to join the Pathfinder Society. After a few years of training and following Venture-Captain Eliza Petulengro, Wuthers settled easily into his routine, traveling Avistan and Garund seeking greater glory for himself and the Society through treasure hunting. He quickly made a name for himself, battling through a host of demon-possessed apes in the Screaming Jungle at age 18 to recover the Garls Harp, an Azlanti musical instrument thought lost to time and memory. His tale of that find saw his first of many reports appear in the Pathfinder Chronicles and his fame as a Pathfinder was sewn into the fabric of the Society.
If you wear this outfit without jewelry (costing an additional 50 gp), you look like an out-of-place commoner.
You are supplied with tickets, and your entry paid. For those of you who dress the part (jewelry/clothing in excess of 50 Gp) are treated normally. If any of you slum it, you're looked down upon as sullying the setting.
Among the Living, the title of tonight's opera, debuts this very night that you visit the House of the Immortal Son.
It’s an epic tale of a lone Ulfen warrior named Victory who sails to the ends of Golarion, crashes off the edge of the world, and finds himself in a gothic paradise where he falls in love with the undead queen of a jungle kingdom. It’s melodramatic, over-acted, gaudy, and tasteless—just the sort of affair Taldor’s wealthy screams to attend.
"Hmmm... Perhaps one of us should try to pass for a noble, and the rest of us can attempt to pass as servants or guards. Is that agreeable?"
Even guards are dressed well here. Still, it's not going to get you kicked out (mostly a flavor things here.)
You are supplied with tickets, and your entry paid. For those of you who dress the part (jewelry/clothing in excess of 50 Gp) are treated normally. If any of you slum it, you're looked down upon as sullying the setting.
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Ingratiating and talkative, Chusynd Karkota is a tall, lanky Chelaxian man with turquoise eyes and golden hair. He is also more than likely not quite right in the head, as his near-immediate proclamation to be a might indicate. He gives each of you a pamphlet as he proselytizes. Curiously, by the time he's finished preaching, maybe his wild ideas don't seem nearly as outlandish as when he'd first begun...
Chusynd nods amiably as Venture-Captain Petulengro outlines the mission, seeming to completely ignore the remark about Aroden allegedly being dead. (No no, he's just restin', Chusynd is fond of saying).
It's no surprise that Aroden graciously allowed his temple to be used for an opera house. One of his twelve guises is the Artist, of course. He is uncharacteristically silent for a moment, then grins widely and says, We should be off for the House of the Immortal Son at once!
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Trask will pick up a courtier's outfit, and the appropriate jewelry (cost 80gp total). He won't like it, but he'll do it.
At the briefing, he asks the venture-captain, "Ma'am, will it be permissable to wear our armor at the event? I'll make sure that I have the rest of the appropriate clothing, but I'd prefer to remain in armor. Also, what about weapons. Will we need to check them, or anything?"
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The young man in the corner of the room suddenly sneezes loudly, provoking his hair to catch on fire. Not preoccupied by the fire, he speaks up calmly, moving his body with a natural and noble grace.
"My name is Dioneo Starnon-Oberigo, the second of the name. I was born in Westcrown. The NEW Westcrown, freed from the Thrunes' influence."
When he says this, he has a somber face and his eyes begin to drift away in the void, but he clears his throat, regaining composure.
He stands on his feet proud and tall and says heartily with a charming smile "Well, no time to wait for this mission, then, isn't it? Shall we go?"
He seems really pleased with his noble outfit, but has a noble grace in his movement, displaying years of education in the good manners. His garb has a lot of chelaxian features.
He looks at Chusynd's pamphlet with interest and declares "My forefathers would praise your work down here. But I am not interested. Her Lady of Fire is far too promising." he concludes, with a predatory smile.
Using Chusynd’s very fine hat, Kyra will disguise herself as a very well dressed noble lady, to match Dioneo’s finery. Her armor takes on the appearance of fine silks, and her scimitar transmogrifies into a lacy parasol (in appearance only.) Fine gemmed strands adorn her hair, as well as other jewelry of seemingly fine craftsmanship.
You arrival does not go unnoticed, but the combination of attire
Your seats are poor, being relegated to the back of the theater. Still, the production is grand. Aroden would be (and Chusynd is) proud.
As yet another twirling dancer in a brown costume festooned with bright pink, flowing silk scarves spins across the jungle set at the front of the stage, the orchestra reaches a screeching crescendo that crashes the entire opera to a halt. The dancers stand quietly for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to the scattered applause across the obviously bored Taldan audience. Suddenly, a sound like a thousand gongs shakes the entire building to its very foundation and the audience murmurs in a mixture of delight and fear. The actors and orchestra, however, flee the stage, disappearing behind the curtains.
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Jal, looking like quite the hodgepodge in his fashionable Taldan clothes, well-used, brilliantly colored kapenia around his neck, and Tian blade hanging across his back, gets quite a few looks. Luckily, he has the good sense to keep his yap shut.
He endures the show as best he can, also, leaning against the back wall (since it’s so close to the seats, and he’s afraid he’ll fall asleep otherwise). At the sound of the great gong, he arches an eyebrow. He looks about to make a smart remark when the dancers flee.
He gives Chusynd a crooked half-smile, ”I know, right? Finally getting interesting.”
Clearly something is wrong, but Kyra does her best to remain in character. "What is it, dear? An encore of some kind?"
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Dioneo stands, clearly disappointed of the performance. He says to Kyra with a bored voice "Time to go, my dear? Oh, did I already told you about my great-grandfather, Baron Rysalius Starnon? He WAS an opera star! No match for these petty street performer." he says with disdain.
While talking in the taldan manner, he keeps observing the audience.
"He... performed? Like a... commoner?" Kyra whispers the last word scandalously.
Moments after the gong, the doors leading into the theater crash open and a horde of zombies floods in, immediately attacking nobles too shocked to run. They're coming in from various doors, and before you can formulate a plan, the doors behind you burst open with a quartet of erstwhile noble zombies and a bigbear zombie looking for an easy meal!
Baddies:
Jal:
Hamilton:
Kyra:
Chusynd:
Dioneo:
Initiative Repost:
Good guys: Go!
Bad Guys: On deck
Kyra steps back as the unliving flood in. Raising her holy symbol to her chest, Kyra whispers a prayer to Sarenrae, and unleashes a torrent of channeled energy over the entire audience.
Kyra opens up with a window into Sarenrae's might!
Some of the zombies take the full brunt of it. Jal readies for when the zombies inevitably approach. Hamilton takes a poorly timed, but successful swing cutting deep into the monster-zombie. The monstrosity keeps on.
Kyra: Channel
Jal: Readies
Hamilton: Attack
Chusynd: Go!
DioNeo: Go!
Red: 15
Blue: 7
White: 15
Black: 7
Bigbear: 21
