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The golden haired northman sits quietly attending to his silvery falchion, checking his appearance on its surface before scowling and polishing it further. Nearby a very large white Lion sits comfortably chewing on large meaty bone, likely a left over from a butchers, but to the lion it is a source of contentment and joy – however some might take the grunts and cracking bone as it gnaws as a hint for what the near future holds.
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Meg brushes a lock of curly black hair behind her ear, with a careful, practiced motion to avoid snagging the white, rose-embroidered eye-patch she wears. Smiling, and composing herself despite an obvious desire to touch that white fur, she addresses the man with the falchion. "Hi! I'm Meg! What's this lion's name? I've never seen one before, and certainly not with white fur like this. It's gorgeous!"
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He smiles broadly in that way that the the Ulfen tend to do at the attention given to the lion, he chuckles warmly "His name is Mifortune, for when he crosses your path it is probable you will be having a bad day...but I have only had good luck so maybe the Gods have a joke I'm not in on" the lion stops crunching on the bone and looks up as the name is mentioned and he becomes the topic of conversation "Grim Dougal" he introduces himself with a slight flourish "Misfortune is friendly enough, when fed, and likes to be scratched just there..." Grim points behind the lions ear. The lion goes back to gnawing on bone. Its ears flick expectantly.
It becomes evident quickly to the Oathbearer that both Grim and Misfortune have a Celestial heritage.
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The young woman that enters wears an outfit that has much in common with the standard Iomedaean cassock. However, the yellow trim has been replaced with a more ostentatious gilding, the skirt only goes to the knee and is pleated, and the arms are sleeveless. Her leather opera gloves and thigh-high boots match the same style. A translucent crimson mantlet covers her shoulders, and her hair is tied back in a Galtan braid.
Two engraved tomes hang from belt cords on her right, and a longsword modeled after Iomedae's sword-and-sun hangs in a ruby-encrusted scabbard on her left. Each of the many wands on her belt is modeled after Iomedae's holy symbol as well. Even her spring-loaded wrist sheaths are the same ivory and gold color as her gloves.
She waves—perhaps “flails” is better—with an unfettered, childish energy. ”Hello, Darlings!”
She curls her fingers back, pointing at herself as she closes her eyes, a smile of insufferable contentment on her face.
”The Will of the Inheritor made flesh has arrived!”
She opens her eyes, her head raised. ”Now, in my journeys down here in the south, I have been traveling incognito. You may address me as 'Avelina of Mendev' or 'Your Grace.' Either is acceptable.”
As Avelina finally appears to notice the lion, her entire being becomes infused with delight.
”Oh, how wonderful! Providence smiles upon all of us today! You know, Darlings, the lion is the favored animal of the Goddess.” She looks up at the sky and crosses herself. ”Thank you my beloved Inheritor for this sign of your affection!” Her cheeks are suddenly a little more red.
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A dwarf well into his middle-age follows Avelina close behind. With his dyed wild green hair, his battle-weary axe, and his heavy leathers covered in sutured holes, he might have been collected from the wilds moments ago, if he wasn't also completely clean and clear of dirt. One his eyes is scrunched up while the other is open overwide, as though he is permanently straining to take a close look at something. As Avelina spoke, an expression of honest fatherly joy came over him.
”Gwahahahaha! I dinnae even realize the significance of the lion, Princess! Yer wisdom comes through once again!”
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Captain LeGrade lounges in a position barely dignified around close friends, scratching in places that one would normally only do in private.
Pulling a dagger, he examines himself in the blade's reflection, finally picking at a spot between two teeth.
He grins as Avelina introduces herself.
"Har har. I see Yer Highness has opted to go slummin' today. Well me ship's parked just outside if a personal tour is what ye be searchin' for? I'm sure I's got some lion wares about in a few o' the holds."
He grins at the others.
"Inheritor artifacts, probably somethin' powerful..."
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She clicks her tongue as she wags her finger.
"Calling me "Your Highness" is improper. You would address Auntie thusly."
Her eyes widen for a moment before she sighs, her mouth forming into a pouty frown.
"Wait, how did you realize my lineage?" She holds up a declarative finger and her frown instantly flips over into a smile. "Aha! Of course. You must have recognized my own superior breeding. I swear, it is impossible to travel incognito these days."
"Artifacts of the Inheritor!? What is a rake doing with such things? I demand that you release them into my custody immediately!"
She turns away, then dramatically draws a wand as she turns back, pointing it directly at LeGrand, her other hand on her hip.
"The Might of the Inheritor flows through me! Fail to comply at your own peril!"
Actually taking a good look at LeGrand now, the sides of her mouth start turning up at his "ickyness."
"Err. Perhaps to Aldoz's custody first."
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LeGrande holds up his hands, his face a bit red at the sudden turn in Avelina's demeanor.
"Whoa, whoa, princess. No need to be gettin' yer knickers twisted."
Keeping his eyes on her, he lowers his hands and gestures to the window and the docks beyond.
"I just thought ye wantin' to be seein' the rod of lordly might I be keepin' in me drawers..."
Scratching the back of his neck lest he appear too disarming, LeGrande smacks his pants, causing no small amount of dirt and debris to fill the room.
"Har! Now what've we been summoned for this day that ye'd be puttin' the likes o' Avelina here in Captain LeGrande's, and thusly Besmara's sweet lovin' care?"
He then leans forward, looking about for Drendle Dreng, Kreighton Shane, or another of the Society's many "henchman". He rubs his head, not even sure which port of call he docked in this week - must've been the cheap rum he picked up in Magnimar last month.
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Avelina taps her wand against her chin, looking off with brow furrowed.
"Why would you keep a rod of lordly might in drawers rather than having it with you? Wouldn't you have to disassemble it for that? How would it be ready in case you needed it?"
She begins pacing back and forth, tapping her wand against her palm, the very image of a schoolteacher.
"The Inheritor says we must always remain prepared to smite evil at a moment's notice. The First Act, the Lesson of Duty, is actually parable meant to serve as an example of this truth, among others, according to the writings of St. Septimus of Potamus."
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A Taldane man with salt-and-pepper hair and a close cropped beard enters the room. His muscular build is enclosed in full plate and carries several polearms on his back, he looks like he's itching to fight.
Just not this fight.
With a glance at LeGrande and Avelina, he mutters simply, "Get a room," before walking the room in search of refreshments perhaps laid out by whomever it was that called him here.
"Name's Baldwyn," he says to the room without looking toward them. "Am sure I'll catch your's in passin'. Anyone know who's puttin' on this little song and dance? I ain't likin' to be kept waitin'."
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"Our hosts are running late, no mead laid on, and Misfortune is almost done cracking the bones over there, well met my friends. Don't mind the Lion, he only bites people he doesn't like, same goes for me I suppose."
The lion is busy watching Avelina now, its eyes stay on her out of curiosity whilst it merrily cracks and crushes away.
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LeGrande grins and nods as Baldwyn suggests a room might be in order.
"Har! I be knowin' the First Act, and the Second Act, and the Third Act. Learned 'em all in Riddleport, I did."
The captain leans forward again, allowing Avelina to become breathless in her oration before he chimes in.
"Can ye be callin' us darlin' again now, darlin'? Tis a grand thing when ye do and then be wavin' the wand about like so."
The pirate gestures, mimicking Avelina's own mannerisms before pulling out a hipflask emblazoned with Besmara's holy symbol. He takes a long swig and then politely offers it to the others present, including the "Iomedaen" strumpet.
"To the goddess of courage, then... I be toastin' ye with the finest liquid courage!"
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Avelina stops her pacing, abruptly turning to face Le Grand.
"They spread the Word of the Acts in Riddleport? Truly? I must say, that news is quite surprising. I had heard that Riddleport was a place of scum and villainy. That the righteous teachings of the Inheritor have penetrated into such a wretched hive is glorious tidings indeed!"
She raises her wand high in the air, her other hand on her hip. "A wonderful segue into the Eigth Act, the Lesson of Redemption! Let us return once more to the Divinely Inspired Word of St. Septimus!""
Time passes, and Avelina is in the middle of describing in exacting detail the final moments of The Black Prince before he threw himself on his sword, along with the theological symbology and poetics of the passage sentence-by-sentence when Le Grand interjects again.
"Oh, how very kind of you to acknowledge my grandeur. You would know something about 'grand' things, would you not, Mr. Le Grand?"
She erupts into laughter far louder than one would expect from a young woman of her size. Somehow, she manages to take enough control of herself to speak.
"Delightful! Write that one down, Aldoz."
She then returns to chuckling to herself, completely not noticing as Le Grand passes the flask around.
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Aldoz, who was also laughing uproariously, immediately begins scrambling to find a writing utensil and paper. He empties every pouch on his belt and begins peeking in-between pieces of his armor and even in his gloves.
"I dinnae have anything to write with!"
He slumps, then lets himself fall to a seat on the floor.
"I'm so sorry, Princess...."
He grabs the flask as it was being presented to Avelina and takes a long swig himself.
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Hearing of Aldoz's failure, Avelina's face darkens in an instant, and she waves dismissively.
"Nevermind. The moment is lost."
Her stern facade barely lasts a moment before fading.
"Oh, how could I be mad at you, Aldoz!"
She kneels down and embraces him, her eyes shining with tears.
"Your loyalty is an inspiration!"
She pulls back and places her hands on his shoulders as she looks directly into his eyes.
"Come now. Let us go pet the kitty. I know how much you love kittens."
She leads him over to the lion, holding Aldoz's hand the whole way.
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An elf enters the room, followed by a floating disk carrying two large chests. The elf wears flowing blue robes better suited for a library or academy than exploration. Over his robes he wears a wide golden belt with several pouches. Over his shoulder a matching blue and golden bag is slung.
His eyes scan the others in the room, lingering for a bit on the lion and smirking at the Iomedan priest.
"I see that the Venture Captain has not graced us with his appearance yet. My name is Faeranduil, evoker" he says, as if that explains everything.
Just moments ago, Venture-Captain Adril Hestram stood beside you inside the great hall of the Grand Lodge in Absalom and said, “Good luck and gods speed. Find out what you can and get back in one piece.” With that, a masked member of the Decemvirate, gender and race impossible to determine under black cloth and an ornate face mask, muttered an incantation and teleported you nearly a thousand miles south, to the northern frontier of the necromantic nation of Geb. Just 24 hours ago, messengers from the Decemvirate banged on your door and demanded your presence at the Grand Lodge. Venture-Captain Hestram, it seemed, had received an important bit of news about work that a Nethys cleric Pathfinder named Rijana was doing in the Mana Wastes— important enough to summon you at such an early hour and demand your preparedness for a new mission assignment.
“Rijana is one of the best scholars on arcane mysteries that we have,” said Hestram as he paced back and forth. He shook a thin sheaf of papers in his hand. “This missive from her hand just a month ago tells a daring tale of hidden dimensions in the Mana Wastes that could be used to return magic once again to that failed, desolate garbage heap. I could care less about restoring magic there—but I care a lot about what bizarre ruins and hidden sanctums might have been concealed there while magic lay dormant. I haven’t the time to waste to send another message back and await its answer—I’ve asked a Decemvirute member, a powerful wizard, to teleport you to Rijana’s last known location, a dusty hamlet on the edge of the Wastes in northern Geb called Geb’s Rest. I’m sending the lot of you because Geb is dangerous, the Mana Wastes are deadly, and I want this thing done right.” Hestram snorted. “Well, I at least want it done. You lot will have to do. Get to Geb’s Rest, find Rijana, and bring back whatever notes she’s got in her journals about the Mana Wastes. She should have four journals if my memory of her bizarre organizational skills is correct—I want all four of them. Tell her I’m reviewing them for inclusion in the Pathfinder Chronicles, I don’t care. Just bring them back. Now get yourself ready to go—you can’t buy a decent potion within a hundred miles of this backwater dust pile.”
My apologies guys. I got laid off on Friday, so I was a bit out of sorts. I'm back and ready to go. Playing some Pathfinder is the surest way to get back in the saddle.
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The northman ensures he travels with sword in hand, not interested in being caught short in a hostile landing. The lion merely emits a noise that seems like some sort of agreement.
"How does magic and magical items work in this mana waste, and what sort of deadly thing dwells there?"
Grim and Mis are ready.
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Avelina nods. "Indeed, and as the Sixth Act, the Lesson of Purity, tells us, no blade is more powerful than one forged by Faith!"
She swivels so that her sword and scabbard face the others and she waves a hand over it in a "Ta-da!" gesture.
She turns back and rests a single finger on her chin as she taps her foot. After a few moments of pondering, she finally raises her finger and smiles.
"What dangers might we expect to combat? I do hope there are demons. It has been too long since I have smoten one with the Light of the Inheritor."
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Meg, half enraptured with Avelina's seemingly endless knowledge of Iomedae and half distracted by the rewarding purrs from Misfortune, arrives after the teleport in a pleasant mood. She, like her fellow warriors, has drawn her weapon--a gold bladed scimitar with a magically sharpened edge.
She looks nervously at Avelina, replying, "Why would you want to find a demon? Even the ones that look pretty on the outside are born of such ugly evil..." Meg shivers.
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"And they barely ever carry a coin pouch" adds Grim, clearly dismayed at the thought; the Lion makes another grunting noise and Grim nods agreeably "Yes I suppose they don't taste so good either"
Grim and Misfortune fall in place next to Baldwyn, seeking to form a wall of steel, teeth, and claws - ready for whatever faces them on the other side.
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Avelina crosses her arms and shakes her head, closing her eyes and smiling.
"Darling, that evil that they represent is the exact reason I wish to fight them."
She draws her sword and thrusts it into the air in one motion, holding in the kind of pose you might see on a statue in the middle of Nerosyan. One with a nice large plaque made of gold--maybe silver--but certainly not bronze.
"My family is sworn to the absolute destruction of those creatures, to remove the vile taint of such obscenities from our world, to be the thread that binds the Worldwound!"
After a few moments of imagined applause, she sheathes the sword and takes a casual pose, hands on her hips, frowning. Though the sides of her lips only turn down ever-so-slightly, the depth of the frown comes out in her eyes, suddenly drained of their seemingly boundless energy.
"Besides, it's not like the rest of you have been doing anything about it."
I'm very sorry for such a bad development. I've been there too and it sucks. Take however much time you need!
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"මහා වන මානා අපද්රව්ය දක්වා කල්. එවිට මහත් විද්වතෙක් ලෙස හැඳින්වේ එක් දේවල් තර්ජනයක්. ඔවුන් වඩා හොඳ මම සමාජය තුළ විශිෂ්ටතම පඬිවරුන් ලෙස මෙම මිළදී කරන මගේ හැකියාවන් භාවිතා කර ඇත නම්" Fearanduil grumbles
"I need to find some mules to carry my stuff if we are to go into the wastes, I have heard that magic isn't to be relied upon there."
"Venture Captain, can you tell us anything about Geb and the Mana Waste? although he probably doesn't know anything that I did not already know...
Knowledge checks: I'll just give you THIS.
"Magic is unpredictable there. It's not dead everywhere, and there are many places where it works TOO well. Bring what you can. You'll be teleported to a place where we know it works."
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As the others make a quick shopping trip, LeGrand stows his extraneous valuables upon his ship docked in the harbor while checking on his crew and giving them an update on his latest lead for economics from the Society. He sadly informs them that the Murder Hobo won't be needed to sail his assigned retinue and urges them to ensure the decks are squeaky clean and the vessel's ready to set sail upon his return.
He lounges at the assigned meeting point, wondering what kind of trouble he and the "crew" will be immediately teleported into. He shakes his fist at his goddess, challenging her will once again.
"Curse ye Besmara if ye be gettin' me teleported right into a magical maelstrom at this Geb's End"
He briefly considers applying some protective wards upon himself, but shrugs figuring it'd be best to see things firsthand before wasting Bessie's good graces.
The teleport drops you in the middle of a depressed looking area. In the distance lies a squat, tumble-down hovel comprised of a few turrated domes, a collection of ramshackle huts, a solid, two-story inn, dusty red streets, and a large central fountain. There are maybe four dozen intact buildings scattered about the town, with the central hub largely surrounded by weedchoked ruins of a time when the town was more prosperous.
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Before everyone gathered to teleport, Avelina stepped out for a couple minutes. She returns wearing resplendent armor of grey steel and radiant golden gilding accented with a deep crimson cape and a single plume of blue silk ribbons trailing from the top of the helmet, which she holds in the crook of her arm.
The armor appears much like this.
After teleporting into the sad scene of Geb's rest, recognition flashes in Avelina's eyes, and she takes a long scan of the surroundings.
"An all-but-defeated dillapidated town in the middle of a land turned to wasteland by ancient evil and powerful magicks...."
Avelina breathes in deeply through her nose, and as she exhales, a smile forms.
"...Darlings, we have nothing to fear. I am in my element. The Providence of the Inheritor is clearly at work today!"
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Before departure Faeranduil has cast mage armor, unseen servant and heightened awareness.
"Say Avelina, do you really think you can fool anyone with that opera armor?"
After arrival Faeranduil immediately casts detect magic and prestidigitation, hoping his spells still work. His disk is floating silently behind him and the mule is tethered to one of the chests, following it like the stupid beast that Faeranduil things that it is.
"Right behind you Jacques"
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Faeranduils comment draws Grims attention
Perception - Avelina
"At least it isn't subtle" remarks Grim.
***
Grim and Misfortune continue to push forward with the party "Reckon the centre of town is as good a place as any, though just as often a good a place as any for an ambush. We got any codes for anything? What do we say if something is suspicious to avoid tipping off any listeners? Whats our agreement for swinging swords - we have some fine principled folk among us who tend not to like the Northern way of trade so reckon we agree now better than argue later eh?"
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"Who says I am trying to fool anyone? My Faith in the Inheritor is my panoply; I have no need of steel plates weighing me down."
She pinches one of the "plates." While her eyes face the armor, her gaze is gone to another time and place.
"I wear this because it reminds me of Auntie. Of the Glorious Name and Purpose we share, of course."
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"Huh? Opera armor?" Meg asks, obviously confused. When Avelina explains, the paladin exclaims, "Wait, that's not steel? What a wonderful costume! Why is it called opera armor? Are you a singer?" Meg asks excitedly, before the party continues toward the dilapidated village.
"It's all so sad looking... I bet that fountain was beautiful before," Meg says, indicating the ruined town. Answering Grim, she asserts, "Our first priority should be to help anyone in trouble, and to find those journals. Words before blades, and hopefully words instead of blades. Even this blasted land could be returned to its former beauty with a little bit of care, and the same goes for any people we find--the greatest beauty is born of kindness, so we should be nice first and foremost!"
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[dice=Perception DC20 vs Avelina's "armor"]1d20+12[/dice]
LeGrand's smile widens as his attention is called once again to Avelina.
"Arr, I can say I be approvin' o' this armor choice o' yers, darlin'*."
LeGrand inspects the "Iomedean" from head to toe - a few times to ensure he's studied her various curves properly as a pirate captain who's been out to see for several fortnights should.
"Tis easier to be gettin' out of for when Imma'day turns to Imma'night."
LeGrand lets his attention be diverted from the town only for so long before he returns to scanning it for possible enemies or clues, knowing that to be distracted by a fair maiden in dangerous waters is the surest way to be meeting Besmara earlier than planned.
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Grim does not have a good aura. Neither does the Lion.
"That's a noble and decent view Meg, and I reckon a peaceful and profitable journey is always the best kind, so indeed it is worth being nice - its just we sometimes differ on the point at which we stop playing nice or take up arms, so for harmony's sake I reckon it is best to get some agreements - avoids hard words and hard feelings later"
Map is up. Place your sprites in front of the inn if you will. Once you enter town, the situation is much more macabre than you previously figured... Perception checks.
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A hand made of force strikes Le Grand's cheek.
"Cad! Pervert! I will not have you leering at me!"
The corner of her mouth turned up in disgust, Avelina leans forward, hands at her sides in a pose of indignation.
"I will have you know that I would not be interested even if you were somehow not a filthy ne'er-do-well, so do not take it personally. Except for the filthy ne'er-do-well part."
Avelina scoots over next to Meg, latching onto they Shelynite's arm though Meg was escorting her about town.
"Sorry about that, Darling. To answer your question, I have been told I have a delightful singing voice. Another gift from the Inheritor, as I guarantee I have not had a single session of formal training."
Sorry, map should be editable now. 1 Square = 10'