Frozen Fingers of Midnight PFS PBP (Inactive)

Game Master Curaigh

You have been called to the Grand Lodge of Absalom for a briefing. Seated in a small chamber around a darkwood table, various trophies gathered from across the face of Golarion hang from the walls. A monkey-shaped mask with a serpent's tongue glares out from the center of one wall, a strange halberd with gold rings piercing its thick blade and dragons carved along its haft hangs opposite the monkey mask. Fellow Pathfinders, who apparently have been here for the same purpose are seated around the table. Each begins the new assignment's opening custom and introduces themselves.

Just in case you need the cue, here is where you die.
Ooops that comes later *grin* ...err... here is where you introduce yourselves. :)

Walking into the Grand Lodge, Ignatious looks around, still with a sense of wonder in his eyes. "It has been a long while since I last saw this place, hasn't it", he thinks. Taking a moment, Ignatious walks to a lone Weeping Willow tree he had always been fond of. "Ah, I see still there. . .", as he gently touches some scratches in the bark, remembering the young lady he had met and sharred a moment with as they had trained her, long, long ago. "What was her name? Ilyanna. What ever happened to her, I wonder."

Once the memories of a happy past wash away, Ignatious makes his way to where he had been requested. Softly knocking on the door before entering, is embarrased to see that the others have already arived, meaning he is late.

"My humblest apologies, I lost track of time. I have not been back here in a decade. I was jus,. . .", and with a bow, I am father Ignatious, a humble warrior-priest and son of The Holy Flame. Word has reached me in my travels that I could be of a service?"

Fisbin states walking in to the court yard... Ahh a mission, i can't wait till i get on that path again it seems like years since i've gotten to adventure...

Fisbin A short male gnome alway carries his sheild on his back with his hammer on his belt to the slights bit of trouble then he bring its out and is ready for war...

Into the room Zaryn trudges,

Why must the carriers always come before the dawn to deliever these messages in a deep sleepy voice before he yawns.

Before you stands a 6'3 muscular Half-orc in Black full-plate, with a silver embroidered symbol of the dawn-flower. His face is covered with ritualistic tattoos and scaring. His tusk are as large as a boar and his eyes burn red. Across his back is a Heavy Flail, and on his hip is a scimitar.

After Fisbin finishes his statement, Zaryn turns to the gnome, in aggravation and disbelief Seems like years?! I have been in this organization for no more then 6 months and I have been all over Golarion

He then scans the room. Notices Ignatious, Knowledge (Planes) Check 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Ignatious, you worship Sarenrae correct? Or is the holy flame different?

It is the same, just something I do to add a little flavor. I do have 11 (yes eleven) Holy Symbols of Sarenrae around my neck, if that helps :)

Sunder that DM. . .

"And to where shall the Society send us this time, I wonder? It seems like it is always Isseren or", slightly rolling his eyes, though with only one color it is difficult to tell, "Tian these days. Never to a more heavenly realm. Always business. When, I ask you, when is the last time you where sent to slay the evil dragon and rescue a virtuous princess whose beauty made even the rising sun's gentle rays jealous?", he says, jokingly.

"Tian huh? Never been there yet. Too many places to explore here." Strat explores the others in the room with him. "Never saved a princess or killed a dragon either. Mostly run errands for the Society."

Strat looks more warrior than cleric. A moderately built half-orc, well groomed in a military style. His eyes stay alert as he takes in the others, sizing each person up it seems. He dresses in a breastplate, the dawnflower's weapon on one hip, a morningstar the other. Strapped to his back is a falchion, or as Strat terms it, his 'big scimitar'. A shield sits on the floor next to him.

"So what's todays errand?"

A lean man with dark eyes and loose, unkempt hair, quietly enters the room as the others are talking. He wears a long dusty brown coat, under which can be seen links of light chain and the hilts of a few weapons strapped to a sturdy double-belt. Nodding to anyone that looks his direction, he introduces himself as simply as possible.

I am called Maps.

He then takes up position near the exotic halberd, clasps his hands behind his back, and examines the strange weapon with a casual eye.

"And why is that friend?", not knowing what to make of the man. "Are you fond of travel?"

Maps draws back one sleeve of his coat. Beneath are intricate tattoos that apoear to be cartography charts, complete with navigation lines.

It might be more accurate to say travel is more fond of me.

"Well i've been researching for sometime on the a few different subjects Fisbin states resting his hand on his war-hammer with simile...

Looking at the marking on his skin, "Ah, very interesting. Do you mind" as he makes a motion to take a closer look.

"How long did they take?"

Barlor wakes from his nap on the table, a little spittle in his beard.
"Wha--er, uh, *eh herm*"
Though he tries to play it off, subtlety is the least of his masteries.

If he is bothered or intrigued by Ignatious' appearance, Maps doesn't show it, and the personal question elicits only the smallest of shrugs from him. Years.

Dripping with sarcasm, "Looks like you do a ton of research little one"

His eyes widen as he notices both the Half-Orc and the humanesq man wearing 5 symbols of Sarenrae

Let the Dawnflower be praised, We are blessed with two faithful clerics of the redeemer, I have a feeling we will surely spread her love to all the broken

As the group around the table waits, a page enters the room. She looks around breifly, settles on one of the adventurers, then walks up to him. He nods a response to her question and she hands him an envelope.

As she leaves another page enters, repeating the exercise. On his exit another enters. He asks for you by name and offers an envelope when you answer.

Cheliax

Osirion

Silver Crusade

Grand Lodge

After reading the missive, "May the Flames guiding light warm our souls and bless our actions as we sek freedom for all."

He turns to Ignatious and Strat after reading the letters. A difficult task, but one that will be for the glory of Sarenrae

Barlor, a short and age-worn dwarf with meager attire, looks to have some trouble reading his letter. He eventually stuffs it in his pocket and grunts with satisfaction. He then folds his weathered hands across his lap and waits at the table, swinging his feet and lightly humming a tune too off-key to be recognized.

Sensing that the others in the room do not share the same patron he does, Maps keeps his own council, folding the note and tucking it away in his coat.

Suddenly the door bursts open and a tall half-orc in an indigo robe stumbles in before tripping and falling on the floor with a heavy thud. He sheepishly picks himself up, breathing heavily. He has well-proportioned features for a half-orc, light olive skin, black hair, with long sideburns and short cropped hair.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says breathlessly. "I just got in from Absalom and I couldn't find my way around. What have I missed?"

Seriously, I thought we we're still discussing things before starting the game. No one told me we had started :(

I'm really sorry guys, I read in discussion when the game was to start. I feel really dumb now. Have I missed too much to join in?

Of course not, you were a little late, no big deal

Though a sound beating might be in order.

Of course not, you were a little late, no big deal

+1

Aram takes the missive, and noticing everyone is staring at him, shyly pics up the quarterstaff that he had been carrying, and with head bowed takes a seat next to Strat to read. He is pleasently surprised that there are two half-orcs in addition to himself. Having someone sharing your heritage is always a plus.

Finally, a huge man wearing creaking leathers marches into
the room. He looks at each of you, as if he were appraising a
handful of gemstones freshly pulled from the earth, and nods
curtly. Some of you know him as Adril Hestram, a longtime
Pathfinder and rumored to be the unwitting architect of the
famed Katapesh slave riot of 4702. Adril’s physique puts most
half-orcs to shame.

“Welcome, friends. We have a serious problem. Skelg the
Ripper came to Absalom one month ago. Like many Ulfen
warriors he joined the Longaxes, the Taldan Emperor’s personal
guard whose duty it is to protect the embassy and Taldan
visitors. Skelg also dropped a hefty sum of gold to purchase a
manor in the Ivy district, something a Longaxe isn’t paid well
enough to do. It is widely assumed that he brought most of his
wealth with him from the north—a rumor I know to be true.

“It seems that Skelg also brought a curse with him. In his
letter to me, he speaks of lying abed in this miserable summer
dying from the cold. Neither physician nor priest has been able
to cure his ailment, and there are no signs of disease or poison.
Of course, for such a man, there is no greater dishonor than to
die in bed instead of in battle.

He pauses for a moment, his feet shifting as if he were rehearsing a combat exercise. Clearly he is more comfortable acting rather than speaking.

“Normally, the Pathfinder Society would monitor these
events and let the authorities deal with them. However, there
are three factors that have drawn our interest. First, Skelg is
himself a member of our Society and has asked for our help.
Second, he is a personal friend of mine, and finding a sparring
partner as worthy as Skelg to replace him would be a trying
task. Last, he claims that artifacts of great power are involved,
and that we may be able to recover them for the vaults of the
Grand Lodge.

“We view this situation as having enough importance to
assign you to investigate it. Go to the home of Skelg the Ripper,
learn what you can, and do your best to help him. If you find an
item that is somehow connected to the curse, either retrieve it
or glean as much information as you can about it.
“I trust there are no questions?”

"He's not uh... contagious, is he?" Barlor asks, shifting in his seat.

Wealth of unknown origins, plus a magical curse. I wonder if they are connected. Maps wonders silently, keeping his thoughts to himself until he has had a look at Skelg and his manor.

Do we have a mage among us? Maps asks the room. If this is a magical curse, we could use an expert.

Where does Skelg live so that we may go check him out?

"Going to see him does seem the quickest path of learning more."

Zaryn nods at Maps, agreeing with him as the thoughts work out on his face.

Do we have a mage among us? Maps asks the room. If this is a magical curse, we could use an expert.

Aram, recovering from his initial embarassment, finally speaks up. "I am a sorceror. Though I'm not well experienced, I should be able to detect curses,"

Where does Skelg live so that we may go check him out?

Adril starts to laugh, then shuts his mouth. He opens it once a jovial smile has spread across it. "Ahhh... your new. Try and keep up with events if you want to get anywhere in the Society."

To the dwarf, he answers "There are no signs of poison or of disease, and many people have visited him to cure the ailment. Hmmm. None of them have been harmed. I think you're safe enough on that count."

Maps doesn't spend much time socializing, and has tried to avoid Absalom and the type of people it attracts - people who think living in such a place makes them somehow superior to others. He narrows his eyes just a fraction at Adril's response to Fisbin's question. He doesn't like playing games. Crossing his arms, he waits to see if patience will uncover the location of Skelg's manor.

Knowledge (Local) 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

Zaryn tries to remember if he has heard anything about Skelg but nothing turns up.

Current events? Something as trivial as someone buying an expensive mansion then becoming ill is hardly an event... In fact i'd say it very unlikely that such an event would draw the attention of new and ambitious group of pathfinders such as ourselves... Fisbin states nonchalantly..

Fisbin becomes curious at Fisbin's declaration and watches Adril closely for any signs of misdirection.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27

"We may certainly help you and your friend. Is there anything else you know? Any hints, and history, or clues about this artifact that may be important. Does he have any powerful enemies that would be able to curse him, for instance?"

"Do not worry, good sir, your sparring partner's winter-curse shall crumble and fail quickly in the presence of the Holy Inferno. And Mother has a soft spot in her heart for those wrongly inflited by malidy."

Ah, I was thinking the Diplomacy was to speak with Adril. :)

Aram stands up. "I do recall hearing about a Skelg while wondering around town. He lives in Greydog Manor, on Parkview Street in the Ivy district,"

new alias for GMing

"Trivial? Maybe." He smiles. "Maybe buying an estate is trivial, but in our line of work few are able to afford a manor. Fewer still make it to the point of becoming a homeowner, especially for an adventurer with the drive for battle in his blood like Skelg." He stops for a moment.
"But come, Skelg says he has tried everything. If I knew any more I would have told you. You will have to ask him for more."

ok then there's where we need to head... off to Greydog Manor... On Ward!Fisbin States heading for the door.

Zaryn nods and begins to follow Fisbin

So.. Maps says, following the group from the room. Where is this Manor? I'd like to make a couple quick stops on the way.

Im pretty sure thats what the Diplomacy check {Gather Information} was for. It takes a little time to actually do it, asking around getting directions, and things like that.

"Let us take to the streets and see what we can find out. Absolom is a huge city, but Im certain someone will know."
If there is nothing more, Ill gather my gear and start to head out.

"Wait for me!" says Aram as he runs after the others.

"Er uh... I guess we be off then." Barlor says to no one in particular as he scrambles out of his chair and tries to keep pace.

ok i'd say meet back here in about an hour... then we'll head over to the mannor fisbin states once the make it out to the court yard..

"Sounds like a plan." Strat heads out with the others.

"Nice group. Good for Skelg," Adril says as you leave. "I wish you well."

After an hour of collecting gear and information the party reconvenes at the grand lodge and in no time at all makes it to Parkview Street in the Ivy District.

True to its name, Parkview Street runs the entire length of the district's famous park. Standing like a tomb in a flower garden, Greydog Manor is easy to find. Six-foot-high walls surround the massive, stone building and an immense iron gate flanked by granite statues of hunting dogs stands open, offering access to the interior. Looking along the street, it is clear that locals give the estate a wide berth. The stone walls seem to give a slight chill to the air, which is not entirely unpleasant on such a hot day.

Please, let me know what gear you are picking up or if anything else needs to be retconned.