GM Carimac's (PBP Gameday VI) #2-15: Shades of Ice—Part I: Written in Blood (Inactive)

Game Master CariMac

When the Decemvirate sends the PCs to the Viking city of Trollheim in the frigid northern Lands of the Linnorm Kings to deliver a package to an allied scholar there, the Pathfinders soon find themselves unwelcome visitors. Forced to navigate the rugged, isolated city and interact with the standoffish natives, can they deliver their cargo to its target, or will they find themselves exiled from the city... or worse?

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-.. --- -

Taking a long draw off his pipe and swig of his mug, the lava-gnome wastes little time introducing himself to the gathered team. "Well now, this seems likin' ta be a fine group ta be headin' inta the North with. Name's Spackle McGapfiller. Tis a pleasure ta be workin' with each 'n every one a ya." Walking up to Zero, " Gots ta say, ain't never be seein' a walkin' 'n talkin' statue afore. Ye be a mighty impressive one ifin I do say so meself."

dotting

The strange mess of an oread, seemingly meditating in his chair, stands up and opens his eyes. His skin is a disorderly patchwork of smooth marble and crystal and rough granite, many regions of which bear heavy scarring. He fishes about at his belt for a small chalkboard, and presents it. "Thank you," it reads. He puts it back and retrieves another for all to see. "Greetings, everyone. I am called Zero, and I will keep you safe for the duration of our mission."

He then takes a moment to think, and, without a prerecorded message for the occasion, begins to scribble on a blank slate. When he finishes and puts it up, it bears the question, "Has anyone any idea what we were called in to do? I am still in the dark there."

”A pleasure to meet you, Spackle, Zero,” says the next Pathfinder to speak, with a surprisingly courtly bow for one so simply dressed. ”I am Prothero Crace.” The man is older than many Pathfinders of his relatively low rank and dressed in faded grey robes, his only extravagance a beautiful bow of black wood extending over his right shoulder. His coloring – the bronzed skin and a few struggling wisps of brown hair – indicate his Taldan birth, and his sparse but neatly trimmed beard marks him as being of the noble blood of that land. Strangely, his earlobes have a fringed, almost tentacled look to them, and the tops of his ears look ever so slightly like the wings of a bat.

Prothero’s dark eyes widen slightly in surprise as the patchwork oread begins to communicate with his slates, but he recalls the value of politeness, learned in the court of Grand Prince Stavian III many years ago. ”No, I do not know why we are here. I have heard we are to deliver something, but I know not what or to whom.”

Walking over to the archer, "Well now Prothero, pleasure ta be makin' yer 'quaintance as well. Ahm guessin' ye know yer way around that bow o' yers. Cayden's Keg ifin that ain't bein' one o' the finest weapons Ah've ever been seein'." Turning back to the Oread, "Zero me boyo, I gotta question. Does ya be doin' the chalk talk by choice 'er fer necessity? M'not tryin' ta pry, mind ya. I only be askin' cause ifin we all get separated, ain't none of us gonna hear yer scribblin', no matter how large ya write it."

Laying a hand on his bow where it peeks out by his hip, Prothero responds to Spackle, "Yes, my bow and I have spent many hours in meditation together on the practice field, considering large questions, or considering nothing but the flight of the arrow as it seeks the target, or the voice of the target as it calls to the arrow. And speaking of voice, I am curious as well about Zero's communication."

He turns toward the oread, curious to see what the stone man will write on his chalkboard, and a thought occurs to him. I wonder how he feels about the slate he communicates with? Is it his tongue? Is it his kin? What a peculiar notion.

Zero gives Prothero a deep head-bow in response to the man's introduction. To the questions asked the other two, he draws several boards displaying a longer message between them; these seem to be ones he gets fairly often. "My training was rigorous and eccentric, those who take a monastic path can attest to it varying greatly between schools. While not speaking was not a requirement at mine, it was presented as a way of vastly increasing one's power if one had the desire and focus to maintain it. I have thusly not spoken willingly since I began my training, a good few decades. Talking to people was never one of my strong suits anyway, so it seemed a reasonable option. I worked to be a bodyguard and martial artist, not a conversationalist."

To Spackle's other question, the oread graces the gnome with a rare grin and scribbles down a quick answer. "I am not precluded from making nonverbal noises, such as a stomp of the foot. I don't believe separation will be a problem, or at least I hope so. I suppose I could talk if absolutely necessary for some situation, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Solstice is a northerner, with a moderate Shoanti accent. She bears the earmarks of an ifrit outsider. Her skin is brass in color and her hair is white, but iridescent, almost gnomishly. Rather than the jewelry typical for most of her kind, she sports elaborate and very colorful tattoos more in line with her Shoanti ancestry, though the two small nubbins that poke from her brow are pierced and two red rubies dangle from them.

Note: The jewelry changes from time to time. A girl's got to accessorize.

She sits demurely at the table taking it all in, head lowered, saying nothing.

At this point, the Varisian lady off to the side looks away from the Harrow spread in front of her and toward the others. She has rather unruly reddish-brown hair that pools on her shoulders, which she attempts to control with a patterned kerchief. She dresses in the bright colors that her people prefer, with a shawl covering her shoulders and several scarves wrapped around her waist.

With a practiced hand, she rhythmically retrieves the spread and stows the entire deck away before calmly standing to the faint sound of metal chiming off of itself. "My apologies," she respectfully addresses the rest of the group as as she looks them over, "I was too engrossed in my own matters to introduce myself. I am Carina, from the Villasani clan."

"No harm done Cari, ifin I can calls ya thet? Seems Solstice is here 's'well. Good ta be seein' ya again! Ready to head back ta the North lass? Cryin' shame we couldn't get Fey ta come along on this one. Gonna make them nights a might bit lonelier. 'N colder too. That dog o' hers kept the chill outta yer bones to be certain."

If at any point Spackle it too much or off-putting, please let me know. We play so everyone has a good time.

Prothero considers Zero's response thoughtfully before replying, "I find the notion of such silence very appealing. I came of age in the courts of Taldor, and the ceaseless talking and angling for advantage drove me away, though I stayed longer than I might have wished. I shall be glad to fight by your side, accompanied by no sound other than the hum of my bowstring - and, perhaps, the chatter of our new gnome friend, eh?" This last remark is made with a friendly smile and a tip of the head towards Spackle, followed by a courtly bow towards Solstice and Carina.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies. It sounds from what Spackle says like you all have worked together before. I carried out several missions on behalf of the Society with a consistent team, in the Osirian deserts, but otherwise I have always found it to be catch as catch can."

No cause to hold back on my account, Spackle. I'm sure I'll enjoy reacting to Spackle's ways. For all that Prothero manages to come across as reasonably polished as he introduces himself, due to his upbringing, he's pretty hopeless in social situations. So if he says something less than positive about Spackle or anyone, it's just his awkwardness showing through.

"Indeed we have. An adventure it was in the snowbound lands of the north. The society keeps us all busy it seems and at all ends of the world. I enjoy the travelling, though Chelliax was a bit too anal for me."

Zero takes some time to respond to Prothero, smiling. "To each their own, certainly. Such silence is definitely not for everyone. I, too, will gladly fight beside you."

To Solstice, he nods knowingly and jots down a note. "I see what you mean about Cheliax. In fact, that is where I spent a fair portion of my life in training. Like Taldor, it can be a bit stuffy. Again, not for everyone, but I usually find it rather comforting in its regularity."

Carina nods to Prothero. "Oh, I wasn't involved in their last escapade. To be fair, most of my latest work has come from scribing reports for the Venture-Captians (i.e. GM credits), but I have enough work with the library, that the higher-ups decided to loose me back out on the road, where I really belong."

She stretchs a little and looks toward the gnome with a knowing smirk. "I much prefer my full name, as opposed to a diminutive, but I won't be offended by it either. You never know what'll happen in the heat of battle."

You're not offputting at all, Spackle. You come off as coarse, but friendly.

-Posted with Wayfinder

The meeting in Absalom with Drandle Dreng nearly a month ago was brief, as always. “I have a routine mission for you, though a dangerous routine mission,” the old man whispered in the great hall in the Grand Lodge.

Suffering from a cold and weak from lack of food and rest, the old venture-captain looked quite possibly the worst you’d ever seen him. Through wracking coughs he explained, “An ally of ours in the Land of the Linnorm Kings—Rognvald Skagni—is writing a lengthy report on the state of government in the northern countries of Avistan. I received a letter from him just yesterday requesting several key documents from the vaults here to help him finish the report.” Venture-Captain Dreng patted a large, heavy-looking chest next to him. “These are the documents, and I need you to board a ship north to deliver them to Skagni.”

Dreng tried to stand at that point, but a fit of coughing sent him back into his seat. He gestured for a well-dressed, impeccably kept man standing in the shadows of the room to approach and whispered raspy orders to him. The man picked up a small pouch and a large key and handed them both to the party. “Venture-Captain Dreng is unwell, as you can see. He wished me to give you this key and this pouch of gold. The key opens the chest, and the gold will buy you passage and get you from the Linnorm coast to Trollheim, where Skagni resides. Whatever you do, do not let the chest out of your sight and do not, under any circumstances, allow it to be searched. These documents are for Mr. Skagni’s eyes only. Are we understood?”

Dreng’s namelss servant waited for a reply and then smiled. “Good. Now run along; Venture-Captain Dreng needs his rest.”

The chest is 2 feet wide, 4 feet long, and 3 feet deep. It’s made of heavy oak bound with iron, and locked with an enormous, finely crafted steel lock. The chest weighs 100 pounds, and it’s imperative you keep it safe—failing to do so means a loss of respect within the Society.

And we're off. Happy gaming everyone.

Prothero makes a mental note to purchase appropriate clothing for the northlands, since the only specialized clothing he has is suited to the desert. He then turns his attention to the chest a moment before asking the venture-captain and his servant, ”These are documents related to governments of the north? Why can we not allow them to be searched? Do they give away state secrets, or reveal who the true father of a king is?"

Will purchase cold weather gear before we leave.

Well, no way we are going to be able to hide that thing... unless..."

"Any chance one of you have a bag of holding? It may mean the difference between mission success and failure."

Zero scribbles down his notes while the VC describes the situation. Once he is finished, he also writes a quick response. "I could carry the chest, if we have no extradimensional spaces in which to store it. Bear in mind, though, that it would attract even more attention than we Pathfinders usually garner, and it would render me slightly hindered."

"Is it fragile? I suppose I could set it down if a fight broke out over it. Regardless, I will keep it safe with my life."

I will also buy a cold-weather outfit. They go for 8 GP, so everyone knows.

Archon immediately approaches the ill Venture-Captain, perhaps the single Pathfinder he holds true respect for, and attempt to do what he can to help his friend.

Heal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

"Here,. . ." as he digs through one of his many pouches for something, finally retrieving a small pouch of something foul smelling, "brew this into a tea, and sip it. Add a bit of, extra "medicine" to help warm the bones, if you wish, but it should help."

All the while knowing just how canny the not-so-old man is, and this might just be a show, for whatever machinations he has going on, Archon is hopeful that either way, he might be able to help just a bit.

Carina looks a little concerned at the state of the Venture-Captain's health. The cards said nothing about his condition.... I hope that means that it's unimportant, she muses as the ailing Dreng is led from the room by his servant.

Then the Varisian fortune-teller brings her attention to the chest in question. As the others begin to discuss plans, Carina looks over the chest. But when Solstice brings up bags of holding, Carina responses, " I have a haversack, but this chest is too large for it. If we could remove the documents and stuff them into my bag, I'd be all for it, but that's already been nixed." After a moment, she adds, "I know some magic that makes it much easier to carry a heavy burden. If that's needed, then I'll have to remember to prepare it."

I'll drop the money for a cold-weather outfit too.

"That magic could be greatly appreciated, Carina," Zero writes. "I can carry it without a problem, but would be unable to use most of my true potential when doing so. I'm sure we've all been on enough missions to know none are as simple as they seem, and fights are likely to break out. The chance is even greater given the importance of these documents."

"Well now'd, I be thinkin' the real questshun here is 'ow ta disguise the thing. Shuren as snow falls and water drips, sumbody's bound ta be after this thin'; else why send it under guard? While we be thinkin' o' magic solutions, how 'bout shrinkin' down ta a wee size?"

"Good idea. I don't have the spell myself, but perhaps we could get a scroll. Do you, by any chance, know the name of the spell that does that?"

Carina shakes her head. "Thought about that already. That spell works on volume, and this chest is large enough that one would need a very experienced mage in order to enchant this chest."

Shrink Item is only 2 cubic feet per level, and the chest is 24 cubic feet. In order to use it here, we'd need a 12th level wizard in tow.

-Posted with Wayfinder

"I guess we're stuck doing it the old fashioned way. I almost have enough gold to buy a bag of holding, and it might be a good long term investment, but even empty those things weigh more than I can handle. I'm no burly barbarian, just a barbarian." i.e. Shoanti

"The Golden Bulwark blesses this venture, no doubt. I have a wand that should offer us all aid from the weather, and perhaps purchasing a simple sled and some dogs would be enough. My own faith has granted me greater reserves of strength for heavy carrying and lifting, as well, though I generally need both hands in order to defend my charges."

I have cast Ant Haul at the start of the day, but I also have a fairly low Str score. I also have a Wand of Endure Elements I can use on us all, and myself have Cold Resistance 5. However, because my computer is broke, (where I have all my character and chronicle sheets stored digitally), and I have already mailed off all of m hardcopies for the deployment, I honestly do not know right now how many PP I have, so am limited to spending GP only for now.

"Perhaps some way to obscure the chest, though?"

Have we been told definitively that we can't put the documents into some other container? I don't see that, though I expect that's the case in the scenario.

Prothero has little to offer in the way of magical suggestions to transport the chest, so he looks again to the ailing venture-captain in the hope of answers to their various questions.

Dreng continues to cough as you take the keys, money and chest. ”Thank you.” he rasps to Archon. He waves for Archon to give the vial to the servant. Archon realizes he really is quite sick with a bad cold.

The chest contains historical documents that Rognvald asked me to send to him. Who knows if they give away secrets. They might to the right person. The chest is only to be opened by Rognvald no one else. The chest doesn’t contain liquids just documents. Don’t go tossing it from roofs but if you accidentally drop it should survive.” Dreng ends in a fit of coughing.

The servant answers Solstice, ”We have a quartermaster who would have a bag of holding in stock for the correct amount of coin of course. I’ll leave ways to disguise the up to you. I really must get Mr. Dreng back to bed and give him his medicine.” he nods at Archon to indicate he would give it to the old man, and helps Drang leave the room.

Bag of Holding 1 can hold a volume of 30 ft (check) and up to 250 pounds. How much does the chest weigh? If the chest will fit, I will buy the bag.

"Well now, let me be goin' over ta chat with 'im 'n see ifin we can work somethin' out."

The chest weighs 100 pounds, so the bag of holding would work if Spackle is okay with springing for the gold.

"If we can carry it without it being noticed, such as in a bag of holding, that would be ideal," Prothero weighs in. "If that's too much expense, loading it onto a wagon or sledge, as Archon suggests, seems to makes sense. Perhaps we load it with several other chests or crates, which could be empty, so our particular chest doesn't stand out so much."

"Well, I was savin' up fer a ring fer a lady, but I think she'd understand 'bout the c'rcumstance here. Let me go see what's what." Sorry Fey, that's jest gonna have ta wait a while.

I have the Fame and the gold, so I will spend 2,500.

A short while later, (and smelling like a bit of wine), the bard returns. "Alright now, it took a bit o' fanagalin', but it turn out that Cayden has friends in jest about every place I've cared ta look. Here's the bag, but shuren these arms o' mine ain't made fer liftin' more than frothy pints 'r uncapped wineskins. Whataya say Numbers, kin ya puts the chest o' stuff in our new Bag o' Stuffin'? It'd be much 'preciated."

Solstice favors her new hero with an appreciative look.

That dear thing deserves a big kiss. Too bad it would be improprietous.

"Thank you Spackle," she murmurs respectfully.

Somewhere in Golarian a gnome with a wolf companion smiles as she thinks of Spackle.

The journey to Trollheim was amazingly uneventful. The boat wasn't beset by pirates or bandits, Baba Yaga didn't try to take you into her hut. No one asked for papers, and most importantly Spackle didn't run out of stories.

The directions to Skagni’s home provided by Venture-Captain Dreng’s assistant are unclear, but after a few wrong turns due to poor handwriting, the party finally locates their destination Where the directions indicate Skagni’s house should be stands only the charred husk of a burnt-out building.

Bits of burnt timber and ruined furniture lie scattered about, but if anything remained after the fire, it seems to have been picked over and looted. Though most of the walls are blackened with soot, a patch along the former front of the residence still shows relatively clean, white walls. Smeared across those white walls, written in reddish-brown letters four feet tall, are the words, “Pathfinders go home.”

Heal: 1d20 ⇒ 17

"Aw, Cayden's Keg! Ifin this ain't real blood, then I ain't hoistin' no more flagons ta nobody, no how, no way. It's seemin' like someone ain't bein' too friendly. Top it off, our boyo be missin'. After a nice cruise, its lookin' ta be time ta get ta work!"

Zero grins in appreciation of Spackle's donation and nickname as he hoists the chest straight into the tiny bag. "We, not to mention the rest of the Society, thank you. Hopefully you aren't too full of wine for more! I've been saving a bottle I spirited from the crazy depths of Razmiran. That was quite the assignment."

Upon reaching Skagni's house and witnessing the devastation, the oread looks rather troubled. This expression twists into a rather unreadable one, some strange amalgam of excitement and regret, when Spackle mentions that the writing is in blood. Immediately, he drops to one knee and begins to look about for anything of importance; a footprint here, a second note there.

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15

"That's also a pretty specific warnin'. I mean, we gotta be the only 'Finders fer hundreds o' miles, don't we? How'd they know we wuz comin'? They either tortured 'im 'n took 'im, or tortured 'im 'n killed 'im. Ain't fer sayin' which, but Ah'm doubtin' too many folks'd volunteer ta be drained like a vampire just ta write us some hate mail. Either way, we need ta be findin' out what's goin' on here. Anyone see which way the constable's buildin' was?" The bard looks through the remains of the area until everyone has had time to digest what they have seen here and are ready to move forward.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

Solstice quietly joins the search for clues, particularly curious how the fire was started, but also searching for remains, nervously keeping an eye out for trouble (after casting heightened awareness from her wand).

"I doubt they would have burried Skagni and even a fierce fire leaves bones, doesn't it? If we do not find a body I am hopeful that he is still alive."

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

"I wonder if maybe this is a clue rather than a warning? Someones dying attempt to direct us."

Using his Wand of Comprehend Laungauges, and also casting his divine sight Detect Magic, Archon will also begin to look around the area, always staying close to the hidden chest.

-Posted with Wayfinder

"I wonder if they were after Skagni and something he had," Prothero muses, "or after something we're carrying. In any case, we need to find where the looters went."

He joins the others in carefully inspecting the charred house, as well as the terrain around it.

Will take 20 on Perception for a 33 and on Survival for a 25. After weeks of traveling, it seems we'd have time for a thorough search.

Carina shakes her head at Archon's concept. "Live on the road long enough, and you run into this: either the remains of a fellow treated like this, or angry folk trying to do this to you. I'm inclined to agree with Spackle's call. We find the local lawman, and ask him about it. At the very least, we aren't the first to find this, and any constable worth caring about would have investigated this. No one likes an arsonist about, especially in a place with weather as brutal as here."

And with that, Carina also begins to search for clues to follow.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 19

@Prothero: You can't take 20 on this perception check. There's a consequence for not making the DC on the check. You can take 10, which would give you a 23 or you can roll for perception.

The group digs through the ruins, and asks any locals that walk by what they know about the fire. The locals can tell you the building burned down several weeks ago, and the owner hasn't been seen since. The building has been looted over the last few weeks. They also tell you no body was found inside the building after the fire.

The rules explicitly allow you to take 20 when looking for traps, is the consequence for failure here greater than the consequence of failing to spot a trap? That seems unlikely, but obviously I don't know that. I'll roll it, just in case.

Perception: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27

How about on Survival? Can I take 20 there? The only consequence of failing on a Survival check would be I wouldn't find the tracks, which is what taking 20 is designed to address. As above, I'll roll in case you see it differently.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17

Prothero continues to look for any evidence of what happened to Skagni, or where his attackers might have gone.

Normally, you may Take 20 on Perception, as missing something isn't the same thing as a bad effect on a failed roll, (such as accidentally destroying the thing we might find or making an NPC hate us). You simply do not notice something. This specific case might be different, or the Scenario itself might not allow it, I can't say. Speaking only for myself, I'm not really sure what our characters have discovered. There are no tracks or clues from all of the checks thus far?

My next inclination might be to go around and ask who might hate Pathfinders, but I have a feeling, metagame-wise that would be the entire nation.

"Looters you say? Anyone in particular come to mind? And what might they have found?"

The fire was several weeks ago and looters have been in and out for those weeks picking over the remains of the building and everything of value has been taken. You find no fresh tracks, or useful clues.

"I see we only have two options. Open the chest and read the notes hoping for some kind of clue. Or. Or we start poking about trying to find out what the man was researching or even reproducing his research. Of course that will make us targets too."

"Thoughts?"

"Let's not be vioilatin' our word jest yet. Lets be seein' what we kin find out first. Ifin it comes to it, then we can take a looksee inside."