"Are you capable of casting the spell ghostbane dirge? In the past, groups I've traveled with have purchased scrolls of that spell to deal with incorporeal undead. I want to avenge our comrade Carr and destroy that wraith and any other undead in that wretched place from which we just returned."
"Ymeri is Mistress of the Crematorium, thereby may She claim all Smoke and Ash that passes through it. When I speak to Her next, I will tell her of your courageous battle, the destruction, and your vengeful anger. She'll probably appreciate that."
IF we're going to fight the wraith(s), I will prepare 2 ghostbane dirges, as well as a couple other helpful things. Is that what we do?
"Yes, I imagine they do, how interesting..." Mylvwara produces a notebook and quill, "So, tell me more about Ymeri, um, how should one spell the name?"
"In which alphabet? The only proper way is in Ignan, in which it is written..."
Nemesis spends much of the evening up with Mylvwara expounding on Ymeri's history, Her rituals and practices, Her wars, rivals, and victories, some of Her finest myths, and a bit of heavily mystagogical speculation on Her deeper nature, although even Nemesis seems to tire of that relatively quickly. She also shares how she personally came to the faith, and lots and lots of meditations upon the nature, both base and sublime, of Ash.
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Mylvwara scribbles notes furiously, breaking several quills during the evening.
She falls asleep slumped over her work, restless dreams and curious nightmares haunt her fevered sleep.
In the morning, Mylvwara returns to her notes and finds that she has just written out a handful of elven nursery rhymes over and over and over again.
After your talk with Dinvaya Lanalei, you leave the chapel with the rough map, and are on your way north.While passing, you obviously can't help but notice the huge sized metal debris, that the crashed craft left in and on the ground.
You come across a small number of dwellings, both small and a large one.
A duo of Ratfolk and a rugged looking human look from their metal barricade as you move by. An emblem of a large grinning face on its door.
Most likely The Smilers' main base, going by what you were told...and the map's indication too.
After the restless night, Ting, thankful to be whole again, nods to the priestess, "Tanks, yer priestessness." Then turning to the Mistress of Mayhem, "An' you's too Brallenera, I's'l pay you's back fer tha gold. So where too's now? Wroight?'
Looking at the others as he shifts from foot to foot, waiting for an answer. When no ideas are forthcoming, Ting shrugs his shoulders, "We's may as well bloody goes and see's if'n tha couple a rattyfolks an' tha rough lookin' fella are still at tha' place wit tha grinnin' door, wroight."
Ting then heads out of the temple, moving back the way they went yesterday, before they decided to investigate the space ship. Stopping down the street from the building with the large grinning face on the door. He turns to the others, "so now's what's?"
Ok, about the only thing worse than letting Ting make the decisions (int of 7) is letting him do the talking. (cha of 7) So who wants to approach the people at the door?
Brallenera was still sad at AngelFace demise, and broods dark thoughts.
Awww… I must do my best to bring him back, if I can. He didn't deserve to end like this.
Drexel follows, hoping that things go better this time around.
Drexel rolls 1d20+1d6+12 for Diplomacy, thanks to Ceaseless Observation, Expanded Inspiration, Student of Philosophy, a high intelligence, and a bunch of ranks in Diplomacy.
"Good day there, sturdy yeoman. Is this the headquarters of the Smilers? We hear that you are one of the most honorable gangs in Scrapwall. We are trying to make contact with the Lords of Rust, as we would like to have some words with them. Let us reason together. Can you help us?"
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1d6 + 12 ⇒ (15) + (6) + 12 = 33
The ratfolk watchman is taken aback by Drexel's goal.
2nd ratfolk: "Ey Whisks, back down to solid ground, will ya? You're spacing out here."
He shakes his colleague, before the watch named Whisks starts laughing.
"Oh boy, you're nuts i tell you, nuts! That's the greatest thing i've heard all day."
He turns around and speaks something in undercommon, before turning back to the pathfinders.
"I guess our leader wouldn't mind hearing of this, so please, make yourselves at home, as far as you large folk are able to."
A part of the barricade opens up, and you enter a square where a dozen or so ratfolk are gathered...doing a variety of things, yet all watching you.
Mylvwara takes it all in, making notes in her book as she goes. She keeps her eyes open for unusual or interesting practices she can make inquiries about.
perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (9) + 11 = 20
diplomacy, asking questions: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Drexel turns and whispers to his allies.
"Stay together, and don't mention who we are or what business we have with the Lords of Rust unless you have to. We don't know if the Smilers are allies or enemies of the Rustlords yet, and we are kind of surrounded."
He eyes the numerous ratfolk all over the square.
Mylvwara sees two ratfolk working on salvaged medium sized armor, as they work it down to small size, fit for their kin's use.
They tell her that the Lords of Rust raider groups often leave behind non-magical equipment, so they strip the bodies they find in the wake for usable gear.
Stay together, and don't mention who we are or what business we have with the Lords of Rust unless you have to. We don't know if the Smilers are allies or enemies of the Rustlords yet, and we are kind of surrounded
I recall a rumor having somewhat spread of you supposedly beating a rival gang's enforcers, gaining some minor reputation with the smilers. Courtesy of the lad who calls Devinya mistress.
About half an hour later, Whisks and another return.
It is a more graceful looking female ratfolk, of orange brown fur, clad in mail, leather and an assortment of other things.
"I am Letra, leader of the Smilers gang. Whisks tells me you wish to enter Lords of Rust territory, and want our help with something related to it, yes?"
"So speak up, then."
Drexel bows deeply, and approaches Letra.
"Well met, Letra. Your reputation and that of the Smilers precedes you. We do indeed wish to enter the territory of the Lords of Rust, and we wish to ask for your permission and aid. We have a few questions for you as well."
He smiles, as he continues:
"What is your relationship with the Lords of Rust?"
"The Lords of Rust are said to have several leaders. One is said to be a huge orcish woman with two heads. Do you know her name? Do you know anything about her?"
"What about a female with red skin who also leads them? What is her name? Do you know anything about her?"
"What do you know about Hellion, the supreme leader of the Lords of Rust?"
"Is there anything else we should know about the Lords of Rust?"
"What can you tell us about the Steel Hawks?"
"In exchange, I offer up some information to you freely. There is a wreck nearby, that was hitherto unexplored. Be careful around there, there are powerful undead about, and they killed one of our company."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1d6 + 14 ⇒ (6) + (6) + 14 = 26
That is one sure way to start a wraith plague ^^
She leans against a barrel.
"We -and every other gang in scrapwall- are at odds with them. We survive mainly because of our small frame with hiding, and our barricades.
Their physical prowess outshines our kin's."
"You must have misheard, there is no orc with 2 heads. Sure, there is an orc woman, a savage of no end, and there is this large brutish woman, who does have 2 heads. We don't see them outside of their own turf, but from the one lucky scout who was foolish enough to get close to their arena, we heard they call her Kulgara."
"The red skinned one, more of a rumor than seen any appearance. That one was talk of the raiders at one point, but even they had only seen a quick glimpse of her. Multiple arms, i think, they said."
"Hellion... spoken of by many, seen by no outsider. But there seem to be some followers of its faith active there."
"The steel hawks? Hah!", she spits on the ground. "Another gang, but quite a distance from here anyway, backwards. They love everything metal. They're more show-offs though, you won't find any useful help there."
Her curiosity is peeked by the prospect of salvaging something.
"What kind of undead are we talking about here? Surely a bunch of skeletons isn't strong enough to take down a well equipped adventurer."
Shifting from foot to foot, Ting tries to be quiet and let the others do the talking, but when he hears the graceful looking female ratfolk ask about the undead, his feathers shudder as he blurts out. "A wraith, a bloody floggin' wraith, it buggered our golden angelie fella, name o' Carr. An Mylvwara 'air say they's can float's through wall's" He nods his beak towards the ship. "If'n you's want's ta wait's we's'l deal wit tha wraith, once our business wit tha 'Lords' is done. wroight."
Doing some knowledge checks to see if any of those monster or race descriptions ring a bell.
Arcana: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (13) + (5) + 8 = 26
Dungeoneering: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (6) + (2) + 8 = 16
Engineering: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (6) + (5) + 7 = 18
Geography: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (1) + (1) + 7 = 9
History: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (6) + (1) + 7 = 14
Local: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (12) + (1) + 8 = 21
Nature: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (3) + (1) + 7 = 11
Nobility: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (5) + (4) + 7 = 16
Planes: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (18) + (6) + 7 = 31
Religion: 1d20 + 1d6 + 7 ⇒ (14) + (3) + 7 = 24
"Interesting," says Drexel.
"Well, Lady Letra, I will be frank with you. Our client sent us here to bring down the Lords of Rust. They are causing major problems in this region, and are by all accounts, including your own, a savage gang of thugs and raiders. We intend to put a stop to it. If there is anything you can do to help us, we would be much obliged, but otherwise just point us in the right direction."
Drexel wrecks his brain, but with no clearer descriptions other than the minor details, it would take him a actual view to know what they will be dealing with.
Letra ponders Drexel's words.
"Hmm, yes...perhaps. One of our scouts can get you close to their turf, unseen if you're lucky. Can't tell whether the Lords of Rust are sending out another raiding party at the same time."
In knowledge that helping you is helping themselves, Letra assigns one of her scouts to guide you to the edges of the Lords of Rust's territory.
Thankfully no raiding parties are on your way there.
The ratfolk hunkers down behind a large boulder.
"Their turf begins half a mile ahead. I've heard that people wanting to join have to face a combat trial, so erm...maybe you could even infiltrate while killing some? Just a thought."
He peers around the corner once more.
"I'm going back. You've seen the general route to get here. With luck, we will see you back, and a scourge of Scrapwall will be gone. Goodluck, long legs."
At some point during his scurrying around, Ting literally bumps into a bulky looking orc.
He peers down upon Ting, standing a foot higher.
"Heh, we was wundrin' when the famed 'Brawlers of Scrapwall' would come trying to join the best darn gang of Scrapwall."
Several other figures come from the vicinity, a motley collection of ratfolk, orcs and strange skinned humanoids.
"You's got yerselves a li'l invitaition from madame Helskarg, should you ever have shown yur faces here."
Bumping into the large orc, Ting looks up, his beak not coming to the speakers, chin. Shrugging his shoulders, "Brawlers o' Scrappy wall? If'n you's say so, wroight."
Nodding to the others, he continues, "Madame Helskarg, you's don't says, lead on me good man, lead on." Ting then toddles after the motley collection of ratfolks, orcs and strange skinned humanoids.
The group eventually arrives, and the orc points at a door.
Your escort themselves wait until you enter, then head another way as you do.....
An enormous battlefield sprawls here—a fighting arena that measures several hundred feet in diameter, ringed by mounds of junk and refuse stacked in tiers for seating.
The ring has an arched opening in its westernmost end to allow access to the arena, while against the eastern side, a large metallic structure akin to a squat tower protrudes from the hard-packed earth. A wooden stairway wraps around the tower’s sides, and a twentyfoot-tall stage protrudes from its western facade, overlooking the arena below.
Many figures are present, orcs, ratfolk, some more odd-skinned humans, are all seated all around.
Drexel follows, shaking his head in confusion and slight distaste at the ridiculous accents.
Hey ting has a charisma and intelligence of 7, so what did you expect, Shakespeare?:-)
Looking to his friends, new and old alike, "So's what do you's blokes tink 'is is bloody wells about, wroight?"
anything with seeing that a perception check would help?
perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29
Ting is seeing lots of spectators, and is the first to see a green foot exit an abode up ahead.
A large green female creature exits...
In a bombastic voice:
"And welcome everyone, once again. Word has reached my ear we have new blood entering our arena today."
*cheers coming from the seats*
"Would the newcomers like to introduce themselves?", and she points a stubby finger at the group.
”Is she a troll? How wonderful?”
A slight blush lights Mylvwara’s pale cheeks, ”I mean that in the technical sense, rather than the colloquial.”
Satisfied that she has explained herself, she takes in the scene.
perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16
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Looking around and not seeing any of his allies taking up the podium so to speak, Drexel decides to provide the introductions.
"Ladies any gentlemen, it is my pleasure to introduce our group. The most dangerous gang in Numeria, perhaps on all of Golarion."
He steps forward, and gestures to each of his teammates as he walks down the line.
"Here we have Ting-Tang, The Terrible Tengu, a peerless swordsman, whose accent is just as likely to cut you as his bastard sword.
Next we have Mylvwara, the Mad Mage, an elf who has forgotten more spells than most men will ever learn in their lifetimes.
Don't judge our next fighter for her size, because she is just as medium as you or me. Brallanera, ladies and gentlemen, is a barbarian dwarf with a rage that could melt the Silver Mount.
Next we have Nemesis, a priestess of an ancient cult so secretive that if I told you what it was I would have to kill myself and then kill you afterwards. I'm told she can cast ghostbane dirge.
And last but not least, we have me, Drexel Santangelo, warrior-poet and a better announcer than I would have given myself credit for being.
Together, we're the guys who are about to steal your lunch."
Hearing the beginning of the most excellent introduction, ting lulls his tongue in a tengu smile puffing his chest out. As Drexel continues he looks from the large troll woman to Drexel, stating quizzically, under his breath. "Accent? I's ain't got's no bloody accent, If'n anybodies speaks bloody well odd it's you's mammals, wroight."
Nodding his head as Drexel continues the introduction, Ting slaps the warrior-poet on the back, "I's couldn't 'ave stated it's better me bloody self." He leans in a bit, looking around oddly. "But if'n we's is gonna steal 'air lunch, should we's tell 'em about's it? Not 'at I's is picky about's eatin' wroight."
Then, resting his bastard sword on his shoulder, calls out to the large green lady, "So now 'at we's are interducted, who's tha blazes is you's?"
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Drexel Santangelo wrote:Drexel follows, shaking his head in confusion and slight distaste at the ridiculous accents.
Hey ting has a charisma and intelligence of 7, so what did you expect, Shakespeare?:-)
Funny you should put it that way...I take it you've never met my Cavalier (who is literally twice as smart and charming as you are)?
Drexel turns to Ting-Tang, and smiles, saying in an aside, "Well, I meant "steal your lunch" in a metaphorical sense, of course, as in we're going to beat the lights out of anyone we have to fight here in this arena. But if we get the opportunity to steal ourselves a well-cooked meal, I'll not pass it up. I've had nothing but trail rations and ship food for weeks."