GM Dennis - Professional Golfblin Association Desert Classic [closed] (Inactive)

Game Master Dennis Muldoon

Watch out for that sand-trap. Your golfblin might get stuck!

Oiur sits in their quarters in Absalom, humming softly, and examines still-pink reminder of their time to the north which they now carry on their abdomen.

The Professor busies himself in his laboratory, completing the steps on his most recent experiment. The windows are wide open to allow the strains of music from his neighbours in the bardic college to float in, and to help drown out the muffled noises from the subject. The remains of a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of cold tea sit in their tray by the door. Today's research has been very promising, this particular composition maintain the rate of autoregulated exsanguination at precisely the rate of regeneration provided by the wand he had borrowed from his colleague at the Arcanamirium.

Quite pleased with his success, he finds himself humming along to the tune the late afternoon breeze delivers over the eastern sill, and he turns to check to see whether there's anything remotely resembling warmth remaining in the fine bone china teapot (a gift from his dear departed mother). Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, the breeze has also jostled the dropped controlling the flow out of the burette, and when he turns back to his experiment, the subject has expired.

"Oh bother", the professor thinks to himself as he puts on his apron and retrieves his surgical tools. "Still, I could use a new set of knives for the next field expedition".

Using spit and a scrap of dirty cloth, Rowdy polishes his gun, Serena, in a rented room in the Puddles district.

”Lookin’ good as new,” he says, as he wipes some stubborn grit from the runes that cover the barrel. ”Long as they don’t send us underwater or to the desert, you should be just fine.”

The Grand Lodge's common room is as full as ever, but a flame-haired person in weathered but well-kept furs sits at the end of a long bench. Oiur is bent, brow furrowed, over the large tome resting on the scuffed wood before them. They support the front cover with one hand so as to not stress the spine; on it reads, in ornate gilded script, The Spheres: Their Music; Their Composition; Their Interaction; Their Inhabitants. A forlorn mug of lukewarm ale stands beside the heavy book.

So the Ethereal is a kind of... medium, then? Is that where Emshika resides? Perhaps in the Negative? Or...

They sit up straight, noting by the shadows on the floor how much time has passed. They shake their head, take a swig of neglected beer, and grimace.

I took a rank in Knowledge (planes) given some events and folks I've seen over the last few scenarios!

Eugressia sighs in a back office of the Scarab Sages wing of the Grand Lodge. After forgetting Tahonikepsu's name for the umpteenth time, she found herself stuck on office duty, reading field reports. Her eyes brighten as she opens a particular report.

"Rowdy went to Heaven? That must have been something." Although the small office has no windows, a gentle breeze stirs the sylph's long white curls. She rubs absent-mindedly at an old burn on her arm and murmurs to herself.

"I've got to get back on field duty. I just have to stop forgetting Tahani...Tahini...Tahonikepsu, and I'm sure she'll send me back out on an assignment."

Eugressia has a new GM credit from the Shores of Heaven, but hasn't been played since Goblinblood Dead.

After leaving his hovel, Ibb saunters down the street, slapping his his thighs and singing gibberish in Orc .

His thrush familiar, tilted at a jaunty angle, sleeps precariously atop the man's bald dome. Its head is buried deeply in a wing. Above, someone opens a window and screams shut up!

Ibb knows his Orc song is magical — like his friend Oiur's drumbeats, it changes the world around him, making other say and do interesting things. A powerful language!

A chamber-pot lands in his vicinity, splashing his boots.

He enters the Puddles district and ducks into an alley. He makes a few turns, and comes to a small shop with a sign that reads Innersea Hut Of Pancakes.

Ibb's ditty is suddenly cut short when he tries to open the door, and smacks face-first into the planking. He stumbles backwards, then bangs on the door; no one answers.

HEY! He pounds the wooden door again, almost rattling it off his hinges.

OPEN UP. IT'S PANCAKE TIME.

The bird opens its eyes. Read the sign, Ibb.

It ain't readin' time, it's pancake time.

He pounds the door with heightened intensity. It's always pancake time. I got a butter knife — he draws his Nodachi — and I need just somethin' to spread.

He raises it at the door.

Irp quickly begins to read:

Public Health Notice: Closed by order of the Puddles District Council and House Gixx, for health and hygiene.

Ibb pauses. Who needs that stuff? He raises his butter knife again.

I heard they had a pit in the kitchen, and were throwing the scraps of food to the ooze who lived there. And maybe a customer or two who couldn't foot the bill.

Ibb's stomach rumbles. But they said they never close… and they closed…

It seemed like a good plan to me, but I heard they were also pulling gobs of the ooze off, and bottling it as jam.

IT WAS DA BEST ON TOAST! Ibb raises the Nodachi in a sudden fury.

Ibb! The bird frantically flaps its wings. Do you want to have another talk with Ambrus about "wanton destruction of private property"?

Ibb drops the butter knife and sulks. I just wanton pancakes.

He sighs, picks up his butter knife, and exits the alleyway.

Soon, he forgets his troubles and merrily resumes his "Orcish" tune. Someone above throws open a window and screams.

Meanwhile, in the depths of the Osirian desert, a sandstorm has recently uncovered a mighty pyramid that was buried beneath the sand for ages. Lost for centuries, the pyramid has not yet revealed its secrets, but one crumbling papyrus scroll found in the Great Library of Tephu contains references to the tomb of an ancient Osirian king known only as the Pharaoh of Sphinxes. Word of the pyramid’s discovery has spread far and fast. Archaeologists, explorers, and tomb robbers from across the Inner Sea are gathering in Osirion’s taverns and inns to plan expeditions into the desert, each vying to be the first to plunder the tomb’s treasures.

I'll try to get us rolling tomorrow. Here's a little scene setting, to go with your own scenes.

Oiur walks through the streets of Absalom, half-remembered diagrams representative of infinite metaphysical spaces and their supposed spatial relation to one another. They look around at the City at the Center of the World's relatively ordered layout.

It's not the Storval Plateau, but it's slowly starting to feel something like home. With enough imagination, cobblestones and brick might be taken for arid highlands. Though the north was never quite so... diverse.

They smile to themself and continue on, taking in the throngs of people in a thousand styles of dress speaking a thousand different languages. At one point, an angry scream splits the hubbub. Well, there's a language we all understand. The crowd hushes for a moment, heads turning towards the scream's source—an open window on a third story. A familiar, absolutely unsubtle voice fills the brief silence, its raucous and unrefined "melody" scratching at facades and ears alike.

Oiur laughs and jogs forward, waving, already spotting the unusual and prissily upset headgear atop the singer's bald dome. "Ibb! Irp!"

Hullo Oiur! A piece of rotten cabbage wings by. Do you like my song?

Irp leaps up into the air and circles excitedly about Oiur's head. There's a little white splotch dribbling down alongside Ibb's ear.

I was looking for pancakes, like the ones you cooked in the cold forest. Yum! You hungry?

He waves his butter knife around; suddenly the shouting and the flying fruit stop. We can hit some golfblins around after that.

Oiur lays a hand on Ibb's meaty forearm. "I am! But wherever we get food, I don't think there's enough butter to warrant a knife that size. I suggest keeping it stowed until we find a situation where you really need it." They make crowd-calming gestures behind their back with their other hand. "As for golfblins, I'm not sure that pasttime's gotten terribly popular in Absalom, yet. Nor do I think the proper, er... equipment... is really available." They grimace at the thought of subterranean decapitations.

"But!" They raise their eyebrows and smile at Ibb. "I expect we can find something just as entertaining. I'm sure there's a shrine to Kurgess somewhere in the city. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though—do you know a good non-pancake eatery?"

Rowdy, having left his room to investigate the source of the awful screaming only to find Ibb and Oiur, waits at the end of the narrow street. As his friends approach he tips back his wide-brimmed hat and grins.

”Greetin’s an’ salutations gents. Wasn’t expectin’ to find you two in The Puddles. How the hell ya been?”

Ibb stares blankly at Oiur when he says "non pancake." It doesn't seem to be a language he understands.

Ibb sheathes the butter knife then rubs his eyes, not believing he's seeing Rowdy too. I been up to a lot, Mr. Badger. Lessee… he lifts a finger: Pancakes… A second finger: Talkin' orc… The ring finger: Decapitatin' things… The pinky: Wreckin' dumb old stuff in stupid buildings…. The thumb: Irp tryin'a poison me… He shrugs. Lotsa things.

The bird wheels overhead and cackles.

What about you, Badger? Want to get some food with us?

Rowdy lets out a sigh as he rolls up his shirt sleeve. "This happened on account a some goblins."

Under the lamp light he shows where his right forearm has been mutated into insect-like chitin with spiky black hairs. "Kinda ugly, but looks worse than it is."

"Oh, and," he tips back his hat and grins,"I took me a little trip to heaven."

The winds arrive before the sylph does, blowing hair and clothing around.

"I'll never forget that voice! Hello, Ibb! And Oiur! And Rowdy! Well, this is a delightful meeting. Rowdy, I just read the report from your trip to Heaven. It sounds fascinating!"

Adam, our characters know each other already, but you should totally feel free to hop in!

As you chat, a familiar, gruff voice booms out from behind you.

”What are you lot doing here? Your ship for Sothis leaves from the Docks in twenty minutes! Didn’t you get my message?”

Just then, a young initiate runs up with five sealed notes in her hand. ”Oh, you’re all here together!” she says, confidently striding forward. ”I have orders for you all from Venture….captain...uh, hi sir” she trails off as she sees the Venture-Captain standing next to you, glaring at her.

”Never mind that now!” he snaps, grabbing the notes from her. ”Well, despite the best efforts of my young messenger here, you still might just make it on-board before the Hungry Ankheg sets sail. Balentiir will explain your mission when you arrive in Sothis. Now hustle!”

Adam, the professor can join them at any point up to and including the party's arrival at VC Balentiir's office in Sothis. I'll leave it to you to decide when.

As the party hustles to the Hungry Ankheg, Rowdy walks alongside Eugressia.

"Heaven's pretty nice," he says. "As I bet you can imagine. I think you'd like it. They got a lot a interestin' books up there. And probably what had to be the most delicious bread I ever ate. The kinda bread that when you taste it, you think oh yeah, this bread's worth dyin' and goin' to heaven for."

Sounds good, let's have him be in Balentiir's office

Great. Also, if everyone could, please, fill in your initiative and perception modifiers in the appropriate places on the first slide o the maps deck.

One quiet evening, as the Professor is poring over his field journals (and remarking at some expeditions he'd forgotten that he'd ever been part of), a letter arrives.

Your presence is requested in Sothis, to assist in an expedition under the care of Venture-Captain Balentiir , Lacrymose reads. "Best get packing, it seems".

After an easy voyage by boat from Absalom to the grand Osirion port city of Sothis, you find yourselves in the Sandswept Hall, in the offices of Venture-Captain Norden Balentiir. Seated across the desk from the Balentiir when you arrive is a distinguished-looking ratfolk man, who the Venture-Captain introduces as Professor Lacrymose, who will be joining you on this mission.

”Greetings Pathfinders, It seems we have another task at hand in the Osirian desert. A travelling caravan heading north from the village of Safani to the city of Eto was recently blown off course while traversing through the Parched Dunes, due to unusually strong sandstorms. Much of the caravan was destroyed, but one of the survivors, a man by the name of Akenata, claimed to have seen a large pyramid protruding out of the desert. At first many thought that the old man was suffering from heat exhaustion and may have seen a mirage. But then he brought forth a small clay tablet inscribed in Ancient Osiriani. The tablet was a cartouche of the Pharaoh Sekh-pa-Mefer the III, The Pharaoh of Sphinxes.

”If this is indeed true then the sands of time have uncovered one of the few pyramids from the First Age of Osirion. I have conducted research within the Great Library of Tephu and discovered a papyrus scroll which contains references into the pharaoh’s name and found that the pyramid is rumored to be one of the few tombs that the Pharaoh Jetrieti V did not plunder during his reign more than 7,500 years ago.

”Using the directions the caravan guide has given me, I have created a map for you and will be sending your team of Pathfinders to explore this area. Locate the pyramid and explore it depths. Bring back as many artifacts as you can find, as I have no doubt that Akenata has told his story to others and word of the pyramid’s discovery has no doubt spread far and fast.

"Remember you will be traveling in an inhospitable desert environment and very close to the eastern edge of the Footprints of Rovagug, so be vigilant in your travels as all manner of beasts roam those harsh desert sands. Do any of you have questions before you go?"

Earlier…

Eugressia! And you 'member us! Come to pancakes with us!

Ibb is suddenly furious; he looks at Eugressia, then at Rowdy, then back to Eugressia. They killed Rowdy, then gave him homework!? And then you had to read it?! He moves to draw his butter knife, but Irp pecks his hand.

----

As Ambrus stalks away, Ibb pouts, Why's Amby mustaches so grumpy? Not even time for pancakes… at least my room is clean for when we get back… come on, stupid birdie.

"Sounds simple enough, Balentiir", a well-groomed ratfolk in a light creme-coloured suit says as he sets down his teacup. "Any word on what trouble we might encounter on our way, and will any provisions or transportation be provided?"

Oiur steps down the gangplank and into the dry breeze of Ossirian. Beneath seawater and pitch, they detect notes of spice from the nearby market.

"Well, Ibb, they may not have pancakes, but we might yet find a satisfying meal! Might even be some exciting garnishes!" They wink. "Though I don't relish dealing with an angry Valsin again. We'd best hurry to the Sandswept Hall."

****************
"A pleasure! I'd love to talk about your tailor, should we get a chance." Oiur greets Professor Lacrymose with a small bow.

The give a low whistle at news of the recently unearthed pyramid, nodding and tapping a thumb against the thick, grey bands of their neck tattoos while they listen. They speak up when Venture Captain Balentiir finishes.

"Good questions, Professor. Furthermore, any particular artifacts we're looking for while we're in there? Any notes on what hazards would be in a pyramid of this era? I'm no scholar, but I've certainly heard of enough about trapped tombs." They cluck their tongue and knit their brow, remembering a similarly subterranean and acutely dehydrated encounter in Isger.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Lacrymose says off-handedly."Somewhere in the Coins, I'd have to look it up." At this point he glances at Oiur, examining them closely."Might I just say - your bone structure is phenomenal! Would you consider donating your body to science upon your demise?"

***

GM, any opportunity for knowledge rolls here?

"Frankly we have no idea what to expect. Most of the tombs from this era were looted millennia ago, and every pharaoh seems to have had different ideas about what they should take with them to the afterlife, and what they should leave behind to guard themselves. I've prepared a dossier here on the local wildlife you might encounter on the trip to the site, and we've prepared a team of camels to get you there."

This module starts with you standing in front of the pyramid, so no special preparations are needed for the trip.

Knowledge(history): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28

“Osirion was ruled by September...I mean, Sekh-pa-mefer III during that time. He said that sphynixes gave him the secret to eternal life and that he would return after death to lead Osirion into a new age.

Greeting the Professor, “Hello! My name is Eugressia, and it’s so nice to meet you. Wait, this is the first time we’ve met, yes? I apologize if not; I do tend to forget things.

Up close, it is apparent that the sylph’s blue swirls cover up extensive scars over her entire body, some injuries, some burns, and some surgical. A slow wind blows around her, even though you are inside Balentiir’s office.

Ibb's eyes glaze over while Balentiir talks. At the words "desert sands" He blurts out Sand Trap?

The bird pecks him sharply on the head. Ibb's eyes sparkle while his dome dribbles a drop of blood; he imagines looting ancient tombs.

Ibb has no questions… he never does.

Knowledge(History): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

The professor turns his gaze on Eugressia, noting the abundance of scars. "My word, but you are a veritable study in hypertrophic cutaneous regrowth. Is it typical for members of your species to overproduce collagen so dramatically?". He has retrieved a small notebook and a pencil from one of his jacket pockets and is scribbling down some very quick notes. "Quite right in your analysis of the Pharaoh of Sphinxes. Full marks were you in my class! Though, I'm not currently teaching. My research and the occasional field expedition
afford me little time for the expansion of young minds."

Knowledge(history): 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (16) + 0 = 16

The Pharaoh of Sphinxes was named eponymously for the desert creatures he befriended, and often hosted them at his court.

It pauses. Indeed, Eugressia, Professor… of course, indeed, oh, I absolutely knew all that too, I did! bluff: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (6) - 2 = 4

The bird mutters: Why couldn't he dream I knew about history today?

The bird bobs at the Professor. Erudite scholar? Creature of science? A much-needed addition to this party, so lacking in brains? A pleasure…. The bird bobs its head, picks at a nit out of its feathers, and gobbles it up.

"How curious, a member of the Turdidae family. And speaking!" he eyes Irp hungrily."This is indeed an unexpected... opportunity."

He shakes himself, then smiles a bit unconvincingly. "I apologize. I tend to get carried away when meeting new... anything, really."

Lacrymose has the "Unnatural" trait, which while mechanically applies only to animals (they reeeeeeally don't like him), comes across in most of his interactions. He is smart, well-dressed, and polite (unless there's an unusual scientific phenomenon to investigate). But his smiles tend to feel a bit forced, and his concern an affected, learned behaviour.

"Allow me to introduce myself formally. I am Professor Nicodemus Lacrymose, originally of the University of Lepidstadt, but now on secondment within the offices in Absalom as I pursue several joint research ventures with the Pathfinder Society. I look forward to working with all of you.
bluff: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (1) - 2 = -1
I am certain there will be many opportunities for enlightenment as we plumb the depths of the Pharaoh's tomb."

Do we still have that wand of Endure Elements? If not Ibb can grab one via Prestige. While we are arriving at the tomb already, we're still in the desert. Any chance to purchase other gear at the last minute?

Oiur unsuccessfully attempts to conceal their discomfort at the Professor's rapid shift from polite sartorialism to unsettling physiological curiosity. Their eyebrows climb their high forehead, and a quiet rumble sounds in their throat.

"I, ah... admit I don't think overly much about my eventual demise." They rub the back of their neck and laugh nervously. "I hope this expedition won't give you cause to see my bone structure in more detail at all, in fact!"

They turn their attentions to more familiar companions. "No worries, Irp—we can't all remember everything all the time! I'm glad Eugressia and our new friends are here to do the intellectual heavy lifting."

They pull at the collar of their unseasonal jerkin. "I would like to get some more appropriate gear before we head out, if you all don't mind the detour?"

Before the group hits the road, Oiur stops at a market stall and purchases a few items of clothing. They emerge from a silk tent with a loose-flowing beige tunic underneath their worn hide armor. Coupled with their shock of fiery crimson hair, a bright red scarf brackets their grey and blue tattoos and piercing emerald eyes. Bought a hot weather outfit!

They smile sardonically. "Better! Still hot under the armor, but sweat's preferable to an axe to the gut. Ask me how I know."

Note: Oiur's uncomfortable, but I'm not. Roleplaying creepy without creeping out folks around the table's a tough line to walk, but I think you're doing well so far!

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

“I'm Rowdy Copperpelt by the way, although some call me The Honey Badger, on account a me talkin’ real sweet an’ fightin’ real mean."

Rowdy is a scrappy, red-headed human with an unshaven chin and bright blue eyes. A stripped poncho covers his dusty clothes and the hair on his head still holds the imprint of a hat. A weathered bandolier strapped across his body holds various types of ammunition and alchemical weapons. A rapier hangs from one hip and a pistol covered in gems and arcane runes hangs from the other.

"I'm from Alkenstar City, the capital city of the Grand Duchy of Alkenstar. I’m also a man of science, but of the black power kind. Though I do got me some learnin’ in the arcane arts too."