You are awaiting your briefing with your fellow agents.
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"This will be my first time in the museum…although its reputation certainly precedes it. More than a handful of agents I've worked with report having solved, and perhaps even caused, a lot of trouble there." If it is possible to be simultaneously imposing and non-threatening, Rhydderch has certainly mastered the task. Standing well over six feet tall he speaks with a quiet dignity and looks as comfortable in a full suit of armor as the average person would be in their pajamas.
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You see a rotund dwarf with a broad smile and even more broad belt enter the room, while chewing on what appears to be a leftover trail ration. He looks around and spots the other Pathfinders.
"Hey there! Hello again, my good friends. It is jolly good to see you all."
He bows to each, not as deeply as he would like, but as much as his physique will allow.
"Brother Grimdock at your service. A pleasure to meet you all."
You are in Pathfinder Society’s Grand Lodge in Absalom, where you are meeting with local venture captain Drandle Dreng not for high adventure, but to settle accumulated paperwork.
“It is truly a pleasure to be back.” Venture Captain Drandle Dreng takes a seat at the head of the table and leafs through the papers set before him. “Some of you might have worked with me before my… furlough. And I look forward to reminiscing, but first it seems we need to spend the next few hours tidying up the paperwork you’ve accumulated over the course of your adventures.” He wets his cracked lips. “First, we have this extradition order from Cheliax for... Oh my. Well, I’m sure the Society can—“
A blue-grey shape crashes through the window and lands on the oak table with a metallic schwak! The tangle of wings and claws eventually stands, a gleaming silver raven, and opens its mouth.
“G—gods help me, Dreng, I’m dying,” a distant male voice sputters from the bird. “Men in black—came for… Numeria exhibits. It’s Nigel... I’ve been shot! You owe me, you old bastard!”
Dreng’s lips crack and pop as they tighten. “Well… Sounds like you lot need to head to the Wise District. That sounds like Nigel Aldain, so go to the Blakros Museum. If he lives through the night, I might be able to make something of this—” he waves a hand over the mound of parchment, “disappear.”[/b]
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You may know some details about the Blakros Museum, its curator, and its history.
Well-studied Pathfinders may know about Numeria and its people.
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As you ready to leave the lodge, another Pathfinder clumsily stumbles into any member of the Dark Archive faction, quietly handing off a note.
In light of our recent reorganization, knowing the right people is quite vital. A pet of mine couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Dreng and Nigel Aldain’s pathetic cry for help. Sad though he is, the elf controls access to a wealth of knowledge I want access to, and he would make a delightful addition to the Dark Archive’s ranks. Persuade him to join us. It shouldn’t pose much of a challenge with his ego, but he is a fickle and self-important little man. If you can find any way to ensure his true and lasting loyalty know that I will owe you a favor.
— Zarta Dralneen
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A heretofore silent elf strides from the corner. He's serious of countenance, but not overly cruel looking. His attire is so quintessentially elven that it borders on cliche. The only odd feature is the slightly Minkaian feel to his attire and the more than slightly Minkaian look of his blade. His comportment denotes a lightly armored warrior, but the smell of all things esoteric points him out as a spellcaster.
Clearly his mind is still stuck in Mendev.
"Blakros? Many of my friends also speak of it as a place of constant chaos and emergency. My apologies for my late arrival. Please don't judge me by it. When steel is drawn, I'll be right there. Shall we?"
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Mustachioed humans.
"You are new agents to me, on the way I'd love to hear of your exploits and experiences. Someone tell me of a recent tale of high adventure." I need someone to name a scenario that any one of these characters have played that Druthane hasn't. I'll post the list later, but he doesn't have any Season 0-2 stuff.
The dark, blocky architecture of the Blakros Museum squats stubbornly between the more impressive government buildings of the Wise Quarter. One of the older buildings in Absalom, it remains unchanged and lacks the ornamentation of its newer neighbors. Imposing statues of armored men flank the entrance ahead, one partially obscured by a half-fallen banner reading “Grand New Exhibition!” A blue flicker intermittently tints the dark windows, casting long, dull shadows over the groomed gardens and fountain. A crumpled figure in bloodstained robes lies against the fountain’s edge.
The garden is unlit, but the illumination from the museum’s windows provides dim light.
Nigel lies against the garden fountain in a haze of shock and melodrama. “Keep your heads down fools! They could be anywhere!”
As you approach, he begins sputtering an explanation to ensure his innocence in the night’s debacle.
“Are you Pathfinders? Did Dreng send you? It was... it was... it was in no way my fault! We took every precaution! Tomorrow was going to be such an event, unveiling the new museum, and absolutely nothing could go wrong! I personally inspected every artifact that came in, as both a scholar and a wizard. Everything was harmless as a newborn lamb! And anything the least bit suspicious went right into the lockbox! We even made sure those bizarre “robots” of theirs were neutralized!"
After this exertion, Aldain starts to faint.
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Grim will move up with the other dwarf and assist in the pep talk
"Snap to mister! As Hagrym says, we be here to help you. No whiners allowed. Just let's know how we can help, and we will be on it like...well like something that gets on something. Harrhh! " the dwarf scowls with a slight grin.
assist
Nigel shakes his head and slowly regains consciousness. "A robot? It’s one of those Numerian machines, sort of a golem, but it runs on lightning and needs little nodules in its head to think and obey. So we pulled those nodules out and threw them in the hazard crate."
Nigel breaths deep for a few seconds. "It was those vile cultists! They struck in the night like cowards! Oh, Abadar preserve my poor staff! None of us know how to fight. I went to find help and those Numerian monsters shot me in the back! I blacked out. Thought I’d gone on to the Boneyard, but when I awoke I called for assistance. I don’t know how many of my workers are still alive! Pendleton was in there!
"You have to do something. They could destroy the entire museum! Half of that exhibit belongs to you people!"
Nigel shakes his head, "I'm fine, I'll be fine. But I'm not going back in there!"
He responds the questions, "Pendleton is my nephew—my wife’s sister’s middle son. Nice enough lad. Head in the clouds. Dhrami thought a season or two working in the museum might teach him a bit about foreign cultures before they actually let him roam the world and embarrass us all abroad."
"The robots were attacking with weapons, although the lightning that powered them was charging up their weapons and fixing them as they were injured."
"Now this cult-I believe they are called the Technic League, some secret society out of Numeria. Clearly they did not like my acquisition of their artifacts. I assure you, almost no one told me how fanatically devoted they were to keeping their technology a secret.”
“The hazard crate is another gadget from Numeria, a large metal box painted in black and yellow. Doesn’t affect most magic, but it shuts down any Numerian relics placed inside. It's inside, stored up on the second floor the last time I saw it.”
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"These robots sound like something from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. While our skills are unmatched I only hope the quality of our weaponry can stand up to the test. If not this could be a very short mission for us." Rhydderch states. "No offense, Brother Grimdoc." You're not certain...but you believe that may have been the paladin's attempt at jest.
The party moves into the museum proper...
An electric tang overpowers the room’s scent of polish and wax. Walls and pillars of hewn black stone support the heavy ceiling overhead and a lattice of lamps burning with a steady, white flame. Dozens of paintings, both stunning and lackluster, line the walls just beyond the museum’s grand doors. Various statues stand against the walls, while a towering bronze figure, arm outstretched with waves parting beneath him, almost scrapes the fifteen-foot ceiling at the chamber’s far end.
Doors to the west are delicately labeled “Facilities,” while a sign over the double doors across the gallery boasts “Histories of the World.” Two sets of double-doors stand at the room’s north end, barely ajar. A banner hanging overhead proclaims “Secret Sorceries of a Savage Land,” while a more subdued sign below that reads “Grand Exhibition Hall.”
The statue is easily recognizable as Arodan raising the isle of Kortos from the sea.
Four of the statues actually whir into motion and command in metallic voices, “Desist all trespassing.”
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"Ho! Watch their electric touch and give them the SAME!" As Druthane Shouts the last word he snaps his blade out and charges it with arcane power. He steps to the corner and brings the blade down with everything he has, delivering a spell with a stroke of the blade.
Swift: Spell Shield Arcana (AC 19)
Standard: Cast Shocking Grasp and hold the charge.
Move action: Move to melee. deliver the spellstrike. (Assuming I get the +3 for metal.) +
Although Druthane's weapon seems to deal no damage to the robot, the electrical charge seems to have fried a few circuits. Hagrym has trouble connecting, as does Jaysin.
G1: 19 dmg
Ander likewise has trouble hitting the robot! Rhydderch moves in to assist Druthane but only does a little damage to the tough robot.
The first gearsman stabs at Rhydderch!
The next one goes after Ander!
The other two move up, one of them going for Jaysin....
And the other for Grimdoc.