A booming voice calls out from the wood-paneled office's open doorway. "Welcome! Welcome my friends! Please, have a seat." The speaker, Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin, points to a number of chairs around his desk. He sounds friendly, but his smile seems forced.
"I’m not one for beating around the bush, so let me lay it out for you. Three weeks ago, we lost contact with an expedition of Pathfinders sent into Geb, led by a researcher from Absalom named Joktan Heth. He and the other members of his group were magically disguised as undead creatures and tasked with recovering an ancient tome known as the Testament of Geb, purported to be a scholarly treatise on the creation of new types of undead - intended specifically for use on the battlefield. Joktan’s mission was to sneak into the country, locate the Testament, and bring it back to the Vaults. He’s overdue and we fear the worst. We need you to undergo the same process of disguise, infiltrate Geb, and learn the whereabouts of Joktan, his team, and most of all, the Testament. Pathfinders, time is of the essence. If that book falls into the wrong hands, it could destabilize the entire Inner Sea region. We need that book and we have the utmost faith that you’ll do what’s necessary to make sure we get it. Any questions?"
"Understandable," Valsin nods. "Based on the research done by Joktan before he and his team set out, he felt confident that the Testament would either be located in or close to the small village of Corpselight. Any clues to his fate are likely to be found there, if anywhere."
"As for the Testament itself, as far as we can determine it's a book or scroll written by the infamous wizard-king Geb before he joined the ranks of the undead who served him. Not only does it discuss in depth a number of different types of undead, their creation, and their weaknesses, but it also includes formulae for constructing devastating undead weapons of war."
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Geb is a nation ruled by the undead. Intelligent undead have the same rights as the living (or even more), and the kingdom uses other undead as a form of cheap labor and as expendable, renewable soldiers in the country’s armies.
Because of the nation’s dependence and promotion of undeath, the faithful of Pharasma, goddess of death, often conduct raids into the country in an attempt to destabilize it, to destroy unholy sites, and eliminate the undead abominations that call Geb home.
Living creatures need to be careful while in Geb since they can become conscripts in the army, or used as sustenance for the various types of undead within the kingdom.
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Geb? THat's a dangerous place. And if it's the happy-go-lucky, hotshot, devil-may-care whimsical elf that gives such a sobering description, you better believe him. Or her, actually. Imagine a place where undead are not monster to be destroyed, but the ruling classes and common citizens. Of course you got to be an intelligent undead to be of the ruling class, but these are the worst. Living creature are just walking food, mostly. Pharasma servant do their utmost to bring the fight to Geb and its foul unliving creatures, but they cant do much, just short forays, precise strikes agaisnt the most unholy places or more dangerous monsters.
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"Too. Frakin'. Early. In the. Uzai. Mornin'," that familiar deep rumbling voice announces. The annoyed oni owner of said voice plops himself down in one of the chairs and sets a basket and an oversized flagon on the table. This morning he's sporting a new cloth headband covered with tiny Tien characters inscribed in the same bright red as his bloodshot eyes.
"Ehhh, at least bein' up this early means Mama Maquita's wasn't all sold out." He fishes a couple biscuits out of the basket and pushes it toward the center of the table. "Yes, I brought enough for everyone. The chive and cheese is one o' her most popular, but I got a variety," he says as he easily takes a whole biscuit into his mouth then washes it down with the steaming contents of the flagon.
"No, it ain't booze," he answers at least one disapproving look. "Had enough o' that last night. It's just coffee."
"Hang on, boss, you said magically disguised, and I figured you meant some kinda illusion. Then you said there's a "process?" What kinda "process?" What're you gonna do to us?"
"Well...the Society has in its possession an item known as the Chalice of Undeath," Valsin explains, his expression one of discomfort. "When used, it gives a creature the semblance of undeath, while the creature remains alive and maintains full control of its soul. Our experiments here show that until the process is reversed - by drinking from the chalice again - you will have the semblance and aura of an undead, and be affected by magic that also affects undead. Be warned that healing magic that affects living creatures will hurt you while you are in this state, just as it would any true undead."
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"Sooo, it changes us inta' undead, but not so far as to piss Pharasma off."
He polishes off another biscuit and downs a long chug of coffee.
"I don't know how I do the Tiger thing," and I don't think that voice in my head is gonna tell me even if I ask Him, "but is this gonna mess with that?" he asks Maria.
As he reaches for another biscuit from the basket, he looks around the table. "Anybody seen Jobu this morning?"
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A few days later, before heading back to Absalom (or whatever other corner of Golarion takes their fancy) each of the pathfinders receives a letter from a Lodge courier.
It reads:
Dear Friend, I have something to share with you. Please join me and the rest of our merry troupe at the Great Hall this evening at sunset. Effie.
When the 'troupe' gathers, Effie is waiting with Venture-Captain Balentiir, and Ollysta Zadrian of the Silver Crusade. On a lecturn is the book containing Ilyralene.
Effie is wearing a simple blue gown. Her coal-black hair is tied back, and her small ifrit horns are revealed. Her adventuring gear is absent.
"Thank you for coming, friends" Effie says with a heartfelt smile. "It means a lot to me."
"Years ago, I left the circus in Varisia. I set out for Absalom and the Pathfinder Society knowing only that I wasn't meant to spend my life as a circus entertainer. Something was calling me. But I didn't know what, or why.
Our recent adventures on the Plane of Air have given me the answer.
I've spoken with Ilyralene, and also with Ranginori. He needs me. The Plane of Air needs me. All the good peoples of the four elemental planes need me. I'm just one person, and I won't be able to defeat the evil elemental lords on my own. But I am not alone.
With allies in the Concordance and the Silver Crusade, with the Pathfinder Society behind me, and most of all with you by my side, I will fight to liberate the elemental planes from evil! This is my calling!"
Effie nods to Ollysta Zadrian, who opens Ilyarene's book.
"Child of Flame, there is no turning back once you start down this path" says the Herald of the Duke of Thunder. "Are you certain of your heart?"
"More certain that I've ever been before!" Effie answers.
"Then speak your oaths."
Effie looks around at her friends, and at the representatives of the Society. Her smile is warm, her gaze confident. She looks upon Ilyralene in the pages of the book,...
Maria pops back into the material plane with a whoosh. The chill that had been creeping up her spine fading away, "Thank you Challicer, that was a wonderfully informative trip. My knowledge of the first steps into the world beyond ours has been greatly increased. I think I get why you said there was a time limit though, I was feeling ours was running out."
The squat gnome chuckles, "Indeed mah deah. Pharasma don't mind visitahs, but dey bettah jus visit an leave quick-lahk."
Maria heads back to her quarters, grabbing her mail on the way up. Once able to sit at her writing desk, she starts peeling them open, one by one in the order received. When Effie's invitation is opened her eyes go wide and she bolts out the door, barely pausing to make sure it locks behind her.
Arriving at the ceremony just as Effie takes center stage she doesn't look nearly as breathless as one should after a sprint like that. She nods to the Ifrit and takes a seat, journal out to note the accomplishments of her ally.
Afterwards she approaches 'Hotshot', "Wonderful choice Effie! Taking a life experience and integrating it into your path is very elfish."
She glances at Hepsubia already dancing upside down on a table with a smile, "Well, for most of us."
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The investigator enjoys the party, but drinks lightly and retires early. She has quite a few notes to make and their next briefing is in the morning.
She arrives early and rested, only an elf could pull off an all-nighter of journaling and appear un-tired, "This is very interesting. I can't but think fate is involved now. I recently traveled to the very domain of Pharasma, the Boneyard. I have learned a great deal about the undead as well as the proper path through life and death, at least among most cultures. It will be intriguing to see what alternate thoughts the citizens of Geb have on the topic."
She consults her notes for a moment at the weretiger's question, "Well, my gut says that the two states are not compatable. As in, using one would end the other. So if you were to look all dead-like, then shift into beastmode, the dead-like stuff would end. Which would probably threaten the subtlety of our mission. Unless..." turning to the V.C., "...we were able to take the chalice with us?"
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"Being living, ah, beings, we have accoutred ourselves with things to keep living beings alive," Zithembe says. "I can likely borrow something from the Dark Archive to help, but has the Society made any provisions to assist us in maintaining our health during our disguised state? And do we have trusted transportation who understands our situation?"
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"Pose as undead?" Effie is alarmed.
"But I suppose if we need to strike into Geb, a disguise of that sort is necessary, no matter how uncomfortable. As long as the process is reversible, and it doesn't effect more substantial change.
I don't think we could risk taking the Chalice with us. Imagine what use the rulers of Geb would put it to! Plus, if we lost it nobody could come and rescue us!"
Effie ponders the mission parameters. "I share Zithembe's concerns. Patching ourselves up if we get injured is going to take special measures."
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"Well, my gut says that the two states are not compatable. As in, using one would end the other. So if you were to look all dead-like, then shift into beastmode, the dead-like stuff would end. Which would probably threaten the subtlety of our mission...."
"See, this is why I ask her stuff.," Holan-Ji says to no one in particular while pointing his thumb at Maria. "She knows everythin' and explains it easy."
"Okay, no tiger form. Got it."
He mentally considers healing options, but waits to see what Valsin says.
"Unless..." turning to the V.C., "...we were able to take the chalice with us?"
"I don't think we could risk taking the Chalice with us. Imagine what use the rulers of Geb would put it to! Plus, if we lost it nobody could come and rescue us!"
"Miss Gee is right - taking the Chalice with you into Geb is absolutely out of the question," Valsin answers, giving the ifrit an approving nod. "I understand why you would ask, though, and I'm sorry - I know this isn't an easy ask for some of you but I wouldn't have called on your team if I didn't think you could succeed. Try to keep a low profile while in Geb and maybe with a bit of luck, you won't need to worry about battle at all. But if you do...well, I trust you all have many talents at your disposal and not just a single trick or two."
"Being living, ah, beings, we have accoutred ourselves with things to keep living beings alive," Zithembe says. "I can likely borrow something from the Dark Archive to help, but has the Society made any provisions to assist us in maintaining our health during our disguised state? And do we have trusted transportation who understands our situation?"
Valsin fishes a small token out of his pocket, emblazoned with the symbol of the Open Road. "The Society will teleport you to an isolated position in north-central Geb, near the city of Graydirge but not near enough that anyone should see you suddenly arrive. From there you will need to head toward Corpselight, a small farming town to the east of the city. Once your mission is completed, send word via this magic token and we will have you teleported back to Skyreach."
"We do have some potions set aside for you to address your healing concerns, but it certainly wouldn't hurt to pick up some additional provisions," he adds.
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Maria nods and makes a note of the potions, "Excellent. That will help quite a bit. I've heard of a rare spell available even in a wand that can increase a person's self-healing too. We might want to purchase it as it should work fine regardless of our form." She glances at the newly minted holy elemental warrior and Zithembe, "But uh... well, it does have odd material components to it that aren't umm... very nice. Does anyone have an objection to using 'evil-ish' things for good reasons?"
She also points out the obvious, "The odds of us needing to fight undead creatures are very high, by the way. Does everyone have holy water and holy weapon balms? At least everyone that doesn't use sharp teeth and claws to fight?"
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"I've heard of a rare spell available even in a wand that can increase a person's self-healing too. We might want to purchase it as it should work fine regardless of our form." She glances at the newly minted holy elemental warrior and Zithembe, "But uh... well, it does have odd material components to it that aren't umm... very nice. Does anyone have an objection to using 'evil-ish' things for good reasons?"
"Oh, ya' mean this?" Holan-Ji sets the empty flagon down and pops a wand from a wrist sheath. "It ain't holy healin', so I can use it. Good for after a fight; not so much during cause it's slow to kick in."
He waves it playfully at Zithembe, "I'mma' make you eeeevvviiiillll," he laughs, obviously feeling much better than he did when he arrived.
It's amazing what half a dozen biscuits and a liter of coffee will do for one's disposition.
"Nah, I wouldn't do that. But there ain't no need to go buyin' another one. Things like this are meant to be shared."
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"Doing evil to fight evil doesn't make you good. It makes you evil." Effie pouts.
"But here's a thing. I made a choice. I accepted responsibilities. If, one day in the future, the fate of the people of the elemental planes rests in my hands, I will not allow innocents to suffer because of any oath I swore. The highest good is sacrifice, made freely for others."
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A high-pitched squeal interrupts the Pathfinders' musings as a tiny figure hurries towards the basket of biscuits on equally-tiny legs. "Oh my gosh do you smell that it's amazing I've never smelled anything like that in my entire life do you think there's any left I'm going to see don't worry I'll save one for you unless there's only one and then you won't get any is there a stepstool around here maybe I can get a running start do you think that would help alright here I go one two thr-" A dull thud stops the stream of consciousness when the brownie runs forward, takes a flying leap, and hits the leg of the table squarely.
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A familiar hooded figure shakes his head from the doorway. "Foolish, that one is." Slowly he approaches the group, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Away from them, keep the coffee."
As the elderly grippli reaches up and into the basket of biscuits, the hood of his heavy woolen robe falls back. The Grandfrogger's face, normally thin and wrinkled with age, now resembles a corpse more than a living creature - skin pulled tight across the bones of his face, red eyes somehow both sunken and bulging at the same time, and a faint odor of decay on his breath.
After breaking apart a buttery biscuit and setting one half next to the silent figure on the ground, the shaman turns to the Venture-Captain. "Heard your words, I did. Remains, one question does. Recognize this Testament, how will we?" He waits patiently for the answer, red eyes unblinking.
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{COUGH} {Splutter} What the...?" Holan-Ji practically chokes on his mouthful of biscuit at the freaky little creature's entrance. He quickly snatches his coffee flagon away before realizing he'd already drained it.
"Uh, Jobu, you okay? You look like death, and not even warmed over."
He peers down at the newcomer, then back to the Grandfrogger. "What do we call ... them?" his emphasis on the last word making it clear he's not sure what pronoun to use either.
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"Hello, little one" Effie smiles at the newcomer and the enthusiastic entrance. "Oh, are you alright?" She helps the brownie to its feet. "You're with the Grandfrogger?"
Effie looks at the grippli, shocked at his withered flesh. "It certainly looks that way, Zith. I don't think this is going to be pleasant."
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Maria raises an eyebrow at the new team member's reckless self-introduction to the table leg and then leans over the table to look at them lying on the floor with a it of concern. Noting the steady breathing and the lack of healing arts being performed by the Grandfrogger, she makes a few notes in her journal and waits for a formal introduction from the undead Grippli.
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I can buy some stuff for the team if needed, I got some solid gold. Or I can steal it, of course, if really really needed. "Private Property" is sooo passé, after all. I treasure your friendship and value your opinion way more than material thing, jewels and coins.
Before ayone else can react to these surprising words, the elf continues
Maria, of the top of your head, or anyone else's head, I don't mind, are there some basic formulae that could be useful for my book?
"Heard your words, I did. Remains, one question does. Recognize this Testament, how will we?" He waits patiently for the answer, red eyes unblinking.
"Well...that's the trouble," Valsin sighs. "We don't actually have a good description for the tome itself, only what it's rumored to contain. I imagine that such a thing would be distinctive in some way, though - appearance or perhaps any magical auras it might carry."
Valsin rises from his chair and steps out from behind his desk, looking all of you over for a moment. "No more questions? Very well. Please finish your preparations and then return here. We must move quickly."
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After allowing you to make your preparations and purchases Valsin leads you to a special room in Skyreach where a number of mages await you. Sitting upon a pedestal in the center of the room is a large cup, carved from bone and engraved with runic symbols signifying life and death.
"Once the ritual is completed, you will be transported to Geb. I have your return token here - keep it safe, because it's your only way back short of walking out of Geb. And here are the potions we promised you. Take care," Valsin explains, handing the token over to Zithembe and passing out the Inflict Moderate Wounds potions before stepping back to allow the ritual to begin.
All in all, it's actually a very simple affair - water is poured in from a pitcher, and each of you are given the chalice in turn to drink from. The process isn't particularly painful but neither is it pleasant. You first notice a change with your teeth as they grow unusually sharp. You feel your nails lengthen and thicken into claws. But perhaps the most disorienting sensation is the feeling of cold that settles over each of you, seeping deep down to your bones as though you were caught in a snowstorm - yet you feel no pain. Breathing in brings a wealth of strange sensations, most noticeably the scent of meat and of blood. The meat and blood of the living.
Looking around, each of you see that your companions' appearance has grown deathly pale and emaciated, the skin stretched tight over bone. Eyes glitter with an eerie red light. Teeth are now unnaturally long and wickedly sharp.
You all scarcely have time to comprehend these changes before the mages begin their teleportation spell, and the room in Skyreach blurs and shifts away from your sight. Moments later, the world materializes into a hazy swamp, the few plants within as dry and colorless as one would expect in a nation ruled and inhabited by the undead. Ghostly pale moonlight provides illumination and a mournful wind blows slowly from the south, carrying with it the unmistakable sickly sweet scent of long-dead flesh mixed with newly spilt blood. Only the sound of rustling brush breaks the tomb-like silence.
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Stupid kitten! What have you done to yourself? the voice roars into Holan-Ji's mind as the ritual finishes.
I did what I had to. Don't worry, it ain't permanent.
It will be permanent if you die like that. Or they leave you there. But you have made your choice to not call upon your greater form, so do not call upon me for help either.
"Like you ever 'help,' you stupid windbag," Holan-Ji mutters aloud. Realizing he did indeed say that out loud, he looks around at his undead-appearing friends standing in the ruined swamp and hopes that no one noticed.
He takes a second to register the changes that the ritual wrought. "Eh, teeth feel pretty much the same. Claws seem a little sharper. Skin feels tougher." He looks at the rest of his teammates. "Damn, I hope I don't look as ugly as the rest o' you do now," he laughs.
"Hmm, seems like I got my tiger nose, too." He sniffs the air again. "Fresh blood thata' way," he says pointing to the south. "Not supposed to be fresh blood around here, right? Ain't everything dead already?"
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Maria has her journal out and begins immediately noting the new experience. As she looks up from her frantic scribbling she notices the new location, "huh... I guess I've teleported enough I don't even notice it anymore." She takes in a large breath and tastes the air. Her eyes go wide and she blushes, looking over at Holan-Ji she ventures a question, "Is this how you feel all the time Tiger? Always uh... smelling prey?" She takes another sniff, "Do WE smell like this?"
She writes a few notes muttering, "It would explain why we are attacked so much though..."
"Oh boy that was a weird feeling did you feel it too and look we've been teleported that's the first time I've ever been teleported maybe that's why my head is still spinning do you smell that why did they take that bowl away I wasn't done drinking do you think that's why they teleported us to a cold swamp I don't like cold swamps that much but then why aren't my feet getting cold in the mud they always get cold in the mud unless its hot mud but it it was hot mud then I'd be warm and I'm not warm I'm cold and I'm hungry." The last word is mildly unsettling, given the red glow in the brownie's oversized eyes and their goblin-like smile showing too many sharp teeth.
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The Grandfrogger puts a grey-skinned hand on the brownie's head, cutting off the stream of words. "Be quiet, we must," he states flatly. The smell of death still hangs upon him like a shroud, and the transformation seems to have only exaggerated his newly-unnatural features. "But a good sign, fresh blood might be. Bleed, our lost friends do."
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"I'm not sure about that, Grandfrogger" says Effie, her voice unnaturally rasping. "Oh!" she coughs - trying to get used to the feel of her own cold, dead flesh.
"Joktan Heth and his team drank from the Chalice too. If we bleed in these changed bodies, I don't think it will smell fresh."
"They're supposed to be in Corpselight. Now what direction is that? Follow the scent of blood, you think?"
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She takes in a large breath and tastes the air. Her eyes go wide and she blushes, looking over at Holan-Ji she ventures a question, "Is this how you feel all the time Tiger? Always uh... smelling prey?" She takes another sniff, "Do WE smell like this?"
Holan-Ji smiles at Maria's question, his normally friendly though toothy grin now a grimacing rictus of sharpened yellow teeth.
"Only when I'm shifted. My cat nose' a lot more sensitive. But, yeah, this is how things smell then. 'Scept, we don' usually smell like 'dead. An' we don' usually smell like we're bleedin' out, the way that does," he waves a big hand toward the scent to the south.
"They're supposed to be in Corpselight. Now what direction is that? Follow the scent of blood, you think?"
"Valsin said Corpselight is east o' Graydirge, but we don' know where we are relative to either o' those. So, yeah, maybe just toward the blood."
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Maria looks around to see if they are being watched, then adds, "Logic dictates that the smell of fresh blood would be from the living. While our mission is to seek information and stay under the radar, I expect we should investigate that smell. There could be living beings in danger."
She pulls a wand and activates it on herself .
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Zithembe flexes his ghoulish fingers and inspects his dead flesh. "It is not the form that matters, which is mutable, but the spirit, which endures," the shabti comments and then focuses upon the assignment. "We should be near Graydirge. We need to find our way there and then east to Corpselight. An advantage to these forms is that we should not need to sleep or rest. Hopefully, we can stave off the ghoul's hunger."
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Shall we go?
Lil" Hep, sorry, THE TOTALLY AWESOME UNDEAD Lil"Hep starts singing a quite macabre marching song., hitting her bony arms one against the other
And to say that, a few months ago, I didn't have a musical bone in my body..
It takes a few minutes as you slowly gain your bearings and come to grips with your temporary new forms and all of the sensations that come with them. The heavy scent of blood upon the wind is especially distracting for those not used to having such a keen sense of smell. You've certainly smelled blood before, having spilled and spilt your fair share of it, but you never realized how thick of a smell it really is. How heavy and wet. It's almost nauseating.
Holan-Ji, much more accustomed to such things, breathes deeply and lets the scent wash over him. It's strong and he feels confident that the source can't be very far - maybe only a couple of miles, if that. Maria, ever observant, follows Holan-Ji's example and focuses on the blood. After a moment she comes to a similar conclusion that whatever the source of the blood is, it certainly lies no more than a mile or two to the south.
Seems like a good place to start.
So after applying a few magics as needed, perhaps, you set out to the south. While the swamp you seem to find yourselves in is wet and uncomfortable even to your cold and clammy undead skin, it seems to be no more than 1 to 1 & 1/2 feet deep at the most and as such isn't too difficult to slog through. As you reach a bit of dry ground littered with the ruins of what might have once been a home, everyone but Effie suddenly catches the sound of something else besides the mournful wind. It's the sound of chanting and shuffling footsteps approaching your position from somewhere to the north...
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Maria is about to dive off into the brush to hide, but sees the logic in Zithembe's thoughts, "As long as it isn't actually the living and they attack us, thinking we are something else. That would be bad."
She steps just off to the side to avoid being in a nice clump in case the other people are good at spellcasting or throwing bombs.
Though you feel uneasy about the approaching chanting and shuffling footsteps you decide that the best course of action is to act like you belong, given your disguises. Of course it doesn't hurt to be prepared, either; Holan-Ji is quick to apply some wand magic to himself while he has the chance.
After a few moments several humanoid forms come shambling into sight. At the front, ostensibly leading the rest, is a creature wrapped from head to toe in ancient strips of moldering linen accompanied by three armored skeletons. All four of them also wear filthy remnants of military uniforms and one of the skeletons carries a unit banner that billows softly in the light breeze of the night. They are followed by several apparently mindless undead in chains.
The group shambles closer...and then the linen-wrapped leader silently raises a hand and the entire procession comes to a halt. Burning red eyes fix themselves upon you all.
"Who are you? In the name of His Eternal Majesty, identify yourself." The voice is dry and deep, sounding like a wind from a just-opened tomb. "It is strange to see such a large group out in the countryside. What is your business? Where are you headed?"
Maria, opting to remain quiet and watchful, recognizes the wrapped leader as being a mummy. She doesn't recall much about mummies except that they're naturally resistant to physical damage of all forms.
But the skeletal champions, she's a little more familiar with. She recalls that they tend to be resistant to weapons that aren't bludgeoning as well as channeled energy. And while they don't possess any particular weaknesses or vulnerabilities, nor do they possess any fancy or unusual attacks.
As Effie speaks, the mummy considers her words and the rest of you. He nods.
"New to the dead, yes, I see. Otherwise you would know that wandering around the countryside in a group might make one think of bandits or troublemakers. Are you natural ghouls or did some foolish quick necromancer awaken you and shirk their responsibility?"
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The elf eyes lingers on the skeleltons armor
A mummy.. and therefore, logically, as Maria would say, those armored skellies are Mummy's Dearest. Too bad, I don't have a bludgeoning weapon, I guess.
Hepsubia asks Holan Ji, known for is vast knowledge about all things related to eating
So, eating a living being is called "doing a quickie"?