GM Ladile's League of Kick-Ass Dudes: A Pathfinder Society Campaign (Inactive)

Game Master Lady Ladile

Jan is obviously upset at how things have just turned out.

"You let him live... when he wanted death?"

Jan then shoots a venomous glance at Serge, "So your Holy Order allows you to give quarter to evil-doers and those would willfully aid in the murder of our prisoner? I am sure your god would be so proud of your merciful nature. If from this day forward, when you had the chance to end his evil ways, this 'MAN' returns and does evil upon any innocents... may their souls wail at you from Valhalla. As for myself... I will be having none of it."

Jan turns and leaves the room. It's time to get appropriately drunk.

Serge shakes his head emphatically as Jan storms off. "It is not up to me to decide his fate. I leave it to the proper authorities to question him and execute if they deem fit."

"In any case, Lazarus is right. We should look for any other information that Torch may have been keeping here. It may be of value to the Society."

Serge binds the unconscious half-orc with a length of rope, and looks for a sheet, some drapes - anything - to cover Ouidda's body.

Denair is just confused by the outburst of emotions. Humans are always like this!

"Okay, I'll help look around."
Denair's Perception is +14, so she gets a 34 on a take 20 action.

"Why would he want to kill himself? If he did then he shouldn't have been trying to kill us. That's not very nice." Frankie looks at Jan with questioning eyes as the man storms out.

"We did the right thing didn't we?" He asks to no one in particular but himself, then helps search for hidden stuff.

"We did the best we could, with the information we had." Meredith takes a moment to address Frankie and kneels down. "Jan thinks a fight to the death would have been better." She pauses and remembers Frankie's first act of violence, triggered by her words. "I think that's stupid. We did the right thing, here."

"I'm sorry you had to see all of this... mess." She looks at Ouidda's body, then to the fallen guard. "This is the mess we get into. No one tells the truth, then there is betrayal, then loss." Her gaze wanders. "How many have I deceived?"

As Jan wanders the city streets with a large jug or honey mead tucked under his arm he ponders to himself...

You can't blame the kid...can you? He is just a kid. Meredith is from the wildlands...she knows better. There is no justice here. What in the hell is the Society thinking by even have someone like Scorched as a member... let alone a captain!?!

Where is the honor in what we do? Do these people know what honor is?

Has there ever been a moment that I hesitated even one second to put my life on the line for each and every one of them? No...

After awhile the Halfling turnip merchant sighs and looks at the obviously intoxicated Uflen, "As I was saying sir, I have no idea how your lovely wife makes her turnip, potato and radish soup... I am sure it is fantastic. Can I recommend a good tavern or perhaps a rooming house?"

Lazarus has little trouble stepping in to assist Frankie, using his wand to save the life of the remaining half-orc guard and bring him back to consciousness. Ouidda is sadly beyond all help, or at least beyond any help that any of you can currently give. The half-orc blinks confusedly to wake up and see samsaran and child peering down at him but then realization slowly dawns over him.

"You should have let me die in battle. I can't tell you or your masters anything that you'd want to hear - and wouldn't even if I could."

That's all you're able to get out of him but to his credit he doesn't attempt to put up any further resistance while the rest of you begin poking around the office. But as Jan storms out, he passes a rather startled Guaril Karela on his way in.

"You! What happened-Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Yet Jan pointedly ignores the sleazy Varisian and continues on without a word. The rest of you hear this, of course, and look up as Guaril hurries in and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of the blood and carnage.

"What...what happened here!? Where is Torch?? One of you, speak, quickly!"

Yorad turn to face the Venture Captain, a look of disgust on his face. "What do you THINK happened? Torch decided to betray the Society, that's WHAT! He grabbed a list of the Decemvirate's identities, slew Quidda here, and teleported away!" Glancing around the area here he waves at the two former bodyguards, "They decided to cover his escape, which they did quite handily!"

Meredith stands up to face Guaril. "Mission accomplished, right? Torch wanted the names of the Ten and a chance to kill Ouidda. He left his bodyguards here to distract us while he escaped. I assume he sent you away." She exhales.

"Jan thinks we should have killed him." She points to the surviving bodyguard. "I would have left him to his fate, but... we're not going to get anything interesting from him." She shrugs.

"Look, if you're going to lecture us, let's get this over with." One annoyance after another. Jan's probably punch drunk somewhere. Frankie's getting his hands bloody before he is old enough to understand. Serge checks his swings even when his foe almost killed her. And Denair is going to ask a million questions afterward about human nature.

"Venture-Captain Karela, I have something for you." Lazarus hands the Varisian the copy of the list of names of the members of the Decemvirate that the Spider had compiled. "Torch has the list, but now you have a copy as well. It would be prudent to warn the Society of the danger as soon as possible."

Lazarus turns to his companions. "Find anything useful or interesting?"

As you explain the situation Guaril's expression shifts from incredulous to visibly worried, especially when Lazarus presents his copy of the list of names retrieved from the Spider's lair.

"This isn't good, isn't good at all," he finally says with a long, slow exhalation of air. "And here in the Cypher Lodge, of all places! This is going to draw too much of the wrong kind of attention - we need to get all of you out of here. Hmm...Magnimar. Yes, we'll get you to Magnimar; Sheila's always got plenty of rooms at her place and maybe she can find something for you to do until this thing blows over..."
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Though Guaril Karela taps his foot impatiently, he does allow you all to finish your search of Torch's quarters - but none of you are able to turn up any leads on Torch's motives or where his next destination might be. It takes a little bit of time but Guaril manages to not only have one of his contacts from within the Cypher Lodge locate Jan, but he also arranges for your teleportation directly to the Pathfinder lodge in Magnimar.

Before you know it, all of you find yourselves in the office of Sheila Heidmarch, Venture-Captain of Magnimar's Pathfinder Lodge. Three simultaneous yelps of surprise greet you as Sheila Heidmarch, Drandle Dreng, and Ambrus Valsin all leap to their feet from the table they'd been sitting at. Seems like you've interrupted some sort of meeting!

After the trio get over their shock you're once more required to give an explanation on the series of events that led you to pop into Magnimar in such an unexpected fashion. When it's all said and done, all of them, even Drandle Dreng, seem at a loss on how to react to Torch's betrayal.

"Though I suspect Karela may have already sent word to Absalom about this I will do the same," Sheila finally remarks with a heavy sigh. "I can't believe it...I thought that Torch was firmly on the side of the Pathfinder Society and his Shadow Lodge."

Ambrus Valsin scowls. "Apparently not. Torch played everyone for a fool - the Decemvirate, us, and his own Shadow Lodge. I should have seen it coming!"

"Well now, there's no use crying over spilled milk," Drandle Dreng chimes in. "What's done is done and we'll just have to make the best of a bad situation - like what any proper Pathfinder would do."

He turns to all of you. "For what it's worth, you performed your task admirably. Don't blame yourselves for Torch getting away either; I'm pretty sure he's got as many strings to pull as the Spider did and all manner of contingencies in place in case of an untimely demise," Dreng says, giving Serge a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Did you know that he's even been marked as a target by the Red Mantis assassins? And they never give up on a target. So yes, don't fret too much. And here, drinks are on me this time."

With that, Dreng somehow produces a couple of bottles of wine from his robes and hands them off to Yorad. "It's a good vintage and I always seem to end up with more bottles of the stuff than I can drink by myself! So go and relax, settle in, have a drink, and get some rest - you've all earned it."

End: Rivalry's End

Begin: Intermission

Meredith was surprised to learn she wasn't getting punished. Yet Torch's betrayal hung on her conscience. Once she was able to, she asked her allies to speak privately with her.

”You've all been a great help. To me, I mean. There's been a... a rage inside of me. Some kind of... dignity that flares at the smallest slight. The more and more Denair tells me about my past, the more it... the more it feels right.” She points at the five roses in her hair, and the keen eyed among you can see a sixth rosebud sprouting out.

"The Queen of Thorns owned many groves, attracting all sorts of fey and awakened animals to her side. She protected them fiercely from the outside world, and even druids steered clear of her unless she was on the warpath."

"My 'hometown'? That's where she died. She died protecting the wildlife there, but the village was there as well, so both enjoyed her protection. I... I was her." Meredith pauses. "I'm not sure about the details, but if Denair is right- and I trust her- then I was her. Maybe she was so injured I'm what she left behind. Maybe the fey court punished her and made her a human- her worst enemy." Meredith looks at the veins on her hands and laughs.

"Either way, these roses sprout out of my head, and the Queen's hair consists of roses, according to Denair and Henbane Allseasons. Seripan had a few stories to corroborate it. Anyway, I'm rambling." Meredith cuts herself off.

"Torch's betrayal began when he withheld information from us. We almost died out there, almost killed ourselves. So, I'm not going to do that to you. And step one? Talk about my past."

"Step two? Denair and I have to go alone for a bit. I need to understand myself. I need to understand Denair. And I need to understand how I can help. And who I can really help." She smiles at Frankie before turning back to the group.

"So uh, thanks for listening to my talk." She scratches the back of her neck.

Yorad accepts the proffered bottles of wine gratefully, with a haunted look in his eyes. Listening to Meredith's tale silently he resists the urge to ask questions here...knowing they were unimportant at this point.

Once she has finished he responds softly, in a tone unlike you have ever heard before. "It's OK Meredith. You can't see into another's heart. None of us can. Still doesn't make it any less painful I know. He was my boss in a way..." Cracking open the wine bottle with his knife he takes a long swig from the bottle. "Look I plan on drinking myself down tonight so if you need me you know where I am. But before I go..." he pauses for a moment before adding. "You all have been good mates and I consider it an honor to have worked with all of you. But working for the Society..." he shrugs helplessly. "I sometimes wonder WHY we risk our lives for them. And those who send us away. Much easier fer them I suppose."

He rises to his feet and nods to each of you. "I dunno if I will come back to the Society...at least not now. Mebbe I need to find my path here like Meredith says. A good reason."

Just before he steps out of the room, bottle in hand, he waves back. "Watch your backs. I want to see all of you again alive and in one piece."

This scenario made it easy to write Yorad out, at least temporarily. I may bring him back or go with another player here, haven't decided yet.

"You should have let me die in battle. I can't tell you or your masters anything that you'd want to hear - and wouldn't even if I could."

"You did die, super honorable and super brave. But I brought you back. WE brought you back. Not to get beat up for information, but so you'd have a new chance at life." Frankie reaches out and puts his little hand on the man's bloodied shoulder. "You gave Torch all you could, now you should go out there and do something nice for yourself for once." Frankie smiles and gives him a piece of caramel.

Diplomacy, Luck: 1d20 + 14 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 14 + 3 = 18 Well that sends a strong message.

He keeps to himself quietly as Guaril comes back, no sense in getting in the way when adults get angry over something. You might get caught in the crossfire.

When the time comes to be teleported though Frankie smiles excitedly and grabs ahold of Meredith and Denair's hands. "This is exciting, don't let go!" He keeps his eyes wide open and a death grip on his friends.

The ride is fast and AWESOME. At least to Frankie. He blinks his eyes as he looks around the room at some familiar, and some unfamiliar faces. "Hey, I'm Frankie, Nice to meet ya!" He breaks ranks and glad hands the room, sticky fingers and all.

"Drinks? Got any cocoa? And maybe some soft molasses cookies to go with it?" He grins, the evidence of his diet beginning to show on his young teeth.

Jan doesn't say much as the various dignitaries of the Society explain their thoughts and possible plans of action in light of Scorched's treason, "This is all very interesting...but all I want to know is if I am going to get a chance to deal with Scorched and drag him back to you. How he comes back will depend entirely on him. Whether in chains or in pieces."

Frankie gives everyone a big hug Man, they all seem so sad, time for a hug and some cocoa. He sends Yorad on his way with a wave and a bag full of his favorite candy. How he ended up with it you just assume is what he spends his Pathfinder lunch money on. "Bye Yorad, have fun back at the docks with the boats, and your friend Chrissy, whoever that is!"

Frankie moves on to Jan and takes a different tone with him "Why are you so mad all the time? Maybe you need to go on a little vacation and see your new wife. She always makes you smile." He pats him on the knee and smiles.

Next he moves over to Serge, always looking sad and droopy "Its ok Mr Serge. Sometimes I think its better when I don't poke someone with my knife, I think it hurts and then I feel bad." Not the most motivating pep talk, but it made sense in his head at least.

"Laz? You aren't going to do homework your whole vacation are you? Can't you take a break for some fun this time? I think you're smart enough already." He hands him a mystery wrapped piece of candy that smells of HEAT. "Eat that, its AWESOME!"

Finally he heads over to Meredith and Denair. He doesn't say anything, he just grabs each of their hands in his sticky little fingers and holds on tight, waiting for what's next...

"Hi Frankie!" Denair crouches down to meet him. "We're going on a looooooong walk. Out of the city. I hope you're ready!" She promptly hoists him overhead and lets him piggyback on her shoulders, her five rosebuds in full bloom.

She gives Meredith a look. It doesn't ask for permission, nor forgiveness. All she can do is accept it.

"Whee!" Denair's wings spread and they fly off, hovering above Meredith as she walks toward the city limits.

"WEEEEEEEEeee!" Hollers Frankie as he holds on with his legs and whoops and waves with his arms. "Onward trusty steed, Frankie the Flash has places to goooooo!"

Lazarus greets Juno, scratching his Embeth hound behind her ears. There's a muffled, high-pitched snort of disgust from within his white, black-trimmed robes.

"Farewell, Yorad. I'm certain we'll meet again. Either in this life or my next."

The samsaran turns to Frankie. "Francis, I thought I'd spend our free time doing some research regarding our likely future missions. I would prefer a task that includes the opportunity to recover ancient tomes of magic or investigates powerful magic lost or forgotten to the people of this age."

The wizard-priest arches a delicate eyebrow. "Of course, you're welcome to join me. But no sticky fingers on the parchment, please."

Intermission, Cont.

For most of you, the last several weeks have been surprisingly peaceful and quiet. The Society's higher-ups, perhaps sensing the difficulty your last mission posed, have left you to your own devices and each of you have made use of this downtime in different ways.

Some, like Lazarus, have spent it in research on potential assignments that might come your way as well as on some of Golarion's more dangerous flora and fauna. Others, such as Jan, may have spent the time with family - treasuring each and every day spent with them. But no matter how the time has been spent, each of you know that it can't and won't last forever.

And sure enough, about a month after your run-in with Grandmaster Torch in Korvosa, the five of you - Lazarus, Meredith, Jan, Frankie, and Serge - receive a note at the Magnimar Lodge, where you've largely been staying. It's from Ambrus Valsin and as befits the author, gets right to the point:

Pathfinders,

P.S. I'm sending along a 6th agent to round out your team. He's quite a capable archer and should have no trouble pulling his weight.

It looks like your leisure time is at an end. That said, the assignment sounds intriguing and some of you may very well be itching to get back on the road again - especially to somewhere famous and important like Lastwall. Time to pack those bags!
______________

Another post to follow, please stand by~

After a rather uneventful overland trip that takes a few days (you're still not quite senior enough for management to foot the bill for teleportation) the five you find yourselves crowded into a small office at the back of the Ace of Dreams gambling den - also known as the Uscalin Lodge. As is often the case with many of the venture-captains that you've encountered, Shevar Besnik's office is a mess and he's running a bit late for your meeting.

That said, there's still plenty to keep your attention occupied, whether it's the stacks of papers and boxes that dot the room, the rowdy and lively sounds of the nearby common room, or...the new-to-you 6th agent that you all find yourselves sharing the office with.
______________

Hokay, feel free to post character introductions and chew the fat for a bit - this includes Quang Chi.

"I advised you not to wager against me, my friend. Be at peace, and learn from your loss," the young Tian man says to someone outside as he slips into the office. He flexes his right hand and rotates the wrist as he begins to pull the door to.

"No, I do not think 'double-or-nothing' would be a good idea. I am sorry, but I must go," he says politely to the unseen challenger as he closes the door.

When the sounds of the gambling den suddenly go from deafening to a dull roar, the bald, well muscled man turns and bows deeply to you all.

"Apologies. I am Quang Chi; I was told to meet here."

His voice is undeniably accented, but his Common is precise and clearly understandable. He wears simple monk's robes, nice soft boots, and carries a small pack and a quiver. In spite of the archer's bracers on his wrists, he's not carrying a bow in either hand. However, looking closely at the quiver reveals the tips of two longbows peeking out from one compartment - bows which would normally be far too long to fit inside a normal quiver.

Profession (Cook): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Standing behind a table, an apron around his waist, Serge ladles a heapful of thick bean soup into a bowl, and hands it a bedraggled villager. "Blessings upon you," he smiles. The villager nods idly, taking a spoonful into his mouth. The seasoning is just right, and breathes life into the earthiness of the beans. The villager's eyes are wide as he leaves the line, the next - four kids with mud-crusted faces - step up to the serving table.

... Vellumis, huh.

____

An armored man with a jaw chiseled as though it were cut by a saw steps into the office. He's handsome by most people's standards, but there's a certain distinctly intense sadness in his eyes that just... lingers. Emblazoned on one corner of his plate is a single wing and bastard sword, and on his back he carries an actual massive sword. The kind that needs two hands.

"Greetings, Quang Chi, I'm Serge, Paladin of Ragathiel." He extends his hand for a shake. "I take it you were also invited by Venture-Captain Valsin? And so I find myself at another casino..." He grumbles.

It's quiet out here. Lovely.
Meredith lies on the grassy field, staring at the stars in the night sky. No one to bother her except the plants, Denair and Frankie.

It's quiet out here. Lonely.
Wandering druids think Meredith is lying about her history as the Queen of Thorns. The townsfolk appreciate her work as a farmhand, but afterward they keep their distance. Meredith is started when the sheriff hands her a letter with the seal of the Glyph of the Open Road.

It's the Pathfinder Society. Lively!
Meredith packs her stuff and makes the journey with Denair and Frankie in tow. Hey smile only fades as they enter the Gambling Hall. Loud, sweaty and cramped. She quickly finds a seat and covers her ears.

Village children swarm the talking fox-tree-woman thing, begging her for a story. Denair is always ready to tell a story, especially as the Boss goes to get her payment.

"The Boss- I mean Meredith. She was the Queen of Thorns. She protected the forests and farms against those who would defile it. But she stayed strong, and now she's taking a break. But she will defend the world."

But Denair is excited to go on a new journey. And meet new friends!

"Hi Serge!" Denair extends her smooth wooden hand for a shake- and then hugs him anyway. "The Boss- I mean, Meredith is glad to see you. But it's loud in here."

She runs up to the new person and shakes his hand- then hugs him anyway. "Hi! I'm Denair! And that's Meredith over there."

Lazarus reads the missive from Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin.

Historical research and archaeology regarding the Shining Crusade, eh? I've never been to the city of Vellumis in Lastwall. This should be an interesting assignment. I wonder who the Society has selected to replace Yorad.

---
Knowledge (geography): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

After several days' journey with the team, the samsaran reaches the scenic port of Vellumis, its many buildings marble-clad, domed, and colonnaded. "In the once-popular Chelish Old White style," the wizard-priest says, pointing to the characteristic whitewashed walls, ornately decorated eaves, and massive arched windows.

"Vellumis is the oldest and largest city in the nation of Lastwall. The city is the home of all foreign embassies and diplomats in Lastwall, in an effort to keep possible spies far from the front. Situated on the shores of Lake Encarthan, it serves as the port of embarkation and debarkation for soldiers traveling in and out of the country on their way to keep watch over the terrors of Ustalav and the Hold of Belkzen."

---

Crowding into the small office at the back of the Ace of Dreams gambling den - also known as the Uscalin Lodge - with the rest of the team, Lazarus looks around. Shevar Besnik's office is a mess.

"It seems the venture-captain is running a bit late for our meeting." While waiting, Lazarus takes a peek at the stacks of papers and boxes that dot the room, trying to ignore the rowdy and lively sounds of the nearby common room.

Greeting the monk, Lazarus brings the palms of his slender blue hands together in front of his chest and bows. "Lazarus Logos, servant of Desna. Pleased to meet you."

Frankie listens to Laz as he gives his history lesson for their trip and arrival. Most of it goes right over the little fellas head but he does recognize 'Cheliax' "Oh, weren't we just in Cheliax not long ago freeing the slaves? Are they back? Are we ever going to find out who captured Jan on that ship?" Frankie isn't much for details or remembering them. Unless they are tasty treats.

----

A small blonde haired boy around the age of 10 comes in soon after Lazarus, Meredith and Denair. Hands filled with small pies and pockets jingling with coins. He grins and stops as he sees someone new. "Oh hi, I'm Frankie!" He walks up to the new comer and hands him a pie, still warm, then he goes and takes a seat at the man's cluttered desk, setting some extra pies down on the stack of papers.

"Anyone else want some pie? They're still warm and gooey!" He says as he digs into one himself, blueberry juice splattering on the desk. Frankie doesn't seem to notice.

"You wouldn't believe all the coins lying around out there! On the floor, on the tables, everywhere!" He smiles and jingles his pocket. As he eats he browses the laid out paperwork for anything that looks juicy and scandalous. Or maps, he likes maps too.

Perception: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22

The monk returns Serge's shake with a powerful but not overbearing grip. This is no dainty archer, who would dance and flit about the battlefield. No, the blood of oxen runs in this one's veins.

"Ragathiel," he pauses in thought. "I have heard the name, but am unfamiliar with their teachings. I look forward to learning along the way."

The casino troubles him, although games are simply games. But that is not all. There is something deeper to this man, too.

When the handshake with Serge is quickly replaced by a handshake and welcoming hug from the amazing fox-lady-plant, Quang Chi smiles broadly as he looks at Denair. "Pardon my rudeness, but I have never encountered anyone such as you. What exactly are you?" He's truly embarrased to have to ask, but is curious mostly so that he knows the capabilities of his new teammates.

The noise of the casino clearly bothers Meredith the most. But it's just like the noises of the forest. It rises and falls like gusts of wind; the cacophony of words blending together like the scraping of bamboo stalks rubbing against each other. Louder, yes, but no less natural in its own way.

He looks at the tall toned woman hunkered down in the corner, her hands over her ears. But I will hold my tongue instead of offering platitudes until I know them all better, he decides.

He returns Lazurus' wai with one of his own, smiling happily that someone should know the greeting. "You have lived in Zi Ha once before? Or elsewhere in Tian Xia?" he asks the samsaran. But before Lazurus can even answer, he is handed a pie by a child who sits down at the Venture Captain's desk. He looks around the room, but no one else seems the least bit fazed by the fact that this Pathfinder Agent isn't even old enough to drink.

I suppose I've seen stranger. There was that Tian-Min girl with the stuffed toy cú-gấu who shot fire from her fingers. She was too young in my opinion, also, but again, I shall reserve judgement. As he bites into the pie, it suddenly dawns on him where the pies and all the "loose coins" likely came from, and he chokes a little as he attempts to surreptitiously pats his own purse.

"What am I? Long story, but I'm a forest spirit. Instead of being bound to a tree, I can follow the Boss- I mean, Meredith around. She's just grumpy because of all the noise."

Denair goes to hug Serge and is extra careful to not squish Lazarus. "Hi! Its been too long. I hope we don't have to break into this place, those buzz clank things confused me." Denair seems pensive. "The creations of Man are always weird."

From the Tome of Righteous Repose

As you're finishing up introductions Frankie starts flipping through some of the papers on the desk. From the glimpses Frankie gets, most of them seem pretty boring. But then, underneath a small stack of papers he finds a solid oak box that clearly contains something fairly heavy. Before Frankie can open the box and find out just what the object might be, the door opens and in strides a rakish-looking gentleman. He stops, staring directly at Frankie. There's a beat of silence.

Then the man laughs.

"Boy, I admire your nerve! But you gotta be a little more subtle than that if you wanna go nosing about."

He gazes around his tiny office at the rest of you and then nods, satisfied. "Six agents. Good deal. Venture-Captain Shevar Besnik. Nice to meet you."

The tall, Varisian man’s face parts in a toothy grin as he nods towards the box in Frankie's hand. "And you found just the thing I wanted to show you. Old Mutton Chops wasn't kidding when he said he'd be sending me some sharp tacks."

As if to punctuate this statement, a crowd of players in the gambling hall erupts in cheers. Distracted for a moment, Besnik stares at the closed office door that leads to the common room. "Desna laughs. Well, she laughs at me, but she smiles on them." The venture-captain then shrugs. "All they have is gold; what I have in that little box is far more valuable. Pass it to me, would you son?"

Once Frankie hands the box over, Besnik opens the lid painstakingly slowly, careful to keep the contents out of sight. With reverence, he lifts a large tome from the box and gently sets it on the table. "Careful, the binding hasn’t held up well. This is one of the few Tomes of Righteous Repose left in the world. I’m pretty sure there’s one in the library of the Sancta Iomedaea in Vigil, but I’m — well, let’s just say I’m no longer welcome there."

He chuckles slightly. "But that’s a story for another time."

"Up until today, I’ve only skimmed the pages. I didn’t want to damage it, but now that you’re here, I can’t wait any longer. Care to plumb the depths of this most ancient and wonderful storybook? Oh, the marvelous adventures we will soon read! The tome contains a collection of tales describing how various crusaders died gloriously and honorably. I’m hoping to find some clues in the text that will lead us to an as-of-yet undiscovered site or relic. Maybe we can trade a bit of what we find with the Knights of Ozem and earn ourselves some goodwill. After what happened last time, we need it."

Besnik looks up at you, his expression that of an eager schoolboy. "Care to peruse the pages with me?"

"Great to see you again, Denair, and Meredith," Serge returns the hug bashfully, and gives Lazarus a more formal nod as he comes away.

Serge has a seat and waits until the Venture-Captain finally walks in, when he smiles in surprise as Besnik cracks a light joke or two. Something about this one seems much more authentic than that two-timing Grandmaster Torch...

He tightens his fists.

Then it's down to business, and Serge listens closely to the briefing. "Er, Venture-Captain, by peruse the pages, what could you mean? Are we to read through a text? Surely there must be more... adventure to your ask that to merely comb through an old book," Serge asks naively.

Greeting the tall Varisian man, Lazarus brings the palms of his slender blue hands together in front of his chest and bows. "Lazarus Logos, servant of Desna. Pleased to meet you, Venture-Captain Shevar Besnik."

Lazarus mutters a prayer to the Song of Spheres and casts a pair of orisons, for Desna's guidance and to detect any magical auras on the tome.

"The Tome of Righteous Repose. Fascinating. It would be my privilege to peruse it with you." The wizard-priest reaches for the book. "May I?"

"I would also appreciate the opportunity to study the tome at length, giving the artifact the attention it deserves."

"Uh did I hear that right?" Meredith uncovers her ears as the Venture Captain finishes his explanation. "What makes this tome so important? It's hard for 7...8 people to read a book at the same time, anyway."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26

No way did you call me over here to read a book. Although... it is nice to see everyone else here.

An ancient text written in Taldane, and likely in an archaic form of the language. Hopefully I can follow it. I shall listen to glean what I can, but I doubt I can add much to this discussion.

When Lazarus moves forward to get a better look at the Tome, Quang Chi smoothly slides into the spot where the wizard-priest had been standing. He takes a seat atop a box of papers and Pathfinder Chronicles adjusting the quiver at his back as he does so into a more comfortable position. As he slides it around, the exquisitely carved jade wayfinder pinned to the lower end of the quiver's strap comes into view.

"Apologies if I misunderstood, Captain, but it sounded like we are to 'peruse' this Tome looking for, how did you say, 'clues to an undiscovered site or relic'? Which we will then go in search of, yes?"

"Apologies if I misunderstood, Captain, but it sounded like we are to 'peruse' this Tome looking for, how did you say, 'clues to an undiscovered site or relic'? Which we will then go in search of, yes?"

"You got it in one," Besnik replies with a nod, pleased. "That said, I was being a little figurative there because I don't actually expect everyone to look through it at once. It's in pretty delicate shape so manhandling it is a no-go. That, and there's not really enough room in here for everyone to fit comfortably around the table."

He shrugs. "Had to take what I could get for an office though."

"What makes this tome so important?"

"Well, early crusaders had amazing adventures fighting the Whispering Tyrant, orcs, and a whole host of other threats, but they don’t have very many records that aren’t as dry as an Iomedaean’s hip-flask. This tome gives us important insights into the crusaders’ adventures. Rellakarabee Fustbickle, the gnome author, interviewed dozens of crusaders and wrote about the most heroic and tragic deaths in this book. It wasn’t very widely published, so it’s been difficult to get my hands on it. The poetry is a bit purple, too. Not really my style — but perhaps it’s something you’d be able to interpret?"

As he speaks, Besnik carefully opens the tome. He scoots his seat over, allowing enough room for a couple of you to crowd in closer as he begins to gingerly flip through pages covered with elaborate, flowing handwriting and surprisingly detailed drawings and pictures.

While Besnik flips through the tome for anything that might stand out, your own thoughts turn to its’ author - the gnome Rellakarabee Fustbickle.

Some of you, especially those well-read or well-traveled, may also recall interesting tidbits about the nation of Lastwall, founded with a single purpose: to watch over the Whispering Tyrant's prison in Gallowspire.

Jan muses to himself... archaeology... more like treasure hunting and monster slaying if you ask me. The Society does have rather odd ways of beating around the bush.

Jan attempts to gather information in addition to calling upon his own training and experience.

Diplomacy (Gather Information): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19
Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

The only thing I know about the poet is his a gnome and overly dramatic... like a teenager."

Take 10 Linguistics for 23
Guidance, Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 9 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 9 + 1 = 25

Lazarus edges close to the venture-captain, reading over his shoulder.

Recognizing the author's name, the samsaran shares what he recalls. "Rellakarabee Fustbickle is a gnome poet, known mostly among literary scholars. His subject matter revolves around heroic figures and tragic deaths. His style is too melodramatic to gain significant acclaim, though he is popular in some circles."

"Fustbickle based his poems on true stories from the Shining Crusade. However, the finer details are ambiguous at best. Rumors suggest he was on speaking terms with the mortal Iomedae."

After perusing the tome and a brief meditative interlude in his memory palace, Lazarus adds a few more details about Lastwall.

"Lastwall's single purpose is to watch over the Whispering Tyrant's prison in Gallowspire. Lastwall was established in 3828 AR, when it seceded from Taldor. It's a military dictatorship, primarily focused on keeping the Whispering Tyrant locked away and the orc hordes of Belkzen at bay."

"Lastwall originated from the remnants of crusaders living in the area after the conclusion of the Shining Crusade, the great war against the evil wizard-king Tar-Baphon (also known as the Whispering Tyrant, who rose after his death as a lich)."

"Lately, Lastwall has had to recruit less pious individuals to fill its ranks. On the borders, followers of Gorum and Kurgess are more common than paladins of Iomedae and Sarenrae."

Frankie scoots off the desk as the VC comes back, knowing when to not touch something and stay quiet (just usually choosing to ignore that nagging feeling). "Hi, I'm Frankie." He announces before the group starts looking over the Tome. Frankie focuses on the well drawn pictures of past figures and historic battles.

His mouth gets a bit slack jawed as Laz goes on another history lesson. He knows too much old stuff. He needs some more useful hobbies like kickball and marbles! He thinks as he stuffs the rest of a pie in his pie hole.

"So... where are we going?" He blurts out bluntly before Laz puts him to sleep.

"Oh, right, that makes sense." Meredith realizes the full extent of the mission. "Alright, let's read this book."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22

Meredith confirms what Lazarus said about Rellakarabee Fustbickle's skills as a poet.

Denair meanwhile hangs out with Frankie. "Stories are fun to tell, but lessons from the stories are hard!" She shrugs. "Oh well, hopefully they will figure out where to go. This discussion stuff is boring."

"A natural fount of knowledge," Serge pats Lazarus on the back. "For a gnome poet to be on speaking terms with The Inheritor herself? Perhaps nothing more than a rumor, with little way to confirm it. Or perhaps he had an in or two with the gods," he smiles.

Serge looks down as his gauntlets. "Anyway, I find myself with the same question as the little one here," he gazes at Frankie. "Where... are we going?"

"This all sounds like fun. But as with most things involving the Society, if they thought it was going to be a scholarly sojourn they wouldn't be asking warriors and adventurers to go."

Jan puts his hand on his axe and laughs, "The sooner we start, the sooner we can kill whatever creatures guard these great treasures... and then get paid. I have a longhouse and village to build."

"Jarl Jan Eriksson... I like the sound of that."

"You're going to build a whole village? How many kids are you going to have!!" Frankie's totally serious.

Jan lets out a hearty laugh at Frankie's question, "Oh no! just a two to three of my own... and maybe we'll adopt another half-dozen who are without parents and such from my homeland. But I do plan on inviting some of the escaped Ulfen from Irrisen...that wretched place... to settle among their kin and honor the traditions of their people... and the gods!"

Frankie's face lights up at the thought "Oh that's really nice of you! Always kids around needing some where to call home." He gives Jan a hug then goes back to eating another pie.

"Apologies, but plumbing old gnomish poetry for clues is not, how do you say, 'all up in my alley.'" The face he makes as he finishes makes it clear that he is fairly certain he did not get that particular Taldane colloquialism quite right.

"But I look forward to learning about any new dangers that we may encounter. As that is exactly what Master Kae and the Dragon Lords sent me to Avistan to do."

He looks to Captain Besnik and Lazarus, prepared to listen whenever they are ready to continue.

"You know Dragons?" Inquires Frankie, hopping down off the desk and dragging Denair closer. Now THIS is interesting!

"What can you tell us about those Dragons? Are they good dragons? Bad dragons? Red ones? Blue ones? BLACK ONES?" He asks in an increasingly loud and excited manner, forgetting all about the old dusty book and Laz's history lessons.

A cute little white snow bunny peeks out from Lazarus's robes, ruby-red eyes blinking, long velvety ears flopping, and nose and whiskers twitching.

*Who's the BLEEPing meatstick, huh? And who gives two BLEEPs about his Mister Miyagi and Cobra BLEEPing Kai?*

The wizard-priest blushes, his blue complexion turning deep purple. He coughs, embarrassed, and shoves his familiar back inside his robes. "Go back to sleep, Sid." Lazarus whispers. Praise Desna, no one can understand the cussing bunny.

"Dragons like lots of gold. And breathing stuff on people." Denair replies. "There are stories of dragons whose shine like metal, defending forests from invading armies." Her ears twitch. "Sometimes they are lead by dull-scaled dragons."