Was about to say I ain't got planes but it turns out I do, woops.
Planes: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11 But that don't get it.
Shikaree does pause by the plaque. "Perhaps the mace, or the 'Hellfire rod', once sat here," the nagaji observes. "Alasss. Long ssince gone. Perhaps we will shortly be tracking down goblinss."
Before they go to rendezvous with the captain, Shikaree takes the time to circle the old manor, idly scanning for goblin footprints, though unless the goblins were very recent indeed, it is unlikely any sign will be found.
Long shot Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
No Knowledge (Planes) for me
"I can't really fault these men for trying to make a living. What do you think we shall do with them? I am in favour of leaving them here, loosely tied so they can get out of their bonds once we are gone."
No K Planes for me either
Marcie takes a closer look at the bird "Hey now. Maybe that mace we're after was here, check this out." She says, tearing the crow off the plaque. "Bet we get to beat some goblins now then eh? Day just got better d'int it?"
She leans over the well and takes a look down into the darkness, curious if she can't see the bottom. Perception, Darkvision 60ft: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
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"I concur with Mr Ionacu", Makoa says as he grabs one of the bows and breaks it, "We should let them go", he grabs the other bow and breaks it. He knows some of the group is looking at him funny, "What? They should just get away with shooting Ms. Steeltoe".
I do not have knowledge planes
Makoa follows Shikaree out to the grounds. "Perhaps more wisened will know what the statue is of, another reason to return to the lodge". As he sees Shikaree looking for tracks, "Hmph...I have not had time to teach her to hunt goblins yet. Perhaps I might be of assistance". Aid Tracking: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10
Shikaree, with Makoa's assistance, looks for tracks on the grounds surrounding the Irrica manor. The nagaji and the half-orc find no trace of anyone other than the bandits and themselves.
After the party investigates the estate and drives off the bandits, you continue on to meet Venture-Captain Brackett in Elidir.
After hearing your report and examining the will, Brackett shares his concerns.
"A 'black angel,'" Venture-Captain Brackett muses. "And the focus on names… it’s just possible that the Irricas managed to discover the true name of a devil, and used that to destroy Vegoran Thrune."
"If so, we’d best secure these four items before they fall into the wrong hands and someone uses the name for nefarious purposes. Give me a few days, and I’ll have the locations of the items for you to retrieve." He looks up from the will and flashes a rare smile.
"Well done, Pathfinders! I've arranged room and board for you here at the Short Sorcerer Tavern. I suggest you get some well-deserved rest."
End of 'Epithet' Quest
Start of 'Scorch' Quest
The next morning, the innkeeper, a matronly woman named Delores, approaches the table where you're breaking your fast and hands you a note. "Your friend stopped by just before dawn. He said he had to leave town on business, and he asked me to deliver this message to you."
"I suppose we were not able to understand the true nature of this Black Angel, but at least we have seen a glimpse of the 'supernatural aid' that was employed," Serge says, finally stowing his greatsword after arriving back at the Venture-Captain's office.
The next day, Serge heads downstairs after awakening and conducting his daily prayer ritual, and greets Delores with a smile. His face drops, however, as his eyes scan the note. "Goblins, huh. Not the most worthy or intelligent of foes. They can be deadly in numbers, but I am certain we will be fine if we stay together. Let us try and make a good impression on this Delara Adnen if they are to be our guide."
Serge sips on a mug of milk, leaving a frothy moustache that he quickly wipes away.
Marcie strolls into the Venture office with a scowl on her face "We're back. Looks like lots more runnin' 'round needs doin', and some gobbies need whackin'. Set it up and I guess we'll get 'r done!" She adjusts her drum and soon happily heads off for a bath and a few beers at the inn.
"If ya need ta know about gobbies lemme know. I can give ya a history lesson if ya needin' it on the little s$%~s." She says between mouthfuls of fried up potato wedges and undercooked fat back.
"This Adnen, let's just hope she's ok to deal with." Marcie leans down and whispers "Just between you and me... sometimes ladies ain't the easiest to work with..." She nods slowly, looking at everyone before rubbing her nose and slurping up a barely warmed chunk of pig fat.
Shikaree is the only one who seems pleased about goblins and the new missive, clapping scaled hands together. "But this is so exciting! Just like agents in the chronicles! Tracing down leads in the woods, hunting thieves, potentially being eaten by goblins..." A fangy grin splits the nagaji's face.
"May I suggest we engage again in the practice we have observed thusss far on our journey, dear friendss? --I hope we are friendss now, but I do not wish to overstep my bounds. I will be in the inn's courtyard after our meal for all who wish to once again honor the ssspirits of past warriors with the remembrance of ssteel."
Shikaree looks confused at Bash's words about 'ladies'. If the nagaji had eyebrows they'd be arching inquisitively. "Queen Steeltoe, why are ladies difficult? Please, share with me your wisdom."
Shikaree has opted for the porridge, with some extra seasoning of a few mice caught last night in the stables, which get furtively added to the hot gruel. "...we should buy extra rationsss for the journey, if we will be some time in the forest, yes? What is the weather like? Do we need tents, or do we camp in 'the fulnessss of the glory of the open air with no blanket but the gods' own stars,' as Pathfinder Agent Darian Delias wrote in Chronicle XV?"
After the appetizing breakfast, the over-eager agent will duly be in the courtyard to once again invoke the souls of great warriors of the past.
Makoa easts plain porridge and feeds Kifah meat as he thinks about the places they will journey to. Knowledge Geography: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9 "Fear not Shikaree the land will provide" Makoa follows Shikaree outside. "I grew up here in this place, played in those woods, climbed those trees, mostly avoided those little monsters. Goblins are nothing to take lightly. The little vermin will destroy anything they can get there filthy paws on." As Makoa limbers up getting ready for the sparring he adds in Goblin, "We will pry the Scepter form their cold dead hands"
After breakfast, Shikaree leads another ritualistic sparring session, leaving you covered in a fine sheen of sweat and buzzed on endorphins.
The curious locals watch in fascination. A gnome merchant seizes an opportunity, "What y'all need is some fashionable exercise attire. I can offer you a fair price on leg warmers, yoga pants, and terrycloth headbands. Ya interested?"
Following the pungent scent of dung and hay, you have no difficulty locating Elidir's caravanserai on the outskirts of town.
When you arrive, the morning cookfire crackles softly as the caravan breaks camp and prepares to depart for Citadel Dinyar. The Chitterwood surrounds the road in all directions but the forest is far from consistent. East of the road, burnt and dead trees still stand upright. The land to the west is snarled with low scrub in a dense weave. Irregular slashes of bare dirt and two-foot high grasses give the illusion of other roads leading off from the main track.
Seeing you approach, a man in the prescribed white clothing of an indentured servant stands and greets you in a polite and friendly manner. "Caravan Master Jarkan, at your service. I've been expecting you. We're about to depart."
He introduces the three other men sitting around the fire. "Mutt and Jeff are a pair of Druman Blackjacket guards, and this gentleman is Gallion Land, a Hellknight of the Order of the Godclaw, assigned to Citadel Dinyar and temporarily attached to the caravan."
Jarkan smiles at the gruff Hellknight, trying to impress the man. "With such able fighting men along, our passage through the Chitterwood should be as secure as a babe in his mother's arms."
Gallion Land is neither impressed nor amused. The sour and dour man replies, "Jarkan here is intent on working his way up the Kalistocratic wealth ladder. He seems to be missing the first couple rungs."
The Hellknight looks you over, appraising your fitness as travel companions, wondering whether you're assets or liabilities. "Tell me, what do you know about the Chitterwood?"
K Geography Untrained: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15
K Local Untrained: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (20) - 1 = 19
Marcie flutters her eyelashes at the man in armor "Well honey, I can tell you're an intense man for one thing. The kinda person who likes his women sturdy..." She chuckles.
"This overgrown wood is a hundred miles top to bottom and side to side! Quite a bit of that is burnt up from back in them Goblin Wars. Kinda wonderin' why they didn't burn up more of it but I guess there's a reason." She walks around him a bit more, eyeing him up. Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
"And I know this trip up the road is prolly gonna bring out some bandits. Isger is too cheap, or maybe just plain poor, to patrol the road much. They tend to keep to their boats on the Conerica River and the like. I bet they just like the fishin' and less flies."
Knowledge Local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
"The Chitterwood? You ask me what I know about the Chitterwood? Very well, I'll humor you.
You are probably aware that most trade in Isger is via the Conerica River and its tributaries. The undersized army focuses on securing the river trade, and consequently much of the hinterlands is easy prey for bandits. An overland trade route passes through the eastern Chitterwood from Umok to the Hellknight fortress of Citadel Dinyar. I am not surprised that you accompany us. Attaching yourself to a caravan is the quickest and safest route for a single hellknight to the Citadel.
Among the known threats in the Chitterwood is a tribe of goblins known as the Scorchfeathers. While the Scorchfeathers were a feared band of ravagers during the Goblinblood Wars, their hobgoblin commanders were all killed in the final months of the war and the Scorchfeathers are now a force of undirected and unpredictable mayhem. We are here to find them."
Karayan smiles a smile that contains no mirth "Did that answer your question?"
Serge is no more shocked by being in the company of a Hellknight than he is when Karayan says the words undirected and unpredictable mayhem. He regards the Caravan Master for some time, then offers a smile and firm handshake. "It is a pleasure to be traveling with you, Jarkan. And to you, Mister Land." His gaze is impenetrable when he shakes the Hellknight's hand.
He serves obedience and law above all. There is no room for charity in his mind.
"Karayan, if it's as you say, then it seems we are in good company. Caravan Master, lead the way. We will be ready for whatever unpredictable mayhem may threaten our way. Right, Torgrin?" He taps his oozy backpack for a response.
(Shikaree is interested in these 'yoga pants' and spends some coin in getting properly outfitted.)
The nagaji offers a bow at both Jarkan and the Hellknight, and a nervous close-mouthed smile.
"My colleagues are.... well-sstudied!" Shikaree says with a small gesture to both Bash and Karayan. Even if the one is a Jezebel with every male she sees, and the other is less than humble... But the nagaji keeps those thoughts private and unsaid. After all, perhaps the dwarven woman is in estrus? One must not jump to assumptions, and Shikaree is unfamiliar with dwarven biology.
"I myself am not so learned, Sir Land, but I bring my bow to this journey, and my promise to protect all on it."
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8
If only Shikaree weren't wearing a terry-cloth headband when delivering these diplomatic words.
Makoa thinks deeply when Gallion Land questions what he knows, Know Geography: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10 Know Local:Untrained: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7 but is unable to keep his focus as he thinks of the past and what the hellknights did for the people. He doesn't do a good job of keeping the disgust off his face as he silently walks away.
Caravan Master Jarkan smiles, happy enough to have paying customers along on the journey.
The Hellknight Gallion Land gives Karayan an appreciative glance. "You've a keen mind and familiarity with the Chitterwood. That's rarer than a good sword arm in these parts."
Marcie senses both men likely know more than you do about the Chitterwood and conditions in the region, but they're a taciturn lot, the merchant by profession and the Hellknight by nature.
He nods at the rest of you, indicating his assent. "Let's hit the trail then."
Midway between Elidir and Citadel Dinyar, the caravan halts, and the Hellknight calls you forward.
"Goblin sign," Gallion Land points to some trampled brush near the side of the trail. "You should begin your search for the Scorchfeathers here."
Jarkan offers his ever-cheerful smile and pulls a large burlap sack from one of the wagons. "Here you go. Two weeks of trail rations. The caravan will be passing back through in ten days to pick you up. Good fortune to you."
With a clatter of wheels and creaking of leather harness, the caravan resumes its slow march.
Looking around, it seems the trail of the goblins shouldn't be too hard to follow.
(Please attempt a DC13 Survival check.)
"Goodbye! Good travelss to you!" Shikaree says with a hopeful wave, taking the rations dutifully and distributing them among the other agents. Then, the najagi scans the ground, looking for some sign that the trampled bushes have goblinoid tracks leading past them...
I'll take ten if I can for a 14, but if not:
Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8 Sad trombone
Survival: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10
"Thank you master Jarkan. Good travels to you."
Marcie enjoys the trip and the outdoors, from time to time as they caravan rolls along she plays her drums for everyone, but mostly you think for her own enjoyment. "Not much gets the blood boiling quicker than a good heavy baseline am I right?" She states after one particularly involved session.
After they're dumped off on the side of the road she smiles and blows a kiss to the caravan as it rolls onward, taking a look through the sack of food with a keen eye. "This'll work. And here I thought we'd be scraping by on our wits out here." She looks around the group and laughs a bit nervously, knowing full well the level of some of the group's 'woodsy' skills.
"We best get down ta business right? Keep yer heads on a swivel, we're in gobbie country now, and them sneaky bastards maybe dumb, gross, and ugly, but they're blood thirsty!" She buckles on her buckler, draws out a sap and begins to find that trail!
Survival: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
You follow the tracks of the goblins, and near sundown Marcie and Shikaree locate their former campsite.
The clearing likely burnt during the Goblinblood Wars, but the ground cover has clearly been burnt away again within the past few days. A few minutes of sifting through the ashes uncovers a broken small dogslicer, two empty ceramic jugs, and the jumbled bones of a small-sized creature.
Horgrin assumes his dwarven form and sifts through the former camp, seeing what he can learn.
Nature: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
He tries to put the remaining bones into some sort of pattern of a creature, but cannot gleam what it could be.
K Nature: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12 Marcie looks over Torgrin's shoulder at the mass of bones and shrugs her shoulders as well "S#!#, who knows.. a burned up goblin maybe? How many legs it got? Are those arms or legs... maybe its a dog? They like to eat dogs!" She wrinkles her nose at eating dogs before walking off to look at another corner of the camp for clues.
Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25
"Nature, it is al gross" Karayan remarks as he sees the others fiddling with the bones
No Knowledge (Nature) for me
Makoa looks over the bones, takes a deep breath and says a short prayer "awaken feral memories" Know Nature with guidance: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 6 + 1 = 14. "They have burned away it's essence like they destroy everything" Makoa looks around for fresh tracks Survival: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Although some of you examine the jumbled bones, no one's able to quite figure out what the small creature might have once been.
Experienced adventurers, you make camp and post a watch throughout the night, which passes without incident.
Rising at dawn the next morning, you break your fast with some of the trail rations Caravan Master Jarkin provided. Then you resume tracking the goblins.
Please post your Survival checks.
Survival: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (18) + 0 = 18
"Right here, friends," Serge calls as he kneels to find some hidden footprints. "The path continues this way. We must be getting closer, and stragglers are likely to be found. Keep your weapons at the ready, and senses honed," the paladin says, taking out his greatsword.
Shikaree once again leads the other agents in a careful sparring practice, invoking great heroes of the past-- perhaps of the very Goblinblood Wars, who might have marched through these woods.
After that, Shikaree gnaws on a piece of jerky while following Serge's lead, looking over the ground with amber eyes.
Survival: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
"I musst trusst to your eyes, Sseerge. I see little here..."
As Shikaree leads the practice, Marcie provides the mood music, adding her drums to the experience.
Marcie checks out what Serge has found Take 10 for an 18 "Look at you, takin' to the woods like a regular guide hun! Good work." She slaps him on the backside and pulls out her sap, ready to move along.
"It is a good thing we have you with us Serge and Miss Steeltoe, I am afraid my skills are more at use within more civilized areas"
"It is a good thing we have you with us Serge and Miss Steeltoe, I am afraid my skills are more at use within more civilized areas"
"Damn tootin' you are man! The woods are more civilized than half the cities I've been in. Least you know where you stand in the woods." She comments over her shoulder.
With such skilled trackers leading the way, you have no trouble at all following the trail of the goblins. Near evening on the second day, you locate another abandoned camp.
A shallow cleft in a rocky hill appears to have provided the goblins with a resting place for the night but little to burn. The dung of several creatures is scattered about with no regard for sanitation. Near one pile of dung is a discarded string of large feathers tied together as a crude headdress.
After another uneventful night in the Chitterwood, you resume your pursuit.
Please post your Day 3 Survival checks.
"Moss is soft on the feet and great for crappin' in the woods! Soft on the toosh I must admit." She reaches down and grabs a couple handfuls, stuffing them in her back pocket for her post breakfast 'reflection with nature'.
As they reach the next campsite Marcie picks up the feathers and compares them to her own "Hope they didn't eat a leshy, those little guys love these feather things." She remembers back to her previous mission fondly.
The next morning she does her best to lead the group down the path once more. Its been working so far so she'll continue to take 10 for an 18 on Survival. "Move it or lose it slow pokes, people in the woods get up early, otherwise you'll be somethin's late breakfast!"
After another day's march, Marcie locates the spot where the goblins made camp beneath a spreading oak.
The first thing to strike the senses is the scent of charred flesh and fuzz. The unplucked carcass of a small bird has been nailed to the oak tree and set on fire. Discarded scraps of food are scattered around a crude semicircle of stones facing the tree. Among the scraps lies a small blood-smeared vial.
"Look at you go, Marcie. You are as one with the woods!" Serge laughs, nudging the dwarf playfully.
Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 19
At the camp, Serge carefully plucks the vial from the scraps of grossness. "Ah, it is a potion of cure light wounds, surely helpful for what's to come, no doubt." He takes out a cloth emblazoned with the same wing-and-bastard-sword engraving that's on his armor, and wipes the blood off before stowing it with the oozemorph in his pack.
"Marcie, how long ago do you think that bird was killed? The smell of charred flesh is still around, it can't be that long, can it?"
I'm not 100% sure what relevant check that would be so here's a d20 roll. Survival is +8, Heal +2, and Perception +6
Estimating approximate shelf life of one charred bird: 1d20 ⇒ 13
Marcie knows when she's being conned, but takes the bait anyhow, beginning to poke and prod the bird corpse to check for a pulse and establish time of death. "Ya know, you'd learn best by gettin' yer hands dirty. Come on over and get elbow deep in this thing!"
Karayan blinks twice and then removes his leather gloves. He pulls up his sleeves and gingerly prods the bird. "Like this?"
Ms Steeltoe waffles her head a bit at Karayan's attempt, taking a step forward to assist. "Sort of, let me help. You take this finger here, and " She takes his pinky finger and slips it up the bird's cloaca "Stick it right up here. Best spot to measure the temperature. I suggest doing that on all corpses to help figure out just how long they've been dead." She takes a step back so he can enjoy the moment of having his finger up a dead birds butt.
Bluff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17
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Sense Motive: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Bluff: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (16) + 10 = 26
"I see Miss Steeltoe, thank you very much. You would have made a great doctor. Usually I don't care how long something has been dead, but I will certainly remember the great help you've been."
"Um, wow..." Serge mumbles as Marcie gets arms deep in dead bird, and he adds a few paces between himself and Karayan after the finger incident. "Oh, my. Your finger... It's... I did not pack any soap, so I'm afraid we'll have to deal with that scent for the duration of our travel. Perhaps you should keep the gloves on?"
"Perhaps we should move on. It is the goblins destination we care about not what they ate along the way." Makoa says as he looks around for tracks, Survival: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17
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Shikaree watches the interplay, looks supremely squicked, and hurriedly sets out after Makoa.
Shikaree is very sure that the Pathfinder Chronicles never mentioned anything like this happening in a mission. Truly, 'the field' is a dangerous place.
Karayan wipes his hands on a patch of moss "Fortunately we have this moss. If it is good enough for Miss Steeltoe's toosh, it is good enough for my hands... though I agree, let's make camp and be on our way on the morrow"
The morning of the fourth day dawns, and once more, the party resumes its pursuit.
The trees thicken, and the previously wide glades narrow and disappear in this unburnt part of the Chitterwood. A loud animal screech echoes between the trunks, followed by excited laughter and cheers of triumph.
(You may attempt a Stealth check, if you'd like to scout ahead and see the source of the commotion... )