Kingmaker: A Light in the Dark (Inactive)

Game Master JDPhipps

"Much as I'd love to, if half of what I hear about their kind is true, we don't want to start a fight right now." Prophet breathes deeply and narrows his eyes again. "Doesn't mean we can't pay them a visit at all, though. You up for a little deception?"

W͝͏h̸̡͞y͏͟͏ ̸ą҉̧r̵͡e̵͘͞ ̷̢̢y͝ǫu͠ in҉v҉͠i͡ţ͡͝in̴̢g̶̛͘ t́̕͢h̨é ̴lu͢l̵̕̕gi̡̢j̛͢a͘͘ḱ?̨҉ ͏͝H̴e̷̶̡ ̕͞i̵͡͞s͘ ̵̢͡wea̡k̷ an͜͡d͏ f̢͢͠l̸͢o҉w͢é͜ŕy̨҉̷.̡ The Kordator's voice is angry, seething with passionate hate and distaste.

Well, that's all probably true. But he's a quick one, and his spells do a number on people. Having him along in case things go sour is probably a good idea.

"I'd rather no chance it. If we provoke them by accident, we may end up in a fight and I don't relish the thought of fighting a werewolf without silver at hand. Unless you'd like to try to shove wolf's bane down his throat." She eyes Prophet for a moment. "Then again, you might actually be able to manage that."

Gallidren nods at Annika, "As much as I would like to end this now, you are right, we should wait until day break. Let's talk to Father Kriss about beds for the night."

"Come to think of it... do we have enough to pay the alchemist for what we need? I have about ten coins I think..."

Suggestion: when we speak to the priest, let's ensure we sleep in a fortified place. The full moon will be with us shortly."

Gallidren will pay the alchemist. "Let's be on our way. We will need to set guards tonight. It's a full moon and Caleb probably know's we're on to him."

Back at the shrine, Father Kriss greets you all as you enter, looking up from his desk to see the sun setting. "Ah, I see... you all need a place to sleep, don't you? We should have enough guest beds for you all, if you're ready to retire. Other than placing an order for your wares, did you learn anything from the apothecary? She has quite a personal stake in this whole business, as I'm sure you noticed... she might be willing to help, if approached about it correctly."

Creon eyes the priest quizzically. "Question and Reminder: Father, did you find anything in your books that might help us? Or in your meditations? The apothecary: her son fought the attacker; we believe the attacker was wounded. As Caleb is."

"As a matter of fact, I did; I believe I've found some record of that temple of yours." He closes the book he has open--several more have shown up on his desk since you've left--and flips to a marked page in another one. "Our records of other servants of Erastil in the area is spotty, as we aren't all interconnected beyond our faith, but we do have some. It seems the place you're looking for is called the Temple of the Elk, and it was built by Taldan explorers during their attempt at conquest. Other than that, one person mentions it as harboring some sort of dark spirit... but nothing on werewolves, not directly anwyway."

"As for Caleb, I'm hardly surprised. Have you thought to investigate the area he was killed? If Caleb and Rollin were the perpetrators, it seems unlikely they would like easy evidence to find."

"Dark spirit often means a lot of things. Perhaps they simply didn't know what the beast was and gave it such an ambiguous name afterwards."

"It's possible; all I meant was there's no direct link in the records. I'd suggest poking around a bit tomorrow, seeing what you can dig up, and then exposing them in front of the town.' Father Kriss closes the book and sets it aside, showing you the guest beds. "Getting into a fight with them without proof is a bad idea, and fighting them out in the woods where it doesn't matter would be a worse one. Like I said, the bodies of those killed might be helpful to examine, if you can, as well as where the died. Those two fools can't be that crafty."

Creon agrees with the priest. "Gratitude: that is good advice. We should investigate the scene of the crime, and perhaps the bodies. I think this is the next step. Also, I think we are perhaps jumping to conclusions that this is a lycanthrope. Do we actually know it for certain?"

I'm not sure we do, just checking in case I missed something.

"Jumping to conclusions is one of my favorite things to do," Prophet chuckles. "But it seems fairly obvious to me. And the sooner we put those bastards down the better. Just let me be the one to watch the light fade out Caleb's eyes, if we can."

"I also believe it is more than coincidence that Caleb's wounds correlate with the woman's story. But, I agree with Creon, we should investigate further to confirm. Let's go to the site of the attack at first light."

Gallidren volunteers for the first guard shift that night.

"If it's not, it's something with a similar beastly nature. And whether those two are actually werewolves or not, we know that they're taking advantage of these people and that they managed to get someone hung who was unconnected to the attacks. Even if they're not the beast, they still need to be stopped."

Creon nods at Annika. "Partial agreement: but if they are not lycanthropes, our silvered weapons may not avail us of any advantage."

Don't we also still need to get the blanching?

"If they are not the beasts we believe them to be, it may be for naught, but it is better to be prepared, I would think." Father Kriss stands from his desk and leads you to the other room, with enough spare beds for the lot of you, as well as a few extra beyond what you'd need even with Bishop and Marcus with you. "Still, I would recommend some rest beforehand, so that you are at your best if you must face them. I doubt they would make any attempts on your life in this holy place, as I believe it might repel them and any of their ilk that they might bring along or be in contact with. This news of the temple worries me, however... these reports are quite old, those of the strange feelings and energy there. Whatever caused it, it is either very old or left strong scars upon the temple's aura."

Creon, the apothecary mentioned she will need to brew the blanching, as she does not keep it in stock. It will be ready for you all to pick up tomorrow morning; she offered to allow you all to pay for it now or in the morning when you pick it up.

"Conclusion: then I think our business is concluded for the day. We should indeed collect the blanching in the morning. And, despite your assurances, I think it best to maintain a watch. I am happy to take the middle of the night, given my sparse requirements as regards sleep."

Ready to move on, per the discussion thread.

Creon sleeps without sleeping, in the way that Golarion's androids do. Within that fugue state, he's visited once more by the indentured servant from the bandit camp. The woman is old, shrunken both emotionally and physically from her years of servitude, yet she wears the telltale tattoos on her face and neck, the giveaway brand of a synthete.

But how, he asks himself, could she then shrink? Unless she was manufactured in that form. A double bluff, perhaps? No, this doesn't make sense.

"You need to leave," says the woman. "You're tomorrow's sacrifice. You need to run. To always run."

Run where? he asks. He makes no sound, the question merely forms.

"The Stolen Lands. The answers are there. All of them. Far from here."

I have no idea where these lands are.

"Trust your destiny. It will lead you there, whether you like it or not. And one other thing ..." The ancient's rheumy eyes regard him, almost pitifully. "Seryn - she forgives you. It wasn't in vain. You'll understand, at some point. Just not yet."

He stares at her. The memories are merging together. Seryn wasn't in this story. Her story, her fate, was elsewhere, on the metal ship travelling through a blank grey void. She wasn't in the forest story.

"Contradiction: It makes no sense,", he finds himself saying, physically, out loud, back in the present.

"Hey creepy the archer," Prophet mutters, turning over on his cot. "Some of us are trying to sleep over here. Pipe down, will you?" He murmurs a few choice words in Orcish, mostly maligning Creon's heritage, and shifts a few times, clearly struggling to drift off again.

Creon nods. Best to say nothing further. Fortunate, in fact, this hasn't happened more often. Is it possible I'm mad, defective in some way? Is this normal for ... my kind?

And then: Creepy the Archer? Perhaps the half-orc mispronounced my name.

He opens his mouth, about to correct Prophet. Then thinks better of it, and remains silent.

As the night passes, it becomes clear that Creon and Prophet's exchange is the only thing that might wake any of the party that night. The next morning comes as Father Kriss checks in on the group, in his hands yet another old tome. "My friends, I have discovered some more information you made find useful... but there are more pressing issues at hand now. Clara, the woman you met yesterday who owns the apothecary, was gravely injured last night... by a werewolf." Father Kriss bows his head in sorrow, but continues to speak. "She is, however, still alive; and she has you all to thank, if only indirectly. Those weapon blanches you asked her to make is the only reason she's still alive." As the party gets dressed and prepare to go, he continues. "It bought her enough time for someone to come to her rescue, but unfortunately those rescuers were Caleb and Rollin. I believe I know how, but... it is not the time for that conversation, not yet."

"Also, do any of you know of a young woman with silver hair? She arrived here this morning, not long ago; she claimed to be an ally of yours. Rollin has stayed with Clara while myself and some of the other clergy tend to her wounds, but Caleb left to meet with her."

Annika is already in the middle of her morning prayers when Father Kriss delivers his news. "Hmmm, I have my suspicions. It would be quite easy to come to the rescue if they knew where the attack was coming ahead of time. But for now that will have to wait."

She raises an eyebrow at the mention of silver hair. "Yes, we had a companion with silver hair, though she was off on another errand. If she's here, I assume that it's urgent."

Gallidren, frowns upon hearing the news. "Let's check on Clara and have a conversation with Caleb."

Gallidren turns to Annika, "Who is this silvered hair woman? A former associate of yours?"

"I don't imagine it would be all that hard for them to fake such stuff." Prophet seems sour about the whole affair, and not just due to lack of sleep. "As far as the woman, she traveled to Oleg's with us--or at least she showed up about the same time we did, anyway. Helped shoot some bandits and then had other things to do. Must have decided to get back into the thick of it. Any help's good help." The half-orc rubs his neck and pops it. "How soon are we doing things here? I could use some time to commune with my friend, especially if we're looking at getting in a fight."

"Question: which friend? And, father, why is it not that time for that conversation?"

Creon frowns. He can accept the appearance of this new associate; everybody, after all, has their own history. But everyone seems to be speaking elliptically at this point, deferring conversations and actions with minimal explanation.

"Ah, right, you may not know." Prophet clears his throat and pulls out his sword to show Creon. It's easy to see that although the half-orc has lean, corded muscle, he has some trouble wielding the massive blade. "This ain't just a hunk of good cold iron here, it's a relic of my tribe back in the Hold. I've got a few others, too, I gathered them up from where they were gathering dust when I was a kid. They... called to me, I guess you'd say. And I learned to call back. So with a little time and effort, I welcome the spirits of the past to give me strength."

He shrugs and slides the sword back away with only a little awkward jostling. "The battle-minded spirit is the one I'm closest to, and summoning it is sort of like working myself into a battle rage, gives me strength and clarity, but it lasts longer. Try telling that to the warchiefs, though, see what happens." He snorts derisively and folds his arms. "Point is, I'm a lot better in a fight if I have time to prepare."

"Comprehension: that explains quite a lot. Thank for your explanation. Then I agree that we should wait."

"An interesting form of spell craft," Annika muses. "I've never heard of spirits granting power to mortals in such a way before. Though I'm not going to complain. And I require a bit longer to complete my prayers to regain my goddess's blessings."

"As for my... suspicions, I believed it best to speak of it after you had spoken to Clara. Not to mention, if this woman is a friend of yours, it seems prudent to wait for her to be here as well." Father Kriss leads the group out towards the door, still holding the book under his arm. "Clara is not far outside her shop, if you want to tend to her first; others are there with her, so I don't think much could go wrong there. Your friend, on the other hand... from what I can tell, she's refusing to speak to Caleb. All she'll tell him is she has a message for you all, and that she was told not to speak to anyone else."

Gallidren sighs, "Complete your preparations then. We leave for the apothecary as soon as you are ready."

If Prophet wants to make another of his freaky seance posts, I'll let him add that in later.

The air around the apothecary is eerily still, as a small crowd of people has gathered around the obvious blood trail leading into the house. "Pardon me, please," Father Kriss says politely, moving through those investigating the scene. "I need to be with Clara; her wounds won't heal themselves. She'll survive, but only if you'll let me through to take care of her." While you hear the edge of irritation in the old priest's voice, he does a good job of hiding it. Just inside the doorway, Clara is lying on her back surrounded by a few Erastilian acolytes, her head propped under some pillows as they examine her wounds. She winces in pain as the look over her, but tries to keep herself calm. Standing in the corner of the room is Rollin, a sour expression on his face.

"Father Kriss, you've... brought them," Clara wheezes, her hand resting on her bloody abdomen. "Those blanches... if I hadn't been making them, wouldn't have had anything to throw at the beast and make it shriek like that; it's the only reason they heard it." She starts to sit up, but Father Kriss motions for her to stay where she is, still worried for her health. "Gods, that hurts..."

Gallidren joins Father Kriss at Clara's side. "Thank Elastril that you still live. We will destroy the beast that did this to you. Is there any other information that you can provide on your attacker?"

Gallidren looks outside the apothecary for any telltale tracks.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

Perhaps the woman might speak more easily in the absence of oversight...

Creon walks past the apothecary and up to Rollin.

Sense Motive, Studied Target: 1d20 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 + 1 = 11

+1 further if Rollin is a bandit. Seems my dice throws are not great at the moment, though.

"Request: I have questions to discuss. Best not in front of the apothecary. Might we step outside a moment?"

Clara nods as Gallidren speaks, clearly still in a lot of pain although her wounds have been bandaged and cleaned; interestingly, they don't appear to have been treated magically at all. "I... don't know. It was all so sudden; the door... it broke the door down, and it leaped for my thr-throat. I managed to topple one of the... pots of silver I'd been boiling, the ones for your--" Clara coughs, the winces from the pain, "--your blanches, and it spilled onto the thing's back. It howled like a... like a demon, and Caleb must have heard it. He and Rollin managed to fend it off, and then they fetched Father Kriss and his acolytes." Father Kriss kneels down to examine her wounds as she speaks, and he clicks his tongue a few times as he looks at her rent-apart flesh.

Rollin, on the other hand, looks up as Creon asks to speak to him. "Questions? Yeah... sure," he says, kicking off from the wall and walking outside, motioning for Creon to follow. "What'd you want, then? I don't know much... Caleb showed up before me; I took a shot or two after it while it was runnin'." Rollin keeps his hands on the grips of his pistols, his gaze just past Creon towards the gate into town, where Caleb is still presumably arguing with one of your companions from the Trading Post.

"That certainly seems to confirm that we're dealing with a werewolf. And it also means that the beast had a reason to come after you..." Annika frowns and kneels down next to the woman. "Please, why has no one treated your wounds? I can try to help, if you wish."

"Her wounds won't close," Father Kriss says, helping Annika look closer at the wounds. As she gets a better look, she can spot some sort of inky, black substance bubbling around the edges of her wound. "I'm... not sure why, but some sort of foul magic is keeping me from healing her wounds... even with Erastil's blessing." The priest sighs, doing his best to care for the woman through mundane means. One of the acolytes, a young man in plain brown robes, is grinding some herbs into a poultice from the woman's collection, but it's slow-going.

Anyone else may view the spoiler if they inspect the wound as Annika did; otherwise, she will have to tell you about it.

"These wounds look disturbingly familiar," Annika murmurs as she examines the black oozing wound. "It's far to similar to when we encountered the Stag. Have you even seen this... curse before father? It certainly doesn't resemble anything I've ever heard of a lycanthrope inflicting before."

Creon does his best to nod in understanding, though in a slightly artificial manner.

"Questions: how did the two of you become aware of the attack, in the first place? And ... are these weapons muffled in some way? We heard no shot. I heard no shot, and I was awake on watch."

"It isn't anything I've read about, either," Father Kriss says, inspecting the ooze further. "Wait a moment... the Stag? You speak of Erastil's herald, the Great White Stag? It visited you? It was wounded... and this stained its wounds as well?" Father Kriss looks around to his acolytes, before speaking in hushed tones. "When the poultice is complete, tend to her; I must return to the shrine." Before leaving, Father Kriss kneels before Clara. "May Erastil's arrow find the beast that tried to cut you down, and his blessing cleanse this foul substance from your wounds."

"W-wait," Clara says, reaching upwards towards Annika and Father Kriss. "The blanches... I'd already finished a batch. Take them, you'll need them if you... if you're hunting that beast." She reclines to the floor again, even the effort of raising her body appearing to be quite taxing. Father Kriss stands, and heads outside as he waits for you to collect the blanches and finish your business.

Outside, Rollin narrows his eyes at Creon's questions. "I heard the screamin', didn't you? As for these... no, they ain't muffled. Maybe you just weren't listenin' too close? Or maybe it was just a bit quieter in the shrine, y'know? I wouldn't worry about it." As he finished, Father Kriss approaches Creon, an urgency in his step.

"Come; we must fetch your friend and return to the shrine. There are things I must discuss with you all, and it can wait no longer."

Sense Motive, Studied Target: 1d20 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 + 1 = 8 Sigh

Creon nods at Rollin. "Gratitude: Thank you for your help. It seems I must be going. Farewell."

Meanwhile, Prophet's in the shrine, conducting his seance. (Don't feel any need to write another full description of his communing with the Kordator, since I've done it before and it'll be more or less the same, but that's all he's up to right now. I'm hoping the timing will work out more or less such that he's finished as people are coming back to the shrine or something.)

"Rest well and try to recover," Annika says. "We'll deal with the beast. Thank you. For all of your hard work." With that, she collects the blanches and heads back with the group so they might talk with the priest.

Gallidren joins Father Kriss at Clara's side. "Thank Elastril that you still live. We will destroy the beast that did this to you. Is there any other information that you can provide on your attacker?"

Gallidren looks outside the apothecary for any telltale tracks.

[dice=Perception]1d20+4

Does Gallidren find any tracks?

Gallidren: Sorry, my mind was elsewhere. Yes, you see a clear set of tracks leading off into the forest that appear to belong to some sort of gigantic, dog-like creature; that certainly seems right for a werewolf.

Father Kriss takes you all towards the town gates, where a woman with long, silver hair tied into a braid appears to be arguing profusely with Caleb. "I already told you why I'm here; I've got a message for the group who came through here with charters from Restov. Now, are you gonna let me into town to speak to them, or am I gonna have to--" the woman pauses, catching the group of you from the corner of her eye. Her hand, hovering dangerously close to the hilt of her blade, eases away. "Hey, I've been trying to find you lot. I've got a message, it's from Restov; it's for your ears only, no one else's," she says, shooting Caleb another glare. "He doesn't seem to comprehend that."

As for Creon and Gallidren, I am willing to say you exchanged pleasantries with Kilarra while at the trading post, and subsequently learned each other's names, so she doesn't seem suspicious of you.

Creon nods to Kilarra.

"Opinion: If Master Caleb shows you his own charter, he should of course be included," he says, loudly enough for Caleb to hear.

He pauses, then realises he has missed something.

"Belated Welcome: Welcome, friend Kilarra."

"I already told you, they didn't give us no damned charters," Caleb grunts, clearly irritated that you've all shown up. "Personally, I think it's a little suspicious that someone's shown up with a message for you the night after a werewolf attack, and she won't speak to anyone else about it. That seems awfully convenient," he says, acting suspicious. "You all wouldn't happen to have known anything about that attack last night, would you?" Now Caleb's hand drifts to the hilt of his sword, and Kilarra's eyes lock with his.

"Werewolf attack? What in the Nine Hells are you--listen, if you're accusing me of being a werewolf, you've got a lot of damned nerve," Kilarra says. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I already told you I've got business," she remarks, shoving one mailed hand into Caleb's gut in an attempt to push her way past him. He catches her arm as he walks past him, and twists it in an attempt to force her to the ground. Kilarra grunts in pain, but a second later her long, curved blade in her hand, already pointed towards Caleb's throat. "Do you want to play rough?" she threatens, the muscles in her arms tightening, ready to strike. "If you don't want a new place to breathe from, I suggest you let me go." Caleb, not one to back down, twists her arm farther; without some sort of intervention, this is clearly going to come down to a fight.

"Personally, I find it suspicious that you continue to claim to be representatives of Restov without any proof of the fact," Annika interjects as they arrive on the scene. "Now I would suggest that you let our companion go so we may speak to her. Alone."

Theo walks towards the two, holding his hands out kindly.

"My friends! Please! Surely we can solve this without violence? Caleb, please, release her. Kilarra, would you kindly stay your blade? Let's approach this reasonably. Kilarra, you have a message for us? And Caleb, do you truly think her to be a wolf in disguise?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23