If you do the Jade Regent thing I'd love to play. Also I have not done either of Fortress of the Nail or Immortal Conundrum.
Rhoswen, haven't started Forgotten Laboratory yet. There are only 4 on the sign-up sheet at the moment and you'd do better with 5 or 6.
I'll add Fortress of the Nail and Immortal Conundrum to the Sign-up sheet.
I'd like to play either of those games, DM. Alie will be free soon, and I'd like to use her for either of those, depending on the tier we choose to play.
A smelly little goblin darts through the door and sticks a note to the wall with a steak knife.
"Rawble-rawble." He mumbles before turning and leaving.
Any more thought on the Jade Regent idea or did you decide against that?
GM Striker has a high-tier game for PbP Game Day that he is trying to fill:
|
A tall, shaven-headed elf walks slowly into the bar, a haunted expression on his face. He heads for a table more than large enough for him, pulls four other chairs over around the table, and sits down on a fifth chair before signaling to the barkeep. "Five glasses--merlot for me, the cheapest whiskey you have there--" He points at the place next to him. "--Sazerac there, ale and a shot there, and...ah, what would she drink? Black velvet there." He points to the other three empty chairs in turn. When the drinks arrive, he starts with the rotgut and slams it back, mouthing a name as he sets down the empty glass. Then he moves on to the next--another drink and another name, again and again until he's sitting down in front of his glass of wine, the raven on his shoulder putting its head under one wing. He picks up the glass in a toast. "To absent colleagues." Then he sips his wine slowly, savoring it, before settling the tab and walking (slightly tipsily) back out into the night.
|
A tall, shaven-headed elf walks slowly into the bar, a haunted expression on his face. He heads for a table more than large enough for him, pulls four other chairs over around the table, and sits down on a fifth chair before signaling to the barkeep. "Five glasses--merlot for me, the cheapest whiskey you have there--" He points at the place next to him. "--Sazerac there, ale and a shot there, and...ah, what would she drink? Black velvet there." He points to the other three empty chairs in turn. When the drinks arrive, he starts with the rotgut and slams it back, mouthing a name as he sets down the empty glass. Then he moves on to the next--another drink and another name, again and again until he's sitting down in front of his glass of wine, the raven on his shoulder putting its head under one wing. He picks up the glass in a toast. "To absent colleagues." Then he sips his wine slowly, savoring it, before settling the tab and walking (slightly tipsily) back out into the night.
A tall elf with rotting skin that looks to have been unnaturally preserved, wearing robes and a turban in the style of Osirion, steps over to his fellow elf after his drinking ritual is done. "They'll be fine, I'm sure. I died once. It wasn't so bad. Fortunately for me, I was brought back in the name of the Ruby Prince and am now pledged to defend the borders and history of Osirion for as long as I continue to live; may that be a long time, in good hope. May yours be just as long." He pats his fellow elf on the shoulder and walks back to his table in the back.
|
A drum beats at a slow canter. On the stage of Maximo's Hideaway, Aod steps in time to the rhythm, performing a new dance. Normally he danced in memory of Irrisen and those who have long fought the Witchqueens, but this dance was dedicated to a brave companion lost in the Crusades.
Dun. Dun. Dun. Dun...
As he moved the pace of the tempo increased, becoming like the sound of a galloping horse. Leaping across the open space Aod thrust one hand forth like a lance.
Dundundun... Dundundun...
Then he began spinning, attacking at all angles like a dervish, then recoiling as if wounded by a dozen blows. Just before falling he throws back a foot and catches himself, then surges forward again. The dance repeats as he spins off in a new direction, throwing himself at unseen enemies. He reels from further injuries and finally staggers, collapsing to the floor.
the drum beat slows, changing.
Dun-Dun... Dun-Dun...
The drums stop and he lies still.
While drinking at the bar, Aod hears the rumors of Pathfinders recently lost in another mission for the Society. Standing, he calls out to the room.
"Does someone know the names of these fallen Pathfinders?! I would raise a toast in their memory and dance in remembrance of their lives!"
|
|
"The first time I was set on fire by the Golden League, while supporting that Bit... lovely lady of the night Amara Li. The next time I turned my back on Pharasma was when I was assaulted by a Wayang named Dagestan or something to that effect in an old decrepit mansion, while once again in Tian Xia, and once again in the employ of that Sake swilling harlot."
Peri wrinkles her nose in disgust at the mention of Amara Li's name
"At least the Trade Prince knows how to treat a lady... Well maybe not."
She winks at the drummer before returning to her beverage.
What, Fruno is dead? THIS CAN'T BE TRUE.
|
|
The faint image of a well-coiffured half-orc enters in by stepping quite literally through the door. He looks around and spots an empty seat in a dark corner. He removes his great axe, takes a seat and then fishes out a whetstone.
Those approaching spot a gaping wound in his side that looks as if it were also suffered an electrical burn.
Frunobulax simply sits and runs the whetstone up and down each side of his great axe, honing it's edge.
Oh man. My highest is 9th level, but I want to do Eyes of the Ten so bad when I'm able.
|
|
In walks a typical savage brute. Like most Ulfen, he is a big man, with corded muscles and wide shoulders. His head is shaven, his beard braided with small metal charms. A fur rimmed cloak drapes his shoulders over a mail shirt in a constant battle with rust. Around his waist a many ringed thick leather weapons belt bears a battered longsword, club, and a couple mismatched daggers. Over his shoulder are a half-dozen javelins in a large quiver alongside a worn travel pack and a notched wooden shield. His one possession of any apparent quality or value is a large bastard sword engraved with arcane runes on the hilt.
He's been here before, and scans the room for old friends as he crosses to a table and unceremoniously drops his pack and quiver to the floor. His sword he places with care on the table within easy reach.
|
A slender, raven-haired elven woman enters. Though young, by elven reckoning, she's starting to get the weary look in her eye that comes with service to the Pathfinder Society.
Her equipment is quite spartan: wearing simple hide armor, with an elegant curved blade, a bow with a quiver of arrows and a backpack. She notices the array of weaponry hanging from Aod's belt. Guess I should equip myself more fully, she thinks to herself.
Her eyes scan the notices tacked to the wall, hoping to find work to line her pockets a little more heavily.
|
The large man enters the establishment again, bringing with him a sharp odor of back alleys and bedpans. Carefully retrieving a note from a scrollcase, he tacks it up on the public board.
Written upon the note:
A powerful Qadiran trade prince has died, and faction leader Aaqir al’Hakam has rushed to his homeland to attend his mentor’s funeral. The death of such an influential merchant and politician has created a considerable power vacuum, and ambitious acquaintances from across the Inner Sea are in attendance to pay their respects, and likely also attempt to claim a piece of the trade prince’s legacy, and undercut their rivals’ attempts to do the same. As an act of support, the Pathfinder Society is sending representatives to the event in hopes of keeping it from spiraling into a bloodbath.
Whispers and rumors drift among the patrons of Maximo's Hideaway.
"It is said that Paracountess Zarta Dralneen is seeking loyal members to bolster the ranks of the her newly formed faction, the Dark Archive. To this end she has arranged with the Society to hold a very exclusive Confirmation of new Pathfinders."
A woman, almost glowing with unearthly beauty, enters Maximo's Hideaway, approaches the notice board, and pins an announcement to it.
The Announcement:
"The silver Crusade seeks those touched by the grace within their ranks and participate in a very special Confirmation of new Pathfinders."
~Ollysta Zadrian
A note appears on the announcement board:
"Kreighton Shaine is organizing one last Confirmation. Prospective pathfinders are to meet him at The Pig’s Paunch before dawn!"
|
|
As preparations for The Confirmation are being made the air suddenly goes still, and then static electricity begins to build.. The air on your arms start to stand up and all the sudden a loud snap occurs as a being appears out of space.. Standing before you is a barely dressed elf female.. She has all the looks of pathfinder, except she has an aura of power emanating from her very being. Raw magical energy flows along her skin, enough so a detect magic is not necessary to reveal the many protection spells active..
She gives a pleasant smile.. "Sorry for the interruption.. I heard this was a good place to have a drink and relax.. "VC" Avoreal Starseeker is my name. Well met pathfinders.." Without touching the floor she floats over to the bar.. "Something fruity with a zing please! Give everyone a round on me as well!"
|
|
The doors to Maximo's Hideaway fly open and the proprietor himself steps through.
"Greetings, my friends!" He sweeps a plumed jingasa from his head and performs a bow suitable for the Kitharodian Academy. "Too long have I been away. Aha! M'lady, you are a beautiful sight for these old eyes." The serving wench he addresses is far from the normal standards of the word, standing like an aged barrel of whiskey, scowling at the Baron. Ignoring her sour attitude, he looks around, his eyes taking in the message board.
"Well it appears the Society is in need of a few good Pathfinders again!"
"Look here. Mystery strikes again at the problem-plagued Blackros Museum in Absalom! Once more, Nigel Aldain, needs our help. It seems a famed Osirian tomb raider returned to Absalom and disappeared in the museum's basement, and now several of the curator's night watchmen have gone missing. The Society has promised to send Pathfinders to investigate."
"Oh, and an invitation to a dinner party at the Thuvian Embassy, hosted by none other than the guardian of this year's supply of the infamous sun orchid elixir! That should be quite fascinating, and a fine opportunity to rub shoulders with the elite of Absalom."