You have been called to the Grand Lodge of Absalom for a briefing. Seated in a small chamber around a darkwood table, various trophies gathered from across the face of Golarion hang from the walls. A monkey-shaped mask with a serpent’s tongue glares out from the center of one wall, a strange halberd with gold rings piercing its thick blade and dragons carved along its haft hangs opposite the monkey mask. You are alone save your fellow Pathfinders, who apparently have been called here for the same purpose.
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A tall, wiry elf walks into the room. With alabaster skin, silver white hair, and deep blue, almost violet eyes, he studies the trophies intently, while absently reaching down the stroke the hair a winter hare. A longbow leans across the back of his chair and an outline of a large tome traces across his pack.
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A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing shining banded mail strides in on the elf's heels. He is olive-skinned with short black hair and goatee, both of which are neatly trimmed. At first glance, this man appears to be a typical human. His eyes, however, betray him to be something more, for they are deep golden irises.
After smiling and nodding to his fellow Pathfinders, he quickly takes the first available seat, adjusting his cloak and longsword as he does so, and awaits for the venture captain to begin.
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There is apparently a gnome amidst the lace and ruffles, sequins, and ruffs, though its fairly difficult to tell. His skin is nut brown and his hair where it can be glimpsed beneath a monument of a hat. There is a distinctly Keleshite look to his bizarre outfit, as if he has sought to emulate the outlandishly extravagant clothing of a Pasha on a budget and for the most part made a pretty fine job of it,
"Greetings my fellow Pathfinders, I am Zandibus the Magnificent, weaver of wondrous spells, tailor of triumphant tremendous talent, and passionate presumptive Pasha - presuming plenty of patience. I am certain we can cultivate a charmed coalition of contented contemporaries!"
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Clad in typical outdoors clothes, Haraldir strides into the room. He wore a drab and thick linen shirt, pants which were once blue, obviously of very sturdy make, an undetermined light green piece of clothing which resembled overcoat, and a heavy brown cloak, patched in several places was casually slung over his shoulder. Each and every piece of clothing had at least one, if not several pockets, and it was obvious that some of these were stuffed with minor items. He carried a large rucksack in his left hand, filled to the brim, a quiver with dozens of arrows was firmly tied upon his left thigh and he carried what might be considered a very large bow.
Surveying quickly the three persons already present, ranger decides to approach the tall elf. "If I'm not mistaken you're Caradeum, right? Ezrek's cousin or friend, if I'm not mistaken'? Glad to meet you."
He turns towards the others as well, before introducing himself: "Haraldir, at your service. An expert (of a kind) in the wilds, a guide for several previous Pathfinder expeditions. As I said - glad to meet ya' all."
Finally, a huge man wearing creaking leathers marches into the room. He looks at each of you, as if he were appraising a handful of gemstones freshly pulled from the earth, and nods curtly. Some of you know him as Adril Hestram, a longtime Pathfinder and rumored to be the unwitting architect of the famed Katapesh slave riot of 4702. Adril’s physique puts most half-orcs to shame.
“Welcome, friends. We have a serious problem. Skelg the Ripper came to Absalom one month ago. Like many Ulfen warriors he joined the Longaxes, the Taldan Emperor’s personal guard whose duty it is to protect the embassy and Taldan visitors. Skelg also dropped a hefty sum of gold to purchase a manor in the Ivy district, something a Longaxe isn’t paid well enough to do. It is widely assumed that he brought most of his wealth with him from the north—a rumor I know to be true."
“It seems that Skelg also brought a curse with him. In his letter to me, he speaks of lying abed in this miserable summer dying from the cold. Neither physician nor priest has been able to cure his ailment, and there are no signs of disease or poison. Of course, for such a man, there is no greater dishonor than to die in bed instead of in battle."
“Normally, the Pathfinder Society would monitor these events and let the authorities deal with them. However, there are three factors that have drawn our interest. First, Skelg is himself a member of our Society and has asked for our help. Second, he is a personal friend of mine, and finding a sparring partner as worthy as Skelg to replace him would be a trying task. Last, he claims that artifacts of great power are involved, and that we may be able to recover them for the vaults of the Grand Lodge."
“We view this situation as having enough importance to assign you to investigate it. Go to the home of Skelg the Ripper, learn what you can, and do your best to help him. If you find an item that is somehow connected to the curse, either retrieve it or glean as much information as you can about it."
“I trust there are no questions?”
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Hearing talk about the curse and the artifact, Haraldir shivers visibly. He did not feel comfortable dealing with arcane items, especially cursed ones.
"Is there any additional information about that artifact? Do we know it's name, function, relation to the curse, any legends or half-truths connected to it?"
Venture-Captain Hestram sighs, his manner taciturn.
"If I knew any of that, I would have said. Go ask Skelg."
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Owyn stands from his chair as he nods at the Venture-Captain's response. "Very well then, sir. Rest assured that if there is a cure for what ails your friend, Skelg, we'll do everything within our power to save him.".
Upon exiting the small chamber, Owyn turns to Haraldir and Caradeum and says "Well, gentlemen, it would seem that Skelg's home is to be our first stop in this investigation. Have either of you any gear you need to collect before we begin? If not, I daresay we hurry on, less the good gnome leave us standing in the dust.".
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Unsure as to where this conversation is leading, Haraldir chooses to interject: "Erm, I'm not sure what's all this talk of cold weather? It's rather nice in Absalom this time of the year, and from what I got so far from VC is that we should visit this Skelg guy and then see what's next. Or am I mistakin'?"
It takes Owyn a few hours of asking around to learn that Skelg lives Greydog Manor, on Parkview Street in the Ivy district.
Do the rest of you do some shopping or not?
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"No sumptuous scroll shatters should some silly sausage's strategy succumb, so surely spending shiny savings seems somewhat sensible? Spells so specifically suited should, statistically, show some significance sometime, so spend serendipitously Sir Scrivener!" Zandibus manages, taking a great breath and raising his hands in triumph as he declares, "32!"
Parkview Street is true to its name, running the entire length of the Ivy District park. Standing like a tomb in a flower garden, Greydog Manor is easy to find. Six-foot-high walls surround the massive, stone building and an immense iron gate flanked by granite statues of hunting dogs stands open, offering access to the interior. Looking along the street, it is clear that locals give the estate a wide berth. The stone walls seem to give a slight chill to the air, which is not entirely unpleasant on such a hot day.
The courtyard is cool and shady compared to the street outside. Dead leaves are scattered across the flagstones and the granite steps where two Ulfen warriors stand. Each man wears a chain shirt and a surcoat bearing the Taldan crest and carries the traditional imperial guard long axe.
The guards look at you sternly, and one of them speaks. “Skelg is ill. He wants no visitors.”
"Shove off, I said!" replies the guard.
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Haraldir just stands in the background, obviously confused by the guard's obvious lack of manners.
"I can only guess that rude behaviour like this is acceptable in the North, but here in Absalom, we adjust our attitude a bit, or get a slap on the nose. Now, either you show us in to see Skelg, or..." - ranger lets the end of his sentance hangs on purpose, hoping that will be enough to convince the guards.
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Upon noticing this, Owyn changes tact and smiles as he says "Gentlemen, if you might allow me, I believe I have an idea where everybody gets to walk away a winner. Now, you immediately put down your arms and surrender, answering any and all questions we might have and, in return, we won't have you arrested for impersonating a guard. That is to say, unless wearing your surcoat backwards has become the latest fashion trend of Absolam.".
Upon finishing his statement, Owyn draws his longsward and begins concentration in an attempt to detect evil.
The guards are startled by Haraldir, and rush to slam shut the gates.
Initiative Order
Good Guys
Bad Guys
Anyone, go!
I'll be running Season "0", Number 4: The Frozen Fingers of Midnight starting next week as a PbP here.
I ask that you only apply to play if you can post AT LEAST once every day (weekends included.
I will be selecting characters from among those who apply. Characters have each of the following:
1) Your Profile must be completely filled out with all necessary information. NOT links to your character sheet elsewhere.
2) The class/level section of your profile contain the following information in the following order:
Class Level (archetype) - HP current/max - AC: /T: /FF: - Perception - F: / R: /W: - CMB - CMD - Speed - Init.
Example:Cavalier 5 (Honor Guard, Strategist) - HP 44/44,- AC 23/T: 11/FF: 22 - Perception +8 - F: +7/ R: +4/ W: +2* - CMB: +9 - CMD: 20, Speed: 20, Init. +23) Your character profile prominently include your PFS Number.