In the halls of Skyreach, Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin’s familiar voice gathers the attention of the assembled Pathfinders.
“Pathfinders, please may I introduce to you Hamaria Blakros, who some of you may have met previously. Madame Blakros is the head of the powerful Blakros family, valuable allies of the Pathfinder Society. She will brief you on your next mission.”
The regally dressed noblewoman looks over the assembled party, her piercing eyes seeming to notice every detail, then speaks. “Greetings, Pathfinders. Recently, my daughter Michellia married the Hellknight Damian Kastner, and as is customary when one marries into the Blakros family, he provided a dowry in exchange for being honored with our illustrious name. Damian’s gift took the form of his ancestral home, an estate called Ostergarde in north-central Cheliax.
“Ostergarde has sat empty for some time, deserted by the Kastners after the Thrune regime came to control Cheliax and the family moved to the new capital of Egorian. I am a cautious woman, and I’d prefer to have a third party explore the manor before I or any of my family take up residence there.” Hamaria snaps her fingers and servants bring several tomes to her side.
“These books all make some mention of Ostergarde or the Kastners, and may contain useful information. While the Chelish government takes great care in rewriting history to suit its current politics, these tomes have been in our family since before the rise of House Thrune, so I am confident their contents have not been altered. Consider them a donation to the Pathfinders’ great library—a down payment for the deal I brokered with your venture-captain. I suppose he can fill you in on the details from here. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
Without further ado, Hamaria takes her leave. Valsin then claims the room’s attention again. “Pathfinders, you are to journey to Ostergarde and rid its halls of any squatting denizens, traps, or forgotten devils. In return, you are free to plunder its contents. Hopefully, everything you need to know about Ostergarde can be found within these books. I do not need to remind you how important it is to maintain our good relationship with the Blakros family, so don’t screw things up. Stick to the mission, and don’t wreck the place.” Softening his stance, Valsin finally adds, “Be careful, Ostergarde is not a kind place,” before hurrying away to attend to the next crisis.
Ostergarde was a nexus for devil worship, and because of
its reputation, most travelers leave the abandoned manor
alone even though it sits near a highly travelled mountain
pass between Kintargo and the rest of Cheliax.
into the Barrowood, she visited Ostergarde to bolster her
knowledge on infernal contracts. It is believed she used
this knowledge in her infamous infernal bargain within
the Barrowood, which led to her house’s victory in the
Chelish Civil War.
manor, accessible only through secret entrances. A
gateway to Hell is believed to rest somewhere beneath
Ostergarde’s abandoned halls.
Kastner blood, or speak aloud the following devotion to
Asmodeus: “O, cleansing fires of the Prince of Darkness,
wash me in your burning might. Purify me as I enter your
house of cloven hooves.” Anyone who fails to do so incurs
the wrath of Ostergarde’s eternal defenders.
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Diri nods, an unstable smile on her face, overeager to take a look at possibly-forgotten knowledge.
"Will we have time to give the books the proper through reading they deserve like cross-referencing margin notes and testing of hypotheses before we find out everything they say is false or worse yet unprovable like any theory of Aroden's death or existence of perfect numbers that aren't prime powers of two minus one?" Diri asks greedily and seamlessly, as if the existence of a comma was unprovable.
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It's clear Targath is a shoanti; the facial war paintings are still visible albeit fading, and he sports no clothing on his torso excluding the chain shirt he wears. He's already looking extremely dissatisfied when he enters the room.
All the while Hamaria Blakros is present, Targath can't help but stare at her gown. He managed to keep his mouth shut, though, but there's little to hide his impolite oogling.
The presentation of books immediately makes Targath rolls his eyes and exhaling via mouth, letting his lips create that distinct sound of "I don't care". F~$&ing books, we have enough of them already...
As the gnome starts to blabber on and on about some otherworldly topics, Targath lowers his brow and shakes his head. "What the heck are you on about, midget? You want to read the more books? If you're so in love with them just take 'em with you and shag 'em on the boat! Amber here just told us our mission; get over there, clear the place out, get back. Damn simple, get your mind around it! And this is Blakros s@#%, I've seen what kind of crap they hold in their buildings. If something comes in my way, I'll beat it to bloody pulp!"
"So when's the boat leaving, Amber?"
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"My hypotheses suggest 'shagging' the books would be a bad idea for any number of logical conclusions including but not limited to paper cuts on easily infected places on the body or rampant seasickness or the other books in the set developing an increasing sense of jealousy but that might just be me humanizing the books because you're around dragging your knuckles."
I like this guy. Dumb as a rock, looks like a rock, thinks like a rock. Sometimes, you need to think like a rock. Rocks are useful.
"Diri Lizzebettolze," she tacks on, offering a handshake at a gnome-high level, oblivious to her introduction lacking context.
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"I've not had that happen in the past but correlation does not always imply causation so noncorrelation cannot possibly imply noncausation so perhaps it is in both of our best interests as well as the interests of society as a whole to continue expermientation because without any real data the only basis we have on anything we believe is conjecture and hypotheses."
Looking lost in thought for a moment, hand outstretched for a handshake that she seems to have forgotten about, the sudden flash of realization comes upon her.
"It has to be possible because the frigid ladies of Irrisen can do it so it should be possible to replicate here if we can get the right conditions to chill this office to Irriseni-like conditions..."
She cuts off abruptly, lost in thought, scratching her head with her non-outstretched hand.
"We don't have the ability to irrigate this office enough to make appropriate conditions to replicate the Jadwiga's climate conditions so the experiment will have to wait until Kreighton Shaine gets back."
Diri scrawls spiraling shorthand on a piece of paper mentioning something about "witchery science" and "climate change" and "adamantine superconducting cloudseeders" and "scroll of hydraulic torrent," several messily written mathematical formulas, and what might be a recipe for Irriseni lotkas, abandoning thoughtlessly the idea of a handshake.
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Pooka grimaces at the books, but doesn't balk at them the way this odd Shoanti does. He follows with a curt bow to Valsin.
"Fear not captain. I shall take pleasure in cleaning out a few closets in Cheliax." he smirks.
"Hello, New ones. I am Pooka. This here is my loyal mount, Luna. We may be small, but only a fool would underestimate our tenacity."
The heavily armed halfling drops his gauntleted hand to Luna's muscled flank.
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Luna circles around her master once before plopping her rump down next to him. She sits patiently while he speaks, then reaches up to scratch a bothersome spot near her neck.
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"Friend Pooka!" cries Xûll as he enters the room, arms wide, "It is being good to see you! We are to be having new captain? Oh, fellow Shoanti-man. Targath is it not? It is being pleasure to be meeting of you." Xûll inclines his head towards his kinsman, not entirely believing his own words. Still, he liked to keep track of all Shoanti who entered the Pathfinder Society. One never knew when one needed to go back home to depose and murder one's father. Backup would be useful.
"Me is being Xûll," says the big, friendly man with the properly re-touched tattoos all over his body, dressed in resplendent trade garb with a shining breastplate clearly visible above. He bows deeply and his thick, flowing red cloak graces the ground before Diri, "It is being of a thing akin to a thousand happy memories to be meeting with you."
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Luna barks at the sound of the large Shoanti's voice and walks over, tail wagging the dog's body. She lands her big frame against the warriors leg for the expected pat.
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"Xull! It's good to see a familiar and friendly face. How have the days been treating you? You would have enjoyed the last mission I was on. Except for the part where we had to pretend to be slaves. The retribution was exquisite though. It might have been more fun if that inquisitor hadn't single handedly decimated the gnolls. At least it was a good show. Glad that guy is on our side!"
Pooka clasps hands with his friend, and turns to see who else is entering.
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"Tiny man with his mate, heh!" Targath sneers mockingly, eyeing at both Pooka and Luna, "I've seen you midgets in battle, sure, I'm no dumbass to think you'd be inefficient in battle. Give any man with a purpose a pointy stick and they'll use it."
The sight of another Shoanti does something unexpected to Targath's mind. A mixture of fear, admiration, and rivalry. He tries to look for tribal marks on Xûll, unsure from which tribe he is from. Maybe Xûll doesn't know himself, or the marks have been so mixed they bear no deep meaning any more.
"Men Qarindosh boshqa safiga orasida yurish uchun ko'rish uchun o'ylamagan. Nima uchun, bu erda ukasi bor?" he says, making a slight bow.
"I did not expect to see another of my kin to walk among the ranks. Why are you here, brother?"
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"Decimated gnolls single-handingly? Me is thinking I have been seeing that man around before," Xûll looks thoughtful, "Typical Desnan iniquisitors hogging all the fun. He is being most judgemental and his rage is teeny-tiny. Me is to be showing how a real man rages!"
Xûll smiles at Targath, "Yaxshiroq savdo olib uchun Me Pathfinders bilan bo'lmoq. Me qabilasidan axlat, lekin mening otasidan yolg'on edi. Men bir necha kun uning o'ldirish va yomon eng daromadli yo'l emasligini qabila ko'rsatgan bo'lishi qaytib kerak, dedi."
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"Men savdo haqida ko'proq bilib olish uchun Pathfinders bilan birgaman. Men qabilasidan surgun qilingan. Otam yolg'on. Qabila menga qarshi isyon ko'tardi. Keyin, otam meni o'ldirish uchun harakat qildi. U muvaffaqiyatsiz tugadi. Men bir necha kun qaytadi, va o'sha kuni men uni o'ldirish va yomonlik bir foyda qilish uchun eng yaxshi yo'l emas, mening qabila ko'rsatadi."
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"Sizning hikoya mening kabi juda ko'p tovushlar. Men ham mening zaif qabilasidan, quyosh sulolasidan surgun qilindi. Ular men nazoratdan chiqib, beixtiyor, deb o'yladim. Ular meni bir begona bilan kavlab o'tirarkan tutdi va mening vaqt keyin edi. Lekin men qaytib qo'msashini yo'q. Ana kuchsiz ahmoq o'zlariga tutish. Faqat chegara ustida chiroyli ayollar. Va, uchastkalar ega bo'lishi."
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Pooka wanders back and makes himself busy adjusting Luna's straps and barding, making sure the padding is in the right spot so it doesn't rub uncomfortably.
"So a relatively simple sweep and clear mission, try not to burn the house down. I think we can manage that, eh girl?" Pooka rubs her neck.
"Valsin likes it when we ask questions, so if he isn't sticking around to answer any, then I gotta imagine this is as straightfoward as they come. I just wish I knew more about this kinda thing. For as many slaves as my family has helped smuggle out of cheliax, I know next to nothing about their nobles, or their history."
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Xûll nods along sympathetically with Targath, "Yes, me is understanding of situation. Perhaps we can be returning together. Oh, and please, I am thinking others are missing out. We are being rude. It is nice to have been speaking Shoanti with you, but perhaps we are to be speaking Taldane when not in private, yes?"
Producing a small pouch of goat curd, Xûll first checks with Pooka and then half inverts the pouch so that Pooka can snack on it and places it in front of her. "Yes, Pooka-Who-Spins-Blades, simple mission - but it is not being so simple to keep house from burning. You are to be traveling with not one but two Shoanti now! And this one has just learned trick of the hands of burning! Ha!"
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Diri's singed eyebrows perk up at the mention of 'hands of burning.'
"We can worry about the boat leaving later because right now we can actually learn a bit of pyrokinetic trajectory because I've never fired off burning hands from the angle that someone as overgrown as you could with your elongated human legs and all so would you care to demonstrate while I take some notes?"
Before a reply can be comprehended, Diri has a journal, an inkpen, and a very interested smile.
"After you blast I'll follow up and we can compare which angle of initial pyrocity is best for maximal deflagration which should lead to optimal heating in minimal time expenditures which could be valuable anytime immediacy is necessary such as quicksilversmithing or combat."
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"Me is hearing 'demonstration'!" Xûll says excitedly, glossing over everything else, "Me is happy to be obliging of."
Xûll finds some posts, chairs and other random items that won't be missed. He Arranges them in some kind of square and then lets his eyes roll back into his head. Without really knowing what he's saying, arcane words spill out of his mouth.
Fire spills forth from Xûll's outstretched fingers to incinerate the furniture and other oddments.
"You are liking?" Xûll asks, "Me was previously only able to be calling forth on accidents... like when me was being takens away to be killed by men my father was to have been hiring."
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Diri scrawls a handful of notes, a stick-figure sketch of a Shoanti (you can tell by the lack of hair) with a couple equations explaining the geometry of the cone, the influx of oxygen, and the relative speed of conflagration. She drops it to her feet, and blasts the still-smoldering pile of now-ruined furniture.
"A whisper of heat," she chants and a similar cone of flame launches at a slightly more upward angle.
-- Reflex Save DC 14 for half.
She surveys the wreckage for a moment, then picks up her notes and makes similar observations, include a stick-figure gnome (you can tell by the eyebrows and the size disparity), with the same equations for cone geometry, oxygen influx, and conflagration speed. She touches her holy symbol and the ruined furniture stops smoldering.
"My hypothesis is that holding your hands lower can produce an approximately 17% increase in average pyroic intensity, because of latent heat transpiration where the cone touches the ground and refracts upwards at the same angle causing an intercone backdraft of sorts so next time start a bit lower and you can harm mercenaries even more efficiently in case that happens again."
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"Damn, I like fire!" Targath comments, taking a more relaxed position on his chair, "maybe you'll bore our enemies to sleep and then burn 'em to crisp! Attago, tiny t~!!!"
It becoming apparent that Targath seems to value the ability to kill, and anyone showing that potential seems to garner his liking.
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"Unfortunately studies suggest the influx of heat created by instantaneous delfagration typically results in spontaneous awakening of the sleeping individual unless the heat is increased enough to cause imminent dissolution of living tissue causing immediate disintegration and subsequent death so you are correct when you say 'maybe' though it's not certain enough for scientific study so if any sleeping enemies come our way I'll have you take care of them instead as a sword to the cardiopulmonary centers of the humanoid anatomy has been proven to be significantly more reliable on dispatching an unaware foe," she offers in Targath's direction.
Satisfied, she starts mending Valsin's smoldering furniture.
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A massive, green scaled tiefling eases himself into the Venture Captain's hall before leaning over a black enameled cane. Decked to the nines complete with a top hat, his attire seems an ill-fit for his grotesque appearance with a prominent huge grinning maw too full of jagged teeth. Clearing his throat he cheerfully says,
"'Ey now, chums-to-be, a good day to you all! Terribly sorry if'n I've been the cause for some delay. There was a bit of a mishap in communications it seems, which has left me in a roight state of tardiness, it has." With that he gives a stiff bow and tucks his top hat behind him, continuing, "Me given name is Chumley and me given vocation is the investigative." With that he glances around the rest of the group, eyeing them with a toothy smile.
The cane is, in fact, a Sword Cane.
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"It is being a pleasure to be meeting you," says one of the big, tattooed Shoantis, "My name is being Xûll. We are going, me is sure, to be having much fun togethers."
Xûll admires the sword cane, "Me is hearing there was to be a half-orc recently who could have been using a cane like yours. He was trying to be fake-peace bonding his weapon... in full plate. What he is to be lacking in common senses, he is to be making up for in courages."
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"Pleasure to meet you Chumley." Pooka says with a curt bow.
Haven't seen one of his type since that nasty business at the museum. This one doesn't look quite so viscous. Not sure if that is good or bad just yet.
Pooka looks around at the varied pathfinders he finds himself with again. From the gnome on hyperdrive, to the ugliest tiefling he has ever seen, as well as everything in between, the society never lacks for the interesting.
He fidgets with his gauntlets, absent-mindedly passing the time until they are able to leave. With Valsin in such a hurry, there didn't appear to be many questions to ask.
Perhaps...
"So Chumley, I have a question for you. Since you missed it, we've been tasked with clearing out the old Ostergarde residence in Cheliax for proper habitation. At least the threats anyways, I understand someone will follow up with the cleaning once the risk of death and dismemberment has been abated. What do you know of the place?"
Pooka asks his question in a light, conversational tone, hoping to deflect the fact that he knows nothing of use.
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Luna lifts her head from its resting place to take in the late-comer. She sniffs a few times, but decides her nap is more important. She has seen this play out before, and is quite confident she will get to know the teifling's scent better as they travel.
As long as her master wasn't trying to kill it, it was ok to be ignored.
Except for squirrels. Squirrels are from the abyss. And I will chase them all back there....
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Chumley grins at Xull and Pooka, tracing a finger over the top of his cane. "Pleasure is all mine. Now this," he taps his finger on the cane, "Is a reminder that beneath the veneer of pleasantrees in proper society lies a edge."
To Targath, his grin never fades, though his eyes take a dangerous glint. "'Ey, now. Do you kiss your Mum with that mouth?" He tilts his head a bit and gives a conspiratorial wink "Though, I do know from a first hand account that she is, in fact, a first rate kisser at that."
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Chumley takes a bit of a breath, his eyes calculating as he regards Targath. Foul mouthed cretin.
"Now, on to the business at hand. Ostergarde, eh? Roight proper bit of devil worship they once did there: The Devil-consort Queen Abrogail may have even gone there to brush up on her infernal bargaining skills, though in the Library or in the Bedroom I can't say. I suppose packin' some Holy Water might be in order. I miss anything of import?" He looks to the Venture Captain, then continues.
"Ostergarde itself is currently unoccupied by polite society and given a wide berth, so makes roight sense that we'll presently tromping through it."
Glancing at a still smoking couch, he twirls his hat in his fingers. "Now, are we still busy redecoratin', or should we get to business?"
The journey across the Inner Sea and across the countryside of north-central Cheliax is quite uneventful. The days and nights drag on and the newly formed group has a chance to converse and get to know one another better. This is both a blessing and a curse as Targath is Targath.
In a bit of ill timed luck, as they approach Ostergarde Manor, the weather turns in a most unfavorable direction.
Lightning slashes through the overcast sky, highlighting a darkened manor that stands defiantly upon a jagged bluff. A torrent of rain floods the trail, and thunderous cracks accompany each electrified stroke. In the distance, the trail ends abruptly at the front door of the lonely manor house— the only shelter in sight.
The pathfinders are about an 20 minutes away from the manor and know that reaching the manor will provide a respite.
Cold and exposure deal nonlethal damage to the victim. A character cannot recover from the damage dealt by a cold environment until she gets out of the cold and warms up again. Once a character has taken an amount of nonlethal damage equal to her total hit points, any further damage from a cold environment is lethal damage.
An unprotected character in cold weather (below 40° F) must make a Fortitude save each hour (DC 15, +1 per previous check) or take 1d6 points of nonlethal damage. A character who has the Survival skill may receive a bonus on this saving throw and might be able to apply this bonus to other characters as well (see the skill description).
Severe Wind: In addition to automatically extinguishing any unprotected flames, winds of this magnitude cause protected flames (such as those of lanterns) to dance wildly and have a 50% chance of extinguishing these lights. Ranged weapon attacks and Perception checks are at a –4 penalty. This is the velocity of wind produced by a gust of wind spell.
Rain reduces visibility ranges by half, resulting in a –4 penalty on Perception checks. It has the same effect on flames, ranged weapon attacks, and Perception checks as severe wind.
Though it is a ways away the pathfinders can see that the Ostergarde Manor Grounds consist of the two-story manor made from hued masonry in the architectural style of Imperial Cheliax, and a modest outbuilding which is located just off the path, closer to the pathfinders' current position.
As they approach the manor Chumley and Pooka notice
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Diri alternates between being impressed and being disgusted with the rain hitting her face at such an acute angle. Trying to keep the rain out of her face, she ducks her head and tries to calculate wind speed and rain trajectory in her head, mentioning only the most interesting observations (nearly all of them).
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"A real, live storm! This is more like it! The spirits show you city-dwellers who makes the rules! Haha! Thunder and lightning!" Targath seems to revel in the nature's awesome display of power. He has not reserved himself a set of clothes appropriate for the weather, and still wears the chain shirt on his bare skin just like an idiot would. He has a weathered skin from all that nature's wrath he has undoubtedly faced, which might contribute to his hardiness.
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As the weather begins to dip in temperature, Pooka throws on his furs. After a few moments contemplating, he begins to rummage through his pack.
"Diri, would you be a doll and cast these scrolls on Luna and I? A cavalier needs his mount to have every advantage, and I'll not have her shivering in her barding. I would be most grateful."
Pooka hands a scroll of endure elements with two castings on it to the cleric. He smiles at the bubbly gnome and favors her with a sly smile and a wink.
Pretty sure Xull could cast them as well, but might as well flirt with someone my size...
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Despite the worsening weather, Chumley seems to be unfazed by the cold, though he idly traces a small dinosaur claw he kept as a momento from his time in the Realm of the Mammoth Lords.
You allied with the Snowmask Clan and returned Jedrek’s Shard to its place
of honor beside Ranulf’s body. In thanks, you are ritually inducted into the Snowmask Clan with
the title Snowmask Brother or Snowmask Sister. As part of this mystic ceremony, you gain the
permanent benefits of endure elements but only in cold and only to temperatures of 0 degrees F
and above; you gain no bonuses in extreme heat. This is a supernatural ability.
Chumley consults his copy of the Pathfinder Chronicles as he regards the tracks. "'Ey now, whot do we 'ave 'ere?" he taps a clawed finger against a jagged tooth.
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In cases where the skill restricts who can achieve certain results, such as trying to open a lock using Disable Device, you can't aid another to grant a bonus to a task that your character couldn't achieve alone. The GM might impose further restrictions to aiding another on a case-by-case basis as well.
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With the spells cast, Pooka and his mount feel downright cozy in the ugly weather. The halfling warrior is smart enough to know that just like he counts on Luna for effectiveness, so must he count on his companions to succeed as a group. He begins helping others to button up their gear, and avoid the wind as they travel.
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Diri casts the spells for Pooka and Luna, a bit oblivious to the flirtation. She makes small motions with her hands as she walks, as if she's doing math on a desk that's not actually there.
"If we could be approximately two sevenths of my current size there is a 45% chance that we could run between these raindrops at least 17% of the time," she calls out, finshing her calculations in her head.
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"Brother, you've been tainted by those city-dwellers!" Targath mocks Xûll with a grin, "your bones grow weak and your wits wither! Look beyond the storm, and you see the way!"
"That's so cute, tiny títs. You made out of sugar?"
Targath's so exhilarated about the thunder taking place he seems to be nicer to others.
Though Chumley racks his brain, trying to figure out where he has seen tracks like these before, he cannot come to any conclusion as to what type of creature they belong to.
One set of tracks lead toward the manor, while the other set of tracks lead to the stable, specifically the wagon that sits in pieces outside of it.
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"With all due respect plus a significant amount more respect than is actually due I feel that your incessant talking is actively slowing us down and that perhaps the rain wouldn't be half as torrential if it wasn't mixed with your incessant spittle."
Diri glances up at the stable and cocks her head sideways.
"Sugar, among other things. I'll explain once we're out of the downpour," she continues, showing signs of rain fatigue.