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Time to play the game.
So, some formatting things.
Non-IC things can be typed normally
IC actions are italicized
Dialog is bolded
During combat, I'll always post the initiative order at the beginning of the post. I will also let you know if the baddy is bloodied or not. Not sure if this is standard, but I think it helps.
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It is a warm afternoon on Wealday in the month of Desnus. The Grand Lodge in Absalom is about half full of Pathfinders whom are about to embark on their next quest, or have just returned from some damn crazy mission for Venture-Captain Dennel Hamshanks. Food is on the table, and the tavern just got in summer ale from Double Dragon Brewery, Hammer & Spike Pale Ale.
There are a few Pathfinders sitting around an unlit fireplace. Some seem to be reading the latest Chronicle.
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A man of mocha complexion enters into the room brisk-fully. The light shines off of his bald head and his amber eyes glow. His athletic build displays that he works his body as hard as he works his mind. He wears long robes of Scarlet and Gold. On his hip is scimitar and he carries a staff with the dawnflower's symbol carved into the head. On his left shoulder perches a small Alert rat. He takes a seat by the un lit fire and opens up a red book with a black letter title of "Fire and Redemption"
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A lean, dark-skinned man walks in, pacing a long, military stride. Shaven on both face and head, his skin looks weathered from many days in the sand and sun. He wears worn-looking scale mail over desert-coloured robes. Across his back is strapped an old shield bearing the red-and-gold scarab of Osirion, and by his side hangs a scimitar. Glancing around the room, he makes his way over to the cold hearth, eyeing up the man with the rat balanced on his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sah. I like your choice of blade," he gestures to the man's scimitar, then taps his own. "Did you pick it up in the markets of Sothis?"
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Just so everyone knows, this is my first ever time trying a pbp campaign. Should I step on anyone toes I apologize right now and am open to advice on how to post properly and format and whatnot. If the group has already been decided then I am sorry for wasting your time, but loo forward to getting better at the 'art' of pbp.
A slender, but very toned elf walks in. His hair is matted, as if "cleanliness" was a foreign concept. His hide armor soaked in a combination of blood and sweat, unsure of which is more prevalent. An Elven Curve Blade is attached to his back. He grabs an ice-cold Hammer & Spike Pale Ale and makes his way over to the two humans sitting down by the unlit fire.
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From the corner of your eye you see a white haired woman stroll in. Upon closer inspection you realize that she is not old at all, for her silver hair sparkles in the sunlight around her strikingly beautiful face. Shadows seem to flee from here as she passes by.
After regarding the assembled, she sits down and says wistfully, I don't know if I will ever get tired of the wonderful variety of humans you have here.
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Knowledge (Local) Check
Hmmm a Garundi,
Octavius sets the book down and looks at the man.In a calm voice, " "Oh this, yes, I am no warrior, but it is a devotion to the Dawnflower. No, it was a gift from my father, he gave each one of us a scimitar once we placed our hope in Sarenrae, that was about 10 years ago, but I have yet to take the time learning to wield it. "
Knowledge (Planes) Check
Ahh, an Aasimar
Octavius gets up at once, bows deeply, and retorts "I don't know if I will ever get tired of the wonderful variety of heaven touched we have here. My sister is a blessed one, Sarenrae found favor with my mother, she was the last of my natural born siblings."
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"I see. I thought you might be one of Her dervishes, but the staff and the rat had me confused." He pauses to scratch the side his sharp nose. "Hmm. Must've been a busy ten years. The scimitar is not that difficult a weapon to learn: no exotic grips, odd weights, or unnecessary bits. Just a good, keen blade."
Hearing the new arrival, he turns to look and takes half a step back in surprise. Now that's a face worth carving statues of. He listens to the other man pay his greeting, then volunteers a little too hastily: "None of that in my family: our blood's as human as the sun is hot."
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From the corner across from the empty ingleside comes a deliberate, heavy sigh. A halfling dressed in green and brown looks sternly at the cacophony coming from the humans and aasimar. To his side is a brownish-red bird with an ornate saddle and a hooded cloak, cheerily tearing at the remains of an unfortunate rat who won't be returning to the kitchen again.
You conscripts are louder than the orc hordes pouring out of Belzken! After a heartbeat, he glances over in the half-orc's direction and nods. No offense intended, friend. I can see by your pendant you're not one of *those* savages. His steely gaze returns to the first group. Trying to eat in peace here while waiting for Hamshanks to deign us with his presence.
After an awkward moment, he grins. Ah, never mind -- I was green once too. Carry on!
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Khiidurkm pehi wyyd! Ud sylwyhdm li khiedca dy mii yri yw ayoh gurt nihi zudn om. Dnyokn e cuddci sarusec ehir'd zi? Ayo nefi e wuri puht dnihi.
** spoiler omitted **
The halfling smiles broadly at the aasimar's words.Ah, m'lady, much as I enjoy the melody of my native tongue, especially from one so lovely as yourself -- here, he bows while still seated at the table, 'tis rude to speak in a language the assemblage here doesn't understand. And I strive to *never* be rude.
Upon noting the pin, Orryn leaps to his feet and moves directly to Octavius' side, bowing low once he gets there. Well met, friend! I am Orryn Quattlebaum, of Kintargo's once-renowned Quattlebaum servant family, last in the line. The halfling reaches over to grasp the human's hand and does so firmly. He leans in close and whispers, My kind will always owe a debt to the Tillers.
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Emerging from the shadows off to the side of the fireplace and as yet unnoticed by the others as they greet and size each other up, a tall man steps forward, hood over his head and shrouding much of his face. His dark black cloak drawn over and around him forming a fine slit at the front, from which an arm holding a large mug of ale protrudes.
"Right lads, sorry to keep you waiting. Fine company, fine company indeed." as he acknowledges each memebr of the group, making eye contact briefly.
He then lifts his hood back to reveal a slightly weathered face, one that betrays his rather young age. Long wavy hair frames his strong cheek bones, and he gives his neck a jolt back to clear the locks of hair from his eyes.
"Thats a damn fine ale," he celebrates as he sits at one of the unused chairs and looks up "Names Dex, I do many things, have done many things, but I make it my business to know my way about in the cities and towns of the Inner Sea, that and cooking, my early years were spent in the kitchens of some of the finer inns and taverns of Absalom.
He raises his glas ot the group"Here's to adventure ... and fine ale!" as he takes a long deep swig of his brew.
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By now the halfling has returned to his seat across the hearth. Ha! The ale's all right, Dex; but you should try the Terverius red. It's pricey, but exceptional.
With this, Orryn drains his glass and sets it down. Absently he reaches to stroke the beak of the majestic bird by his side. Well! My message from Venture-Captain Hamshanks said there'd be six of us, and with your arrival and our sabre-swinger over there, he nods toward Zefeni, by the Watcher-Lord's helm, here we all are. Now if Hamshanks would just show his oversized self...
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Upon noting the pin, Orryn leaps to his feet and moves directly to Octavius' side, bowing low once he gets there. Well met, friend! I am Orryn Quattlebaum, of Kintargo's once-renowned Quattlebaum servant family, last in the line. The halfling reaches over to grasp the human's hand and does so firmly. He leans in close and whispers, My kind will always owe a debt to the Tillers.
The pleasure is mine good friend, your people have long endured injustice. As he mimics the halfling's bow, and shifts to gets on one knee so that he may be eye to eye with the Halfling, in a sincere and honest voice he whispers back The words you speak are too much, I see myself just an agent of Sarenrae's Glory. a tear comes from his eyes as the last word is spoken. He begins to remember thousands of faces, and all the pain which they have endured
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Well! My message from Venture-Captain Hamshanks said there'd be six of us, and with your arrival and our sabre-swinger over there, he nods toward Zefeni, by the Watcher-Lord's helm, here we all are. Now if Hamshanks would just show his oversized self...
"Scimitar," Zefeni corrects almost automatically. "Shorter blade. A sabre is...nevermind. That is a fine bird you have there, sah. Where is, ah, he or she from?"
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"Scimitar," Zefeni corrects almost automatically. "Shorter blade. A sabre is...nevermind. That is a fine bird you have there, sah. Where is, ah, he or she from?"
Orryn breaks into a wide grin. Thank'ee kindly, you and the lovely lady both, for noticing. This wondrous creature here is Stellah -- found her among the peaks of the Hungry Mountains during my stint in Lastwall, and she's been by my side ever since she broke free of her shell. Raised her from an egg; Hells, when she hatched, she already stood nearly twice as tall as me! He absently strokes her beak again. Not that that's saying much, mind you. Heh.
The halfling pauses for a moment, lost in thought, then continues. Honestly, she's a runt for her kind, and I doubt she'd have lived a week staying in the mountains. But she's beautiful, anyway -- runt or no.
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"Lastwall? Impressive." Zefeni crosses his arms and scratches idly at his chin. "I haven't been much North of the Inner Sea, but I've read some of the histories. Were you in military service there? Did you fight against orcish raiders from Belkzen? And yes, your bird is beautiful, sah. Would make for a fine scout: you could cover a lot of ground, and the height would give you excellent vantage, although-" he looks up at the ceiling and shivers a little, "-I think I'd prefer the sand beneath my feet instead of a thousand paces distant."
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So why have we been gathered does anyone have an idea? The half orc asks.
Not sure, friend. My note simply said to rendezvous here. Orryn leans in a little closer to the half-orc and lowers his voice a bit. I have to tell you, though -- Hamshanks has a reputation for sending Pathfinders into trouble without a moment's hesitation. He glances about, as if to see if any authority might overhear, then continues. Rumors say he shaves with a serrated blade, just to keep him mean.
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"Lastwall? Impressive." Zefeni crosses his arms and scratches idly at his chin. "I haven't been much North of the Inner Sea, but I've read some of the histories. Were you in military service there? Did you fight against orcish raiders from Belkzen? And yes, your bird is beautiful, sah. Would make for a fine scout: you could cover a lot of ground, and the height would give you excellent vantage, although-" he looks up at the ceiling and shivers a little, "-I think I'd prefer the sand beneath my feet instead of a thousand paces distant."
I assure you, good sir, once you've taken flight you'll not want the sand so near again! The halfling pours the last few drops from the bottle on the table into his empty cup as he continues. I served a term in Lastwall, yes; rode with the heavy cavalry after my tour through the mountain keeps. Learned to fight, and to ride, and most of all to fight and ride. The crusaders weren't keen on me keeping Stellah around, though -- said she'd clean the stables when she grew, and not in the way they'd want. So we set off south when my service was up. And here we are! Orryn throws his head back and gives a belly laugh. Like the bowman said -- to adventure!
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A slightly late human, with an ax strapped to his back, walks in to the common room in the Pathfinder lodge. He eyes the 6 of you and strides over. For those that don't know, I'm Dennel Hamshanks, Venture-Captain of this lodge. I can only assume you are the 6 who volunteered to help with this mission Without waiting for an answer, he continues.Ever been to Qadira?
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The Ruby Prince is a master of ancient lore, but some mysteries are buried so deep that his servants must uncover them. This Citadel of Flame presents just such an opportunity: Moloch’s ancient cult was renowned for its knowledge of the Plane of Fire, and we suspect that the cultists knew much about the connections between this realm and Golarion’s deserts. If you find any maps or keys to these portals, take them or copy them, so that our experts can study them.
But that is not all. This cult was famously secretive, and the story of Moloch remains shrouded in mystery. If any of the cultists remain, or if any have returned, persuade them to tell you his history. It will be a most illuminating story for the Ruby Prince, and it will no doubt aid him in his quest for allies to rebuild Osirion’s glory.
In Your Ancestors’ Honor,
Amenopheus, The Sapphire Sage
The Emperor wishes you luck on your venture into the land of our hated
enemies. Whispers of this Citadel of Flame, and the Qadirans’ assault upon it, have tantalized us for centuries. Rumors that the Qadiran forces massacred even the innocents of the Citadel have long persisted, but without proof. Seek what evidence you can inside the Citadel, so that we can undermine the Satrap’s image even amongst his subjects.
Moreover, it may be that the Citadel is still occupied, either by a new force or the old cult. In either case, these are undoubtedly pests to the Satrap, and perhaps even his disloyal subjects. Defeat these residents as you must, but if you should find any who wish Qadira harm, let them go free to foment more unrest in the hornet’s nest of Qadira.
For Emperor and Empire,
Baron Jacquo Dalsine
I understand that your mission takes you near the wicked slave center of Qadira. Even for a society as decadent as Qadira’s, this cult’s reputation among our sages is particularly distasteful, for Moloch’s mind control tricks were truly subtle and deadly. But their methods remain mysterious. If you can recover any descriptions of how Moloch bewitched and enslaved the Qadirans, our sages would be most grateful, and it would aid us in freeing the downtrodden across Golarion.
Even more worrying is the possibility that this cult has returned. If so, Sarenrae’s priests were unsuccessful in defeating this menace. Do what you can to stop his charms from reaching out again. We must stop this creature’s plots, for the principle of liberation is paramount!
For Freedom!
Captain Colson Maldris
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Hamshanks eyes the group for a few moment, then continues. Religion is like a fad down there, with new cults springing up like weeds and getting crushed just as quick. Been that way for centuries.
But some make a mark—on Qadira or in the Chronicles. Three centuries ago, the archdevil Moloch, preaching surrender to the desert heat, suddenly became the rage. Qadirans walked into the desert just to die just as if the heat was their paradise. The most devout sought out the hidden Citadel of Flame, where a fearsome bull-headed idol of Moloch judged them and sent the worthy to Malebolge, the sixth layer of Hell. No surprise that Sarenrae’s priests launched a mighty crusade to demolish the citadel. After two weeks, a great sandstorm swallowed the expedition—and, it seemed, the citadel and its idol. Nothing more was heard from either.
Until ten days ago, that is. Sandstorms regularly scour the Qadiran highlands, and this time they emptied an entire valley of dunes. Poking out of that valley, visible only to those soaring above—such as a flying Pathfinder wizard—was the lofty spire of a fortress: the Citadel of Flame, presumably.
Hopefully we are the first to learn about its reappearance and we need to act fast. The Decemvirate doesn’t expect any trouble, so they’re ending you. But I do expect trouble—who knows what’s infesting that Citadel? Get in there fast and find that idol—it could be the key to the entire cult. It’s likely statue-sized, maybe as big as me, and should have a bull’s head on it.
You will be traveling through Sedeq, in Qadira. Should you require any supplies, you can purchase them here or in Sedeq, although I'd be wary of buying anything in that slavepen. And for Gorum's sake, be careful!
Hamshanks pulls out a small map with directions from Sedeq to the citadel and hands it to Orryn.
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Zefeni stays quiet through the briefing. As it unfolds, he pours over the knowledge stored up in his head, trying to find anything he might have read about the Qadiran history involving this citadel.
"Qadira? Deserts? Sandstorms? This is starting to sound almost pleasant, sah," Zefeni says to Hamshank. He shoulders his backpack. "I am already prepared to leave. Will be good to get out of this city and back to some real land for a change."
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Octavius gets up and walks towards the door and turns to see the halfling,I would be delighted by your company
Latter at the market while they are talking I over heard that you spent time in Lastwall, my older brother, Markus Carolingian, graduated with Top Honors from Vigil's War college as a Dragoon, He might of been the only brown skinned fellow there; He is excellent with beast and is an excellent rider. They trained him to do a most spectacular maneuver known as the "Wheeling Charge". Do you know him?