Hi, everyone, we won't be starting until early May, but please dot and delete and then come talk in discussion.
The fourth and final day of training has come to a close at the Grand Lodge of Absalom, heralding the end of this year's Torchbearing. Pathfinders the world over attend this annual symposium to share their knowledge, teach each other new skills, and reinforce their connections across the Inner Sea and beyond. To celebrate the end of festivities, the lodge has hosted a grand banquet in the visiting agents' honor. A refreshing winter breeze blows through an open window, flickering torches and sending papers scattering. The smell of freshly baked desserts fills the air while initiates clear away the remnants of the first course.
During the annual Torchbearing, the Three Masters, along with other notable Pathfinders, taught a variety of seminars and panel discussions, from Golarion’s history to spellcasting techniques, and ran obstacle courses and a triathlon. Rumor has it, Janira Gavix offered an unauthorized but popular filking class for aspiring bards and other social misfits under 30--inches, not years. You also heard some salacious gossip about an exclusive, late-night VIP experience Zarta Dralneen arranged for some her favorites. According to one hungover Pathfinder who claimed to have been there, a disgruntled Drandle Dreng was turned away at the door.
Speaking of the imp, ever the social butterfly and self-appointed mentor-to-the-masses, the halfling bard Janira Gavix approaches your small group. “Hi, friends. It’s been awhile since last we met. Have you enjoyed the Torchbearing? I volunteered to organize all the classes again this year. Kreighton Shaine always said I should have been a teacher. Did you learn anything useful?”
Janira looks over her shoulder as she catches sight of another group of Pathfinders refilling their tankards at the grog bowl. “Oh, those are some more students of mine!” She bounces on her toes as she waves at the group and they wave back. “Excuse me? I’ll need to check in with them too!” Pleased that you appreciated her pedagogical efforts, she excuses herself with a smile and moves on.
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Enjoying the drink and food, Lilianna is having a grand time meeting all of these new Pathfinders. What all have you learned these past few days? Isn't it amazing what we can learn from each other? I heard that the Three Masters try to scope out some of the best of the best at this event. Some of them even get special wayfinders at the end of all this!" she says before dropping her boisterous voice way lower. "I even heard that some of us could get tapped to meet with the Decemvirate. My dad has met with them before! Wouldn't that make for an exciting time?"
Clearly a cleric of Sarenrae, her angelic ankh hangs by her side. Her clothing is designed for warm weather and consists of flowing blue and gold cloth. Platinum blonde hair frames her face, cheeks currently reddened with the warmth of the alcohol.
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The dwarf with a cigar in his mouth and well used hat and cloak speaks while balancing a tankard full of grog.
With Inspiration
Diplomacy
"I be a hearing that Fellow Agents disappear for hours during the course of events. It's said that they're summoned before the The Decemvirate but no one knows why. Usually at the end of the Torchbearing, the most exemplary agents are publicly recognized and given special wayfinders."
He pauses as he takes a deep draught.
"Explore, Report, and Cooperate. That's what the three masters are looking for me believe."
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Iovarl is mingling and chatting to with anyone he can while wearing his freshly cleaned and pressed noble outfit. His holy sylbol of Iomedae is clearly on show and his wayfinder is on his belt in plain sight for all to see. Anyone paying close attention would notice that he isn't actually drinking anything alcoholic.
"I've been taking some lessons in identifying different types of humanoids. I've had trouble telling the difference between lizardmen and a troglodytes in the past. It's the kind of mistake that can lead you into a smelly situation you really don't want to be in!" he says with a friendly laugh.
"I heard these events are used by the high ups to keep an eye on promising pathfinders, though no-one i know has ever been singled out." Iovarl makes a point of briefly scanning the room to see if the group is being watched.
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The front doors of Skyreach burst open with a loud crack. Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin strides to the edge of the platform, with a slender elf dressed in practical but expensive clothing trailing meekly behind. The red-faced venture-captain addresses the crowd in a booming voice.
“Pathfinders, I regret interrupting the festivities, but we have something of a situation. Approximately twenty minutes ago, unknown forces invaded the Blakros Museum. Fortunately for everyone involved, the Torchbearing is about cooperation and helping our colleagues, so let’s think of this less as an inconvenience and more as an opportunity to practice what we preach.”
The elf, Nigel, exhales sharply, then speaks, “Now, Ambrus, I’ve spent a king’s ransom fortifying the museum from all sorts of invaders: sentinels from the Golemworks, magical wards from the Arcanamirium, and even contracts for guard beasts, both magical and mundane—spared no expense. I didn’t want to come here, but I’ve got no choice.”
Valsin’s forced smile cracks slightly, showing his annoyance. “Out with it, Nigel. Get to the point.”
“Someone broke into my museum and set off the magical protections! I was preserving priceless Shining Crusade pieces for our new exhibit when the first alarm activated. I sent for district guards and went to investigate, but by the time I arrived, the thieves had already locked themselves in my study. They somehow caused the Shining Crusade relics to fly around the museum and attack my sentinels. Everything is going haywire! The magical traps started to target me, the sentinels are not responding to my commands, and—”
Valsin holds out a hand to steady the increasingly agitated elf. “The last you knew, the thieves were still in your study?” Nigel nods. “Very well. Pathfinders: the Seekers should prepare to teleport directly into the Blakros study—“
“That won’t work,” Nigel interrupts, “The study is magically sealed. After that dreadful Numerian exhibit, I turned it into a magical safe room. The robbers must have figured out how to activate it; no one can get in or out while the wards hold. I can work on breaking the wards, but meanwhile my sentinels are smashing up the collection. Some of those priceless relics are on loan from your own Society lodges, so helping me is really helping yourselves.”
“Fine.” Ambrus Valsin takes a deep breath and then turns to the assembled Pathfinders. “Pathfinders, go to the Blakros Museum, secure any relics you can, disable the security systems, and apprehend the looters if possible. Stay safe.”
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Mun, a regal-looking elf dressed in the finest attire, is clearly in his element and enjoying meeting the various Pathfinders of all levels at the soiree. He is in the midst of explaining the progress that he an his bear, Selune, had made in their breakout session on training with various animals when the doors burst open and chaos breaks loose.
Why does this all seem suddenly familiar to me?
He quickly calls to Selune; the bear proves the effectiveness of their training by moving swiftly at the elf's command as they head out the door. They stay close to a small group that happened to be together when the announcement came. "Let's stick together... this is the Blakros; who knows what trouble Nigel has gotten us into this time."
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Dozens of Wise District guards surround the Blakros Museum. The sergeant nods to Ambrus Valsin as he approaches, a subtle smirk dancing across the venture-captain’s face. The museum itself is alight with swirling whorls of color and the sounds of metal and stone clashing. Occasionally, brief flashes of light burst from the front entrance, illuminating a toppled banner that says “Legacy of the Shining Crusade.”
The broad-shouldered, middle-aged Ulfen man salutes, a somewhat bemused expression on his face. “Well met, Venture-Captain Valsin. I am Svaralk of Asleifar, Sergeant of the Learned Guard. The Guard appreciates your assistance.” He points to his subordinates, “Our initial attempt to quell the animated relics within failed. I’ve ordered the Guard to withdraw and form a perimeter.”
Ambrus Valsin returns the sergeant’s salute, a gesture of mutual respect. “You once served in Grand Prince Stavian III’s Ulfen Guard, did you not?”
Svaralk nods, “That’s right. Afterwards, I retired to Absalom and have served this city for seven years. This is not the first catastrophe I’ve responded to at the Blakros Museum, though none has been quite so dramatic as this. As if anyone needed further proof of the museum’s reputation for trouble.”
The Ulfen confides to the Venture-Captain, “After Nigel Aldain harangued me for dereliction of duty in not immediately retaking the museum, I’m in no rush to sacrifice the lives under my command until the warring creatures inside wear each other down.” He holds up a hand and shakes his head, “I don’t hold Nigel Aldain’s outburst against him. I recognize the elf is rightfully concerned—albeit rather precious—about his exhibit.”
Svaralk turns to your team of Pathfinders and says, “Before you enter, I can provide you an overview of the museum’s layout and tell you that there are animated relics and guard animals on the ground level, and clockwork creatures skirmishing with each other on the floor above. We also have an especially challenging problem in the gardens at the southeast corner of the museum grounds. Some kind of magical runes displaying swarm-like behavior, more magical devices really than living creatures. They proved too complicated a challenge for me and my guards; we simply lacked the skills to disable them.”
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With a generous swig of his water skin holding yet more grog, Heorn attempts to update his companions on what he knows about their destination and its owner with the aid of alcohol.
Turning to the guard, Heorn offers a toast.
"Your reputation precedes you for a warrior such as you to continue giving your service to this land is commendable. We'll deal with those creatures inside and the intruders. Any other aid or information you could give would be valuable. As you know this is the Blakos we're discussing here."
Staring at his water skin he begins muttering.
"Needs more hops?"
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Iovarl sighs as he hears about trouble at the museum and that the society will be helping out... again.
I sometimes wonder if this place is more trouble for the Pathfinder Society than it's worth. I doubt our researchers get enough out of this place to make up for the effort we all put in to keep in running."
"I have some skill with the arcane and some knowledge of spells and magic. Maybe that can help to sort out these construct ward things." says Iovarl who is keen to get the whole thing over with so he can get back to making allies at a social event.
Thousands of glowing glyphs form a protective shell around the outside of the museum, casting a sparkling aura of light that bounces off the fountain’s waters.
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The runes are first, but do nothing in the first round, because they do not yet see you as hostile.
Then entire party is up.
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A smaller frog like creature hops around the edge of the courtyard, out of breath but carrying an odd assortment of things. An adventurers pack rests on his shoulders, and a net hangs from one side of the simple cord belt holding up his trousers, while an oddly segmented kind of stave thing resides in a special holster over his shoulder. He pants an apology to the group, bowing to each member of the group.
"My apologies for being late." he burbles in a bubbly baritone voice. "I became tied up in the scriptorium and the messenger calling me to this battle became lost.. but I am here now."
He pays close attention as the others bring him up to speed, then eyes the courtyard with large froggy eyes, turning his head side to side.
"I do not have any idea of how to interact with these creatures or things.. but I will protect those that do as best as I can!"
With these words, he reaches over his shoulder and draws out the weapon secured there. It seems to be 9 short staves all connected by short chains into one long line.
GrubGlub spins his odd little weapon around, trying to intercept the creature as it attacks.
Iovarl and Mun continue to make progress against the swarm, while Grubglub prepares to defend his companions.
Still waiting for round 1 actions from Enrique and Heorn.
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Heorn boldly marches or is it a drunken swagger towards the runes as he examines them.
"Hmmm interesting way to link the runes together and with the way that this is living, changing or forming new combinations isn't that difficult with the advantage that it takes very little time though it also means that it can't stay very long in that position. I'll get the cramps if it was me."
Heorn is able to puzzle out a bit more of the runes.
Because we haven't heard from Enrique, I'm going to bot him just to keep things moving.
As all of you work together, the runes slow their spinning and fade away.
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As the runes fade away, GrubGlub turns back to his companions. "Very good! It seems that I have fallen in with a diverse group for this mission! Where to now? Personally, I suggest the first floor and work our way up. We should clear the way so we are not beset by foes from two sides.."
Big froggy eyes ogle the group in query, awaiting a response.
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The second grippli's eyes go pale and distant for a moment before flashing back into their usual beady blue. Enrique looks around, licking his lips in thought as he takes in his surroundings.
"Awfully sorry, my friends", he says in a deep voice. "It seems I was under increased influence of Sir Enrique for an extended amount of time, and my memory of the events that have transpired until now is a bit foggy."
Enrique places his webbed hands on his waist and nods at Iovarl and Grubglub. "These two here-- Iovarl Volarin and Grubglub, if I recall correctly-- have already journeyed with me once, and might remember my condition; but for the rest of you, I shall summarize it and say I involuntarily host within my body the spirit of a malicious conqueror named Sir Enrique. His spirit grants me enhanced abilities, but sometimes his influence can be meddlesome."
"With this introduction out of the way," he croaks, "I agree with my fellow grippli's suggestion. Also, I think animals should be easier to deal with than clockwork machinery."
You walk into the museum.
Under a sign that reads “The Shining Armory,” priceless Shining Crusade artifacts displayed on pedestals creak and move by some unseen force. Eerie light seems to dart between the objects while the din of a raging battle echoes throughout the chamber. The central feature is a low, artificial hill atop which stand two stuffed owlbears surrounded by shattered undead foes. Each of the beasts wears chainmail barding and an orange-and-black caparison depicting a stylized owlbear. A dead man dressed in furs lies on the floor before a suit of full-plate armor.
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If you got at least 18:
bold may post:
Grubglub
Lilianna
Enrique
Mun
Iovarl
banners
Heorn
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Iovarl would be quite impressed and in awe of a collection of Shining Crusade relics, but he's more concerned with them floating around and trying to hurt the Pathfinders.
"Well that banner seems similar to a construct, but i think it may be haunted by a spirit of a soldier of The Shining Crusade. I think positive energy should harm it, but please don't completely destroy it as it is a relic."
He takes a wand out and aims it at the banner. A small bead of force flies from the wand and impacts the banner.
"I'm sure that can be fixed with some reparation magics later..."
Lilianna asks for Sarenrae's blessing on her companions. Iovarl sends a hard little pellet of magic into one of the banners.
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With the taste of the last pull of grog still on his lips, Heorn loudly announces to his companions on the impressive state of the banner.
"...Oh and they can be hurt by positive energy so go ahead and deal with it positively." as he steps back and allows his more combat geared friends to deal with it.....
Selune accepts the familiar feeling of protection wash over her, and advances on the flapping banner at Mun's command (strange though it may be). She snaps at the banner, hoping to catch it in her powerful jaws.
Selune's teeth tear at the fabric of the banner.
Enrique and Grubglub delay.
One banner tries to slam into Selune.
It misses.
The other flutters forward and tries to slam into Grubglub.
The banner slams into Grubglub and bruises him up, but is unable to wrap itself around him.
bold may post:
Grubglub
Enrique
Heorn
Lilianna
Mun
Iovarl
banners