Way of the Wicked - The fall of Andoran, Chapter II (Inactive)

Game Master increddibelly

At the end of week 5, you notice that the endless hammering has stopped. At first, this is worrying - but upon inspection, the smith is fine. On his workbench a red hot metal cog about a foot in diameter is cooling. The smith proudly waves you away from his latest masterpiece : "just a wee bit o' polishin' left, masters, then ye'll see!!"

Two days later, the a goblin comes at Morvius' door, humbly requesting his presence in the smithy "master? please come to hot hammer place? Hammer-man have present!"
Proudly, the smith unwraps the bulky cog - now shining fiercely. He insists on installing it into the Golem himself.

"There! All done!" with a proud wink, he adds "I've added some of my secret recipe to make it run smooth as silk. You'll be pleased!"

That just about finishes all the requirements for the Golem. Now, there's only one thing left : get a fresh brain! The current one is a few weeks old and looking a bit under the weather. Then we can push the power button on this guy...!

Taking a plate from Morvius and coolly examining it, Caladwhen shrugs "Why would you want them back Morvius? The plates aren't much good too you if you don't have the force of will to use them properly," pausing a moment, Caladwhen looks up at Morvius with a single raised eyebrow "but no matter."

Looking to the others, Caladwhen nods "Let us be done with these interlopers than; the sooner they're gone, the sooner I can get back to work."

Knowledge Nature: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29

Reviewing the report from Oret, Caladwhen nods "Wonderful, it appears Assassin Vine is indigenous to Caer Bryr. It makes for a most wonderful natural defense, but we'll need to move it quickly, for the energy we released is a rapid growth stimulant for the plant. Talon, Oret... any ideas where this can best serve us?

I'll catch up on some of the other story arcs tonight.

Caladwhen shrugs "Why would you want them back Morvius? The plates aren't much good too you if you don't have the force of will to use them properly,"

Morvius removes the pipe from his mouth and grins widely, showing many rows of needle-pointed teeth, before bowing to acknowledge the elegance of the insult: "Ah, my Lady - if your actions in combat were as well-considered and deadly as your put-downs, you would indeed be worthy of respect..."

Bowing once more, Morvius departs, leaving behind the sulfurous smell of his pipe-smoke.

yeah... locking a bunch of ambitious villains in a tight place is a bad idea no matter how many contracts you make 'em sign. *sigh* Oh well, only a few more months before we can get out of this joint...

I'll assume Oret has found some suitable receptacle for the vines. The vines bite him, but he just smiles and shrugs it off.
You now have two assassin vines that can be dragged to any desired position. They're now at CR1, and they will continue to grow every month until they reach CR6. I'll assume they're out in the forest for now.

I'd like to take a moment to inform you that your defenses is now quite efficient; the spreadsheet shows us that you have 30 defense points. (Think of that number as a rough DC that your opponents have to roll against)

while we wait for Sindran's report of the Raid on the Lillend's Lair (sounds like a sweet module name!)
A messenger from Farholde arrives at the Horn. It's one of the braver orphans under the Baron's service.

"G'day masters. The Baron Vandermir brings tidings. 10 nights from now, he shall host a ball in celebration of his 105th birthday. You are cordially invited to attend. Will you attend?"

A quick look tells you the lad is sincere, and that he wouldn't dare hide anything from you.
Given the Baron's status in town, this is probably going to be a truly grand evening - the social event of the season.
At worst, this presents an opportunity to get away from the filthy environment of the Horn, but you all realize that you could use this soiree to get to know some of the other Key Players in the small city, or perhaps even learn something new.

[ooc]If (some of) you go, you'll roll diplomacy to see how you mingle with the guests. Depending on the outcome of the roll, good or better stuff happens.[/spoiler]

Talon nods at the orphan, keeping a distance and staying silent.

Afterwards, amongst the group, he says "I'm not going. I'll stay here and make sure the prayers are done."

Antisocial>9000

Almost done (I'm a slow writer). I'll post it when I get home, about 8 hours from now.

"I will attend," Sindran says. "With a disguise, of course."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (14) + 15 = 29

Raid on the Lillend's Lair

The giant baobab tree stood tall, towering above everything else. Sindran would have merely regarded it as a particularly large and satisfying thing to burn had Alagnir not pointed it out as the landmark the rangers used to guide them to the lillend’s lair. The half-orc did not say this, of course, and merely nodded.

They circled around the tree, taking the long route to avoid the patrols of Calliaste’s consorts and to afford them a better position. The elf led the way, taking the hidden paths between the trees of the forest.

Directly behind Sindran were Grumblejack and Morvius, neither of them subtle with their movements. Grumblejack himself constantly cracked dry branches with his heavy footfalls while Morvius grumbled about something or other beside him. Quite likely Grumblejack’s pungent odor made worse by the heat, since even he could smell it at his distance.

Behind them was Oret, silent as ever, followed by some more of their forces. They were only a small group, to avoid detection, but he wanted the bare minimum to make sure they could deal with the lillend once and for all, and to carry back any spoils they might find.

They came about a small cascading stream and stopped to drink from it and to refill their waterskins. Some minions seemed reluctant to drink from the stream after Grumblejack did, fearing contamination from the ogre’s filthy hands, but finally gave in to the stifling heat and drank.

They started following the stream down, headed straight towards the tree. The presence of the cool water from the stream helped combat the heat and raised their morale that had steadily dropped since they set out hours ago.

Finally, the stream stopped and fell down a small cliff, creating a tiny waterfall. Below their elevated position was a pool the water crashed into, and nearby a cave and the large roots of the baobab tree. They had reached the lillend’s lair.

Sindran had recommended a particularly hot day after Alagnir told him that many of the rangers took the opportunity of the nearby pool to cool themselves down. True enough, several of them were lounging in the pool naked. There were two rangers that were supposed to stand guard, but it seemed even they were in the water.

“Is that all of them?” Sindran asked Alagnir, counting the rangers.

“Aside from two of them, yes. They’re probably the ones on patrol duty.”

“Good.”

He turned back to see Morvius already waiting to release the bag of Death Angel Cave Tetras he had been carrying into the water. Waiting until everyone had taken their position, Sindran nodded and watched the pale blue fish dive into the fresh, clear water of the stream. They were unable to fight against the current, more used to the idle waters of the underground, and were carried straight to the group of unsuspecting rangers in the pool below.

They did not have to wait long for the first shout of pain. “Aaaagh!”

Cries of panic started below them and Sindran peeked down the cliff. The tetras, already aggravated, had stung a few of the rangers with their thread-like spines, injecting their poison and causing some to look weakened and a few fall into unconsciousness. Those who tried to help the unconscious from drowning often got stung themselves until only two rangers remained awake, crawling out of the pool.

They did not remain awake much longer. Oret intercepted the one running for the cave, smashing a fist straight into the man’s face before following it with a blow to the now-exposed neck. He ceased breathing long before he hit the ground.

The remaining ranger was still climbing out the pool when he saw a shadow cover him. He looked up, expecting to see another ranger extending his aid, but only met the cold expression of a grotesque half-orc. Sindran spared no words and simply kicked him back into the pool. The ranger thrashed, the tetras swarming around his body before he finally stilled.

Morvius was already by Oret’s side, saying something—another complaint no doubt—and Sindran joined them. His minions were already climbing down the cliff, some of them taking out their nets to recapture the tetras.

Alagnir was already at the bottom, looking at the bodies of his former comrades with a furrowed brow. Sindran gave him an order before he could dwell on it. “Alagnir, if the lillend manages to escape through here, kill her or at least slow her down. Signal for the remaining patrol when we return and take them out as well.”

Sindran cast a spell to protect from the good-aligned lillend before they entered the cave, Grumblejack following behind them with his greatsword. Inside was a large cavern with bedrolls at the side and miscellany scattered about. Clearly the rangers’ living area. They paid it little mind and moved to the entrance of the smaller connected cave which was the lillend’s residence.

Knowing the lillend often needed verbal components in her magic, Sindran started weaving a spell of Silence centered on Grumblejack. Morvius himself was drinking several of his extracts and applying some concotion to his polearm. This was one of the reasons why he chose Morvius and Oret to accompany him—they did not require speech to be effective whereas Talon and Caladwhen often depended on verbal components to cast their spells.

When Sindran finished the weave, all sound immediately ceased in the area around Grumblejack. He repeated the same spell with Oret and, once it was complete, the monk nodded to the group and, as one, they charged silent into the cavern.

Inside, the lillend Calliaste waited. She was seductive, her body from the waist-up a beautiful elven woman with wings rising from her back. Around her neck were many jewels on a silver chain, glimmering even in the cave. From the waist down, however, she was a large snake, capable of even winding around Grumblejack.

Upon seeing them, her face contorted into a snarl of rage. “YOU!” she began to say but her words were lost when Oret rushed into her space from the right and jumped, unleashing a flurry of blows onto her elven body. Morvius and Grumblejack both charged Calliaste, Morvius rushing from the left to stab deep into the lillend’s coils with his polearm while Grumblejack rushed directly, making a great swing that cleaved through her scales.

Sindran waited, preparing to cast a spell should the lillend manage to escape the sudden attack. Calliaste thrashed, her great body bleeding from her wounds. She tried to slink away and opened her mouth to cast a spell, but the field of silence around Oret and Grumblejack prevented neither her incantations nor her screams of pain to be heard.

It did not last much longer. The whole battle was completely silent, Calliaste’s death going unheard as she perished under her combined wounds. Morvius stabbed his polearm once more into the lillend for good measure, and the weave of silence around Grumblejack and Oret collapsed.

The venom causes unconsciousness. We might capture some of the consorts knocked out by the poison, if they haven’t drowned. Add them to the prisoners for sacrifices. The dead are for Caladwhen to raise. Recycling! Minions might be able to use their equipment.

Morvius will probably take the lillend’s brain. For the golem.

With a telling glance, Caladwhen smiles in an ever so wicked fashion "My dear boy, you can tell the Baron that I wouldn't miss his soiree for the world."

Looking over to Sindran, the lithe elf adds with a slight laugh "I guess you're my date for the evening Sindran. Let's make it an evening Farholde won't soon forget."

Caladwhen will bring along some of that perfume, and cast a whole lot of Eagle's Splendor on the night of the party.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (20) + 15 = 35

Wow. I think Cala might be the life to the party with that role.

Great post above Sindran by the way! Kinda wish Cala had been there now.

Sindran, I applaud you *slowclap* that is so much more than I hoped for.

To celebrate the victory over what *could* and *should* and definitely *would* have been a very nasty recurring enemy, you all level up. I beg you, PLEASE try to keep your opponents alive for more than one round.

Well narrated indeed, O Patriarch of Palimpsests ;)

you all level up. I beg you, PLEASE try to keep your opponents alive for more than one round.

Level 8! Yay! More paperwork incoming!! Also, I approve of keeping them alive for longer: it prolongs their suffering - or was that not what you had in mind...?

Wow. I think Cala might be the life to the party with that role.

*roll. [/grammarnerd]

Absolutely.

Your smile, combined with your bone-chilling cleavage are simply too powerful; you take everyone's breath away. And not just the bodyguards - nah, you expected them to look at your chest and say 'how high' - but even the notables cannot help but be drawn to your hypnotizing elegance. You manage to speak to each and everyone of importance for as long as YOU like.

During the evening, a knight approaches you. He has both the natural assertiveness of rank and the charisma of a gentleman, and he casually takes over the ongoing conversation; he subtly bends the worshipping-of-a-semi-naked-elf into a private meeting between Caladwhen and him, with a couple of insignificant third parties observing the event.

Your emotional antennae immediately fire; this is someone to be reckoned with. So - you play along for a while, going into your hard-to-get mode.
Until 00:50, both of you flow through the party almost as a couple (to the level you of course direct) but then, suddenly, and with sincere regret, he announces his departure.

"My lady, unfortunately I simply must leave your mesemerizing company. In ten minutes, my men will change duties. With so many out in 'The War', I simnply need to be visibly present, if only for morale. Mylady, the encumbrance of duty has never before fallen this hard upon me. Surely, we will meet again?"
Puppy-eyed wouldn't cover it - Deplorable. That's what he looks like.
He puts up a brave show:
"Alas, I must go. Never shall it be said that Sir Valin Darian did not oversee the watch!"

Your breath catches in your throat.

This is him.

This is the mook of royal blood your underlings have been sniffing out, and you've just spent most of the evening with him.

Morvius (naturally) attends the ball: the opportunity to leave the Horn and indulge himself among those of high blood is too good to pass up. He avoids social interaction by the simple expedient of using his iron circlet to disguise himself as an old, grizzled Inquisitor of Sarenrae; and scowling fiercely at anyone who tries to engage him in conversation.

He therefore has a perfect opportunity to load up on rich food, expensive wine, rare cigars - and a particularly fine brandy; Chelish, he can't help noticing.

He grins at Cala's work: with the attention on her, no one pays much attention to him. He therefore amuses himself by seasoning the odd bit of poison into people's food and drink; nothing fatal, just enough to make them suffer the next morning. It keeps him in practice.

When "Sir Valin Darian" announces his name, Morvius raises both eyebrows: at the next opportunity, when no one else is looking, he catches Cala's eye and offers her a silent (but clearly sincere) round of applause. He must admit, she does look very appealing: if that's what you're into, of course, he thinks.

Arriving to the soiree in a coach directed by various minions, Caladwhen steps lightly into the light emanating from the Baron's Manor. With a rye look, Caladwhen looks back over to Sindran "Shall we make our way to the party? I feel particularly social this evening." The normally frigid elven girl looks the part, dressed in a beautiful white gown that seems to highlight all of Caladwhen's best features, and adorned with silver and sapphire jewelry; to say she looked stunning was nothing short of a grievous understatement.

Rolling about the room, Caladwhen casually makes the acquaintance of anyone of importance at the party, and certainly overshadows the presence of even their host. Making a point to seek out the Zadaria, the unearthly elf makes her status in Farholde clear to leader of the seventh. We are in charge, even when we are not physically present; to cross us is surely folly.

As the evening progresses, Caladwhen finds herself in the company of Sir Valin Darian, finding his presence a strong draw from the rest of the guests. With his departure, Cala returns his mournful departure from her presence with the affectation of despair "It wounds me deeply that you must go Sir Darian, but duty above all else." Removing her right glove, Caladwhen kisses the tips of her fingers before placing them on his lips... though seemingly romantic, the gesture held a more devious meaning to those of the seventh and ninth present... that of the kiss of death.

Returning to Sindran's side, Caladwhen smiles devilishly as she takes his arm "We should head back now Sindran" As they make their exit, Caladwhen whispers quietly "I think our search for royal blood is at an end Sindran; you'll never guess who I just spent the evening with."

Making a point to seek out the Zadaria, the unearthly elf makes her status in Farholde clear to leader of the seventh. We are in charge, even when we are not physically present; to cross us is surely folly.

Annoyingly, Zadaria is all over the Baron. They are more than friendly - Zadaria is draped over his lap, laughing at all his mediocre jokes.

Defying your stare, she 'accidently' loses another strawberry in her cleavage. While the Baron noisily tries to sniff it out with his nose, Elise whispers to you with mock concern: "Honey, you simply look terrible. You shouldn't fret so much, it really ruins your face."

Disgusted by the vulgar display, you half expect the evening to end in either a proposal or an announcement of their engagement. Fortunately, it doesn't, so you are saved from having to congratulate the Baron with his bride.

While the Baron noisily tries to sniff it out with his nose, Elise whispers to you with mock concern: "Honey, you simply look terrible. You shouldn't fret so much, it really ruins your face."

Amused by the ridiculousness of the statement, Caladwhen returns the barb with her own repartee "Oh, humans are so entertaining sometimes; it is you that should cease the fretting dear child, for like all humans, you wither almost from the day of your birth." With a gentle caress of Zadaria's face, Caladwhen adds "From the my vantage Zadaria, you are already a withered crone, decrepit and broken with age. I have lived over a century, yet my physical body is younger than your own. When in short time you have lost all your teeth, your chest sags to the floor, your skin is wrinkled and gray as worn leather, remember that I," pausing for dramatic flare, Caladwhen motions gracefully to her own self before continuing "I will still appear as I do this very evening." With a sly wink, Caladwhen laughs lightly but cruelly at the Witch before returning to the party.

Passing by Morvius and Sindran, Caladwhen casually adds "We'll need to deal with that one; she has designs of her own, I am convinced of it."

You know what, this may sound Machiavellian of me, but hear me out on this one... I think we should preemptively strike the 7th, a full-scale assassination. With Heitr and Venorik Rah as our eyes and ears in Farholde, we don't need them and I don't trust them. I don't want to give them the chance to betray us, so I pose we off them now and be done with them.

Defying your stare, she 'accidently' loses another strawberry in her cleavage. While the Baron noisily tries to sniff it out with his nose...

Morvius silently grinds his multiple rows of teeth: there are times when he truly begins to appreciate the depths of Asmodeus' contempt for mortals. Now is such a time.

While the Baron is distracted, and Elise banters with Cala, Morvius surreptitiously deposits a vomiting poison onto the nearby tray of strawberries, as a token of his feelings for the occasion:

Sleight of Hand (skill pts, Core, Dex bonus): 1d20 + 7 + 3 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 7 + 3 + 4 = 23

You know what, this may sound Machiavellian of me, but hear me out on this one... I think we should preemptively strike the 7th, a full-scale assassination. With Heitr and Venorik Rah as our eyes and ears in Farholde, we don't need them and I don't trust them. I don't want to give them the chance to betray us, so I pose we off them now and be done with them.

I'm glad someone else said that... I was thinking the same thing! My only question would be whether we have any contractual issues... What were the cardinal's orders to us about them, can you remember? I'd hate to carry out the kill and then face Dessiter - or Tiadora; we're not high enough level for them. Yet...

I've fancied the thought a little, bring it up in character back at the horn. But I'm about 70% sure that would violate our contract.

I think we should preemptively strike the 7th

What were the cardinal's orders to us about them, can you remember?

Let me help with that:

Elise and her knot will aid you. Elise proved herself a capable assassin in our last venture. The seventh knot will remain in Farholde and see that anyone who tries to find the Horn and interfere with your work meets an unhappy end. Thus, you will have time to do what must be done.

The First Loyalty is to their patron and god – mighty Asmodeus, first among the fallen, prince of the nine hells, our father below. The Bound shall do All that can be done to further Asmodeus’ worship and glory.
Don't go against Asmodeus. duh.

The Second Loyalty is to their Master – He who is called the Cardinal Adrastus Thorn, High Priest of Asmodeus in Andoran. They shall do the Master no harm and obey his every commandment as long as those commandments do not clash with their First Loyalty.
Do what the Cardinal says, if it doesn't go against Asmodeus.

The Third Loyalty is to their companions – the other Bound who serve alongside them. The Bound shall deal with each other fairly and honorably as long as doing so does not clash with their First or Second Loyalties. All treasure and wealth {hereafter Rewards} garnered in the Bound’s exploits will be shared equally as per the Reward’s value per aeque pensus between all of the Bound who aided in the Reward’s acquisition.
share loot between those who helped win it.

The Fourth Loyalty is to themselves – for Asmodeus is the Lord of Ambition and all who serve him should strive to become great and powerful in his service as long as doing so does not clash with their First, Second or Third Loyalties.
be ambitious, but know your place.

The DC is high, but I think that's fair; Infernal contracts are seriously obscure and life-changing matters.

Int: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

Int: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 Noooope.

I'll aid Caladwhen. She has the highest chance of succeeding.

Intelligence: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Err. Epiphany!

Forget the aid roll... Sindran just rocked it!

Actually, just in-case we need a roll from Cala, here it is with the aid result:

Intelligence: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 2 = 28

I think between the two of them, we got this.

I think it's time to set the sights of Venorik Rah on digging up some dirt on the 7th Knot, something we can hang our hats on. We need at least a pretense of treachery in order to proceed with a preemptive strike. I think maybe Venorik Rah and Heitr could work in tandem to accomplish this, what do you think Sindran?

Sounds good, Caladwhen. I'll also try to look at the bigger picture of Farholde, especially with the Baron and Sir Darian and such....

I wouldn't worry about pretence of treachery - Elise seems ambitious and annoyed enough with us to do something stupid without having to frame her. All we need to do is wait and catch her at it. To that end... Heitr now has 2 actions/week, does Venorik Rah? If so, maybe one of them should always be to keep an eye on the other Knot.

Sindran and Caladwhen tell their minions to -carefully- spy on the seventh Knot.
Espionage, Venorik Rah: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Espionage, Heitr: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (3) + 0 = 3
Sense Motive, Knot Hibernal: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

After a single day, one of Sindran's minions is spotted by the Knot Hibernal, and he has to flee for his life. Dutifully, the leaders of both Venorik Rah's and Heitr's spying parties report their failures to Sindran and Caladwhen.

But even before Cala can reprimand her follower, her minion asks for a private word.

Sindran glances at Caladwhen before addressing Gabriel. He respects the man's initiative, but feels particularly vindictive after their failure and sends him off to let him sweat. "Leave us. We'll send a message for you once we've decided."

Once they've been left alone, Sindran speaks up. "It's a good plan. I see nothing wrong with it. We'll have to see about the cost, but we've the gifts from the cardinal we are in little need of. There is little to lose."

Listening to Gabriel intently but with a poker face that belays no emotion or expression, Caladwhen finally nods as Sindran orders her minion from the room, confirming her wishes for him to give them privacy.

"Gabriel is a clever one, certainly one of my more gifted followers according to Nariel." Leaning back behind her chair and clasping her hands behind her head, Caladwhen considers the scheme "We should proceed with the plan; we can muster up some gear for the mission at a fairly minimal cost I should think." Squinting as though considering the possibilities, Caladwhen telepathically sends a message to T'larryo:

Send Gabriel back in, we need to discuss the implementation of this grand design.

"So."

Morvius mutters thoughtfully to himself as he potters round his laboratory. He is - by his standards - feeling cheerful, and as much at ease with the world as is possible. Occasionally, he puffs absent-mindedly on his pipe, releasing clouds of evil-smelling smoke. His goblin assistants have learned to avoid breathing these in, after what happened to Bofo. (Poor Bofo.)

"So."

Morvius mutters the word again. It is a good word, a word to start a pithy phrase, or even an epic, if one were so inclined. Morvius is not. His attention is focussed on the brain he has taken from the Lillend, which is to be implanted into the golem. Occasionally, his glance strays to the still, polished, figure lying inert on the slab. He has laboured many hours on this task, and now it is ready. The Lens of Detection gleams in its eye socket; Morvius installed it once he'd liberated it from the vault upstairs. The various required fluids of ice, fire, lightning and acid have settled in their reservoirs; the shining mithral heart cog has been carefully installed (Morvius is grateful for the assistance of the smith; he is even considering letting the man live) and the golem lies, waiting. Expectant. Morvius turns his attention back to the brain, floating in its jar of nutrients.

"So. What sort of brain are you?"

Morvius knows brains. Many of his extracts and mutagen variants depend upon substances found only in the brain and he has become skilled at distilling them (not all of which are strictly tangible: his invisibility extract for example is a distillate of the broken spirits and crushed dreams of small children). This brain, however ... this brain is - different. It is recognisably not human, nor yet elven or even reptilian. So what is it, exactly, that makes it different? Morvius looks at his notes, again, trying to discern why he is uneasy. This should be a straightforward operation - he practiced on Halthus and got it right first time (that reminds him: he has Cala's dress to return to her) - so what is the issue?

"So. A suitable brain; a good brain - a Good brain..."

Ah. Yes, a brain taken from a Celestial, a being of pure Good. Morvius thought it amusing at the time, taking this being and making it serve him, binding it to his will, corrupting it; but what if ... what if the reverse happens? What if the Good is intrinsic to the brain?

Morvius considers carefully: the arrangement of wiring and other control means in the golem's cranium is as set out in the schedule. Once the brain is in, the golem should obey his commands. Morvius mistrusts the word "should" - he prefers "will" or "must".

Morvius sighs, heavily. His own knowledge of the arcane is good and his understanding of alchemy is second to none; but his knowledge of the other planes - and the beings who dwell there - is slight. The prospect of creating a Good-aligned construct within the environment of the Horn itself is not pleasant. It is, in fact, enough to make him swallow his pride and seek assistance from another. If this is humility, Morvius wants no part of it. Nevertheless, he does not know everything - maybe knowing that fact in itself is power, of a sort?

"So. My Lady Cala, might I have a moment of your time?"

Morvius has tried to find Cala at a suitable moment; unfortunately he is not attuned to interaction with others and this makes it difficult for him to ascertain what exactly a suitable moment is. Once he does however have her attention, Morvius explains the issue and asks whether there is a potential risk in using the Lillend's brain in the golem.

Knowledge (arcana) (Skill points, Class skill, Int bonus): 1d20 + 7 + 3 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 7 + 3 + 5 = 34

Cala - can you do a knowledge (planes) check? There's apparently a circumstance bonus for identifying a potential security risk in advance, but I don't know how much

"Send Gabriel back in, we need to discuss the implementation of this grand design."

"Kaw, kaw! I can't wait to see the look on that witch's pale pokerface! I just want -"

Lars flies over to where Gabriel is waiting. Quietly humming a tune, he pecks at the Elf's foot.
"Oi! She's waiting for you. You don't want to keep her waiting."

Cala, Sindran; You can give lend the party up to 10 magic items; 2 per party member. Each one will add a +2 to their disguise roll. I'll roll once I know what you plan on giving them.

Lars can act as an eye, shall we say, to remind Gabriel that we are watching. And failure will not be pleasant, especially if they fail to return the items we lend them.

Do potions and wands fall under magic items? I'm assuming only those useful for disguises can be lended. I can lend my Iron Circlet (Hat of Disguise). If there are any others of us who aren't using them, we can lend those as well. I don't have anything else, aside from my Pathfinder Pouch, but I'm not giving that up because that's where Sindran's documents and the Eye he has is hidden.

Are you letting the rest of us in on this plan? If so, Morvius will point out with some asperity (in that charming way he has) that the items only need to LOOK magical: they aren't actually going to do any fighting...

"What is it Morvius? We're a bit busy at the moment." Taking a moment out of their scheming seemed a trifle nuisance, but after hearing Morvious out, Caladwhen nods in a more agreeable fashion; after all, the prospect of a celestial powered Golem running loose in the horn was indeed a disturbing thought and worth the time and research effort.

"Yes of course, that is a wise precaution Morvius. I'm at your service."

Knowledge Planes: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (10) + 15 = 25

That's actually a good idea Morvius, I didn't know that spell existed. I think the cost of procuring that first level wizard spell for Cala would be infinitely cheaper than arming a group of low level minions.

Morvius, you were heading to Cala to ask her about the Planes.
I'm sure you'd be surprised to find Gabriel misc mooks outside a room where Sindran and Caladwhen were debating.
Especially when the mook is staring at their toes, not looking particularly productive, nor guarding anything in a way that would complement any sort of defense. Save arrow-catching. Which is inefficient.

Gabriel's bluff: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10(ouch)
sense motive DC10 and yeah, take 10

I think your natural response would be either to tell Gabriel to GTF back to work, or, to ask him WTF he was doing - but feel free to prove me right or wrong.
It would not make much sense to ignore him standing there. So, you have an opportunity to find out on your own.

nice timing, Cala :D

Morvius & Cala; regarding the knowledge check about the Lillend's brain:
Once the brain and the heart are physically separated, the soul is no longer connected to either. It is therefore safe to install the brain, although some minor incompatibilities are expected to occur, regardless of the donor's race or alignment.

Sense motive (Wis bonus): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10 Heh. How appropriate that I put my level 8 stat increase into Wis...!

With the benefit of experience, Morvius actually pays attention to the visual cues he's receiving from said mooks, instead of simply ignoring them as he usually would. Perhaps the time spent around the more sociable types is paying off. Or maybe the mook is just that bad at camouflaging his intentions that even Morvius can pick up on it.

Good thing this particular mook isn't about to be used on covert ops - oh wait :)

Morvius stops, and smiles, slowly, at the mook. Word of what he gets up to in his laboratory has filtered down the ranks, exaggerated along the way - Morvius encourages this, and has even dabbled with creating some of the wilder stories. With a smile and some kind words (like "do you want to be the next bar of soap?"), he uses his unpleasant countenance and worse reputation to extract the story from Gabriel.

Intimidate (skill points, class, cha penalty, trait bonus): 1d20 + 2 + 3 - 2 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 2 + 3 - 2 + 1 = 21

"There... that wasn't so difficult, now, was it? And you still own your internal organs. For now." Morvius barges into the room where Cala and Sindran are meeting, to set matters straight on a couple of points.

Once he and Cala have reached a conclusion about the lillend's brain, Morvius points out the fact that we don't in fact need to give the mooks proper magic items. All that is required is that any weapons/armour be of masterwork quality "And if that smith can make a mithral heart, he can certainly knock off a few masterwork items; maybe - if your mooks really do a good job - they even get to keep the items at the end, as an incentive."

With that, Morvius potters back to his laboratory, pleased to have been of service. That the service was of the most condescending variety only pleases him more...

Late here - I'll do a full post about bringing Artephius to life another day

Good thing this particular mook isn't about to be used on covert ops - oh wait :)

All he needs is a good disguise ;)

Caladwhen, Magic Aura is a 1st level spell. I'm sure you could research the details in a day or two, especially now that Morvius told you the essentials of the spell. So, feel free to add it to your spellbook. Funny how both the character and the player learned a spell today ^_^

Gabriel calmly treads into the room where Sindran and Caladwhen are waiting for him. He listens carefully to what they have to say, repeating back their commands to show he has fully understood. Once it's clear he's expected to leave, he politely goes away:

"Master, mistress, I thank you for this opportunity. I will return in a few days to collect the ...disguises, as you instructed."

In the following days, the smith throws together a couple of masterwork daggers, shields and bracers; a relatively easy job for him after the Golem's heart, but he takes on the work with great zeal.

--- Week Eight, Day Three ---

At the appointed time, Gabriel and some of his friends make their appearance.
"Master, mistress. I present to you," as a sly smile curls his lips, "the Banner Verdant! The tall, strong fellow has been named Angus Madthorn; the lithe elf with the bow goes by the name of Vethia Dora; behind her stands our druid friend Brunhild Sturmdottir, and yours truly, Fineas Greenhold, sorcerer."
All members show their adventurers' outfits, and you admit only to yourself, of course that they look surprisingly convincing already. Combined with the now-magic items (but don't look too closely next week...) they truly resemble an experienced band of heroes.

Any last words of inspiration before they go on their way?

"Succeed and be rewarded. Fail . . . and we'll see what you can learn from this experience." Sindran's tone makes it clear that the lesson won't be pleasant.

you're such a motivator.

Gabriel nods. He looks each of his team members in the eye, before replying:
"We are aware of the importance of this mission. Failure is not an option. Now please excuse us - we have a long detour through the forest ahead of us." He shrugs. "After all, we'll need to look the part of sweaty, dirty adventurers."

They leave, heading due west; planning to enter Farholde from the river instead of the forest.

Three days later, as Talon and Oret are doing their daily rounds, they hear a horse and rider approach. With a single nod, they take up ambush positions. A few moments later, the rider dismounts and whistles the password - Already looking worried, he's clearly startled by the immediate appearance of Talon and Oret.
Quickly the rider delivers his message - there's a strong adventuring party in town, and they have been busy discussing plans to raid the Horn!

The rider describes the Banner Verdant in perfect detail. The rider also reports that the locals' morale is improving, now that finally someone has arrived to deal with the terrifying green flamy tower of terror at the horizon.

Clearly, Gabriel's ruse is working; and working well, at that.
It's just a matter of time to see what the Knot Hibernal does about these would-be intruders...

Talon nods in affirmation to the rider, thanking him for the news and sending him on his way. Once he's a good distance away he looks to Oret. "So now we await more news..."

Remaining coolly detached as ever, Caladwhen allows Gabriel to introduce the Banner Verdant. When finished, she allows herself an ever so slight curl of the lip to indicate she is relatively pleased by their work.

"I don't think I need to add anything to Sindran's warning; you know the cost of failure well enough," pausing, Caladwhen drifts past each member of Gabriel's crew ever so leisurely, measuring them up before stopping at Gabriel and finishing her thought "but also the reward for success. It's a good plan Gabriel," again pausing, she looks him square in the eye and breathlessly whispers "don't fail me."

Heading over to a nearby table, Caladwhen pulls off a tarp to reveal the newly minted gear "It's of the highest quality construction, and enchanted to mimic the real thing. It should do for now. Now go."

After they leave, Caladwhen turns to Sindran "We should all start considering how we might dispose of the 7th if indeed their treachery is made evident." Cala's tone suggests that she considers Zadaria's treachery almost a forgone conclusion at this point, the ruse being nothing more than formality.

I'll get to the gear this weekend IB, been a busy week.

"Perhaps we could send for their dire help with something. The chance to save us from something would make them jump up and we can have a trap ready and waiting for them."

So, those who survive long enough have learned that asking for help -and thus revealing a weakness- is done by presenting a problem to a superior for them to deal with.

The problem needs to be sufficiently out of your range so that you do not lose face by 'passing it on', and the problem shouldn't be such an obvious threat that your report could be considered an insult to your superior's intellect.
If one were to ask for help effectively, one would be commended for reporting the issue, and the risk of failure now lies with one's superior.

Morvius looks puzzled at Cala and Talon's remarks: "I believe it is the nature of the Infernal Hierarchy to deal directly with those who break contracts; thus, if we have proof of treachery, I would imagine bringing it to Tiadora's or Dessiter's attention would mean that the matter - and the troublesome Knot - is taken out of our hands."

Morvius shudders, delicately. The fate of those who break contracts is not something even he cares to think on too closely.