Argon the afternoon while Wrathe is off scouting.
Argon wonders back to see Kai'lit and his forge, he knows that his likes to start his morning off eating at the Sleeping Dragon. He saves his lunch from his wife, to enjoy at a his own leisure, when Argon manages to locate him at his forge he grins, glad that he could see that his student alive and well.
" I didn't expect to see you again, it has been a long time sense I've last seen you, I thought that something in the Umbral lands have got to you. " Frowning at his words about Star metal he says " I've not had much experience, in the that type of metal, I've heard other's working on it, mostly the pointy ears. I've worked it once, why are you asking, did you happen to locate some. I'd be interested in working on it again of course, I could give you some pointers at the very the least. " Over lunch he spends time talking to Argon.
"Well, tell us what happened while you went out scouting," Ssilax asks, curious to know what Wrathe had found. "Not much happened here, we mostly just puttered around Caern for the day," the dragonkin shrugs his robed shoulders and takes another sip of wine.
"We where leaving after the morning meal, so excellent timing on your return." Ssilax adds with a chuckle.
Wrathe relays what transpired in his absence from the group in Undercommon, with smatterings of Drow Hand Sign, and never speaking of names, or places that anyone but the group could pierce.
"There is still the mystery of the stone."
Argon tells Kai'lit that it is not to be repeated, but he knows where some of the stone is, but he is not sure if it will be available for him, or Kai'lit, to work on. Argon will surely let him know if it is.
He invites his mentor to Sanctum, as Argon respects the priest's advice on all matters of church. If he can't make it, Argon understands. Kai'lit could join up with one of the other groups heading there, if he desires.
Later, he joins up with the others, and thanks Wrathe for the info. "That's why you're back sooner than expected. But we still don't know much about the way there. And yes, the stone. I think we should bring it to our castle as soon as we are able."
"Kharbdys was our last resort when it looked as if time was pressing, but now that our steps are not harried I believe we can, leave that as our last option, slow down and collect information on our best means of safely traveling to our destination and reuniting with our lost amputee."
Wrathe considers their next course and nods along with Argon's suggestion, since he saw no other obvious leads, and the strange message and attack was still weighing upon him.
Before they left the city he has a riddle to resolve, "I watched the balcony denizen eating and drinking, but not ichor. Are you sure that the nobleman is walking and rotting?" The last is addressed to Ssilax. Wrathe despised anyone that would steal another's autonomy, which is why it galled him every time he used his magics to further the party's ends at the expense of another's liberty. Such magics were used sparingly, the justification ringing empty in his ears, and to avoid further bloodshed.
He turns to Daxniss, "Do we have any leads to pursue before departing the city proper?"
Before they left Wrathe had a few lines of inquiry to take part in, through Desia, as he collected information to further his ends of freeing those he swore to release from Hell's iron grip.
"Along our path back to home I would like to visit the arcane city of Akhyl. They have not responded to my missive of unification, and I would like to see the sights, and speak to them in person."
The Umbral Lands had lost a great deal of their oppressiveness, and he would like to study that as well. They had a new lease on life, and his mind was seeking time to consider the new realities, and drink in new experiences.
The fact that it would also allow him to expand his line of inquiry, into devilish contract law, was a bonus.
Daxniss growls and says angrily almost snapping back at him " No, and if I did, I'd tell yah, right now I'm watching our backs from a new group of cutters. " Slamming her fist down on the table, trying to banish the anger that was welling inside her.
" No there are no new leads, my sources are out scouring for new information. Sorry " She finishes in an remorseful tone taking a few deep breathes trying to calm herself.
Nothing else remains for the party in Caern at the moment, no new supplies to be had, the group can feel eyes upon them, and not the normal adoring ones. It is hard to place where the feeling is coming from, it could be due to the fact that Daxniss appears to be on edge at the moment, for the entire duration the group has been in Caern, after the ball.
Kai, grunts at Argon's suggestion, and informs he that he will need to think it over, since he has a good set up, Argon, also knows he has a number of followers of his church in Santium. Cal doesn't reveal anything new on different planes, besides what the party knows about, Ssilax has a number of folk in the church who believe that he is spreading hope. Muttering of the word ' Chosen' can be barely heard when he walks past a crowd of the faithful.
Wrathe leans back after Daxniss' display, falling into silence and leaving the levity of the moment far behind, intent on simply following.
"It is possible that the one in the mask could be the Arch-Magus, rather than a vampire," Ssilax says in response to Wrathe's question.
Eyeing Dax, the dragonkin thinks for a few moments.
"Well, let us get out onto the trail. We can discuss things a bit more freely," the dragonkin says, finishing off his drink. "I would rather not stir up the hornet's nest, which seems to be a talent we have," the dragonkin says with a lop-sided grin.
After the party leaves the inn, getting ready for their trip back to home from the city of Caern, any last minute supplies are picked up, ideas are thought of. The guards nod respectfully as you leave the city gates, stopping Daxniss long enough to hand her a package, along with a series of letters, which she blinks at, stopping long enough to make sure her gloves are on.
Asking a few questions to the guard who handed the parcels to her she nods, bows her head and hands him a small purse, discreetly. Once the group is on the road she summon's her spider mount and starts reading the letters. Frowning at the contents after some time, she crumples them up and they start to smolder, the letters dissolve into a small puddle of acid, that quickly turn into ash.
Everyone notices when they are at least two miles away from Caern, when Daxniss seems to relax, as her casual smile returns to her face, and she even let's out a chuckle, it would seem that a weight has been lifted from the rogue.
Ssilax is saddened by the fact that Storm had to stay behind for a few days, saying that she had a few things that she needed to take care of, and that they didn't need the extra watchful eyes from her scaly friend. Storm reassured him that it was something that needed to be done and was nothing dangerous, just about a meeting with some other like minded druids.
The rest of the day's travel is uneventful, for the party as there are no wondering creatures that are in the groups path, although there is the hint of rain in the air, and it will likely rain tonight.
Finally after a few hours Daxniss says " Aye, so after taking over the intelligence gathering function of the guild, there was a schism in the guild. A number of folks wanted to keep on the say way of doing business, but step up on the number of permanent solutions at dealing with some of the 'business' aspect of things. Pretty much the say way of doing things that Duran had done, it might have worked well short term however, it would raise far to many prying eyes into the shadows. "
" In between spending time tracking down members who were on the fence of things, and convincing them to go with the new guild, we had some infighting, we kept the vanilla folk out of it, the less blood on the streets the better. I thought we had gotten them all, but it seems like they went to ground. I am pretty sure there might be a vampyre leading this new group, of cutters along with a member of the old guild who I thought we had taken care of. I think that the man in mask might have hired some troubleshooters and the new cutters are part of whom he hired. "
Daxniss stops to open a flask, looking closely you all notice that it is the same flask that Cal had yesterday. Shrugging her shoulders she says " He lost it in a card game, he may get it back. " Throwing a wink she takes a sip. Fastening the lid back on the flask she says " The letters I got from the guard came from some of my sources, it would seem that we have captured one of the cutters alive, and I will hopefully have some new information to share soon. "
"Well, if I can do anything to help, I will. I would rather not involve the church, if possible," the dragonkin adds, looking slightly uncomfortable as he glances back in the direction of Caern. "When I went to drop off a few messages for the Holy Mother, and I kept hear some mutterings that made me a little uncomfortable. Nothing dire, though between the schism in your guild, and the other church stuff, I think I will disguise myself the next time I go back." The dragonkin sigh and shakes his head. "I was really beginning to enjoy moving about Caern not wrapped in robes or illusion. Oh, well." Ssilax adds with a chuckle.
Falling silent for a while, Ssilax thinks about the buried space boulder, speculating as to how they where going to move the thing. Just one of the many thing circulating around his thoughts. Planer travel, maelstroms, Master Dainoth, druid circles and Storm all clamor for his attention. Rather then give himself a headache, Ssilax focus on the rock for the moment.
"So, about the space rock, I have a couple of ideas as how to move it, although I doubt it is anything the two of you have not already thought about. I think it is going to require a great deal of both physical labor and magic. Not to mention some aid from the people Sanctum," Ssilax aids with a faint grin. "I think the easiest method would to be try to break it into more manageable pieces and use load up a number of wagons for transportation. I imagine magic will have to be used in both. I am massively simplifying the effort that this is probably going to take. If I am feeling like living life on the edge, I could ask Khosainat if she would not mind aiding, but I have a pretty good idea as to what her answer would be." Ssilax says with a laugh.
Argon remains quiet for most of the discussion about Caern.
"This is why I prefer to avoid that city. Unfortunately, it was probably mostly innocent people and brave city guards who were killed in the siege. All the corruption is still there..."
When it comes to the stone, he has only a little to offer. "Cutting even raw iron is a very difficult and timely process. I imagine star stone must be a lot more difficult." He doesn't know of any magic that will move it, but he wonders if Ptah, with his emphasis on both earth and fire, can find some way to deal with it. He will pray tonight.
" Change takes time, if we can change the viewpoints of enough folks, and get laws changed, we can start tackling the bigger problems. Right now we have little commerce at the moment, and right now we need the coin to pay for things we don't have. I look at it this way, better to know what is going on with Caern and avoid unhappy Templar knights trying to lay siege to our new home, the better. "
"Yes, it's certainly better to know what's going on," says Argon. "But change won't even happen if nobody is championing it. Who is effecting improvement in Cairn now."
When they reach the Stone, Argon says, "We may as well leave it untouched until we figure out how to deal with it."
He encourages all to keep going.
The entire day leading up to returning to the stone has been coated in a heavy fog, once the party reaches the stone the fog thickens to where you can barely see each other. Stopping long enough to mention the stone, a storm starts to brew. Sheets of rain start to engulf the party.
A loud whistling noise assaults your ears as, the gusts of wind start to move you around from your perch.
Before the party can react, they are lifted from their feet, and tossed forward in the air. A faint shimmering can be seen 40 ft ahead of you and you are pulled into the shimmering space.
Ssilax had been all for leaving the stone for the time being and heading back to Sanctum. They had to gather some people to help them move the thing anyway.
It seems that the Primal Magics within the Umbral Lands are still very much active.
As the party is pulled through the shimmering hole in the world, you feel a shudder as magic energy makes you feel like you are being turned inside out. Time passes and you all come back to your bodies, everything is still in place, although you feel waves of nausea, that passes before anyone vomits, still you feel like you had been running for days, and are just now recovering.
Sounds of birds can be heard, and the sun bears down on a clearing that you find yourselves waking up in, the terrain looks familiar, but something seems to be slightly off.
Breathing heavily, Argon gradually drifts into consciousness. Memories or dreams of a recent night with a statuesque and strong woman, a warrior by all accounts, makes him wonder if that is why he is exhausted.
Realization dawns as the sun seems to burn off the cobwebs in his head. The gate. Or portal, or rift - whatever it is. It sucked them all in. As they were traveling, on their humongous arachnids.
He quickly stands and looks about, counting people. Storm is missing! No, wait, his head is still a bit fuzzy -- Storm was not with them this time.
"Is everyone okay?" He looks to see if anyone is injured.
Finding everyone apparently intact, he looks around, at the immediate surroundings, and also farther off, for landmarks, to ensure they are still on Saevia. He checks for the mound under which the Stone is buried.
Staring up at a patch of fluffy clouds, Ssilax blinks a few times as his mind finishes waking up. Looking around as he stretches a kink out of his tail, the dragonkin frowns slightly. Bending over, he scratches Dog's ears and makes sure that his familiar is alright. Dog "wuffs" and tells the dragonkin that he is fine, other than a little dizzy, "speaking" in little barks and woofs.
Rubbing the base of his right horn, Ssilax sees the others where already up and moving. Shaking his head to clear it, the dragonkin bends over to pick up his backpack. Sliding it back on his shoulders, Ssilax digs out the wooden whistle Grendel had given him.
After trying to summon his riding spider and failing, Ssilax puts the whistle away. Looking at the others, he shrugs his shoulders.
"I am alright, as is Dog. I think we were teleported, it felt similar to when the Diva teleported us. Well, kind of, the did not leave me feeling like I spent the day running fom a mob of humans with torches and pitchforks." the Masked Theruge replies to Argon.
"That was.., an interesting experience, although I am not sure if it is one I would like to repeat," Ssilax says as he looks around. "Something seems a bit.., off. Or is it just my imagination?" the dragonkin ask as he looks around the clearing.
Ssilax thinks about the effects of what happened to them, attempting to figure out exactly what had happened to them. Where they teleported? And if so, just how far had they been shifted.
Daxniss groans and says " I've got to say, whatever we went through, I'm not a fan of. Kriost, I've been hit harder before, I'm sure of it. " standing up slowly she shakes her head and rubs her eyes.
" Now why does the air taste different, and why is there birds chirping? Where are we? " Daxniss finishes.
Ssilax thinks that due to how close to the Umbral lands, not to mention a space rock, and primal magic they were at least teleported to the other side of the world, or to a different plane it would be hard to say for certain.
Sniffing at the air, the dragonkin shrugs his robed shoulders.
"It smells like it rained sometime ago, but I am not exactly an outdoors person," Ssilax says with a chuckle. Looking around, a slight frown creases his muzzle.
"I actually have no idea if we where just teleported across the world, or to another plane of existence," Ssilax admits, looking a little embarrassed by the fact he is not sure of what had happened to them. "Given that we where more or less sucked into something like a portal or gate, I think the possibility we where shifted to another plane is possible. The planer boundaries in the Umbral lands seem bit thin, remember that open portal that we came across the first time we ventured into the Umbral lands?" the dragonkin reminds the others of the that lay open to Abaddon, planer home to the deamons.
"Based on what we can see, I would say we ended up on another Prime Material plane, or perhaps a nature plane," Ssilax muses out loud. "I guess our best course of action is to get a better look at our surroundings, and try to find civilization of some sort."
Pausing for a moment, Ssilax cast prestidigitation, cleaning a bit of dirt from his robes. Nodding as the magic takes effect, he smiles at the others.
"Just checking to see if magic flows normally here," he didn't want to think about what would happen if they had dropped into a mana weak world. "Wrathe, would you kindly mind flying up a bit to get a bird's eye view of where we are?" Ssilax asks of his form shifting friend.
The surrounding forest is filled with a number of trees, firs amount them, the temperature is warm, it looks like it rained a few days ago, bird song can be heard. Of course there are a number of animals moving around, a few startled doe can be seen running away from the clearing. Most likely due to Daxniss' presence, Dog moves to a tree and starts to sniff around, marking a tree as his, and moves to another one.
Ssilax is able to cast his arcane spell with ease, almost as if where you are currently at a point where arcane energy is strong. Ssilax also notes that the arcane energy from where he focuses his mana, has an almost playful element to it, as if it wants to be used.
Ssilax makes this discovery as he spell not only cleans him and Dog, but the rest of you as well, it was odd to say the least, however there were some reports of areas where arcane mana was more potent.
Wrath nods and changes shale into a bird, trying to locate any landmarks that the group could use to give a better idea of where you are at. He comes back with a report that you are in the middle of a forest, a mountain can be seen roughly 8 days travel to the north. Wrath also informs you he saw a trail of wagons traveling east towads the clearing where you are at.
Wrathe " It looks like a bunch of folk traveling together talking and laughing. Mostly human but there are other non humans as well, but they don't have a look of fear on them. "
"Thanks Wrathe. Even though they appear relaxed, we should play it carefully since we really don't know where we are. We need a simple story. Perhaps we are traveling east, too. Let's quickly set up, we have stopped here for a meal..." Argon says with pragmatism as he look for a rock to sit on and take out some lunch.
"What if we can't speak their language? Does anyone one have a spell for communication? Or.... Should we hide?"
Argon is concerned, to say the least. They have been thrown somewhere far away. It seems like a lovely place, but they have stuff that needs doing. Dainoth may not be in immediate danger, but they still need to get to him.
Daxniss snorts and says " It would be better to make it look like we eating lunch or breakfast, if things might get hairy we beat feat. Wrathe should throw a few confusion spells if needed, provided if they start with hostiles of course. As for communication, I'm sure that basic conversation, I'll great them, and if they don't speak a tongue we can understand, I'm sure Wrathe can understand them for sure. "
"Oh, my," Ssilax says after he had cast the minor spell, his eyes wide. "That was..., um.., a little more than what I had expected," the dragonkin taps the side of his snout, thinking for a few moments.
"Sorry Argon, I got lost in my thoughts. Yes, language should not be a problem. Even if I did not have the spell, Wrathe pretty much speaks every known language, not including regional dialects," Ssilax says, a smile appearing on his muzzle. "We are going to have to speak with someone to figure out where exactly we are. Might as well be with the caravan."
Bronzed face cast to the skies, Wrathe does not feel the familiar heat of Sol'Daemos or the froidure of Sol'Dragos, nor does he observe the orbiting Mahina or Lunas. In the sky hung only a single yellow star and single cratered moon.
The ghostly figure had mentioned Golarion "land of paths" as the answer to the question. He knew not what the question might be, other than a means of located Sigil and Master Dainoth.
He holds up what he is experiencing around him with what he knows of Golarion, wondering if that is where they had ended up.
Earthfall in -5293 AR: the Starstone hits Golarion resulting in the collapse of the Azlanti and Thassilonian empires (among others), massive reworking of the geography of basically the entire hemisphere (an entire continent sinks, the Inner Sea is created), a thousand years of (literal) darkness, and between two and three thousand years of barbarism.
The start of the Age of Enthronement in 1 AR: Aroden the last Azlanti raises the Starstone from the bottom of the sea and ascends to godhood as the God of Humanity, founding the city of Absalon and the dating system used (Absalom Reckoning).
The death of Aroden in 4606 AR: Results in massive global catastrophes and political upheaval, among which are: the creation of the Eye of Abendego a (thus far) permanent hurricane, the loss of prophecy, the opening of the Worldwound (a rift to the Abyss), and the fall of the Chelish and Tian Xia empires.
The Age of Darkness
The Age of Darkness was a thousand year period in which the sun was blocked by ash knocked into the atmosphere by Earthfall in -5293 AR and ending in -4294. During this age the Orcs emerged from their subterranean homeland fleeing the Dwarves who later also took their first footsteps on the surface world. The blocking of the sun allowed Zon-Kuthon to return to Golarion and claim an item from the First Vault due to a deal made with Abadar.
The "prehistoric" time marked by the rise of the ancient Azlanti Empire which preceded the Age of Darkness is sometimes referred to as the Age Before Ages.
The Age of Anguish
The Age of Anguish was a roughly eight hundred year period originating in -4294 AR when the skies finally cleared of the dust from the Earthfall. This age is characterized by the conflicts of primitive peoples in a desperate struggle for survival and domination in a world left shattered by the Age of Darkness. The end of the Age of Anguish was marked by the founding of the Osirion civilization in circa -3472 AR.
The Age of Destiny
The Age of Destiny began circa -3470 AR with the founding of the Osiriani civilization and spanned three and half millennia until the founding of the great city of Absalom. The rise and fall of Osirion was witnessed at the early period of the Age of Destiny, though many other civilizations were to rise after Osirion fell into decline. Notable mentions include the founding of Taldor by the descendants of Lost Azlant and of the Lands of the Linnorm Kings. Wars during this age include the Nex-Geb War and the Tarrasque invasion of -632 AR.
The Age of Enthronement
The Age of Enthronement began with the founding of Absalom, and its inception is also the starting point for the Absalom Reckoning dating system. The Age of Enthronement spans the years from 1 AR until 4606 AR when Aroden, the God of Humanity, died.
This age is characterised by the emergence of a number of Gods who ascend to divinity through the Test of the Starstone. Gods to survive the test are Aroden in 1 AR, Norgorber in 1893, Cayden Cailean in 2765 and Iomedae in 3832. The nations of Andoran and Cheliax were founded as expansion from the kingdom of Taldor. The Oath Wars raged across northwest Garund between 2498 AR and 2560 as the churches of Nethys, Norgorber and Sarenrae vied for dominance. The Whispering Tyrant arose in 3203 AR invoking the Shining Crusade in 3754 AR which burned for three quarters of a century and ended with the founding of Lastwall to defend against the return of the lich king. In 4305 AR, Cheliax began an extended period of expansion, annexing lands in Molthune and Varisia, which would become known as the Everwar.
The Age of Lost Omens
The Age of Enthronement began with the founding of Absalom, and its inception is also the starting point for the Absalom Reckoning dating system. The Age of Enthronement spans the years from 1 AR until 4606 AR when Aroden, the God of Humanity, died.
This age is characterized by the emergence of a number of Gods who ascend to divinity through the Test of the Starstone. Gods to survive the test are Aroden in 1 AR, Norgorber in 1893, Cayden Cailean in 2765 and Iomedae in 3832. The nations of Andoran and Cheliax were founded as expansion from the kingdom of Taldor. The Oath Wars raged across northwest Garund between 2498 AR and 2560 as the churches of Nethys, Norgorber and Sarenrae vied for dominance. The Whispering Tyrant arose in 3203 AR invoking the Shining Crusade in 3754 AR which burned for three quarters of a century and ended with the founding of Lastwall to defend against the return of the lich king. In 4305 AR, Cheliax began an extended period of expansion, annexing lands in Molthune and Varisia, which would become known as the Everwar.
Yes with that roll of 34, you could planeshift yourself there however, planeshifting back to Sel ' Torin would be impossible. Wrathe knows a a lot about this other prime material plane, as there were many tome's that the lich lord had detailing about the planes.
Argon listens to Wrathe's description of Golarion. It sounds interesting, but from the description it's hard to tell if it is a better place or worse than Sel Torin. Of course, the world, both worlds, are big, and there could be many, many places on each that are very different from other places. But this place, based on the small bit they've seen, seems positively heavenly.
He eats his food, for who knows what will happen when the travellers arrive, (which will likely be soon)? He also looks to the edge of the clearing, for exit paths, in case one is needed. He points out any potential paths to the others.
"Wrathe, did you see anything else of interest nearby? A stream? A town? Another clearing, or hills or anything?"
Climbing back into the sky, the sparrow-druid, seeks to draw in more information to spit down the awaiting maws of his fellow companions, and also to track the movements of the wagons.
Pleased that they had at least been tossed into a plane that would flay the skin from their bones, Ssilax shields his eyes and looks at the single sun for a few moments. Looking away, the dragonkin mulls over how they had ended up upon this plane. It seemed far from coincidence, they had all but been warned they would be here.
"Nice to know our plane does not hold the monopoly on stupidity among those in positions of authority," Ssilax says with a snort of amusement. His experiences with humanities "crusade" against magic had left little desire for war within the dragonkin, religiously motivated or otherwise.
"I suppose the space rock could have served as a focal point," the dragonkin muses out loud, his thoughts circling back to their arrival upon Golorian. Talking to himself, Ssilax wanders the small clearing occasionally pausing to look at something as he does so. Dog looks at the trail rations that the dragonkin had set out on a log, and had walked away from. Seeing as how the dragonkin didn't want his meal, Dog helps himself to the free food.
Wrathe sees a river, mountains to the north and to the south, the caravan is 5 miles from the party, another caravan train can be seen to leading to the south of the clearing. There is a small stream at the clearing, this looks like a spot for caravan's to rest and refill up on water.
"Strange to think I may be the only Alman on this entire world. So, what makes sense? We've found ourselves on a strange world. We either need to get back home, or move forward, to this Sigil place. Perhaps people here will have some idea of how to get there. And I am wondering if we were brought here intentionally, for some reason relating to our master; I'm sure you're all wondering the same."
He goes to find a piece of wood to carve with his dagger. Starting in on it, he discovers his dagger, though pointy, needs sharpening, so he starts doing that first. He starts talking about how important it is that edged weapons are as sharp as they can possibly be.
Roughly 30 minutes after Argon starts to sharpen his dagger, and discuss the need to make sure that one's edged weapons remain sharp at all times, the party hears the noise of what they could only imagine would be a caravan. While Wrathe has informed the rest of the party that they are more than likely not on the same prime material plane that they were all used too.
As the sound gets closer to the groups ears, the sound of horses can also be heard as well. The Caravan is moving at a very quick pace for being in a heavily wooded area, a cloud of dust can be seen coming in from the east.
Within the hour, you can see a caravan of wagon's that are brightly colored and while the pace might be faster then what the entire group is used to from normal travel, the drivers are not fleeing in terror. The wagon's stop about 200 ft away from you, as the rest of the wagon train pulls to a stop. A number of what you imagine are guards start to move forward, followed by a number of individual's that have managed to keep themselves clean from the dust of the road.
" Ho there travelers! If you have ill intent in your hearts today is not a day to test those wishes, if you are traveling in peace, may we join you for a noonday break? " A clear feminine voice calls out from a figure riding on a griffien, her armor well polished, a sword can be seen resting on her back, along with a shield. The other two are keeping an eye on the 5 of you, as Dog starts to wag his tail the sight and scents of new people to beg food from. Dog keeps his manners and stays next to Ssilax, although he tilts his head to the side and looks at the strangers.
Daxniss chuckles at the words the lady knight had said and says " Well met, I think non of us have a cause for ill intent, seeing as we happened to have gotten ourselves turned around at the moment. I would say there be plenty of room for you and your friends to have a break, provided that you don't take up all the room in the clearing " Daxniss finishes with laugh, it was likely that the speaker was a holy knight. However if she was not, then at the very least, she had given the group a chance to identify themselves to her. Keeping things vague enough with hints of the truth was going to be Daxniss motto at the moment.
" I can say that as long as peace can be had for both parties, you are welcome to the stream, I can say we could use the company at the moment. She finishes with a bow of her head, doing her best to appear non threatening to the guards and whomever the knight was.
Wrathe reconsiders his memorization of spells this day as Argon drones on about the importance of dagger upkeep.
"Thank you for scouting, Wrathe," Ssilax smiles at his friend. Not that Wrathe needed an excuse to switch his form or ply his magics, it was more natural than breathing to the almost human.
"Well, it is possible that this a different reality than ours, so your people may dwell here as well, it would take some research to determine if that is the case. And you are very correct, I have been wondering if we where brought here intentionally, not to mention if we where, what is the purpose of our arrival. I doubt it to just be a coincidence," Ssilax taps the side of his snout in thought as he looks at his friend. "I would require more information, otherwise all I have is speculation. And I try to avoid speculating, as it just makes me very anxious." Ssilax smiles at Argon and chuckles. Ssilax had long ago excepted the probable fact that he was probably the last of his kind upon their own plane. He had considered that they might have move themselves to another plane as elder dragons are rumored to. Still, his own people where a manufactured race, not naturally occurring, bred for some purpose that had been lost to time. 'More than likely war,' the dragonkin thinks with a slightly bitter smile.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind, Ssilax turns to important matters at hand.
"I need some coffee to think clearly," the dragonkin mutters as he digs out his brewing pot and makes a few minutes of work, makes a small fire. While his noxious caffeine brews to perfection, Ssilax listens to Argon talk about weapon care and maintenance. After a few minutes of listening, his thoughts slide back into the multiverse. Just as he pours himself a steaming mug of the exotic blend, the noise of the approaching wagon slowly marches into his earslits. Before they enter their sight range, the dragonkin quickly scrambles to pull up his hood and find his cowl.
Once more, the dragonkin was glad a more human looking individual was breaking the ice with the other softskins. Having no idea how people felt about dragons, let along magic, Ssilax would rather error on the side of caution.
"It would be a nice change of pace to have some friendly company during our break," comes the pleasant rumblings of Ssilax's baritone, heard from behind his cowl. The noise of the approaching caravan had pulled him enough out of his thoughts to at least pull up his disguise. "I hope this is not to rude or forward of me to ask but would it be a bother for us to borrow a map, or speak with a guide? We are rather lost at the moment. And it should be said that your griffon is a magnificent looking companion. I have never seen one before, other than renderings that did not do the creature justice," the disguise cleric of Nethys says, his smile sounding through in his tone.
Wrathe repeats the memorized words in his mind time and again as he wings back to the others to relay what he had observed.
"Lost little Ssilax, Daxniss the seer, Wrathe the Mad, and faithful Argon. The fates brought me here with a message: the answer.to the question lies in Golorian land of paths. We are here for blood though, any blood will do."
What question though?
He stares at the Alman droning on still and mutters to himself, "Definitely a silence spell."
With exasperation he considers the efficacy of a fireball instead.
Argon stands and puts away his dagger when the natives arrive. He looks them over, counting the wagons, people, horses, and other animals (including griffons) they have. He watches for animal companions or familiars.
Impressed by the griffon, Argon nods and says, "Of course, share this clearing with us, and any news you wish to share. As my friend says, we are lost, so perhaps you'll be able to put us on the right road. We were originally headed northwest, but now we're not so sure."
He pushes Wrathe, who is looking at him strangely with those eyes, and whispers, "Smile" to him.
The female knight laughs at Daxniss and Ssilax words and removes her helmet, shaking her head to move her mane of brown shoulder length hair, pointed ears can be seen through the hair. Her skin is weathered by the hours spent in the sun, green eyes loOK at each of you for a moment and she says " Fair enough lords and lady of the forest, I am sure that we have a map or two for you to look at. My name is Lorithmindia or knight Lor for short. "
The griffin makes a snuffling noise and looks like it wants an ear scratch from it's handler, about 8 wagons in total can be seen moving up towards the clearing. The group sees a smattering of all walks of life on and around the wagons, humans, elfs, half-elfs, a few half-orcs as well. Conversations can be over heard, mostly about the buisness at stopping for lunch. Half of the horses appear to be made out of stone, pulling the wagons without complaint or difficulty.
The more martial of the folk traveling around the wagons appear to be hired guards, a few guides can be seen as well, so far it looks like there is only one griffin in the wagon train. A rider dismounts from what is the lead wagon, a man built like a keg starts to move forward. He is well dressed, with grey in his beard, coal skinned with black eyes, a sword is resting on his belt, his baritone voice giving out orders for some of the other guards men who start a patrol around the wagon train. He never stops his movements until he get's close to Lorithmindia and says " I take it my lady that we have little to worry about the strays on the road. Greetings friends my name is Bernard Ul'Tha, I own the company that transports folk to and from their destination. If you want we can take you to Riddleport, it's the nearest port city around here for miles and miles. If you have no coin to speak of well, you can pay your way as guards and I'm sure that the Pathfinders might have some job for you. "
Bernard seems friendly enough however a hint of steel can be heard in his voice, the undertones and subtext shows that he suffers no fools but he knows not everyone has enough wealth to travel. Thanks to Wrathe and Ssilax's knowledge of the planes, you know a little bit about the Pathfinder Society, along with the fact that there is a woman in robes casting an arcane spell right in front of a guard and you see her handing the man back his sword. The guards man laughs and bows his head in thanks, and you see her swat him on the arse when he turns away from her.
"Thank you knight Lorithmindia and sir Ul'Tha," Ssilax says politely with a short bow. "Riddleport sounds like a fine destination to me," the dragonkin say. Well, it was certainly better than wandering around the forest,' Ssilax thinks, grinning behind his off-white cowl. He would have to confer with Wrathe, but the dragonkin was fairly certain that the Pathfinder society was one of exploration and discovery. "I am called Ssilax, a healer by trade and amateur scholar by way of interest." the dragonkin says, returning the others introductions.
"We should be able to pay with coin, however, none of us are strangers to working for a meal and a spot to sleep," Ssilax says, glancing down at his pot of coffee. "One moment."
Squatting down near the small fire, he quickly slides the pot from the embers and pours a steaming mug of the black mixture. Given how strong the dragonkin prefers his drug, the coffee looks more like runny tar then a liquid. Bringing the battered metal cup to his covered face, the dragonkin inhales deeply, eyes closed as the aroma sinks into his brain.
Thinking about his disguise for a moment, Ssilax opens his eyes and looks over the caravan as he returns to a standing position. Noting the multitude of races, not to mention the obvious use of arcane magics (not to mention horse golems), he has a quick inner debate with himself.
Reaching up, Ssilax unsnaps the right side of his cowl so that it can hang loosely, exposing the Mask of Nethys that dominates his scaled face and snout. He takes a slow drink of coffee, and sighs contently as the burning liquid makes its way to his stomach.
"Coffee? It is rather strong, not to mention near boiling, so fair warning," the edges of his snout curve upwards as a smile travels it's length. Ssilax is very aware to keep his rows of sharp teeth hidden behind his lips plates.
Almost dancing in his paws, Dog displays amazing patience waiting for the new people to get closer. He had wanted to go and start working the two leggers for snacks and pettings once they stopped, but was waiting for the dragon to tell him it was alright to do so. He had noticed that the dragon was very keen on observing inner and outer pack courtesies, it was a bit curious, but if it gained the canine more snacks and attention, who was he to complain?
Wrathe drinks in his surroundings. There is a vibrancy of life that stands in such stark contrast to the blight of the Umbral Lands, that everything seems surreal. The druidic part of his soul begs for him to transform from the cumbersome human form and join in the play of the creatures of the land, water, and air.
Prying his attention from his surround brings him to the griffon. He had never seen such a creature before, though he had read of them.
So much would need to be recorded in his books and drawn, as the scientist within him wants to know everything at once about this plane.
Moving over near the stone mount constructs, he asks, "What form of magical beasts are these?"
The reclusive scholar chuckles at the thought of offering Sel Torin steel to pay for items within the realms of Golarion. It appeared that they would need to work for coin, should they wish to buy anything, sell something, or show evidence that they had at least a tenuous connection with other planes.
It boded well that so many races were present, though his immediate through was that they were slaves; something he readily discounts, but it is the casting of the magics that stops everything for the wizard. He stands stock still, his mouth agape, and waits for the arcane spell caster to be slain on the spot.
Weighing in at over 500 pounds and measuring 8 feet long from hooked beak to tufted tail, the griffon strikes an imposing silhouette that has long been used in heraldry and other iconography as a symbol of power, authority, and justice. In reality, the griffon is less concerned with abstract concepts than with hunting food and protecting its own. While they can sometimes be trained or befriended to serve as mounts, griffons have no inherent affinity for humanoids, and frequently come into bloody conflict with civilized races over their attempts to secure their favorite food—horse flesh. City folk may marvel at the trained griffon's stately manner and 25-foot wingspan, but those farmers forced to share territory with its wild kin know to hurry home and secure their barns when the beasts' hunting shrieks split the sky.
Griffons mate for life, and will often search for years to take vengeance over a slain mate or child. It was likely this innate stubbornness and fierce loyalty that first brought them into domestic use as mounts and guardians of treasure hoards. Despite the inherent danger, trade in captured griffons and stolen eggs is brisk, with their eggs worth up to 3,500 gp apiece and live young twice that. Characters eager for griffon mounts, however, should note that buying or forcibly domesticating intelligent creatures like griffons is still recognized as slavery by most good deities, and winning a griffon's allegiance of its own free will is no easy task. Reaching a mutually agreeable accord (or even a friendship) is a much more elegant and safe route to securing a griffon mount.
Before it can be ridden in combat, a griffon requires practice bearing the weight of its rider. In order to be trained successfully, a griffon must first be helpful toward its trainer (possibly requiring a Diplomacy, Intimidate, or Handle Animal check). After that, 6 weeks of practice and a successful DC 20 Handle Animal check is sufficient for the beast to be comfortable with its burden, and due to their intelligence, trained griffons can be treated as knowing every trick listed in the Handle Animal skill description, possibly even responding to new, simple requests made in Common.
Griffons can carry up to 300 pounds as a light load, 600 pounds as a medium load, and 900 pounds as a heavy load. Riding a griffon requires an exotic saddle.
Scholars and adventurers alike have long considered the griffon a creature that combines grace with power, one that possesses both the power of the lion and the captivating majesty of the eagle. Those who wield a banner bearing the likeness of a griffon admire the beast for its pride, stubbornness, and regality, and usually claim themselves to be harbingers of good.
In actuality, while intelligent, griffons are far less concerned with such vague abstractions as honor, and are more akin to the base animals they resemble in terms of motivations. Their love of horsemeat and their territorial natures often put the creatures at odds with civilized races, though for the most part griffons keep to themselves. Those who do find themselves in contact with humanoids may decide to join ones whose goals coincide with their own, casting themselves as mounts for particularly compatible riders or as protectors of treasure for those who bribe them with gifts. New riders are often surprised at how reluctantly their mounts respond to both spoken and unspoken commands, and it quickly becomes apparent to the uninformed that griffons are no mere beasts, but rather highly protective predators with intricate systems for interacting with others.
While unable to speak, griffons that grow up in the vicinity of humanoids quickly learn the local tongue, understanding even complex arguments and discussions, though the creatures themselves can only communicate via gestures, grunts, and cries. Griffons' intelligence becomes even more apparent in the heat of battle as they execute complex maneuvers and basic tactics in order to gain the advantage against their enemies. Similarly, griffons possess a keen awareness of the more discreet plots taking place around them, and remain a figure representative of both silent strength and powerful insight.
ECOLOGY
Young griffons reach maturity after 4 to 5 years, at which point males leave their homelands and seek out mates. A male griffon may travel as far as several hundred miles before encountering a potential female partner, but when he does find one, he is steadfast in his determination to win her favor. The courting ritual for griffons differs depending on region, but most such courtships take anywhere from 6 months to 6 years to complete, during which time the male familiarizes himself with the land, builds a suitable nest, and discovers herds of animals to prey upon, favoring horses above all other creatures. The male brings gifts of raw meats and rare fruits to his object of desire, and the gift of horsemeat is seen as an outstanding display of skill and admiration. A griffon suitor who slays a particularly large or powerful steed and presents it to his potential mate frequently gains her favor more quickly, and such a show of mettle is often used to settle disputes between rival suitors.
When a female griffon accepts a male's courtship, she engages in an elaborate mating ritual with her suitor, leading the dance as the two perform various cartwheels, swoops, and somersaulting descents, at some point locking talons and plunging toward the earth at high speeds, only to release each other just before they would hit the ground. Should the male fail this final test and fumble one of the complex maneuvers involved in the dance, his chances of mating with the female are effectively nullified, and the female rejects the suitor. However, should the dance succeed, the griffons are thereafter considered united. Griffons mate for life, and should one of a mated pair die at any point, the survivor lives out the remainder of its days alone. Mated griffons who are separated for extended periods of time-either by natural happenstance or forced capture-ardently look for one another, often forgoing food and safety for days in order to find their missing mates.
Female griffons tend to be larger and heavier than males; the additional weight aids brooding individuals in keeping their eggs warm, a task that can be difficult during winter months in the hilly regions griffons inhabit. A pair of griffons typically produces one to four eggs per year. During the incubation period, the female griffon fervently watches over the nest and the male hunts for food, the latter giving much of his own share of the prey to his mate so she can keep warm while roosting. When an egg hatches, a young griffon the size of a small dog emerges; this youth requires large amounts of food and attention in order to develop. While raising a nest of young griffons, the mother becomes even more aggressive toward possible intruders, and the father must take down larger and more dangerous prey in order to feed his family. Young griffons typically learn how to fly 6 to 9 months after hatching, at which point they become dangerous creatures capable of taking care of themselves, often guarding their younger siblings from threats. griffon families are in a constant state of flux; new hatchlings emerge every year, and matured sons and daughters continually leave to find their own mates. Griffons can live for up to 50 years, though most individuals in the wild are lucky to live past 20.
Griffons' love of horsemeat is a well-known trait of the mythical creatures, and one that causes much distress to ranchers who find their herds straying too close to griffon hunting grounds. Hunting horses often leads griffons into fatal trouble with particularly protective herders who have the means to fend off such huge creatures, but horsemeat can also be used to bribe and train griffons. Good-natured breeders and ill-intentioned thieves alike find reason to tempt griffons with such meat, as the beasts are voracious in their appetites, and can consume as much as half their weight in a single day. That hippogriffs resemble flying horses with beaks is a point of contention griffons hardly care to acknowledge, regarding the beasts as mere flying horses for the purposes of determining prey.
HABITAT & SOCIETY
Griffons are highly territorial, and once a male and female have established a nest and family, they passionately drive any other creatures away from their territory. In purely territorial disputes between two groups of griffons, most acts of aggression rarely move past threat displays, as griffons share an innate understanding that land is only worth so much, and rarely is it worth the price of blood. However, should a griffon continue to harass a rival or turn its threats toward a nest, youths, or a brooding female, confrontations quickly become deadly.
Since griffons make their homes in hilly regions with moderate climates, they come into contact with humanoids and other civilized creatures often, and are used to such creatures in their lands. This does not mean griffons take kindly to these races, of course, as they know that such intelligent creatures are often after their eggs or young. Because of this, griffons have a reputation for being violent toward humanoids, since males and females alike attack any who come within a mile or so of their nests. While they don't actively hunt humans as sources of food, a griffon that slays a human sees the body as a fresh kill nonetheless, and will bring the corpse to its nest to feed its family.
Griffons prefer to make their homes in isolated mountainous areas with plenty of cliffs, bluffs, and crags to confuse intruders and protect their homes. Ideally, griffons situate their nests on tall peaks so humanoids and creatures that cannot fly must climb unforgiving pinnacles in order to reach them. These locations are easy to defend, as a griffon can spot intruders while they're still at a distance, and the defensive griffon then mercilessly harries her foes throughout their approach to the nest, whether that approach is a climb or an ascent through magical means. Griffons first meet intruders by swooping in to attack, resorting to fighting on the ground if doing so would allow them to maneuver opponents to cliff edges or other perilous positions.
An unmated griffon is much less aggressive toward humanoids than one that has established a nest and family. Such an individual is also typically more receptive to becoming a mount, and will dedicate itself to a particular rider if that creature proves worthy. Griffons are always proud, and so demand shows of strength and superiority before submitting themselves to being saddled. Those who fail to impress a griffon are rebuffed and ignored, but should a potential rider prove his worth to a griffon, the creature will bow its head in a show of submission, allowing the humanoid to mount it. A griffon that has partnered with a particular rider long enough often regards the humanoid as its charge and treats her much like it would a frail mate, fervidly protecting her in battle. Griffons do not regard riders as their masters, instead viewing them as partners with similar goals. When a griffon's rider dies, the creature does not take any other rider for the rest of its lifetime, and most such individuals flee back to the wilderness to spend the rest of their lives alone.
N Large magical beast
Init +2; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, scent; Perception +12
Speed 30 ft., fly 80 ft. (average)
Melee bite +8 (1d6+3), 2 talons +7 (1d6+3)
Space 10 ft.; Reach 5 ft.
Special Attacks pounce, rake (2 claws +7, 1d4+3)
The woman who had been casting spells laughs at Wrathe's words and says " These things? A simple spell and some effort went into making these stone horses, it is a simple crafting of arcane spells. I can show you the spell formula for it, provided you can understand the spells. " The robed woman says with a wink " My name is Ana, I craft a number of things magic in nature and if we have problems with monsters attacking I help out. Of course husband over there fusses a bit too much. " Ana laughs again at the guard she had just swatted, blushes.
Backing up a step, the wizard prepares to defend himself from the scorn and ridicule that had become the norm for nearly 5 centuries of living. The thought of plying one's nefarious trade, or even proving to be literate, openly was suicidal.
Perceiving no direct attack from the others, his head cocks to the side and he tries to determine if Ana's playful words are meant to mock him. In many ways his stance is reminiscent of those who return from the wars shaken and changed for the experience.
He saw no deception in the words.
Confused, he remains quiet for a time, far too long for the comfort of those he travels with (who think him a clod-footed, ill-tempered, social bore in such situations already), wondering if perhaps he had missed something obvious, for the other explanation was inconceivable.
"That would be nice...I am called Wrathe...it is lovely to make your acquaintance Ana."
Daxniss nods at Bernard's words and starts to discuss with him the cost of joining the wagon train, and seeing about spending some time in service to defend the wagon train.
Daxniss passes over a small purse that doesn't jingle like a coin purse would. Bernard nods and opens up the purse, holding up a number of emeralds, and inspecting them. After a number of minutes that go by he smiles, putting the gems back into the purse, and puts in into his belt pouch. Reaching into another pouch on he hands Daxniss back a smaller purse, which she bounces in her hand for a moment judging the weight of the purse and opens it up to peer at the contents. Satisfied with what she sees she closes it up and puts it away.
Daxniss looks over at Wrathe and blinks, trying to keep her composure at hearing and seeing magic in use, planily in front of guardsmen. Blinking a few times, she tries to roll with it, since she was used to bluffing anyway.
Ana cocks her head to the side, trying to understand what Wrathe was so polaxed about and shrugs saying " okay than, when we stop for the evening, I'll discuss the nature of the spell along with reviewing with you the formula. "
Argon keeps his eyes and ears open as he tries to learn as much as possible about these people. They would have to assume, cautiously, that all people from this world were similar, though there are no doubt many differences.
He tries to learn more about Riddleport, more to be prepared for nasty surprises once there than for any other reason. He cautiously talks to the guards about weapons, and notes differences and similarities. He's surprised by the similarities in the weapons until he realizes that form usually follows function, and that the functions of weapons are really the same everywhere.
He agrees to help guard the caravan as long as the group is a part of it. Argon asks the leader, Knight Lor, about the dangers on the road to Riddleport.
Wrathe had considered presenting himself as a druid, but that would stop him from learning the spell formula, which was akin to agreeing to sever a limb. Instead he would hide those abilities and focus instead upon presenting himself as a wizard. It was always god to have abilities that none knew of, in case all was not as it seemed.
Ever was the thought pattern of those that tacked closer to ferality than civility.