Zedroom: PbP Superstars (Inactive)

Game Master Wilmannator

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Didn't realize (but should have realized) that you needed to dot into gameplay to have it on your campaign list. It appeared on mine - but I created the campaign (so of course it would). D'oh. All good now. Just dot here and then head back to discussion.

My plan was to have epilogue (and prologue) posts appear here.

Dark Archive

Human (Minnesotan) Rules Lawyer 4, GM 5!

dot d

Male Human Engineer/4 (ding!)


Male Halfling Bard/1


Male Level 1 Human Commoner


connect the DOT

Liberty's Edge



Damien rushes around, looking for a reason for things to go so wrong. The Zedroom is no longer appearing in his list of campaigns! Tragedy!

"Is anybody out there!" he cries. He is reassured by Ibid's reply, and comforted to know he isn't the only one experiencing problems.

Perhaps I'd better make a post on the gameplay thread to reactivate myself, he thinks, noting that it was exactly 6 months since his last gameplay post. Never one to "dot", even when it would be totally appropriate, Damien makes a ridiculously, unnecessarily long post on the gameplay thread and checks to see what will happen.

Male Human Engineer/4 (ding!)

Watching Damien run around in a panic, Steve waits until he stops for a moment. With a complete deadpan look, he simply states,


Umm, was a boy scout, Be Prepared and all that.

So... For the GenCon goers... miniatures.

I love painting and modifying minis, and it has been ages since I have. GenCon is a great excuse to get started again. Is anyone else going to be brining minis for their characters? I thought it'd be cool if we could start looking for some that resembled our PCs. I'll take some photos of one I've bought for Lort and share my conversion plans... but if anyone has a better mini suggestion, I'm more than willing to buy another!

So far, Reaper has been the best source for me, but I'm new to the U.S. miniatures scene, and freely admit there could be better options available.

I forgot about those, it has been so long since I played at a table... I love the idea! Reaper is all I am familiar with, so it there are more options I would love to hear it also. I will keep my eyes peeled for anything resembling any of our characters...

-Posted with Wayfinder

I keep forgetting to mention that I will be in Las Vegas this weekend. I'll keep posting in the games I'm playing in, but not as often. For RoW, I will keep running it if I can, but it is going to be tricky to do anything requiring map updates. My last "with computer" post for that will be Friday midday / early afternoon, and I'll start up again on Monday morning.

Is it me or does the Puzzel Box spell seem a bit too powerful?

Grand Lodge

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Male Grippli Level 3, #-9

The small grippli, who is small even for a member of his race, crouches down in the shadows of a tree at the edge of the clearing as the group of travellers carve their way through the men who invaded their village and approach the man with the scars who smells of dried blood and despair. Fiveknives, did he call himself? So strange that these dry-dwellers seem to see the need to label themselves. We Krihirik know who we are. I am glad they let the tortured cat get away, too. So kind, these other travellers. Not like the ones who captured our elders and killed... oh, dear Nethys, he's dead!... our golden scaled elder who smells of garden blooms and bees borne on a southern breeze, the one the visitors called 'Finyik'.

Tense moments pass as the heroes slowly press through Fiveknives' defenses. The small grippli with the purple belly who smells faintly of puréed dragonflies catches glimpses of the battle within the hut. Then the graceful elf - who smells of crushed floral bloom extract (dry-dwellers call this 'perfume') with hints of alcohol, grass and a little cat's piss - steps forwards and with unnatural speed and remarkable elan, charges up his beautiful scimitar with coruscating magical energies and slices it across the hated Fiveknives' neck. Blood sprays the hut and the companions revel in their victory.

The grippli-sized dry-dweller stops his voice melody, saddening the little grippli for a brief moment, but elation fills his heart as he realizes that his village has been liberated. Oh, but these dry-dwellers are fantastic! One day... one day I shall find them and ask to join their 'Society'. One day... and I shall be as graceful and magical as the beautiful elf who smells of many things, including that ever so faint aroma of cat's piss. I think it comes from his favorite wine, though why that smell appeals to him, I cannot imagine.

"Well done! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" the small grippli adds his voice to the chorus of others, "You can call me 'Bugdip', by the way... you are wonderful! How can I join your..." but his tiny voice is lost in the cacophony of cheers. Before he can speak to them, they go off to discuss important business with the elders. After a day filled with such terror and excitement, he returns to his parents and sleeps deeply. His dreams are filled with adventures. In each of his exciting dreams, he swings a scimitar flowing with eldritch energies and vanquishes the bad guys. A symbol of the open road swings proudly from his neck on his wayfinder.

In the morning, the heroes are gone. The grippli with the purple belly who smells fainlty of dragonfly purée and known by dry-dwellers as 'bug-dip' licks a tear from his eye. One day...

Grand Lodge

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Male Grippli Level 3, #-9

My day has finally come, the small grippli with the purple belly who smells ever so subtly of dragonfly purée thinks to himself, Nethys has truly blessed me, and it is time to show the world! He flicks the edge of his scimitar again, sending sparks and flame running up and down the patiently honed blade. The scimitar was not easy to come by this far into the Kaava Lands, nor was it easily affordable for the son of a bog-caller, but it was worth every copper.

"Goodbye mamma and pappa," he whispers, not wanting to wake his parents and most assuredly not wanting them to know he was gone until it was too late. His father would be upset that his son did not wish to add his voice to the cacophony of news casters that croaked across the swamps and marshes, but Bugdip was no bog-caller. He was a warrior, and a magical one at that. He needed only the opportunity to prove it.

The journey to Fort Bandu was a hot and humid one, blessed occasionally by a torrential rain. Bugdip's skin was cracking by the time he reached the small settlement, but he was elated when he did so. Surely this is where the adventurers are from, this is the only dry-dweller settlement for so, so many miles! Budgip didn't want to admit, even to himself, that this was also the only dry-dweller settlement he even knew of.

"I'm sorry, Bugdip, but they are long gone by now," Praetor Sylien says when Budgip is finally given an audience and allowed to ask where the adventurers are. Bugdip visibly saddens when told the news. However, Sylien adds, "They are Pathfinders and go where they are told by their bosses. They are based out of Absalom, though, and will most likely be back through there at some point. I'd say that at least someone in that Lodge will know where to look for them. With Sharrowsmith dead, Aya Allahe in Nantambu runs the nearest Pathfinder office. She'll know how to get you to the Grand Lodge in Absalom... if you're sure you want to go."

Bugdip nods eagerly, "Oh yes! Oh, yes! Thank you, aged half-human half-elf who smells of mudberries and ogre sweat... erm... I mean, Praetor Sylien. Thank you!"

Absalom! What a wondrous sounding name. I wonder if the village will be as big as Krihirik... or maybe it will be massive, like Fort Bandu.

Grand Lodge

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Male Grippli Level 3, #-9

"Woah." Bugdip stands amazed as the sprawl of Absalom spreads out before him. The Grinning Pixie with its half-orc Captain, Calisro Benarry, are being taken through the Flotsam Graveyard by a member of the pilot's guild.

Benarry had proven to be quite willing to take Bugdip for free to Absalom, once she found out about who it was the Grippli was pursuing. "Those Pathfinders?" she had asked, grinning her toothy grin, "Sure! Those folk were quite instrumental in a successful mission to the Gloomspires a while back. But I wouldn't look to hard for them in Absalom, they may be quite some time in returning - last I saw them, I'd dropped them off for a mission into Irrisen."

Bugdip was appreciative of all the stories Benarry could tell. Wow, these Pathfinders sure do see a lot of the world. It's amazing. I do so hope they'll let me join... and then the beautiful elf who smells of distilled flowers and ever so slightly of cat's piss will surely cross paths with me. 'Finarin', did the dry-dwellers call him? Must try to remember that. I can't wait to show him what I can do with the rapier. Benarry had convinced Bugdip that he was more suited to using a rapier than a scimitar. The quick, graceful weapon was much more suited to the grippli's nimble frame. I will learn the scimitar, though, he vowed to himself.

But for now, Bugdip is overwhelmed by the sights before him as they navigate the broken wreckage in the shallows of Absalom's harbor. "This 'Absalom' is enormous," he confides to no-one in particular, "It must be larger than the entire Kaava Lands, and it's just one town! I'll find you in here, Fin-Are-In... if it takes me a year, I'll find you." Bugdip grips the map that will supposedly take him to the Grand Lodge. He cannot fathom its meaning, but he remains undeterred. Surely someone in this phenomenal place will know how to read maps.

With that, Bugdip jumps into the water of harbor and swims through the waterways of Absalom, I wonder why everyone is using those crowded streets when these waterways are virtually free of traffic? Oh, now what is that overpowering aroma coming out from that circular tunnel...?

Grand Lodge

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Male Grippli Level 3, #-9

The small grippli with the purple belly who smells vaguely of dragonfly purée now also smells strongly of sewage. He sits in the Grand Lodge tap-room awaiting his meeting with Venture-Captain Ambrus Valsin. As he had been told, the Pathfinders he was seeking were scattered to the four winds. They weren't even adventuring together anymore, the last time they did they were actually in Absalom. Someone at the Lodge, an officious and gruff man covered in enamelled armor who smelled of ink, brimstone and too-long retained fecal matter. He had been on missions the Pathfinders on occasion and Bugdip asked if he could come along with the man. Alas, Bugdip's paperwork was not in order.

Bugdip licks his eyeballs to make sure they're shiny and wonders to himself if his breath smells enough like crushed chitin and formic acid. He scarfs down a few ants just to make sure. "I hope Valsin is a kind man," he says to himself, wringing his hands anxiously.

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Female NPC Catflolk Rogue

"Don't rrrely upon it," says a voice smooth as silk, as a beautiful svelt catfolk woman sidles up to Bugdip's table with a glass of refreshing fly-water, "Ambrrrus Valsin has a bug up is ass big enough to feed yourrr family forrr a week. Worrrry not, though, he does need new Pathfinderrrs desperrrately afterrr last week's attack. He'll be pleased that you'rrre not seeking a field commission, too, and arrre going thrrrough the proper channels."

Grand Lodge

1 person marked this as a favorite.
Male Grippli Level 3, #-9

"How did you...?" Bugdip begins, but Sheeba just winks slyly. The grippli looks down at the cloudy water that has just the right amount of squashed flies floating in the head and sighs. My favorite... still..., "Please, miss, thank you for the fly-water, but may I please have whatever it is that Fin-Are-In drinks?"

When the wine arrives, Bugdip has to force himself to taste it. He pulls his tongue back violently. Oh, it burns! Still, it reminds me of his smell. Perhaps if I just leave it here for the aroma... yes, just for the scent. Bugdip spends the rest of his time at the table sniffing the glass and wishing he hadn't sent the fly-water back. I wonder what my fellow initiates will be like...

Liberty's Edge

Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.

Please come back to my listing, Zedroom

Male Halfling Bard/1

Great movie. :)

Dark Archive

Male Tiefling Wizard (Conjurer) 11

"I am the king of the Storval Stairs!" says Angelo, after he led a successful mission there!

Nuff said for now!

(Though that puts him at 11!)

I don't want to lose you Zedroom

Dark Archive


Liberty's Edge

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Just trying out some character concepts I had in mind. This one’s the brawler

Blade clashes against blade, as Tybain’s opponent tries to press on his assault in hope of gaining an edge in the combat. But this fool is no match for Tybain. He is dead and defeated, but he does not know this yet. Patiently Tybain plays with his opponent, dancing under the sweeping blows, or blocking at the last moment. The opponent gets slower, little by little - he is getting tired. It it time to finish this. The opponent comes charging in, and Tybain merely makes the a small step to the side, reaches down, and his scizorze connects. Suddenly, the opponent has lost his footing and is falling down.

The audience goes crazy - cheers and applause fills the air. Tybain turns away from his enemy, and facing the audience. He bows deep, gets up, and bows again, savouring the applause. Then he raises his bladed arm up and keeps it there; signaling the audience to quiet down.

”It is said that a liar’s pain is easy to bear, but pleasure steals truth from even the most well-tended fortress. So let it be with ye, Larazod. Here before you now are the Flukes of Asmodeus. Their bite more pleasurable than the caresses of a thousand succubi (which you no doubt have enjoyed, you treacherous Abyssal-loving fool). "


The only sound that comes out from the strange masked warrior is a low, raspy hiss. Rauni, a fellow Pathfinder lies on the floor of the training hall, holding his bruised ankle and stares the odd sight in disbelief. The man in strange theatrical armour and odd blade-gloves has turned his back on him and is now bowing to empty walls. ”What the hell is going on…” he mutters, and glances at the supervisor of the trail fight. The usually good-humoured Marcos Farabellus is rubbing his temples and shaking his head. What to make of this man? He can fight well, but rumours of his sanity weren’t exaggerated.

Some years ago, Tybain was a rising star in Chelish theatre circles. Handsome, popular actor seen in many production. But he couldn’t resist the temptation to take part in The Six Trials of Larazod, a play infamous of its combats being real, and not faked. And taking part in the full, uncut version was supposed to be his final step to greatness. Unfortunately just like everyone else before him, Tybain did not survive horrors of the play. Horribly maimed, and almost dead, his friends managed to carry him to safety and nurse his body back to health.

But his mind never survived. Except for a few sane moments, he is still there, rehearsing or acting in the spotlight. His mind transforms the reality into a Chelish play, in which he gladly take part. Somewhere deep inside him, the surviving rational part understood that Tybain’s acting days were over, and he managed to seek new employment for his fighting skills. He heard Pathfinder Society was seeking new agents, and he enlisted. Before succumbing to the shadows once more.

Dark Archive

Human (Minnesotan) Rules Lawyer 4, GM 5!

So, the character is Tybain, I take it. Very cool. I like it.

"You Must Construct Additional Pylons!


Male Halfling Bard/1

Are you South Korean? (That's a joke.)

The Exchange

3 people marked this as a favorite.
Male CN gnome evoker (Admixture) 9 | HP: 29/65 | AC: 21 (13 Tch, 19 Fl) | CMB: +2, CMD: 14 | F: +7, R: +7, W: +8 (+2 illusion) | Init: +9 | Perc: +9, SM: +0 | Speed 20ft | Spells 1st 7/7 2nd 7/7 3rd 5/5 4th 4/4 5th 3/3 Reroll 1/1 MM Rod 3/3 | Active conditions: Mage Armor, Shield, 6 Images


Bloguanrnugatsofarmungen, or Nugats as his non-gnome friends called him, made his way down the street towards the Theumanexus in Krovosa. Dressed in bright reds and blues peeking out from his yellow-orange overalls, even in the evening light he seemed to glow in a multi-colored streak.

Why am I going here? There is nothing of him left. He is gone. Bleaching out of existence. Probably to Almas, or Katheer.

His silent musing bouncing in his head like his hip-hop-step-jump gait down the street. Before long two guards loom in front of him.

”Halt. Where you off to at this time of night, little gnome? All the professors are asleep or away.”

Fumbling into his multi-colored pack, Nugats produces both his medal, and his student papers.

”Business to attend to.” He scratched his dyed purple beard as he looked from one guard to the other.

The other guard chimed in, ”Well met. I an Ve-ras. Cast any magics tonight?”

Looking bewildered, Nugats took off his straw hat and rubbed his hair. ”Ummm … tonight? I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

Drawing a scroll, the Ve-ras begins to chant in the arcane language. The scroll turned blank before he waved it all around Nugats.

”You still claim to not have cast a spell?”

”Honestly, can’t remember casting any spells.”

”According to this scroll, you have quite a few spells cast upon you. Hmm, and they all seem to be from the school of Divination. Where were you planning on going again?”

”Odd question for one with both papers, and a medal.” He thrusts it into the wizard’s face. ”Bust since you have to know and are such a through guard, I am off to Geezlebottle Hall. Wonderseekers business.”

The first guard replies, ”Who the hell are the Wonderseekers?”

The wizard turns towards the other guard, ”Gnomes. Trying to prevent the bleaching. Might as well try to make the sun rise in the west.”

”It doesn’t?”

”Moron. What’s your name my gnome friend?”


Laughing softly, the wizard replies, ”Oh, heard of you. Old Lady Canalora mentioned you a few times. Well, sorry to have impeded your progress here, have a good evening.”

With that he whacks the first guard on the shoulder. The guards moves towards the old iron gate and swings it open. ”Good luck mister gnome.”

Nugats moves down the paths, leaping gently, moving only his back leg towards his front leg, leaping, then thrusting his leg up again. He turns back to the guards, whispering his own arcane words, before cupping his hands over his mouth.

The first guards can hear a voice from the shrubbery off the side of the road. ”Hey sexy. I love a man in mail. Why don’t you drop that halberd and come here?”

Dropping his halberd, the starts to head towards the shrubs. ”Be right there!”

Ve-ras places a restraining hand on the guards arm. ”Moron. Just the gnome messing with you.”

Face turning as red as Nugats’ overalls, he picks up his halberd. ”Knew that.” Harumphing loudly, Ve-ras resumes his sentry duty.

Laughing to himself, Nugats continues down the path, seeing Geezlebottle Hall rise before him. Obviously of gnomish design, Geezlebottle Hall looks like a large tree stump out of which grew many large and bizarrely shaped mushrooms. Heading towards one such fungi, Nugats comes to a door. Turning the handle slowly, the door creaks open.

Strange to find it unlocked. Tonight of all nights.

Walking into the room, the overwhelming number of distinct and pungent smells assails Nugats’ nostrils. Along one wall of what can only be described as a laboratory, rise floor to ceiling shelving. In small pigeonhole pockets rests varied components, rolled up parchments, dead and drying appendages, and glass jars filled with unknown fluids.

In the center of the room rests a waist high, sturdy wooden bench large enough for a troll to lay sprawled out. Various tubes, beakers, flasks, heaters, and implements lay strew about, but in fairly good condition. A few older wooden chairs and benches encircle the bench, some short, some tall, but all containing a fine layer of dust.

A small desk rests in one corner, drawers pushed in and cleared of all papers and writing utensils. Those rested on the floor.

Nugats walked slowly around, tracing his finger in the dust on the bench, poking a toe in the upturned ink bottle, removing paper from the shelf, unrolling it, scanning the contents, and replacing it.

Where did he put it? Where would I put it? Will it even work?

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he closed his eyes. So much energy, so much to do, so many thoughts.

One by one, he tried to clear his mind. Slow his breathing. Hear what her couldn’t hear.

Then it hit him. So clear. So obvious. So simple.

Walking over to the shelf, he ran his hand down the outside before finding the catch. Just the right height. For a gnome.

He flicked the latch, and POP, the shelf swung outward. There in the bricked wall behind was one loose brick. Taking the brick out, finding that it was just a hollowed out fake, he saw two glass vials stoppered with melted wax.

The first vial held a golden liquid with diamond flecks floating in it. The yellow wax sealed it tight.

The other vial held a pea green liquid with red chunks floating in it. The black wax sealed it tight.

Returning to the bench, Nugats magically lit a burner. Waiting just a moment, he melted the wax off the vials and collected them in the same drip pan, yellow mixing with black, separate, yet intertwined.

He placed each vial upright in a stand, and titled his head to the side.

Really? This? How odd. Well dad, if this works, if your work can help me help you, I must do it. If not dad, well, you know that I tried. That I wanted this to work. That I want to find a cure for you and all that went through the bleaching, to never have to worry again. For you dad.

He grabbed the golden liquid filled vial in his right hand, and the green liquid filled vial in his left. Bringing both hands to his lips at the same time, he poured both vials into his mouth, and swallowed.


The pain was almost unbearable. He could feel it burn down his throat, eat his stomach, ignite his blood, and wrack his muscles. His hands curled up and elongated turning into claws, his muscles buldging slightly, deflated back to regular size. His nose turned pig-snouted for an instant before returning to normal. Wings unfurled form his back, and quickly vanished.

He was different, unmistakably different, but the same. Nugats. Gnome. But he could feel gold dragon. Nugats. Gnome. But he could feel orc. He could feel the magic in his blood. Different than ever before. Stronger.

Dad, I know not how you did this, but this gift I will use to find a cure. By Neyths I swear it.

Nugats walked out of the lab, out of Theumanexus, out of Krovosa, it was only a matter of time. Time to succeed, or time to fail. Only time will tell.

A lot of this came from Elaine Cunningham's winter which

Love the story of Nugats! Great work, John. Can't wait for Bugdip to meet him (I'm assuming that's what's going to happen, right?)

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

A red sky hangs above Absalom, casting an orange glow over the waters hiding a thousand submerged wrecks just below the surface. Cyrus stands on the roof’s corner, perched atop one of the taller buildings in the Docks as dusk begins to descend and settle a dull gloom over the town. Nearby, a few stories below the young keleshite, the bars and brothels of the area prepare to see an influx of customers once the heavens have gone dark and their patrons are at last ready to cast morals aside. The dark skinned keleshite stares into the yet warm glow of the fading sun, appearing to set the water alight in the distance, lost deep in thought as a figure stirs a few feet away, standing behind the safety of a secure railing.

”I won’t try to dissuade you,” the old man says, removing his leather hat and wiping his brow with the sleeve of his weatherworn jacket.

”I know you want to know everything,” he continues. ”I would too, if I were in your place. And you have every right to know what happened. But… there are things I have to say. Before you agree… Before I tell you what happened. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least make it clear what you’ll be exposing yourself to.”

”Knowledge has its own price, and sometimes it’s more than we are willing to spend.”

The old man spends a few moments searching for the right words, shifting his glance from the back of his friend to the waters of the harbor.

”Picture a door in front of you,” Ibid says, replacing the hat and brushing a few stray tangles of hair from his face. As he speaks, the ninja does not seem to react to his words, and instead maintains his gaze out across the water. ”Right now, the door that stands before you is closed, and that means you’re protected from everything on the other side.”

”But once you open this door, it will pull you across the threshold, no matter what you do. And once you’re on the other side, you’ll never be able to go back. You cannot close this door, once you open it.”

”And,” the old man finishes. ”I guarantee you’ll never be the same after you find what’s waiting on the other side. Whether you have known it or not, I have spent these last years since you were young protecting you from the truth. I’ve already accepted that you may hate me for that.”

The old man takes his hat in his hand and wipes the sweat from his brow, and breathes a heavy sigh.

The tragic paradox. He will hate me for lying to him, but once he knows why I would have kept the truth from him, it will be to late, and everything I have done will be for naught and all that I promised to your father will be broken…

Scarab Sages

Male CG Human (Kelishite) Ninja 8.2 | HP: 43/43 | AC: 26 (19 Tch, 19 FF) | CMB: +9, CMD: 28 | F: +4, R: +14, W: +3 | Init: +6 | Perc: +11, SM: +3 | Speed 30ft, Climb 20ft | Ki Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: fatigued, haste, spirit sense, invis, fly

Cyrus shuffles his feet, not taking his eyes off of the horizon. He absent-mindedly flips his blade in his hand, electricity crackling around it in flashes as the ninja mentally turns the enchantment on and off. Minutes pass in silence as the two stare into the sinking sun. The din of shouting dockhands, arguments, and the occasional thud of a drunken patron being tossed from a building to the street serve as the backdrop to the deafening silence on top of the roof.

"I still need to know."

There is another long pause as Ibid waits for the ninja to elaborate, but there is nothing else. Just the simple declaration.

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

Dusk turns to dark by the time the two reach a run-down building with a tattered sign hanging above the door that swings on a rusty chain every time a wagon rolls by on the cobblestone road. A foaming mug with an academic’s hat gracing the top of it is almost unrecognizable for its faded paint. On the door frame painted letters grace the top that are all but faded away, only legible due to the carving into the wood that reads, ”The Thirsty Scholar”.

”In here.” Ibid says before checking the street to see what prying eyes are watching as the two enter. Once inside, old man and young man walk up to the bar, taking a seat.

”Whiskey. Ulfen, if you have it. Water for him. The boy is too young.” Ibid weathers a sharp stare from the keleshite, returning it with one that says, keep your mouth shut. Not now.

A few moments later, the barkeeper returns with a tall glass filled with a dark, amber liquid. Ibid lifts the glass, throwing the alcohol down in a single gulp while pocketing the key that was hidden beneath the glass in the same smooth motion. Without a word, Ibid gets back up and leaves the bar, flicking a gold coin over his shoulder to bounce once, twice, then behind the bar top to plop into a sink full of dirty dishwater. The ninja follows him out the door, no longer expecting an explanation.

A quick left turn takes them down a narrow alleyway, so narrow they both turn in order to fit their shoulders between the rough stones of the adjacent buildings. There is no light from the stars or moon overhead, nor any torches from the street behind them down the narrow corridor. Following the tight passageway for many uncomfortable paces, both men sent about an awkward shimmying gait. Soon enough, Ibid stops abruptly to knock on a door. The raps of his knuckles echo off the close standing stone walls, and the old man follows with another series of seemingly timed knocks. He then takes the key without a word and opens the door.

”After you,” the old man says, but his eye fail to meet Cyrus’.

Scarab Sages

Male CG Human (Kelishite) Ninja 8.2 | HP: 43/43 | AC: 26 (19 Tch, 19 FF) | CMB: +9, CMD: 28 | F: +4, R: +14, W: +3 | Init: +6 | Perc: +11, SM: +3 | Speed 30ft, Climb 20ft | Ki Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: fatigued, haste, spirit sense, invis, fly

Cyrus walks into a room filled with silk draperies and intricate tapestries covering every inch of wall and ceiling space. It is small, and would be pitch black except for an explosion of flame colored lights sparkling from some unseen source across the fabrics that decorate the room, making it feel as though they were in a furnace or surrounded by fire, but without the heat.

The scent of heavy incense fills his nostrils as Cyrus walks across a plush carpet towards a feminine figure seated on a heap of pillows on the other side of the small space. Turning back to Ibid, Cyrus looks as if to say, what next? and is met with an unrevealing stare.

Dark Archive

Female Human

”Sit down! Sit down sil-vous-plait! Make yourself comfortable Cyrus the Flea. I have been waiting for you. Please make yourself comfortable mon ami. I am Madame Enfer.” The thick, sultry varisian accent and sing-song feminine voice of the seer snaps the keleshite’s head back around, and Ibid groans internally.

”Your friend said you would be coming. It seems fate would not allow him to keep this from you…”

”So, you wish to see the past?” she continues, unphased by Cyrus’ suddenly wandering eyes. ”You are most strange my sweet child, for most people wish to see the future. You see, they would rather run from their past, and forget. Are you sure you want to see the memories that will haunt your dreams?”

Scarab Sages

Male CG Human (Kelishite) Ninja 8.2 | HP: 43/43 | AC: 26 (19 Tch, 19 FF) | CMB: +9, CMD: 28 | F: +4, R: +14, W: +3 | Init: +6 | Perc: +11, SM: +3 | Speed 30ft, Climb 20ft | Ki Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: fatigued, haste, spirit sense, invis, fly

The thick black hair and alabaster skin of the exquisite woman is enough to enchant the poor, hopeless Cyrus. The smile she flashes as she bats her eyes is equally enchanting. Despite the unintended seduction, the varisian seer’s eyes seem to pierce Cyrus’ soul.

Soon enough, realization washes over the keleshite. His eyes go from a slight glaze to suddenly narrowing as she speaks to him. ”Wait… How do you know…? Never mind. Enough.” Cyrus says curtly, his patience worn thin. ”I’ve had enough of people telling me this is a bad idea. I don’t care. Yes, I want to know. Now stop playing games and just do it! His irritation morphs into anger as his volume rises from the beginning to the end of his demand, ending with anger flashing in his eyes towards the attractive woman.

Dark Archive

Female Human

Unphased, Madame Enfer simply states, ”Very well…”

”Ibid, you must take a seat beside this young man,” she says, motioning gracefully to the chair beside Cyrus. ”Sharing your memory with Cyrus will be relatively easy, if you do not resist. But I cannot guarantee it won’t be painless.”

Scarab Sages

Male CG Human (Kelishite) Ninja 8.2 | HP: 43/43 | AC: 26 (19 Tch, 19 FF) | CMB: +9, CMD: 28 | F: +4, R: +14, W: +3 | Init: +6 | Perc: +11, SM: +3 | Speed 30ft, Climb 20ft | Ki Pool: 5/6 | Active conditions: fatigued, haste, spirit sense, invis, fly

A moment later she begins to chant and without warning, Cyrus’ mind begins to spin. The trinkets and silk tapestries all blur together while the smoke from the heavy incense begins to mix with the swirling details of the room. A lump forms in his throat and his heartbeat quickens, the fear and reality of learning the truth finally gripping him, and then before he can voice his sudden change of heart, blackness overtakes him.

Scarab Sages

Male Human

Dust hangs thick in the air as the echoes of the collapse just moments before fade down the long tunnels that connect through this main chamber in the tomb. A scrawny keleshite man crawls out from beneath a pile of rubble and puts a worn, wide brimmed leather hat back on his head after quickly dusting it off. light…” He whispers and light begins to shine from the hat. Frantically he begins to shout.

”Ibid! Ibid!” The man looks around, moving stones and rushing around the room, searching for signs of life.

”Dammit Ibid, where in the nine hells are you?”

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

Grunting in pain, Ibid’s voice is muffled by the pile of sand and pebbles that cover his head. Spitting, coughing, and shaking with all his might, he realizes that only the smallest of movements is possible and that a slab of rock is all that can be seen. His nose is almost pressed against the cold stone that stands so close his breath is reflecting back on his face, and the weight on his back is just now becoming a pain beyond anything he could remember experiencing. The sound of someone calling his name floats to his ears, ever so faintly. The voice seems so far and distance, echoing and yet muffled. It is then that Ibid slowly realizes the dim volume isn’t due to distance, but the loud ringing of his ears. As his senses slowly come around, he tries to move an arm, searching for purchase or leverage to free himself.

Even his arms are pinned.

With no small amount of trepidation, he turns his face away from the floor to look back at his body, taking in the damage wrought by the collapsing ceiling of stratified rock. Over his shoulder, barely visible at this angle is the sickening sight of a massive boulder covering much of his his torso and arms. Somehow, he manages to loose a pathetic, blood filled cough, and even fainter, the word ”here…”

Scarab Sages

Male Human

A curtain of dust seems to hang suspended in the choked tunnel, a lingering remnant of the collapse. Eerie shadows dance between the shifting motes of stone and earth suspended in the air, projected and exaggerated by the light emanating from the ragged hat on the Keleshite’s head. The sound of coughing filters through from close by, and after turning a corner, the man sees the grisly sight of Ibid pinned, and slowly being crushed beneath the unimaginable weight of a jagged stone boulder. The hat wearing man looks quickly around the room and his eyes settle on a large wooden beam, broken free from the ceiling.

"Just hang in there, Ibid. I’ll get you out of this. This isn’t…” the man seems to search for some semblance of reassurance for Ibid, who continues to crane is neck, trying in vain to see the damage. From other’s vantage, he can easily see Ibid is dying, slowly pressed to death by the weight upon his back. ”This isn’t the worst mess we have gotten in."

His words cannot seem to find the proper inflection of true compassion or even fear for prospect of being buried alive, there is an almost calm quality to his voice, as if he is detached from the perils of the situation. It is as if his mind is not processing the true dangers about them. He moves to the beam and collects it with great effort, dragging the lever toward his friend. A moment later, he jabs it under a small, shadowed gap created by Ibid’s crushed body. With a grunt he throws his own weight down against the lever, muscles straining and sweating almost immediately as he prays the mechanical advantage is enough to allow Ibid to breathe. It is a grand victory when the stone begins to rise, creating the smallest of relief for the pinned investigator.

The relief is short lived when the terror and gravity of their situation returns with a crushing finality. The timber shrieks and groans under the stress and suddenly shatters. The cry of Ibid reverberates off the stones walls as the stone once again comes to rest upon his broken body.

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

There is a moment’s relief as the stone lifts, but followed by an even greater pain as its course surface falls back and becomes supported by his ribs. Ibid’s lungs lurch forth a spray of blood and bile upon the stone floor. His friend begins to once again collect the remains of the support beam, hoping to rally and again lift the stone.

”… Don’t bother, Darius,” he says through the coughs. ”I’m done for.”

”We were so stupid… thinking this could work,” he laughs, or maybe chokes, at the hopelessness of the situation. ”I thought for sure we accounted for everything, I don’t know what happened…”

Scarab Sages

Male Human

The man stares ahead, unsure if he should continue to try and excavate Ibid, or simply be there with him, talk and listen, while the investigator can still draw breath.

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

”We weakened the supports… followed the fault lines in the stone stratum…” he manages to say through the coughs. ”… but we never triggered it…”

Scarab Sages

Male Human

Now crouching beside the dying man, Darius squints and leans in closer to hear Ibid’s words. He knows Ibid is talking out loud, working through the problem by stating what he knows for sure, but a terrible thought crystallizes for Darius in that moment.

As Ibid drones on, prefaced by a fresh fit of coughing, Darius interrupts with a seemingly odd question. ”Ibid, what was the name of the one that… collected your signature?

Grand Lodge

Male NG Human Investigator 3/Ranger (guide) 2/Fighter (archer) 2 - PFS# 141231-2 | HP: 30/55 | AC: 20 (15 Tch, 15 Fl) | CMB: +9, CMD: 26 | F: +7 [+9 for hot/cold conditions], R: +12, W: +4 | Init: +6 | Perc: +9 [+10 find traps], SM: -1 | Speed 30ft | Inspiration: 3/3, Ranger’s Focus: 1/1, Inspired: 1/1, Boots of Speed: 10/10, Folio Re-roll: 1/1 | Spells: endure elements, shield | Active conditions:

Ibid continues to speak, rattling on about precautions and actions taken to bring the mine down, but always ending with the same thought, the collapse wasn’t supposed to happen yet. They had been so careful, he could not fathom how they could have misjudged the situation so. Even restating all of their planning, he could not think of what was missed.

Perhaps drawn out from his pondering by a fresh wave of agony, reaching out and gripping his body, Ibid at last processes the question pose to him. ”… He… That damned thing… His name was... Auxziauk.”

Scarab Sages

Male Human

A few feet away lay Ibid’s haversack coated in a pile of debris, and without a second thought Darius wills a scroll to appear in his hand. He unrolls it with haste, a twinge of latent excitement almost cascaded across his face as his hand drags slowly across the parchment. ”This was to be the last step, calling… it up. But, I think I know now where we went wrong,” Darius says coldly, again his voice monotone and flat, and the next moment begins to murmur a string of infernal words, calling to life the ancient runes on the page.

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