Broken Golarion

Game Master Monkeygod

"Where there is suffering, I will go where I can to relieve what I can."

"As my friends here say, we have some experience in siege breaking and, should I add, no experience in keeping followers and an estate, something you do seem to be experienced in." Smiling, he adds "This might be the beginning of a nice friendship." Then he moves his arm to the refugees. "Putting these... subjects... to safety should be or priority, after which we should follow you to your lands and help you free your people."

The young man chuckles at Ametist's comment "Oh no, I am not a steward nor a chamberlain. I am a solider, here to offer assistance, but not in running your fortress. Perhaps one of those I send can handle such things, but it will be at least a few weeks before they arrive."

Bump? Anybody still here??

Sadly doesn’t seem like it. Too bad...was a really good campaign

Ok still around. This conversation just wasn't a good time for me to pop in. :(

I've been here, waiting to see if anybody was going to respond to what the NPC last said. I realize it might be something nobody has a reply to, but ya gotta let me know that so I can move the scene forward.

”Any assistance that you offer is most welcome. Come, let us walk. You can tell us who is with you and what your numbers are as we march to the dwarven lands.”

"Indeed. Any help the forces of good can offer one another is welcome in these dark times."

I am still here as well. I had asked him a question that I was waiting on a response to.

Turning to Karen, he says "It is just I here, but I represent a larger order. I'll tell you all about it, once we get somewhere private, just in case."

S!#*, sorry.

Ametist looks at his friends. [b]"Well, what other choice do we have, anyway? We can't reject the possibility of having allies, right?"[/ooc]

"No, you're right, we shouldn't, Lian agrees.

"Very well, help us get these people situated, and then we'll meet in the keep."

The reborn heroes and Sir Uthar lead the refugees into the main courtyard, which is easily large enough for all lost souls. As you chat with the knight, you realize the most important thing you need to do is getting food for all these people. Mayhap there's a magical solution?

You escort Uthar into the fort, and to a small sitting room to discuss what can be done for the refugees as well as how you can aid the besieged Sky Citadel.

Taking a seat in one of the many cushioned chairs, the young man formally introduces himself. "As I said, I represent a larger organization, known as the Bellflowers of the Dawn. We rose up out of the ashes of the former Bellflower Network, and joined with the Solar Redeemers branch of the Church of Sarenrae. We now work to smuggle refugees and slaves out of the demon infested lands, as well as provide relief aid to the legions battling the Abyssal hordes."

"Uh... Which legions are those you speak of? Do you mean the Hellknights, or is there any other?"

”A very noble calling, and a most fortuitous one given the number of refugees coming here. To where do you take them? And should we come across more refugees as we march towards the Dwarven lands, how shall we send them to your organization?”

Giving the others an opportunity to chime in as well before I reply.

Lian listens for a chance, and lets others do the talking.

Drystan nods at what Godwyn says, but lets his brother-in-arms do the talking.

Karen let's Godwyn act as the group's voice for this interaction, mainly because she's worried about the refugees, and a bit fidgety to go and check on them.

Uthar nods to Ametist "Yes, the Hellknights are one such legion, but there others. War, despots, undead, demons and their lords, and many more of have shattered this land. There are very few, if any, nations where there is not some type of fighting or battle being waged."

Turning to Godywn he replies "We have safe havens and houses scattered around Avistan, and are hoping to establish some in Garund, however, that's a lot more complicated. Partly due to the distance and lack of truly reliable teleportation magicks and partly because things might even be worse down there than they are here."

He pauses, considering. "Fort Invictus is the closest bastion of safety to the Five Kings Mountains. If you come across any refugees while making your way to Highhelm, it would be best to send them here."

"Fort Invictus, understood," Lian nods. "We appreciate the knowledge."

If there's nothing else, Lian suggests they head off once more, with thanks to the Dawnflowers and the new knowledge in hand.

Karen nods in agreement and then makes her way outside to check on the refugees.

Still here guys, just had a really busy last few days, plus I had minor ear surgery on the 5th and I'm still recovering. I will get a post up for you all tomorrow, as I'm heading to bed now.(3:30am)

Nevermind, still awake an hour + later. I realized you guys have a few days before you can leave, as that's when the steward NPC will arrive. In fact let's go with 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 days.

Let me know what you're going to do in that time. There's several small towns within about a days ride that you could visit and try and get supplies from. You could explore/fortify Invictus. The nearest battle front is about two days ride, so you could make your way to one of them and offer aid. If you have other ideas, let me know and we'll try to work something out.

Karen uses her time creating stone shelters for the refugees, basically square boxes with a doorway and a fireplace with chimney. She will remove extraneous buildings if needed for space.

Godwyn spent the days exploring the lands around the fortress. He searched high and low for supplies that he could bring back for the people, and to root out any lingering threats that might still be there. Isolated ghouls, hiding demons, any kind of creature that might cause mischief or harm to the people looking to the fortress for protection.

If any others are interested in journeying to the front, Drystan will eagerly join them. If not, he'll stay in the vicinity of the fortress, on guard in case something comes calling,

FYI, anything you guys do will be handled via cinematic narrative, including combat. Now, obviously you don't know this in game, but don't feel like you need to hold back cuz you're worried about slowing the game down. I'll probably handle resolving every one's six days in one long post.

Go nuts! Do some world building! Make stuff up! I won't mind!

Once the refugees had shelter, Karen would spend some time reinforcing the walls and gates. She added a covered area over the walkway, so that attacking enemies would not be able to see the defenders on the wall. She also added a great number of long, vertical rectangles in the wall, to allow the patrols on the wall to look out at the approaches.

Finally, she installed a 200' deep moat with stone spikes at the bottom, and created a bridge.

Thinking that his knack for pathfinding might be helpful, Ametist helps Drystan explore. He lacks social skills, and knows he might be a bit distasteful for humans to deal with him, but he asks his other companions about recruiting people from the nearby villages to create a kind of "road patrol". Hunters, rangers and woodsmen, people with knowledge of the land, who won't mind controlling that the roads are safe and watching that communications flow smoothly between the different settlements.

"A good net of traveling and communication is vital if we want to fight as one."

Little something to hold us over till Lian posts, as I would like to recap every ones actions at once.

As Karen walks and works among the refugees, she senses very minor divine power within many. It is not the same feeling she gets when around her fellow reborn companions, but it is faintly similar. 2d10 + 10 ⇒ (7, 4) + 10 = 21 out of the 3d10 + 60 ⇒ (3, 7, 1) + 60 = 71 refugees.

Interesting.

Sensing this power, Karen will attempt to record what she can about the people who seem to possess it: gender, race, relative age, state of health, and so on. She does not, however, openly mention it, as until she can be certain that it is not a danger, she doesn't want to scare anyone or get them ostracized for something they likely have no control over.

She will, however, share the information with the rest of the group.

Lian travels between people, talking to them, hearing their stories- commiserating on the lost, offering promises to look out for the separated, and stirring spirits of hope that people are fighting.

Jalen. Mark. Marie. Kel. Names she's promised to listen for.

Finally, she can take no more, and travels out to the nearest combat zone- seeking a skirmish or small combat. She'll activate her vines, trapping the enemy. Allow them to be hacked down. And vanish- better to be a mysterious hope, at times.

Godwyn walked through the wreckage of the town. It was a burnt out ruin. Bodies hung from the buildings, and the stench of decay was in the air. It felt like...he was being watched.

He went over to one of the bodies to cut it down, and the head turned towards him. Dead eyes stared vacantly at him as the corpse feebly tried to bite him. He backed away as he heard laughter echoing around him. From out of the buildings shambled the townsfolk. Men and women, wearing the clothes of their professions.

The waves of undead fell upon him. Dozens upon dozens of zombies. Godwyn cut the first one down, and then the second. Nails broke and bled as human hands scratched at his armor. Teeth broke as a woman tried to bite his pauldron. There was little that they could do against him individually, but with their numbers they sought to drag him down and devour him.

Channel: 3d6 ⇒ (6, 6, 1) = 13

Divine energy radiated from the paladin, causing the zombies around him to shudder and fall. The dark energy holding them up fading. But as soon as they did, a second horde began to converge on him.

Channel: 3d6 ⇒ (3, 5, 1) = 9
Channel: 3d6 ⇒ (5, 6, 1) = 12

Again and again Godwyn focused his faith, letting it wash through the town square. Soon there were mounds of corpses around him. Men, women and children, all falling like puppets with their strings cut.

"Are you getting bored with my children...paladin?" The voice oozed out of the darkness. "Blind little fools who could not see the potential. Just. Like. You."

The darkness coalesced into a form, a cloaked skeleton with a scythe.

"Say hello to Brother Marten. He thought that Pharasma had power here..." The wraith laughed, the sound echoing in Godwyn's head. "Oh how he cried! For weeks he tried to deny me. But in the end, he gave in. And look at the beauty that we have created. We are so glad that you have decided to add to it..."

The wraith floated forward, it's scythe trailing behind it. With speed greater than Godwyn could have predicted lashed out. It's scythe, now that he could see it, was ethereal. Godwyn raised his shield, which glowed with the divine power within him. The scythe did not pass through him, instead it rebounded off of the holy armor. He stepped forward, and parried a second strike as he tried to get within range. He stabbed with his halberd, but the wraith deflected it with it's halberd. More laughter came through the empty streets. The heads on spikes joined in with a chorus of merriment. Obviously, Godwyn was dealing with a very deranged individual.

The two combatants circled each other. Blow for blow they parried the attacks, until Godwyn used a trick that he knew it wouldn't see coming. He stabbed with his halberd, and then when it was parried, he let the blade fly from his hands. The wraith, believing him disarmed, let it's guard down. With but a thought, the godbound paladin's weapon appeared in his hand again. Using both hands he brought it down on the wraith's shoulder. The holy energy burnt it, and the wraith let out an earsplitting screech.

Godwyn smiled as his blade bit deep, but he was overconfident. He thought that the wraith needed it's scythe to hurt him. It reached out and grabbed him with it's skeletal hands. The paladin's blood ran cold. He felt the warmth within him dying. The laugher echoed in his mind. This is what had destroyed the town. This is what had caused the death and enslavement of the populace.

"Pharasma abandoned me." Godwyn now knew where the voice was coming from. It was from this creature. "Pharasma abandoned all of us. But I have been rewarded...you shall join me! You shall join usssss!"

Godwyn fought to break free from the wraith's grasp. Holding the halberd right under it's head he stabbed at the creature again and again. It howled in pain as it's grip tightened. Holy light against the darkness of damnation. The two were caught in a deadly embrace, with neither side willing to back down.

All around him the impaled bodies and the heads on stakes began to laugh. A cacophony of unholy mirth. Godwyn could feel the anguish of the enslaved souls, kept away from Pharasma's embrace. The pain was almost unbearable, as a stream of blood rolled down from his eyes.

Neither side was willing to disengage. Godwyn fought not just for himself, but for all of the souls within the poor, damned town. He fought for all of the people within their fortress, all who would be easy prey to such a monstrosity. He could not give in, nor could he flee. Either he would succeed here, or he would be dead and damned. This battle would be determined by who had the most faith, and whose soul burned the brightest.

The wraith began to fade, as Godwyn's light consumed it. The corpses were no longer laughing. The wraith didn't have the strength to control them anymore. It tried to break free, but now it was Godwyn who was holding it in place.

"Pharamsa!" Godwyn roared. "Look upon the work of your priest! Judge him, just as you must judge his victims!" The wraith twisted and wailed in pain. Godwyn's light expanded, filling him and overflowing. His eyes blazed gold, as did the blood that continued to roll down his face. The power of a goddess filled him, momentarily. There was an explosion of light that filled the town...and the wraith was no more.

Godwyn fell to his knees, breathing heavily. He looked up, and he could feel that the taint was no longer present. The town had been cleansed. A breeze rolled through, and the hanging corpses swayed with it. He knew that the souls had all moved on. Within seconds the last of the damage done to him had vanished, and the bloody tears ceased. He had done what he set out to do.

But it was not enough, he knew. All throughout the world both the living and the dead suffered. The forces of evil were ascendent. He had just one a minor skirmish in the grand scheme of things. But a victory was a victory, regardless of how small. He set to work starting a fire. He would have to return to the fortress soon, but before he did so there was one last thing he had to do. The town would become a funeral pyre, lest some necromancer or demon chance by. It would also halt any spread of plague. Like many things that might feel distasteful, it was necessary in these dark times.

As Godwyn is burning he comes across one who is not dead. Leaving against one of the posts in front of an inn-side stable was the golden haired boy. He held a pitchfork in his hand loosely with its butt on the ground.
Hello Godwyn. he says quietly.

Godwyn looked at the stable boy, his face caked with dried blood. His face was pale, and he was shaking. The day’s work had been unsettling. In the heat of battle it was easy to be brave. Adrenaline and anger had that effect. But now was the quiet, the reflection. Now was the smell of burnt flesh. Now was the time to throw the bodies of innocents upon the pyre, to walk alone through the shattered remnants of so many stolen lives. A traumatic experience, even for a veteran of the crusades.

”Please.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. He put the body of the child that he as carrying down. The boy, no older than the form that the stable boy took, looked peaceful, as if though he were sleeping. The cold touch of the wraith had left no outward mark on the corpse. ”Please.” He whispered, as he took off his helmet. The tears in his eyes were not of blood. ”Not now. No mockery. I cannot...” his voice trailed away as he looked at his feet, and the body which lay there.

The boy looks for a long moment at the knight. He was utterly spent, that much was obvious. And, in an uncharacteristic fit of mercy, he holds the sharp edge of his tongue.
He steps over to Godwyn and looks him in the eye. For once, he doesn't have to stand on anything tall as Godwyn is already kneeling. Sir Godwyn Blaecwulf. Can you keep a secret?

Godwyn nodded. ”Yes, that I can.” He met the stable boy’s gaze. He had long since stopped seeing him as a child. Whatever the stable boy had to say, it must have had import.

Do you know why I'm the Stable Boy? he asks. He pauses just long enough for the question to register and for Godwyn to start wondering. The typical mischievous twinkle is gone from his eye. In its place is... sorrow?

Because... I help clean up the mess. he whispers.

The Stable Boy pickes up the corpse of his young counterpart that Godwyn had been carrying and walks to where the pyre was being constructed. He says nothing more than what is necessary for the rest of the time it takes to complete the grisly task.
The Stable Boy uses his tendency to disappear and reappear when Godwyn wasn't looking to great effect. With his help, the pile of corpses grows much, much quicker then Godwyn could have hoped to accomplish on his own. Even grown men seen to be no trouble for the boy, though Godwyn never actually sees the boy carrying men three to four comes his weight.

When it is all done, the two stand before the great pyre in one final, protected silence.

No words were said. No words would suffice. Actions spoke, and with them respect was conveyed. And for Godwyn, he no longer felt alone. A burden shared was one that was far less likely to break you. When the task was finally done, he bowed his head before the growing fire. A silent prayer for the dead.

The days were a blur of activity for Drystan. No major incursions encroached upon the fortress. But that didn't mean it was safe. Each day he took wing, making long, looping flights of the area around the fortress. At least once a day, sometimes multiple times, he caught sight of a scouting party of fiends or their mortal minions, heading in a direction that would take them near the fortress. Mortal patrols were purged with fire raining from the sky, while stronger forces suddenly found a golden angel in their midst, smiting foes with the wrath of a vengeful demigod. No demons survived these encounters. A Crimson Templar offers no mercy to foes incapable of accepting redemption. The few mortals who survived the flames he left to retreat, and spread fearful tales of a region where purifying flame appears from nowhere to strike interlopers.

Near the end of the week, after purging a mortal patrol and leaving the charred survivors to flee, Drystan is about to take wing when a voice calls down from a nearby tree.
Hello Drystan!
The stable boy is there lounging on a thick branch with his hands behind his head and eyes closed.

His curiosity piqued, Drystan settles back to the ground and folds his wings. "What brings you out this far?"

His leg bounces to the beat of some unheard tune. There are rumors of a shining demon out here frying people and leaving only a suffering few to tell the tale. Or was it an angel? Anyway, I had a sneaking suspicion it was you. Turns out I was right! So, what's a servant of Holy Ragathiel doing roasting people, anyway?

"Fighting our enemies, is that not obvious? These were scouts for the very forces we've come so far to battle. Should I sit in the fortress and wait for them to locate us and assemble an army? Better an active defense that balks their plans before they can even form them." the paladin says, not clear what the 'stable boy' is driving at.

And what if I were to tell you that some of those foes are fighting fire from heaven with fire around the campfire? I have heard whispers of a demon of fire swooping down to scorch anyone and everyone who comes near. A being of terror and fury that strikes without warning. Sound familiar?