Roused from sleep and herded aboard the Winking Wyvern, the party sails urgently for Rivenrake Island and the ruins of Xin-Bakrakhan, ancient capital of the Thassilonian Runelord of Wrath. A note from Venture-Captain Sheila Heidmarch informs the group that a Society-funded dig team has uncovered a totally intact temple that appears to be associated with the goddess Lissala, buried for 10,000 years. Given the fresh revelations that this long-thought-dead cult is thriving and allied with the Aspis Consortium, it’s a truly wonderful find, providing an unprecedented opportunity to gain knowledge of this forgotten faith. Even if the site turns out to not be dedicated to Lissala, learning more about the faiths and practices of ancient Thassilon always provides an abundance of knowledge. Often the items they use in their rituals lead to clues about the cults. By now the work crew has finished clearing the site—the time to explore its secrets is at hand. The Society has no exclusive contract to the site, and Aspis Consortium agents scour the countryside seeking such ripe targets, so time is of the essence. Archaeologists Halla Beusophis and Kovo Murse can answer questions when the group arrives, and a fellow Pathfinder
ranger, Riemme Batelle, is already on the island, ready to join in this exciting endeavor. Sheila Heidmarch has given the party a charge: eliminate the ancient temple’s dangers so that Society scholars can study the ruins safely, and bring back whatever knowledge lies within.
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Umberto is tall man that could have been an athlete once: broad shoulder, big hands, but some extra weight in the mid-section. He sports a bit of stubble and wears simple robes over chain mail. You catch a holy symbol of a tankard affixed to his mail under the robe. The mace and tankard looped to his belt clink a bit as he moves. The stubble and bags under his eyes give the impression of a long night or at least restless sleep.
I could have used another hour of sleep, but duty calls. The prospect of an important religious find awaits. As does breakfast. Umberto fills his handy tankard with an oaty stout.
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Volsung has the physical features of an elf but also possesses light violet skin, metallic gold hair, and softly glowing monochromatic pale blue eyes. Volsung speaks softly but clearly enough to be easily heard.
I hope that even during your abbreviated repose you were blessed with dreams of great wonder and insight.
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Shabah dresses in loose-fitting robes of light color, ideal for keeping safe under a hot sun. Their clothes make their precise physique difficult to ascertain, but they are presently about the same size as Umberto, perhaps a shade more slender. Muted sounds of metal on metal sound from beneath their robes, joining the unornamented falchion on their back as a warning that they should not be mistaken for a helpless traveler.
As Shabah rides up they give a small quirk of their lips to the Caydenite, "Mr. Ricci. It appears I have the honor to serve at your side once more." Turning towards the others they continue, " I am Shabah Al'Quna of the Susianam. Though I am in service to His Imperial and Royal Majesty the Padishah Emperor Kalish XXII, I take my obligations to the Society equally seriously. My skills and blade are yours; if need be, I will take great harm to see that you return safely. I hope that I can expect the same of you."
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Morning noble Shabah. I am named Volsung Dreamborn from the forests and mindscapes of Kyonin and beyond.
Volsung pauses as if thinking for what to say next.
And my mind is yours, if need be. You are from Qadira, perhaps?
I recently enjoyed a visit there, where all I met were gracious and hospitable, except for the one who was a necromancer.
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A dwarf speaks up. "Greetings; I'm Truddig. This sounds like an interesting expedition. Nobody can resist a ruin, am I right?"
Trim, his bright red hair is overshadowed by the tattoos that decorate his face and arms (and presumably, much of the rest of his body). Though he carries a variety of weapons, it's his bow that seems to be cared for most--that and a very fine suit of armor.
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Toral is a young Dwarf from an Osiriani merchant family. He always felt the pull of the heavens and stars.
Toral embraces the lessons of the past as the heavens have watched over this world since the beginning of time.
He is a stoic negotiator but has an empathic approach. He is very perceptive and understands people's motives which is very important as a merchant.
He typically walks around in his full plate and during battle tries not to attack but use spells and hexes instead.
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"Again ... again one of these missions! The Exchange sometimes forgets that I have a business to run! A business! The only reason for dragging my body to these Pathfinder events is the good pay ... and obviously the contacts and relationships ... ha ha ha!" he suddenly starts laughing.
"Well, I should complain less and work harder to get back to my enterprise ASAP!"
Suddenly he sees Shabah and Umberto talking about their last mission and approaches them.
"Wait a minute! Are you the Vialesk saviors? Really? You don't look like much ... but you really were great for business! Imagine supply of Vialesk jelly would have decreased ..." he says with a dramatic look on his face "... I would have been ruined! And of course you also saved some lives. Good job Mr. Al'Quna and Ricci ... great job!" Toral shouts louder than necessary.
all of modern Varisia and beyond. It fell into ruin at
the advent of Earthfall 10,000 years ago. It was ruled
over by seven runelords, extremely powerful wizards
who employed Thassilonian sin magic. Bakrakhan was
the province of Alaznist, Runelord of Wrath, and Xin-
Bakrakhan was her capital city.
Xin-Bakrakhan, is thought to hide endless subterranean
spaces filled with wealth and danger. Some believe
Alaznist herself is hidden within its unplumbed depths.
gifted with powerful magic items of her own creation.
Many of these minions are known to have been in Xin-
Bakrakhan when disaster struck.
of service, and was especially prominent in Thassilon.
While a much more disciplined faith in the early days of
the empire, her worship grew more reckless and decadent
in Thassilon’s waning years. Veneration of the deity was
thought to have died with Thassilon itself.
Lissala, instead preferring to pay homage to a number
of fiendish patrons. Earlier in Bakrakhan’s history,
Lissala was widely worshipped, but as Alaznist came to
power, the popularity of the faith waned in the nation.
During this time, many of the temples were repurposed
to venerate various demon lords.
days of Bakrakhan was Yamasoth, a nascent qlippoth
lord of cursed kingdoms and vile experiments. Rites
to Yamasoth included mortification of the flesh and
experimental transformations. Alaznist was a dedicated
follower of Yamasoth, and sought to learn his ways in
order to harness that power for her own armies.
As they approach the dig site, a woman runs up to them. Grim looking, and in dark work clothes, she looks emotionally strained and at the limit of her fatigue ridden body.
“Thank goodness you’ve arrived,” begins the careworn Pathfinder.
“Two days ago workers at the dig site were attacked, by what or whom I don’t know. I was here at camp when it happened. Only a single worker escaped—Shadaq, who crawled back here, bleeding from a dozen terrible injuries. The wounds were mortal and none of us here possessed the skill to aid him. Before he died we got little information. He told us ofthe attack, said everyone had been, ‘gutted like game birds.’ His last words—as his eyes violently rolled back in his head—were ‘Lissala is angry, but so am I.’ “The six of us are all that’s left—myself and these five hired excavators. They’ve refused to go back to the site and I didn’t dare go alone. We’ve been huddled in these damned tents since Wealday, waiting for your arrival. I’ll take you to the dig myself, but I don’t know what we’ll find. If Shadaq’s words are true, it won’t be pretty. Only the gods know whether those same
attackers lie in wait.”
Shadaq has been buried nearby in a shallow grave... it does not take long to uncover it if asked. However, the body is a mess, and Ricci has no idea what caused the immense trauma.
She continues to talk to Toral.
It’s an impressive free-standing domed structure, made of fitted tan stone, remarkably well preserved—unnaturally well preserved. There are wo possible entrances on a pillared portico, both of them bricked over with stone and hardened clay. There’s also a circular opening at the peak of the dome, an oculus about 5 feet wide, but we stayed clear of that after discovering it during the excavation. Our work has consisted almost exclusively of moving away debris so the temple can be explored.”
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Shabah looks nonplussed by Volsung's assessment of their recent visit. "I trust that you expunged that stain upon Sarenrae's honor?"
Shabah gives Umberto a nod of gratitude, not having wanted to embarrass Toral by pointing out his error.
"Forgive me madam. I am Shabah Al'Quna; I did not catch your name, however. Are you this Lissala whose wrath Mr. Shadaq spoke of?"
The archiologist looks at Shabah in confusion.
What? No, I'm Halla Beusophis. Lissala is a goddess!
Volsung let's the psyhic impressions flow from the body. Unfortunatly, the images they receive are disturbing and not all together helpful. Gnashing teeth, blades and claws... lots of them... and a face with two mouths, one a pale human jawbone and opening sideways beneath it, a great gaping maw.
Whatever killed him, it wasn't human, and it wasn't kind.
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Truddig is nodding along with the rudimentary history of Thassilon that Toral provides when they are overrun by the anxious archaeologist. After watching and listening to what Volsung uncovers, Truddig agrees with the Pathfinder zeitgeist. "There is nothing else we can do. We must enter this place... and be wary. If all this is true, we don't want to be the next wretched dead!"
Her face falls as she looks at them and swallows, speaking slowly, clearly trying not to cry.
Both were at the dig site when the attack occurred... I...I don't have much hope... Rimme, He’s an accomplished ranger, gifted with bow and blade. He might be holed up somewhere. His head is shaved, and tattooed on his pate is an elaborate rose. I asked him about it once, but he only smiled and shook his head. I understand his nickname in some
circles is ‘the Bloom.’
She shakes her head.
Kovo is... an academic like me... if Rimme couldn't make it, Kovo... Kovo won't have much of a chance.
She nods, again trying not to cry as Volsung comforts her, though the Aasimar's presence does seem to help.
After the man is reburied and the exavator's board the ship, Halla begins leading them towards the temple. It takes about an hour to travel there, and The area surrounding the temple is littered with rocks, loose soil, and bits of excavation debris, make reaching the site slow and tricky.
This breathtaking edifice is constructed of tightly fitted blocks of brown stone covered with intricate engravings depicting humans engaged in acts of terrible self-mutilation. A pillared portico girds the eastern front of the great temple, the carved columns resemble fat, coiled serpents. The structure stands about 20 feet tall, though a great dome rises out of the center another 20 feet. How this place could be more than 10,000 years old defies logic—some sorcery must have preserved the stone.
The stench of blood is the only greeting upon arrival at the excavated temple. Before an imposing stone structure lie a few stripped and eviscerated bodies bearing terrible wounds that go far beyond the marks of battle in their viciousness, and furrows in the fresh dirt indicating that others have been dragged inside. Halla covers her mouth to stifle a cry, then rushes to the side of one of the bodies, falling to her knees.
“Kovo! Oh, Kovo, look how they butchered you!”
Tears run down her face as she clutches her dead friend.
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Toral looks away when he sees the corpse.
”There is no reason to attach ourselves to these poor souls. People die every day all over this world and nonetheless we sleep and wake up ... and nothing changes. Let us all be glad that we are alive and pray to our gods to protect us with the forces that they control!“ Toral says silently and touches his pendant with the holy symbol of Chaldira.
As the team looks around, it's visible that the northeastern wall has been breached.
That.... was solid. Just a few days ago.
She gulps.
Kovo or Riemme would never allowed this to happen, not without me here to oversee that there was no excessive damage.
Halla swallows once, then twice.
I... I think i'll head back to the ship. Take Kovo's body... There are others still missing... Riemme, two dig workers named Pel and Saala, and Four labourers, locals we hired on... I... i don't even know their names...
She sniffs and turns back.
I'm going to head back to the ship. She says a bit more firmly.
I'll wait a day or two... but if you don't come back, I'm heading back to the lodge to report what's happened here and call for reinforcements. I'll assume your dead at that point.
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The creature that Shabah's frame stretches into is like a bipedal cave lizard, with a long tail and crests on their head and back. Their hide is dull gray, bulging with bestial power.
Shabah pants for a moment, wearied by the exertion of the change, then applies a pair of alchemicals, and readies their sword once more.
In a voice identical to earlier they ask, "Shall we?"
Eight great pillars, larger versions of the serpentine columns found at the pillared portico, encircle an enormous mosaic on the floor. The tiles of fading greens, reds, and yellows form a seven-pointed star. The dome peaks about forty feet overhead, its center pierced by an oculus five feet across. Near the front of the temple are the remains of a marble statue, smashed to bits. What it once was is unclear, as the vandal did a rather thorough job destroying the ancient work of art.
Toward the back of the wide open space, a long, five-foot deep pool lies in this western alcove, empty now, though the irregular red-brown stains on its surfaces leave little doubt as to what once filled the basin. Standing at the center of the pool is an eighteen-foot-tall marble statue of a strange being. Its body is a tangle of tentacles and eyes surrounding a circular maw filled with jagged teeth and barbed stinging tongues. Each of the thing’s tentacles ends in a claw, pincer, hook, or
some other implement of pain. Ancient paint flakes from the grand effigy, but glittering in the light are dozens of onyx gemstones adorning the statue where the being’s eyes are carved. It appears that something is strapped to one of the writhing appendages with red silk ribbons. On the floor of the pool itself are dozens of small stone figurines.