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You all receive instructions; be it from a crazy old coot who likes to wake you up while you are sleeping peacefully, or while you are resting away in your Restful Pathfinder's Lodge where a certain old man venture captain isn't permitted inside.
Regardless, your directions are clear; meet with each other and utilized the covered transportation to a remote village of Gundrun; south of The Worldwound. There you will meet with the Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury, and Ollysta Zadrian of the Silver Crusade faction.
You have time to purchase supplies and make introductions before you begin this trek.
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Hanlin looks up at the hanging sign outside a dingy tavern in the 'less expensive' section of Absalom and sighs I'm not sure what Dreng has with this old watering hole. I'm pretty sure by now he must be part owner. Meet where it all began crap, more like, meet at my father's dive bar for a few drinks!
The human man steps inside, straightening his cloak and tabard, easily recognizable as a golden longsword and with the familiar patterns of Iomedae. He has his own longsword in a scabbard at his hip and a breastplate across his chest. "Greetings once more barkeep, its me, Hanlin, back yet again. I am here to meet with a number of other Pathfinders for an overly long trip for a relatively short stay in Gundrun. Any idea if any others have made it here yet?"
He looks around the Pig's Paunch to hopefully find more than drunks and dullards. Or in the very least someone with a smile on their face.
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Sudsy, a gruff old bartender who has a stump for a leg and blind in one eye, looks over Hanlin again. "Weren't you in here like 3 days ago or sumtin'?" The aging, grey-haired man pulls out a tankard that has Hanlin's name knifed into it. "Eh whatever. Drink up. I ain't seen no damn Ass-Finders yet."
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"Its been more than a few days, more than a few months actually, but I'm happy to see you kept my mug for me." He flicks the man a coin and pulls up a stool at the bar.
"You'd be surprised how many Pathfinders can't find their own asses even in a room full of cold door knobs." Heh, my self included if I've gotta find a trail in the woods.
He takes a healthy drink and looks around, shrugging as he sees some familiar faces at the other tables. Almost like they've been banished here for endless training of newbie recruits. "Hey Janira. Good luck on that mapping mission with the gillmen. Can't wait to hear about the look on their faces when they come across that Minotaur!" He chortles a bit, slopping ale foam on his chest plate. "Dammit, I can't take me out anywhere's."
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Janira leaves the push doors with a bunch of oozes with a single Halfling who looks both confused and optimistic about the situation... And then later as Hanlin looks out the window, sees her seated across the way at the Wounded Wisp.
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Nargal walks in, big and strong. In less polite society one might call her physique "butch". Greatsword strapped to her side and hammer on the other, she looks ready for a fight. Taking little time she heads up to the bar and drops down a few coins. "Ale, strongest you have," she says firmly, but not loudly, to the bartender.
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Sudsy looks over to Hanlin after seeing Nargal and Phosdlon come in. "Hey, I found some more of your Ass-Finders!" He then opens a bottle of elven wine, and then takes a keg out from the bottom of the counter and plants it firmly on the counter. He then sticks a tap into it. He passes the wine to the elf and the barrel to the orc.
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In a corner of the tavern, a man stands up with great difficulty from the ground as he hears the voices. He lets out a yelp as the pathfinders speak. He clearly doesn't seem well and has grey-ish skin.
"Come oooon. Why dya need to yell so loud soooo early in dy aft'noon..." says the man, holding his head.
He stays with a gaping mouth, clearly not getting what is going on. "Izzz... iz dis anoder missshion?" he asks, squinting his eyes at the three pathfinders and the innkeeper.
"I zought I recieved sum ledder..." he says, searching erratically in his gear. As he does so, you catch a glimpse of a mithral chainmail beneath the rags the man is currently wearing. He also wears a bandoleer with several tankards made of tin.
Giving up on the search, he snatches a tankard half-drunk on a nearby table, stirs himself and gulps it down quickly, wipes his mouth with the back of the hand and burps loudly.
"By Cayden's Holy Tankard! I look like a mess! Pardon me, companions, for I completely forgot to present myself. My name is Tesson. And this is Compost, my trusty mangoose!" he says with a large grin, reeking of bad alcohol.
You indeed catch a glimpse of a pair of eyes under the rags. Its quick tongue sips beer from a miniature tankard strapped on Tesson's shoulder.
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Hanlin will rise from his seat at the bar to give a round of proper introductions to everyone. A firm handshake and a smile "Hanlin, Hanlin Ciderbrow. The second." He says the final bit with a touch of something.
"I'm a devote holy warrior as well, but to my Lady Iomedae." He smiles to everyone before pulling up a seat at the bar once again and turning to Nargal "So you gonna share some of that ale or what? A few drinks sounds like a good way to get to know everyone before we're stuck in the back of a cramped wagon or ship for weeks..."
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Kitane arrives at the tavern, is a varisian woman with dark hair and dark skin, as she crosses the door she tries to locate those who will be her new companions.
She goes to the innkeeper and asks for a jug of good wine, her stomach isnt the most apt to drink disolvents. Hello everyone my name is Kitane I think we are going to spend a season together a pleasure to meet you
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Tesson smiles widely, showing a missing tooth, and approaches the bar.
"Strongest ale for me as well, barkeep. It'll prevent me from drooling." he says with an awkward wink.
"Nice to meet you all everyone. I see we are from a wide range of divine followers. As a cleric of Caledan caledar, I am happy to meet other faith... guys. CHEERS!"
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Hanlin offers a hand in greeting to the newcoming lady and pauses for a moment as Tesson mispronounces his God's name. Not the first time I've seen one of his followers stumble over that. "Name's Hanlin, Ms Kitane."
Hanlin takes a moment to wrestle the keg spout away from Nargal, between chugs at least. "Just need.. half a mug at least!"
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An unusually hued ifrit enters the bar and spots the group. A few quick steps bring him over.
"I hope I'm the right person in the right place. I received a notice to be here. It was addressed to me, but they had the room number all wrong. My name is Zartan and I hope I can be as helpful to you as my patron was in rooting out that traitor Adril.
Zartan takes a seat, but declines to join in the drinking. Coins begin appearing and disappearing around his hands as his fingers twitch.
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"Greetings friends. I am Gorund Kahn, captain of the Ak-Nakal Tukan, my boat that will take you to where you need to go, after which we will ride together to meet Ollystria, though my mission is different from yours." He sits his large plated body down and drinks from a mug made out of rocks.
Ak-Nakal Tukan roughly translates to Sinking Stone.
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So the Oread, Gorund Kahn, takes you all onto his ship. You begin the long trek through land and water, as surprisingly his stone ship can take you over land as well.
Many weeks of travel pass, and soon you find yourselves in the village of Gundrun; a ramshackle village built on the remains of a once proud clanhold, yet it’s among the few proper settlements that eke out a living in what was once Sarkoris.
From the rough yet sturdy buildings, a Mwangi man bedecked in polished, nearly golden plate armor emblazoned with the holy symbol of Iomedae steps onto the dirt road and approaches with a friendly wave. It’s Venture-Captain Jorsal of Lauterbury.
“Pathfinders, it’s good to see you again. Walk with me, if you will,” Jorsal requests as he turns toward a crude wooden structure. The he gives a quick signal to a standing guard and opens the door, motioning inwards. “Though the Pathfinder Society doesn’t have an official lodge here in Gundrun, the locals have allowed us to use part of Clefthorn Lodge as a war room to discuss upcoming missions and objectives. Please take a seat.”
As the room begins to fill, he closes the door behind him and makes his way to a small desk, where a large parchment map supports a host of red and blue figurines.
“During the First Mendevian Crusade, an Iomedaean cleric named Ghalcor and his assistants built a once-secret weapon to combat the encroaching demonic threat; however, the fighting ended before he could put it to use. I say ‘once-secret’ because the demons heard about the weapon and attacked the tower when combat resumed years later. It seems Ghalcor was caught off-guard. He and his team died in the assault, but not before they triggered special safeguards to keep anyone from capturing the weapon—demon, crusader, or otherwise. Since the weapon was never used, no one knows quite what it does or even how it works. What we do know is that we’ve spotted demons scouting the site as if they intend to break in soon. I trust you understand how that could be worrisome.”
He picks up several of the blue figurines and moves them from Gundrun to a site labeled ‘Ghalcor’s Tower.’ “Queen Galfrey has sent some of her forces to hold the area around Ghalcor’s Tower, but she needs specialists to find a way in. You,” he says with pride, “are those specialists. Travel north to the tower, enter it, handle any hostiles, and find out how the weapon works; you may also be called on to arm and even activate it, if circumstances demand. A brigade of Nerosyan’s crusaders is already on-site awaiting your arrival, and the esteemed Ollysta Zadrian is due to arrive soon with a small contingent to reinforce their position. She may have more details once you arrive."
“Make haste, and may the Inheritor guide your actions.”
Ghalcor was a decorated cleric of Iomedae during the First and Second Mendevian Crusades but died in one of the opening skirmishes of the latter war.
Ghalcor handpicked exemplary crusaders with sterling reputations for a secret project, and later studies showed that they heavily researched the nature of the planes and philosophical texts about morality before departing to construct their tower fortress. Ghalcor had a reputation as one who respected scholars of any background.
The few research notes that survived Ghalcor’s death were instrumental in developing other powerful works, such as the wardstones that kept the demons at bay until recently.
Iomedaen scholars prefer to downplay Ghalcor’s final investigations, which delved into several Sarkorian traditions of bloodletting and self-sacrifice to channel and focus one’s power.
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Kitani listens to Jorsal with attention, since it is not the first time that they work together and tries to remember what he read once in the Absalom Library about it
"Ghalcor was a decorated cleric of Iomedae during the First and Second Mendevian Crusades but died in one of the opening skirmishes of the latter war."
"Ghalcor handpicked exemplary crusaders with sterling reputations for a secret project, and later studies showed that they heavily researched the nature of the planes and philosophical texts about morality before departing to construct their tower fortress. Ghalcor had a reputation as one who respected scholars of any background."
"The few research notes that survived Ghalcor’s death were instrumental in developing other powerful works, such as the wardstones that kept the demons at bay until recently."
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Tesson seems to try to focus as hard as he can. It however doesn't look like it's enough and soon, he snores on the table. The man wakes up as Kitani speaks of Ghalcor and his story. Trying to make everyone believe he followed the conversation, Tesson clings to the last bits he heard.
"And... Do we have some bits of information about the works developed by Ghalcor? I mean... The few things we have may give hints on how he operated and how to break in the tower, right? Is there anything about that?"
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Hanlin, apparently not nearly the scholar his father expected him to be, knows nothing of the history Kitani rehashes. He sits enthralled at something he should have known about. How did I ever miss such a remarkable and amazing story about one of my own brothers? Father was right, I am lacking.
"To be chosen for such an important and relevant mission I am honored. I'll do what I can to fulfill this task and hopefully lay waste to some demon bastards in the process!" He grins wickedly at the last bit, drawing his gleaming longsword and raising it in salute to the sun.. before looking around to see if there are actually any windows in here...
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"And... Do we have some bits of information about the works developed by Ghalcor? I mean... The few things we have may give hints on how he operated and how to break in the tower, right? Is there anything about that?"
"Aside from that, the tower is approximately 20 miles north of here.”
When you are ready, Jorsal calls over a Kellid woman who wears a mask. She calls upon her powers to summon five Phantom Steeds.. Then a heated debate happens between Jorsal and the Kellid woman, until he slips her a bag of coins and she summons a 6th one.
"These should last long enough to take you to Ghalcor's Tower. Best of luck, Pathfinders."
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Ghalcor’s Tower looms over the surrounding wasteland on a plateau that plummets down to the defiled Sarkora River below. At a distance, the tower looks like nothing more than a large outcropping of weathered rock, though this is an illusion maintained by the towers safeguards to help it avoid attention; the mirage fades away at a distance of 100 feet to reveal an octagonal keep of smoothed stone with a central tower that soars more than 100 into the air. Surveying from the foundation to the top of the tower, there’s no obvious entrance; the structure appears sealed.
Several hundred crusaders have erected a palisade crowned with cold iron spikes around the tower. Dozens of tents fill the enclosed space. Nearest the tower stands a large command pavilion, where a dozen crusaders strategize over battle plans and maps. As the you all approach, the crusaders halt you. "Identify yourselves, strangers."
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"We're Pathfinders, sent by VC Jorsal." Hanlin bows his head slightly in deference. "I am Hanlin Ciderbrow Jr., Holy warrior of Iomedae. The keeper of the light and swinger of longsword steel. Banisher of all that is evil from across the pond."
He smiles a bit to lighten the mood. Everyone knows even knights are men at heart and all men need a good laugh now and again.
"Long story short: we're here to help find this weapon so we can all vaporize some demon faces and get home to our wives and girl friends and make more children..."
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"Ah, Pathfinders. Olystria is further in. She has been expecting you." They escort you over to her tent. She looks up from her table and greets you all.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Pathfinders,” Ollysta states calmly. “I hope that Venture-Captain Jorsal explained the situation to you fully because the demonic scouts that we found surveying the tower, have sent for reinforcements."
"Our movements have not gone unnoticed, and we spotted a large contingent of demons and fiend-spawn moving this way. There are more numerous than we had anticipated, so we are relying on you to secure and prepare Ghalcor’s weapon."
"I intend to assist in the defense of the camp, and everyone is placing their faith in your success. Venture- Captain Jorsal chose each of you for a reason, and I am confident in his decision.” With that, she dons her helmet, walks out of the tent, and calls to her crusaders.
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Hanlin will follow Zartan out of the tent, not wanting him to get in over his head. "Best to stay together my friends. Demons and their like can come in large groups and be quite powerful. Typically cold iron can be required to pierce their hides. Sometimes magical blades..."
Let's hope these men and ladies have had some experience with those ruthless creatures.
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Ollysta’s crusaders form a circle around her. “Without a doubt, the evil we face today is a challenge. It is a challenge of our skill at arms, and we shall be victorious. It is a challenge of our valor, and we shall bravely face the most dreadful threats as a united whole. Last of all, it is a challenge of our grace, for the Silver Crusade fights here not to conquer but to liberate. Do everything that you can to ensure that the weapon within this tower does not fall into the hands of the demons."
"Go, and bring light to this forsaken land. I trust each of you to do what you believe is right in accomplishing this goal, for the Society is watching and judging the merits of good by your actions.” With that, she gives the you an encouraging clap on the back and nudges you in the direction of your fellow Pathfinders.
As you all approach the tower, you see that it is covered in a forcefield. This barrier has halted all efforts that both the Crusaders and the demons have attempted to enter. The fields around you are eerily quiet...
You discern that the magical resonance of the field is similar to that of a wayfinder.
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Hanlin nods with conviction to Ollysta and the others Crusaders as she delivers the speech. "We will not fail." And he heads off with the others.
As Kitani diagnoses the force field he nods in agreement with Tesson "I too do not possess a wayfinder I must admit. I've been in the field for most of my active duty and honestly forgot to ask about one once I finally returned to the Lodge. Does anyone have one that could try to deactivate the shield?"
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Ollysta arrives a few minutes afterwards. "How goes your progress?" You see she is wearing a Wayfinder bearing the holy symbol of Sarenrae on it.
You quickly explain the situation and discovery to her, to which she replies, "It is unusual that a party of Pathfinders would not have a single wayfinder among them, but I can certainly allow you to borrow mine for the time being." She takes it off her armor and offers it to you all.
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The interior of the tower has floors tiled with stone. Unless noted otherwise, everburning torches hang from wall sconces at regular intervals; however, the sacred prisms’ constant demands for more power have drained away some of the torches’ magic, so they only provide dim light. Unless otherwise stated, the ceiling is 10ft in height.
In the walls are sacred prisms. Removing a sacred prism from its niche extinguishes the torches and the illuminated pipes.
A sacred prisms that’s fully charged contains 8 charges of holy energy, though most contain fewer. In addition to its use as a battery, a PC can use a sacred prism to augment spells he casts with the good descriptor, expending 2 charges to increase the spell’s caster level by 1, 4 charges to increase the caster level by 2, or 8 charges to increase the caster level by 3. A PC can also throw a prism as a splash weapon that destroys the prism and replicates a holy smite spell (Will DC 16) with a caster level equal to the number of remaining charges.
A PC can recharge a prism in several ways.
• The prism absorbs spells with the good descriptor cast directly at it, regaining a number of charges equal to the spell’s level.
• When affected by a channel energy effect augmented by the Alignment Channel feat to harm evil outsiders or heal good outsiders, a prism regains a number of charges equal to the number of dice the PC would roll for the effect.
• Finally, a good-aligned creature can grasp a prism and concentrate as a full-round action to restore 1d4 charges, though doing so also gives the PC 1 temporary negative level for 24 hours. Prisms cannot hold more than 8 charges.
A curving corridor angles to the north before disappearing around a bend. The walls and floors bear gashes and holes, bearing testament to a terrible battle long ago, and a mass of corpses—some humanoid, some demonic, and all dead—litter the cold, tiled floor.
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Hanlin stops and takes a look at the prisms "These are amazing. They hold holy energy to power things, or to empower good spells. I bet we could charge them up if we gathered a bunch together. Iomedae would help me in this cause..."
"If this place has not be disturbed for some time then we can expect traps and the dead, if not other things perhaps. Tread carefully." He draws his shield before continuing over to check on the fallen.