GM Tyranius Tyrant's Grasp

Game Master Tyranius

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BottleCaps: Aishe (1); Atium (1); Tessenarin (1); Vanyan (1); Vinas (1)


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Dark Archive

Dot in here.


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Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

Aishe Danior is a relatively young man in his late thirties with oily skin and a relaxed look about him. He may wear loose fitting clothes, but they’re of fine homespun cotton and clean. He seems to do what he can to keep himself clean as well, paying particular attention to his nails which are very smooth and fine. Though he sports a morning star and a dagger, it’s clear from the position on his belt, that he favors a light crossbow nicely strung at his hip.

He frowns as he looks down upon the nag, freshly and badly lamed before him. ”It’s time old gal.” he says quietly as he takes out his crossbow. Placing a bolt, he cocks it and rests it on the horses head. He gently releases the catch, and the bolt thrums home.

After a moment, he unhitches the dead animal and ties himself into the traces as he hauls his wagon the last couple miles into town. Though earlier he had mourned the nearly empty load as a wasted return trip, now his muscles, such as they are, are glad of it. He strains as Roslar’s Coffer, his home of nearly ten years now, heaves into view.

With just a few coins to his name, he wonders how he’ll make ends meet now. Might be time to sign on to the watch for some spare change. He’d done it before. But, perhaps it was time for something more…


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Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
Stats:
AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)

*sigh*

Vanyan leans against the tree, his travel clothes covered in dust.

Vanyan stares over his old homestead. Well, it was not *his*, it did not belong to anyone anymore, but he grew up there. But that was 11, 12(?) years ago when he left Roslar's Coffer to join the Pathfinders.

At the age of 16, he has snuck out of the house to pursue his glory. He went where he thought he might learn and grow and explore.

That was a big mistake. The Pathfinders were a waste of time.

Vanyan kicks at a rock, his head lost in thought.

At the same time, I might be dead if I had stayed.

He sighs again, then kicks the rock the other direction.

I might be dead like my parents. Or they might live because of me. I'll never know.

Vanyan shakes his head, trying to shake out the fight he'd been having with himself for the past 12 years. It was a fight that he could never win, either way. The attack 4707, mere months after he had left, had destroyed most of the town. He probably wouldn't have made a difference. Or would he have? Could he have saved his mom? His dad?

He had left the Coffer in 4706, a youth at 16 to join the Pathfinders. It was a fool's quest. He had been admitted to the Society (the entrance mission was a piece of cake), but his time there was a joke. He wasn't highly trained before his similarly untrained Pathfinders had be thrust into all matter of crazed and dangerous undertakings. After about the fifth or sixth near death experience, they took him off the active, outgoing lists to the passive, supporting capacities. It's not like he ever died. Or caused anyone else to die. But the Society didn't see fit to send him out much anymore. They didn't have much use for him.

And that's how he wasted about 8 years of his life: being underused and hiding from life in the Society. He could craft a homebrewed hangover remedy, tell you a bit about the history of Absalom, & name 3 types of giant, and knew plenty about magic, but the Society didn't care. And so neither did he.

Vanyan's gaze again goes to the remnants of his home: the brick chimney, a few bits of fencing that used to hold goats and chickens, and then to the back wall that once was part of his bedroom.

To his right used to be big fields of kale, to his left, used to fields for livestock. It was a good farm, back when he was young. Everyone had a job, everyone knew their duty. Back when he had potential. And dreams.

Duty, an angry memory hits Vanyan hard. F!@~ the Pathfinders.

The last straw had come when the Pathfinders had sent a crew to *his* hometown to handle something called the Reaver. He hadn't even known it was happening, much less been invited. He had to read about it in a Pathfinder Chronicle, like a common golarimuggle. They could have *asked* him to go to his hometown.

He could have come to face the Reaver.
He could have come home to show the town he was a famous Pathfinder now.
He could have really been someone.
He never had the chance.

Vanyan shakes his head, looking down at what he had left in his life: a broken wayfinder, a nice backpack full of rarely used adventuring gear, and whatever he could do with his two hands and two feet. There were still a few coins in his purse.

Maybe the militia is hiring until I can get my feet under me. Maybe get a business started. I dunno.

He looks left, then right, as if hoping to see a neighbor or an old friend to help him re-attach himself to the Coffer. He finds none. He would ask where his parents are buried, if their bodies were found at all. He would like to pay his respects.

With another glance back at his old home, Vanyan picks up his backpack and walks into town. He hopes for a better welcome than his family's now-tomb offers him.

He hadn't trod this road in a long time. With more and more uncertainly with every footstep, Vanyan wonders what is next for him.

Vanyan Timeline:

4690 AR Born in Roslar's Coffer
4706 AR Leaves home to join the Pathfinders, traveling to the Grand Lodge in Absalom
4707 AR Twisted Nail Orcs destroy much of Roslar's Coffer
4708 AR Officially accepted into the Pathfinder Society
4708 AR Nearly dies trying to stop a silent tide of undead entering Absalom
4708 AR Nearly dies to a crazed ziggurat-humping ape within a museum
4708 AR Nearly freezes to death after being transported through a painting into an iceberg, then eaten by zombies
4709 AR Nearly dies to spiders and ettercaps in the jungles of the River Kingdoms
4710 AR Removed from active duty
4711 AR Meets an incarnation of Aroden Reborn within the walls of the Grand Lodge
4714 AR Nearly dies in a Shadow Lodge attack on the Grand Lodge to goblins and dragon burn
4717 AR Finding his life lacking meaning, Vanyan begins to look for something else
4718 AR Leaves the Society after reading about the Reaver's Roar and his town's attempts to rebuild and protect after continued orc raids
4719 AR Returns to Roslar's Coffer

Appearance:

Vanyan isn't tall or short for a half-elf. The walk back from Absalom had hardened his legs and put some muscle back that had gone to fat, but mostly he was just average is most aspects. His brown hair hung down his back, and his green eyes held little of mirth or joy.

He wears relatively unused hide armor. He has a dagger and morningstar at his waist and uses a longspear as a walking stick.

Dark Archive

Lastwall is a land of rolling grasslands, primeval forests, and ancient battle scars. Once a landscape of orc holds and Kellid city-states dotted with Taldan supply forts. Mass battles left landscapes impregnated with shattered bone and bent steel, with many stretches of land still fetid and unable to support crops. Terrible magic and spirits still haunt many ancient battlefields, even a millennium later.

Despite the horror it has seen, those portions of Lastwall held by mortal hands are beautiful and bountiful. Proximity to Lake Encarthan provides ample rainfall and cool summers, albeit harsh and snowy winters. Growing seasons are long enough to support a variety of crops. The Northern Fangwood Forest and foothills of the Hungry Mountains effectively divide Lastwall in half. Eastern Lastwall is far more urban and reclaimed, with vast farms and ranches supporting cattle and the nation’s famous horses, as well as the trade city of Vellumis—an ancient Ustalavic port and the largest city in the nation. Western Lastwall is less tamed and more hostile—an irony, given that the nation’s capital of Vigil lies in this untamed half—with frequent incursions from Belkzen orcs, occasional resurgences of necromantic energy, and large tracts of land and forest left largely unexplored and untouched by modern hands. Roslar’s Coffer—western Lastwall’s southernmost town—exists largely by the grace of the Tourondel River, and little in the way of modern construction exists between it and the fortresses over 100 miles north except a well-guarded stone road and a few hunting lodges. Despite this isolation, the people of Roslar’s Coffer squarely consider themselves residents of Lastwall and do what they can to contribute to the nation. Roslar’s Coffer is once again a quiet, remote village. The ancient church that stood in its square brought pride to the townsfolk. Children laughed and chased one another along the cobblestone roads while farmers took shade under the boughs of the trees.

With a strong-hearted and faithful military tradition, the people of Lastwall tend to be community focused, forthright, and hard working. Their survival depends on trusting each person in the community to do their job to the best of her ability, and every citizen knows his community could fall to the next orc raid or harsh winter if he doesn’t give every task his best effort. As a people squeezed between two hostile presences, they are deeply devout, with most residents attending temple services multiple times a week, but as with all things, practicality comes first, and worship must wait if there is work to be done. Most citizens spend the spring planting, summers drilling with weapons and armor, and the autumn harvesting before the first hard freeze. The long, cold winters are a time of respite—orcs rarely campaign in the snow, and freezing temperatures harden the ground and prevent the restless dead from wandering—allowing more attention to hobbies, family, and friends. Feasts and marriages are common in the winter months, though most are generally small, local affairs, as roads during the Lastwall winter can be punishing even for seasoned travelers.

Several abandoned buildings on the edge of the town are adorned with red ribbons, most worn and stained with time. Very little in the village appears to be recently built, and many houses appear to be in disrepair. The village is bustling, as bustling as 400 population can get, as winter is a mere couple of weeks away. A young woman, that you know around town as Arbella Tharmethion has set up shop working as a traveling trader of sorts. Most of the children of Roslar’s Coffer are all playing together in and around a massive oak tree tied with ribbons and unusually vibrant flowers as they climb and swirl all about it. Dozens of birds chirp and sing in the trees as folks look to set up for a spectacular wedding.

It is said a dwarven hero, Vanderhoff Steelkeg, and a Knight, Calrianne Blix, from Castle Firrine are set to get married in the next couple of days. It is to be quite the affair as even Mayor Lady Mullana Grive is seen out and about seeing that things go off without a hiccup while setting up. The Captain of the guard barks a few orders to his men in the distance as they work on drills to keep it in their muscle memory.

Go ahead and introduce your characters. What are you doing in and around town?


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Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • Vinas is a tall man of mostly Kellid countenance, just above six feet. His shoulders are broad, a posture born of both musculature and pride. His face is entirely too fresh, for he’s barely seen enough suns to be called a man. His striking eyes are a deep murky blue. They speak of a deep eagerness.

    Every bit of his attire is as clean and fresh as the man; polished armor, oiled buckles, and even the hem of his cloak is devoid of dust from the road.

    Vinas uth Antimanes was raised as much by the story of his parents as his parents themselves. Vinas was born in 4700 in Roslar’s Coffer, to parents accustomed to a hard life. His father was a crusader, from a long line of crusaders. His mother was a cleric of Iomedae, herself raised as an orphan in the church of the Lady of Valor. As a child Vinas spent most of his time in training away from home with an azata mentor, Elyanora. While his parents were loving in their own way, they expressed it by continuing to fight - hoping for a better future. Most of the time, they were off on adventures.

    When the Nail came as a child he didn't understand what happened. He was too young to appreciate the horror. His parents, however, were brokenhearted. Rather than live among the ruins, they traveled to Nerosyan to build a new and different life, devoting themselves to a higher cause..

    There Vinas excelled in his studies, having received the best of his parents traits. He spent his time reading romantic tales of knights and crusaders. It was a forgone conclusion that he would serve Lastwall in some fashion as an adult, but even as his childhood yielded to adolescence, it always seemed to him to be so far off.

    It all came crashing down in his fourteenth year. The Pathfinder Society called it "The Siege of Diamond City." To Vinas it will always be the day he was orphaned. Both parents died in the offensive from the Worldwound. They were given a heroes burial with hundreds of others.

    Faced with the reality of death for the first time, Vinas struggled. The death of his parents soured the youth on the idea of becoming a crusader. After the money ran out on his education in his 16th year, he struck out on his own. For the next two years he's wandered with a sense of honor, but no sense of purpose.

    Deep down, he knows he just needs something to latch onto. Unfortunately, he has no idea what that something is. Towns, cities, villages - they all pretty much run together now. Sometimes it's work, sometimes the name on the map piques curiosity. Whatever it is, he doesn't stay long. He's been wandering for two years now.

    Looking to get back to basics, he has recently returned to Roslar’s Coffer, hoping for.... something.


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    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

    Aishe drags his wagon through town to the (naturally) far side where his home is located. He leaves it by the ditch out front, not quite in the ditch, but ready to push there.

    Breathing heavily he looks at his forlorn hovel. One wall leaning out, two leaning in, only one remains true to its original form and purpose. He opens the door, jiggling it a little out of habit as it’s often stuck. He strides into the one large room and flops over on his cot. He lies there a bit as his muscles continue to complain at the effort they’ve just been put under.

    After a while, he gets up and scrounges around the kitchen for a late lunch. As is often the case after a long trip, there is little available, but he makes do with what he has, munching on a raw turnip as the rest of the simple ingredients are assembled.

    Then he takes stock of his options. After a time away, he checks his things for theft (not that he leaves anything of value behind, but the door doesn’t really latch) and stares at the walls a while. He rises, splashes some water on his face, and eyes himself in the cracked mirror forming a plan.

    Early, but still supper time, he strides back out, closing the door firmly behind him (jiggle) and he strides to the pub for a hot supper (or what passes for it) and to drown his sorrows a bit.

    On his way he picks up some hunting quarrels for his crossbow as he won’t be working as a driver a while and may need to hunt. (10 bolts 1gp).

    (Aishe has lived here for some ten years. Happy to know anyone else who’s also from/in town for some or all of that time. Aishe is a bit quiet, but he tries to be friendly, and does a decent job of it most of the time. Doesn’t do great follow up though, so if your character is a bit distant, he might not know you personally (though I think it’s a small enough town we’d know each other by sight at least).)


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • Vinas left town as a young child. He doesn't remember people so much as smells, sights, and emotions.


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    Tessenarin walks slowly back into Roslar's Coffer with a couple of rabbits slung over his shoulder while singing a travelling song as he walks. His studded leather is dirty and grass-stained, as are his pants and boots. A long bow is strung across his back along with a great axe strapped across his back. Despite his bounty, he has a slight scowl on his otherwise attractive face. Parts of his long blond hair are braided to the back, revealing his slightly pointed ears, an indication of his heritage.

    He walks back to a ramshackle building he calls "home," and proceeds to light a cooking fire. He then carries the rabbits and proceeds to butcher them and drops them into a stew pot. He adds some vegetables and hangs it over the fire. While the stew cooks, he takes care of his bow and looks around at his few remaining memories of his family.

    "Why do I stay here?" he thinks. "I could go elsewhere and do something better I'm sure. There's nothing for me here any more." Then he hears his mother and father both talk to him about history, and how there are bad things nearby, nd that above all else, you have to be READY, and PREPARED. He sighs and leans back in his chair wondering "Can I ever escape the past?"

    Anyone from town would likely know Tessenarin. He works as a cook most nights or sells food he makes from his house. He is known for looking perpetually angry, but in reality is not nearly as angry as he appears.


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)

    Vanyan pauses in his trek back to town, the scent of stewed rabbits touching his nose. He presses on, as whomever has the cookpot probably does not want his company.

    He puts his head down and continues to walk on. He wonders why he came back here. He wonders why this quaint hellhole would be the place he would want to return. He had been a Pathfinder and gone to a lot of places…but, given the chance to live wherever, he returned here.

    And he knew why: duty.

    It was the duty of how he was raised here in the Coffer.

    This was his community and he knew his place here, once and long ago.

    He wants a place again. A duty. A community. A purpose.

    He walks on, hoping to get to downtown soon. There he hopes to find what he is looking for. Also, some food, the stew's scent giving rise to his own hunger.

    Dark Archive

    Getting to the town's entrance Vanyan passes by the Bastion of Light, the Sarenite Temple that the Red Reaver had terrorized just a year before. It looks to be in much better shape than the Pathfinder Chronicle had let on, though a year's worth or repairs and reclaiming much of this area has helped immensely it seems. Vanyan watches as a young man with long braided blond hair brings a string of rabbits back into town.

    Several merchants and traders move in and out of town as they take supplies in and out for commerce and to help arm the Knights of Ozem in the area.

    Soon the smell of cooked rabbit rises in the air mixed with the stale barley and hops from the Inn in the middle of town, The Toothless Pike Inn. Vanyan enters town to take it all in. Several dozen children rush around the great oak tree, running ribbons all over the place, looping them in and out of the branches. Some of the children see some one new come into town and immediately rush Vanyan with all sorts of curious questions. A boy with curly brown hair pips up.

    "Hey Mister! Who are you?" He calls out smiling. The children seemed bored and eager for stories and something different.

    You look like you have stories and travel. Tell us some." A little girl crosses her hands together. "Pleeeeeeaaaase."

    ******

    Tessenarin gets back to work as he spends most of the early afternoon, skinning and preparing the rabbit, dumping it in the stew for tonight. Soon there is a knock on the door as a dwarf wearing a great green cloak knocking on the door. Tessenarin knows him as Gorm, he comes and goes through town here and there. Always seems to be a regular and stop by for a good meal when he is in town. He is a known Pathfinder and the third prince of the sky citadel Kraggodan. "Stew ready yet Tessenarin?" He says with a smile and begins into a lengthy story of his recent exploits. He grabs a rabbit. "Come on now boy, That ain't how you make rabbit stew. Add in a bit of parsley and thyme here. It really draws the flavor out!" He begins to offer a hand.

    ******

    Hanging out around town the last few days Vina wanders about. returning brought backed a bag of mixed emotions that he wasn't quite sure about yet. The Twisted Nail Tribe was still out there, of that he was sure. His thoughts are quickly cut off as one of the local clerics working out of the Bastion of Light passes by and offers him a bit of a greeting. “She is the Dawnflower, the heart of light, hope, and redemption.” Confused, Vinas realizes that he seems to be lost in thought as he was looking at an erected Statue of the goddess. Teh cleric smiles. He is an older, frail man using a cane to help him steady himself on the softer ground. "Haven't seen you around here before. What brings you here young man. Seeking guidance are you?"

    ******

    Aishe spends most of his day resting after the long wagon ride back. After a brief rest, taking stock, and knocking the small bits of dust from everything he heads to the The Toothless Pike Inn. On the way there Aishe smells the familiar smell of cooked rabbit stew coming from Tessenarin place as a few folks line up for stew, wanting to avoid the busier and more mainstream Toothless Pike.

    There most of the town seems to be, including the couple set to be married tomorrow! Vanderhoff Steelkeg and Calrianne Blix, known heroes of the area as they helped stop a siege of giants from descending down on these lands as well as held off the might of the Twisted Nail Orc Tribe in Trunau.

    Aishe's landlord, Luthias Catanach, sits in the far corner of the room. Seeing Aishe he raises his eyebrows. Grabbing and extra mug he pours of bit of Snakebite #7 into it and brings it over, handing it to Aishe. "Back again I see. How long this time? Kept the place how you like it. Made sure nutting was stolen or broken into. Though it ain't us locals you gotta worry 'bout. It deem green skins out der." Luthias goes into the same spiel he always does when Aishe returns.

    Normally I would keep these all under spoilers for each of you but Meh, this gives you more of an idea what is going on and it isn't affecting anything yet.


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • Vinas smiles, looks down, and then responds, "Aye sir, I am. Well, not the kind of guidance that advice can give. I'm looking, I guess, for the question itself. I grew up here. I'm sorry if I don't remember you, but it's been some time."

    Vinas gives a proper introduction, "I'm Vinas uth Antimanes. I'd call myself a mercenary, but I'm bad at asking to get paid for a good cause."

    Dark Archive

    Vinas uth Antimanes wrote:

    Vinas smiles, looks down, and then responds, "Aye sir, I am. Well, not the kind of guidance that advice can give. I'm looking, I guess, for the question itself. I grew up here. I'm sorry if I don't remember you, but it's been some time."

    Vinas gives a proper introduction, "I'm Vinas uth Antimanes. I'd call myself a mercenary, but I'm bad at asking to get paid for a good cause."

    A smile creases the man's lips. "Ah! Vinas. It is good to finally meet you. I knew your mother as we grew up together." A frown forms on his face. "I am terribly sorry to hear of her passing. That was a nasty Siege." Hearing of the Mercenary role and payment he clasps the man on his shoulder. "Those are the virtues of a good upbringing. Not something to feel bad about."


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    GM Tyranius wrote:
    Vanyan enters town to take it all in. Several dozen children rush around the great oak tree, running ribbons all over the place, looping them in and out of the branches. Some of the children see some one new come into town and immediately rush Vanyan with all sorts of curious questions. A boy with curly brown hair pips up.

    Vanyan stops to look at the downtown, barely remembering it. And what he does remember, does not fit very well with his recollections. It's amazing how much has changed, yet seems the same.

    He almost pauses, worried, that he couldn't enter the Toothless Pike...before remembering that he was far older now and had been in seedier establishments. It just still seemed taboo.

    Children wrote:
    "Hey Mister! Who are you? You look like you have stories and travel. Tell us some."

    Vanyan seems surprised that the children speak to him, having forgotten his own encounters as a youth...and the stories that lead him to want to be a Pathfinder. He has no desire to place his own failed experiences upon these youth, but also wouldn't mind sharing some information.

    "Well, yes, child, I have traveled. And I have been places and seen things you might not believe. But...I need information as well as food. So maybe you can answer some of my questions and I will tel you a story. What do you say?" Vanyan smiles. It's not a good smile, but a forthright effort is being made.

    "I need to know where the mayor's house is. Also, if there are any storefronts for sale. And also, where the militia meets. I will tell you a story...and in return, you will help me."

    Assuming the children agree, he will tell them a story.

    "Have you heard the story of the Drownyard, in Absalom? Well, let me tell you about the girl we found there...*historyhistory*...protected by the undead...*historyhistory*...fought our way past ghouls...a girl slept safely in a crypt for 10 or so years...*historyhistory*..." Vanyan explains one of his Pathfinder missions. It is not a bardic retelling, but more a dry history as he has no flair for the dramatic, nor the poet's voice.

    Dark Archive

    Vanyan wrote:

    "Well, yes, child, I have traveled. And I have been places and seen things you might not believe. But...I need information as well as food. So maybe you can answer some of my questions and I will tel you a story. What do you say?" Vanyan smiles. It's not a good smile, but a forthright effort is being made.

    "I need to know where the mayor's house is. Also, if there are any storefronts for sale. And also, where the militia meets. I will tell you a story...and in return, you will help me."

    Assuming the children agree, he will tell them a story.

    The children nod excitedly as they listen to the story. The girls all gasp and cover their eyes at the visions and retelling of the undead and the girl as the boys stand wide-eyed, rapt with attention. By the end though they are all smiling and cheering. "Wow Mister! You are amazing. Can't believe I am meeting a real hero." He grabs a stick from teh nearby tree and begins swinging it around like a sword. "I'll fight off them orcs just like you did the undead."

    Scampering back over he whispers to a few more of the children. "My name is Jacob." he introduces himself and then one by one points to a few more of the children. "That's Annabelle...Billy...Tommy...Timmy, they are twins and that one there is Maggie." He smiles again, the crooked smile of a very young child showing off his own impressive skills and memory.

    He points to a small manor. "That's the Mayor's place there. Not a whole lot for shops, just some travelers that come and go." He points to a small cart setting up near the wedding for tomorrow. "That's Arbella's. She can trade and usually find all kinds of things, though it takes some time." He looks a bit embarrassed as he misunderstands. "You can afford a place Mister?" He calls out to the kids. "He is going to open a new shop!" The children all get equally as excited.


    A large , well built young man. Clean shaven of chin, but with long flowing hair and some tribal tattoos adorning his face would normally stand out if milling about town. This large man, doesn't currently look as big as he should because of contrasting perspectives.
    He's standing next to two "somethings" even larger and more impressive.

    Atium is at the Stable doors next to the Military Outpost. He is brushing down a few exceptional looking horses beset with bit, bridal and even some studded leather barding. The horses he is taking meticulous care of are renowned around Lastwall and are called Dotort Chargers. The Dotort Ranch being located to the East of Vigil - their pride and joy stallions are not normally seen so far south. The stallions are breed of a very special stock, and even an average observer notices how they are a good foot taller and broader than normal horses.

    As Atium takes two feedbags in one hand, he seems to be talking calmly and comfortingly to the horses. He puts one of the bags down, starting to buckle the feedbag onto the Charger. At the same time, he reprimands the companion horse as it tries to eat the sweet smelling oats a bit early. While fastening the straps and buckles, Atium takes a long scanning look at the new town he is in. Seeing the people, the wedding preparations, the others in town who also stand out -just like he does. Well, at least he will stand out once he's away from the attention getting Dotorts.

    Dark Archive

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    Tribal Tattoos on his face like This? (Link)

    Atium wrote:
    As Atium takes two feedbags in one hand, he seems to be talking calmly and comfortingly to the horses. He puts one of the bags down, starting to buckle the feedbag onto the Charger. At the same time, he reprimands the companion horse as it tries to eat the sweet smelling oats a bit early. While fastening the straps and buckles, Atium takes a long scanning look at the new town he is in. Seeing the people, the wedding preparations, the others in town who also stand out -just like he does. Well, at least he will stand out once he's away from the attention getting Dotorts.

    Atium hears a bit of giggling from within the stables. Peering around the corner he sees one of the young guards, easily in his early twenties, who seems to have snuck away from his swordplay practice. He looks to be with another young lady around his age as they frolic and toss around in a nearby hay-pile. Peering up she sees him and grows a bit embarrassed as she turns red. She clears his throat and smiles, giving the man a quick peck before running off. "I'll see you later John. Tonight?"

    The man nods eagerly in agreement as she runs off. He stands up, adjusting his clothes and grabbing his armor. He tosses Atium a silver coin and puts his finger to his lips. "Our secret alright. I can't be caught with her. Her dad would literally kill me if he found out." He smiles ear to ear. "But we are in love. You know, I am planning on marrying that girl." He sits down on the pile of hay and lays back down in his hiding spot so as not to be caught by the Captain of the guard.


    Hay Wrestler wrote:
    "Our secret alright. I can't be caught with her. Her dad would literally kill me if he found out.

    To which Atium blushes a bit. Still a bit young and embarrassed by such innuendo. Thankfully for the young man, John is far more interested in watching his own Dotort filly walk away from the stables. John stares intently at her rear as it sways back and forth while she walks.

    Clearing his throat Ahem. Atium replies, Yeah, I understand. "Loose lips breaks bricks".
    He takes the silver and pockets it.
    Not exactly certain how that cliche fit this situation, but it was response enough for the slacker.

    Then he thinks to ask the reclining soldier, Will it get cold enough to frost the ground tonight? I need to know so I can decide on whether to blanket these beauties before putting them in their stalls for the night.
    **********
    Atium finishes up and the smell of rabbit attracts his attention. With a free found silver in hand, he heads to the quasi house/soupkitchen ( Tassenarin's). He takes in a few moments to see the line of soup purchasers and the "way he's supposed to do things". He steps in line and gives a nod of thanks to the Tessenarin as he's obviously the cook. Atium places his silver down and collects the appropriate change in coppers.


    Tessenarin looks slightly askance at Gorm, opens his mouth, then shuts it. He inhales though his nose then exhales through is mouth. He then turns to Gorm and gives a smile of resignation. Of course. Please, feel free to jump in here. He steps aside to allow Gorm room to step in.


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7
    Tyranius wrote:
    Aishe's landlord, Luthias Catanach, sits in the far corner of the room. Seeing Aishe he raises his eyebrows. Grabbing and extra mug he pours of bit of Snakebite #7 into it and brings it over, handing it to Aishe. ”Back again I see. How long this time? Kept the place how you like it. Made sure nutting was stolen or broken into. Though it ain't us locals you gotta worry 'bout. It deem green skins out der.” Luthias goes into the same spiel he always does when Aishe returns.

    ”Ah oh. Thanks Luthias, you’re a real gentleman.” Aishe grins easily at his friend and moves to the chair opposite him. ”It was a gravy run down, but coming back…” he dutifully tells the tale of his journey, though he doesn’t tell it well. He’s overlong in the boring bits, and too light on the short bursts of excitement and almost forgets the lone orc warrior he saw on the next ridge over at one point - the two of them nodding to each other as they passed.

    He glosses over the death of his horse as he still feels the pangs of sadness over the loss of his traveling companion these last several years.

    Eventually he grows quiet, his story sort of petering out on its own. He sips his drink and thinks depressing thoughts as his mind drifts from the table.


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    Children of the Corn wrote:
    "Wow Mister! You are amazing. Can't believe I am meeting a real hero."

    Vanyan snorts through his nose, a joke he won’t share with the girl.

    I almost died to those ghouls. I was frozen in one bite. Almost died, if not for my companions. Vanyan shakes his head at the memory, where he could do nothing but the stare at the evil he was powerless against.

    ”Sometimes being a hero is harder than you think. Sometimes you just stand there, frozen, waiting to act too.”

    Children wrote:

    "That's the Mayor's place there. Not a whole lot for shops, just some travelers that come and go." He points to a small cart setting up near the wedding for tomorrow. "That's Arbella's. She can trade and usually find all kinds of things, though it takes some time." He looks a bit embarrassed as he misunderstands. "You can afford a place Mister?" He calls out to the kids. "He is going to open a new shop!"

    Vanyan doesn’t have answers for the chidlrens’s questions. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do, but only that he was here and needed to do something. Maybe the town didn’t need what he had to offer. And maybe he wouldn’t find a place. A community. Or a duty...just like with the Pathfinders.

    Then he’d be off on his own again, traveling to who knows where.

    ”Thanks for your answers, children,” Vanyan replies, having already forgotten all their names, and having them mixed up besides. ’We’ll see what happens. Now is the time to eat.” He rises to his feet, thanking the kids, one of him was much like him many, many years ago.

    He looks to the mayor’s manor, then to where Arbella sets up shop, then to the Inn. With a rumbling stomach, he enters, looking for a room and meal.

    Dark Archive

    Atium wrote:

    Then he thinks to ask the reclining soldier, Will it get cold enough to frost the ground tonight? I need to know so I can decide on whether to blanket these beauties before putting them in their stalls for the night.

    **********
    Atium finishes up and the smell of rabbit attracts his attention. With a free found silver in hand, he heads to the quasi house/soupkitchen ( Tassenarin's). He takes in a few moments to see the line of soup purchasers and the "way he's supposed to do things". He steps in line and gives a nod of thanks to the Tessenarin as he's obviously the cook. Atium places his silver down and collects the appropriate change in coppers.

    The soldier thinks for a moment as he looks up at the sky. "Should be coming soon enough. There is a small bit starting in the air."

    Finishing up Atium heads out to the smell of rabbit, avoiding the loud ruckus coming from within the Toothless Pike. Not paying much attention he accidentally walks into a thin woman. The only thing saving her from being knocked to the ground is that the scent of foreign spices catches Atium's nostrils. She quickly adjusts herself and turns. It is difficult to see her face as she wears a deep cowl and is further hidden by a mask. In a heavy and unusual accent she says. "Sorry, I am late." Before Atium can help her or even apologize she takes off towards the cluster of buildings surrounding the Inn and quickly disappears into the walkways in between them.

    Not paying much more mind of the situation he heads out further for soup. After all she was probably just sneaking out for a sensual rendezvous in search of a companion for the night.

    Tessenarin wrote:
    Tessenarin looks slightly askance at Gorm, opens his mouth, then shuts it. He inhales though his nose then exhales through is mouth. He then turns to Gorm and gives a smile of resignation. Of course. Please, feel free to jump in here. He steps aside to allow Gorm room to step in.

    Tessenarin continues to listen to Pathfinder story after pathfinder story as Gorm regails him with every one of his current exploits. Soon a large man with facial tattoos enters and gathers his bowl of stew. The night begins to come to a close as the line draws down more and more. It was a good night. At least a few silver worth of work.

    Vanyan wrote:
    He looks to the mayor’s manor, then to where Arbella sets up shop, then to the Inn. With a rumbling stomach, he enters, looking for a room and meal.

    Growing quite late the sun begins to set and Vanyan wants to find food and a room for the evening. The Toothless Pike has it all. As he enters the inn it seems full of most of the towns residents. Some hunched over plates of fish while others surround the couple due to be married in the morning, the dwarf Vanderhoff Steelkeg and his human bride, the Knight Calrianne Blix, in a round of drinks as Vanderhoff seems to have brought several kegs from his cousins in Trunau over. Their children, if that is possible, are sure to turn an eye.

    Vanyan sets up a room and orders some food through the serving wench and takes a seat.

    Overall the night goes by, merry, happy and free of incident as the village of Rosler's Coffer enjoy their time together. One by one you find your beds, whether at the Inn or in your homes and you go to sleep for the night.

    ===================================================================

    Many books tell the story of Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant—a lich so devoid of a soul that even his vile screams echo as little more than dusty whispers. After seventy-five years of grueling battle, the Shining Crusade finally came to an end when the forces of humanity sealed the Whispering Tyrant beneath his tower known as Gallowspire. For nearly nine centuries, the world has believed itself safely beyond the Tyrant's grasp. How wrong the world was...

    Tyrant's Grasp
    Chapter 1: The Dead Roads

    27 Calistril, 4719 AR

    You awaken! All is darkness and cold stone. Although you dimly recall going to sleep last night in the small community of Roslar's Coffer, you awaken in a dark, stone box only a few inches larger than you in each extremely claustrophobic direction. The cool scent of earth surrounds you.

    A DC 13 Strength check is necessary to push the lid off of the box you find yourself in.


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

    Aishe takes a deep breath and holds it a moment, listening for any sounds - including his own. He's had some very lucid dreams of late, but they all seem to be silent...

    When he's sure he's awake, and still breathing, he relaxes a bit while he tries to piece together what he knows of last night. Dinner and drinks with Luthias. Wandered home and took an early bed time. Woke soon after with leg cramps, and fell asleep again.

    Now this.

    Hrm.

    He tries to push the lid open, hoping it's a simple matter.

    Strength: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (18) + 0 = 18


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    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)

    Vanyan’s first instinct is to panic. Which is bad, but because he has Pathfinder training, he goes to second instinct: which is also to panic. Same with his third instinct, which involves panicking and screaming. He decides to jump straight to instinct #4: panicking, screaming, and hyperventilating.

    This is because I told the story of the girl trapped in the coffin! This is what happens! She’s a witch!

    ”HELP! HEEEELLLP!!” Vanyan screams, flinging his arms against the box lid.

    1d20 + 0 ⇒ (20) + 0 = 20 Strength

    He seems surprised when the lid flies off. His hyperventilating causing some of his scream to trail off.


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
    STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
    STR: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17

    Disoriented, it takes Vinas a bit of time to get the lid open. He immediately does his best to remember what happened, how he got here. Practically on instinct he checks his person for arms and armor. Then he check his pack.....

    "Hello? Who else is here?"

    Dark Archive

    Aishe, Vinas and Vanyan each are able to push the heavy stone aside, leaping up out of the box and gasping for each fighting breath. The sounds of pounding, clawing and muffled screaming come from another two sarcophagus on either side of Vinas. Even with the stone pushed aside you find yourself in complete and utter darkness.

    Dark Archive

    You have all of your gear and equipment with you.


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    Vinas uth Antimanes wrote:
    "Hello? Who else is here?"

    Vanyan does not answer, trying to save his breath and trying not to scream. He reaches to his chest, to the damaged device that hangs from a cord about his neck. His hands hold it, grateful that it is there.

    ”Come on, damn you, work. You better work this time,” Vanyan whispers to the box, demanding action. He hits the left side with his palm a few times, gently at first, then with one harder jar. ”C’mon, I need you now. Work, damn you!”

    Light springs from the box, illuminating 20’ from Vanyan. He tilts his head away, trying to give his eyes time to adjust.

    The light from the box illuminates his half-elven features and he looks around the room.


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • Vinas sets to lighting a torch and throwing it to the floor to look about. "If anyone's in a box, speak up, we'll get you out!"

    Once there's light, the young man looks to make eye contact with any others.


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

    "Ah, Oh." Aishe steps into the ring of light and, now that he can see, checks his gear. Surprised at the thoroughness he then eyes the others, nodding to each by way of greeting.

    He then moves to the stone slabs still covered the others and tries to help them to freedom. He wishes he had his crowbar, but alas he left it on the wagon.

    Strength: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (6) + 0 = 6 vs DC 10 to aid
    Strength: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (9) + 0 = 9 vs DC 10 to aid
    Strength: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (18) + 0 = 18 vs DC 10 to aid
    Strength: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (19) + 0 = 19 vs DC 10 to aid

    After a few false starts he manages to help a little.


    Atium screams at the top of his lungs. To heck with subtlety. He was almost always fairly safe either in his home village or while working on the ranch. THIS - being in a box - freaks him out.

    AAAAHHHHHHHHHH
    He pushes against the lid with all his might.
    strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
    Fully expecting the weight of the world to be on the lid, he is surprised as it moves and dislodges.
    What crazy initiation prank is someone pulling?
    Yeah, that's it. The lid came off. it's some hazing ritual. The other ranch hands totally messing with him.
    He quickly gets out of the box and onto his own two feet.
    Oh, I have all my stuff- yes a prank. if it were a real menace- they'd have taken my stuff.

    Atium sees the light start to illuminate the room and...he doesn't recognize anyone....
    You aren't from Dotort Ranch?

    better description of Atium coming, but Avatar is pretty close. to physical look.


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

    Smiling a bemused smile, Aishe looks down at Atium as he bursts forth, surprising him as he tried to help.

    He nods, saying nothing. He simply moves to the last slab and tries to help heave it aside.


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    Atium of Varg wrote:
    What crazy initiation prank is someone pulling?

    ”This is no prank. This is no joke. I think this is the Drownyard, in Absalom,” Vanyan answers, still not moving to help anyone else, as if the light he provided was all he could do. ”This is a nightmare, a memory of my past deeds, I told the story to the child and now someone wants me to face the challenge again! We are becursed by my fool tongue.” He offers (nor has) any explanation about how the party got there.

    Vanyan takes a moment to remember that misadventure, where he almost died. He looks around to see if anything here is something he might recognize, especially the way out. He barely sees the party members. In the Pathfinders, one rarely notices the faces of those with which you serve. They all seem a like a cast of assorted goonery where names do not matter as it is rare to journey with the same group from assignment to assignment.

    ”GHOULS! There will be ghouls about! Be ready! They are very sneaky! Very dangerous!” he warns, He begins to scan the ground, looking for some good rocks or stones. ”Make way! I’ll need some good rocks if there are ghouls about.” They weren’t much good last time...when you almost died.

    Vanyan looks for some good throwing rocks, pushing aside others in his haste to find three good ones.

    ”You’re not the team that was with me that day, which makes this waking nightmare very strange...” Vanyan mentions, still quite ill at ease.

    Dark Archive

    The light from Vanyan's box and Vinas' torch tossed to the ground help illuminate the chamber. Other than the sarcophagi you were in, the only furnishing is an old crate—a remainder from the tomb’s construction. Various relief carvings on the north wall display several heroic figures. The words “Red Shrikes– Noble Companions in the War against Evil. Rest Well, My Friends” are inscribed above the carvings. A single stone door leads out of this room towards the west.

    Aishe nearly leaps out of his skin as another sarcophagi lid slides aside as easy as a crate lid and crashes to the ground, cracking the stone. Out of the sarcophagi Atium emerges screaming.

    The lights from the box and torch cause the shadows to jump and pull away into the far corners of the room. Only two boxes remain closed, though muffled screaming comes from one alone.

    A dusty crate draped with a drop cloth stores a few supplies left over from the tomb’s construction— forgotten after centuries of abandonment. The crate contains a:

  • variety of driedout and useless paints
  • crowbar
  • flint and steel
  • common lamps (3)
  • hammers (2)
  • hooded lantern
  • pints of oil (8)
  • dented pewter mug.


  • Tessenarin wakes up in the dark, confused. I usually sleep through the night. And why is there no light? I should be able to see somewhat through the natural light. It takes him a minute to realize he's not actually in his bed. He tries to sit up and hits his head on something. What the.... He feels around and realizes he has some kind of lid above him. He pushes against it and tries to move it.

    strength: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4
    and tries again
    strength: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14

    After getting the lid off, Tessenarin gets out of the coffin and looks around. He sees others and says Where are we? How did we get here? Not waiting for an answer, he walks over to the carving and reads the inscription to see if the names come to mind from any of his mother's teachings.

    knowledge history: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21


    Looking straight at Vanyan - Just to be clear. This is not some Bloodbrush or Belladonna induced hallucination. This is not where-ever or whatever you think.
    He looks around. Seeing the cover of a casket move and Tessenarin the Rabbit-cook pop out.
    You! I know you. You were the cook from last night.

    Atium searches for the name of the cook, but just falls short.
    He looks confused. He hasn't pulled out a weapon yet- but he takes in the fact that he's in a creepy place with lots of strangers.
    I shouldn't be here. There's something wrong. But damn it that there's still a casket that isn't open. Someone help me open it.

    He moves to position and tries to open the lid.

    looks like Aishe and Atium are opening the lid. I'll try, with Aishe aiding?
    strength: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14 DC 13


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7

    ”We’ve come all the way to Absalom? I suppose I might have been drugged, so we could be anywhere. That seems oddly specific though. What do you see that I do not?” Aishe wonders at Vanyan. ”How did you vanquish the ghouls before? I’ve never fought undead.” He’ll dutifully help Vanyan seek some rocks if that’s what they need, though he’ll take a moment to lift out the crowbar, if no one objects.

    Tessenarin wrote:
    After getting the lid off, Tessenarin gets out of the coffin and looks around. He sees others and says Where are we? How did we get here? Not waiting for an answer, he walks over to the carving and reads the inscription to see if the names come to mind from any of his mother's teachings.

    Aishe looks to the newcomer, and remembers him from town at least, but he’s off and researching before a reply makes it to his lips, so he helps Atium with the last lid (using his recently acquired crowbar for a +2 o the roll) before returning to look for Vanyan’s rocks.


    1 person marked this as a favorite.
    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)

    "Move your foot, won't you?" Vanyan tries to lift Vinas foot off what might be a nice tossing rock. "We should be careful here. They probably know we're here."

    Having collected his three rocks, he finally steps up to look around the area.

    "Now that I see it better, I don't remember this area at all. The Drownyard is notorious for…you know…being drowned. This place is dry. Must be an upper chamber then. But that's where we found the girl in the coffin…and just how we woke up just now, just like it."

    He stops to pick up his longspear from the coffin, holding it in one hand while he continues to look around.

    He finally notes the others in the room who do not seem to be ghouls. Vanyan looks sadly at the party, thoughts and sorrows and regrets on his face.

    They look clueless and confused, just like the Pathfinders in my early days. Just meat for the grill, feeding the horrors that defended the crypts we raided on orders from the Ten. They will soon be dead, probably.

    Aishe Danior wrote:
    ”What do you see that I do not?”

    "It's not what I see. It's what I done and what I said. In the long past, I awoken a girl long spent in a crypt. I don't speak of the tale for 10 long years, and today, speaking to a child just outside of town I had not been in in over 12 years, I tell the children that story...and now I am here. What more would you want me to think of it!!?" Vanyan replies to Aishe. "It's clear to me that by speaking of it, I've been becursed back to here now. Can't you see that?"

    Damn the fool Pathfinders. What is buried might be better staying buried.


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7
    Vanyan Kaleseder wrote:
    "It's not what I see. It's what I done and what I said. In the long past, I awoken a girl long spent in a crypt. I don't speak of the tale for 10 long years, and today, speaking to a child just outside of town I had not been in in over 12 years, I tell the children that story...and now I am here. What more would you want me to think of it!!?" Vanyan replies to Aishe. "It's clear to me that by speaking of it, I've been becursed back to here now. Can't you see that?"

    "Ah, Oh." Aishe thinks a while.

    "So you think the child put you here?I have no idea why we're here, but that seems... unusual. I met no child last night. Where was this that you saw the child? Somewhere in the Worldwound perhaps, where magic is thin? Or was it Roslar’s Coffer in Lastwall by chance?" he glances at Tessenarin whom he has seen about town and wonders at the connection.

    He looks at the lanterns, and considers carrying one to provide light, thought Vanyan seems to have that well covered for now so he leaves it alone. Perhaps they're not that deep. He wonders.

    "Well, I am Aishe. Shall we see where this leads? Perhaps we can find our way to the surface and confirm, or disconfirm, that we're in Absalom at least." he says calmly.

    He takes out and loads his crossbow. He loads a hunting shot for now, a normal bolt.


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    Aishe Danior wrote:
    "So you think the child put you here? Where was this that you saw the child? Somewhere in the Worldwound perhaps, where magic is thin? Or was it Roslar’s Coffer in Lastwall by chance?"

    Vanyan does a double take at Aishe's questions.

    "Yes...but..." Vanyan seems to sputter, confused. "What do you know of Roslar's Coffer? Most Pathfinders I know couldn't find Roslar's Coffer if they were s@+%ting on the town square. What game are you playing at?" Vanyan asks back, more confusion in his mind.

    "I tells you, there were plenty of children outside that Inn as I entered town. I spoke to them I did. Told them one story. A story that we seem to be reliving. Not sure how you all are involved though. None of you are the crew that I had with me that day in the Drownyard. Most of them are dead and buried already."

    Aishe wrote:
    "Well, I am Aishe"

    Vanyan is slow to offer his hand. What kind of Pathfinder seems eager to give his name? Usually they just go about asking questions.

    "I'm Vanyan. And this is all a very confusing nightmare, I think." Vanyan looks to the rest, wondering what their Pathfinder training is telling them to do.


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • Vinas moves his foot as directed. "Strange things are afoot. Agreed. Come, let's take some supplies, and figure out where in Cayden's Codpiece we are.... and why."

    Vinas watches as the others prepare to open the final sarcophagus. "It's not you guys, it's.... well, what might be in there." He slowly and obviously takes out his morningstar and holds it aloft while setting his shield.


    Tessenarin turns away from the relief towards the two and addresses Aishe. Yes, that's right. I'm a cook in Roslar's Coffer. I don't recognize you, but we had a decent enough people in last night, so I don't remember everyone. I'm Tessenarin. He then looks over at Vanyan Pathfinders? Are you mad? We aren't Pathfinders. I've never even left Lastwall.
    Looking at everyone assembled he says Still, where are we? Do we really want to open that door yet until we have more answers?

    Dark Archive

    Atium with Aishe's help on the crowbar are able to get the remaining two sarcophagi open, freeing Tessenarin. The final sarcophagi is completely empty. In a confused state he eyes the carving on the wall.

    Tessenarin wrote:
    he walks over to the carving and reads the inscription to see if the names come to mind from any of his mother's teachings.

    Tessenarin knows looking over the carving and inscription that Roslar commanded several servants and retainers, but his most elite companions composed a group of troubleshooters called the Red Shrikes.

    Map is up as well as a small carving of Ervin Roslar.


    Male LG Human | HP 53/53| AC 21 T 10 FF 121 | CMB +8, CMD 17 | F: +12 R: +7, W: +12 | Init: +0 | Perc: +9, SM: +8
    Class Abilities:
  • Favored Enemy: Undead (+2)
  • Lay on Hands: 4/6 (2d6)
  • Aura of Courage
  • Aura of Good: Moderate
  • Smite Evil: 2/2
  • "Okay, I need answers. See that door? I'm thinking we go through it and figure it out after. Anyone have a free hand to carry the torch? Or.... wait who cast that light spell? Can you handle it?"

    Vinas moves to the door and gives it a listen. Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

    Dark Archive

    Vinas can't hear anything through the stone door and moves to push it open. The door grinds open slowly with each labored push. Trickles of dust fall from the cracks as it has rested there for some time.

    The torch and small light box slowly illuminate the entrance to the room.

    This room contains several low shelves covered with rags and loose bones. A hallway extends to the southeast, while a stone door to the east is carved with the image of several heroic figures standing solemnly together.

    DC 15 Perception:
    Among the rags and bones, the shelves contain a single masterwork heavy mace. The rags also hide three pearls, each worth 20 gp

    Who is currently carrying the torch or any of the lanterns?


    Atium grabs some gear. He takes the lantern and half the oil plus a torch.
    Thanks for the help Aishe. My name is Atium, and I have to admit that I'm a bit scared and dumbfounded by all this. I'm supposed to be at work right now. I am with a merchant train that dropped off some stock to the knights at the garrison.
    He stops from completing more of the sentence.
    He takes out his axe-gripping it in both hands.
    This just shouldn't be happening.

    He points to Vinas.
    I like what this guy is saying and what he is doing. I'm going to hitch my yoke to him in order to get out of here.
    He moves up. and after pointing to Vinas, he looks directly at him.
    Hey- what's your name? You want me to pull open that door?

    The tall drink of water moves towards the front of the party.

    perception: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (7) - 2 = 5


    Male Human | AC 17 T 15 FF 12 | CMB +5, CMD 20 | F: +7 R: +11, W: +5 | Init: +7 | Perc: +10, SM: +7
    Vanyan Kaleseder wrote:

    "Yes...but..." Vanyan seems to sputter, confused. "What do you know of Roslar's Coffer? Most Pathfinders I know couldn't find Roslar's Coffer if they were s@**ting on the town square. What game are you playing at?" Vanyan asks back, more confusion in his mind.

    "I tells you, there were plenty of children outside that Inn as I entered town. I spoke to them I did. Told them one story. A story that we seem to be reliving. Not sure how you all are involved though. None of you are the crew that I had with me that day in the Drownyard. Most of them are dead and buried already."

    ”Ah, yes. I’ve been living in Roslar’s Coffer for most of the last decade, though I do travel a lot. And I went to sleep in Roslar’s Coffer last night.” he turns to the others, ”What of you lot? Did we all go to sleep in Roslar’s Coffer last night?”

    Tessenarin wrote:

    Tessenarin turns away from the relief towards the two and addresses Aishe. Yes, that's right. I'm a cook in Roslar's Coffer. I don't recognize you, but we had a decent enough people in last night, so I don't remember everyone. I'm Tessenarin. He then looks over at Vanyan Pathfinders? Are you mad? We aren't Pathfinders. I've never even left Lastwall.

    Looking at everyone assembled he says Still, where are we? Do we really want to open that door yet until we have more answers?

    ”I’ve eaten your stew before - it’s quite good. I live a few blocks from you, but as I say, I’m out of town a lot. Good to finally meet you.” He nods, ”I’m no Pathfinder either.”

    He moves up into he next chamber and looks around.

    Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

    Aishe has no light source.

    Atium of Varg wrote:

    Atium grabs some gear. He takes the lantern and half the oil plus a torch.

    Thanks for the help Aishe. My name is Atium, and I have to admit that I'm a bit scared and dumbfounded by all this. I'm supposed to be at work right now. I am with a merchant train that dropped off some stock to the knights at the garrison.

    ”Oh, really? Are you a driver?"


    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)

    Vanyan scratches the back of his head, still working through what he is seeing.

    ”You’re saying this is Roslar’s Tomb then?” Vanyan asks. ”I guess we really need to figure out how Roslar’s tomb got moved to Absalom, huh?” Vanyan looks around trying to figure out that mystery.

    Tessenarin wrote:
    ”I'm a cook in Roslar's Coffer...Pathfinders? Are you mad? We aren't Pathfinders. I've never even left Lastwall.”

    ”I might be mad, don’t get me wrong, but not for the reasons you think,” he replies. ”It’s not crazy that you could be a Pathfinder despite your obvious lack of skills, them Pathfinders really don’t care who they take. Any halfwit, quarterwit, dimwit, or plain idiot gets accepted into the Society. I’m quite sure you could be one, Bessemarian.” Vanyan isn’t being insulting necessarily, but does lack tact.

    Beginning to panic less and remember more of his training, Vanyan finally examines his surroundings.

    1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21 Perception

    Vanyan pauses in his search of the shelves to pull out a heavy mace, then smiles as he discovers some pearls. He adds them to the piles of loot, trying to be thorough.

    Vanyan will keep his mostly broken light working, refreshing it every so often.


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    Male Half Elf - sad man in the armor Wand CLW 24/24 (1843)
    Stats:
    AC 16; F4/R5/W9; Arcana+10,Hist+10,Local+9,Nat+9,Pln+10,Rel+10,Perc+12,Spell+10(+6 more magic ID)
    Aishe Danior wrote:
    ”What of you lot? Did we all go to sleep in Roslar’s Coffer last night?”

    Vanyan looks back at Aishe, thinking the man may be on to something.

    ”You know, I did go to sleep last night in the Coffer. Not that I recognize it from my youth. I haven’t been back here in twelve years, and boy this place has changed,” Vanyan checks on this three stones, then gathers three more.

    ”You know what I saw on my way into town? A dead horse. A dead horse just laying in the middle of the road. Shot through the head and just left there, it was,” Vanyan just shakes his head. ”I never thought I’d see that...good horse meat going to waste. We used to be at war, saving and scrimping ever scrap because you never know when you might need it. But now they can just leave good horses in the road for the ravens and beasts.”

    Dark Archive

    A small scraping sound from the darkness is heard to the south. Over time it becomes louder and louder, the sound of bone scraping on stone. Soon a skeletal form shambles into the edges of your torchlight as it jerks to life. Loose, sheets of dirty and damp cloth hang from it's frame, tattered by decades of decay. It opens it's mouth in a silent scream as it comes for Aishe.

    Init:

    Vinas: 1d20 + 0 ⇒ (20) + 0 = 20
    Atium: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
    Aishe: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (12) + 5 = 17
    Tessenarin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
    Vanyan: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
    Skeleton: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
    Rat: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

    The noises and shuffling about in the shelves causes a small rat, hiding in the rags just above Vanyan to stir in fright as it leaps down onto his clothes.

    Round 1
    Vinas
    Aishe

    -------------------------------
    Skeleton
    -------------------------------
    Tessenarin
    Atium
    Vanyan
    --------------------------------
    Rat
    --------------------------------


    Aishe wrote:
    ”Oh, really? Are you a driver?"

    in the middle of the conversation with Aishe, Atium notices a huge rat climb out of rags.

    No, I handle the majestic Dotort Chargers. Beautiful beasts, but The Dotort sons have been training me to help guard against Orc attacks. Thus the ..... Watch out Aishe! Behind you!

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