This the the gameplay thread. Please dot/delete to add to your campaigns.
|
A tall, thin, dark-skinned aasimar with strangely slitted eyes squints painfully in the sunlight. He bears little in terms of equipment, other than flowing robes and an extremely expensive, fine golden sunburst holy symbol on his chest, the very image of which is also tattooed in the palm of his hand.
He offers a courtly bow, "Ah, ladies, it is a pleasure to make your aquaintance. I am Turathal Amonra, Mystic Theurge in the service of Ra, mayhislightshineuponyouforever. I look forward to putting my words and my magic in your service."
|
A large man enters the room with some degree of trepidation. His long red beard seems to flow effortlessly into his breastplate. He notices the dog and nods.
"Well I am here."
The northerner looks around awkwardly. Clearly this is a man that is not accustomed to mixing with society high or otherwise.
"You can call me The Rock. I hear that there is a job to do."
|
"This is the alehouse, right?" A squat, metal covered barrel of a halfling tromps into the room where the others have already gathered, a skip in his step.
A metal helm is tucked under his arm, the steel grating against the full plate armor he wears. The grinding noise would probably be teeth chattering, if it could be heard over the clanking and jangling of the halfling's armor. The pint-sized agent deftly tosses the helm onto a table and nimbly climbs up into the human-sized seat, his feet dangling in the air while his eyes can barely see over the edge.
"Just in case it is, a stout for me and an IPA for Luna!" he proclaims, making the wild assumption that a server is both present, and listening.
|
|
At the sound of her name, a silver-haired dog comes bounding into the room. At full canter, she clumsily bumps her massive, muscular frame into Pooka's chair, nearly knocking it over to remind him that she is close.
Suddenly her ears perk up, and her nostrils flare out. She sticks her muzzle up into the air, waving her head back and forth as she quickly sniffs, searching for an unmistakeable scent.
Another dog.
Tail wagging so hard it shakes her whole body, she starts to circle the room until Trixie comes into view. Her tails stops for a moment as she approaches Trixie's backside while simultaneously offering her own so the two may properly greet.
Pleased with what she has smelled, she unleashes a playful "ROARFF!" and drops her head and chest to the ground, her rear end sticking high up in the air as her tail resumes it's powerful wag.
"ROARFF! ROARFF!" the sound reverberates off of walls and ears.
|
"Pooka! What a delight to be working with an expert on Numerian technology and ruins! My friend Rudzik told me all about your work in returning part of the Sky Key to the Society - and about your quick thinking at the bar." Not-Trixie tries to approach the halfling, but a very insistent dog just happens to be blocking her path with her head in the woman's hand. Thankfully, Trixie quickly loses interest in scratches at the sight of another dog and Not-Trixie can greet her coworker properly.
|
|
"Ha! I get it, I get it! Good girl Luna. Come over here and stop bothering them." Pooka smiles and hedges his bets that Luna will obey by offering her a treat from the small leather pouch on his belt.
"This is Luna, my faithful steed. Yes Rock, there is always a job to do here in the society." he beams, giving the large man a nod while scratching Luna behind her ears.
"So we have Rock, Lilli, Trixie, Not-Trixie, Turathal, and..." Pooka trails off as he looks at Karolina, hand extended in greeting.
|
|
When the dogs finally get out of the way, Pooka extends his hand to greet Non-Trixie properly. "Ha! Well honestly I'm not sure I should admit that some of my best thinking happens in a bar." Pooka's head tilts back in a belly rumbling laugh at his own joke.
And Yes! Rudzik! Good man, I enjoyed my time on assignment with him, and swear Luna still complains about not being able to run with Sir Wilk." the cavalier chuckles. "Please do pass on my greetings when you see him next?"
A giant reptilian head furtively sticks through the door. She sniffs the air and her eyes brighten with excitement when she notices the two dogs at play. Ginger withdraws her head slowly as if to possibly escape detection and the displeasure of The Rock who has asked her to wait outside.
Ambrus Vaslin, Venture-Captian of esteemed Pathfinder Society summons each of you to his office in the Grand Lodge of Absalom. Once arrived, he hands heach of you a sealed letter and asks you to open it. He does not know the contents of the letter but informs each of you it comes directly from the Decemvirate.
"I am not certain what its about this time, but I know it concerns the Blakros family...yet again. I wish I had more to offer, but I am sure you will be well informed once you meet with Hamaria Blakros and her curator, Nigel Aldain at the Blakros Museum."
"I may have issues with that place but even I must admit He explains that the Society’s alliance with the Blakros family has been beneficial, if challenging. Seems I am sending agents out to the Blakros Museum evey tenday to solve one crisis or another."
"These problems have stemmed from the museum’s ties to both the Shadow Plane and the terrible void between the stars known as the Dark Tapestry. As if that weren’t enough, they contacted Zarta Dralneen to assist with their cataloguing and containment procedures, they were notorious for mishaps involving unforeseen magical powers in the artifacts on display."
After speaking with Ambrus, he directs you to the Blakros Museum. Upon arrival, a clerk meets the group and directs you to a private office space where Hamaria Blakros and Nigel Aldain wait.
Hamaria Blakros, matriarch and head of the Blakros family, gently rests the tips of her ngers on the wooden desk in front of her, the sound like the ring of a crossbow bolt in the silence. “Ah good, you’ve nally arrived. I see the Pathfinder Society remains eager to continue our ongoing association, and while I dearly wish this were a matter of import, I’m afraid this request borders on the... pedantic.”
Nigel Aldain, the elven curator standing at Hamaria’s side, twinges at the matriarch’s comment. He gives a weak smile and a brief nod before seeing himself out of the office. Hamaria motions for a clerk on the other side of the entryway to close the
private office door.
“Pedantic, but important. You see, over the past few years, it has come to my attention that several important items have gone missing from our exhibits. Nigel believes that most of these disappearances are the result of Pathfinders, specifically the destructive means agents like yourselves tend to employ when working within the museum. While Nigel has cited recent actions involving Ralzeros or, as he puts it, the ‘so-called defense of our Shining Crusade exhibits from the northerners,’ I find it hard to believe that a conjured fireball could destroy magical relics that have withstood centuries or millennia of much worse battering. I’ve also heard rumors that these objects may have found their way into the hands of enemies.”
Hamaria gingerly walks her fingers toward a slip of parchment on the desk, pinning it in place with her two fore ngers before sliding it across the table. “This is a list of items that Nigel recently catalogued as missing. I’d like for you to investigate these items and see what you can find within our records here. Our clerks can help you in whatever way you need, as should Nigel, though you may find it difficult to convince him.”
Hamaria is polite but somewhat insistent that the party begins their investigation with haste.
|
|
The Rock scrambles out of his meeting with Ambrus and reunites with his animal companion Ginger before heading off to the Blakros Museum.
Rumors circulate with some regularity in the Grand Lodge. Some say this building is haunted and yet others mention artifacts of great magical powers animating and coming to life. As he has no personal experience with the Blakros family or their bizarre museum he can only prepare as best he can. The Rock transforms himself into a creature of living humanoid air before fortifying himself and his companion with divine magic. He straps his shield and pack on and rushes to catch up with the others as they head to their mission at the Blakros Museum.
The duo enter the museum with trepidation but they relax a little and listen to Hamaria speak.
|
|
Not-Trixie listens politely as Ambrus speaks, making a few quiet notes on her pad of paper and mulling over the contents of the letter. I’d heard about this venture-captain Dreng, but never seen hair nor hide of him around the Lodge. I suppose this would explain why.
—————————————
At the museum, she is similarly quiet as she accepts the list of missing items. ”Of course, Lady Blakros,” she says with a slight curtsy. ”We will inform you as soon as our investigations are over. I’m quite certain there will be no need for balls of fire here today.” Only the slight crinkle of her eye behind her spectacles betrays the joke.
—————————————
”Now then,” the wizard says as she surveys the museum proper. ”Let’s see what we can find out! Vendalfek, if you please, I’d prefer to have you someplace where I know you’re not getting into mischief.” She giggles as she rubs a coffee bean across her forehead before swallowing it. ”And no arguments, young dragon - not after what happened last week at the duchess's dinner party.” She holds out her arm expectantly and looks around the room with interest.
Honestly, you take a bath in the soup *once* and nobody lets you forget it, but save the world on Moonday and they’ll be complaining about how you did it by Fireday. Besides, nobody was eating it and fish broth is good for the scales.
A blue-skinned dragon the size of a cat with gaudy butterfly wings pops into view, landing on Not-Trixie’s head and peering around eagerly at everyone. Howdy, folks! Name’s Vendalfek - originally from Kintargo, but out on a stroll as it were. A pleasure to meet you all! His telepathic voice is quick, bright, and strangely colored - as if the words themselves were slightly different shades of yellow and blue.
|
|
"Pedantic I guess, but necessary." Pooka nods at Hamaria, obliging her request to begin the investigation. At least she pointed us in the direction of someone to speak to. he muses as he looks over the list.
Vendalfek's telepathic intrusion is starteling, but brings a chuckle out of the stout halfling. Beside him, Luna barks, certain that something is happening but not entirely sure what.
"The crusader's blade seems the most obvious one to be stolen, if this list proves accurate and the others were actually destroyed. We should at least be thorough though, since we've come all this way. I believe I see Hamaria's point about a fireball or a wayward acid bolt doing damage to relics that have survived ages, seems unlikely." Pooka thinks out loud.
"I'll start with asking about the blade. Where is a clerk that can explain the Ralzeros Incident to me?"
|
|
Turathal will head to Nigel's office, then fix his makeup before heading in.
Then he heads in to discuss matters with Nigel. "Listen Nigel. I understand you have a thankless task, being blamed for the many mishaps that happen here at the museum, despite most of it being well beyond your control. And few would blame you for occasionally acting in your own best interests. But it's time you share with me what really happened to these objects. While indeed many of my fellow Pathfinders can be a bit overzealous and unruly in their efforts to destroy evil, it's highly unlikely that these objects were destroyed in the fashion that your report alleges. Come clean with me, and you will have my protection. What's really going on here?"
Hamaria thanks you for your time and withdraws to allow the agents to conduct their investigation.
Turathal attempts to pry additional information from Nigel, the curator. Despite an empassioned plea by the gifted orator, Nigel stand firm on his assertion that the Pathfinder Society is responsible for the missing museum treasures.
Pooka decides to begin their investigation with the Crusader's Blade.
At Pooka's insistence, the staff gives the agents access to the archival sketches of the famed blade. The group peers over the intricate design of the weapon.
Speaking with the staff, they are fairly forthcoming with what they know, though some convicning is needed to assure them that the agents are trustworthy.
the blade off its pedestal, looked at it for a while, and then returned it. The blade disappeared a few weeks later. This agent was a tall, golden-skinned woman with curly black hair, brown eyes, and a habit of humming to herself. Based on the description, you are confident that more information may be obtained at the archives at the Grand Lodge, possibly enough to idnetify the agent.
The investigastion continues...
|
|
”Pooka, you know blades, right?” Not-Trixie asks as she studies the sketch. ”I remember reading about smithing techniques after working with a fellow agent who was a master smith. He said he preferred a Dwarven style above all others, but if he had to pick a human style he’d choose Mendavian because the shoddy work never made it back from the Worldwound, so only the good stuff survived and was copied by the crusaders. This crossguard design looks more ornamental than functional - and is that a noble crest? I’d wager this is Taldan, maybe even a family heirloom. Could you confirm that for me?”
”The staff say the last person to show interest in the blade was a Pathfinder agent,” the scholar says as she finishes thanking the staff. ”Tall, golden skin, curly black hair, brown eyes, hums to herself - ring any bells? If not, our best bet is probably asking around at the Lodge, which we could do after we finish investigating the other items on this list.” She looks down at her parchment. ”Looks like that would be the wax statue?”
|
|
Pooka nods along with Not-Trixie, reinforcing her expert assessment on the subject.
"I've always had a strange fascination with golems. Maybe something to do with a master and his loyal servants." Pooka grins and scratches Luna behind the ear. "Seems like it would be less fulfilling though, having a creation that has no choice but to serve, as opposed to a being with free will that chooses to love you."
Pooka shrugs his shoulders, realizing his rambling isn't really helping. He moves with the others to the wax exhibit and begins to search. Luna lowers her nose to the ground and begins to sniff, the scents to faint for humanoid noses mingling in her super sensitive nose.
"Tell me," Pooka pulls aside a young and energetic clerk, "What were the other wax statues like that ended up getting destroyed. Anything you can tell me about the wax they were made up perhaps, or their history?"
Turathal tries to get the staff to keep the skecth, but they will not part with something from their archives, especially as it is their lat link to a missing exhibit. They allow Turathal to make an onion skin copy though.
Not-Trixie is able to unravel some clues as to who may have stolen a perhaps not so legendary sword. As she contemplates their next move, Pooka surveys the area of the wax golem incident.
The staff leads Pooka and any agents who follow to a cordoned off area that they simply refer to as “the waste pile,” which is the result of an overeager Pathfinder hurling a fireball spell into a group of advancing wax golems. The staff does not disturb the group as they examine the piles of melted wax.
The agents examine the wax remians...
The agents easily convince the staff to share their experiences with the golems. The seem reluctant to speak, not out of unwllingness to share but more that hey appear disturbed by their recollections. One staff memebr recalls seeing the Fahrstad golem in different poses a er periods of supposed inactivity. At least one staffer expresses relief that the creepy golem is gone. Some other members complain that they find flakes of wax in odd places, particularly by the Linnorn Kings Exhibit. The stories of the museum employess sparks some interesting recollections...
the Blakros family.
|
|
"That is some impressive sleuthing Rock." Soon enough, Luna's nose picks up the scent and traces it to the vault.
"Who might have been moving the golem? It looks like it must have survived the fire blast if it's trail leads over here." Pooka says out loud what the others must be thinking. Calling over the energetic young clerk he spoke with just a moment ago, Pooka requests that they open the vault.
"And if you can't, can you at least point us to someone who can?"
|
|
my good fellows I think it would be very generous and appropriate for us to see to getting this rather large vault door opened up. It would be dreadful if were denied a peak behind and int this vault....course there might be magical and arcane ways to gain access as well, perhaps a dimension door or teleport, made even easier if we hd at least a schematic of the vault. Or something to turn us unto a cloud, like what some of them nasty vampires can do...
I then tilt my head and seem to whisper something to the Sapphire agile breastplate that I am wearing, it almost seems to move.
|
|
The thrush tattoo on Turathal's neck and shoulder begins to pulse until out pops an actual thrush. He and Turathal examine the golem remains and confer with each other in Common.
"You know, both Geddy and I recall that sometimes Wax Golems can achieve sentience. Perhaps we can reason with this construct, if we find him in the vault."
The agents uncover several interesting facts about the golems.
When Pooka turns to find a curator, he sees that one is already walkign briskly toward him. He addresses the halfling. "Please sir, I must assist that you go no further without direct permission from Hamaria. It is for your own protection as a powerful artifact with ties to the Shadow Plane is stored within it, called the shadow obelisk. The artifact is particularly dangerous because it can open a portal to the Shadow Plane."
|
|
The Rock remembers reading that the last two artifacts were destroyed but perhaps there are clues to find by investigating those areas as well.
"We can look into the vault after we have concluded our search of all the artifacts and have gone back to the Lodge. I do not think that we should split up. There is strength in numbers."
The Rock looks around at the others.
"Are people ready to move on to the next area?"
|
|
”Hmm, indeed,” Not-Trixie agrees with The Rock, her mind clearly elsewhere. Vendalfek, could you let the other Pathfinders here know that our wayward golem is very likely breaking into the vault, probably to access that Shadow portal? It doesn’t look terribly well-protected, and I’d rather not raise the staff’s hackles by suggesting this out loud in case we need to do the same.
You got it!
|
|
Pooka's eyes widen in alarm and he looks down to the greaves on his full plate armor. He flashes a wry grin at the trickster and her playful familiar.
"Greaves don't have shoelaces." he snickers.
"Ahh, I like where your head is at Not-Trixie. Let's check out the area where the headdress was and see what we can find."
Pooka sidles up to Rock, who is still less than solid currently, curiously waving his gauntleted hand through his windy form. "Does anyone know what this osirion headdress was? The note says they turned to dust. Could it have been an item capable of teleporting the wearer somewhere, and it was just assumed that they were turned to dust?" Pooka postulates.
As Not-Trixie contemplates furthe action, Pooka leads the group to investigate the missing Osirion nemes.
On their way, the group does their best to remember the circumstances of the Society's invovlement with the Osirian headress.
The agents find a clerk who is willing to share his recollection of the incident that destoryed the nemes.
"Oh, well I might as well tell you. I recall that Pathfidner had no idea what she was doing. All she was SUPPOSED to do was help us catalogue our exhibits. The reckless fool donned the nemes. Almost imediately, she appeared to shimmer, almost like she was being blurred from existence. Suddenly, she was gone! The poor thing. Poor foolish Pathfinder." The clerk shakes his head as he recalls the incident.
|
|
The Rock moves to rub his thick beard before remembering that he is no longer a man but an elemental and he mumbles what sounds to be a curse in a northern tongue.
"I forget sometimes. Well about the woman. I think that she was not destroyed but transported somewhere instead. So she may actually still be alive."
OOC: Take 10 on Spellcraft is 22.
|
|
Turathal's familiar bobs excitedly and leans in whispering in the Theurge's ear.
"Hmm, very interesting. A little bird told me that the Rock is onto somthing. Chalos Visanda, was something of a loud-mouthed agent who always chafed at being assigned seemingly low-importance missions. You also remembers that Chalos was quite well versed in knowledge of magical items, so her sudden destruction of the artifact seems something of a freak accident. Andthe Cerulean Pharaoh was said to have access to powerful teleportation magic, which he made regular use of to travel around his lands."
|
|
Pooka chuckles as the evidence mounts that none of the items so far have actually been destroyed. "Looks like we are onto something." he says when the group is a ways out of earshot of any of the staff.
"I see a list developing of follow-ups so far. We need to ask around the lodge about the blond pathfinder. We need to talk to someone with more authority about opening up the vault, as our wax golem is probably in the shadow plane, and we need to do some research as to where this headdress might have teleported Chalos to. Could it have been attuned to a specific place? If not, we might need to ask around the lodge about where Chalos might have wanted to go to escape her duties." Pooka finishes surmising what they have learned so far.
"I don't want to rush us if we have more we can try to dig up here, but we might as well get some notes on stall 12 and this painting that is missing. It's been quite some time since my last alchemy class, but maybe there is something I can help with looking at this acid that still needs to be cleaned up."
|
|
I can only nod as the conversation passes back and forth, and I grin knowing that wearing socks of two different colors add a bit of flavor to the daily grind but rather curious how it was noticed as I am wearing just below the knee boots.
Back on the subject at hand, I clear my throat. Pooka I believe you are on to something with all of this. There is a lot gong on here and I think it be best if we take this one step at a time as a unified group and party. With that, I think we pursue what I call the most dangerous course of action, which is the possibility that a golem or other creature is getting behind that vault and accessing the Shadow Plane. The gods only know what trouble that could cause for all living creatures here.
Encouraged by their findings, the agents move on the the last exhibit to have been allegedly destroyed by former Pathfinders. The clerk directs the agents to stall 12. The painting, which depicted a village in Tian Xia, has yet to be replaced. The still unrepaired stall bears several acid marks.
If successful:
As the agents inspect the stall, the gathered staff members look on, their nervousness apparent to the expereinced pathfinders. Reluctantly, they admit collectively that the painting unnerved many of the attendees and sta alike and that no one liked it.
|
|
The Rock barely has to glance to realize the deception.
He grunts with disgust.
"A blind man can see that this is a setup and a poor one at that. The acid was not from a spell but is alchemical in nature and it was applied after the painting was removed."
After pausing for a moment he continues.
"We should speak to these people here about the painting. Then we should return to the Grand Lodge to find out about the Pathfinder who is accused of stealing the blade. Finally we can speak to Hamaria about opening the vault."
OOC: The next step in game is to meet with Hamaria.
Take 10 on Spellcraft is 22. Take 10 on Perception is 30.
