[PbP Gameday VIII] GM Irish202 #10-23: Passing the Torch: Who Speaks for the Ten (Inactive)

Game Master Irish202

Placeholder for game for PbP Gameday VIII, to start on 8/26/2019.

Please see PbP Gameday VIII website for more information and sign ups!

need to update but..

In the midst of whatever pursuits or interests you find yourself engaged in, a missive is delivered to you; a scroll bound in red ribbon and sealed with wax bearing the mark of the Decemvirate. Reading the contents of the scroll is short, but inviolate: "Report to Skyreach in the Grand Lodge, at the 3rd briefing room on the 5th floor, by noon a week hence. Your skills are required for a mission of the utmost importance to the operations and security of the Society." The scroll bears no name of the writer, but merely another stamp at the bottom bearing the insignia of the Decemvirate.

-------------------------------------------------------

Upon arrival at the Grand Lodge, it will become immediately apparent that there is a distinct absence of Pathfinders present at the Lodge. The bare minimum staff and agents scurry about, appearing to do what they can to keep the daily operations of the Lodge going smoothly as possible. The briefing room mentioned in the letter is sparsely decorated, bearing only a relatively large desk and several chairs arranged loosely in a semi-circle around it. A thin layer of dust coats the furniture and floor, showing the room's lack of use for briefings and other activities.

Feel free to begin character introductions and other activities as needed. Game will commence on the 9th as mentioned in the discussion thread.

Jack enters the Grand Lodge and makes his way to the briefing room on the fifth floor.

The bard notes Skyreach is nearly deserted. Where is everybody?

He frowns. I'd hoped to recruit a few likely candidates for my new Lodge in Promise.

Taking in the sparsely furnished room, he casts a cantrip that clears the dust away from one of the chairs around the large desk and takes a seat.

Jack's just under six feet tall and weighs about eleven stone. Beneath an unkempt mop of black, curly hair sparkle steel-grey eyes full of mischief. He's of swarthy Varisian stock, graced with the muse-touched blood of azatas.

His mithral chain shirt gleams beneath his tunic and cloak, a matching mithral buckler affixed to his haversack. At his hip hangs a wicked-looking rapier made of starmetal.

Jack stretches out his crossed legs, slouches in his chair, rolls his neck, and crosses his arms, settling in for a wait like a contented cheshire cat.

An half-elf with light Brown hair, and grey eye enters the meeting room.

Where Everyone? Where is my disciple? I was lucky that the call happen when i was close to the tapestry... But the travel inside is weird, weirder than normal.

He wear a simple tunic and a bow but has enough magic items to buy a small Kingdom with this. He wear a cloak that feel to be made from the fabric of the abyss himself.

He has a lot of quiver on him.

"Hi! I am Venture-Captain Gaétan Émond! Follower of Erastil! You are?

Can ask a question? Where Everyone? And why the our mutual friend called you here?"

Never Tell more that the other person know.

A small gnome dressed incongruously like a Shoanti warrior steps in the room. He nods to the others curtly. "Greetings, friends! I am Gerdur, called Knee-biter! Warrior of the Skoan-Quah and savior of Summer! I have the blood of angels and I will stand between you and danger and I will not back down. I know not why I have been called here, but that is the purpose I will serve. Hail, Gaetan!"

Jack rises, smiling, and shakes the newcomers' hands. "Gaétan Émond, I dig your groovy syntax. I'm Jack, just Jack."

The bard raises an inquisitive eyebrow, regarding the gnome. "Well met, Gerdur. Why bite knees, and who's Summer?"

A relatively stocky Ifrit enters, his skin littered with scars. He looks almost as if he's undergoing a Gnomish bleaching and has a serious look on his face. A quick look shows a pair of whips (one well worn, the other smaller and new looking), a stout shield, and numerous finely crafted piercings. A closer look reveals a number of blades in places that seem inherently dangerous to the bearer.

Hello, I'm here to run point for the team. Please make sure to watch where I step, traps are far more likely to find you when you don't let me find them first, as previous squads can attest.

Marcus is currently at Manifestation level 3 of the Shadowtouched horror. A sufficiently skilled performance from Jack could break him free of the horror.

A slightly frazzled , worn and tired dwarf enters. Realizing she is still wearing her bar apron (complete with "don't even try to kiss the dwarf" pin), Gruss sighs heavily, plucks up, and laughs: Call me Gruss. Anyone else need a beer?

She will pour for any who do.

"Thanks for the brew, Gruss. I'm Jack." Always thirsty and a follower of Cayden Cailean, the bard hands the dwarf his mug.

Jack eyes the ifrit, taking stock of his rather pained expression. "Brother, you look like you need some help. Anything I can do?"

(Not sure what sort of performance you have in mind, Marcus.)

"Hail Gruss and Trapfinder! I am called Knee-Biter by my adopted siblings in the Skoan-Quah! It amused them to see one of my slight height wielding an earthbreaker as a warrior, until I used it to smash my brother Horram's kneecaps! Then they gave me the name in honor! As for Summer, my comrades and I fought the hag Baba Yaga's vile daughter and restored my home to proper seasons instead of eternal Winter! Huzzah!"

Jack, short version, if Marcus experiences something sufficiently joyous, hopeful, beautiful, etc it can overwhelm the shadow corruption. Since Jack wouldn't be aware of it we'll see if an appropriate performance happens as we go.

Several moments after Gruss enters, the door to the chamber opens as a human wearing a triple-spired helm enters the room; the helmet clearly indicating them as a member of the Decemvirate, one of the enigmatic leaders of the Society. Although the helm covers the majority of their face, their head quickly turns to orient on each Pathfinder the room; the individual clearly taking quick stock of the people gathered before them.

Decemvirate Image

“Greetings, Pathfinders,” they say in a bold, neutral voice after the brief delay of scanning the room. "You are here because you are the finest that the Pathfinder Society has to offer. Time and again, you have been entrusted with tasks of utmost importance, and you have always carried them through to success. I have personally summoned you here with yet another perilous mission—one that requires great discretion. As I am sure you have heard, the nation of Lastwall is reeling beneath the onslaught of an undead invasion, triggered by the release of the Whispering Tyrant from his prison.” The Decemvirate pauses briefly after this statement, as if letting the implication such an event sink in. They stride to move behind the desk, snapping their fingers as they do so to abruptly cause all dust on the desk to vanish instantly before sitting down on the chair.

“The majority of our Pathfinder forces have been dispatched to deal with this grave threat, which leaves the Society open to threats from other enemies," they say seriously. "In particular, I have received word that Grandmaster Torch is once again on the move and working to capitalize on the current crisis. Although Torch’s past is complicated, his wanton disregard for bystanders and increasingly aggressive gambits against the Society have left us no choice: the time has come to kill Grandmaster Torch." The Decemvirate pauses briefly again after this statement, as if reminiscing about something before continuing.

"We’ve long wondered where he acquired his most damning intelligence, and in the past year we identified his principal contact: a gnome named Eylysia who was once a member of the Pathfinder Society. She is not the same justice minded visionary that she was in the Society’s early days. It appears that a combination of estrangement, Torch’s influence, and perhaps even the Bleaching have left blood on her hands—a great deal of blood. Together, the two of them are planning one last attack that could destroy the Society as we know it. At this point it’s clear that even in apparent isolation, Eylysia poses an ongoing threat to the Society she once championed."

“Although Torch remains elusive, we have learned that Eylysia has hidden herself away on Mediogalti Island. I have arranged for you to be teleported to Azir, where a ship waits to carry to you to Ilizmagorti, a pirate haven located on Mediogalti Island. Once there, seek out the villa of Stanton Strake. He is a retired pirate captain who once served as a contact for the Pathfinder Society. Strake keeps abreast of Pathfinder news, and I believe he is in communication with Eylysia. Use Strake to discover her whereabouts, then confront her to learn Torch’s location. If she proves unwilling to return to face justice, eliminate her. The Pathfinder Society can no longer afford to have enemies fomenting discord in the shadows." The Decemvirate stands from its chair, beginning a slow thoughtful pace behind the desk as they finish the briefing.

“A final word of caution, Pathfinders. As you are likely aware, Mediogalti Island is the main stronghold of the Red Mantis assassins. Any Pathfinders discovered on the island are summarily executed. The assassins have considerable resources, both magical and mundane, that they use to ferret out spies. There are few places in Golarion more dangerous for a Pathfinder agent to travel. Be sure to take every precaution to conceal your presence there.” The Decemvirate pauses expectantly for any questions that may have arisen during their briefing.

Auto-success at DC10 Knowledge (local & history) checks

"The escape of the Whispering Tyrant from his prison is a relatively recent event, happening within the past month or so," Jack adds, a bard who follows current events.

Recalling a Chronicle he read in the men's room in Skyreach's lobby, he sums up the history. "The Whispering Tyrant is one of the most infamous liches in history. He was an immensely powerful wizard who terrorized Golarion about 3,000 years ago, conquering nations and ruling with an iron and merciless fist. His reign only ended when the god Aroden slew him personally. But death at the hands of a god wasn’t the end of the Whispering Tyrant, who eventually rose again as a lich. Again, he conquered the nearby lands and re-established his rule. After almost a century of crusades against him, heroes were finally able to imprison him within the tower that had been the seat of his power—Gallowspire."

Gerdur nods along. "Torch, eh? I have heard of this man, the Burned One who seeks to burn the Society. I will do this thing, this sneaking thing. I pledge, we will find this Eylysia and know the whereabouts of this Torch." He stands, clearly ready to go.

"Can I ask... who grandmaster torch? and Elysia and how did we know she was still alive. From the last decade with the society I haven't met any of those persons?"

Jack listens to the masked Decemvirate representative call for the outright assassination of Pathfinders.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 32 ⇒ (1) + 32 = 33
Wow, times have certainly changed. Looking forward to my own retirement.

"A disguise would seem critical to infiltrating Mediogalti Island. Thank goodness I've got a disguise kit and a robe of blending, that enables me to cast alter self for about an hour once per day. Not to mention considerable skill, thanks to my bard's training."

"Anybody own a Pathfinder pouch?" Jack asks the team. "A useful piece of equipment for smuggling small items undetected." Blast it! Knew I should have picked one up when I had the cash.

He turns to the Decemvirate member. "How confident is your assessment of Elysia's duplicity? The whole thing smells of Torch's strategic sleight of hand and misdirection. Drop enough breadcrumbs to send Pathfinders off to the chase a lethal red herring, while pursuing his real agenda elsewhere."

"I do not have one of these pouches, but I have gold. Should we purchase one or more?" Gerdur pulls out a pouch of platinum that clinks loudly.

I also have quite the stockpile of savings. If there's something you think we need, I can likely afford it.

Marcus has roughly 25,000 gold available.

"Gerdur Knee-Biter, if you can hook a brother up, I'll reimburse you after the mission."

Unless, I'm dead, of course. Perish the thought! Ah, another clever pun, ol' boy!

"A Pathfinder pouch costs 1000gp. But it's priceless, given the sensitivity and high risk of this particular job."

Gerdur nods. "Very well, we will buy three. Where does one buy this Pouch?"

Sounds handy. I think I'll grab one as well. Maybe a few other things to go with it.

" "I Will ask again Who are those two?"

Eylysia I've never heard of. Torch on the other hand was a force in the society for many years before becoming disenchanted with the Decemvirate's leadership. He recruited similarly disenchanted members and attempted a coup with the help of his Shadow Lodge. After his defeat he left the society, but has renamed a thorn ever since.

"Thank you, Gerdur. You're a gentleman and a scholar."

"BUUUUUURRRRPPPPPP!!!!!" Gruss pops up looking confused but confident, then settles into her awakeness and grabs the order sheet... "Disguise Kit, Circlet of persuasion, ... " She urps a bit then looks down embarrassed at her boots, almost urps again, then checks "Boots of Striding and Springing..." It has been over two years since her last adventure and her pack has not been replenished. Or even aired out. She removes a stunningly spry mouse and 10,050 credits. She glances at the poor attendant, adds 200 gp for sleeves of many garments, thinks twice, rounds up to 11k and looks woozy.

"WHAT THE $*@((%@&&*@, WE'RE GOING AFTER @*#$#** GRAND $&*#^@& MASTER #@$@^ TORCH!!!"

[all swear words are in Orcish]

"AND THOSE @&$^#%$ THINK I CAN KEEP ALL YOU *&#^@s ALIVE!"

She is now looking disturbingly alert and sober.

1d20 ⇒ 5

"How confident is your assessment of Elysia's duplicity?

The Decemvirate shrugs slightly in response. “She is old enough to have witnessed the dedication of the Grand Lodge, and she was directly involved in the deaths of several members of the Ten. She was banished from the Society centuries ago. For many years, Pathfinders sought to track her down, though none found her. Learning information about her has been difficult. She has not been heard from for hundreds of years, and most assumed her dead. In the intervening time, her treachery was almost lost to memory. But recent events have allowed more of the past’s secrets to come to light.”

The whole thing smells of Torch's strategic sleight of hand and misdirection. Drop enough breadcrumbs to send Pathfinders off to the chase a lethal red herring, while pursuing his real agenda elsewhere."

The Decemvirate pauses briefly before addressing Jack. “Other agents have uncovered preliminary plots against several lodges. However, his exact plans have yet evaded us, and we are bolstering security in the meantime.”

"Can I ask... who grandmaster torch? and Elysia and how did we know she was still alive. From the last decade with the society I haven't met any of those persons?"

The Decemvirate allows Jack to briefly explain Torch's past with the Society. "Torch is a devious, well-connected, and cunning information broker; willing to destroy everything in his path in a misguided quest for revenge. His singlemindedness will be his downfall, if you are able to catch him off guard. Be prepared for anything."

"I do not have one of these pouches, but I have gold. Should we purchase one or more?" Gerdur pulls out a pouch of platinum that clinks loudly.

"Despite our decreased staffing at the moment, we still have a volunteer running the quartermaster's shop downstairs. Excitable little halfling woman, if I recall. Stock up as you feel appropriate, you might find it difficult to openly purchase gear on the island and avoid notice at the same time," The Decemvirate replies.

**Orcish Cursing**

Despite The Decemvirate's face being behind a mask, the palpable sensation of an eyebrow being lifted by them fills the room. There is an almost awkward silence and pause, broken by them clearing their throat loudly. "Any other questions?"

"What do we know about this island and those... mantis guys? They are not like the aspis right?"

I do not regret saving the patrons life...but.

"What do we know about this island and those... mantis guys? They are not like the aspis right?"

"The Red Mantis is an organization of assassins devoted to the worship of Achaekek, The Mantis God. While the Aspis are motivated by profit and animosity, the Red Mantis are only driven by their contracts; stopping at nothing to kill their targets. Their base of operations, The Crimson Citadel, lies just outside of Ilizmagorti. Your mission takes you into the heart of their territory, so proceed with the utmost caution," The Decemvirate says seriously.

This Decemvirate member is keeping something from us. Why, I wonder.

Jack relates to the team all that he can about Grandmaster Torch.

Having acquired, thanks to the temporary loan from Gerdur Knee-biter, a Pathfinder pouch, Jack is ready to get underway.

He stuffs his wayfinder in the pouch, pondering what other items ought to join it.

"Ready or not, let's go."

Gaétan lends his +5 cloak of résistance to Jack.

"I have learn the importance of Sharing"

Before leaving the lodge Zartan stops by the quartermaster to pick up a Pathfinder Pouch of his own, a Traveler's Any Tool, and a necklace with 3 lesser talismans; Life's Breath, Healing Power, and Freedom. He also trades his +3 shield in for a +4 and recruits a porter.

Gaétan Will take a elixir of Stealth+ potion of invisibility+Will put his wayfinder in one of the other pouch.

Gruss will also purchase a pouch, hiding her potion of invisibility, pair of stealth elixirs and wayfinder inside it.

The briefing is concluded, and the Decemvirate departs with a dramatic flourish of his cape. As the group descends to the quartermaster's shop in the Lodge, they will find a potentially familiar looking halfling woman tending the counter. She looks up from idly flipping through the pages of a large tome, setting it aside as a wide smile graces her visage. "Finally, some people to break the boredom! Everyone else gets to go on an exciting mission to the Gallowspire while I get to man the fort, as it were." The woman's eyes widen as she realizes the identities of the Pathfinders before her, as she blushes wildly. "Oh, pardon me! I thought all of the Seekers were deployed on the mission. Where are my manners...Oh dear oh dear do I ask for autographs or do I just help them with-" The halfling has to take several moments to gather her wits, but eventually regains her aplomb enough to assist the group with their purchases.

"Umm...pathfinder pouches? I think I have several, enough to cover you all I think." The halfling pulls out several nondescript, black leather pouches with silver buckles. She divvies them out, as she addresses Marcus' shopping list. "Here is your tool...talismans, you say?" she turns to dig through a filing cabinet to pull out several strips of parchment with symbols on them. "We have a couple left from Amara Li's last shipment sent out from Goka...don't mind the coffee stain on the 'Healing Power' one, Kreighton said that it still should work fine?" she trails off uncertainly as she slides them over to Marcus. "Oh, potions and elixirs? There is a whole bunch back here, for sure," the halfling says as she sifts through a sack with the clinking sound of glass vials. "I hope you don't mind bananas. For some reason the last alchemist on duty made all of his potions with banana flavoring. Reminds one of tropical islands, maybe?" she muses as she slides Gaétan's purchases across the counter. "Well, looks like you all are set to go! Be careful on your mission; it never hurts to be too prepared!" She waves cheerfully as the group departs.

The group heads to one of the practice rooms, where they will find several apprentices bustling about the room. As they organize misshapen piles of books and scrolls, a rather distracted looking elf muses through a scroll in his hands in a clear area in the middle of the room amidst the chaos. "There you are," says the Master of Scrolls. "Heading straight into danger, are we? Seems like everyone is doing something dangerous, these days. The Decemvirate has asked me to teleport you to Azir. Bound for Mediogalti Island, it appears...lovely place this time of year. Reminds me of a delightful species of carnivorous flora native to the island..." Kreighton Shaine trails off in a reverie as his gaze drifts to the ceiling. A nearby apprentice clears their throat loudly, startling the elf back to the present. "Ahem, yes. Teleporting. I have quite the reputation with this magic, you know. Delightful hobby. Ready to depart?" The elf will wait as long as is needed, should any immediate magical (or otherwise) precautions be desired, before holding up a scroll and beginning to chant its verbal components.

With a disorienting wrench and a sharp change in the ambient air pressure, the group appears upside down 15 feet in the air above a stack of burlap sacks set on a dock next to an ocean. A large merchant ship with the words The Eel Prince emblazoned on its hull is docked nearby as the sounds of a bustling port town can be heard around you. A very startled looking dock hand stands a short distance away, a male human clad in typical sailor's clothing. "Err...ye be thar 'Pathfinders,' aye? Welcome to Port Godless. Name is Mick. Me captain be ready to set sail for the isle at your leave."

Perception: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (14) + 19 = 33

"Is not that scroll the wrong side u.... ARGH!" Gerdur falls and thumps to the ground as the teleportation takes hold.

Perception DC15: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (12) + 22 = 34
Spellcraft DC25: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (12) + 18 = 30

"Brace yourselves, friends. The Master of Scrolls seems distracted--"

Jack falls 15 feet, headfirst, onto the stack of burlap bags. Moron!

Getting to his feet, he greets the sailor with a grin. "Howdy, Mick. Let's meet your captain and set sail."

Perception: 1d20 + 35 ⇒ (14) + 35 = 49

Uh oh

Spotting the master's error Marcus prepares himself

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (3) + 18 = 21

and flips over on the way down to the sacks.

We are.

Perception: 1d20 + 17 ⇒ (15) + 17 = 32

”Uh, that looks upsi...”

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30

Gruss lands upright but not impressively. She slaps Mick on the back ”That yer boat?” and without waiting for (or hearing) the answer she stomps towards the Eel.

----
Gaétan notice easily this weirdness but has confidence.

When he teleports head on the Ground, he keeps His face straight and with grâce return to his normal position.

Port... Godless?

"What is portgodless?"

"What is portgodless?"

"That be the nickname for the city, ye see," Mick says as he squints one eye in Géatan's direction against the bright sun above. "Ye be in the capital of Rahadoum, Azir. The gods and their religious nonsense aren't welcome in the country, ye see; hence the nickname!" The sailor glances nervously towards the swiftly departing dwarf heading to the ship. "Ermm...should ye have any holy people in ye group, do ol' Mick a favor and keep it quiet until we set sail on open waters, yes?"

Barring any particular delays or side shopping trips in Azir, the group will find The Eel Prince to be a fairly typical trade vessel; with ample bunks/space to spread out and store their belongings. The journey to Mediogalti Island only takes the better part of a day and is relatively uneventful, with the ship arriving the next day at the harbor in Ilizmagorti in the early afternoon.

Map of Ilizmagorti

The ship docks on the northeastern side of the harbor, just a short distance off from what appears to be a bustling commercial district for the city. Mick informs the group that they will be able to tarry in the city for about a week handling business concerns, but after that the group will have to find their own route back to Absalom. The crew begins unloading crates and barrels down a gangplank, leaving the Pathfinders to their own direction.

What would you all like to do now?

"Aye, we'll keep ourselves to ourselves. This Godless place sounds like no place for a holy person."

Gerdur has placed anything identifying himself as a Pathfinder in the pouch, and keeps it close. Otherwise, he looks like a small barbarian from the Shoanti plains.

"Reckon we ought to find Strake's manor. Should ask around, then. Perhaps one of you who are better at speaking than I."

Marcus makes sure most of his gear is hidden in the pouch before disembarking.

I can ask around. There are always a few light fingered folks around

Knowledge (Local): 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (3) + 19 = 22

Nodding in approval at the precautions the team is taking, Jack stows his unmentionables in his new pouch.

"Right," he agrees with Gerdur, "Let's find Strake's manor."

The bard joins Marcus, trying to get directions.
Diplomacy (gather information): 1d20 + 32 ⇒ (16) + 32 = 48

Gerdur nods and follows his more talkative friends with a satisfied grunt.

Gruss looks down at the blue spiral on her palm and thrusts her hand into a pocket.

I’m hiding being a Pathfinder, I’m hiding that I’m a cleric of Pharasma, next I’ll have to stoop so people think i’m a “husky halfling” instead of a dwarf.

She grunts and follows the rest of the party.

Gaétan goes and buys a map of the Island and/or the city.

A tourist's guide to assassin island: How not to get killed on your vacation!

Jack adjusts the cloak--the one Géatan Émond had lent him--ensuring it won't snag, if he needs to draw his rapier.

He finds a spot away from prying eyes and, lesser rod of extend in hand, casts heightened awareness and heroism on himself. Then he stows the rod in his Pathfinder pouch.

Stats in Tagline updated