Grandmaster Torch looks at the Seekers before him in disbelief and forcibly buries his face in his hands.
”You don’t even know?!” Torch grabs fistfuls of hair in clear frustration as he begins pacing along a short distance. ”You provoked the wrath of one of the most powerful men on Golarion and you didnt even know what you were dealing with?!”
The infamous information broker throws his arms into the air and directs his head to the sky, as if cursing at some—or many—unnamed deities. ”Fine!”
“Vahlo is a graveknight servitor of the Whispering Tyrant. Graveknights are bound to their armor like a lich is to their phylactery, and Vahlo’s armor is actually that helm. Vahlo has been using the Society from the very beginning to further his own agenda from within the Ten, and as long as that helm exists then Vahlo will come back and continue to do so! So, everyone get in a line and put on that helm!”
"You're going to have to talk straight for once and tell us why we should put it on. Also, don't scold me I have been cleaning up you and the other ten's messes for years."
”Oh no. Oh ho ho NO! You do not get to patronize me about cleaning up the Ten’s messes! I have spent years and—Bah! This isn’t the issue! It’s only a matter of time before what few Pathfinders remain in Absalom come here, and when they do the Decemvirate will take back that helm! Five people putting on the helm within a 24 hour period will destroy the artifact—normally it would take doing that twice within two days, but the ritual supercharged Vahlo’s rejuvenation, draining the helm of most of its power and leaving it weak enough that it can be destroyed right here, right now. So again I say: Put on the gods-damned helm!!!”
”Fine.”
Torch forcefully pulls off the goggles from his forehead as he reaches down for the three-flanged helm. The information broker puts the helm on his head without hesitation and immediately takes it off. He returns the goggles to his forehead and holds the helm out in one hand.
Once Xanaphia dons the triple-spired helm its metal grows brittle. Several cracks form on the helm, and it silently shatters into several large pieces.
Grandmaster Torch stands with tenseness as he casts detect magic, staring fervently at the shards on the grass. After several seconds, the information broker pants deeply. He presses his back against the Wall of Names and leans his head back, then slowly slides down to be sitting on the grass.
Torch reaches into his inside pocket and pulls out a pair of hefty leather bags that he tosses to his half-orc companions, landing at their feet with the jangle of coins. The half-orcs look at the bags with concern, then at each other, and then at Torch.
”Boss...?”
Torch gestures the back of his hand through the air, as if dismissing the two half-orcs. The bodyguards glance once more at each other, then reach down to each pick up one of the sacks. One pulls out a scroll and sets it on the ground while the other grabs the first’s shoulder. The two gaze once more at their employer before one of them utters a few incantations and the pair dimension door away.
Torch removes the complex metal goggles and haphazardly tosses them to the ground. He pulls out a handkerchief and wipes away the layer of sweat from his face. With a grunt, he slowly rises to his feet and moves down along the Wall of Names, his fingertips traipsing along the dark stone.
He stops at a certain point, looking at the engravings around him. He softly growls and pulls out an adamantine dagger. He flies up to near the top of the wall, where there is a moderately-sized margin free of the names of any Pathfinders and easily digs his dagger into the stone wall.
Torch spends the better part of a minute continuing to carve into the wall. When he finally floats down to the ground he reveals several inexpertly carved names engraven into the wall:
Kiras Lithron
Rosarra Springale
Thanien Kiandel
Asha Sandwalker
Torch tosses the dagger to the ground and sets the top of his head against the wall, placing the palm of his right hand against the wall. All the while Torch continues to pant deeply.
Torch lifts his head off of the Wall of Names and turns around. “This is where it ends,” He announces, while removing several rings and tossing them onto the ground, seeming to ignore the questions posed to him. “So many years ago, I joined the Society and did the Decemvirate’s bidding, only to be betrayed and abandoned rather than have the leaders admit wrongdoing.” He unclasps his cloak and unbuckles a bandolier of potions, adding them to the pile. “I worked independently after that, as you know, trying to change the Society through the Shadow Lodge.” He grunts derisively while upending a belt pouch containing spell components, a half-dozen tub-shaped feather tokens, and an ivory statue of himself. “Lost control of those rebels, I admit, but the new Shadow Lodge that resulted? What a magnificent thing that was! Together, we stood to reform the Society from within!” He punctuates this point by dropping his quiver and discarding a leather case brimming with scrolls. “Until I realized that all the progress we seemed to make ceased the moment the Decemvirate took an interest.” He unceremoniously adds his sword to the growing hoard of magic items.
“I’m a suspicious man, and I admit I jumped too swiftly to blaming the Decemvirate. Yet, when the opportunity came to discover their identities, I took it. My old nemesis Dorianna Ouidda had secured the names, yet even she had yet to piece together Vahlo’s motivations,” He snaps his fingers several times and casts numerous dispel magics, a magical aura upon him disappearing with each snap or casting. ”But I recognized him from the tales, recognized what his presence might mean, and knew what he would do to anyone who stood a chance of knowing his true identity. I killed Dorianna, I publicly betrayed the Society, and I no doubt disappointed many of you. It was the only way I saw in the moment to deflect blame from the Pathfinder agents and take it on myself, becoming in the Decemvirate’s eyes the villain they always assumed I would become. And to be fair, it worked for those agents; instead of an inquisition, the Grand Lodge reached out with an olive branch and special training. I couldn’t bear to see Vahlo wipe out the agents who placed their faith in me, even if I had to break their faith to save them from that fate.”
Torch sheds the last of his equipment except for armor, belt, and his brooch, plus a candle and tindertwig held in his hands. “For old time’s sake,” he notes with a wry chuckle as he lights the candle and balances it on the ground before concluding. “Since then, I’ve done everything I can to unmask Vahlo in a way that the Decemvirate couldn’t laugh off. I’ve stolen, spied, and even warmongered to that end, but at last the worst of the Ten has fallen. And by now my agents have finished carrying off enough evidence implicating two of the other Decemvirate that I suspect they’ll flee the Society once those documents come to light.
“I’ve done what I came to do. I’ve finished what I set out to accomplish. What I’ve done, I’ve always done for the Pathfinder Society and its agents. But that’s not for me to judge. I’ll answer any of your questions, and I’ll submit to your judgment. If I am to live or die, let it be the decision of true Pathfinders, not the Ten.”
Xanaphia joins Fletch in examining the Grandmaster's addition to the Wall of Names. "Pathfinders you were close to who, for whatever reason, their names not added before? Care to share who they were and why they weren't on here already?"
”The Scarab Seekers, my team. I wasn’t Torch then; I was Ven Lorovox. We were sent on a routine search of an ancient tomb in Osirion, but the pharaoh refused to open Osirion’s borders to such archeological expeditions to ‘prevent tomb-robbing.’” Torch rolls his eyes. ”Pharasmins. As such, we went in secret. We were accosted in that tomb by undead, haunts, an elemental, and so on. I was cursed by what used to be the Emerald Sage who had risen as an allip. To avoid the wrath of the royal family, the Ten did not dispatch a team to recover the bodies for resurrection, because that would require admitting to going against the pharaoh’s wishes. Any connection to the Scarab Seekers was denied, and they officially died—including Ven Lorovox—as tomb-robbers, not Pathfinders.”
"Where we start is never as important as where we end," says Fletch.
"And you seem to have ended well. Before I say what fate I think you deserve, I have one question. Why did you kill Dorianna Ouidda? Was it vengeance? Or was she part of Vahlo's plot?"
”Vahlo’s name was on Dorianna Ouidda’s list of potential Decemvirate members, and I knew it from some of the Shining Crusade texts I had to study as an initiate. He was a bold paladin of Chaldira Zuzaristan who perished during a rescue, and those who died near the Whispering Tyrant became undead themselves.” Torch chuckles. “History lessons came in handy. Who knew?”
Torch’s smile vanishes as he looks off. “But Dorianna knew Vahlo’s name, even if she hadn’t determined its significance. But she would talk, and if Vahlo’s identity got out, far more people could have died. Killing her seemed the right move to keep Pathfinders safe. And I admit I had a chip on my shoulder. Dorianna usurped and corrupted the original Shadow Lodge, which only lent the Decemvirate more authority and led to countless deaths, especially following the Hestram incident. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the moment of revenge.”
|
"Torch I dislike you, I have made that clear at each of our meetings. You are a liar and you have acted many times selfishly and and short sightedly with matters that have nothing to do with today, for which I hope you are judged. But, that judge will not be by me. If there is 2 copper of brains shared between all of the Ten you seem to have them both. There is a level of in competence that is worse then the baser instincts that you follow at times."
Grognar pauses then asks, "How can we make sure people so stupid are not in power. Surely we should not have to cleanup their messes? Everytime I bring this up to the ten the dismiss their failing."
"Torch I dislike you, I have made that clear at each of our meetings. You are a liar and you have acted many times selfishly and and short sightedly with matters that have nothing to do with today, for which I hope you are judged. But, that judge will not be by me. If there is 2 copper of brains shared between all of the Ten you seem to have them both. There is a level of in competence that is worse then the baser instincts that you follow at times."
Grognar pauses then asks, "How can we make sure people so stupid are not in power. Surely we should not have to cleanup their messes? Everytime I bring this up to the ten the dismiss their failing."
”The Ten holds no idiots within it, for you must have some level of intellect to be within, or did you never question why Hestram’s plan to infiltrate the Ten never worked? Regardless, I have acted with intent, and always consider the weight of my actions before they become actions. If you believe that false, then I will face your judgement. We may not like one another, Grognar, but if you grant me one thing, let it be that you see me face the punishment you believe I deserve. You may be biased, but I have acted against the insidiousness that sit within the Ten and corrupted the opinions of those who wish for the future of the Society, if such members exist. I’d rather the bias be with you than theirs.”
|
"So after all of it, you leave it to the four of us ... to be your judge and even executioner? Quite a burden you hand us. Your accomplishments - for good and ill - are certainly monument. I come from a tradition of family and brotherhood. There is nothing more important than the ties that bind us. I for one, believe you have tried to do what at least you think was for the best for your family, the Pathfinders. But what of the future? What would you do if we should leave you with your life?" The Erastilian paladin explains his view.
"But what of the future? What would you do if we should leave you with your life?"
Torch releases a deep sigh. “I’ve spent years on the run and planning for today. I rarely gave what would follow any thought. It’s tempting to just retire somewhere warm and relax for once.”
|
Fletch laughs despite himself, mirthfully. "When pigs fly!" he says. "You won't lay down and retire while there's life left in you. It's not in your nature."
The ranger says "Nothing can ever utterly wipe clean the slate of our lives. Even if we follow the path of redemption we must still pay for our mistakes. But that is for fate and the gods, not me. I believe that you will continue to meddle, for good or ill, but that you will do it from good intentions. I cannot condemn you for that."
"Live." he says simply and looks at his companions for their vote.
|
|
"Before your vacation, Grandmaster, you must submit to a thorough debrief with the Society, to ensure that no stone of your past dealings is un-turned. Surely, you respect the power of information."
He steps next to Fletch.
"Live." says Thereus, plainly. "If only so you may see how your actions will play out on the backdrop of history."
|
|
"The Ten holds no idiots within it, for you must have some level of intellect to be within, or did you never question why Hestram’s plan to infiltrate the Ten never worked?"
"I know the people that thwarted that plan. From what I understand
"Bias."
"Don't confuse personal feelings for bias. I have not directly witnessed you commit crimes here today and the pathfinders are not a court. Go to the city watch, turn yourself in, and stand trial. Then plead guilty like any other repentant criminal. I only care that the Ten are unmasked."
"Bias.""Don't confuse personal feelings for bias. I have not directly witnessed you commit crimes here today and the pathfinders are not a court. Go to the city watch, turn yourself in, and stand trial. Then plead guilty like any other repentant criminal. I only care that the Ten are unmasked."
"Trial by a jury of my peers. Or do you suggest the jury be a contingent of half-orc mercenaries who will go to the highest bidder? Because outside of Pathfinders, those are my only true peers."
|
Xanaphia watches and listens, her expression not changing much. "I agree with the others. The Grandmaster should not die today. There's so much new evidence that has come to light, and the circumstances that led to our mission—our orders—to kill Torch...I guess all I can really say is that that some reconsidring is in order."
Grandmaster Torch sighs.
”Years of animosity. Years of hatred and contempt. Years of warmongering, deceiving, and villainizing. I had never expected this. I…I don’t know what to say…Thank you…”
“Well, this is certainly unexpected.”
A voice of middle pitch comes from behind the Pathfinders. They turn to see a pair of figures before them, both members of the Decemvirate, and behind them a slew of Pathfinders move about the Grand Lodge, recently moving in from outside the front gate. One of the Decemvirate wears a bejeweled ivory helm—Shemis. The other wears a helm of whorled black mesh that wraps the head like a tangle of thorns, their physical appearance and voice devoid of any suggestion of gender or ethnicity beyond simply being from Absalom.
The Decemvirate of the whorled helm stands from a kneeling position, a shard of the triple-spired helm in one of their hands. Shemis clears her throat and steps forward.
”I commend you for your work in assisting the Grand Lodge in this, our most vulnerable time. We of the Decemvirate cannot express our gratitude in words alone.”
The Decemvirate of the whorled helm looks up at the Seekers before them, including Grandmaster Torch, and shifts their stance to stand with their hands behind their back. They speak once more in a voice of middle pitch in the most generic Absalomic accent one could imagine.
”That being said, even we of the Ten do not have the whole story, and some context is in order. It is time to report, Seekers; what has happened here?”
Grandmaster Torch clenches his fists, trying—and failing—to maintain his composure in the presence of two of the Decemvirate.
|
|
"I will not speak to people who do not respect us enough to show their faces. Your stupid helmets cause the death of many today. The results of your greed and arrogance had to be fixed by those of us that lack the power to send others to do their bidding and have to show our faces and stand behind our actions. We have the calluses and scars for all the artifacts you have collected over the years. I have witnessed your displaces of grandeur and I wholly reject them. I will report when I know to whom I report."
Grognar steps between the Decemverate and Torch.
|
|
"Thirded. After all the, ahem...I'll put this as lightly as I can, misunderstandings that have occurred because of Vahlo's mask," Xanaphia raps the graveknight's Decemverate helm with the tip of her Greater Quicken rod and shoots a compassionate, sorrowful glance at the Grandmaster, then continues, "I think some transparency is in order."
The two Decemvirate members look toward one another and nod.
”The report was frankly a formality at this point. Some privacy is required.”
The whorl-helmed Decemvirate utters magical incantations over the course of the next ten minutes as they cast mage’s Private sanctum, positioning it such that Grandmaster Torch is kept outside of its area, but he is still well within sight of those within; any attempt by the Grandmaster to enter is met with harsh warnings and turning him away. Once the spell is cast, the Decemvirate member sighs.
”Three hundred eight years ago there was a bloody coup within the Pathfinder Society; agents rioted over how the Decemvirate of the time governed our organization. Agents targeted them—blackmail, violence, magical compulsions—so that they may get their way, or take revenge over actions decided by the Ten as a whole rather than the individual member. They decided then to stand down from the Decemvirate and secretly appoint successors, and that the Ten would henceforth be masked, that their identities may be hidden and such a coup could never have occurred again. Adril Hestram, Grandmaster Torch, their attacks only happened because that anonymity was broken. We wear these masks so that those upset with how the Society is governed aim their hatred toward the ‘mysterious masked cabal’ rather than at those who wear the mask.
“Those who bore the triple-spired helm were prone to questionable—at times insidious—actions, and more than once over the centuries were they expelled from the Ten and a successor appointed in their place. This, unfortunately, is a relatively scarce occurrence among those wearing the helm, so it never aroused suspicion; knowing that the helm was the armor of a Graveknight means that when the helm was passed on to its successor, Vahlo likely destroyed himself that he may reform, for whoever wears the armor of a Graveknight while they reform lose both their body and mind, until all that is left is the Graveknight alone. As much as unmasking the Ten would seem to fix, in the end it would cause countless more problems to surface, as the actions of Grandmaster Torch and Adril Hestram have evidently revealed. However,”
The Decemvirate of the whorled helm brings a hand from behind their back—the one holding the shard of the three-flanged helm. They stare at it for a moment and let it drop to the ground.
“With Vahlo’s destruction comes the destruction of his helm, an irreplaceable artifact. And with it, the Ten would become Nine. So much has changed in the Decemvirate in just a decade—in spirit and in composition. It seems fitting that its organization should change as well to reflect its purged evils and a new era with new leadership.”
They takes their helm in both hands and lift it, their body resolving from that of a generic person into a clearly feminine body structure. Flowing down from within the helm of black whorled mesh falls a cascade of fiery red hair. Venture-Captain Eliza Petulengro smiles warmly at the Seekers before her.
“It was the bravery of Pathfinders like you who convinced the Decemvirate to accept me as one of their own. It’s past time I honor their courage by serving the Society as an open member of the Decemvirate.”
“It is a bold move to become Unmasked,” Shemis observes. “You are weaker without the artifact, and we are already weakened by becoming nine.”
“You’re missing the point,” Eliza remarks. “What the Society needs is a face and a name, someone—even if it is but one person—they can turn to with complaints and concerns, someone that can be held accountable for the poor decisions of the Ten. And what the Decemvirate needs most is new talent, courage, insight, and initiative.” She nods to the gathered Pathfinders and holds out her helm. “I know that someone will rise to the challenge.”
The Decemvirate of the ivory-clad helm chuckles warmly. ”I doubt you’ll ever cease to surprise me, Eliza.” She turns toward the assembled Pathfinders. “Any one of you would be worthy of joining our ranks and helping us ensure that nothing like this ever happens again. What say you?”
|
|
Planting the end of his bow firmly in the grass surrounding the Grand Lodge, Thereus speaks. "Nor I, as my allegiance falls first for my home country of Isger and my family and business there. Although I will continue to answer the call for the Society, especially as its goals change for the better."
|
|
"How many people or groups of people have killed one of the ten? How many have killed one twice? There needs to be a check on your power. An open member is a small start. But, a team of people who have defeated one of you and are willing to reject that power will act as a symbol to allow people to speak out and challenge your decisions. I reject your offer with extreme prejudice. "