Bloody Streets: CT by AG (Inactive)

Game Master Apoc Golem

Roll20

(On Hiatus Until MM Finishes)


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Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

The Recap:

Four disparate individuals arrived late one afternoon at a small, unassuming hut in Midland, in the city of Korvosa, on 22 Desnus, 4707AR. Each one came from a wildly different walk of life, but each also had one dark thread weaving their fates together: each had a powerful need for vengeance on the withered old bastard known as Gaedren Lamm. To that end, each had found a strange harrow card in their positions that day, scrawled with a note from a mysterious writer saying only to come to this address at sunset.

Within, they first met each other: Lordling Adrin Laecus, son of the powerful Lord Domir Laecus, harboring a secret alter ego bent on vengeance and justice; Andakos Viden, son of the minor noble house of the same name, the daemon-blooded tiefling investigator and guardsman at the local Academae; Maelis Dorso, a recovering shiver addict and priest of Calistria; and Trell Odum, adopted son of the famous duelist and fencing instructor, Vencarlo Orisini.

After feeling each other out a bit, the owner of the hut, Zellara, arrived to explain the situation. Her own son had recently been murdered by Gaedren and his cronies in an attempt to retrieve her Harrow deck, her family heirloom. She wanted revenge too, and was able, through means she did not entirely specify, to discover the elusive criminal’s current whereabouts. All four of them were understandably suspicious, but their need for revenge outweighed their caution, and they agreed.

Unwilling to rush into the hideout, despite the danger waiting posed to the many orphans in Gaedren’s clutches, the group gathered information and learned Gaedren’s second-in-command, an equally despicable man named Yargin Belko, would leave the fishery in two weeks’ time for his monthly excursion to the black market to sell their illicit goods. The party was unanimous: wait and watch the fishery to jump Yargin and squeeze him for information.

The plan should have been solid, but they made one drastic mistake: Gaedren and Yargin knew Trell’s face from his time as their muscle. During Trell’s shift staking out the fishery, Yargin came out and immediately spotted the young elf. The fishery went into lockdown, and the plan was shot. They had no choice, now; they had to storm the fishery before Gaedren could clear out and vanish again.

So storm it they did. After a long, grueling battle with Gaedren’s crew of ruffians and terrified street waifs, the party rescued the orphans--including Andakos’ charge, the young aasimar girl Lyse--though it turns out their hesitation had cost a child their life, and Trell’s bungle during the watch had cost another boy his. With two young deaths on their minds, the party entered the underbelly of the fishery to face Gaedren Lamm. After a knock-down, drag-out fight, Gaedren fled badly wounded, while the party was left to fend off his large and incredibly hungry and angry crocodile. The fight very nearly took the lives of Trell and Adrin (aka “Destriant”) but in the end they survived and slew the beast.

The final revelation came among Gaedren’s possessions, in a fly-ridden box. At the bottom, wrapped in cloth, was Zellara’s Harrow deck. Sitting on top of it was her rotting, severed head. Zellara had been dead for several weeks, if not several months. When they exited the fishery, the party found the streets in chaos. The crier called: ”King Eodred II is dead! The King is dead! Long Live the Queen!”

And boy, the city was not having it.

Riots, chaos, and mob justice filled the streets. Danger lurked around every corner. The city was on the very edge of anarchy. After returning the Queen her brooch stolen by Gaedren, the party was conscripted into the Korvosan city guard to help combat the rising tide of crime and lawlessness. Shady deserters, otyugh uprisings, and slimy crime lords all awaited the party as they fought to quell the unrest of Korvosa for Field Marshal Cressida Kroft. Adrin Laecus gave his life in pursuit of that goal, but otherwise the party was successful in their endeavors--until Trinia Sabor.


The Shingles Incidient:

The chase was a struggle. The janky, rickety, uneven rooftops that made up the wild maze above Korvosa known as the Shingles made for a desperate chase as the party tried to capture alive the prime suspect in the King’s murder: a young artist named Trinia Sabor. She was a poor but up-and-coming artist who had been commissioned to paint the King’s portrait right before he died of a “mysterious illness.”

As a citizen of the Shingles her whole life, Trinia was a wily and difficult opponent; but the party had numbers, wits, and the luck of Calistria on their side. Eventually, aided by their new ally Kelzee of the Sable Company marines, they managed to capture Trinia. And Maelis had even stopped the pair of Hellknights in the Shingles looking for Trinia! The young girl wept and begged for them not to hurt her; she insisted over and over that she had never killed anyone; but the party knew the mission was to bring her in for magical questioning. Field Marshal Kroft felt the whole thing stank to high heaven, and she wanted answers.
The plan was going well; all they had to do was get Trinia a few blocks away to a city guard safehouse and hand her over. But when they reached the safe house, things went sideways.

Someone must have tipped off the Hellknights about the safehouse, because four more of them were waiting there. They demanded the party hand over “the treasonous b%%+%” immediately. Kelzee, in particular, was adamant in her refusal. She had orders, she was going to obey them. The Hellknight commander produced a royal decree stating only the Hellknights were authorized to bring Trinia into custody. Kelzee argued. It got heated. Words were exchanged, then Kelzee drew steel. The whole debacle fell into chaos.

In the end, Andakos was gravely wounded, Maelis fled, and Trell and Kelzee lay dead in the street. The Hellknights didn’t bother finishing the investigator off; they simply took the girl and left.

That was three days ago, on 17 Sarenith, 4707 AR. Andakos is now fully healed, but after a heated exchange between himself and Commander Kroft--she was absolutely livid at the disastrous results of the mission--a guardswoman finally arrives at the barracks in the early morning of 20 Sarenith, requesting the tiefling’s presence in her office.

20 Sarenith, 4707 AR
16 Days Since Eodred II’s Death

When Andakos arrives at Kroft’s office, she looks even more haggard than when he met her two weeks ago; despite the city watch’s progress in quelling the riots--no small part of which belongs to Andakos and his recently-departed allies--she seems far worse for wear. Crow’s feet surround her eyes that weren’t there before; a streak of shock-white threads through her short-cropped brown hair; and the bags under her eyes and sunken cheeks make her look as if she aged a decade in half a month. She looks up at you sheepishly.

As a reminder, she is played by Noomi Rapace.

”Andakos. I… said things the other day that were… uncharitable. I’m sorry. I was frustrated and aggrieved, and I let my mouth get ahead of my brain. You have been indispensable in the defense of the city these past weeks. As were Kelzee, Trell and Maelis. It’s unfortunate the cleric chose to flee instead of report back. It looks... unflattering, considering we know someone tipped off the Hellknights to the safehouse's location.” She spreads her hands out as if to say, What can you do? ”Regardless, I thank you for staying. The city--and the Guard in particular--still has need of you. I may have a mission for you later today, but for now, I was hoping you might do me a… personal favor.” She blushes, clears her throat, and adjusts her sitting position before starting again.

”One of my top guardsmen is a Watch Sergeant named Grau Soldado. He’s a fine swordsman--trained under Vencarlo, in point of fact--but he’s been something of a drinker ever since he was kicked out of Orisini Academy. Some sort of quarrel with Vencarlo. He doesn't talk about it. Anyway, Grau took it badly. It was fine as long as he didn’t drink on the job. But for the past two days he hasn’t reported for duty. I fear he’s off getting liquored up at his favorite watering hole.

”Whatever else Grau may be, he’s a good Watch Sergeant when he’s sober, and the men like him. I have far too few soldiers like him these days, especially with the losses of Trell and Kelzee. If you're willing, head to the Creaky Hammock just a few blocks south. That’s his favorite drinking hole. And try not to cause a stir. He may make that impossible if he’s drunk enough, but we’re finally beginning to make progress calming things down. I really don’t want a debacle with a drunk soldier sending us two steps backward. Maybe you can reason with him, get him to come back of his own accord. All I ask is that whatever happens, please don’t kill him. He needs to answer for dereliction, and he will, but I want him chastised, not maimed or dead. I don’t think he’d try to cause you lasting harm no matter how drunk he is, but all the same.” She looks down for a moment before speaking her next words. "Will you do this for me? Please?" You can tell by her face that the word cost her no small amount of pride.

Sense Motive, DC 18:

You get the sense that while everything she's saying about needing him as a good soldier is perfectly logical, there is also a thread of something more. There is a faint hint of guilt in asking you to perform this duty, like she feels she's letting someone down by having you do this rather than doing it herself.

It takes a moment before it finally clicks: she loves him. The words make several disparate pieces fall into place. She can't possibly voice that emotion to Grau because he's a subordinate. Similarly, she can't go plead him to return to duty herself because it would be seen as favoritism; hence her sense of guilt at making you do it.

Knowledge (local) DC 18:

You recall Trell speaking of Grau. From what he said, his father took Grau under his wing and trained him at the same time as a then-young Sabina Merrin, the Queen’s Guard you had the misfortune of meeting on your way to see Queen Ileosa about the brooch. Vencarlo and Grau both fell in love with the young woman, who apparently had romantic affection for neither of them. Grau, in a fit of jealousy, turned Sabina and Vencarlo against each other, ending in a duel that is one of the only defeats Orisini has ever suffered; Trell said he lost two fingers from his left hand from it. When Vencarlo learned it had been Grau’s manipulations that had caused the rift, he threw the young man out in a rare rage. Trell never heard of the man again, and Vencarlo refused to even speak his name.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

17 Sarenith

Andakos spends the remainder of the day in a stupor of despair: Destriant dead; Kelzee dead; Trell dead; Trinia taken; and on top of it all, Kroft had held him responsible. Eventually, he sleeps, but it is really more of a coma brought on as a defense mechanism, his mind unable to process the grief and guilt.

18 Sarenith

Andakos puts in for two days of leave and, without waiting for the approval, heads to his parents' (and Lyse's!) house. He spends the day working with Lyse on her alchemy. Today he is teaching her how to make alchemist's fire. He explains how the mixing of the two chemicals on impact causes the sudden, intense (but relatively short-burning) fire, and how to fashion the vial so the chemicals don't mix prematurely.

It is a good, distracting day, but eventually it ends and he is left alone in bed with his thoughts. His mind isn't as merciful to him tonight, and he tosses and turns for hours before finally drifting off into a fitful, nightmare-filled sleep.

19 Sarenith

There is no better cure for despair than spending the day with a precocious, eager teenager that hangs on your every word while you teach her. He continues to work with her on alchemist's fire, even letting her take the lead at one point. And, one minor curtain fire incident notwithstanding, she managed to successfully make one! He wouldn't have carried it on his person, but he doesn't tell her that. Instead, he takes her out back to his old concrete testing slab. He finds his old, charred, and acid-pocked testing dummy, props it up on the slab, and tells her to fire away. She giggles with delight when the dummy goes up in flames.

As she runs inside to tell her grandparents what she just did, Andakos smiles despite himself. Sleep comes a bit easier that night.

20 Sarenith

He says his goodbyes and heads back to the Citadel, only to immediately be summoned to Kroft's office. Fully expecting to be reprimanded further for taking leave without awaiting the proper approval, he steels himself as he enters her office.

SM: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
K(L): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

Well, this is a fine mess.

Andakos pauses a moment before responding. He tries to make it seem like he's considering, but in truth he is trying to avoid screaming at a superior. After a few deep breaths, he feels calm enough to respond. "Respectfully, you and I both know Maelis didn't sell Trinia out. And, yes, I will do what I can. I... I need to keep busy."


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Kroft looks like she's about to argue the point, but shrugs instead. "Regardless, I will be looking into it. If they've gotten to someone in Citadel Volshyenek, I need to know about it. Frankly, the only one I'm certain it wasn't is you, but I need you for more pressing matters. Hopefully this will not take long. I may have another task as soon as you're done. You'll find the Creaky Hammock just down the road. And, Master Viden... thank you."

Let me know if there are any preparations you want to make before leaving.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Andakos gives a cursory salute, then turns and leaves, still quietly angry at... well, he's not sure what, but it might do him well to smack some sense into a drunk today.

He stops by the armory to see if he can find any bandoliers; he is running out of places on his belt to store his various alchemical goodies. (I'll pick up two if I can.) Then he heads out to the Creaky Hammock.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

You can pick up a couple bandoliers no problem.

It's a short walk to the Creaky Hammock. The place is clearly going for a nautical theme, with several ship's wheels nailed to the walls and long swaths of netting draped between them; the wide central pillar in the bar is done up like a mizzenmast, and thick ship-ropes are piled in corners in a vague attempt at artfulness. The place is incredibly messy and has a distinctly "dive" feel, and one look at the clientele makes the reason why obvious: nearly everyone at the tavern is either a guard or a sailor.

Several harrassed-looking servers move deftly between tables in the crowded tavern, bringing heaping plates of steamed seafood and root vegetables, the signature dishes of the establishment, as well as mugs of ale and beer. The place is packed full despite the early hour; sailors arrive in port when they arrive in port, and Korvosan guards work all sorts of shifts, so the place clearly sees constant business.

A long bar runs along the west wall, to the left of the entrance, and several rickety stools line it on the customer side, with bartenders hustling up and down the line serving people. One stool, in particular, is occupied by a narrow-framed guard with mussed hair, an unshaven face, and six large empty pints in front of him. He is waving the sixth in the face of the nearest bartender, a middle-aged half-elf who looks ready to hit the man, and slurring just loud enough to be heard over the din all the way at the front door, "Don'choo tell me when I'm done, Gebben! I know'n I'm done! I been done fer... fer..." He stops to stare at his hands as if awestruck, though he's really just trying and failing to count on his fingers, before turning back to Gebben. "Nine! Years! I been done nine! Yooou know?"

Gebben takes a long, deep breath, before speaking. It's hard to hear what he says, but the guard's reaction makes it plain he didn't like it. "Course'm drunk! That's the g@%+%@n point, Gebben!" His head lolls to one side, then the other, as if looking for reinforcements to aid in his predicament, when his gaze settles on Andakos.

"N... Neffi! Neffi?? Gods throw a fuggin' stone, man! What's it been?? Five years? Geddover 'ere an' lemme buy you a drink!" He turns and looks suspiciously at Gebben. "If this pruuuuude here will let me!"


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Andakos starts to consider how he wants to play this, until suddenly he feels his face break into a smile, his hand raise in a wave, and he mouth say the words, "Grau! By Sarenrae's t+!!, how are ya?!" He walks to the man's table, claps him on the back, and has a seat. He catches the bartender's eye and gives him a 'I got this' gesture.

What in the everliving f%+$ are you doing?

bluff (+4 to lie): 1d20 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 + 4 = 23


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Grau's face droops. "Real bad, Neffi. Real bad. 'Sall jes... jes... bad." He belches. "Firs tha king 's dead. Then the city 'splodes. Then..." He squeezes his eyes shut, as if trying to will away some horrid image burned onto the back of his eyes. "Oh, Nef. 's all my fault. All 'ese years wishin' 'im dead annow I got m'wish. 'e always got the love an' the attention an... an I haaated him for it. He finally saw me, you know? An he toook me in an" burrrrp "an made me feel impor'nt. I never feldimpordant. Felt good. An then he came along, a g~+~~%n full grown man but... but baby brain... an then he got the attempshun. Whadappened to ol' Grau?" He makes a broad, sweeping gesture that nearly slaps you in the face. "Dumped. Buddikepmuhchinnup. An then she walked in, an she was all he saw. An she was all I saw. An gods cuss me I fuggin fell in love, Neffi! YOu know! You rember! Yoower there!" He frowns, squints. "Yooad less horns then."

The bartender, Gebben, shrugs helplessly from the other end of the bar where he's drying mugs, as if to say, He's been like this for a while now. What are you gonna do?

Grau's eyes have not stopped narrowing at you. "You... Neffi... I bet it was all yer idea, wudnit. The... the plan? The big plan? Make 'em hate each other? Make 'em kill each other! I shoulda never lissentayooo! You snake! Issallerfault!" He stands from the stool, nearly falls, then catches himself on the bar and goes to draw his blade, but the blade seems to be caught on something as he has to tug several times before it comes leaping out of its scabbard, startling Grau in the process. "Whoa. Shid's fuggin sharp."

He stares for several seconds before turning to you and waving the blade vaguely in your direction. "Standndelivurr!" The line is somewhat ruined by the obscenely loud hiccup that follows. "I dem... demon.... demondand... sadisfackshun. Dool me!"

Every single head has stopped talking and turned to stare at the debacle.

He has his blade out but isn't attacking you at the moment. How do you wish to proceed?


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Trying to figure out who's dead that he's sad about. Trell?

SM+insp: 1d20 + 8 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 8 + (1) = 12

Woof.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

It's hard to say. Trell would certainly fit that bill, based on what you know of his history with Grau, but him being drunk actually makes it hard to get a proper read on him.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Andakos stands but keeps his hands raised and visible. "Trell's death isn't your fault, Grau. We all have dark thoughts sometimes, but thinking it doesn't make it real." (Except it's Pathfinder and sometimes it kinda does.) "Whaddya say we get you sobered up and back to the Citadel where you can help prevent more senseless deaths?"

diplomacy (+4 persuade) + insp: 1d20 + 4 + 4 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + 4 + 4 + (1) = 17

Dammit Ducky, you were my good roller! What happened?


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

The good news is, invoking Trell's name and his duty both gave you bonuses.

Grau's sword raises, wavers, raises again, then droops to his side. "You say it, but I dun belieb it. Gods'r punishing me fer whudidid."

He drops his sword to the floor with a clatter and stumble-walks toward the door.

" 'msorry Trell. I din mean it. 'msorry Ven. 'msorry Sab.. sab..." He breaks down into wracking sobs as he continues walking.

Gebben breathes an audible sigh of relief seeing Grau go.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

I can't believe that worked.

Andakos picks up Grau's sword and secures it in his belt. Then he tosses a gold piece the bartender's way with a look of apology, puts his arm around Grau to support him, and escorts him out of the bar and back to the Citadel.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city...

Getting into a city on lockdown was, it should have come as no surprise, incredibly difficult. In particular, the Korvosan Guard at the city gates were highly incredulous at Golloriel's claims to be here to help; it earned her no few raised eyebrows. She actually had to display a bit of her curative magic to get them to take her seriously.

Flavor; not making you burn spell slots.

Meanwhile, Caladaer looked on with increasing exasperation, wondering why on earth he ever agreed to this foolishness. Eventually, however, the guards allowed the two in, with instructions to head directly for the House of Dawn.

The streets are not quite the panicked warzone the rumors led you to believe, though evidence of rioting is everywhere: shattered, boarded window frames; few people about on the streets, mostly looking at the newcomers with fear and suspicion before darting into their homes and locking their doors; cracked cobblestones and dark stains on the sidewalks that can only be old blood; and occasionally, a ruined house or storefront, fire-blackened, its jagged walls jutting up like rotting teeth.

The two headed into the streets of Korvosa, first to Endrin Square directly past the front gate, then left down East High Street, across High Bridge (the imposing edifice of Citadel Volshyenek rose high into the skyline to the north as they crossed), then down West High Street to Endrin Avenue, the entire length of which they had to walk; the signs of rioting slowly began to dissipate as they reached further west, and now they finally arrive in the Cliffside District and the House of Dawn, the temple to Sarenrae here in Korvosa.

It is a narrow but magnificently tall structure, easily three stories and lined on all floors with stained-glass windows. The ones on the east and west sides of the building are particularly spectacular, taking up the whole of either edifice to allow in as much of the sunrise and sunset as possible during the church's two daily sermons.

The building is not in the midst of a sermon, but nonetheless acolytes and functionaries dart about busily, tidying the nave and apses, waxing the stained glass to a polished shine, and generally seeing to the church's needs. The two are greeted, surprisingly, by the High Priestess, a serious-looking and surprisingly young Vudrani woman--she can't possibly be older than her early thirties, yet she runs the temple. Her dress isn't quite what one would expect from a priest, either; she wears bright silks of vibrant blue, with gold-plated armbands of exquisite design. She clearly has money, but doesn't wear any armor like several other members of the temple are, including a few clerics and several men and women in heavy armor who appear to be paladins. Yet the High Priestess is dressed in loose-fitting fabrics of gorgeous craftsmanship. She looks like a noble's idea of an ascetic than an actual cleric.

After she regards the two of you for a moment she bows her head slightly."Light be upon you. I am Mother Fatia. How can I be of service?"

She is played by Priyanka Chopra.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel can barely contain her excitement when she sees the magnificent temple. Her sense of purpose is almost overwhelming in its intensity.

She doesn't answer Mother Fatia right away, her gaze glued to the paladins in their spectacular sun-emblazoned armor. Her father clears his throat behind her, and she is started out of her reverie. She gives a small bow. "Oh. Uh. Begging your pardon, Mother Fatia. We heard of the troubles here in Korvosa and have come here to offer our assistance. We intend to volunteer for the city guard, but I have some healing abilities and would like to get involved here as well." She pauses, as if unsure how to address someone so regal. "If you will have me, of course."


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

Caladaer suppresses an eye roll. You shouldn't show such deference, girl.

The entire trip here, he questioned why he was going along with his daughter's ridiculous idea. True, they hadn't been apart for longer than half a day in the past 28 years, but why didn't he put up more of a fight? They had more stability in Skelt than they had had ... well, ever. They should not have given that up so easily, especially to come to a place in such turmoil. They would not find stability here.

But those were his thoughts before arriving. Now that they were inside the walls and he had a chance to see the true state of things, he had begun to see the possibilities. His powers hadn't increased in literally decades, but the Acadamae here was known throughout Golarion. Perhaps here he could finally have a chance to get stronger.

Yes, he thinks that maybe Korvosa wasn't such a bad idea after all. He would go along with Golloriel's ridiculous scheme for now.

He looks at Fatia's clothing and the opulence of this temple. If these religious types were as charitable as they claim, they wouldn't live so extravagantly. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable even being inside this place.


Male hawk

Thúlae senses Cal's discomfort and squawks sarcastically.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Mother Fatia raises an eyebrow at the pair. "I see," she says, her thick accent unable to hide the sardonic note. "Well, I have no doubt the clods at the Korvosan Guard could use a hand, though I am not sure you wish to dip into that particular well. Word has it that Field Marshal Kroft is on thin ice after the debacle with the kingslayer. But, I am not your keeper. Do as you please." She waves a hand dismissively, as if she has decided that line of dialogue is absolutely over and it will not be spoken of again in her presence. "As to healing, we have little need for bandages and salves at the moment. We are quite well-stocked. If you wish to attend sermons, the next one is at eight p.m., just before sunset." She isn't even looking at the two of them anymore, glancing off distractedly at a pair of neophytes doing some kind of carpentry in the apse nearby. Everything about her demeanor screams dismissive boredom.

Perception, DC 20:

You note that while her clothing is rather opulent, her hair is in a plain ponytail tied with a short length of ragged leather cord, and her hands are scarred and callused. Now that you're looking, you can see faint outlines on her skin of old scars long healed. Whatever her clothing says, she has definitely seen quite a lot of combat in her life.

Sense Motive, DC 20:

The disdainful tone and thinly-layered insults aren't so much false as they are experimental. You get the distinct impression she's mostly doing this to see how you'll react.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16
SM: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

Solid start.


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
SM: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

Good to know they are equally incompetent at reading people. You taught her well, Cal.

Caladaer catches Golloriel's eye and points with his eyes at the things he sees. Whatever disagreements they have now, they still have decades of experience with each other, so he expects she will understand.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel quickly takes in what her father wanted her to see, and is struck with an idea. "Mother Fatia! If you please, I am no mere nurse." Then she closes her eyes for a few seconds and a faint tether of shimmering energy appears between herself and her father. She pulls her spear off her back and looks a question at her father. He nods.

She looks back to Fatia to ensure she has her attention, then stabs Caladaer in the shoulder with a cry.

damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Caladaer grunts and blood begins to pour from the wound. Almost immediately, the tether between them begins to darken, taking on the ruddy color of his blood. Golloriel grits her teeth as the tether transfers some of her life force to her father -- in exchange for his pain -- but she never takes her eyes off of Fatia's. His wound closes up just as a similar wound opens in her shoulder.

Golloriel reaches up to her own shoulder and speaks a few words.

CLW: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

Her wound heals and she replaces the spear on her back. "No mere nurse," she repeats, having never looked away from Fatia.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

The moment she draws her longspear, the nave erupts in panic as neophytes and functionaries scramble away in fear, and four different heavily armed individuals draw steel and move on Golloriel.

Fatia stops every last person in the church with an outstretched hand.

Once Golloriel is done with her demonstration, Fatia tilts her head to the side and narrows her eyes at the young woman, not in anger, but... calculation, perhaps?

The paladins all blink in confusion as they stow their weapons and move closer to see Golloriel's ability, staring in awe. Clearly, none of them have seen the like before.

For her part, Mother Fatia folds her arms and taps her lips with a forefinger. You now notice that, aside from everything else, she wears no makeup, and no jewelry aside from the armbands.

Finally, a grin spreads across her face. Considering her previous behavior, you would expect it to be malicious, but it's not. "That," she says matter-of-factly, "was very cool."

Two of the paladins laugh as they walk away, one shakes her head in exasperation, and another looks irritably at the Mother before he storms away back to his post.

"Come with me. We actually have a few spare rooms at the moment, if you wish to stay with us during your self-appointed duties. By what names may I call you?" Once you have responded, she begins leading the pair up a flight of stairs in the corner. "I hope you will forgive my behavior. Working for the House of Dawn can be... precarious. It is important that you are able to handle rudeness with a thick skin; the nobility here can be rather acerbic, particularly with the commonfolk." Her lip twitches slightly. "While it gladdens me that so many of the nobility wish to follow the Everlight over someone ostensibly more in their day-to-day wheelhouse like Abadar, it does make the church something of a hotbed. I myself was only appointed this position because my father in Vudra is quite wealthy. To be clear," she adds with an apologetic look, "I am not. I gave up my family's wealth long ago. These accouterments are not mine, they are symbols of the Mother of the Temple. They have been here far longer than me. I left my father with nothing, went searching for a more, erm... direct approach to bringing the Dawnflower's light to the world."

She sighs wistfully as you continue climbing. You pass an opening leading to the second floor, which appears to simply be balconies with more seating for sermons. This place could easily fit a thousand people in it. Fatia leads you further up the stairwell, toward the top floor. She notices your glance. "We do occasionally fit seven or eight hundred, particularly on Sunday, but Sarenrae is not quite so popular here as she once was. Still, our average turnout is about five hundred twice a day, which is no small thing. A good portion of them are nobility. Charity work is something of a hobby of theirs." She doesn't bother to hide her annoyance at the term.

She reaches the third floor and opens the door, leading you down a hallway of plain wooden planks, devoid of the ostentatious architecture below. Unadorned doors line the inner wall, while small windows line the outer, letting in the afternoon light and allowing a breeze, keeping the early summer heat from turning the third floor into an unbearable hotbox. She leads you to a pair of doors and gestures to them. They are numbered, so they'll be easy to remember.

"Sisters Casseiopia and Adriana left for Osirion, of all places, last year. Osirion has something of an unpleasant history with our church, and they hoped some missionary work in Tephu would change some minds. At any rate, their rooms are now available, for as long as you wish to remain and help out. Chamber-rooms are down the hall, as well as a small kitchen. We have simple fare for ourselves, but there is plenty of it." She gives Golloriel a small smirk. "After such a display of your gifts, I fear the paladins will not be able to stop talking about you for quite some time. I hope you are ready for the attention."

She opens the doors to the two rooms; they are mostly bare, save for a cot, a small nightstand, a footlocker, and a wash basin. A small wooden disc hangs on the wall in each room, carved with the angelic ankh backed by sunbeams that is Sarenrae's holy symbol.

"What I said earlier was true. The Korvosan Guard is in a mess, politically speaking. Meaning no offense, neither of you look like the type who enjoys or has experience getting mired in politics. I promise you, it can be more dangerous than any rioters or traitors the Guard can throw at you. But if you wish to lend them your aid, I have no doubt they won't turn you down. The city is slowly quieting, but I am sure they will find a need for you. I must return to my duties, but feel free to move about as you wish. Consider the House of Dawn your home for as long as you care to stay and aid us. We will be setting out into the Shingles on Sunday morn, after Brother Aiden's sermon, to offer some free healing to the poor there, if you wish to join us. Otherwise we can always use help getting the nave prepared and cleaned between sermons. I just threw quite a bit at you; any questions before I go?"


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel flashes a triumphant smile at her father (who, to his credit, manages not to roll his eyes). She follows Fatia through the temple, marveling at its size and beauty. Could this be the place that they finally set down roots? She must work hard on finding her father a calling here; she is not naïve enough to believe that he has any interest in being here. She is thankful for his companionship, but she senses that it is not as much of a given as it has always been.

She gives another small bow. She really isn't sure if that is appropriate or not; all the temples she has visited before were far less impressive and formal than this one. "Thank you, Mother Fatia. I apologize for causing a scene down there, but it seemed the most immediate way for you to understand what I am capable of." She hesitates a moment. "Also, truth be told, I have been training in combat for quite a while now. I... I want to become a paladin. Is there one in particular that I should speak with and learn from?"


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

Staying at a temple of Sarenrae. Is this what his life has come to? Granted, the accommodations are more than sufficient, and free food and lodging is not nothing. He will have to find other things to do while Golloriel is saving the world, one head cold at a time; perhaps a walk over to the Acadamae is in order.

His mind is busy wandering, already thinking ahead to what magics he would like to focus on next, when he hears his daughter mention becoming a paladin. He had started to suspect that that was her end goal, but this was the first time he'd heard her say it out loud.

So it begins. He doesn't belong here, and if she follows this path, their lives will necessarily diverge.

He isn't sure how he feels about that.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Mother Fatia glances from father to daughter then back again. "We can speak of this another time, perhaps, in private. The path of a paladin of Sarenrae is somewhat less... formalized, than in other faiths. If you join us for dinner later tonight, I will be happy to speak to you further. For now, though, feel free to settle in and see to your business at Citadel Volshyenek. Good afternoon."

She gives the young woman another appraising glance, then bows her head before returning downstairs, leaving father and daughter alone in the hallway.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

"Thank you for the invitation. It would be our honor to attend if we are able."

Once Fatia walks away, Golloriel closes the door and is finally able to let her excitement show. Her face breaks into a broad smile and she throws her arms around Caladaer's neck. "Free room and board! Oh, this is going even better than I'd dared to hope for." Seeing her father doesn't share her enthusiasm, she gives his shoulder a little shove. "Oh, cheer up, dad. I just saved us a bunch of money. You can handle living in a temple for a while."


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

Caladaer returns his daughter's hug, somewhat less animatedly. He feels himself about to make a negative comment, but then she calls him out and he smiles despite himself. "Yes, yes, Lori, well done. Drop your stuff and let's get to this Citadel and see about making some money. Free room and board usually doesn't imply good room and board, and I rather suspect there won't be any wine to be had here, at least not in the quantities I am going to require. We're going to need to make some money."

He drops everything he doesn't need onto the bed and begins heading out.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

She got a smile (well, more of a smirk) out of him, and that's likely to be the most that she gets. She'll call it a victory.

"You're right. Let's go."

She follows her father to the temple exit, stopping briefly to ask an acolyte directions to the Citadel.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

The trip back eastward to Citadel Volshyenek is thankfully uneventful, though not particularly pleasant. Once down this long avenue was bad enough, but two long trips in armor is miserable in the middle of Sarenith. The air is moist, heavy, and hot, and feeble breezes do nothing to cool you, only carry the hideous stench of rotting fish from the nearby Jeggare River.

While you aren't attacked, you do catch a pair of angry mobs roving the streets a few blocks to the north. Thankfully, they don't seem to notice you, and wander off to find targets for their rage.

You reach the tall, imposing wrought-iron gates of Citadel Volshyenek, its dark, flat sides towering high above you. Hippogriff eyries jut out from the higher reaches like straw-strewn balconies. A pair of hippogriffs circle up above, one of them keening miserably out through the early-summer afternoon sky.

The guards at the gate cross their halberds and offer their challenge. Once they hear your purpose, they uncross, and one of the two heads into the citadel to announce your presence. Several minutes later, she returns and motions you to follow her.

You follow the guard through the maze-like halls of Citadel Volshyenek. There are no windows, making the heat nearly oppressive; granted, it's slightly warmer than usual for the time of year, but you shudder to think what kind of hell-box this place must turn into in the middle of Erastus. Torches line the walls every twenty feet, casting fitful shadows against the unnaturally smooth stone surfaces of Volshyenek's thick walls.

After ascending a stairwell to the second floor and passing several closed doors and empty barracks, you finally reach an open door. The guard salutes at the entrance. "The visitors, Field Marshal."

A tired voice from within calls, "Let them in. Thank you, Sergeant." The guard eyes the pair with naked curiosity before leaving to return to her post. "Come in," the voice says.

You enter into a large but sparse office. A single broken shield hangs on the wall on the left side, with a weapon rack against the wall on the right, containing half a dozen different blades and spears. On the far wall is a large coat-of-arms bearing the red-and-black crenellated tower that is the seal of the Korvosan Guard. A battered, ancient desk stained with countless decades of ink, food, and who knows what else occupies most of the back half, though its current occupant keeps it significantly tidier than her predecessors clearly did, with several neat stacks of parchment in one corner and its center occupied by a wooden writing pad with inkwell and quill. Currently nothing occupies it save the folded hands of the desk's occupant, a striking, handsome woman of Chelish descent nearing her middle years. A streak of silver runs through her jet-black hair on the left side of her head, and her gray eyes study you intently as you both enter.

The moment you enter, you realize the woman at the desk is not alone. Two other people occupy the room; one is a shockingly large Shoanti man so old as to be wizened, his face a mass of leathery, wrinkled skin. Every ghost story you've ever heard about the Shoanti people rushes through your head, most of them tales of stolen babies and slaughtered villages. But this man seems to be neither violent, nor particularly savage. He sits in a weathered wooden chair across from the Field Marshal, his face grave and clearly unhappy, but with an aura of despair that is hard to miss.

He is played by John Trudell.

His companion, on the other hand, is just outright bizarre. She looks like the start of a racist joke. "A dwarf wearing Shoanti war paint walks into a bar..." And yet, a dwarf wearing Shoanti warpaint sits in a chair next to the old human. Her armor is made of rough but solidly-crafted steel splints over animal hides, and her bright, fiery hair is bound in a long, intricate braid down her back. An obscenely large mallet of some sort--you think you've heard them called "earth-breakers"--leans against her chair, crafted of some dull, matte metal of dark gray that just... looks dense. Her skin is darkened almost to the color of caramel from countless days under a harsh sun. Her bright blue eyes look curiously at the two of you.

She is played by Karen Gillan.

"Greetings. Caladaer and Golloriel, yes?" The Field Marshal doesn't wait for a response. "I'm Cressida Kroft. And for the time being, I run Citadel Volshyenek. You pick a strange time to come offering your services. Things are... volatile, at the moment. Moreso than I believed, apparently. If you came here expecting to be conscripted to special service in the Guard, congratulations. You're hired. Don't screw this up and you'll be well-compensated. I have one more man I'm waiting for and then we'll get started."

****

Andakos reaches the citadel with the drunken Grau in tow, though it takes some twenty minutes to go three blocks--mostly because Grau keeps yelling at the few passers-by they cross on the street and demanding they duel him.

Eventually Andakos gets him inside the citadel walls and to the Healers' Room so they can hopefully sober him up. One of the gate guards mentions he's to head straight to Kroft's office when he's done.

When Andakos arrives, the large office feels significantly more cramped now that there's four other people in it besides Kroft and himself.

"Ah. Andakos. Good. You're finally here. This is Caladaer and Golloriel. They're here to offer their services to the Guard. And frankly, their timing makes me suspect divine intervention, because we have a... situation. The city streets are finally beginning to quiet, but this threatens to undo all the work we've done so far."

She leans back and rests her elbows on the arms of her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her. Andakos has been around her for a couple weeks now, and he recognizes that the normally stoic Field Marshal is... perhaps not rattled, but unsettled. "This" she motions toward the old Shoanti man in gray robes and bone-white face paint, his long gray hair pulled back in an elaborate braid "is Thousand Bones. He is a representative from the Skoan-Quah. There has been an... incident."

Thousand Bones gives Kroft a sharp look, then turns to look sternly at the three newcomers.

"Incident! This is nothing short of an affront. My people have worked hard to understand those who dwell in Korvosa, yet it seems each day we see new examples of how this city's people work just as hard to foster old hatreds and follow vicious stereotypes. My grandson is dead, beaten to death by cowards in your city street. I do not blame you," he directs this at Field Marshal Kroft, whose cheeks redden slightly, "yet still Gaekhen is dead, and my son and his kin are not so forgiving as I. They wish to return to the Skoan-Quah in the Cinderlands, to join with the Sklar-Quah, and rally to war against Korvosa. This would be disastrous, for both our peoples. Amends must be made."

Knowledge (local), DC 19:

The Shoanti of the Cinderlands and surrounding region are broken up into several tribes, or "Quahs." While all Shoanti are trained to hunt and fight, the Sklar-Quah--so named after the trademark Shoanti weapon that is an alchemically-treated aurochs skull with a blade attached to function as equal parts sword and shield--are something of the "military" Quah, functioning as defenders against outside threats. They are also consummate hunters. The Skoan-Quah, on the other hand, are the spiritual advisors of the Shoanti, and most have some capacity to commune with the dead. Their powerful necromancy and spiritual connection make them feared even by other Shoanti, but respected as well for their necessary task.

He turns back to Andakos, Caladaer, and Golloriel. "Our ways are not as yours. If a body does not go whole to the fires of the ancestors, the smoke of a warrior's spirit cannot rise to the Great Sky. If I could send Gaekhen's body to the Great Sky with honor and dignity, his father and brothers would listen to me and stay their wrath--the talks of peace between my people and yours could continue. But he was not just murdered! His body was taken from the scene of his death, sold by a peddler of corpses to a necromancer known as Rolth, a criminal to both our peoples. I have spoken with the spirits, and they have revealed to me that Gaekhen's body has been taken to a place below this city's graveyard, a place the spirits call the Dead Warrens.

Knowledge (geography or religion), DC 15:

The Dead Warrens are a winding maze of tunnels under the graveyards in the Gray District. The Pharasmin priests make regular rounds through the Gray, but it's a vast place, and there are plenty of pockets of old Shoanti burial mounds and half-collapsed crypts that are easily overlooked; these comprise the Dead Warrens.

"With this knowledge, I could easily lead a group of my finest warriors into your graveyard and retrieve Gaekhen's body, but this would surely be seen as an act of aggression by your people. So it falls to you to make amends for what has been done. You must bring me Gaekhen's body, lest we be forced to recover him ourselves. And although it pains my heart to say it, we will not be gentle if it comes to this." He turns and gestures to the dwarf sitting next to him. "This is Berta. She is an... apprentice, of sorts." He looks uncomfortable saying it, and the dwarf looks down. "She will accompany you in this. She will make sure the body is tended to properly, according to our traditions, and arrives to me safely. She will not fail." You're not sure, but you think you saw the dwarf swallow.

Field Marshal Kroft clears her throat. "Andakos, there's another element to this of direct interest to you. Rolth's last name... is Lamm. He's Gaedren Lamm's son. We almost had him for a series of serial killings some years back, but the evidence fell through, and he hasn't been active since. They used to call him the 'Key Lock Killer.' I never pinned the murders on him, but I know in my gut it's him. Considering Gaedren is his father, it clearly runs in the family. I don't know if you'll find Rolth down there in the Dead Warrens, but any information you can find will be invaluable."

Knowledge (local or history), DC 14 (Andakos only):

You recall hearing from the town criers about this, some four or five years ago. A series of grisly murders across Korvosa where the killer used a sharpened key--and later, daggers shaped like keys--to murder the victims, then leaving the blade at the site for the authorities to find. Hence the moniker "the Key Lock Killer." You don't recall hearing about a particular suspect for certain, but there had been plenty of rumors at the time about who did it, including the King, and--when some of the victims ended up being minor nobles--the local legend, Blackjack. They only got more absurd from there, so you never paid much attention. It's entirely possible Rolth Lamm was among the names you'd heard and just never connected it with the Lamm that plagued your life years later.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

K(L): 1d20 + 8 + 1d6 ⇒ (10) + 8 + (5) = 23
K(G): 1d20 + 8 + 1d6 ⇒ (20) + 8 + (6) = 34
K(L): 1d20 + 8 + 1d6 ⇒ (19) + 8 + (6) = 33

Wow. What a knowitall.

Andakos smiles and nods at the newcomers, briefly wondering why someone would volunteer for this duty (but then remembering that's essentially what he did), then listens intently to the deluge of information. He tries to hide his reaction to Lamm's name, but anyone watching him would notice that his red skin somehow grows redder.

His mind begins to race, immediately focusing on Lamm and the possibility of his son leading them to wherever Lamm is holed up. His thoughts involuntarily return to Lyse and the other orphans, the fishery, Zellara's head in a box, and his new friends, all of which are now dead or fled. If Lamm hadn't done the terrible things to each of them, they never would have come together at Zellara's and they never would have eventually ended up in the guard, and they would all still be alive. It is Lamm's fault they are dead and he needs to pay.

He snaps back to himself, realizing that no one has said anything for several seconds and everyone is looking at him. Oh gods, is he the de facto leader now?

He clears his throat, then turns to the Shoanti man. "Thank you, Thousand Bones, for coming to us first. I know a bit of your culture and understand the severity of the situation. It speaks to your integrity that you would allow us the chance to correct the slight." He turns to the newcomers, noticing for the first time how alike they look, though the younger is clearly not a full elf like her father. "The Dead Warrens are sure to be a dangerous place. I don't know you, so please take no offense, but are you both combat trained?" Despite himself, he eyes the older elf, who looks like he'd break in half if he stubbed his toe.


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

K(L): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
K(G): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

It makes sense that he wouldn't know about The Dead Warrens. Thanks, dice!

Two things stand out to Caladaer as the others speak. First, he has associated with daemon touched tieflings before, but this one is something else. The taint in his blood must be quite strong indeed. Cal will have to find a way to learn more without seeming like he is prying (which, of course, he would be).

Second, this Rolth is a necromancer. When Kroft mentions the word, he suddenly becomes much more interested, though he isn't sure why. Necromancy is a dark art, though who's to say that setting a group of goblins on fire is any less dark?

He bristles in response to Andakos's question. "I see you sizing me up, tiefling. I assure you, I... we are quite capable in a fight. You should watch the condescending tone unless you wish to find out first-hand."


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel's mouth drops open. "DAD!" She turns to Andakos. "I am sorry. It is me he is grumpy with; please don't take it personally. Though, he is right, we can hold our own in a fight. I am an accomplished healer, but I also know my way around a longspear." She gestures with her head to the beautiful spear on Andakos's back, hoping that their shared chosen weapon will engender a bit of camaraderie. She doesn't mention that she plans to dump the spear and never look back once her paladin training is complete and she can more effectively wield a blade. "My father wouldn't say it himself, but he is quite the wizard. He may be the most powerful of all of us."

She turns to Berta. "And you, Berta? What is your training?"

Liberty's Edge

Dwarf Barbarian (invulnerable rager) 2 / Oracle (lunar) 1
Combat Statistics:
[HP 39/39] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 16] [Init +0 | Per +0 | Spd 30] [BAB +2 | CMB +4 | CMD 14] [F +5 | R +3 | W +2] [Active Conditions: None]
Abilities and Spell Slots:
[0-lvl (DC 13): ~/Day | 1st lvl (DC 14): 4/Day] [Rage Rounds 8/8]
Primary Weapons:
[Melee Adamantine Earthbreaker +5 |2d6+3 B | 20/x3] [Melee Longsword +4 | 1d8+4 S | 19-20/x2] [Melee Earthbreaker P.A. +4 | 2d6+6 B | 20/x3] [Melee/Ranged MW Starknife +5/+3 | 1d4+2 P | Rg 20 | 20/x3]

Berta gives the young woman a level gaze. "I hit things. They die." At a dangerous look from Thousand Bones, she clears her throat. "Also I can heal some wounds. A few." Her accent is thick, but it's clearly not of any Dwarven settlement. It's not refined enough to mark her as from a Sky Citadel, nor dense enough to mark her as being from the Five Kings Mountains. Her Taldane is fluent, though a gifted linguist would likely denote her hesitation on certain consonants and conjugations as marking it as not her first--or even second--language.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Thousand Bones doesn't lift his stare from Berta for a long, uncomfortable moment.

Sense Motive, DC 18:

Though his weathered face is mostly inscrutable save his obvious anger and grief, you denote a certain level of distaste when he looks at the dwarf. It's not terribly hard to suss out why: the Shoanti are an incredibly insular people; taking in non-Shoanti humans is almost unheard of, let alone any other race. The circumstances of Berta's entering their culture was likely bizarre, to say the least, and Thousand Bones is clearly not a fan of it. Some outside force--perhaps political, perhaps cultural--likely coerced him into taking Berta as an apprentice, and she is strongly feeling his displeasure about it.

Finally, he turns back to the others. "I have no more information to give you. I will await Berta with Gaekhen's body, in our camp outside the city walls."

He stands and strides out of the room. He uses a long, gnarled staff to walk, carved with dozens of symbols and runes, but it's clear from his gait that he doesn't actually need the staff--he's in shockingly good shape for a man of easily sixty summers.

Kroft clears her throat after the old man has left. "Well. Do you have any more questions for me before you get started? I'm afraid I don't have much intel on the Warrens. They've been abandoned for years; even the Pharasmin priests usually miss them on their patrols. But I can try to answer any questions you might have, as best I can."


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

SM: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Andakos holds up his hands and suppresses a chuckle at the elf's reaction. "No offense meant, Caladaer. As for me, until recently I was a guard at the Acadamae by trade, and an amateur alchemist and empiricist by practice. It is a pleasure to meet you, and I look forward to working with you."

He bids the old man farewell, then turns back to the others. "Hopefully this first assignment won't prove too harrowing; I'd avoid The Dead Warrens avoid in the best of times, and these are hardly that." He thinks for a moment. "Does anyone call The Dead Warrens home, Field Marshall? Just wondering who or what we might expect to encounter while we are there."


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

The Acadamae! Maybe Caladaer can endure this tiefling's company for just a while. Sure, he's just a guard, but perhaps he can provide an in to the Acadamae regardless.

Things just got much more interesting.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Field Marshal Kroft sighs. "I'm sure there are, likely criminal elements at the very least; it would make sense, especially if Rolth is using it as a hideout or at least frequents it. But without proper reconnaissance it's impossible to say who or what calls it home for certain. I don't think you'll find anything world-ending down there--anything major surely wouldn't escape the priests' attentions for long, they're not incompetent--but that doesn't mean there won't be anything dangerous. I expect you'll probably find a few undead stragglers down there, if nothing else."

Any other questions before I move us to the Dead Warrens?


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Andakos nods. "We should stop at a temple and pick up some holy water." He turns to the others. "Are you all ready to go?"

Once we leave, we'll buy up to 6 holy waters (whatever's available).


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel looks around at the others. How are they all so calm?! Kroft just said undead! She has been in fights before and can hold her own, but never with any undead. And why are there undead in a big city like Korvosa? It seems she has a lot to learn.

At the mention of holy water, she perks up. "We are staying at the temple of Sarenrae, just a few blocks away. We can find holy water there." She stands. "Thank you for the opportunity, Field Marshal."


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

'Thank you for the opportunity?' The opportunity to do the city's dirty work for them? A city we have no connection to and no reason to risk our lives for? Who raised you? That last thought brings flashes of memories into his mind, but the memories are always frustrating because they are so unclear. Why does his own mind torment him with things he cannot remember?

How would things have been different in Lori's mother had been there her entire life?

Shaking his head to banish the thoughts away, he stands. He doesn't answer Andakos or acknowledge Kroft, but simply moves toward the door.


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

Field Marshal Kroft nods and places three badges on the table bearing the sigil of the Korvosan Guard. "Very good then. Look for the Warrens in the Potter's Ward. Wear these while on Guard business. Return to me when the task is done." She lowers her head into a stack of paperwork; the conversation is apparently over.

The House of Dawn is not far out of the way to the Gray District. A quick stop procures you the items you seek (they have the six holy water you're looking for; no massive necropoli full of adventuring foreigners to dry out the market!) and then it's past the Gray Wall into the Gray District. The second you pass the huge, imposing entryway through the wall, the Grand Cathedral takes up your whole vision. It towers up into the sky, like sharp spears of pitch black iron, with almost no windows to speak of save a handful of arrow slits on the second floor. Purple-robed men and women wander the grounds between here and the Grand Cathedral on various errands for the church.

A slight young man in his early twenties approaches the group, giving the dwarf with the giant hammer a sidelong glance followed by a near-audible gulp. He turns to Andakos, glancing at the badge on his armor. "C-can I help you with something, sirs and madams?"

Knowledge (engineering or history), DC 15:

Located just inside the entryway through the Gray Wall into the district, on a small swath of holy ground called the Sepulcher Ward, the impressively tall gothic Grand Cathedral has stood for over a hundred years. Currently run by a notoriously severe priest named Bishop Keppira d'Bear, the Cathedral has stood a bastion against uprising from its normally quiet (and very dead) residents. Every few decades, something stirs up the locals; the Grand Cathedral stands as a barrier against these undead sieges spilling out into the streets of Korvosa every time. Six such sieges have occurred since its construction, and the church has beaten it back every time.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

K(E): 1d20 + 8 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 8 + (4) = 15

Andakos waits a moment, realizes no one is answering the dwarf, and remembers again that he is what passes for this group's "leader" now. He clears his throat and steps forward. "We are here on official business from Citadel Volshyenek. It is a matter of utmost importance to the security of the city. Please allow us to pass."


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

It's not a dwarf, it's a young human male.

Roll either Diplomacy or Intimidate.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

Golloriel steps forward, seeing the man's hesitation. "Unless you wish for the deaths of thousands to be on your hands, I suggest you let us do our job."

+16 to diplomacy so that's an auto-aid.


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

Diplo (+4 persuade, +2 aid): 1d20 + 4 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 4 + 4 + 2 = 26


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

Behind the Screen:

"I--you--what??" The lad looks both confused and terrified. "O-okay. I didn't mean to-- just-- yes. C-carry on? I guess?"

He walks away from the party toward the Grand Cathedral. You're not sure you've ever seen someone walk at a sprinting pace before; you can almost see the little dust cloud kicked up by his feet as he goes.

You head into the sprawling, twisting lanes that wind through the graveyard taking up a vast majority of the Gray District. The Potter's Ward is to the southeast, so you head in that direction. You pass few people on the way; a pair of priests, the occasional citizen visiting a passed loved one, and a handful of groundskeeping acolytes. The few people thin even further as you head southeastward, until you reach the Potter's Ward and it's entirely devoid of life.

Hundreds upon hundreds of unmarked graves line the low, rolling hillocks of the Potter's Ward. It's the Ward where those too poor to afford a proper burial end up: the homeless, the prostitutes, the drug addicts and the criminals who were imprisoned so long their names were forgotten. It holds a decidedly desperate air compared to the somber tranquility of the rest of the necropolis. Occasionally the hillocks have a half-rotted door dug into their sides, or small cavernous entrances that dip down into darkness, likely the broken entrances to forgotten crypts from long before the church was even built.

Survival (tracks/trail), DC 15:

The Potter's Ward is the largest of the Wards in the Gray District, so combing over every crevice and investigating every hole would take days. Fortunately, it's little-used, so when you find a faint trail of footprints leading in and out of a particular cave mouth, you feel it's a safe bet this is the path to the Dead Warrens.


Female half-elf oracle (life) 3 / paladin (hospitaler) 3
Vital Statistics:
[HP 73/73] [AC 21 | T 11 | FF 21] [Per +1 | Init +0 | Spd 15] [F +12* | R +6* | W +9* | +2 ench/death]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk scim +8| 1d6+2 P] [Mwk longspear +8 | 1d8+3 P] [Lgt mace +7 | 1d6+2 B] [Lgt crossbow +5 | 1d8 P] [Active Conditions: None]

survival: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6


Male Middle-aged Elf Conjurer 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 43/43] [AC 12 | T 12 | FF 10] [Per +11 (+3 bright light) | Init +8 | Spd 30] [F +6* | R +6* | W +8* | +2 ench]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[Mwk longbow +6 | 1d8-1 P] [Dagger +2 | 1d4-1 P/S] [Active Conditions: None]

survival: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11


Male Tiefling Investigator (Empiricist) 6
Vital Statistics:
[HP 46/46] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 17] [Per +15/+18 traps | Init +2 | Spd 30] [F +6 | R +10/+12 traps | W +8/+10 illusions] [Inspiration 0/10]
Weapons and Active Conditions:
[+1 Longspear +7 | 1d8+5 P] [Ranged Sling +5 | 1d4+3 B] [Active Conditions: None]

survival: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (4) - 3 = 1

LOL welp we've found the one thing this party isn't good at.

Andakos turns to Berta. "Any ideas where we need to go?"

Liberty's Edge

Dwarf Barbarian (invulnerable rager) 2 / Oracle (lunar) 1
Combat Statistics:
[HP 39/39] [AC 19 | T 13 | FF 16] [Init +0 | Per +0 | Spd 30] [BAB +2 | CMB +4 | CMD 14] [F +5 | R +3 | W +2] [Active Conditions: None]
Abilities and Spell Slots:
[0-lvl (DC 13): ~/Day | 1st lvl (DC 14): 4/Day] [Rage Rounds 8/8]
Primary Weapons:
[Melee Adamantine Earthbreaker +5 |2d6+3 B | 20/x3] [Melee Longsword +4 | 1d8+4 S | 19-20/x2] [Melee Earthbreaker P.A. +4 | 2d6+6 B | 20/x3] [Melee/Ranged MW Starknife +5/+3 | 1d4+2 P | Rg 20 | 20/x3]

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

Berta points at the ground. "Here. This way."

Go ahead and read the spoiler XD


Harrow Points:
Andakos 0 | Cabe 1 |Caladaer 3 | Golloriel 4 | Reyhan 0
Book II Choosing:
Andakos: The Trumpet | Cabe: The Brass Dwarf | Caladaer: The Tangled Briar | Golloriel: The Desert

The party follows the tracks pointed out by the dwarf, sweating under the afternoon summer sun and wretched humidity of a seaside city, until they reach an unassuming doorway set into one of the larger hillocks deep within the Potter's Ward. The ruins of a wooden door--it looks as if it was once oak or cherry-wood--lie scattered about, half-buried in dirt and overgrowth, having suffered some calamity long ago and then was reclaimed by the land.

Perception or Spellcraft, DC 22:

Hidden next to the rotting door jamb, tucked just out of sight, is a tiny red glyph. It is an arcane mark in the shape of a sharp, jagged key.

The doorway is slightly taller than most of the others you have passed, and would be easy to step into without crouching (except perhaps Andakos, thanks to his horns). Sunlight spills into the opening only about ten feet, revealing a surprisingly large, roomy staircase leading down. The cobblestone steps are cracked and broken, but not so much that they can't still be traversed with a little caution. They are steep, however, just barely shy of having to climb down them rather than walk. Andakos, with his darkvision, can see another fifty feet beyond that, and sees the stairs reach a landing about forty feet down that turns sharply to the right and continues down.

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