The Grand Lodge in Absalom is abuzz with activity - it seems most every active Pathfinder has been summoned, though nobody is quite sure why. You have been asked to gather in one of the private study rooms off the main floor while the Venture-Captains and other leaders prepare for what certainly looks like a monumental undertaking.
hi any free seats avaliable?
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As he sails the Voracious once more into Absalom Harbor, the Elf known as Flyndyngylyn ponders the urgent summons he received to report at once to the Grand Lodge...at least it didn’t appear to be from Aram Zey...
Seems like a general summons...maybe I’ll get to see Kramac, Kiboko, or Zaarah again...
"Hooooooo!"
The Elf looks up, grinning at his owl perched high up in the crow's nest, serving as lookout. "Yes, my friend, we have arrived, indeed..."
Once docked, he gathers his gear and pulls the hood from his cloak up over his head, calling the owl as he walks to the gangplank. "Archimedes! Come!"
The owl gracefully flies down and perches on the ranger's shoulder. After reporting to the Absalom Harbormaster, he then heads into Absalom proper...
The smells of grilled food filled the air; although tempted, knowing the summons was urgent, Flyn makes a beeline for the Grand Lodge. Regardless of the reason, it's good to be home again; I hope they're serving refreshments along with this mission brief...
Finding the Grand Lodge bustling with activity, Flyn makes his way to the main floor and checks in. As he’s directed to the private study for the team he’s been designated to serve on, he grabs some bread, cheese, and wine from one of the serving tables before going there. Hmmm...it appears I'm the first to arrive...
The ranger sits down and proceeds to satisfy his hunger while he awaits his teammates...
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As Flynn disembarks from his ship, a large shadow passes over him. A large bird bearing a rider in glimmering armor banks around and lands next to the elf.
A short but powerfully built Half-orc, clad in mithril fullplate with a fine shield strapped to his back. Around his neck hangs a silver necklace depicting a flexed arm, which anyone with some knowledge of religion will recognize as a holy symbol of Kurgess.
Ho! Flynn! They're pulling out all the stops if both of us are being summoned! Must be an important mission. How have you been since our adventures in Kyonin?
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“Pathfinders! The unthinkable has happened. The Whispering Tyrant’s prison, Gallowspire, has exploded from below. The most infamous lich in history has escaped, and he now roams free. Worse, he has set in motion a vile ritual in his former prison. We must intervene before the ritual ends. Quickly find your assigned group, aid in our preparations for the expedition to Gallowspire, and listen for instructions.”
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Flyn looks at Kramac and let’s out a low whistle. ”Pulling out all of the stops indeed, my friend...and even that may not be enough. I journeyed through the Whispering Tyrant’s fortress/treasure city of Xin-Grafar a year or so back...even though he was still imprisoned at that time, we barely made it through that place alive with all the traps and minions he left behind there...we will have to be at our best, old friend...”
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A Varisian lady comes skidding into the room, looking slightly frantic from Master Farballus's announcement. She has the dusky complexion of someone that's been out in the sun for extended times. Her dark reddish-brown hair, which oddly always seems damp, is tied back from her bright green eyes with a red, orange, and turquoise kerchief, while the rest of her hair trails back to pool around her shoulders, and fall a couple inches down her back. She wears a brightly-colored vest and sashes over a fine mythril chain shirt and leather leggings, using a large green and turquoise sash around the waist to act as a faux skirt. She looks at a scrap of paper in her hand before blurting out, "This is 13B, right? My summons directed me here then." After a brief pause, she adds, "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm Lissa Villasani."
Before the Pathfinders can get too settled, a junior Pathfinder knocks on the door. "Um, this way please..." he murmurs without meeting the gaze of the senior agents before him.
The doors of Skyreach, the central fortress of the Grand Lodge in Absalom, stand open, and Pathfinders of all descriptions mill about at the base of the stairs, expressions of excitement, fear, and determination on their faces. Atop the staircase leading into the tower, Master of Swords Marcos Farabellus gestures for silence. Marcos is known for his good cheer. Today, however, his expression is grim. He clears his throat before speaking, his voice a low rumble. “Yes, you heard me correctly. Gallowspire is gone, and the Whispering Tyrant has escaped. The Whispering Tyrant, who slew a goddess and conquered nations with armies of undead, has returned.” He pauses and sighs. “And he’s been busy.” Marcos gestures to the man standing next to him and nods. “This is Siege Lord Wynsal Starborn, and he has more information on recent events.”
The other man steps forward, his breastplate gleaming. “We know that a massive explosion enveloped Gallowspire, and we know that undead hordes have swept throughout Lastwall. I have already sent scouts to investigate Gallowspire. They found a mysterious jungle surrounding the tower, or at least, where the tower should have been. The tower was gone, and there was a massive crater where it once stood. At considerable personal risk, the scouts who were most skilled at evading detection went inside the ruin itself. Fortunately, they survived, and they had the following to report.
"First, the ruins beneath still contain access points to the chambers below. Second, the Whispering Tyrant took the time to set up wards to block access to the deepest levels. Third, and most disturbingly, there are necromantic energies beyond these wards, energies so powerful that they are leaking into the surrounding area. The scouts surmise that a ritual of incredible intensity is taking place somewhere deep beneath the crater. It is building toward something, and with every passing day, it grows stronger.”
Marcos Farabellus addresses the crowd again, but his voice holds a hint of fear rarely heard in his speech. “Pathfinders, we must stop this ritual. The Whispering Tyrant has had thousands of years to plan what he would do if he ever escaped. I shudder to think of the terrors he plans to unleash. This is not just a problem for Lastwall; it’s a problem for the entire world.” His voice quiets, “I have no idea what else you’ll find on the deepest levels, what guardians and treasures the Whispering Tyrant has locked away. Be prepared for anything.
“This is going to be a significant undertaking, and you’ll have about a day to prepare while we get everyone else up to speed and set the logistics. Once you arrive, meet with Venture-Captain Shevar Besnik and Silver Crusade leader Ollysta Zadrian. Be sure to prepare for a dangerous journey both above and below ground. I wish you the best of luck, for all our sakes.”
Marcos folds his hands behind his back, a familiar pose meant to open the floor for questions.
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A stunningly handsome Ifrit man wearing a gleaming breastplate strides through the door. Hello everyone! Zagan here. I certainly hope you are all up for a challenge? I'll do my best to keep you alive, but I'll be relying on your martial prowess for the coming encounters. I have my bow and axe here, but my focus is mostly elsewhere. He proceeds around the room, shaking everyone's hands. As he shakes each one, he establishes a lifelink.
Flyn nods seriously. ”Sir, do you think we’ll face primarily undead in the ruins? And do you suppose we might ultimately face the Whispering Tyrant himself there?”
Wynsal answers, "I imagine whatever defenders lie beyond his wards are primarily undead. Reports I’ve received from other nations suggest that some of the Tyrant’s most infamous servants, who had been imprisoned with him, may also be on the loose. But it would be foolhardy to assume he didn’t leave some of them behind. I am also sure there are powerful magic wards, as well as a variety of other evil creatures."
"As far as the Tyrant himself," he continues, "the reports we have received from Lastwall indicate that his attention lies elsewhere, and the scouts saw no signs of his presence. We can’t rule out the possibility that he will catch on to what we are doing. If he does, we’ll have to trust his arrogance and his certainty that we couldn’t possibly breach his wards and defeat his guardians.”
Marcos adds, “I can’t promise that he won’t return, but it’s a risk we will have to take. The price of letting him complete the ritual is simply too high."
"Whole place is missing with nothing but a crater left in its place and unusual biomes popping up with little explanation?"
Wynsal nods. "People are calling it the Gallowgarden. The scouts report horrible amalgamations of fungus and animal as well as vicious plants. While it appears the Whispering Tyrant took most of his undead servants with him, whatever this explosion was created new threats."
"Seeing that this is a site of grave historic importance, if we find something worth bringing back, should we?"
"Our first priority has to be stopping whatever is going on in there," Marcos Farabellus answers solemnly. "However, if there is the opportunity to do so without endangering the mission and your fellow Pathfinders, I trust your best judgement."
Siego Lord Wynsal Starborn's voice carries easily over the growing hubbub. "This mission is not only for Absalom's sake, but for the sake of the entire world," he announces, his expression grave. "As such, I have allowed the Society use of a portion of the city's supply of diamond dust to help defray the cost of the expensive restorative spells that will most certainly be needed. I trust you all to use your best judgement - do not prove my faith in the Society misplaced."
"Now go - coordinate with your fellow agents and gather your strength as we prepare the teleportation circles," the Master of Swords finishes. "Gods willing, we'll be able to use them for the return trip as well."
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Marcos Farabellus stands atop the steps of Skyreach and waves his hands. “Pathfinders! It is nearly time to depart. We’ve sent scouts ahead to prepare an anchor for teleportation. Finish your preparations and make your way through the teleportation circle inside Skyreach.” The Master of Swords sets his jaw. “Brace yourselves. Our arrival point is not pleasant.”
One after another, Pathfinders step onto an immense glyph on the floor, the center of the teleportation circle. As they do, they each vanish into thin air, only to reappear in a distant location. The beautifully carved and painted stone walls of Skyreach fade into a moss-covered expanse of ancient ruins. On the other side of the circle, the air is warm, humid, and filled with the cloying stench of rotten meat.
Standing atop one of the ruins, a figure in gleaming full plate beckons the first arrivals to her. She waits silently, her face grim, until the remainder of the expeditionary force arrives. She then addresses the assembled group. “Welcome to Ustalav, Pathfinders. I am Ollysta Zadrian, leader of the Silver Crusade. Thank you for coming so quickly. Let me get straight to the point. The nearest undead horde is likely to sweep through this area in the next hour or so, and we must not remain overlong. Please, follow me.”
After a tense but brief journey, the expedition arrives at the edge of a dark jungle. The vegetation is thick, but the plants are twisted and gnarled. A group of Pathfinders dressed to blend in with the surrounding terrain step forward and greet the expedition. Their leader, a thin human man with long hair, smiles when he sees Zadrian. “Ollysta, you old war dog. It looks like you found yourself a small army. I hope it’s enough.”
The paladin’s expression remains focused and stern. “Yes, I hope so too. You should tell them what we know.” The man smiles charmingly. “Greetings, Pathfinders. I’m Shevar Besnik, up until recently the venture-captain of Vigil. I technically still am, I suppose,” he says, his smile turning sour. “These few individuals with me are all of the surviving Pathfinders from Vigil’s destruction. So they were the only Pathfinders left around here to teach the Tyrant a lesson. Until you got here, that is!”
Shevar continues, “Our first job is to make our way through this jungle. I know some of you probably have the means to bypass the jungle entirely and get to the crater, but that would mean certain death for those who can’t. Let’s stick together and make sure we all make it to the other side.” Ollysta raises her shield, which is emblazoned with a golden holy symbol of Sarenrae, “No matter what we face, Pathfinders, remember: the dawn brings new light. May Sarenrae’s grace guide our blades.” Shevar adds, “And with that, let’s meet whatever this twice-damned forest can throw at us head on!”
With supernatural speed, bruise-colored clouds gather in the sky above the jungle, bringing with them a stinging rain that reeks of embalming fluid. Just above the tree line, horizontal bolts of purple lightning leap between the clouds. Thunder rumbles unceasingly across the landscape.
The strange vegetation covering the ground bears odd marks and patterns reminiscent of skulls, eyes, and spattered blood. The air is humid, heavy, and oily; it smells like the wet ashes of a funeral pyre. Out of the corner of their eyes, the Pathfinders notice the vegetation around them shifting slightly to cover the tracks of a recently-departed squad of agents. A nearby thunderclap announces the arrival of rain that falls heavily on the trees above, but what little trickles through stings as it lands on skin and leaves small pit marks and blemishes on equipment.
"Take a moment to collect yourselves, agents, and then you're off," Shevar announces to the group with a cheeky salute before moving to the next squad.
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Flyn nods in agreement with Flora. "Indeed, the plants here are not natural...they're combinations of plant, fungi, and animal matter...sick creations of the Whispering Tyrant or his minions no doubt. There are also normal animals around here either...be wary..."
When the party is ready to move forward, Flyn will proceed stealthily, keeping a close eye out for any signs of danger and tracks...
Do we know how far our destination is? I might have other buffs depending on how long we'd estimate the trek taking.
The Pathfinders depart, heading westward. A slowly moving stream to the north gives off a pungent odor, with stronger wafts flowing across the path every so often and and yellowish mist clinging to its surface. The path ahead opens a bit into a clearing. The few trees and ancient buildings here are coated with a heavy layer of sickly, green fungus that oozes a sweet-smelling, purple fluid when disturbed.
With a loud crack of thunder, a flash of lightning reveals two shapes lurking behind the trees with malicious intent.
Round 1! Bold may act!
Lissa
Zagan
Kramac
Flora
Red
Blue
Eorsten
Flyndyngylyn
This hulking form, with its long, vulturelike neck ending in a head sporting a disgusting, one-eyed visage, is a ghole. Their jaws and claws both carry diseases, which the creature itself is immune to, and it relishes the opportunity to catch an opponent off-kilter and cut even deeper.
Ligaments of stringy black fungus connect the bones of this filthy skeleton. In numerous places, the fungus has formed thorny growths. You don't recognize this creature.
You don't recognize this hulking form, with its long, vulturelike neck ending in a head sporting a disgusting, one-eyed visage.
Ligaments of stringy black fungus connect the bones of this filthy skeleton. In numerous places, the fungus has formed thorny growths. You don't recognize this creature either.
This hulking form, with its long, vulturelike neck ending in a head sporting a disgusting, one-eyed visage, is a ghole. Their jaws and claws both carry diseases, which the creature itself is immune to, and it relishes the opportunity to catch an opponent off-kilter and cut even deeper.
Ligaments of stringy black fungus connect the bones of this filthy skeleton, known as a bonethorn. In numerous places, the fungus has formed thorny growths. Despite their appearance to an undead creature, this plant is not only healed by positive energy, but boosts its metabolism with it to heal itself and increase its speed. The fungus also uses the skeleton of its 'host' to absorb stabs and slashes, but a heavy hammer crushes both bones and plant. Additionally, a bonethorn's claws and spikes are covered in spores ready to infest damaged prey and turn its skeleton into another bonethorn. If the 'parent' cuts deeply with their attack, the unfortunate victim finds the disease-like spores even more difficult to resist.
Flora's wooden spear flies through the humid air, cutting a deep cut in the creature's side before bursting into a mass of tangled roots...
...but it easily brushes them aside before they can latch onto its matted fur.
Round 1! Bold may act!
Lissa
Zagan
Kramac
Flora
Red (-40)
Blue
Eorsten
Flyndyngylyn
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Kramac spurs Beak into action! The bird moves faster than most thought possible, as the duo rush into battle to attack the blue creature. Kramac rips his sword from its sheath and his eyes glow red as flame wreaths his weapon and he brings it down on the monster's head. [ooc]Beak will use the Chameleon Stride hunter trick to move double his speed as a move action. Kramac will swift action to activate the Fire Planar Animal Focus.
Bodyguard Rolls for Beak (Beak has 4 AoOs - some of which are probably used above, but not sure how many.
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Lissa skates forward, water flowing from the nearby river along her path. As she slows down, she draws more water to her, eventually allowing it to draw her off the ground in a roiling wave whirling around her. "That's a ghole. It's a disease-ridden sadist," she says as she points to the red one with an extended watery hand.
As Zagan and Lissa bolster themselves, Kramac and Beak fly at the skeleton-like creature and savage it with blade and maw! The assault leaves the creature barely holding together, but it lashes out at the bird above it...
...and Beak feels something begin to grow inside them as the creature's claws leave black marks along their feathers. The other creature sniffs the air and an air of ferocity comes over it as it looks intently at the diseased bird. It rushes forward to close the gap and snaps its wicked jaws...
...and though Beak manages to push the creature off with their leg before it can tear further into the bird's underbelly, the strain is too much and the vulture plummets to the earth. Kramac jumps to the ground, barely avoiding the beast's jaws as it lets its momentum carry its disgusting head forward.
On the ground, the spores continue to plague Beak - but Zagan pulls some of the damage from the bird, and the vulture's eyes open.
Round 2! Bold may act!
Eorsten
Flyndyngylyn
Lissa
Zagan
Kramac
Beak (-74, Staggered, Prone)
Flora
Red (-40)
Blue (-149)
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Lissa skates just past Flora, extending a stream of water from the roiling mess around her. As she skids to a halt, she brings that stream high before dropping the end of the watery bludgeon onto the ghole.
damage
damage
damage
damage
damage
damage
damage
damage
damage
Kramac gets in one last slash at the bonethorn, which enough to send the fungus-infused skeleton tumbling to the ground in pieces. The ghole bites at the vulture, but the bird pushes the creature's head away before it can tear into their exposed belly.
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Two of Flyn's arrows strike deep into the ghole's chest, and as Zagan's missile buries itself deep in the creature's shoulder it rears back and screeches horrendously. The sound causes Flora's arm to jerk involuntarily, sending her wintery blast into the angry sky. Eorsten rushes around Lissa's enlarged form as she slams the stream down on the ghole, eliciting further shrieks as its hair smokes and burns from the acidic water.
Round 2! Bold may act!
Eorsten
Flyndyngylyn
Lissa
Zagan
Kramac
Beak (-37)
Flora
Red (-134)
Blue
Kramac cleanly chops the ghole's neck, separating its head from its body.
As the Pathfinders regroup, the sudden noise of combat startles them. A twisting trail leads through the jungle to a small clearing, with obvious signs of pitched battle. The twisted, corrupt vegetation has been burned, and the smell of a recent fire floats through the air. Immediately to the north, an outcropping of rock rises a dozen feet over the carnage.
In the center of the clearing stand a squad of orcs, wielding both blades and flames. One turns instinctively towards the newcomers, and she points her scimitar at them. "Halt! Who goes there!? Some new trick of this accursed jungle!?"
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Noticing the symbol of Sarenrae, Flyn lifts up two empty hands in greeting, showing he holds no weapon. ”Peace be to you. We are friends with those who worship the Dawnflower, the good goddess Sarenrae; I have a served with a devotee of Sarenrae before, he is now a dear friend. We are Pathfinders and we were sent to battle the evil set loose here. I am Flyn, at your service...who might you be, my friend?”
The orc's gaze drops involuntarily to her holy symbol as Flyn points it out, but her eyes snap back up as quickly as they fell and her scimitar does not waver as it continues to point at the Pathfinders. "Bah. This jungle is learning how to toy with us better and better, it seems. If you really are Pathfinders, then why are you here?" The orcs behind her hold their weapons ready against sudden trickery.
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This jungle is treacherous indeed! I am Kramac! And we are here to stop whatever fel ritual Tar Baphon has going on beneath this jungle. But we must navigate this jungle first! You appear to have been in a battle recently - do you have any injured? Maybe Kramac can offer some healing as a show of good faith and to prove we are no figment of the jungle, out to kill you!
The orc leader glares at Kramac. "The jungle attempts to use a softskin illusion to trick us!" she bellows angrily. "Orcs of the Burning Sun, fall back!" Her squad obeys, melting quickly into the poisonous undergrowth. Her scimitar still pointed at the adventurers, the leader is the last to disappear.
The Pathfinders don't have long to ponder the orcs' unusual behavior before the ground behind them shakes and quivers from the approach of two giant figures!
They're big, but you have no idea what these might be.
You recognize these as tomb giants, massive humanoids obsessed with death and necromancy. They have become so steeped in negative energy that their very touch - or that of their massive scythes - can drain the life and vitality from their opponent!
Kramac
Beak
Eorsten
Flora
Zagan
Lissa
Flyn
Red
Blue