Our story begins...
|
“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.”
|
Zaarah is a scrawny girl with auburn hair and amber eyes. She is standing with eyes wide open.
Her features seem Chelaxian but also have something else mixed in.
She is wearing light mithral armor and carries a black pulsing Scimitar at her hip that is attached to her wrist with a very fine chain.
Zaarah seems to be angry!
She suddenly draws her Scimitar that is so black that it almost absorbs light.
"Mesh! I am going to silence you and make you suffer if you don’t stop talking to me like this!!” she says in rage.
She seems to listen to something and looks at her black magical sword with balled fists!
5 seconds of silence
Tears are visible in her eyes.
She then realizes that she is among others and looks at the rest of the Pathfinders.
"Ehh sorry for the argument with my scimitar ... well ... I always say this to new people I meet so ... sometimes what I say might sound crazy but I promise it will be logical!"
Suddenly, she starts smiling.
|
A tall and skinny man looking pretty old stands in the briefing room as well. His eyes are piercing and seem to judge anyone they encounter.
He's dressed in breastplate and wears a small book hanging from a necklace. This book bears the inscription "Arodenite institution" and the holy symbol of Iomedae. After hearing the news, the man wrinkles his eyes and says with a calm voice. "The Whispering Tyrant free? Unacceptable!" he says, frowning.
He then coughs lightly and turns himself towards the others. "I apologize, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Pierre Viret, holy servant of the glorious Iomedae. If we need to fight, I admit that I'll prefer any non-violent solution, unless confronted with mindless servant of the Tyrant of course. You can rely on me for the talking, though."
|
|
A tengu with bright golden eyes and beak nearby looks more than a little troubled by the announcement.
He's wearing a shirt of fine mithral chain, and fine leather boots and belt. A light mace and a short bow are strapped to his hip and back respectively, but his most important weapon is also his most obvious.
A curved, thin blade almost as long as he is tall is strapped to his back.
He bows to those gathered nearby, right hand on the center of his chest, left hand held out perpendicular to his body as he bows at the waist so that his torso is parallel to the ground.
He cocks his head curiously at the woman arguing with her blade. "Will you be well?"
He turns to Pierre. "As a wise man once said 'some problems cannot be solved with a sword...some cannot be solved without one.' I fear this is the latter situation, Friend Pierre. Violence may be the only way to deal with the Whispering Tyranat and his servants."
|
|
Zaarah looks at the human and the Tengu with a strained smile.
”The Whispering Tyrant free? Unacceptable!“ she shouts.
She looks at the Tengu and answers ”I hope you are all well! The tyranny is real! Evil is real! Medical insurance on the other hand is not real! Pierre, please tell the Tengu the truth!“ she pleads.
|
|
Entering is a small man riding a dinosaur. He dismounts and stands less than waist high, "This tyrant will pay with all that I am"
Looking around at the others "Welcome friends, My name is Uldar and I am a Crusader to the order of The Sword. It is an honor to serve with you."
The dinosaur gives a small growl, "Forgive me friend. Everyone, this is Chomper
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 sighs and awaits questions he is sure the gathered agents will have.
|
|
Pierre sighs heavily after what Zaarah said but doesn't have the chance to answer as Farabellus' booming voice covers the sound of the cleric's voice.
After hearing the speech, Pierre grips the book he wears as a holy symbol and grits his teeth. This wasn't a quest like any other. He doesn't have question as he focuses on the mission and gathers all his resolve.
|
|
The dwarf encased in steel rumbles, Ragathiel will ensure we all have the opportunity to fulfill our destinies as heroes of Golarion. I will protect you as you fulfill your duties. It sounds as if Holy Viret's god given powers will be most especially in demand. Does everyone have the capability to heal themselves so he can concentrate his powers against the foul minions of the Tyrant?
|
|
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!”
Marcus turns to Uldar. “He’s a lich of such power that he
could only be imprisoned, not destroyed. The country of Lastwall was founded with the single purpose of monitoring Gallowspire, where the Whispering Tyrant was trapped. There are dark times ahead.”
Wynsal answers Zaarah, “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.” Wynsal adds "We do not have any added magics to spare at the moment, alas."
The agents descend into the jungle. 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 agents move deeper into the strange jungle. The slowly moving stream to the east gives off a pungent odor here. A yellowish mist clings 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.
As the agents tread the foliage, suddenly the foliage begins to tread back!
A mass of twisted thorny vines sprouts from the brush! It rambles over Uldar and Morrolun, engulfing both of them with its vegetation. The shambling thing lashes out at Zarrah and Viret, and the Uldar and Morrolun both feel the vines tugging at them.
Uldar and Morrolun find themselves on their back and are pierced with thorns!
The vines strike both Zarrah and Viret. The thorns pierce them and they wounds bleed profusely.
sharing a space with the creature are considered to be moving in difficult terrain. Each time a creature takes a move or standard action within the blood bramble’s space, it must first succeed at a DC 25 Reflex save or damage from the sharp thorns.
***ROUND 1***
Vined Monstrosity
-----
Uldar (-8, prone)
Kahwen
Morrolun (-8, prone)
Zaarah (-25, bleeding)
Viret (-30, bleeding)
|
|
”Arghhh!!!“ Zaarah cries out in pain!
She suddenly feels anger and hate. The desire to survive and at the same time to destroy!!
* * *
* * *
Zaarah is still holding the charge of Shocking Grasp and 5 ft steps forward to deliver the spell with spellstrike through her intelligent Black Blade Scimitar.
* * *
|
|
Before they set out, Kahwen hands Pierre a common Wand of Cure Light Wounds for "Anyone who might need it.
"Huzzah! Well struck Friend Zaarah!" Kahwen shouts as they are ambushed by a plant and she strikes back.
The then races around the creature to come at it from the other side, twisting and cartwheeling to avoid any of the lashing vines as he does so.
He then slashes at the creature with his elven curve blade.
[ooc]Ok Zaarah, lot going on there. I think I am tracking most of it, but a few things. First, ok with her holding a shocking grasp as the group knew to expect trouble and if that is a normal action for her. I get the parry and will resolve that. She then can take a 5' step and deliver the spellstrike. Normally that would take the full action, but allowing her to have a held charge would allow the second iterative attack. Hard to tell from her stat block, but I believe she only has two attacks. Last attack would miss anyway.
Zarrrah blurs into action as she manages to block one of the creatures vine attacks. She then unleashes a barrage of blade and magic, causing significant damage to the shambling creature.
Morrolun strikes at the creature from his back, but misses the creature through the foilage.
Kahwen attempts to flans the beastie. Try as he might, he is unable to duck the myriad of attacking vines. Luckily, it misses him. Kawhen takes advantage of his position and is able to slice the creature. It falls in a heap of vines and leaves.
Viret channels positive energy, healing his fellow agents and stemming the bleeding wounds for he and Zarrah.
|
|
Uldar will use 4 charges to heal himself and chomper.
Uldar will then spend a swift action and the party notices Chomper grow bigger more defined muscles. He also has 2 tiny horns come out of his head just above and behind his ears.What he now looks like
"Everyone let Chomper smell you really well. He will use his nose to distinguish us from the any enemy in the area."
With that Uldar will spin Chomper back around and take lead of the party again.
|
|
"Huzzah! Kahwen shouts, brandishing his sword over his head after striking the killing blow. "I have clearly fallen in with a powerful band of Pathfinders. We'll send the Whispering Tyrant screaming back into his prison."
He lets the not so little dinosaur smell him, even tentatively reaching out to pet him. "You remind me of Friend Blarg, but much bigger," he says to Uldar's scaly mount.
He shakes his head with a little embarrassment at Zaarah's question. "Unfortunately, I have no magic of my own."
When the time comes, he falls in line with the group, watching for the next threat.
Uldar sends Bane on a crucial mission. Bane returns. He is battered, having experienced resistance. His mission was a success but his injuries are severe.
The agents take a moment to recover from the attack of the angry plant. Viret and Uldar manage to heal the wounds suffered. Rehaining their collective breath, the group marches deeper into the strange jungle.
Signs of a pitched battle are obvious in this small clearing. 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.
Peering into the clearing, Kahwen spies a group of six orcs finishing off another one of the plant creatures. He spies a symbol decorating several of the shields and armor of the orcs that seems out of place.
The orcs do not seem to notice the pary.
|
|
Kahwen is just about to try to guide the party to creep around the orcs when Zaarah and Uldar charge up. He does not draw his sword but calls out quietly to Pierre.
"We have enough trouble without fighting those who are fighting our enemies. Perhaps your negotiation skills would be helpful here, Friend Pierre?"
|
|
Pierre nods after Kahween points the symbols to him.
"Perhaps. Let me try but cover me." he whispers back.
Pierre steps forwards and calls with a booming voice, touching his armoured chest with a fist, glowing a little of Iomedae's Glory:
"At last, we find allies! My name us Pierre and I am a holy servant of the Inheritor. It is with joy that we'd greet allies on our aide! Please, servants of the Dawnflower, tell me who you are and where you are hearing! Perhaps we could share the journey! We have also just ended the life of a vine if the same kind."
As he speaks, an aura of glory shines from him, making everyone around keen to hear his words.
The area darkens as clouds converge in the sky. A reek of like embalming fluid fills the air. A strong wind swirls and rain begins to fall.
The orcs stand abruptly and eye Pierre warily. They hold their weapons but do not take an aggressive action. They speak to each other and look to one of their members, a female, do decide what action they should take. The orc approaches Pierre.
"Who are you? You and your band? Why are you here? It is not safe.". She looks up to the gathering clouds and shields her eyes. She looks back to Pierre. "You know of Serenrae? What do you know?"
|
|
Pierre looks at the female half-orc and smiles.
"As I stated, my name is Pierre. This group and many more are here because the Whispering Tyrant broke free from its prison. We are pathfinders and we will put our live on the line to bring this Lich down to where it was before."
He clears his throat.
"As to what I know of Sarenrae, I know she is a goddess of redemption and fire!"
The orc woman seems to soften a bit as Pierre speaks to her about Sarenrae. She nods to her fellow orcs who sheathe their weapons. "Come. The rain is dangerous. There is shelter nearby." The woman points out a rock outcropping and waves the agents to follow her and her band.
Once out of the storm, she once again speaks to Pierre.
"“I am called Grenir Flamespite. I am a servant of the Dawnflower. The leader of my tribe sent me to investigate disturbing visions she had about this place.” She seems to mull over something Pierre said earlier. "The Whispering Tyrant? Hmm. Grim news, traveler."
Grenir takes a moment to absorb the information. She seems willing to answer any questions the party may have.
|
|
“Thank you for your service to eradicate evil in this area! We are also here to help. Have you missed anything that could be useful to us doing our investigations and on the path to the center of this catastrophe? We only arrived and attacked by being very similar to the one that you fought!“ Zaarah asks.
|
|
Pierre's expression softens a bit as the half-orc group sheath their weapons. The cleric nods at the others to make them understand he thinks the half-orcs can be trusted.
"Well met, Grenir Flamespite." he says.
Pierre then takes the time to ask some question, waiting patiently for Zaarah to finish.
"Yes. What have your investigations revealed until now ? Also, do you have a goal in these lands ? Did your leader's visions reveal anything else ? I can provide healing for any of your group who might need it."
|
|
Kahwen is pleased when they do not have to fight the orcs. Though it is strange. He's never met an orc who didn't want to kill him.
He stands unobtrusively on the edge of the group, arms crossed over his chest, his head darting back and forth from the rain and what it might contain and the orcs and what they might be doing in a way that seems nervous but his companions will know is just the way he moves.
Grenir sighs and looks down to the crater. She looks back to Pierre and Zaarah.
“I wish we had gotten farther, but we were attacked by shapeless monstrosities and several constructs almost as soon as we got to the bottom.” As she recounts her experience, Pierre sees a flash of sorrow in her expression. “There is an easier path down the crater on the southwest side. I lost one of my scouts finding that path. Now that you’re here, I can see that his sacrifice will light the way for many others.”
Grenir changes her expression, Pierre can almost detect a smile on her face that quickly fades into a more grim expression. "Thank you Pierre, but we will manage. You should save whatever magic healing you have. You will need it if you continue on your way." Grenir looks down to the crater again. "As for what we have seen, ghostly or in the flesh..We have learned that there is much happening in the dungeons. Some great evil stirs. It is... building up to something. I don’t know what. My group was unable to get very far, and I’ve already lost half my force. We will return to our lands to tell Mahja what we know. But first, let us help you reach the crater.”
Grenir begins to instruct her troop to get ready to move out.
|
|
Pierre puts a hand on Zaarah's shoulder, looking at the others with a smile.
"Understood, Grenir. Thanks for your help." he says.
Frowning, he turns towards the group.
"Pathfinders! We have found a way thanks to Mahja's fierce warriors! Let us remember this day where Mahja's tribe gave a more than helpful hand to the pathfinders."
Looking around, he clenches his jaw tightly as a grim expression wash over his face. The cleric then stands tall, a clenched fist in the air.
"To war, my friends! May Iomedae bless us in the path to Glory!"