Roderick easily stabs the grappled opponent when it makes a threatening move to escape the grapple.
The tricky serpentfolk tries to wriggle free — and almost does, but Krahnaliara holds tight! It hisses in frustration.
The Azlanti turns at the sound of his language.
He holds onto the creature, muscles straining as he waits for you to deliver the killing blows.
★★★
Scions of the Serpent God: Round 4-5
Serpentfolk 3
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Roderick
Theo
Fairbeaks
Faustus
Lya
Fung
Lilybeth
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Krahnaliara Lac Suhn
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Theo huffs and puffs as he continues up the ramp, maneuvering around Faustus for a clear shot.
With a quick command, fairbeaks stops pecking at the already downed serpentfolk, and gingerly follows, still moving slowly due to the narrow-ramp-big-bird conundrum.
Seeing another snake person, the axebeak gives an angry screetch, and its powerful beak snaps at it from the ledge below.
, for damage.
The last serpentfolk-fiend dies intimidated. The general nods grimly at Faustus and Fung.
He stands up tall and looks grateful as he receives healing, and looks at Lya apologetically — though he can't understand her words, he can tell she is disquieted by the violence.
He then gazes down at the last chain, still shackling his foot. He turns once more to Faustus.
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"Of course, General."
Faustus uses the versatile tool that is an adamantine weapon to free break the remaining chain.
"I fear that my weapon will be unable to free you from the actual shackles, though the chains will not hold you any more. However, it may be more impressive to your troops should you arrive, wearing them. I feel your escape will inspire them to greater glory!"
"As for me, it is true that we are not from here, though that is more of a thing of time than location. I could have our mage here explain, but I fear that would take more time than we have.
"May I suggest us moving to where your troops are, so that you can rally them in their rebellion? They have been fearing the worst for you."
It seems clear that, for once, Faustus is deferring to someone else. Likely the fact that this man is a general of an army, and above all else, Chelaxians are taught that Order is important above all else.
The general, who wears little more than a ceremonial (blood-splattered) robe and has no weapons, watches Roderick collect loot.
He holds aloft his wrists, the chains rattle.
I fear that my weapon will be unable to free you from the actual shackles, though the chains will not hold you any more. However, it may be more impressive to your troops should you arrive, wearing them. I feel your escape will inspire them to greater glory!
Excellent suggestion, soldier. These chains will serve as a reminder that even though we may stumble, we Azlanti will rise victorious! Even enslaved, we will fight to be free. Hope must not die, and I will wear these chains proudly for the rest of my days as a symbol of that. Proof that our civilization will never fall!
The General looks at the rest of the party.
I will linger for a short while, but as the alchemist said, time is of the utmost. Would it help if I spoke in another language? I am fluent in the language of the one-eyed giants , Elves, and the first peoples of this land . I also speak the vile tongue of the serpentfolk , and the language they use to commandeer their slaves — helpful tools in intelligence-gathering.
His posture relaxes, and he smiles at all of you, trying to show that he is friendly even if there's a language barrier for some of you.
He suddenly turns to Faustus speaking emphatically.
They have been fearing the worst for you.
My friends still live? Tell me! Where are they? Who lives?
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"In fact, it was she who told us where to find you, that we might rescue you as we did her.
"I have heard of you, but the tales of your prowess we so inflated as to paint you a god. A god having risen from a mere mortal man? Who would think that such a thing were possible.
"Nay, I believe these stories were greatly exaggerated, though seeing you wrestling that serpent, perhaps not as much as I would have expected. Perhaps you could shed some light on this, and tell the true tale, for you appear to not be one to tell stories where there truth would suffice."
” We can see if there is anything on these cultists we can use to remove those chains or at least provide you self defense.“
I'll keep the chains. But I'll take those shortswords and that armor for a start. Just a little singed by the kineticist.
"Uszanria is one of those who is waiting for your leadership."
"In fact, it was she who told us where to find you, that we might rescue you as we did her.
Uszanria? Don't tell her I needed saving — I'll never hear the end of it! Sounds like her. She's probably inciting a riot or a revolt.
He looks at Faustus. And that's an order, soldier! You probably command legions yourself, and you know that it takes effort the troops morale up.
"While we bring you to her, can you tell us more about the great Azlanti civilization? The real day-to-day life, not the propaganda." Lilybeth asks with a smile.
You said you're from a different time? Surely, it must be the past. The Azlanti civilization must survive, along with the Kellids.
You want day-to-day? Bread is what keeps nations alive. Nevermind the serpentfolk — every society is three meals away from chaos.
Ittho bread is an Azlanti specialty. My grandmother's was the best; old recipe. Only used the honey from her own bees, and only fed them blossoms her grandmother brought back from the Western Colonies. Nothing ever tastes the same now.
He catches himself. Ahhh. Sorry. I start to get nostalgic around Peacock’s Dusk. Even down here… these damn family holidays. I still haven’t even taken my boys to the Western Colonies. They love their little-folk nanny, and I thought they’d like to see one of the cities her people built. And it's been many years since we heard from my great-grandmother’s descendants, but I sometimes imagine that when I gaze into the sky and see the red planet, they can hear my prayers for the health of them and our empire’s colony.
It sounds silly, but even down here, on a holiday, it's hard not to wish you were with your family.
… tell the true tale, for you appear to not be one to tell stories where there truth would suffice."
You want the truth? I am a man. A simple man who misses his family. I never do get to see the wife and kids anymore. Sure: marrying into a colonial family may have helped avert a war, but these years of separation are a heavy burden.
As he puts the studded leather on, he pauses as if forgetting something important. You know, my wife always ties my chiton like an imperator, not like a general. See how it goes over, around, then under? He demonstrates tieing an imaginary sash with some hand gestures. Every damn time I ask her if she wants her husband flogged, and she just says she’d rather have her husband sit on the senate! Not a… not a subtle lady. …Gods, I miss her.
He sighs. Her name’s Vanaschen. I know, I know—am I crazy to have married a woman of the Eastern Colonies? I thought mother was mad when she arranged the marriage. I shouted out the garden blessing, I was so damn furious! But I suppose we’re all like that at that age, right? Once my whiskers came in and I stopped thinking of myself, I saw her for who she was: this fiery, passionate woman who didn’t need any of my excuses. Her father and my mother still argue over whose family officially joined whose—whether we’re still Azlanti or perhaps tainted by Kellid blood. I swear Vanaschen would conquer both peoples just to quiet them, if she didn’t find it so damn funny. The way she pushes me to step up into mother’s senate seat, I think we’re still Azlanti.
I had a brother, too. I lose Urterre to the Silent Servitors, who watch outside and within for threats to the empire. He ran coded messages between the colonies and the homeland, but was never quite the same after his ship was lost at sea for three weeks. His body healed just fine, but his eyes… they always seemed so distant and afraid after that. He died in my arms. The dagger was warm in his back. Passed along the documents to me, but the only words he could muster were ‘Minister Erodel wears the veil. Amaznen save the senate.’ He seemed half-mad by then.
So there you have it, soldier. I'm no legend. Just a sad man trying to hold what's left of his family — and his homelands — together.
After hearing Lilybeth coax information from their new friend, Lya asks about the was between Azlant and the Serpentfolk and how these humans came to be here.
What's between us? War. Battle. We've been clashing North of Ilssele for years, trying to push the colonies’ eastern borders.
Several days ago we separated into two regiments with shield walls; I sent the left flank wide to take the serpentfolk from behind.
We fought at night. We always fight at night. That's the key to battling serpent-men: night battle, or making your main thrust at dusk. The cool air slows them cold-blooded snakes down. That was General Akorian’s secret to victory at Esrogas, when they tried to land on the homeland itself, and it still works all these years later.
But subterfuge is the deadliest enemy, and what the snake-men truly excel at. Their war-beasts are easier to kill — but have you ever tried chopping the head off a lie? It just grows more heads no matter how hard you strike. That's what got us. Misinformation spread among the ranks, dissenters and the magically compelled turned on their own brothers in the dead of night.
Those dissenters and mind-controlled men are who took our lines at Ilssele. They broke our backs and killed most of my men. They killed their own brothers and sisters. Olhas was perhaps a day’s march beyond… I… I doubt very much it’s still there.
He looks at the ground. That's how we're here.
The general is rather loquacious once you make him feel at ease. You don't understand everything he says, but several phrases, terms, and gestures (such as "Peacock’s Dusk" or how to tie a "Chiton" will give scholars valuable insight when you return.) Further, there are glimmers of history here that the more knowledgeable among you might be able to discern.
You walk through the tunnels, listening for the sounds of revolt, looking for Uszanria…
As you move on, the general waxes nostalgically about his family’s private island villa.
Thanks to you, I can hope to see my family again. You should visit us some time, we have a villa in the colonies. You travel south from the Mierani forests, hug the coast east for four days, and then a shoot southeast from the southern cape. If we make it out of here alive, and if you have time to visit, we can break some Ittho bread together.
Lya cannot determine the location of the General's villa.
Lilybeth, with the assistance of Inkwell, solves the puzzle.
Lac Suhn’s villa was somewhere off the coast of Nidal.
This is valuable information, and when (if!) you return to your own time, there will surely be amazing pieces of history to uncover.
General Lac Suhn is silent for a few moments. Water drips into a distant cavern pool.
He grumbles to himself in the quiet: Uszanria probably killed 'em all already…
He turns to Faustus. Unusual places, eh? I feel like I've told you my life story but gotten only mystery in return. Soldiers across time, cultures, continents love to trade war stories. Come now: where are some of these unusual places?
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"Very well. Since you asked. We are from your future... approximately 10,000 years in the future. And before you ask, I am not going to tell you what happened."
Without breaking his dead-tone, he talks about a few of his missions.
"I spent a good few week on the Plane of Fire, working for, and against, an efreet. Come to think of it, while I was there, we did free some slaves. Sounds like I am starting to make a habit of this. When asked by the efreeti that had hired us, I chose to omit this piece of information, even when directly asked if there was anything else. He believed me, of course, though some of my companions almost revealed there was more.
"The First trains his inquisitors well. First, to weed our weakness and Chaos; second, to always be challenging those that believe themselves superior in their adherence to Law. There are always those that give more lip service than true fidelity."
"On another mission, I was brought to Hell itself. Specifically, to Dis, so unfortunately I did not get the chances to pay call upon my Patron. While there, I was able to weed out corruption, as is my wont and training, including uncovering a Phistophilus that was particularly inept at writing contract, freeing several entities from its grasp. I was astonished by the laziness of this creature, and that lack of precision in its contracts, so, of course, I help it along to its punishment."
"And, of course, I must mention that I played defense attorney upon the plane of Axis. I find the duplicitous of certain entities of Law very distasteful. I was able to defend my client, by discrediting every piece of evidence brought before her.
"Now, mind you, it was an interesting view sitting in this court of law. Now, mind you, being a barrister is more of a hobby to me, than a true profession, but I through all of my powers of observation and negotiation into this trial.
"And, of course, came out victorious"
Lac Suhn listens with amazement. And to think — I can't even find the time to take my boys to the Western colonies. You must come from a truly extraordinary era. Tell me — are there serpentfolk, or any other enemies you battle with as we do against these? He gestures at the walls of the temple itself.
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"We have many enemies, both on our world and beyond."
"Not unlike the Worldwound where demons and devils pour in frequently."
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A crack of thunder and the tang of ozone cut through the complex. The figures before you, and indeed the walls, the floor, even the air itself seem to crumble and fall away like glittering sands through an hourglass. Unfamiliar figures—their heavy, hooded robes embroidered with the symbol of a winged eye—stand about the field, their hands crackling with lightning. Dozens of Pathfinder spellcasters lie dead at their feet.
A gargantuan image of a woman appears and shimmers like a desert mirage. She has a regal bearing, but her features are lined as if by years of endless duty. “Arrogant Pathfinders! Your ridiculous Society spends fortunes and lives to reassemble a treasure that turns time itself like the pages of a book—a key that could undo all the misery and suffering our world now knows—and you use it for this? Poking at snakes and playing at heroism? Golarion knew a true hero once! Our Lord Aroden—who raised the Starstone from the sea and imprisoned the undead tyrant Tar-Baphon—could already walk the world again were it not for your petty games and delays. Every death in your hours of playtime now hangs as a weight around your collective necks, you spoiled children.
“I am Lady Arodeth, and on behalf of the Harbingers of Fate and the God of Mankind himself, I have seized your Sky Key. Its defenders threw their lives away trying to stop compassion and destiny from returning to this world. I advise you not to throw your own lives away attempting to do the same.
“Behold the return of the Last Azlanti! Behold Aroden!”
The robed Heralds begin casting, and arcs of lightning leap to the rods made of skymetal. A deep thrum from somewhere below reverberates with chest-tightening force, then the earth begins to heave and quake. Emerald green miasma lashes out, snaking back along the arcs of arcane lightning and infecting hooded casters throughout the crowd. Your body—or perhaps the whole world—crumbles to dust and you hear a distant scream of “She’s overloaded it!”
And just as swiftly, the world is whole again, but in place of a flower-speckled field stands the sprawling marketplace of a small city. Ivory-white buildings and columns feature reliefs and endless statuary all depicting physically perfect human specimens in poses of glory over serpentfolk. A chiton-clad crowd of gawkers stares, both at you and at the roiling dome of green light that encompasses nearly a square mile of territory, beyond which this strange city stretches on.
Robed Heralds panic as they sprint beyond the edges of the glistening dome, only to collapse just beyond its border. There they scream and writhe, their bones cracking as flesh and sinew age to dust in mere moments. Meanwhile, those unfortunates consumed by the green miasma scream and stagger, their features warping and bloating as if the power seeking refuge within them were too big for mere flesh to contain.
And high overhead, a looming stone glows with a light visible even in the growing light of dawn.
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As you enter the Slave pits, Lya tells her stories. Lac Suhn looks distressed at the thoughts of experimentation. This villain sounds like a serpentfolk, himself. Vile. I hope he faced justice. He pauses. Heaven and Hell… demons and law… no wonder you made it to me so easily. What is your —.
Dozens of voices suddenly shout a victory-cry from around the next corner — it sounds like the revolt is in control of the slave pits! The general rushes ahead. Down here in the pits, the pathetic humanoids — those who've had their spirits broken or their minds taken, wander around in a daze. Perhaps some of them can be healed… perhaps not. There is a group of soldiers ahead, equipped in blood-splattered gear. There are serpentfolk corpses nearby; it looks like they have just executed the last of the slavers.
Lac Suhn and Uszanria clasp hands, then hug. Clearly relieved. They turn to you as you approach, and suddenly there's a crack of thunder and the tang of ozone cutting through the complex. The walls, the floor, even the air itself seem to crumble and fall away like glittering sands through an hourglass…
Luckily, since you were on the way to meet the rebels, you are in the Slave Pits and have enough time to make it out before the entire place dissolves under your feet. As you rush through crumbling corridors, those Pathfinders who were caught off-guard up top and without the power of flight tumble through the air around you! They hit the ground with bone-crunching impacts.
You make it out safely, just as the serpentfolk temple wavers and winks out of existence… and find yourselves in a city. The buildings here are made of pale stone and pink marble — graceful columns, domes, open-air vaults, and arches decorate many of the buildings here.
More importantly, there is a comet overhead. It's huge. It's so close that it casts as much light as the early dawn, much like a nighttime sun.
You pause for a moment to try and understand what happened. It seems you have traveled in time… which isn't good, since the ritual was supposed to bring things to your own time, after all.
Further, if you have traveled in time… and that massive comet is what it looks like… and it's getting bigger even as you look at it… you might have mere hours left before being blown apart by a cataclysmic shockwave.
This dome sustains you here, [i[]in the past[/i]] just as the first bubble sustained the serpentfolk and humanoids from the Age of Darkness in the future. — your own time.
Those who leave the dome melt back into the sands of time, slain beyond the River of Souls.
This shift in time has had one beneficial side effect: some of the your expended powers and class abilities are once again available as though they had not been expended for the day. Each of you can choose two of the following benefits, and the same benefit can be selected twice to double its effects:
- Recover one or more spells or spell slots whose total levels are equal to your character level.
- Regain one daily use of a class feature. If you would normally be able to use the feature five or more times in one day, instead regain two uses.
- Heal 1d2 points of damage to all ability scores.
- Heal 1d8 hit points. Add your character level to the number of hit points recovered.
Please choose your 2 benefits before we move forward.
Faustus
Fung
Lilybeth
Lya
Roderick
Theo
As you gather your bearings you consider the fact that while there are many Pathfinders who've been transported here, you're probably very spread out. So for now, you are on your own.
There's a man in the street. He’s staring at you quietly.
Then, a woman comes out and stands next to him. Another man and a family with children creep out from an alleyway. Before you know it, there’s a crowd gathering. They’re murmuring among themselves — voices shake with anger. A man points at the Axebeak, and another points at Theo with a look of confusion and fear.
A child throws a rotten zuccini at you; it splatters at Lya's feet.
Another man talks loudly to his fellow; his voice quavers with rage:
A woman holding a rake shakes it at the comet.
The crowd rumbles, growing more volatile by the second. Three guards push forward, drinking potions as they do so, making their skin grow as tough as treebark. They wield halberds and wear half-plate. They look like veterans.
One of them speaks, his voice carrying the tone of authority: